Duel:Aethan v Nasurate

Stakes: Auto-hit frenzy.

Winner: Nasurate.

Quite feeble looks the Elven mage, standing with his legs together, while a hand grips hard the blackwood staff, into which he seems to be pressing all his weight, using the staff as form of support. This is a ruse, a trap to bait the opposing knight into thinking him immobile, confined to using the blackwood magic tool to travel from place to place. All the way from the tavern, Nasurate had limped, while leaning into the staff with each step to create the illusion of the feebleness the Elf hopes to have placed in the ideals of Aethan, and had ben quite convincing with the ploy. In his left hand, which hangs limply at the mage's side is clamped a small, rather battered-looking blackwood wand, and after a brief scrutinisation of his quarral, Nasurate ceases the idle spinning movement of the wand between his dancing fingertips, and instead lifts the wand, absent-mindedly raising the point to be online with the centre of the torso area of Aethan, while the arm also extends to give range with the weapon. The summoning comes with but a simple flick of the wand, yet this tiny gesture has a very sudden, very violent effect. Originating from the point 'pon the knight's torso where the wand been pointing, flames erupt. They light on the strands of the leather work body pieces that Aethan wears, and grow, spreading thin yet wide, making for the limbs on either side of Aethan, Nasurate hoping the resultant burns would be enough to put the knight's arms pretty much out of action. A lazy grin finds pale-peach lips as he watches the fires progress across the chest of the opposing male.

Aethan nods to Nasurate, the seemingly tenuous opponent with an affinity for magic. Gracing this road today with battle, the human prepared to brace himself for anything Nasurate may throw at him. Before long however, the straps of Aethan's tunic ignites, a veil of flame seething through the flammable cloth worn instead of armor. With a growl the human peels off the stinging attire and throws it in a lump beside the road left to smolter, the Knight already making his way for Nasurate with the start of a controlled gallop, the constant sting of his arms and chest not hindering him in the least. Upon battle's begining, the Knight comes to a screeching halt, hoping to fling dirt in to the elf's vision and now, free from restraints, Aethan's trusted bastard sword basks in the light of Kelay road, unsheathed directly to cut his opponent into halves upon the battlefield. His upper body would soon be without a lower if he did not think quickly.

Nasurate watches the knight remove his tunic, and sky-blue orbs follow its course as it to is thrown to the ground, left to smoulder. The wand arm has again fallen to the mage's side as he keeps watch on the oncoming knight, expression falling into one of calm apathy, watching the frenzied warrior approach undaughnted. The wand lifts, lighting quick, in a slight upward arc as Aethan skids to the halt, and the dirt and pebbles are blown harmlessly way by the slight blast of air that follows the arc of the wand. The knight's arm draws backwards for a go with the long, heavy blade he carries, and suddenly is the extent of the mage's trickery revealed, for the previous feeble posture is abandoned in favour of quick, controlled backward leap, using the staff as a pole into which the Elf presses all his weight, giving his legs more power for the take-off. This move works in that it prevents the full extent of the blades injury, yet the bastard sword catches the mid-section of the blackwood staff while the Elf is in mid-leap, and the staff is cleanly knocked from it's upright position, sending Nasurate sprawlingly tumbling to the dusty floor. However, in mid-fall, the wand is thrust forward, and a blast of heavily compressed air is flung forcefully into the visage of the the knight. Solid enough to cause much blunt pain, and possibly disorientation, if the full contact were made.

Aethan does not pursue Nasurate as he leaps backwards. Rather, he prepares himself for more magic as he sees the wand in motion again, without knowing exactly what was to come of it, Aethan sets his sword up to guard him. The gust of wind knocks at his weapon but Aethan was firmly set to guard from anything, so the resulting attack had little effect on him. Moving swiftly, the Knight reaches out his hand to rip up Nasurate by his robe (or whatever upper body piece he wears.) No quarter would be given for Nasurate as the elf is given a violent shake and an attempt is made to lift the elf into the air, the Knight throwing all the might he could muster from his singed arms. All as quickly as this happens, Aethan swings his sword about and aims to strike at the elf's mid-section and knock the air out of him. Now, regardless of what happens, Aethan attempts to use his broad strength to an advantage and throw Nasurate to the ground below him with enough force as to break an already frail magus' bones. Or at least hope to.

Nasurate is in the process of collecting himself onto all fours, when eyes suddenly widen at the sudden yank from the scruff of the neck of his robes, and slender fingers tighten further around both the body of the blackwood staff and the small handle of the blackwood wand. The weapons are held fast throughout the disorientating shake, though it soon becomes apparent, from the sudden lack of motion and a sudden airborne awareness, and with haste both wand and staff are lowered , so that both the point of the wand and star-shaped head of the staff are pointed directly for the body of the human male. The head of the staff catches the bastard in it's uppercut motion, halting the course of the weapon, and mana is suddenly blasted from the ends of the both weapons, a forceful, uplifting blast of compressed air from the head of the staff that lifts the Elven male clean upwards from out of Aethan's grasp, sending him further airborne, yet also serving to alter his travelling course so that, when he landed, he would land some distance away, as well as a thick, unrelenting tongue of flames that burst quite violently from the end of the staff. Both spells combine in mid-air, and flames mixing to curl alongst the air blast, increasing the ferocity of both fired spells, and surely to cause both painful bruises from the force of the compressed air and horrific, scaring burns from the unrelenting fire stream. The boots of the Tree Born make contact with the dusty floor, and Nasuratre straightens his form, sky-blue gaze thundering over to assess the damage done to his human adversary.

Aethan stumbles forward as Nasurate escapes him leaving nothing but a tatter of robes in his grasp. "Damn Mage." The human grumbles, rearing his sword back. The blast of fire, the inferno, commences in his direction, the whirling of flames an impessive sight indeed for one who commanded absolutely no magic prowess at all. Once more, the bastard sword takes helm into a defensive posture, the boots of the knight grounding into the soft earth below, but even so nothing could protect him from the hellish torrent of flame. He is only hope was to swing his body out of the trajectory of the spell, even so the Knight felt the tongues of magic lick at his form, scolding it unforgivingly with a whip of discipline. The Knight's voice cracks out in a distressed groan. The human knowing he was all too outmatched and unprepared for such a foe. However, his newly aquired wounds, and singed skin tinted red with abrasion would not allow the Knight to simply give up. If only in a last ditch attempt to wound the magus, the Knight readies himself into a throwing stance. As best as the frazzled Knight could he picked his target, Nasurate, and threw the blade out to barrel towards the elfen. It's blade would hone in qutie accurately upon the mage, and soon Nasurate would find a real threat of losing one's limbs all to probable.

Nasurate allows the corners of his lips to take an upward slant, a wry, much deserved grin finding place 'pon the pale lips of the seasoned Elf as his eyes run over the burnt flesh, the reddened skin that had been aquired through the man's caviar attitude in defending a female. The Elf admits, privately, that the man is deserving of a small respect if he is willing to put himself out so for the sake of a madame, yet still. No mercy could be shown in the face of the darkness Talisia represents. A thin, pale brow lifts as the knight crouches, pulls the bastard out to his side, and then suddenly flings his arms before his chest to send the long, heavy blade careening through the air toward the Tree Born. The wand, still held, is lifted lightning quickly again, this time being thrown in a long, upwards arc. The air before the mage is manipulated, the strands of air following the course of the wand, becoming a brief yet powerful upward gust. The blade is caught within this gust, and is blown swiftly upwards, before it falls backwards on itself, clattering uselessly into the dust before the seasoned mage. The wand lifts now, it's point trained again 'pon the torso of the human male, ready for another, finishing strike.