Duel:Braxius v Hemlock

Braxius versus Hemlock

Braxius nodded to his pet imp, Disease as he studied his opponent. With a scowl on his face and the light reflecting deep purples and blues off his scales, Braxius began to concentrate. He drew himself up to his full twelve foot height as he spread his arms parallel to the earth. Disease flittered about Him momentarily before heading up to the roof of the tavern to watch. The skies grew pitch black as power surged about the draconian, his hellfire red eyes blazing like two rubies against his black visage. The earth trembled and cracked all about the Way. Moans erupted from the nearby graveyard as the dead stured from their slumber. Lightning arched across the sky, illuminating the battlefield and revealing the bones that moved in the earth. Braxius dropped his arms and took a fighting stance as skeletons pulled themselves free of the ground. Legions of the undead crowded about the living and moaned, looking at their master for direction. Casually Braxius lifted his hand and pointed at Hemlock, “Kill the Drow” he hissed as he stepped back, his scales shifting and changing color to match the surrounding terrain. The skeletons lurched forward, spilling into the area and moved towards Hemlock. Up above the Way, a roar erupted as the Dracolich took flight. It wheeled in the air above them, then tilted its head back and belched forth white hot fire onto the group.

Hemlock grins perniciously, red eyes narrowing into slits as he surveys his draconian foe with an expression of utter contempt. The drow’s ebon hand slides down at his side, closing five spidery digits about the hilt of his jagged sword and drawing it out. The blade lets out an ominous hiss as it slides against the interior of its scabbard, the personified cry continuing into a whistle as the nimble blade flits hither and thither in a test of balance. As the innumerable undead begin to pour forth from the earth, Hemlock meets their lifeless stares with his own defiant gaze, not showing so much as a flinch as their worm-food limbs litter the road with decaying flesh. The assassin darts forward with imperceptible speed, his precise blade jutting out violently at the foremost of the deathly minions. The skeleton comes crumbling to the earth in a heap, sounding one last preternatural screech before rejoining the rabble of the underworld. A myriad of scratching sounds fill the road as Hemlock bolts all through the shambling masses, his glinting blade catching light with every fell swipe. The not-so-living conjurations of Braxius are cut down with no more than series of grunts that come spitting off his dark lips. As the last of his many assailants are slain, the drow turns his head to the oncoming rush of fire, swiftly pulling his shield up to catch the brunt of it. He is carried violently off of his feet as the flames slam against him, sent rolling and sprawling over the ground with minor burns sustained. With a quick kick of his feet, the assassin regains his foothold, tossing his blade aside carelessly and drawing forth two finely crafted daggers. These elegant blades he crosses over his chest with a flourish, smiling upward as he bends his knees and takes artificial flight. The drow darts upward in trajectory for Braxius, his outline slightly blurring as he exceeds the boundaries of light speed. Upon entering the proximity of his winged foe, Hemlock throws himself into the draconian, cutting his companion weapons in a wide ‘X’ shape that threatens to not only tear open the abdomen of his mark, but also shred his scaled throat.

Braxius laughs heartily as he attacks, opening his arms wide and embracing the death that the assassin brings. But instead the drow is rebuffed by a hidden barrier, his blades cascading sparks into the dark skies. Folding his wings and dropping like a rock, Braxius lands with and audible thud among the mass of bones littering the Way. Looking up at Hemlock he smirks, baring his razor teeth in the process. A void opens before him as he mutters and ancient language known only by the dragon-kin. The air begins to stir and pick up, soon it is a whirling cyclone, with the two combatants at the center. The skulls at Braxius’ side clatter and fall loose from his sash belt, snatched up by the wind. They glow white as they circle in the air, then Braxius gives a shout, his wirds drowned out by the wind, and hundreds of thousands of spiked chains shoot forth from the void. They wrap about the skulls, taking on human forms, their weight causing them to fall from the cyclones grasp. Hook Horrors, each and every one. Several more of the chains flow with the wind, lashing out at the drow to wrench and pulverize his flesh. Be low the hook horrors watch with eyeless sight, then they too throw their chains up at Hemlock. Braxius laughs again as his minions do his bidding, and he concentrates his powers once more on the next spell in his arsenal, caring not if the chains succeed in tearing the assassin apart.

Hemlock tenses the muscles of his legs as he lands back from impact with Braxius' unforeseen barrier, both booted feet thudding soundlessly against the ground. He shifts his gaze from side to side and watches with delight as the newly formed chains howl amidst the maelstrom, their silvery lengths reflecting all light in the dusky sky. While the spidery currents of metal latch on to the many glowing skulls, the drow holds up his twin knives, bending his elbows outward in a mantis-like stance. He surges forward at the myriad of lanky, formless creatures, swinging his daggers aimlessly as he rushes through their core. The weapons resound with high-pitched clangs and rattling scrapes as they cut through a mass of Braxius’ horrific beasts; sparks dancing playfully off the fray. A frayed chain lashes out at the assassin’s knee and sends him tripping forward, yet he recovers with a deft twirl that sends him bouncing off of the floor and back to his feet. In a few more moments, as lightning seems to sparkle through the road, Hemlock manages to cut down the last of the monstrosities, both those with bodies and those seemingly disconnected from any form of life. He tosses his dual blades aside, their edges having been scratches and torn into ineffectuality. A limp in his step, the assassin pulls from his cloak a crude looking blowpipe, its length covered in notches from victims past. He quickly loads the device with three poison-tipped darts, each smaller than the last, and covered in aerodynamic perks. The assassin pulls the weapon to his lips and aims precisely, blowing hard against the projectiles and watching happily as they whistle out, each heading for some crucial point upon Braxius. The darts give off a faint glow as they sing through the air, and a certain magical hum hints that perhaps these flying sticks of poison may have more intelligence than would first be expected.

Braxius hardly notices the darts as they find nicks in his scales in which to burry themselves. His skin begins to shift colors again as his camouflage ability kicks in again, causing him to vanish once more. The cyclone abruptly stops and silence fills the air. Braxius is nowhere to be seen, but his prescence could be felt. Suddenly the silence is broken by a whisle. Disease perks up from his resting place and flies into the air, a malicious grin upon his face. He lands a few feet before Hemlock and hisses at him. A green gas immits grom his skin as he crouches there, smiling up at the drow. The mist grows larger by the second as it spreads about the Way, curling about peoples feet and filling holes. Rats begin to pour into the road squeaking in terror, then trippin over their own feet, they fall and begins to spasm. Several people in the gathered crowd begin to cough and hack up blood before toppling to the earth. Screams of fright and pain fill the air as the realization dawned, it was a disease, one that made the plague look like the chicken pocks. Those that were nearest to the imp succumbed first. They writhed in agony as boils and welts appeared on their skin, only to burst and ooze with black puss. The mist was all about Hemlock and it seeked to kill him. As he watched those that died did not stay dead. As the flesh on their bones quickly rotted, and turned green, they rose up, attacking the living, spreading the disease even more. Several advanced on the assassin, but paused. Braxius appeared behind him, a long four foot dagger raised high in the air and poised to strike down. As he began to slash, he staggered slightly and the blow went wide. Braxius finnaly noticed the darts and glared at the drow with hatred, “Death cannot stop me” he hissed as he fell to one knee.

Hemlock reels around in confusion, the green pox wafting about his legs with an ominous slowness. The drow’s crimson orbs narrow angrily as he spots the source of distress, the incorrigible little imp, Disease, Braxius’ lackey. He swings out his foot in a well-worked, spinning kick, his booted foot knocking the little demon across the room in a heap. The surrounding chaos only heightens the sense of panic that overcomes him as the gaseous matter seeps up into his nostrils. He begins to stagger slightly, the toxins quickly penetrating his blood vessels and carrying the plague deep. As desperation latches onto his every thought, the drow takes initiative and kicks out at his opponent’s chest, hoping to heave him backwards from where he kneels. Immediately afterward, he bends his knees and rises, spinning, into the sky, both hands hanging limply at his side. Free from the mass of poison that creeps around the surface below, the drow extends a trembling finger over Braxius. From his ebon digit, a current of high-density energy comes spraying forth, searing the very atmosphere as it claws its way down to the dracolich. The air is filled with a scent of burning flesh, and the bellicose mass of energy widens as it descends, threatening to swallow its mark in its electrical maw. Drained from the exertion of all his energy, Hemlock falls out of the sky and hit’s the ground with an audible crash.

Braxius lets out a roar of pain as the blast hits him, consuming his flesh. He casts about wild eyed for help of some sort, but finds none. As the fire and electricity burns through his scales and eat at his heart he lets out a final roar of defiance and activates his last spell, then crumbles to the ground, nothing more then charred bones. The wind sweeps over the Way, carrying away the mist. Disease moves his shattered form over to his master and collapses one last time on his corpse. All is still and quiet, but then a dark light enlopes Braxius’ body. His bones move and he rises to his feet. Muscle and scales restitch themselves as new internal organs grow. Seconds pass and the draconian stands there, fully healed. He scoops up his faithfull pet and blows on him. The same dark light circles about him and he too came back to life. Hellfire red eyes glowing Braxius looks about at all the death and devastation, a smirk on his lips.