Duel:Keter v Vael

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Keter vs Vael

  • Rds/Time: 3 rounds / 15 minutes per round
  • Judges: Anshera, Thea, Marshal
  • Stakes - forced servitude
  • Venue: Pit of Despair
  • Decision: Keter wins

Character Descriptions:

Vael is a drow and seems to be a death knight. Vael is wearing obsidian face-plate on his face, adamantite gauntlets on his hands, black-leather pants on his legs, and adamantite boots on his feet. Vael is unarmed. Vael is not using a shield. Vael has red eyes, dark skin, and white hair, and is single.
Keter is a drow and a ranger. Keter is wearing drow-chain mail on his body, shadowed hood on his head, a battle-scar on his face, D'Artes House-Insignia on his neck, Cloak of Protection on his shoulders, black-cotton pants on his legs, and black-knee-high boots on his feet. On one of his left fingers, you see L`Quarth-d`Avariel Signet. Keter is using E`et-Nilah Blade as a weapon. Keter is using Shadow dweomer as a shield. Keter has red eyes, dark skin, and white hair, and is single.

Keter stands readied, the normally stoic Drow seems visibly annoyed with contender in his midst. The ranger surveys his repugnant adversary, claret optics burning with furious contempt. Keter pronounces in a powerful stentorian voice ``Your folly will be shown this eve, such insults will be met with only pain``. With that, Keter grasps the elemental composite bow slung upon his back, knuckles cracking as he takes it firmly into his grip. A series of arcane words slip past Keter`s lips as the bow`s elemental powers leap to life. Keter`s deft hands swiftly move from quiver to string, a soft scarlet aura appearing about the arrow`s shaft just in time for the ranger to loose it upward in the direction of his foe, a second bolt is nocked without delay, the feat repeated as a second shaft races toward the Death Knight`s form. The two projectiles pierce the air with startling speed as the flame charged bolts quickly find their respective targets, the first being a large stalactite directly above Vael`s position, the second being the earth upon which the Death Knight stands. The bolts meet stone with a near simultaneous precision, suddenly releasing their elemental powers upon instant of contact. The ground beneath Vaelustil erupts into a violent pool of swirling magma, sizzling wisps of blistering flame dance effortlessly from the surface of the molten earth as a like-wise threat descends rapidly from above, threatening to encapsulate the Drow, scorching flesh from bone within the infernal pool of torture.


Vael hardly 'stands' ready. No, the dark elf paces about, a panther within its cage. His own whitened eye remains plastered to the bow-weilding drow, and though it is broken and the length of only a short sword, these days, Vaelustil draws his once-magnificant longsword. Nothing is left to chance. Not with his opponent being the race that he is. Not when two drow face each other. No, even as the first of the arrows is released, the necromantic swordsman bursts into movement, rushing forward - and rather inadvertantly - away from the sudden disaster behind him. The heat of the magma, though, the falling of the stone spear, both go unheeded by Vael's well-trained mind, though Keter's revealed ability is noted. Keter, however, will not find a stalagmite falling at him, nor the ground beneath him suddenly changing shape. No, the spell that Vaelustil growls out as he traverses the Pit's stone floor is far darker in nature. His broken sword is not the catalyst, however. An armored hand is raised and aimed at the D'Artes drow's chest, a bolt of pure negative energy, of air-chilling death magic, streaks forth, only to be followed, quite shortly, by an arching slash of the necromancer's sword, lower right to upper left.


Keter grimaces intently as accursed Drow charges his attack, the entire effort for naught as he quickly abandons the weapon upon which his onslaught was based. Tossing the bow to the side, Keter quickly draws the E`et Nilah blade from its home upon his left hip, the sword ringing free from its confines with a loud elongated chime. Keter grips the hilt tightly with both hands barely in time as Vael rapidly closes the gap, the shadowy Dweomer about his form darkening suddenly to a nearly obscuring haze as the Death Knight throws the enchantment forth with a violent force. Keter rapidly rolls away and to the left, the streak of force passing barely over the Drows back, as Keter lands upon one knee, his sword held horizontally above his head , supported with his left hand upon the blade, his right upon the hilt, as Vael`s sword descends upon his own. They meet with tremendous force, an eruption of sparks filling the air as Keter`s own blade pierces the ebon flesh of his left hand. Pushing against the foe, Keter struggles to his feet, sliding to right and backpedaling a few paces. Only to swipe diagonally through the air, the action somewhat curious as he remains a number of yards from making contact with his foe, the purpose becomes strangely apparent however, as you notice that the path of his blade has torn a curious void through the very space before him, leaving behind a dark black tear, seemingly hanging amidst the air. Keter`s redirects the momentum of his blade, bringing it eye level as he thrusts the blade forward horizontally, into the very tear he`s rended in the air before him. The blade disappears into the void as Keter buries it to the hilt, suddenly ripping through the fabric of space just some inches from the base of his adversaries skull, E`et Nilah`s tip rushing forth from this dimensional puncture, nearing Vael`s flesh as it threatens to impale the foe thoroughly from behind.


Vael smirks. He always smirks. Always haughty, always arrogant, always sure he'll win. But even he isn't fool enough to think his opponent's slash to be so blatant a misinterpretation of distance. And the, of course, there's that rift. Tricky things, those are, as Vaelustil is well aware of, having used them a number of times in the past, himself. Such feats are the only reason the drow knows to get out of the way, but even that isn't quite good enough, Keter's reappearing blade scoring a groove along Vael's faceplate. "Ah, so you want to play the part of the trickster, hm?" he chides, a soft chuckle escaping his throat. "Then I shall play the part of the unamused king." His next spell, a command word, actually, comes out in a bellow of rage, the entirety of the surface-dwelling drow's form becoming engulfed by the magics with which he has trained over the past many centuries of his life. Tighter and tighter the magic becomes around him, concentrating upon the drow until it shrinks down enough to simply engulf the broken blade of his sword. To be sure, that broken weapon does not rest idle, slashing out as it does as the dark elf performs something akin to a pirouette, every bit of that concentrated necromancy screeching towards his foe in a crescent of soul-sucking maliciousness.


Keter glares upon the other drow, determination building within him as his second attack rends little but a score upon his execrable rival`s armor. His sword gripped tightly within his right hand, a stream of rubicund vitae pouring from his left. The readied drow seems surprised at the fit of energy spewed forth from Vael`s blade, his wearied legs backing away as he attempts to dodge the onslaught of death. The evil inherent in his blade darkens Keter`s aura further, a noir cloud about him as he slashes with his remaining might upon the enchanted crescent racing toward his form. The E`et Nilah blade meets his opponents ensorcelled strike with a brilliant flash of dazzling light. Keter turns his head away from the painful flash, his eyes burning, yet that is only the beginning as he feels his soul being tormented by the accursed strike. His mind reeling as he feels his very life force, his essence yielding to the magic. His soul starting to lift as the willed blade within Keter`s hand suddenly starts to pull back, the odious blade not about to release the soul he`s claimed within the drow. A fury of flashes erupt from the area about the drow, his soul being pulled back and forth by the opposing sorcery. Suddenly driving the sword into the ground beneath him as the force seems to dissipate into the earth. Keter retracts the sword, though his visage altered severely from it`s previous state. The once collected Drow now stands seeming haunted and without a glimmer of emotion. The drow races toward his foe, legs pumping rapidly as the unknown force drives his being, unable to see he uses only the sense of smell and his keen hearing to target his attack, rolling quickly as he nears his adversary, ending with a quick horizontal strike, set to severe the Drow`s legs from torso in one deft strike.


Vael narrows his eyes, both the one visible and not. Keter still stands, is still sentient, even after colliding his blade with that strike. His smirk already long gone from the sight, he studies his opponent for a moment, pacing shortly either way. But ah, he moves! And, by the gods and all things unholy, he moves fast! It's all the necromancer can do, at first, to avoid having a gash put into his adamantite boots to match the one in his face plate, as he leaps over the cleaving strike. But the crouch Vael is forced to land in to cushion himself brings an advantageous position to him; level with Keter, it's no stretching feat to thrust outward with his own sword, a low growl rumbling from his throat. There is no spell, there is no superfluous tactic, just a quick, precise stab. Be it stomach or back, he truly doesn't care. But he is determined to bloody the man that can withstand the darkest aspects of necromancy.


Keter `s form moves with continued momentum as the slash misses entirely, his blind-fighting instincts already fully in control as his body freezes completely, his breath silent, heart slowed as he listens for the eventual landing of his wretched competition. The adamantite boots hitting the ground with a loud thud directly to Keter`s right causes a slight twitch upon the Drow`s keen ears; his body attempting, with all remnants of drow grace and speed to dive quickly to his left, hopefully leaving enough distance for the ranger to regroup, but alas, his leap came not soon enough as he felt the tip of Vaelustil`s blade piercing his side, a spate of sanguine fluid pouring effortlessly from his ribs. Keter`s motions already begun, they carry him sideways, his movement only fast enough to prevent the incision of his most vital organs. Landing some feet away from the striker, Keter backs away as quickly as his torn body will allow, his embattled form attempting to stand in vain as the Drow attempts to regain wits and composure of the situation, a thick ruby pool quickly forming below Keter`s tattered form.



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