Duel:Alastair v Xzarren
Location: Blackstone Dungeon in Vailkrin
Stakes: Autohit
Judges: Blanchette, Vaidhe, no 3rd needed
Pre-duel----
Alastair sighed deeply, this kind of work never did suit him, as the bag full of parts hit the ground with a sickening thud. He looked around at all the torture equipment, and licked his lips slightly, now this might have him drooling. His eyes looked down to the bag again, and he picked it up, dumping it out quickly, two full humans. Twig thin, probably the only reason he could carry them, with each joint severing another part of them. Hands free from arms, arm split at the elbow, and almost the same treatment to the legs. He kicked them around for a moment. Looking down, his raggedy black hair covered his face, and the single stitched up area, that curled the right side of his face into almost a permanent grin. " I guess work it is.
Xzarren , ever the vigilant vassal for Azakhaer, waits above ground on the rain sodden streets. The downpour continued for such and such hours, with not a single event stirring the rousal of the inhuman swordsman. His steel falchion sways at his hip, sharp and weighted, adorned with simple jewels, lightly shining sapphires that resembled the vampire's own glowing eyes. Then finally, he sees an apothecary, wielding a weighty black sack. At least, he assumed the man was a doctor, dressed in unassuming white. The male slips into the building of the abandoned thorn estate. Was this an acquaintance of Joliette or a squatter? The questions teased at his brain until he was wrested from his perch by the desire for answers, also citing his duty to the city of Vailkrin to root out all blights to the cities prosperity.
You :: Xzarren follows behind in the stranger's footsteps, his wet trail leading him down two sets of stairwells until he finally creeps into the dimly lit dungeon. Needless to say, the vampire is unimpressed by the series of torture devices in miss Thorne's basement, yet when he sees the grizzly disfigured bodies near inches from Alastair, the male immediately is poised to alert status, "Explain yourself!"
(Loss of data here, attempt to fill in the blanks.)
Alastair explains his 'patients' did not make it, but he was not breaking any law. Xzarren rebukes that he has broken multiple laws, breaking and entering, and possibly murder and torture. The vampire then explains under the tenant of his authority of Vailkrin military he is forced to place Alastair under arrest. A quick ultimatum, come peacefully or be subdued with violence is enacted, until he puts a hand on his shoulder to force him away from his bodies, for better or worse.
Alastair twitched under the mans grip, in all reality, it was almost like his whole body shifted places in the world for a second. A shudder drew from him, the base of his spine, all the way to his skull. He turned, with the hand still on his shoulder, " Subdue me? " A soft laugh left his lips, as he dropped the starts of his... Abomination, on the ground, a sickening wet thud as it hit the ground. " Unspeakable mutilation? " He finally wrenched free from the mans grasp, taking the torso with the arm in it, by the hand, and kicking the rest of limbs to the wall he was soon at. " Have at me? " He said teasingly, waving the arm sticking free from the torso at him, and picking up one of the heads by its hair.
Duel----
Xzarren draws his steel falchion, the red cloth-hilted brand fitting snuggly in his hand. A look of snarling consumes the face of the bladesmen as he charges forward, raising his free hand up as a blast of telekinetic energy rages forward, like an invisible wave. Were Alistair truly unlucky, he would be flung up against a metal spike within the torture chamber, were he moderately fortunate at all the blast would simply concuss him and knock the senses from his already fleeting undead intelligence. He follows swiftly in the brutal wake, sword held to the side until he strikes out, heavy brand making twin diagonal slashes; one from left shoulder to hip, the other from thigh to thigh. Both lightning quick slashes from a born and trained warrior. The ex-assassin finds himself reflexively reaching for the smallest of daggers from his belt loop, the thin, tiny sliver of metal being rolled into a combat grip in the midst of this seemingly complicated yet instinctual flow of motions. This tiny little dagger quickly attempts to see through any defenses Alastair may have; his mutilated corpses, his limbs, anything with predatorial agility and make a straight shot for the being's throat.
Alastair didn't know why so many assumed all undead where brainless morons, some made through different means bent the rules slightly. He was smart, he wasn't raised through pure magic, and with the burst of force, he smirked, it knocked him a few steps back, throwing him off, but in that time, he let his left hand fall from his wrist. It scuttled across the floor, barely noticeable in all of the chaos. He dropped the torso, and was soon pulling his own weapon free from its hilt. Upon its draw, a slice from Xzarren clanged off it, stopping the slices for his thigh. Though his blade was knocked back far enough for the slash to rip into his chest, a long gash caused red to dirty his white shirt. He sighed, the last thing he needed was this. The hand, in the meantime, had went to work finishing the sewing on his... Project, of its own accord, though a long string still trailed from his wrist, too it, connecting them. The dagger hit him in the throat next, and the result made him spit a mass quantity of blood towards the mans face. Hoping to blind him, his blade, edged with paralyzing poison lashed out, a stab. Just as the creature his hand set out to make, rose. A human being, with bulging cheeks, and three arms on the right, with two footless legs attached to the left of the torso attempted to clinch him from behind, to hold him in place as the sword was to pierce his stomach.
Xzarren abandons his sleek dagger in Alastair's throat. He wasn't going to wait for the thing to keel over and die, specifically granted that he already was dead. The spray of blood however had went unforeseen and blinded the vassal temporarily as he couldn't shift stances in time to avoid the spray. He reels back, narrowly missing the sword stabbing for him, with no precise target it seemed. Such things generally suggested at poison. Wiping his eye's with his sleeve, he can finally see again, raising his blade defensively as Alastair continues on the offensive. A pained, annoyed groan emits from Xzarren as he grappled from behind, "Damn...." He says, jerking his wrist upward, deflecting Alastair's blade to the heavens with his heavy sword guard yet unable to prevent it from slicing into his shoulder at a skewed angle, and inflicting it's venomous bite. However, he follows through, turning his own falchion to the side to trap Alastair's sword between Xzarren's and the wall, effectively locking it in place and taking away one of Alastair's ace in the holes. He would be down one less weapon too but that was a risk he was willing to take. He would have precious little time to wrap up this engagement were it to still end in his favor now with the poison slowing coursing through his body, beginning to slow him down. With renewed fury, he pedals forward after hard knocking the abomination in it's sides with spiked-plated elbow guards. His talon-like claws would reach back, fling the abomination to Alastair in hopes the two undeads would tussle each other as the necroblade takes a knee to the ground, scooping up a palm full of sand from the crypt, his frame leaking deathly miasma. He enscorcels the sand, raising it to his ashen lips and with a sharp breath, blows it towards the enemies. Buzzing, the sand turns to locusts, all looking to shred meat from bones, however dead, however rotted.
Alastair thought for a moment, locusts? Locusts... Hehehehehehe, a maniacal giggle came free from his lips. The creature knocked him over, but it knew its creator, hell, even with the fractured memories of the people he used to create it, it knew its creator. He pushed it off of him, turning it to let it run right into the cloud of locusts, as they ate its flesh, working from the fingers and toes in, it stumbled towards Xzarren, it was clear why its cheeks bulged now, as the fourth arm pushed its way out of its mouth, trying to grab and claw the vampires head, the locusts having almost reduced it to bone. Alastair had the bright idea to use this distraction to slip around the corner, rounding the torture devices with locusts trailing behind him, the ones that weren't satisfied with an easy meal from the bigger abomination. He didn't have a weapon, so he fell back on what he knew, his foot left the ground after taking the halfmoon stance, and aimed to strike him at the back of the neck, along with the creature grappling for his head, all in all, it seemed that Alastair was aiming for broken necks. No matter what, his second foot would soon follow, whether his right landed on the ground for a proper follow up. Or he was possibly taken off his feet by unknown circumstances. The locusts had managed to draw a few bites into him, but the white cloth helped in a lot of areas. He knew the preservatives in his body would kill them soon enough anyways.
Xzarren wasn't expecting the abomination to turn on it's master, only slow him down enough to let Xzarren cast his spell. The vampire couldn't be sure how this entity was alive in the first place. He'd interrupted Alastair just moments from breaking into Thorn's home. Dashing such thoughts from his mind, he wholly ignores the minion, sliding under a torture table as he sees the undead take off. Xzarren truly expected him to be running for the exit, instead of flanking him. It was a smart maneuver, sure, but his minion wasn't exactly threatening nor on par with the speed of a vampire. He'd taken advantage of a sneak attack before but that was clearly a one trick pony. Sliding back to his feet on the other end of the chamber, with safe distance lieing between him and the Abomination, the reborn focuses his attention on the undead, arresting his gaze on it with a smoldering anger. He was more agile than even the vampire perceived, matching his speed and delivering a kick to the side of his hood, making his groggy head pound even worse. The possibility of him dieing here crossed the vampire's mind, and spurred him into quick action. His knotting muscles being forced to cooperate for just a few minutes longer as the poison was putting his body to sleep. Before the undead can deliver a second kick, Xzarren's brief reverie of mental planning comes to an end, grabbing Alastair's other assaulting limb in mid-completion. With what's left of his strength the necroblade attempts to heave Alastair into an iron-maiden, hoping to impale him upon the spikes there and force shut the lid on his mangled body.
Alastair stumbled backwards, his head cracking off the side of the iron maiden, drawing a soft groan from his lips. His form slid too the floor, and the man, slamming the maiden shut, only managed to get his leg, bending it at an odd angle, and suddenly slamming it in between the two edges of iron. It broke it effectively, an easily wince worthy crack. he shuddered on the ground, looking up at the man, even with his broken leg, he probably had more mobility then the poisoned vamp. But he didn't even bother to roll up, he was hoping his prey would just fall over, just due to the fact he couldn't even stand properly now, and if he could, the first thing on his check list would be to take this dagger from his throat. You know, the one that probably made it harder to swallow all the blood pooling in his mouth, having bit his tongue when he cracked his head of the Maiden, of all things he thought. His tongue too? He would even have trouble making some form of stupid victory speech now. Damn...
Xzarren clenched his shoulder as the poison flares up, the pain blocking out all other things, the torture chamber, the undead, his scuttling Abomination as he tried to close the maiden. One moment seemed like too long of a time to be drifting in a place between consciousness and faint and then, suddenly, he felt a small bit of vigor return to him as the venom was toppled by his superior gene make up. At least for the time, he found the strength to reach down, pluck his dagger from Alastair's throat, and replace it with a tightly shut hand that would strangle a person reliant on oxygen. He opens the iron maiden, freeing the dark apothecary's leg from being sectioned off from the pressure. Then he yanks the man to his feet in a display of supernatural power, merely lifting him off the ground as he throws him back into the device making sure this time he fit. As the undead struggled, clawed, and attempted to bite Xzarren all his attempts at escape would end in futility, a moment later the iron lid would close, it's lock being barred with that tiny but durable dagger. He didn't need to keep Alastair there forever, only until the poison wore off. That still left his spluttering minion, with it's skeletal hand breaching it's maw, still desiring to make the vampire his ragdoll. His blond hair was matted with blood and sweat, and his eyes held the glint of wear and wanting this fight to be concluded. Before it's hand clasps down, the vampire tumbles away, grabbing both hilts of the poisoned long sword and his falchion and tearing the swords from the wall. He now advances in a dual wield stance and gives another battlecry. Using adept swordsmanship he dismembers the flesh golem easily, one abnormally grafted limb at a time. It falls to the floor and is pierced by the weapons as they are turned in a reverse grip and stabbed toward the ground, pinning monster between steel and stone. Blood bursts in horrifying fountains until the vampire sends his inherent magic through the swords; the steel bursting into flames moments later and incinerating all traces of the monstrosity. The vampire breaths in ragged pants and nearly slumps over, leaving his opponent's sword in the scorched stones and only taking his falchion. He desperately stumbles towards the stairs to seek medical attention before it was too late. He all but abandons Alastair to an isolated and brutal confinement.