Duel:Cornelius v Kuzial (DD)
OOC Details
Time: 7pm, Saturday 27/08/2011
Judges: Jolie, Tiphareth, Eboric (Mid)
Stakes: Kill post if Kuzial wins; An auto-hit round and enacting of an agreed upon stake if Cornelius wins.
Posting Limits: 12 minutes per post. Kuzial to have first attack and last defense
Background
After hunting Kuzial to Rynvale, Cornelius laid down the challenge, and set the time and place to end the pair's rivalry once and for all.
Vailkrin, the place of Cornelius' birth, would either be witness to his triumph or his death.
Another bloody night in Vailkrin
Hemlock Way has broadened to become a wide City Road carrying locals, travellers and merchants through its bustling thoroughfare. The general air is one of cautious calm, probably due to staunch City Guard patrols being particularly present here, ensuring that visitors and locals alike can stroll the dimly-lit blackstone streets under the glow of streetlamps and the silvery moon relatively unmolested. To the north is a well-fitted shop, its sign suggesting supplies fit for necromancy and other dark magics. A short southern street leads to the entrance of Vailkrin's most stylish -and notorious- tavern.
Kuzial stalks through the dark streets of Vailkrin with that naturally languid grace of a warrior born. He is dressed in his expensive drow-made chainmail, that leaves his arms bare. At his side rests an ebon sabre, held still within an elaborate sheathe. The hilts of two daggers can be seen sticking from his belt, as well as his finely engraved crossbow which is as always loaded and ready. As his scarlet eyes fall upon the dandy, his lips twist into a vicious sneer. "Von Penzance... It is time we ended this where it first begun. Here," he spreads his hand out wide, "in the depths of your city... Pray to your gods, fool, for on this day you die." As his euphoniously lyrical voice fades out, he offers the human a short mocking bow, before drawing forth his sabre in one hand and an exceptionally crafted dagger in the other. On silent feet he begins to pace to the left, before quick stepping forward. He feints with a thrust of his sword, before dropping a globe of darkness over himself and the dandy. With casual disregard for the beautiful blade, Kuzial flicks his dagger on the ground to the right of Cornelius, in an attempt to hide his true movements, while enacting his innate ability to levitate. As the patron silently floats up, he pulls out his engraved crossbow, and with a smirk filled with malevolent joy, the weapon is sighted where Kuzial believes the dandy to be, and fired. Due to an enchantment, the weapon makes almost no noise as the bolt is sent soaring, and as always its tip is dripping with the insidious sleeping poison favored by dark elves. In its wake, Kuzial lobs the spent weapon onto a nearby roof and pulls out one of his throwing daggers. He holds it ready to hurl at the first sign of movement from Cornelius; a fine treat for the dandy if he happens to leave the globe of darkness.
Cornelius was waiting, still garbed in the once-fineries which had been drenched by Jolie's blood throughout her kidnapping and subsequent punishment. With those developments, there had been no time for the dandy to collect his equipment from Cenril. Instead, the grim-faced assassin carries a satchel, gifted him by Ranok, dangling from three fingers in his right hand, the thumb and forefinger fidgeting. In his left hand is Empress Rowen's Favour. At either side of his hip can be seen his sabre and the peculiar bolt launcher Taikahn had made him. Water drips from his hair, courtesy of a rainbucket, and his mouth is twisted from the sour taste of the anti-venin just consumed. The latter, sourced from a gift Kuzial gave to Cornelius as 'Nemo', was not perfect, and would merely reduce the symptoms of Kuzial's favoured venom in the short term. With the drow's appearance Cornelius makes no small talk, but snaps right thumb and forefinger together, flint chips igniting incendiary paper, which drops onto the satchel. Treated with black-fire wine, flames rapidly coat the satchel's surface, and Cornelius drops the thing, diving backwards as the drow's ever-swift blade opens a cut along his stomach. Its contents are a dangerous mixture of firecrackers, flammable powders, and two white crystals of condensed magic, set to a specific command phrase. Rolling backwards, the dandy activates the package: "Kuzial. Let's dance!" There is a bright flash from the release of the crystals' magic, and a wave of concussive force spreads out, forcing the flammable goods through the wine-fuelled flame to add fire to force. The shockwave from the gems knocks the crossbow bolt offtarget, hurls the retreating dandy back several metres with scorched and bloodied flesh, and does goodness knows what to the mid-air drow. Staggering to his feet, Cornelius hurls the blessed orb which is Empress Rowen's favour at Kuzial's face, wherever the drow has ended up, as he draws his own sabre and dagger "If you fail me a third time, Kuzial, I shall never forgive you." With that the battered-but-determined dandy's footwork sends him dancing towards Kuzial with a sequence of slashes targeting the drow's arms and hands.
Kuzial is caught unaware by the dandy's explosive bag, and from his floating spot above the streets he is in no position to evade anyway. The shockwave sends him hurling through the air until he unceremoniously strikes the wall of one of the shops. With a groan of pain he slides down the wood, leaving a thin trail of soot-stained blood coming from the slight burns he suffered before he was hurled away. With a snarl born of immense rage, he gets to his feet, contemptuously bats aside the hurled 'blessed orb', and draws forth dark sword, ready to counter the advancing Cornelius. As ebon sabre meets the dandy's blade, Kuzial begins to move like a dancer within the deadly web of steel; fluid movements evading odious strikes, and his own fine blade occasionally lashing out at his opponent's body. Blood begins to pour from sliced ebon flesh as his arms and even his face takes light wounds in the frantic battle, but each is easily ignored by the enraged drow. He powers on, matching finesse with fury, beauty with brutalitiy. He would destroy this human or die trying; for the patron of House Stavret, there were no other options. For a long moment the pace continues, before Kuzial parries a blow with his sword held high, using it as the visual block to disguise him drawing a dagger with his free hand. With the blade concealed, the patron strikes hard at the dandy with a mid, low, high routine. When the drow's sword makes its final strike, he drops down to one knee and hurls the dagger at Cornelius's mid-section. Not even waiting to see how successful this is, he surges forward with a snarl and thrusts his sword up at the human's throat in an attempt to end it once and for all...
Cornelius dances with Kuzial, a rhythm made too familiar from their frequent clashes. Still, it seems the drow had finally learned a thing or two from him, and the skilled timing of the visual block leaves Cornelius unprepared for the dagger strike. But Kuzial had forgotten something about the death-obsessed dandy: pain was a welcome respite from thought. Cornelius pushes himself into that first thrust, guiding the drow's sabre offline with his own as the drow's dagger jams in against his ribs, preventing its immediate withdrawal and follow up strikes. The dandy screams in agony even as he comes in close and drops a vicious headbutt towards the drow's snivelling, misguided face, following up with dagger thrusts and slashes of his own. He hopes that the headbutt would soften the bastard up enough for his dagger to go to work on the drow. But no killing blows, oh no. The dandy much preferred his victims to live in humiliation. Regardless of his own dagger's efficacy, the dandy surges against the drow, pushing him offbalance long enough for the dandy to spin away to Kuzial's blindside and thus clear some room to hurl his dagger at Kuzial's knee.
Kuzial is caught somewhat by surprise by the dandy's head-butt, but not entirely. This was not the first rodeo for these two warriors, and such tactics are surely to be expected. Nevertheless, it is with sickening force that forehead meets angular nose, crushing it to a blood leaking pulp. Stars briefly dance before the drow's eyes, and the follow-up strikes are defended with frantic parries. But as Cornelius moves and adopts Kuzial's own strategy, he is in no position to block. The dagger drives into his leg, severing the thin links of chainmail that guard from such strikes, until it is imbedded there, almost to the hilt. This proves too much for the psychotic drow. He screams into the dark streets a cry filled with insane rage. His scarlet-hued eyes glow with his rising ire, and before Kuzial knows what he is doing, his soul-stone insignia is being held in a grip so tight his bone-white knuckles almost tear through his skin. He drives himself into the ruby stone, feeling the corrupted essence of his father's incarcerated soul burning within the confines of Rikailin's stolen power. He has little interest in Patron Vorx's hideous torture, though. It is to the druid magic that he draws, filling his body with the filthy power of nature, corrupted as it is by Rikailin's vampirism. No wounds are healed, no flowers do bloom, yet the influx of earthly magic has an effect almost immediately: The patron's entire body contorts and twists, before his scream is cut short by deep ripples that flow beneath his skin. Those watching would bear witness to the dark elf's torso swelling to grotesque proportions, before he instinctively drops a globe of darkness over himself. From within the pitch black sphere comes the most disgusting series of sounds imaginable: muscles being torn, bones being broken, flesh being ripped apart, and throughout it all a tormented cry of agony. It lasts a long moment, until a deathly silence suddenly falls over the street. Only then does Kuzial emerge from the darkness, and he is much changed: Using the captured druid magic, he has transformed himself into a drider: No longer the graceful swordsman, he resembles now a centaur, though instead of being half horse, the bottom part of his body is now an immensely disgusting spider. Ebon-hued skin is broken by thin sanguine tendrils as the bulbous mass seems barely able to contain itself. It pulses and shifts, before Kuzial lets forth another scream and turns rapidly, the dagger no more than a bee-sting now as it remains sticking from a disgustingly hairy leg. At Cornelius he fires thick streams of web that are strong enough to hold even a giant, were they to strike the dandy. And before the last has even hit the ground, Kuzial-turned-drider has begun to scurry forward with horrible speed. It is clear he is not subject to the sticky properties of his own webs, for easily does he traverse the thick pools, and when he is close to the human, whether the man is stuck or not, he would lash out with his two front legs, viciously trying to impale the man's chest, before attempting to tear him clean in half.
Blood pours out of the dandy's numerous wounds. The one in his torso, if left unattended for long, could well finish what the drow started without further interference. But even as the colour drains from Cornelius' brutalised flesh, the once-renowned assassin of Old Vailkrin and right hand of Garath remains upright, prepared to fight until the last bitter breath. The moment Kuzial starts changing, the assassin pulls Taikahn's bolt launcher from its holster. Normally, he would brace himself against the recoil, as the Preklek had overestimated human strength, but accuracy right now is less important than speed of response. As the presence of Kuzial's magics taint the air, the dandy whispers a word even as he pulls on the trigger in quick succession. The Preklek device's tripod arms flare out like a Gualon lizard's frills as five bolts whip through air. As this happens, the runes on the dandy's sleeve flare brightly, like the sun reflected from a mirror. They have no effect on Kuzial's transformation, regrettably, but if fortune smiles the combination of incoming bolts and blinding flash will cause the webs and slashes to miss as the weapon's recoil knocks Cornelius back and to the side. Only fortune will tell if this is enough to keep him clear of being torn to pieces by Kuzial's horrific form.
Kuzial is almost beyond sentient expression, so when the blinding light heralds the oncoming bolts, all he can do is scream in frustration at his opponent still being alive. A thickly muscled arm raises to cover his eyes from the flashing burst as his spidery legs scurry him to the left, easily switching direction. The bolts do not all miss, though. Two fly harmlessly past, but the other three strike true: One enters the drider's immense torso, and immediately a thick sickly green paste begins to flow from the wound. Two others strike into his legs with enough force to cause the tainted dark elf to almost trip over his own wounded limbs. Having eight, though, proves to be advantageous; for when one leg is no longer responsive to his commands, there is another always ready to take his large weight. And so he staggers in the street, trying somewhat in vain to regain full balance so he can continue forward with his original plan of finding the dandy and tearing him clean in half...
The fall of the House of Penzance
Eboric said, "ooc: The winner, in a 3-0 vote, is Kuzial. Good job, gentlemen. Spectacular duel."
Cornelius finds himself unable to regain his feet, the bloodloss and shock too great. As his eyes darken, and Kuzial approaches, the haunted gentleman of Vailrkin whispers "My children... you have waited so long... at last I'm coming home."
Kuzial spends a moment longer regaining his full balance, before his feral gaze falls to the fallen dandy's form. It seems the recoil caused him to land partially in a globule of webbing, and stuck as he is, the drider can stalk. There is something beautiful about his movements, even with injured legs; an eloquently disgusting mixture of nature and corruption, bound together with the burning rage that ever fuels Kuzial's motives. He briefly glances at those who have come to watch, and maybe for a moment longer than most Joliette is stared at, before the drider takes the final steps and bends down. With arms far stronger than he usually has, he grabs Cornelius by the shoulder and throat and tears him free of the webbing. His armor would tear as easily as his flesh, but in such a state as he is in, the twisted patron isn't to be stopped. He holds the man before him, enjoying the blood that pours from his numerous wounds, before words come from him in that same euphoniously lyrical voice; a stark contradiction to the twisted monster he has become. "I told you on this day you would die..." He ignores the man as he struggles in the powerful grip. "What have you to say now, foolish human?" He sneers then as he lets his grip of the human's throat lessen a touch, allowing for speech...
Cornelius opens his eyes slightly "About bloody time, you useless bastard. End this."
Kuzial grins darkly, before he shifts his grip so one hand holds Cornelius's throat, the other his leg. With a brutal display of drider might, Kuzial pulls with all his strength, literally tearing the human clean in half. Blood and innards flops to the floor beneath the drider's legs, but all this is ignored as he turns and makes his way to where Jolie is. With a disgusted grunt he drops the deceased dandy at her feet, both sides of him flopping wierdly as they continue to pour out blood, before again Kuzial speaks. "No desecration, only death. I will come for you soon enough, lady darkness. To claim my half of our bargain." With a final glare at the gathered masses, Kuzial turns and lets his multitude of legs quickly scurry him away. In his wake is a trail of green-hued blood that continues to pour from his ruptured body, but in light of his success, the patron hardly cares. He has done what he said he would, and now, in his mind at least, he knows none can stop him from destroying those who stand in his way...