Duel:Hadrian v Rilling
Duel Info
- Judges: Rawnie, Thea
- Stakes: OOCFC Round 1 Advancement
- Assigned Duel Details: Halfling Necromancer
- Rd/time: 3rds / 15 min
- Date: 07/18/2012
- Venue: Halfling Burial Grounds
- Decision: Hadrian
Venue
Hadrian vs Rilling
Hadrian || The decrepit, hunched form of a halfling lurks near the dark shadows of a tombstone, his fingers idly tracing the intricate script etched into the granite surface. His blackened lips, painted so by design, unfurl to issue a hiss as he recoils to an upright standing position. Rather gangly for a halfling, this stickly old coon wears a baggy robe about his frame, his hips and ribs poking out in places as the wind grips and pulls against it. Volknir, the mighty halfling Necromancer, raises his chosen weapon high up in his fist, to declare himself champion to the mounds below his feet. But oh? What is this? His neck cranes around so to suggest almost an unearthly way about him, beady black eyes falling upon the encroaching presence of yet another of his kind. He can -smell- his damned rival from lieges away! How befitting for the enemy Necromancer to attempt to run afowl Volknir's machinations. A cry of anger issues from deep within the bellows of Volknir's tiny lunges, expelling a stench of rotted meat and fetid breath, to serve as the horn of battle heralding the beginning of battle. His chosen weapon, Maleficarus--a stout twig with unruly grain--is shaken wildly about, his entire body flailing with the effort behind the summonation of what is to be brought hereupon the graveyard made battlefield. Like a sickening crack of thunder too close, the headstones of two graves crumble to pieces, before the previous patrons of those long-abandoned graves begin to scramble up out of their poorly-crafted domicile. "I'll finish you once and for all," Volknir spits with venom, his brow furrowing down against the strain of magics unfurled. Two undead Halflings amble toward the growing form of the enemy Necromancer, growling and groaning in horrid anticipation of tearing asunder the flesh of mortals. To further bolster the weight in which the feared Volknir attacks, Maleficarus is hefted over his balding head, to release a harrowing blast of fire--to lick his own creations and add further danger to the opposite as the stumble closer!
Rilling gazed at the melancholy surroundings of the burial mounds. Truly, this was the only place where she felt at home. This place was so secure... However, it appears that today some very rude halving has decided to stumble around and out unsightly footprints all over her happy-shiny-place! How dare he much up my sense of security. As her glare grew more heavy and intense she swiftly realizes that her presense has become known. In a hurry she gathers her composure figuring this could only end in one of two ways. Either she would die, or this bastard halfling over here would continue on as her undead play-toy. She revealed in this menevolent thought. 'Oh right, back to fighting' she reminds herself inside her head whilst once again focusing on the opposing halfling. She grins as the pathetic creature starts to raise the dead. Eerily and high pitched she cackles effectively taunting him "Oh please! Don't you know my pretties would never harm a hair on my head?" with that she draws out what appears to be a worn tomb, drenched in dried blood stains. Sprawling her hand across the cover, a black steam gives rise saturating the entire area in pure darkness. Quickly having to act quick to deal with the sudden influx of flames and zombies headed her way, she tosses her tattered cloak out in front of her, almost instantly it seems to combust. It had absorbed majority of the incoming heat yet she still felt sweat to begin to drip down her figure. That was a close call and her seared eyebrows can vogue for such. Quickly on the counterattack, she glares into her homemade shrouded darkness and curses with her nastiest snark. The zombies were upon her and she only had one option. Quickly she tore through her person struggling to find the-ahah! Holding up a clay tablet she brutally hurls it to the ground. Upon breaking het body begins to glow with a violet steady glow. She smiled at her work. She then barked out to the undead ensemble. "Tear him limb to limb my pets! Don't let mommy down!" With that, the creatures almost instant turn around and head towards their initial summoner through the haze intending to sample upon his flesh. She grins proud in the fact that her 'turn undead' tablet had been successful. She however rears she will regret using it so early on. Only time will tell...
Hadrian || Volknir doesn't need to see! It would be preposterous for one to think a Necromancer of his skill would be deterred by the festering cloud of darkness, threatening to consume them all like a shade come from the netherworld. His eyes close, as he struggles to prod the lifeless puppets of his, if only to soon realize he has no further control over him. "Blasted tramp!" He hollers into the darkness, spittle flying freely. His free hand thrusts itself into his robes, to pull free the object of his desire... The Shackles of Undeath! The manacles are lifted over his head, shaking it about as if in damnation of the Gods on high. Little to his knowledge, one of those Zombies in his previous employ, swipe out at him, their flesh-ridden bony fingers tearing easily into his loosely-knitted robes. Pain lights his little eyes, and he recoils, falling into one of those blasted graves! Blood seeps out of his side from the damned undead claw and his rump now hurts! But he is safe for the moment, as those blundering idiots claw and swipe above his head, far too stupid to descend into the pit themselves! Volknir doesn't hesitate, afraid to lose any precious moment he has to bring the culmination of his power to reckoning. The shackles, along with Maleficarus, is swept about in bold gestures--the rusted iron-wrought chains clang together in the dead of night, beckoning the coming of something diaphanous. Something ethereal at first, but made stronger by the raw power of his twig-made-wand. The howls of souls are released upon his enemy, to pull violently at her very soul, and rock her very foundation, in desperate want to rip free her sanity. It is all he can do to buy time enough to deal with these undead creations, whom seem to be have gotten the idea and are beginning to climb down with him. He does what any sensible halfling would! He climbs right back out, earning another score across that saggy behind during flight! A tear of pain rolls down his cheek, but he manages to hide the sniffle that would otherwise escape past his nose. That hurt!
Rilling having bought some precious seconds wastes not a second preparing for her second assault. Once she sees the pitiful halfling seek fallout in the open grave, she turns her attention elsewhere. Standing on top of a burial mound she tries to come to terms with what exactly she can do to hold off her own demise. Shaking from the pressure, she finds herself again cackling however known only to her this time it I'd out of fear. It is then that she begins to feel that of a chilling presense. Gah! It is as every nerve of her entire being is being compacted to the point that it explodes. Overwhelmed by such she begins to sob uncontrollably. She knows she has to keep moving however and a breakdown would only seal her fare as of now. Despret she flails open her book and starts screaming what appears to be vengeful gibberish off the too of her lungs. It is then that her potential savior rises from his crypt. The skeleton of a long departed halfling eerily ascends experiencing his new lease on life. Festering with anger from the pain, Rilling intends to make this man whoever he is suffer. She scans through her reading until she comes across a page that upon reading brings a dastardly grin to her disposition. She begins to laugh in her maddmess once again even snorting. Her uncouth behavior is unimportant however, what is important is her plan. And what a plan it is, feverishly she tears out the page with the enchantment listed and sticks it upon her minions skull. Whilst holding her hand upon it her body begins to flash with Thessaly violet glow as earlier, yet this time of a much brighter consistency. She commands to it in a most spine curtailing tone. "Grow my pretty! Grow up for Mama, show everyone how big and strong you are! Drink Mama's milk!" grinning she steps back from her creation and watches it spring up in size to that of a giant's skeleton. Her labor of love was to be her lifeline. Appaled she sees her nemesis has managed to make his way back outside of the grave. Didn't he know that that's where he belongs? Unable to rake the unbearable pain, Rilling collapses to her knees. With a lot of effort she finnalkt chokes out. "F-Feeed!!" before buckling down to the pains that be.
Hadrian || Volknir keeps a wary eye upon the minions that thrash about in mad desperation to free themselves from the grave they managed to regain. For now, they are no longer a bother to the scheming mind of the Necromancer. The space he retreats to is safely from the confines of that thick plume of darkness, his eyes to fall upon the growling monstrosity his foe has brought to life. The Death Mage smiles grimly, flashing a bit of the decayed teeth in his mouth, whilst appreciating the predicament he finds himself in now. He is no melee fighter and so he must keep clear of that new minion! The manacles hang loosely within his grasp, Maleficarus pointed out in fierce determination to send that abomination back to the depths from whence it came! He begins to chant, the guttural words he speaks some long-forgotten archaic form of magic, for with their utterance, comes the power harbor. A hex of terrible design, the overgrown bag of bones is left to amble about, swinging wildly with reckless abandon, hoping to feed upon whatever is closest in his confused state; in shorter words, he is unable to discern friend from foe. Volknir, devoid of close-quarter combat, begins to panic as the thing lumbers still yet towards him. It's maw lashes out and clamps upon Volknir's shoulder, which spurs free the release of pain in the form of a bloodcurdling scream! His gangly body is sent flailing, as a chunk of his meat is ripped clean, resulting in another cry of mortal anguish. Blood quickly turns his robes into a glistening fabric of red and tears run freely down his face. The mighty Volknir will not yield! Once more, Maleficarus is brought to the forefront--whilst the large undead ambles away in its confusion--and with the surefire gift of a powerful Necromancer, Volknir brings to fruition his deathly-magics. Fog. It seeps from the loose earth below, clearly ominous in origination, as it shifts and slides with a personified intelligence, growing all the more profound. It swarms Volknir's foe, intent on suffocating her with the stench of undeath, rot, and decay. A sheen of sweat clusters above his brow upon completion of his spell and his body sags, clearly worn from the strain of battle, but his eyes retain their fiery determination to prevail.
Rilling already heavily crippled from the onslaught currently taking place upon her insides is despretly trying to hold herself together. She is on the verge of passing out enduring the worst pain of her life. Swaying back and forth while facing the ground whilst on her knees the pain continues to intensify. Any strand of sanity she might if had at the beginning battle is now gone. Spastically she starts clawing at her scalp in a state of dementia. And then the corruption kicks off. The horrible smell of rotten decay takes over her entire being. Acknowledging such, her mouth suddenly hangs open and let's force a steaming stream of vomit. Ugh, nothing could describe the way she was feeling right now. She couldn't just go through all of this for nothing she tells herself. Enraged, she will turn the pain to strength. Using every last ounce of energy, Rilling jumps to her feet and stares at the male halfling. Her eyes now red with rage, she snarls at him, no longer able to communicate it seems. Overcome with fury, Rilling quickly looks for her spell book, her rage blinding her from reasonable thinking. Once upon locating it, covered in throwup nonetheless, she looks upon it like it's the greatest force in the word. She disen't even need to open it. Her shaking grows faster and more unstable as she let's out a bellowing howl. The halfling intended to end this, it no longer mattered how. She is intent at ending the life of this monster even if it means destroying herself. With this all in mind, suddenly her book bursts into purple flames, it burns and sears her skin, Rilling is simply encouraged by it's power. Suddenly she falls to the ground unable to even move. This however is not her giving up as it'd appear, no it is her finale. The gravest suddenly is sparked with the ghostly damned fires emitting all over her body. It is then evident what she intends to do. Rilling wishes to raze the terrain to the ground along with the two combatants. Hopefully she wishes he wil go first. This is her final thought before she blacks out. The fires seem to be burning around her, yet it seems to have stopped charring her frame, almost as it seems that her raw emotions are keeping life inside of her.
Hadrian || Volknir is baffled at the Martyr his foe has made of herself. Indeed, her magic is sent like a concussive wave, spitting fire out across the otherwise foliage-laden earth, but his eyes watch something else. The form upon the ground, with which the fires are sent. She is still troubling, even after all of his efforts! First comes the barely tolerable wave of heat, as it spews out across his form, evaporating his tears and sweat immediately. And then.. comes the ungodly flames! But first, Maleficarus is thrust forward to carve agape the maw of that roiling ball of fire. The barrier he throws up serves to protect him little, and the finale of his rival is met with horrid anticipation. The fires lick his skin with unending torment, sizzling away the last bit of hairs he did retain upon his head. The halfling releases a stricken howl of pain tinged with anger, but as the wave hurls past him, ever rampant on its pursuit to raze the earth, he drops to his knees. The stickly Halfing sobs uncontrollably, unashamed by this, as his robes sizzle still, smoldering like a plume of smoke from a chimney.
Autohit
Hadrian || Volknir rises to his feet, albeit a bit slowly, and with careful scrutiny, beady eyes fall upon the form of the counter Necromancer. All that raw power readily available for consumption! Oh, the halfling can barely contain his giddy self--more out of fear of how much it would hurt the burns on his flesh, than anything. With renewed vigor, Maleficarus is brought to bear, the power within swelling up like a thunderhead; palpable in the very air all about. The form of his foe is lifted by magical command alone, her body stretching out before him in unearthly angles. "I am Volknir, Master halfling of Death!" He hollers in a hoarse voice... and with the expelled words, comes the crescendo of his power. Her soul, at first struggling to remain within, is torn free from the body where once it resided. The ethereal essence is sucked in by Maleficarus, and the Necromancer writhes in pleasure at the bolstering of magical might. A last smile, a sneering grin, is shot to his enemy, before her body is torn asunder--like red mist to spray out into the errant wind that washes over the hills.