Duel:Esgalon v Rheven

Location: Dry Land

Judges: Hessed, Marshal, Isen

Winner: Rheven

Esgalon plants lazy footsteps into the parched wilderness, the elf's legs singed from the scorching heat of a previous encounter as he hobbles in cautiously. Icy cold optics of brilliant azure catch sight of the archmage of Hollow, a cruel sneer arising upon the pallid mask of the high elven dark paladin at the blood curdling appearance of such a foe. Taut digits wrap just that much tighter about the hilt of his brandished blade, the tainted steel doused with the blood of saurons that drops lethargically to the hardened ground. His eyebrows cock themselves downwards at his brow, the gaze of the hunter honing in upon the one that lies across from him upon this field of battle. Assured steps are taken with ginger strength given to each, adrenaline from the fight to come pumping through Esgalon's veins as he forgets all about the excruciating pain that each step inflicts upon his own self. Howling a war cry that seems to drone on for miles in this barren landscape, the paladin squeezes the blemished steel with both hands now, left arm coming across his body as the force of physical energy is readied to exude itself at a moment's notice. As the distance between both vanish like the setting of the sun upon the horizon, the runic markings upon the hunter's chest flare with pure magnificence as they begin the tell-tale signs of the impending assault. As the malicious blade sets to motion, an aid comes to light, literally, as the runes of Vakarash upon the bare torso of the vampire hunter illuminate with unrivaled heresy bent on giving that precious second needed to split the mage in twine at the waist.

Rheven merely smirks at Esgalon as he makes his approach, stretching out his robed arms and giving a familiar 'snap' of his fingers. Oshikai shimmers into existence seemingly out of nowhere and is seized by the arch mage, the powerful staff held close to his body; both his eyes and nasal senses catch the presence of lethal dragon blood tainting the hunter's blade, relying on his magically attuned senses to sense the exact moment needed to avoid the incoming assault. Just before the runes of Vakarash flare to life, Rheven moves with a speed previously undeployed, seeming little more than a pale blur that ducks low before rolling to the right across the parched ground of the earth, narrowly avoiding the unforgiving edge of the lethal weapon of Esgalon. Rising like a charmed serpent, the vampire lord stands to his feet and takes careful steps backward, gaining just enough distance to form his first effort upon Vakarash's chosen hunter. Pointing Oshikai directly at the high elf, the mage's pale lips part to the tune of a strange spell, the words absolutely mind boggling to those that do not practice such magic - suddenly a wind kicks up in this desolate battleground, sending the sands swirling about before converging around Esgalon, though they never touch his flesh...the speed, however, becomes so high that it seems to obscure Rheven's foe from view. Without any prior warning, the Lord of Venturil's spell ends with a vicious shout! The specks of sand suddenly catch flame, as if the speed that travel caused them to heat up, though surely this is not the case; Esgalon now stands in the midst of a fiery inferno that begins to close around him, surely bringing the temperatures to a hellish level as the conflagration threatens to devour him whole.

Esgalon collapses to his knees as the air in this inferno begins to choke upon his very lungs, burning embers finding their way into his mouth, scorching both inside and outside skin of the hunter. Unable to scream in pure agony, the dark paladin relies upon the hushed tones of whispers that force themselves out of the cracked, dry lips as they go to rush in seeking the relief of his liege. The runes that grace the slowly charring skin of Esgalon come to life, protecting their chosen paladin as the lights form a shell about the wounded high elf. As the fires subside due to lack of oxygen, the prison of the vampire hunter relieves its burden, allowing the warrior to stand erect as a majority of his body is singed, rags now upon his legs covering barely what they once did. Abruptly, the paladin throws his head back, shaking his sword in his right hand skyward as he calls out to Vakarash now with a barreling voice, the thick, obsidian fog now cascading down from the sudden appearance of clouds high overhead. It circles about its caller, dancing around his burnt form as it envelopes him completely, surely disappearing from the sight of his foe for a moment or two. Then, with a feverish intensity renewed, the tainted blade is thrust towards the figure of Rheven, the smoke flowing quickly towards the arch mage as it begins to encircle him now. A finale is lofted from the horrendously burnt creature, barely standing as he sways from side to side as his strength begins to lessen. In response to the last syllables, the smog now collapses down onto the vampire, the mist bent on penetrating every orifice as it now bursts forth with life. In its wake a burst of amethyst given as the dark energies of Vakarash seek to impale the arch mage of Hollow and electrocute the undead.

Rheven doesn't waste time with relishing his temporary success over the hunter, instead bringing his powerful staff back to his side as the obsidian fog falls over the chosen battlefield like a blanket. Unheeding of the hunter's blade since the distance between the two is too much for another strike, the swirling fog is given more attention as the vampire hunches down, a crimson aura bleeding from Oshikai and enveloping the mage as a smirk comes across his lips, making him seem almost demonic in apperance. Even with the arch mage's arrogance though, he does not expect what comes! The thick clouds envelope Rheven in that undoubtedly divine source of energy, penetrating his every bore and burning down to the very spirit within; the pain that follows is superior to the damage done by mundane blades...it is complete, scorching the depths of his soul. A cry of agony comes forth before shifting to a shout of defiance, sending that aura around the vampire flaring even more violently as the energies disperse, having done their work - Rheven stands even now, his robes tattered and fluttering lightly in protest with the wind, although his flesh now appears weathered and worn, and his emerald eyes burn with an untold fury as he stares at Esgalon, weakly raising his weapon as his lips part once more, "I must give you credit for finally facing me, hunter, but it ends today. I will send you back to your lord as nothing more than a pathetic shell of what you once were!" The last word is more of a scream as Oshikai begins to shudder, an ethereal presence seeping forth from the weapon, taking the shape of a somewhat humanoid being weilding a blade - only, the blade seems solid unlike him. This spirit is none other than Sidron, killed by the arch mage and summoned forth now as nothing more than a puppet...blackened flames begin to ooze from Rheven's staff as well, known as the devouring kuirlkisks, surrounding the spirit of Sidron as the being is suddenly given a gentle shove from the mage's staff. Sidron, or what is left of him, launches forth with untold velocity, blade poised and directed to make a fleshy sheathe out of Esgalon's gut; the spiritual flames launch forward as well, and the intent is suddenly clear. The blade to wreak havoc on the hunter's body, while the flames seek the soul.

Esgalon sways as a zombie might, his strength from such deeds done this day completely taxing upon his broken body. He listens to the arrogance of the arch mage, showing no emotion however as he instead mumbles words to himself, the life magick going to work upon his own body in regenerative proportions. Witnessing the calling of such a spirit quickly diverts the attention of the paladin, eyes growing in size as brows lift upward, or what remains of the hair upon his brow. The entity is given full, undivided attention as he slowly raises his blade in preparation, drawing it parallel to his chest as the tip heralds skyward. "Not this day, mage," floats from the beaten being as the strike comes down harshly upon his own sword, the strength of the blow horrendous, malicious, and extremely violent. However, a blessing in disguise this is as the supreme effort sends the elf flailing to the side, unceremoniously crashing to the ground with a resounding thud as the flames harmlessly devour the open air. Sprawling about the ground for what seems an eternity to the hunter, he plants both of his charred hands upon the barren soil, pushing his beaten body up as legs follow suit to stabilize him as his body screams in pain. As he arrives to his feet, Esgalon stands there, unrelenting to the forces at work against him this day as he, again, points the tainted steel towards the form of Rheven. This time, no fog comes, but rather a beam of pure white essence howls like a fury released from the steel to the vampire. In its path, the realization of the spell is achieved as the ground begins to grow fertile life, plant and animal. The mystical powers held in check by the dark paladin are those of regeneration, now squarely unleashed upon the dead corpse of the vampire as the hunter sways even more, soon collapsing to his knees upon the lush ground as the last of the beam is directed towards its mark.

Rheven sneers as the servant fails to do as instructued, giving a dismissive wave as the spirit of Sidron and the soul-seeking flames vanish from view. Turning his marred visage toward the desperate Esgalon, the mage grins, though his lips are so ashen that it hardly looks appealing; when the beam that brings life erupts forth and sings toward the arch mage, even in his arrogance he knows the speed at which it travels is probably too much for his wounded form. Turning his head, the vampire spots a stray scorpion scurrying through the area and a dreadfully ingenious idea comes to life within his mind, extending his hand toward the arthropod - abruptly, an aura incases both the mage and the scorpion, and within a blink of the naked eye, they both vanish! Seconds later they reappear, having switched places as the beam of life slams full force into the scorpion...being that it was already alive, the thing begins to swell to several times its original size, feeding off of the energy given. When it's all done, the vicious little arthropod is not so little any longer, and it hisses at Rheven, thinking him his prey; the weakened mage shakes his head and drops to his knees, weakened yet still seeking to command the scorpion without exerting more magic. "No, you ungrateful beast! He..." Pointing to Esgalon, a simple aura highlights his form...harmless, only intended to give indication. "...Is your meal today, so feast!" Noticing the aura that envelopes Esgalon, the scorpion turns his attention toward the high elf and scuttles toward him, lunging out at the hunter's waist with an oversized claw. At nearly the same time the claw comes forth, the now giant stinger plunges toward Esgalon as well, the toxins within surely more voilatile than before...clearly, Rheven is seeking to turn his opponent's own effort against him and leave him nothing more than the lunch of a desert inhabitant.

Esgalon watches in dismay as the rather large creature comes to life, the opposite of his true intent realized as the arch mage escapes unharmed. A moan loosens itself from the horrified lips that currently quiver with fear as the lumbering animal approaches. Able to do little from his kneeling position, the hunter is left with but one choice. Ducking his head to his chin, tucking it in with supreme effort, he tumbles forward, rolling with a sense of urgency underneath the monstrosity as the claws of fatalistic desire are heard "cracking" overhead, echoing in the mind of the dark paladin as the poisonous stinger impales the ground where he was mere seconds before. Upon finding sanctity, at least for a moment stolen in time, Esgalon plunges his blade towards the belly of the beast with the last ounces of strength inhabiting his body, the blood now showering his form as he violently grabs the hilt with both hands, wrenching it to and fro, not caring about delicacy but rather maiming and slaughtering. Forgetful of the position in which he now has placed himself in, the hunter makes a rather grievous error in that the corpse of the overwhelming brute is now reeling downwards leaving little time for an escape to be attempted. He turns upon his belly, leaving the brand inside the scorpion as hands grasp for anything to aid in his hasty departure, which comes nary a moment too late as the crispified body of the high elf pants for air as his consciousness wanes.