Duel:Kasyr v Nasurate

Venue: Mage Tower

Stakes: 15k Gold

Results: Kasyr wins (split decision)

Kasyr is taking his time, enjoying the leisurely pace he undertook as he trailed after the pyre mage. Still bereft of his trenchcoat, the tiefling is likely a touch less recognisable than he normally was. Combined with the seemingly natural habit of slipping in and out from between small crowds, bantering novices and gawking travellers alike- the hybrid was afforded no lack of cover- something he was able to take advantage of as he slowly closed in upon Sparky. Really, it's only when he's within but a few feet from the man that he bothers betraying his presence at all, utterly forth a miffed little cough so as to precipitate the man to turn about on his heels. Not that he'll catch sight of the tiefling~ No, the hybrids already stepped back into the crowd, and promptly goes of tugging upon a random passerbys robes- directing some poor student into an altogether graceless stumble towards Nasurate. Not a moment thereafter, the hybrid steps out from his cover- not paying a mote of attention to the protests that were already beginning to arise from his actions, instead drawing all of his focus into leaping towards Nasurate- right arm outstretching to grasp at his hair, and promptly drive him into the ground as heavily as the hybrid could manage. "I believe you owe me one cleaning bill, Monsieur."

Nasurate’s gaze combs the words upon the heavy volume clasped between his small hands, a deep set frown upon pale-peach lips as he makes his way towards the grand staircase of the tower. The book is snapped shut, however, and a sharp glance directed towards the stumbling apprentice whom had caused the Tree Born to spin swiftly upon the heel of a runed boot, when suddenly a bout of agony would pass through Nasurate’s scalp, quickly followed by a strangled yell as, quite shockingly, his person is thrust forward with violent haste, a familiar tone punctuating the small male’s pointed ears. Actually, it is the book itself which prevents him from suffering a broken nose, for the large volume is held over the mage’s head, so that it is the cover which slams hard into the ground before Nasurate proper, who now has a centre to throw his small weight over, and execute a clean forward roll over robed shoulders, ripping him clean from the tiefling’s grasp. Agony increases as, with yet another anguished cry from the Tree Born male, the sound of a fistful of white hair being ripped from the scalp fills the ears of all around. The crowd parts to form a large circle around the two brawling males, their faces a mixture of excitement and terror. Finally, they would see Nasurate, the short-tempered, slave-driving lecturer, demonstrate his arcane understanding. The book having been left upon the floor, the nimble fingers upon each hand dive for the two wands kept always on the elf’s person: the gold-tipped obsidian tool tucked securely behind a pointed ear, and the older, battered-looking darkwood wand housed within robe pockets. They are drawn, not unlike dual-wielded handguns, and both brandished forwards in Kasyr’s direction. The very air beneath the tiefling, between his legs, and if need be compressed air would force itself between the legs to pop them open, compresses, snaking quickly and tightly around the paladin’s lower form, and then promptly do wand ends veer off towards one of the standing pillars that keep the ceiling aloft. Thus, the compressed air would seek to drag the tiefling with the wands, with intend to slam him hard into the pillar itself, before wands then turn upon the second pillar directly opposite, and the show would repeat itself, Kasyr hopefully flying through the air to smash into the sturdy cylinder. Finally, the tools of magic would lift towards the ceiling, and again, so would the air bound to Kasyr’s legs, again with intent to lift him high, collide painfully with the ceiling, and then the bound air would be released, leaving Kasyr in a long free-fall towards the hard, unforgiving earth.

Kasyr has just enough time to carelessly toss those strands of plucked hair to the wind, before he finds himself at the mercy of an altogether unpleasent pressure. Unable to move as he might desire, the hybrid mutters a swift curse before he's quite simply projected towards that pillar- soundly crashing into it with an agonised wince. Briefly moving to grasp at the pillar, the hybrid can't help but groan as he finds himself promptly impacting again- something in his shoulder grinding plaintively. Nonetheless- the hybrid comes across a particular simple but helpful fact- He can move his hands. Even as Nasurates moved to gesture his wands upward, the hybrids is already in motion, thrust towards his legs as though oft-veiled Tattoo's upon his arm burst to life. Rupturing free in a macabre display of dancing blood and energy, it takes barely a moment for it to solidify into Gospels form of a Nodachi- the altogether offkilter weapon essentially manifesting directly within the spot where the hybrid could feel the odd force coiled around him. Whilst normally such an action might be to no avail, this particular form of the tieflings form has a rather specific trait- being capable of cleaving through magic, and thus sparing him from that last forceful impact into the ceiling. Still, whilst it frees him from Nasurates weavings, it manages to weave a bit of carnage on its own- the hybrids flailing form proving a bit difficult to avoid with such a lengthy weapon. On the other hand, whilst he had carved his leg a touch- he was in a much better position to land. Needing to do naught more than unsummon the blade, the hybrid hits the ground in a roll- ignoring the cracking noise his shoulder gives as he allows momentum to carry him forward. Hands now free, all the hybrid needs to do is simply shove off the ground, quite deftly falling into a dash that would lead him onto a collision course with Nasurate. Tucking his body down as he'd rush towards the mage, it's a slide that the hybrid favors this time- moving to crash directly into the legs of the mage, before a simply shove of palms would send him to his feet. Little care is taken towards whether evasion or success occurs, as once again, The nodachi comes at the hybrids calling- that dangerously long weapon flicked out in a series of in a wide slashes- It's range used to the hybrids advantage, endeavouring to carve the elf to pieces- or at least force him back towards a pillar.

Nasurate takes several hurried steps backwards from the falling form of the vampiric being, lifting a hand to touch gently that part of his scalp that was devoid of hair, and confirming the smaller male’s suspicions. His scalp was bleeding. The right hand outstretches towards the oncoming form of Kasyr, training the golden tip upon the rolling male, once more gathering air to be compressed, which is held upon the point of the wand for near-future use. Alas, the paladin’s reflexes outmatch his own, and being the physically stronger of the two men, Nasurate is at a loss to avoid the oncoming body of the larger male, thus sending his slender form crashing down upon the stone floor. A wince thunders onto now pale countenance, feeling his head collide with the solid ground, but unfortunately he has not the time to nurse the tender spot, for now is the time for the compressed gases still perched patiently upon the end of the obsidian to find use. They are directed towards the tiefling’s hand, the air working itself between the cracks and small gaps between the fingers, and the handle of Gospel proper, until, with a swift upwards flick of the wand, the fingers would be subject to a great outwards force, the air exploding outwards in attempt to force the fingers away from their grip upon Gospel, thus making the fist pop open, leaving the blade to clatter uselessly upon the floor. However, it is not an instanteous spell, and cloth robes and the flesh beneath are subject to a rather large rip, followed by a deep, bleeding gash upon the wry chest, thankfully prevented from being anything serious by the ribcage protecting the major organs. The agile elf executes a second roll, this one off to the side, where it would be the turn of the second, older wand, which would be brought forwards, raised to be directly on-par with the vampire’s side. With a mighty cry of a magical word the wand begins to take a dull-red glow, before from it’s tip bursts a fresh spurt of angry fires, the blaze travelling madly to close the small gap between the caster and his enemy, with intent to scour Kasyr’s un-trench-coated form, and burn clean through shirt and flesh alike, hopefully leaving deep, nasty burns. If that weren’t enough, the obsidian wand is also used to some assistance, the air-binding spell repeated upon the boots of the taller, stronger male, compressed gases hardening to shackle Kasyr to the stone floor, thus hopefully leaving him unable to avoid the oncoming stream of furious flames.

Kasyr is rather fortunate that he had been so focused upon carving Nasurate to ribbons with that particular form of Gospel, as given the weapons ability to simply cleave through magic in that guise, it is a fair bit more resistant to the compression of air trick then it had been before. The tieflings fingers shiver, but Gospels rabid hunger for magic prevents it from being propelled to the air- leaving the hybrid a bit more well armed then the mage intended. Not that the offensive would continue, the tiefling was a fair bit absorbed in diving to one side to avoid that sudden gout of fire. Something which- in conjuction with Nasurates secondary spell is more of an awkward face flop, the likes of which earns him a rather nasty burn that sears through fabric and skin- setting alight tender vitals. Faced with such a predicament, the hybrid really does have little choice in his next actions. Rather carelessly flicking Gospel -at- Nasurate, the odd weightlessness of the Nodachi in his hands allowing it to be essentially launched through what was to be the next volley of flame- no particular care as to what end would hit Nasurate. Not that it matters, since once it reachs near his proximity, the blade would take on it's rarely seen familiar form- leaving the mage to deal with a particularily angry serpent of unnatural durability, whilst the hybrid shoves up to his feet into a crouch- before he'd simply focus. Consuming those ambient emotions within the room, within the very town itself, the empathic vampire gathers his strength, taking also the strength which already resided in him from those souls devoured- And then, with one furious howl, he'd place his hands upon that still flaming patch of skin that Nasurates magics had created before barreling forward. It didn't matter that the tieflings boots had been cemented to the ground by magic- it was but leather, bursting apart easily beneath the combination of brute strength and energy pouring off the tiefling. The hybrid was but blur by this point, every single ounce of energy he had inherantly, from others eaten or present being consumed to fuel this madmans rush- so that flames which consumed his hands and flesh could be given to the pyromancer- fingers grasping at his throat as the tiefling rushed by. Barreling at that breakneck pace, Nasurate would be slammed into a wall with every bit of force that coule be mustered- no care taken towards those that would be in the way. And all it takes is a simple press of bare foot to wall to send the hybrid rushing at that same ludicrous pace once more- to collide into nasurate and grasp hold should he break free- if only to forcibly drag him towards one of the pillars. Over and over, even if it would smash already cracked bones- the hybrid would try to put them both through hell- before one last rabid grasp and shove would send them both through that Glass stairwell.

Nasurate slams a hand towards his chest, the palm coming into clean contact with that infinitely useful stone amulet-of-protection beneath his robes. Upon feeling the contact of the palm, sensing the body heat of the mage, the intricate rune upon the surface of the pebble, tied to a piece of string threaded through, begins to glow a dull blue colour, showing very faintly beneath his robes, but activating the pre-crafted air shields embedded into the amulet’s magicks, thus binding a tight barrier of compressed air around the form of the elven mage. This is done with intent of block the oncoming weightless blade, but actually, it serves to prevent the fangs of the serpent from penetrating his tender skin. Much to the strain of his still-bleeding chest, causing fresh waves of pain to stem from the wound, the downed mage heaves his legs around, the toe of one leather-runed boot colliding swiftly with the snake’s unhinged jar, sending the serpent, and also the tiefling’s weapon of choice, across the stone floor and into the gathered crowd, whom continue to watch with awe and excitement at the spectacle. Again, at costing another spurt of agony, the agile elf lifts his legs clean into the air, rotating once about his centre of gravity to bring his legs beneath him, and forces himself into standing, wands clamped tightly, and in the process of raising. But, alas, they never manage to raise fully, for Kasyr has already tore himself from the remains of his boots, launching himself faster than Nasurate’s eye is certainly able to discern for the standing mage. Cause of the barrier, the tiefling’s fingers don’t quite manage to tighten around slender throat, but the force is still there, driving him faster than he can react into the nearest pillar, causing the crowd to disperse even further around them, for fear of the tiefling’s extraordinary strength and speed. Again, fault of the air barrier, the blow is softened considerably. While his back still does collide with the stone pillar it is hardly with the force Kasyr intended, skeletal structure left perfectly intact. All that is suffered is a large, purpling, nasty bruise across both shoulderblades, which only deepened in hue as, over and over, the helpless form of the Tree Born is repeatedly slammed into the stone structure, before he is yanked and thrust in a differing direction, this slam proving far more effective than the previous. Sharp edges and force are what is needed to pierce that compressed air barrier, designed to prevent blunt attacks from damage the body beneath, who when the combined moving force of the two males collides with the glass, smashing it cleanly into thousands of tiny, sharp pierces, they are capable of slicing clean through the gas layers, and ripping into the robes and lightly-tanned skin of the mage. Quite wisely, Nasurate lifts a robed arm to shield his face, lowering his head to protect his eyes, so it is this raised arm that suffers the majority of the glass. While tiny rips and small cuts can be discerned throughout the mage’s form, it is this arm that suffers the worse, bloodied as one can bare to stand the sight off, meat hanging out from a massive gash running the complete length of the forearm. The flailing elf lands some way off, surrounded by shattered glass, lying on his back. Yet he very quickly springs into action. That still good arm is thrust out towards the obsidian wand, lying some way off from the pair now, and with a flick of the index finger and thumb it comes flying into eagerly awaiting fingers, and grasped tightly before being turned on Kasyr, hate blazing within Nasurate’s corrupted green optics. It is a spell that has been employed before only against the most formidable of foes, thus Sparky seeing it fit to be used now. Kasyr’s own body heat would be turned against him, as it would begin to elevate quickly to levels no creature, living or undead, would be able to stand. Eventually, blood would begin to boil, flesh begin to melt, organs fizzle into ash, unless Kasyr was quick off the mark to prevent such disastrous wounds from happening.

Kasyr didn't really -want- to move from where he was residing amidst the ruins of the stairwell. Blood was coming in streams now, and with the energies which flowed through him naturally all but used in that savage rush, he was rather peaked. It didn't help that even the simple act of sitting up produced an extraordinary amount of pain from his body, muscle and bone having undergone far too much punishment. And yet still, his opponent moved- It was enough to make his blood boil at the spent effort. ..Or, maybe that was the effect of the magic. All the tiefling could be certain of, was the intense pain ripping through his body. The feeling of dead skin sizzling easier than it ought to. It made the world a dizzying blur of agony, and yet, the hybrid insisted on being obstinate. Barely able to muster the ability to move his arms, he still manages to drag his hands together onto his lap- fingers clasped together in prayer- imploring his goddess for aid. Refuge~ for that agony to be either dispelled or end swiftly, the hybrid simply desired an end to that conflict, and that deliverance came from the mercy of Daedria, and not the 'spontaneous combustion' that Nasurate hoped to precipitate.