Duel:Dalamar v Vornir
(Vornir def. Dalamar)
Location: Open Snowfield Duelists: Vornir, Dalamar Judges: Afli, Heyx, Biqs Stakes: None Time limit: Fifteen Minutes
Vornir appears from the light snowfall, his massive frame towering seventeen feet above the ground. His body is covered in armor, gigantic plates of blue iron linked with chainmail forged from the same, the blue tinged white with frost, though the cold does not seem to bother the northern warrior in the slightest. Holding back the shoulder-length cascade of blond hair is a circlet, also of blue iron, engraved with the royal symbol of Frostmaw's Jarl to denote the Champion's status, flanked on either side by a double-bladed axe emblem, the frost giants' symbol for Aramoth, god of war. In his right hand he carries a coiled whip, the eighteen-foot braided leather lash covered in elemental ice, honed down to a razor's edge. In his left is a circular shield, also of blue iron, nine feet in diameter, with a wickedly sharp spike in the center. The Chosen of Aramoth glances down, catching a glimpse of an intruder on this, his sanctuary. Without warning he acts, his right arm snapping up, then down, unfurling the whip with blinding speed. As it stretches out toward Dalamar, it proves to end in three tendrils of ice-enchanted leather, knotted around a sharp shard of bone. The distance between giant and elf is short enough the the whip, should it strike, could easily wrap all the way around the small mage, ending in the bones embedding themselves solidly in flesh, unless they are somehow blocked. The sharpened ice would bite deep, too, freezing the flesh they touch, while the giant would immediately jerk back on the weapon, the bones liable to take flesh and skin off with them as they retract.
Dalamar walks at an easy pace through this frozen tundra, the mage's robes held tight about his slender form. The far off sound of a whip cracking catches the elf's attention, which is the only other noise he can hear over the whistle of the raging snow. Vornir's attack comes down upon the mage with blinding speed, the foul weapon's intentions known well by the apprentice mage, his life having been spent studying the various races of hollow's lands. Crouching down Dalamar uses his staff to propel himself towards his left side, a quick attempt to evade a most certain death. The leap is somewhat effective for the mage, who watches as Vornir's weapon of choice continues on its directed path. But for as quick as he was to react, the frost giant's whip was the quicker. Dalamar's left leg is entangled by the malign weapon, the assorted sharp edges and freezing enchantments working together to render flesh from bone. A blood curdling scream erupts forth from Dalamar's now enraged form, the mage's mind rushing to find a spell that would free him from this torment. As Vornir rears back the whip, Dalamar is tossed into the air, the giant's brute strength simply tossing the poor elf like a rag doll. The mage lands several yards back with a sickening "thud!", blood running uncontrollably from his nearly severed leg, staining the snow a deep scarlet. Dalamar's focus is quickly regained as his foe is now within site, the young apprentice doing the only thing he can from his current position, and that being his spellcasting. His eyes shut as the incantation begins to flow like water from his lips, the mystical verses he speaks bringing to life the runes that adorn his staff. Lying back across this open field, the staff seems glow with an inner power as Dalamar continues with his spellcasting. In seconds the staff is covered with a mystical azure hue, suddenly vanishing only to reappear in seconds within the adept hands of its master. Now armed with his chosen weapon, the mage opens his gaze, still lost within the castings of his magic. As the giant's massive form draws near, the mage's spell would begin to unfold. From the crystal that rests atop the crown of his staff flares to life a sphere of archaic fire, the sphere growing in size with each passing second. Now at the size of a large melon, Dalamar aims the crown of his staff towards Vornir, unleashing the fireball upon his attacker with haste. The fiery sphere rushes forth, melting the snow in its path as it travels with incredible speed towards Vornir, its intent to incinerate the damned giant where he stands, or cause him as much pain as it possibly can. Either way Dalamar watches this all unfold, the elf praying to Xalious for a successful hit…
Vornir pauses after his whip bites deep, the giant appearing curious as to how this elf would take the pain. Icy blue eyes focus in on the staff, narrowing slightly as the sphere grows larger and larger. It is only when it is released that he recognizes a threat, and ducks down behind his shield. The fire smashes into the broad metal circle, the sudden heat causing the spike to droop a bit, and the shield itself to meld to the armor on his arm, the feel of the scorching metal illiciting a howl of rage and pain. Truly upset now, Vornir abandons the use of the whip in the way it is intended; rather, he flings the whole weapon at his enemy in an effort to distract him, while from the back part of his shield he pulls a short club. Short for him, anyway, a mere five feet in length and made of wood, the effort of pulling it from the small bit of iron that had melted to it causing the giant to grunt, the sound followed by a loud snap as the weapon comes free. This, he smashes against the rim of the shield, which is now sufficiently cooled in the frigid air, letting loose a roar as he does so, adrenaline surging through him as he charges at Dalamar, enormous feet kicking snow high into the air, disturbing the flat blanket that covers the field, although his left arm swings awkwardly, the metal fused together in a cumbersome lump. Upon reaching the mage, the Champion smashes down with his club in a sort of sweeping arc, intended to lift the elf off his feet, then smash him back into the snow, the force liable to bury the little man his own height down into the snow. Hit or miss, the giant swings again and again, hoping to obliterate his foe beneath the barrage of blows.
Dalamar snickers despite the pain he is in as he hears the howl of pain the giant gives off. But it seems this victory shall be short lived as the mage's mighty opponent now bears down upon his crouching form. Fear creeps down the elf's spine as the giant begins his barrage, the elf quickly rolling this way and that in a feeble attempt to dodge what would be a most painful death. This seems to work well for the mage as he evades three, four and five powerful swings of Vornir's club. But lady luck is a foul wench, leaving the poor apprentice mage when he needs her most. The mangled mess of iron that melted upon the frost giant's club is slammed into Dalamar's left side as Vornir's last attack lands mere inches away from tattered form. The force of the blow forces Dalamar's body four feet into the snow, which seems never ending. The mage's watches in horror as he is buried within a tomb of snow, his mind once more racing to collect a spell that would free him of this torment, and rid him of this damned giant! Once again Dalamar relies upon his magic, losing himself once more within the castings of his chosen spell. From within his mock tomb comes forth another mystical glow, this one of a bright crimson hue. The elf knew that he would be no match for one of Vornir's strength and power, and so the mage would bring forth a foe capable of ending the giant here and now. The pain from his wounds bears down upon him, nearly making him lose the spell as all his power was needed to complete it. Once again the crystal atop his staff flares to life, this time it acts as a key to unlocking the portal that now forms from within the snow. Out of this mystical portal comes a shrill cry of the foul beast Dalamar has summoned, the form of the Thorn Demon coming into view after a few moments of silence. The foul presence of the demon brings with it a malign aura of evil, the beasts enthralling gaze locking upon Vornir's massive form as soon as it lies fully upon this plane. Dalamar continues his castings from within the snow, trying to remain hidden from his own summoned servant as he begins to lose his control. He knew the risk in trying to summon such a powerful fiend, though his opponent left him with little other options to pursue. The demon's hideous form rushes out of the portal now, the vile creature reaching out to grab hold of the frost giant, its thorn covered hide capable of tearing flesh from bone with ease. Should the foul beast kill his opponent, Dalamar would breathe easier. But should the frost giant prove the victor over this powerful demon, the mage would be left with only the gods to rely upon for mercy. All of the elf's hopes now lie with this foul demon, and its desire to kill… May the gods have mercy for what comes next…
Vornir again backs off, to observe; it appears as though he is unsure of how to fight something so physically lesser than he himself. But now, something bigger appears, something dark and twisted that Vornir knows shouldn't be here. Now his gauntleted right hand now rises abruptly to his head, metal ringing against metal as he strikes a solid blow to the circlet, the small sacrifice of pain alerting Aramoth to his servant's need. As the warmth of his patron deity flows into him, Vornir is filled with strength beyond that which he already has. Another roar splits the air, bestial and deafening as all the fury of the war god is channeled into the giant warrior. Metal screeches shrilly as he straightens his shield arm, tearing the fused metal apart to give him freedom once more, just in time for the demon to impale itself on the spike, though that doesn't stop it, for its claws tear at Vornir, the screeches of the monster matching those of the metal as they tear through, the blood welling thick and dark from below. This, along with the war god's wrath drives Vornir into an even greater frenzy, and his club smashes down on the demon's head, its blood flying to mix with droplets of his, staining the snow red. The giant pulls his shield back, then slams it forward again, forcing the spike through the demon's chest even as he clubs it again and again, finally shoving the pulped corpse to the ground. Now Vornir turns again to the mage, and though he drips blood steadily, still he attacks with both arms, bent nearly double as his huge shield swings in from one direction, then back, his club mirroring the action from the other side, both kicking up huge amounts of snow, perhaps enough to bury the elf, should he get in the way. Although he is rather ponderous, dressed as he is in full armor, there is no denying the giant's ferocity, nor the brute force put behind each sweeping blow as he tries to pinion his enemy in between shield and club, intending to pop him like a blemish.
Dalamar watches in horror as the Thorn Demon is so easily vanquished, the mage's dreams of being done with this damned giant dying with the beast. As Vornir's attack bears down upon him Dalamar is left with little to no options in defending himself. But in this time of need it seems the mage is once again visited by lady luck, for out of his robes falls a small ring, etched with archaic inscriptions of power. Quickly placing it upon left ring finger, Dalamar speaks the command word that activates the rings enchantment. In the blink of an eye the mage vanishes, Vornir's club and shield slamming together with incredible force, causing the snow about the giant to fly into the air several feet above the warrior. Now in this incorpeal form, Dalamar has no physical being. Using the limited time the ring has provided, the mage rushes forth from out of his would be tomb and makes haste to flank the hopefully unaware giant. As the ring's spell begins to wear off, Dalamar goes to unleashing the last of his spells. From atop the mage's staff flies forth a streak of lightning, this powerful blast of electricity aimed at the giant's back, the mage hoping to all the gods of the realm that this will allow him some kind of out from this massive warrior's unrelenting assault. Beaten, broken and bleeding Dalamar begins to crawl away from the battle. He would not die here this day, not by the hands of this foul giant!
Vornir stops, confused as his foe seems to disappear, all the fury draining out of him as he no longer sees an enemy to fight, leaving him drained, weakened from the loss of blood. Slowly he turns, intending to return to the town for healing, when he catches sight of his enemy again. Instinctually, he throws the club, the heavy piece of wood spinning toward Dalamar...at the same time the mage launches the lightning. The tiny bit of metal that melded to the club draws the attention of the electricity so that the two attacks collide, the club bursting into flames as it is sent back at the giant, who takes it full in the chest. He slumps to a sitting position, the wind knocked completely out of him.
Winner: Vornir, 2-1.
Vornir = 1-0