Duel:Iskaldor v Nemisis

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Duelists: Iskaldor vs  Nemisis.
Stakes: Unstated.
Judges: Unstated.




Kelay Way

Iskaldor offers a sadistic smile to his draconian opponent as he saunters out of the tavern, before he speaks in tones dripping with obvious mockery, "You will learn now, idiot, the price of your ignorance." The deceased sorcerer wastes little time in preparing his first spell, one learned by all mages at a young age, and one perfected by this mage in his time spent incarcerated in the prison beneath the Shattered City. Words are few, though obviously archaic and powerful, and actions are limited to a small tracing of arcane patterns in the air with pallid hands; a thin trail of azure light left in their wake. It takes but a moment, and when done the manifestation of the energies is obvious. Between the two combatants a swirling sphere of scarlet light appears. A fireball, it is, and within a heartbeat it's sent hurling towards the draconian... When it gets close the deceased sorcerer squeezes his hand into a fist, causing it to explode outwards with heat so intense it causes the very air to crackle and pop....


Nemisis walks out the tavern rather calm yet annoyed by the yapping man known as Iskaldor. He had various things to do yet he was interrupted by arrogance. Arrogance. It rang in his head like an echo as it seemed the entire situation was his fault, over a foolish laugh.....pity. Despite the fact, he had to deal with the conesequences for such and face the man who called him coward. The demi would lay his ruby like eyes upon the mage's form and begin to analyze him. Tilting his head from left to right, he brought about a serious of cracks creeks from within. The man watched as the mage presented various words of arrogance along with his light show. He didn't care and he would not waste time listening either. Taking full use of dragon heritage, he began to move with swiftly, utilizing the strength in his legs. As the fire ball was sent at him, he charged straight for it. It was flame, something that did not phase him. As it exploded in his face, he continued to move while using the flames as a smoke screen. In mere seconds, he sped up to appear behind Iskaldor, thumb at the hilt of his blade. He loomed over the man like the reaper of death himself. With one flick, he unleashed his blade towards his torso, threatening to tear him in two.


Iskaldor seems more than a little annoyed his archaic might was ignored by the draconian before him. He should have known it'd take more than a fireball to destroy this one, but come on! He's lazy, and did hope for an easy win. Alas! - it is not to be, so he focuses his senses again on his charging enemy, ready to face his inevitable wrath. This wrath manifests itself in the form of a sword swipe, quite like Acheron and the deceases sorcerer offers it the same level of respect. Without much flamboyance, Iskaldor leaps forward, away from the sword's sinister edge, and spins with quite a lot of grace to again face his opponent. He smiles a brief smile, dripping in obvious annoyance, "really?" Before he screams words in an archaic language. The language sounds very close to elvic, as it's a spell taught to Iskaldor by the Shattered City's true queen. A storm spell, not as powerful as Ciadra could command, but still rather impressive to watch. From north and south, east and west, black clouds roll into the area above Kelay's Tavern. In a very short time rain has begun to fall, turning the well-trodden road outside to a slippery, muddy mess. The terrific 'BOOM' of thunder sounds, though no lightening is shown, and in the midst of this seething storm the deceased sorcerer's voice is heard screaming, "Suffer!" As if this single word were another archaic spell, the skies above release their built up rage. A single streak of lightening soars downwards at the draconian, illuminating just briefly the obvious insane anger on Iskaldor's face. With an almost sentient intent, the burst of nature's energy seeks out Nemisis and hopes to fry him to a crisp...


Nemisis would only stare at the arrogance Iskaldor as he continued to talk. He was not in no talking mood and that was quite obvious. The man held little respect for the mage before him and it was quite clear. As another spell was called upon his form, he watched as the clouds gathered and brought about the storm. Almost as if he knew what was coming, he sucked his teeth and shook his head. The speed of light was hell of something to dodge but that was not gonna stop him from trying. He began to move towards his foe again in order to closen the distance between them. He would not get far but he did make some type of difference. Just as the thunder shot down he covered himself with his arms and was hit. The ground cracks and the electricity flared through his body, shocking and sizzling him. The draconian growled with fury and uncovered himself as he trembled and tried to recover. Nemisis eyes would become more deadly and psychotic as he smiled and extended both palms towards Iskaldor. Concentrating the deadly mixture of light and dark, he would release chaos into the air. The entire area infront of him would glittered with the red energy before the invisible spatial energy was shot towards the man. The rejection of the space was quite powerful and it came with a backlash. The demi would be sent flying backwards from the recoil and into a tree. Just before he hit, he was able to poke a hole in the ground and release yet another piece of the chaotic energy into it. For what? Who knows?


Iskaldor cannot hope to evade the powers of Nemisis this time. The invisible force of chaotic might strikes the deceased sorcerer square in the chest and within mere moments this naked flesh is a sizzling, shattered tapestry of horrific wounds and bubbling, seeping sores. The mighty mage swears in desperation as he feels his body erupting with agony. His hands shake, making his intricate spell-casting almost impossible. His attention wavers, obvious in the way he sways from left to right and his eyes, so cold and hollow, roll into his head. And then it happens; the mighty mage, destroyer of lies, slayer of idiots, faints face first into the muddy ground to lay bloodied and seemingly broken. He coughs suddenly from his new spot, and as he lifts his head, embarrassment at being covered head to toe in his own muddy mess dissolves the agony off his brown-hued face. He is pained, he is broken, but he is not yet beaten! Oh no! Instead he grips onto that evident rage; that burning anger that has slithered beneath the surface, stalking like a caged animal, throughout his time in this wretched world. Holding onto it with all his concentration, he rises from the mud and smiles a cold, empty smile. From his muddy clothes he pulls forth a rune stone and whispers a word of power into it. The emerald stone vanishes from where it was and as this happens, Iskaldor drops down to one knee, hands holding his bloodied and dirty chest... The stone's story is quite different! It goes on a magical journey through the realms and attempts, hopefully not in vain, to appear again in the throat of Nemisis. Mighty he may be, but even dragons need to breath...


Nemisis would moan and touch his head as he really did a number on his body with the recoil. His body still ached from the thunderbolt and the tree did not help ease the pain. The man was indented quite firmly into the tree. That was to be expected from a double handed spatial shot. A blast strong enough to knock out a gem dragon if caught fully. Of course the recoil would be a pain. Cursing to himself he looked at the fallen Iskaldor and began to move. He began to pull himself out the tree as he watched the sorcerer pull out a weird gem. However, before he could find out what the mage would do with it, he would hear the cry of the tree as it broke and fell backwards. The demi's shoulders were still stuck in the tree and so, it took him back with it. It would seem as only luck as the man would watch his view fall from the man, to the sky, only to hear a weird thunk. With a raised brow, Nemisis broke himself out to look at the tree behind him. Embedded was that very stone that was aimed for him. He would take a deep breath before saying, "Phew" knowing it was meant for him. Dusting himself off he it was time to end this. Bringing his visage back at Iskaldor, he would bring about his final attack. The chaotic energy sent in the ground had spread like a disease to encase everything it touched into crystal. The earth was just but a small thin layer that covered the mass destruction. The trees bark had hid the terror too. With a ball of a fist, the deadly shards of red would become visible. Thousands of tiny shards shined like light as it swarmed the unfortunate mage, surrounding him in a beautiful swirl. With a tightened fist, they would all charge for Iskaldor, to shred him to pieces.


Iskaldor takes a long time to even comprehend that his attack wasn't quite as effective as he would have liked. The deceased sorcerer shakes his head as he drags himself back to his feet and once more sets his pained, cold gaze upon his mighty opponent. Sanguine blood still drips from the mage's flesh, merging with the brown mud that encases his body, and on weak legs he prepares himself to defend from Nemisis' deadly chaotic might. As the tiny shards appear before him, Iskaldor swears loudly. He knows he has little defence left, as his pain is too great to concentrate on his higher forms of arcane magic. He knows also, now his word was kept to the Shattered City, he is no longer free from escaping horrific pains or even death... He panics. His face that has shown many emotions this day; anger and rage, embarrassment and sadistic glee, shows one final one before his fate hits him. It shows blind terror, and in this terror he attempts to escape. He screams into the skies, pleading the swirling grey clouds to aid him just as the shards begin to make whore his pallid flesh, lacerating tremendous wounds into his body. His face becomes demonic as it's soaked in sanguine liquid, agony far beyond anything seen so far is shown and only at this time does the skies release their aid to the tortured and dying sorcerer... From within the dark clouds shards of hail begin to raid down. They are sharp and with deadly aim they fall to the shards of chaotic might. When nature hits chaos there is a loud bang, and within a moment or two the energies of both combatants fades... Iskaldor stands still, his flesh in tatters, his entire body a leaking sack of liquid vitae. He attempts a grin, though he hardly has lips to contort, he attempts a bow, but his body cannot hold his unbalanced way... in the end, all he manages to do is drop once again face-first into the muddy ground to lay bubbling in his own agony....


Winner:Iskaldor