Duel:Emerus and Revan v Helga

Location: Middle of Town
Duelists: Emerus and Revan (Team Hildegarde) v Helga (Team Balgruuf, NPCed by Hildegarde)
Judges: Khitti, Raiez and Tristram
Stakes: If Emerus and Raven win, the hostages are saved and Balgruuf's business destroyed. If Helga wins, the hostages burn, thereby eliminating Balgruuf's competition,

Middle of Town

Revan is always one for dramatic entrances so it seems out of character that he makes his way toward the marketplace so casually with his Malachite-Hewn Serrated Scythe held in the bend of his arm. The heels of his boots clack against the cold cobbled street until he coming to an abrupt stop on point allowing a pause for him to examine his surroundings. The heavy black hood which so often hides his features is collapsed on his shoulders and no effort is made to hide the disfigured complexion of the undead complete with a gaping hole in his throat leaking fluids, flies buzzing about his entire person and pulsating bubbles beneath the surface hinting at live maggots gnawing away at what flesh remains. Glowing red eyes take in the chaos of the market and contact is made with hostages tied to a large stake at the center of the plaza, they seem to have fallen victim to some form of brutality though their pleading cries and desperate stares are apparently reserved for someone appearing more heroic, looks of confusion and fear offered to the zombie are met only with a cold and cruel silence before his burning gaze proceeds to cover the rest of the area finding it littered with abused trade goods. The uneasy silence surrounding the place is shattered by the cry of an avian, a black mass descends rapidly through the sky slowing only to settle upon the illusionists' shoulder revealing it to be a white necked raven. Flaring his nostrils Revan takes in three sharp inhales that are sounded off by an unpleasant gargling in his throat, he then takes the Serrated Scythe into his left hand and twirls it around an intimidating fashion, the sound of the blade cutting through the wind capturing the attention of the hostages once more. Alright, maybe he can be a little dramatic.

Emerus could care less about fancy entrances or introductions. He is more simple than that. The wood elf finds his way to the market place, met by a devastating sight, with hostages. He eyes them in the center of the place and looks about, taking note of Revan, the undead. He narrows his eyes and quickly grabs his bow with an arrow, preparing himself for a fight. For an elf who uses a bow, he sure does dress differently. Breast plate and spikes adorn his torso, a bit of protection for the male. A hooded cape keeps his face hidden from view, casting it in shadow. The elf remains on his toes, eyes ever shifting to his surroundings, his mind and heart telling him that there is something else here. The figure across the way couldn't have done this himself, not with the diverse races among the hostages. For a moment he locks blue optics with the other, or tries, then nods his head and moves about the market place, listening closely and taking in anything that seems out of place. No grand entrance here.

Helga, unlike Emerus and Revan, is all for a grand and dramatic entrance. As the snow mingled smoke billows by, she steps through the smoke of the brazier and towards Emerus and Revan. She stares down at these puny mortals and laughs for a moment. “Are you here to save them?” she asks the would be anti-heroes, gesturing her trident at the large and grotesque looking stake. “You cannot save these wretches,” she tells them with a knowing smile. Helga is confident in her ability to inflict cruelty upon others. In fact, she looks well versed in that: fitted in what looked like a steel scale suit of armour, evidently lighter than platemail and offering more mobility, but still offering her much needed protection. “Come forth and die,” she bids them both; suddenly swinging the trident so a serrated tine would slice at the almost obscure rope and cut it in twain. With a ‘twang’, the rope shuddered upwards and rapid speed and a brazier tipped onto what appeared to be oil; leading directly to the stake. Helga is grinning devilishly at the pair. They must decide what they will do.

Revan has his stare diverted from the stalking wood elf by the arrival of Helga who earns his full attention, an unfaltering stare as she babbles on about their demise. Though when she cuts the rope Revan drops his scythe to his side and breaks out into a sprint towards the aggressor, his weapon sparking as it grazes the cobblestone path. During his approach he thrusts his free hand into the air signaling his raven to take flight, the black bird launching itself skyward before exploding into a thick shadowy cloud that appears to be a hundred or so clones of the avian. Their cries drown out all sound and they advance to peck and claw at Helga's visage in an effort to blind her from the still advancing illusionist. As he gets even closer, Revan's form splits into two and then four and soon six replicas of the undead himself are charging Helga in a V formation, each of them leaping into action with their weapons ready to slice and maim her legs, the intention to bring the giant tumbling down to the earth to even the odds. As for the hostages? Emerus could handle that chore.

Emerus watches as Revan jumps to action, focusing his attention on the brute female before them. This gives Emerus time to leap towards the hostages to help them, using an arrow tip to slice at the ropes binding them together. This isn't going to be easy, seeing as the elf didn't even carry a dagger on him. Shadowed eyes keep glancing at Revan and the giantess, keeping track of their movements as he frees at least two of the victims. Upon reaching the third, his hands were shaking a bit too much for him to even cut the rope properly, so he settled for trying to throw snow on the oil to help keep flames from the stake for as long as possible. He is not ready for a fight like this, isn't even prepared for it. Yep, the wood elf has no idea what he has just gotten himself into. For now, he focuses on trying to untie the ropes instead of cut them, freeing at least one more hostage. He still had plenty to go.

Helga’s hostages had been bound in a combination of rope and chain alike. Chain for the giants, rope for the little elves and other measly sorts. They weren’t as important to her or Balgruuf. With Emerus focused on releasing the hostages, it seemed as though Helga only had Revan to contend with for the moment and, well, that didn’t really bother her. She could hunt any escapees down later if she so wished. Undead like Revan were deeply despised in Frostmaw, for they had been the root of many problems throughout the years. Helga’s own father had been a paladin and had taught her how to deal with any undead that might creep up on their shack near Lake Frysta. She can sense that despicable rottenness around Revan, she needn’t look upon his dead face to know it. As he begins to approach, she too takes a step forward – her long giant legs carrying her closer to Revan than Revan could reach in that short run – and drops the blue iron woven net she had been carrying to land upon Revan. It drops swiftly, just as he extends his arm to release the ravens at her. Helga stumbles backward, barking out a prayer to cause the blue iron net to pulsate in the golden aura of the divine. The ravens come for her face, cawing and irritating! But the giantess reaches downward, not upward: grasping one of the escaped elves to swing him up in an overhead arch – ignorant to his screams of terror and agony – to bat the ravens away and then swing his body full force at the trapped Revan to crush his undead corpse under the sheer force of the speeding – soon to be dead – elf. However, Helga knows the undead to be wily ones. She steps forward again and slams her foot hard on the heavy net to keep it in place as the tines of her trident repeatedly poke at the weave of the net in an attempt to spear Revan.

Revan doesn't falter in his assault even as the ground beneath his feet trembles fromt the weight of the rushing frost giant, his emotionless expression lacking any hint of fear or intimidation if it were present. Despite his focus the blue iron net makes contact with all six clones sending smoke rising into the air from the trap as their skin sizzles and unearthly shrieks ring out from beneath the device. While Helga bats at the ravens with her hostage, an audible popping can be heard as three of the birds transform into more versions of the unholy servant, the bodies below now absent as if evaporating with the smoke acting as a diversion. The three figures act quickly using the mass of ravens for footing, the first of them spinning in multiple rotations with his scythe to build up momentum while aiming for the wrist wielding the elf hoping to slice him free while the second holds his weapon inverted before lunging at the giant's throat with the sharpened tail end of his hilt and the third twirling over her shoulder while swinging the serrated blade in an arc with the intention to pierce Helga's flesh and slide all the way down her back like a jacket's zipper.

Emerus couldn't free all the hostages by himself, unable to cut through iron. The wood elf takes a moment to glance up at Helga now and undead who is occupied with her. With a smirk, the male quickly grabs his bow and an arrow and shoots two of the hostages he just freed, two elves, one a wood elf. He drops what he is doing without a second thought and faces the fighting behind him, laughing at the sight of the trapped undead. He didn't much care for them, even if they were on the same side, but they aren't. The hooded elf works for a drowess and now is his time to make her proud. His laughing would probably catch the attention of both Revan and Helga, but he didn't care, he is now letting an arrow go at the undead, the arrow heads small enough to pierce through the holes of the netting. Sprinting towards the giantess, he reaches into one of his sleeves and pulls out a few darts and throws them at the transforming birds, to get rid of them so that the only one to deal with his Revan himself. The elf used as a weapon is looked up at, sneered at, and cast aside like he was a toy not worth playing with. Emerus fires three more arrows at the netting, perching atop a broken market stand, that still stands itself. He watches and waits, arrow at the ready for that disgusting undead creature.

Helga’s net has rendered the clones on the ground into wisps of smoke to waft harmlessly into the air, drifting off on the wind to only the gods know where. The giantess had swung the elf towards the net, too, in the hopes of crushing the real Revan inside it: rendering the elf to only a shattered shell of a body and his pulpy flesh spattering across the marketplace. With a deep chuckle, the woman reaches forth to swiftly pull at the net once again and swings it upright above her head though she does not release it. With the net swung like a wicked cat-of-nine-tails; glowing with that holy aura still, it acts almost like a wicked set of holy helicopter blades: rotating constantly through the efforts of her meaty wrist to keep her head clear and effectively keep Revan from swinging down at her with that wicked scythe. She cannot stop to thank Emerus for his assistance – nor would her pride let her, he’s an elf – but she can appreciate the arrows that fire at what crows might still try to peck at her. Assuming Revan does not have the time nor the means to divert his course – and is in fact not an illusionary clone – the whipping helicopter motion of the net would send the undead flying towards the great statue that stood sentinel of the marketplace. Helga laughs and chuckles loudly and deeply (think of the cyclops from Disney’s Hercules, who she probably looks a bit similar to) as the statue crackles and crumbles from the sheer force of her swing; from the sheer force of the little undead man’s body against the stones. If Revan does not move, the statue will surely crumble atop him and crush him into pulp like the elf before. Helga readies her trident; ready to spear the undead should he stir.

Revan suddenly finds himself to be public enemy number one in the marketplace as arrows whiz past his head prompting burning optics to snap to the side and stare at Emerus with an unspoken promise to the woodland elf, one that declares "You will die". In the midst of combat the three airborne Revans find themselves in unfortunate circumstances. The one who aimed for Helga's throat finds an arrow lodged into his neck causing him to spiral to the stone below with a splat while the one flipping over her shoulder is caught by the net and is propelled into the statue with a gargled groan as the material collapses to crush him beneath the overwhelming weight. This leaves the third that had attempted unsuccessfully to slice Helga's wrist and who was now free falling back to the earth, twirling the scythe horizontally above his head manages to slow his fall enough to allow him to land on his feet with an elegant grace, the undead taking advantage of his less fortunate counterparts demise as a distraction and seconds after his touch down he's twirling the weapon again before slamming the hilt into the ground causing an explosion rose petals to litter the area like confetti before he emerges by the remaining hostages. The illusionists work is quick and efficient, each swipe of his weapon breaking the binds that hold them until each and everyone of them are freed, the smaller races are ordered to flee while the undead halts the giants to command their assistance, a long index finger with the bone protruding from the tip points to Helga and a gravelly, coarse voice commands them "Rise. Claim your stake." Little convincing is needed considering recent events and the four giants turn their attention to Helga before rushing her with ground trembling battle cries leaving the undead with his full attention on Emerus. He charges forward with great strides making good to dodge any arrows fired in his direction showcasing excellent agility for a decayed bag of bones. Once in range Revan makes a rising motion with his left palm summoning a plethora of legless skeletal entity's atop of the market stall that grab at the elf's feet to try rooting him in place and then, pulling back with all of his might, Revan leaps into the air with a spin and releases his scythe making it a high velocity projectile aiming to cut the treacherous bastard clean in half.

Emerus not having taken off his hooded cloak, still keeping his identity a mystery. He watches and listens all around him for anything that could jump out at him, all the while noting all that went on with Helga and Revan, watching Revan free the rest of the hostages. Emerus quickly shoots three more arrows, missing two of the hostages and injuring one. Hissing he jumps off the market stand just as skeletal beings make their appearance, causing a major rush in heart beats. There is little time to aid Helga furthermore, since Revan has his attention on the hooded wood elf. Emerus loudly speaks to Revan, the language that of the drow, a curse of death and misfortune for him. Quickly running away from the skeletal things, he reaches into his sleeve and throws ebony colored darts at the Undeads upper torso and neck, followed up by swift fingers with the bow, an arrow flying through the air, at Revan's belly. The wood elf takes a blow from the scythe, his right shoulder sliced open, screaming in pain. Forgetting to have taken his potions and tonics from Artia, he is now having to deal with the bloody wound along with throwing dart after dart at Revan, making his way closer to Helga. He fires two arrows at Revan, the first at his throat, the second wavering off to the side, missing the Undead completely. Emerus curses the undead in the drow langauge, and gives it his all to dodge Helga and the freed giants, staining the ground with his crimson blood.

Helga is not overly pleased by the release of the hostages, but nor is she unhappy about it. They would die either way now, these old and fat merchants who knew little of war or could barely remember the days they wielded a sword. Weaponless as they are, these giants are charging towards her and she is grinning like a maniac. Blood will rain down from the skies at this rate. They charge carelessly towards her: the little people are meaningless to them when the call of war, when the call to fight is heard. It is likely that both Emerus and Revan will be caught by the stampede like charge, the very ground shaking and trembling under their feet: they will have to be careful not to be squished in the flurry of giants that approach Helga. But Helga is not afraid. She would gladly die for her King if it was asked of her. The giantess waits for the merchants to draw ever closer, waiting patiently before casting her net at two who had come in close together and sprinting for the remaining two: a woman and what might be her husband running behind her. The trident is held level at the belly, held firm and outright as Helga roars with defiance. Her roar conceals the soft squish of flesh and the bodies conceal her next movement from the battling Emerus and Revan. The giant has planted her foot against the ground, relying on her weight and strength to firmly lodge the trident in the belly of the woman before finally pushing the body forward and against that of her own husband who was too shocked, too baffled by his wife's injury to protest the motion. The giantess smirks at the pair, "Traitor!" she hisses at them, twisting her body with a groaning cry of effort to swing the body of the fellow giantess to wallop it against her husband and send him stumbling towards Revan and Emerus. Let him crush the smaller men. But Helga is not done here, no, she steps forward to raise her trident high above her head with a scream of effort before swinging it down: using the merchant woman as a meaty mace to render Emerus and Revan into fleshy pulp.

Revan is at home in the chaos that surrounds him, the carnage unfolding aiding to fuel the fire that keeps the abomination alive. His glowing crimson eyes refuse to falter from the hooded assailant even as his scythe tears apart his enemies flesh. Steady and firm steps continue towards Emerus even as the darts meet their marks puncturing his chest and neck followed by the arrow sticking flawlessly like a pitch fork into a bale of hay. The force of contact causing him a slight stagger though it does not impede his continued advance. Perhaps the greatest perk of being a product of necromantic evil is a lack of pain or death by conventional means. He's pulling the ranged objects from his skin when he spots the falling giant and performs a quick roll forward narrowly dodging a immediate demise though the aftershock sends him falling to his stomach to shove the arrow he'd only partially removed the rest of the way through his back. Rising to his he finds Helga making her move with the mangled mace and raises one hand to the sky and another to his equal sized foe forcing a forged image into their minds via a cunning illusion. In her sight, Helga would spot Emerus pinning the undead beneath his weight and beating him with his good arm and in his, Emerus would see Revan suddenly appear by his side with a massive gaping maw decorated with razor sharp teeth dripping blood lunging to bite his head clean off while in reality Revan has already begun his dash away from the fight allowing the sole target of Helga's might to be the bastard elf.

Emerus isn't expecting the sudden appearance of the undead and has to fight to dodge the tumbling giants as well as Helga and the illusion. He yelps and fires arrows at the illusion, both passing through like it was thin air. Clutching his shoulder he leaps out of the way, the shake of the earth beneath his feet taking him off balance and throwing him bad shoulder first into the ground. Somehow he manages to keep a hold of his bow, screams again from the sudden pain to his shoulder, despite it already being there. Catching sight of the fleeing undead, he growls, "Go ahead and run you filthy thing. Bloody coward!" The rest is spoken in drow, cursing him to find his fate soon by the hand of the giants. The hooded wood elf keeps his distance from Helga, but he remains in the area, watching her then calling out to her, "I am not your enemy. I pray that you accomplish your goal." Still he doesn't leave but smiles at the carnage of bodies strewn about.

Helga wins!

Perhaps it was the divine protection of the gods or perhaps Helga didn't quite have the emotional capacity to be fazed by the illusion that Revan tried to project into her mind. She cared not if they fought amongst themselves, she would like to see them both dead. With the meaty mace swinging down at the two of them, it crunches upon impact and undoubtedly causes the pair to surrender against the earth from the sheer force. With another mad chuckle, the giantess readies the meaty mace for another strike: this time swinging from the side to send her opponents soaring away from her like a wicked game of golf. Now... Now it was all but a case of rounding up whoever was left to tie them to the stake again and watch the enemies of her king burn.