Duel:Kasyr v Vuryal

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Glaring upon the new inhabitant into the arena of Larket, the chronomantic gnome smirks within concealed shadows as the weight of the diminutive creature shifts from left to right upon steadied legs. Taut digits collapse slightly more rigid about the staff placated in his right hand as a gentle breeze flows from east to west, brushing aside the blackened robes for but a brief moment. Closing his eyes of crimson hues, words of an archaic beginning flow from pursed lips of the shadow caller, syllables rapturing into the air with their song of what is to come. In retaliation to the calls of the beast, shadows of the darkest night begin to loom out from the walls of the gladiator's stage, swirling about one another before creeping ever vigilantly towards the figure of Kasyr. Then, the flourish of a feverishly paced dance begins, the blackened mass collapsing closer, encroaching dangerously near the human knight as suddenly the shadow gnome falls into invisibility, becoming one now with those said shadows. Soon, flashes of brilliant silver are seen flowing through the darkened muck, daggers of pure malice striking out in a rounded pattern, circling the human in ever increasing speeds, random height and penetrating strength given to such rigid blows. Maniacal laughter descends upon the scene, Vuryal firmly affixed in those looming shadows, perhaps even the culprit of each strike upon the man.

Kasyr presented himself with little dramatics, no shadow or light to herald his coming or going, just the ever humble aspect of striding steps to a place central to that dusty arena, by which point he simply halted, awaiting whatever was to come so as to avoid the frantic foolishness he was apt to perpetrate. Thus, the tiefling was prepared, so when that tenebrous amalgamation engulfed the ground beneath, he was prepared- or rather, moreso prepared then blindly charging into that moving void of light. Observing at first, that sinister yet seemingly harmless presence which wreathed about his presence, Kasyr maintained an almost serene air up until the realization that the shifting abyss was not as benign as it presented itself, a clarity of thought brought about by a blur of glimmering light which shears through the cloth of trenchcoat and shirt alike, sending droplets of scarlet pattering upon the dull earth below, soon accompanied by more, thicker splashes of a sanguine nature as those edges of a malignant nature kiss upon the flesh of his legs, his torso- tearing and cutting with no regard to the well being of the one attacked. Wresting free of the shock poised by the sudden attack, the hybrid had very little choice in the actions presented, mind working abruptly towards what was necessitated, a crouch to reduce the amount of skin visible, deft digits of his right moving towards his back where his blade currently laid at peace; that was until it was wrested free with the tell-tale shriek of irritated serpents, a black chorus of murderous intent which seemed to grow louder every time it was placed betwixt its wielder and those attacks which were sent at it. Sparks, clatters, the dust which is sent heavenwards by those collisions are the only symphony required by Kasyr to set a pace to this dance, by which the steps soon follow, an awkward bound made forth as he attempts to discern for a particular emptiness, a familiar void within the shade, to see if that which laughed and lurked was indeed present within that vast emptiness of a dark sort. Should it be found, should Vuryal's presence indeed be sensed, it would be followed up with the most rudimentary of offenses, a awkward shuffle forth then a slash towards that particular spot whilst the sheathe rested firmly clutched in the left hand to fend off any further blows.

Heralding laughter bellows forth from the nimble gnome as drops of life flowed from the knight onto the dusty earth below, though such mocking quickly dissipating as the skewering force of the human's own blade was issued into the dismal abyss of the shadows. Halting, though not quite abruptly enough, the shrieks of a wounded creature howl into the arena as the weapon of Kasyr has indeed sliced into the creature of darkness. Rivulets of vitae begin to clot then flow freely onto the ground within the shadows before the manifestations sulk back into their comfort zone near the edges of the spiked walls. Spitting forth an issuance of crimson blood, Vuryal spits forth also the riveting story of his next assault, particles of sand and other material that lay effortlessly upon the arena floor rising, as if gravity has been expelled underneath them. Without a single moment of hesitation, each shard of metal, speck of sand, and any other object littering the ground begin to pierce through the air at breakneck speeds, hurtling towards the knight. They come in all directions, in all sizes, but most especially at the malicious desire of the chronomancer, who cackles whilst hiding in the shadows to escape further damage to his precious body.

For the barest of moments, an almost feline grin presented itself upon the Guardian's lips, that acknowledgement to detriment done upon the Time Waster's wretched form, fitting for the grievances already presented by that initial onslaught of a mystic nature. Indeed, Kasyr was developing a rather keen detestation of the cowardice presented, that skulking manner to which his minute tormentor seems to be favoring, furthered upon by his foes preference towards arcane weavings wielded to deadly effect as ever so viciously displayed in what was next 'summoned', though sight of that particular action of ill-intent is decidedly short-lived. Blinded. Sand hurled by that sudden maelstrom of force, that bending of natures laws to the chronomancers will, is ever violently hurled into the tieflings eye's, momentarily robbing him of the sight that was ever so beneficial in endeavours such as these. Hurt. To which those shards crystalline, metal or otherwise tear through the air, some missing, some striking soundly through jacket, flesh and muscle, wreaking havoc with an abandon fitting of a force that mimicked nature, only the bare minimum halted by the desperate agitation of his sheathe in a manner quite akin to a windmill. It truly was a fortuitous thing that Gospel's sheathe could survive the impacts with these particular implements of wickedness, for without, Kasyrs head would have surely been perforated by those myriad projectiles of a near mundane nature. Enraged. Retaliation came swiftly, brought forth by the swift impalation of his blade into the earth, energies of those whom the hybrid had eaten, to those already inherent within the mixed being suddenly being unleashed in a shockwave, raw kinetic force which burst outwards from his kneeling form, with such vengeful force that it cast aside that which sought to injure him, sending those particles of solid matter outwards in every direction, with a force that could only be consider bone shattering. He really did hope Vuryal was close by...

Keen eyes of a weary warrior fall listlessly upon the knight, his actions noted and motions made to counteract the assailing force unleashed upon this magical gnome. Holding up both hands, palms facing outward, drastic words in an unkempt pace soar out of the deep bowels of the chronomancer, gravity bending to his will as the spells soon collide with dire consequences to each combatant. Vuryal is thrown against the wall, side pierced once more by a loose shard of metal from a broken shield as the spells converge and negate each other, though quite violently. Rocked by such a display from the human knight, the gnome straightens up, standing erect after a moment to recompose himself, before another flurry of unknown words are unfurled. The output, however, is quite different from before as time begins to shift in favor of the chronomancer, whose footsteps have now embarked him onto an intersecting path with the knight, sans cloak and hood, though a mysterious faceless mask remains upon the creature's head. In seconds, or so it seems, Vuryal is upon the knight, both daggers arching downwards, pathway abruptly changed to an upward trend as the gnome takes into a slide, feet forward and landing upon his back, in attempt to go beneath the knight as both blades yearn to taste the lower back of Kasyr.

Kasyr himself finds himself unfortunately at the mercy of the backlash of that particular spell, cast violently to the wind like a discarded rag, only to crash ignobly upon the blood stained terra of the Arena grounds, harshly landing upon his left arm with a vicious crack, limb ceding to the force of impact and relinquishing the sheathe which had been clutched upon to this point. It took him a few moments to gather himself, right hand loosely patting upon the ground before himself as though uncertain of the stability it provided, before he inevitably managed to get himself to a righted position, luminescent pools of an amber hue coming to rest upon Vuryal to watch as he too rose from the chaos that had been sown. Still, he was not able to maintain that regard for long, eyes soon becoming downcast as bile forces its way up from his gullet, the side effect of dizzying pain mixed with the near blinding nausea provided from rising too swiftly, something which resulted in his confusion following the distance the gnome seemed to be closing. He couldn't really be moving that fast could he? Sluggish, he felt absolutely sluggish, arms moving at what seemed to be a snails pace in comparison to his foes new-found celerity. Indeed, it was almost sickening to watch the blur of a diminutive aggressor, the manner in which he, “Oh no” And betwixt the legs did Vuryal go, Kasyr all but helpless to stop the motion, though a sudden decisive action is taken, a loss of balance backwards towards the ground he yearned to just rest against- that hiss of pain as blades pierced his back ignored as he sought to crash down upon the chronomancer at a slight angle, Gospel simply shifted so that the point would face downward, effectively skewering his nemesis of sorts in his awkward crash to the earth.

In a most precarious position, the gnome found himself, as both of his daggers had met their cruel mark, but at the same time, an unexpected event occurred, the tumbling of the knight. The tumbling was not the issue as much as was the blade now racing to skewer the chronomancer like a pig on the big island come dinner time. No, this was not the fate intended by such actions planned out by the caller of shadows, a flourish of words now radiating about to take up and capture the shadow caller once more in their blackened grip. As if Vuryal were never there, the shadows reel backward and away from the backwards flailing knight, void of the set of weapons once impaling the lower back as they fell mercilessly to the ground without the pressure from their wielder to retain their positions. Sulking away, the shadows collect near the base of a wall to watch on, though the trail of vitae may lead a careful observer to realize that, within that darkness, a wounded beast waits.

Vuryal wins.

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