Duel:Calen v Darnerian

Calen stands without hesitation, now that he's seen Darnerian from the stands, where he'd been sitting, casually moving forward down the steps so that he can nod to the bard. After this brief courtesy, he's now dropped the pretense, preparing for his attack by unstrapping the crossbow previously kept secured behind his back. With the enchanted item now secured, he's taking aim, grinning coldly as his energy is focused, pushed from his very being so it resembles a ever shining arrow. Now, the single projectile is now fired, at Darnerian's legs, but though it seems accidental, it's been done intentionally, for the instant contact is made, the arrow will explode, and send a wave of gravel flying toward his opponent. That's not all though, and the procedure is repeated multiple times, all around him, as the ranger moves in a circular pattern, grey eyes ever watching for signs of movement.

Darnerian gives the arena a timid once-over as his foe descends from the stands; the crowd quite clearly takes Calen's side, cheering the Cultist and jeering the Rebel everyone knows is responsible for the gaping breach in the city's northern wall. Still, as the other pads onto the gravel floor the young bard -- undaunted by the hostile display -- readies himself for battle. A devious smirk plays itself upon the renegade's features at first sight of a crossbow; being an archer himself, a defense is easily planned, and the spark of light in one eye as the shimmering bolt is released springs his counter into motion. Nimbly he takes several steps to his left, appearing to evade the attack altogether but he's thrown from his feet when the missile explodes. Throwing his cloak overhead the young antihero begins to barrel-roll away from the cacophony of exploding metal and rock which rocks his senses and rains down upon his rolling form from above. The gravel, blown to infinitesimal bits, does precious little damage, but the soot that lingers all around Darnerian begins to fill his nostrils and mouth as he rises, mired in an island-like position with a waterless moat -- courtesy of the circular pattern of Calen's assault -- surrounding him. Hacking and coughing, the bard tries to execute his second-best trade, the clinical accuracy of his shortbow being supreme, and sing, though this is not easily done. Labored breathing brings his notes into staccato rather than allowing them a free-flowing fluidity, but with an near-excruciating level of concentration the melody concludes nonetheless. He has no idea where Calen stands, but for the subtle shift of one shoe in the gravel, and it's only then that the bard directs the song upon his opponent, in the form of a fine, powdery gravel cloud. It descends upon where Calen resides, but in transit has grown into a more concrete mass nigh fifty feet in width and height, which rushes up to greet him. With alarming speed it closes, certainly too massive to avoid as it drops the hammer. Darnerian watches as his song of death's conjuring swoops in from above much like an anvil, poised to leave Calen no less two-dimensional than the drawings the bard has crafted in recent months.

Calen has continued moving, for a time at least, until he notices the bard's injuries at least, no longer grinning, even though the rebel has been wounded, be it superficial. The instant that he's seen the large mass of gravel, the teen is reacting using his natural instincts, body falling to the ground, as he digs furiously, the sight an odd one, as gravel and dirt kicked back by all four of his limbs, while a hole is created, through which he vanishes, just as that heavy block slams down where he'd been. For a time, he's now gone from view, but not because he's crushed, rather because he's digging through the ground, a fact shown as he emerges, a good distance away. He'd been hurt though, of course, shown by the blood which has stained his hair, indicative that his skull had been struck before he could fully avoid it. Despite this, he's not wasting any time in seizing the gravel for his own use, the new words he speaks serving to manipulate the broken stones. As the material bonds together, raising up to create a golem crafted from the ground's covering, the ranger now sends it toward his target. Once close enough, the teen waves his hand, and at once the creation breaks down, unfortunately, he's standing directly in front of the bard, and now there's a rain of boulder-like limbs raining down, each threatening to crush the one that it had been set upon.

Darnerian wrinkles his nose at the sight of Calen’s escape, though the muted reaction is betrayed by something far more incredulous, that being the widening of the bard’s eyes in shock of his opponent’s escape from the massive object which surely would have -- if not crushing him on the surface -- squeezed the life out of him after sinking into the easily-shifted rock fragments. Alas, there is no further time for the already -beleaguered Darnerian to reflect on that, for his shock-streaked periwinkle eyes behold a far greater threat than that of his actual opponent -- the massive gravel golem standing over him, and soon after crashing down on and around the very spot where he stands. The intense concentration with which he executed his song, combined with the residual soot now lodged in his nose and lungs, seem to slow his steps though he’s still plenty quick to avoid getting crushed beneath the mountainous weight. What he’s not fast enough for, however, is the explosion of gravel from golem and ground that ensues, sending him face-first into the jagged, unforgiving arena surface with a terrible scream. Gravel bits have clearly pummeled his back, tearing into the cloak he wears and mercilessly penetrating through both it and the thick leather tunic upon Darnerian’s torso, biting cruelly into his skin until tiny rivulets of blood trickle from each of the twenty-odd cuts, shallow as they are. His face and hands are similarly gashed, though it appears the wounds only serve to further feed his rage and set his resolve: he must win, if for no other reason than to prove he can. Though he only manages to get to a knee, his most trusted weapon comes to his aid -- the shortbow of creation manifests itself within one bloodied hand, and the other draws the string back as if to fire even before the missile is ready to go. Thoughts waver, and the flickering of a mystical arrow in the nock can be seen, fading in and out for a moment before finally settling into reality as Darnerian’s focus is further tested, summoned, and completed. As soon as it totally materializes, he lets fly with an attack that can only be described as divine. The arrow flies with menacing pace, a trail of the bard’s own blood streaming in its wake, formed from a single droplet which touched the bolt before it was fired. Over Calen’s head the missile fragments into three shards that continue on to a position fifteen or so feet behind him, while the bloody streak sifts down in a fine mist, acidic to the touch. The three shards drop seemingly harmlessly to the ground from where they halted, though their ability to kill on contact may be tested if Calen retreats the only way in which there may still be time to avoid the acrid, devastating mist.

Calen hasn't bothered with stopping the blood flow from the dent to his head, or the less bothersome cuts which were inflicted by the gravel, after his re-emergence above ground, while he watched the bard dealing with what was sent his way. Even then, after it's all said and done, the teen isn't gloating, despite the severity of the injuries inflicted to Darnerian, and he's instead keeping track of what the other male has in store, to gain vengeance for what occured. Not having to wait long, Calen's gaze at once moves upward, the arrow followed up until the point it shatters, three smaller ones borne from the first. Rather than risk making contact with those shards, he just stands there, the air sniffed, as he smirks, for the first time. Now, after the acidic mist splashes down, burning parts of his face, arms and feet, he's not reacting, at least not outwardly, though he surely wants to cry out. Instead, he too gets ready to strike back, the readily available gravel used in an entirely different way, as the still injured arm, carefully, scoops a handful of the rocks up, while attention is turned to the bard's feet. At this, a great winding mass of the sharp material looping around his opponent's legs, aiming to loosely bind the limbs. After this, he's squeezing his hand tight, and with that the rock snake now moves to tighten it's grip, and increase pressure to the breaking point, unless quick measures are taken to prevent that.

Darnerian’s eyes behold Calen, and Calen only, in this moment -- a certain tangible expression of respect tugs at the corners of his face and soon seep into the entirety of his face; he’s clearly battling a worthy opponent, in his estimation. As brief as the epiphany is, it costs the young bard dearly, leaving him a sitting duck for the ranger’s reprisal and helpless as the serpentine rock conjuring slithers about his legs, locking him into place. No sense of urgency comes at first, though with the increasing constriction about his extremities Darnerian clearly grows more nervous, then frantic, in search of any possible means of escape yet none appear to come. His face contorts into an expression of excruciating pain, and a pitiful cry slips through his lips. Blood still trickles from his back, palms and face, and his depleted mental faculties are clearly devoted to trying to rid himself of the menace snaking about his legs and poised to crush them beneath its grip. His final ounce of energy and magical know-how in reserve is poured out into one last attempt to free himself, which comes by virtue of that famed bow, the aim of which he zeroes in on the cache of gravel sitting in Calen’s hand. Again, the bow strings itself an arrow, this time taking far more effort to manifest before Darnerian lets it fly and watches intently with the last of his concentration. As if carried on a divine path, the bolt connects with the rocks in the ranger’s hands, solidifying them almost instantly and stopping the snake -- via proxy -- in its tracks. But that is not the end, it seems, for the rock mass in Calen’s palm has another idea altogether, one forged by the bow’s devices. It gets sticky, clinging on his hand as if to meld itself to him, whilst still remaining as solid as rock can be -- it seems to be trying to turn Calen himself to stone as penance for what he’s done to Darnerian, presenting the ranger with two choices: counter the spell as is, or drop the rock and delay the attack for a few seconds and hope it’s enough to buy the requisite time to halt the rapidly-melding gravel and prevent himself from joining it in eternal statue status. Darnerian, meanwhile, sinks to the ground, out of breath and nearly out of energy, but the miracle gives him a reprieve. After a few breaths, he agonizingly begins dragging himself with all upper body strength, his destination being the arena rail where he won’t be touching the gravel surface.

Calen remains unmoving all while the bard deals with the creation meant to reduce the mobility of his limbs, though he too shows the faintest hints of respect, in regards to his opponent. Through his right eye, kept open due to the lack of danger to it, the teen now watches, pleased, partially, that Darnerian had broken free of the artificial restraint set upon him. Once the tactics used reach out to him however, that smile is wiped away at once, as he's made aware of the threat which is posed to him now, due to the stone still grasped tight. Rather than allow himself to be made a statue, there's only one real solution, and without hesitating, he chooses it, at once whispering, attention focused only on the targeted hand. Soon thereafter, and with no warning, the appendage explodes, causing blood and bone to splatter against the gravel floor, all while he whimpers reactively. After that, he's loping away, still acting much like a wounded dog at this point, as he seeks to get healed elsewhere.