Duel:Lirithen v Sanlig
Sanlig vs. Lirithen
Sanlig enters the arena at a slow and steady pace, one hand clutching his ash-wood staff, the other held in the air, fingers moving like nimble spider legs; weaving to and fro, laying out a pattern of magic. This web stretches over the entirety of the arena, wrapping the stone and dirt in a net of illusion. To the unwitting eye, everything appears as normal - except there is no robed mage entering. Rather, the image of another man appears, a tall, pale vampire in black robes, carrying a heavy wooden staff that is crossed at the top. This vision flickers in and out of existence, first in one place, then another. Remaining in each place only a split second, Tovenaar creates a confusing display. Suddenly, the figure appears to one side of Lirithen, staff held pointed toward him. What appears to be a bolt of pure lightning sizzles out toward the ranger and, just as it is released, the illusion flashes again, appearing behind the elf and releasing another bolt. Then in front, then to the other side, each time shooting crackling lances of electricity. After the last, Tovenaar settles down, merging with the invisible form of Sanlig. There, he seems to smile, watching his attack progress. Each bolt, although physically harmless, is designed to trick Lirithen's mind into believing that the paralyzing, searing pain of a true lightning strike is actually happening to him.
Lirithen is already here, standing quite still as he awaits his designated opponent to appear. The elf is dressed simply; shirt, pants and boots topped off with a trenchcoat thrown over his shoulders, the leather garment coated with large mithril plates and belted securely around the ranger's abdomen. In his half-gloved hands; a bow, the wood of the weapon an odd golden hue and playing host to a series of elaborate elven runes which spiral intricately along the surface, creating quite an interesting pattern. In compliment to the bow (for it would be useless with it) a quiver of arrows is slung over the male's shoulder, and as Sanlig appeared one of the raven-feathered projectiles would find itself knocked into positioned, Lirithen's fingers pulling carefully upon the bowstring. But what is this? The bow lowers slightly as emerald gaze flashes between the figures of Tovenaar and Sanlig, a confused frown appearing upon his fair visage. Then, suddenly, the vampire appears at the elf's side, hand lifting to begin some doubtlessly deadly spell. Acrobatic evasion is the ranger's first thought, so he leaps into action. Releasing his grip upon the arrow shaft and letting it slip from his fingers Lirithen throws his arms behind his head, arching his back uncomfortably as he jumps, hands pressed flat against the floor to gain a secure hold. Legs flip the man head-over-heels, lithe form enacting an agile backflip as the lightning converges around him, shooting from all angles. Evasion seems flawless, enchanting even, 'til he comes to land, just in time to receive the brunt of the final bolt as it glances his shoulder. A cry of pain rents from the ranger's lips, smoke rising from his form as his vision blurs, brain and nerves fooled quite well into succumbing to the illusionary effect. 'Tis by will alone, and the solid gnashing of pearly teeth, that Lirithen overcomes the pain, and with adrenaline flooding his system, he darts to retrieve the dropped arrow. Perhaps, in the back of his mind, he notes the odd way in which the illusionary pain seems to subside as he pushes the sensation aside, but his mind is upon retaliation for the time being. Wood finds wood as the arrow is readied once more, but the tree-born shall not take his chances with a long distance shot. Energy is siphoned off and sent towards his boots, crimson runes upon the heel flaring into life as the enchantment begins to power, and Lirithen is thrust, abruptly, into a sprint like none would ever see, leather boots-of-speed ensuring that, in but the blink of an eye, the elf is almost upon his present adversary. Legs tense and push upwards, sending the ranger into an upwards leap, and the tip of his arrow is aimed toward the ground, and Sanlig in turn. Aimed specifically for the collar bone the steel-tipped arrow is released, but not before sparks fly from Lirithen's fingertips, charging the shaft with a little lightning energy of the elf's own, before the single arrow thunders across the small gap 'tween the elf and his foe, followed by the ranger himself, whom lands unscathed upon the arena floor.
Sanlig, and his illusion as well, stands watching the elf, the expression on his face almost pitying. As Lirithen finishes dealing with the lightning, Sanlig begins to chant, readying himself for the counterattack. Thusly, when the arrow is launched, the mage is ready. In reality, Sanlig's protective shield reaches out, forming an egg-shaped field of transparent blue. This catches the arrow, which slows as if shot into water. By the time it reaches the man himself, it is harmless...until it touches him. Then, the little bit of magic added to the missile strikes, shocking the illusionist both literally and figuratively, knocking him back a step or two with a smoking hole in his robes, showing the flesh over his collarbone to be singed as well. In the illusion, however, the arrow appears to simply bounce off the vampire's chest, falling harmlessly to the ground. With a smirk, Tovenaar moves to stand next to the arena wall, by one large stone in particular. He strikes it with his staff, which causes it to seem to leap from its resting place and soar through the air toward Lirithen, landing just before him with a crash, leaving an empty socket in the wall. From there, it bounces and rolls forward, still at an intense rate of speed, its size and speed liable to crush the ranger instantly. Meanwhile, Tovenaar hits two more building blocks, sending both to mimic the first. All three stones tumble toward the elf, meant to convince him that he is being flattened and crushed by the massive boulders. As well, each dent left by the rocks appears to fill with water, as if the floor over the arena is merely a thin layer of earth over an ocean, so that soon the visible ground is covered by an inch or two of water.
Lirithen lands at a crouch, one knee landing hard upon the dusty arena floor, accompanied by a pale hand to steady himself. A grim look takes his expression as he notes the seeming lack of damage caused by his projectile, despite the shocking enchantment within the projectile. But he is surprised, however, when he finds his left arm quite stable and working. Had he not suffered a strike but moments ago? This train of thought is abruptly severed by the sight of a large rock speeding toward him, and Lirithen throws his weight now to the side, dropping his bow upon the arena floor. One arm lifts to protect his head as the elf enacts a clean combat roll, emerging from the manoeuvre only to be faced by a second, and a third. Heels dig into the floor beneath, hands readying to brace himself against the rolling boulders. The first of the pair threatens to crush him, and just as it would do so the ranger's hands shoot outwards, palms pressing firmly against the stone surface as he kicks off the floor, thrusting his body forward. 'Tis a clean leap, feet finding firm foothold upon the rolling stone's topside, and from here he jumps to the one that followed, and then dives forward onto the floor, enacting yet another swift roll before rising into a sprint, also assisted by his boot enchantments through a tiny shred of mana. A trail of disturbed water erupts in the wake of the lightning-quick male, and one hand jumps forward to wrap pale digits around the throat of the mage, another quick hop bringing Lirithen's weight bearing down upon the vampire as his other hand sails forward. The left arm brings a quick thrust, wrist arched backwards to reveal, sliding from the hidden vambrace beneath a coat sleeve, a long, sharp silver blade which, if left to continue it's short course unhindered, would sink deep into the robed flesh of Sanlig's kidney, before being dragged along the length of his abdomen in what would certainly be a fatal wound by the time the stained steel emerged from the mage's guts.
Sanlig begins to move again as soon as his foe manages to evade all imagined danger from the rock. He begins to sprint as fast as he possibly can to one side - but not fast enough. Hindered by his robe, he only manages to move a little before the elf slams into him, spinning him around and to the ground. Luckily, his attempted escape proves to be enough, for the dagger, rather than piercing as intended, hits the hip bone and bounces out, illiciting a cry of pain, while the ranger himself is allowed to roll clear. Struggling to his feet, the mage limps off, putting a good ten feet between him and his enemy. The image of Tovenaar seems to flicker a bit as he moves, the pain wreaking havoc on Sanlig's concentration. However, after taking a moment to steady himself and his web of magic, the angered illusionist expands on the illusion of the water, making it appear to swell exponentially. At an alarming rate, the arena floods, filling up to the roof and beyond with water, as if the world itself has been submerged. Lirithen, if he is fooled, feels the sensation of helpless drowning, while Tovenaar appears to simply float a foot or two above the submerged ground, smiling as the water swirls about him. And as if that is not enough, the illusionist creates an image of some vast, serpentine being, its mutated and bulbous head covered in algae-covered scales, that swims in through the apparently submerged entrance. This then seems to swim over to the elf with astounding speed, its mouth gaping open to reveal a host of teeth the size of spears. It snaps toward Lirithen, intent on trapping the ranger in its jaws and dragging him away to some dark lair.
Lirithen bounces upon the ground as he rotates away from the downed mage, whom climbs to his feet. The elf readies himself for another assault, but is hindered by- "The Hell?!" the ranger remarks as he feels the water creeping up his thigh, and in moments the fluid lifts past his chin and he is forced to push off what little of the ground he can still feel, arms lifting to circulate in a series of powerful breast strokes, legs kicking to unison to peddle the elf closer to the surface. His last breath is a deep one, and his cheek swell with air as he continually peddles upwards, desperate to reach the surface and the mage so intent on ending him here. The surface continues to rise, until is pauses, and Lirithen's heart soars; perhaps he wouldn't drown afterall. That is, until he feels the agony of sharp teeth and powerful jaws clamping down upon his left leg, and water trickles into his mouth as he parts his lips, remembering to gnash his teeth to prevent water from filling his mouth, and lungs. Vision lowers to see the creature, and without a moments thought the blade still producing from his wrist comes swiftly through the water, burying deep between the eyes of the water-dwelling horror, which promptly releases it's grip 'pon the man. Blood stains the surrounding waters crimson as the elf, now considerably more desperate, resumes his strokes, adrenaline fighting the pain from his now defunct limb. A gasp of cool, clean air fills his lungs as his face breaks the surface, and one hand lunges forward to grasp at the ankle of the mage, and attempt to drag him beneath the surface. Beneath the waters the elf would fight fiercely to prise the man's staff from his grip, then, placing one boot upon Sanlig's shoulder to kick him further into the watery depths, attempt to butt the human/vampire repeatedly in the side of the head with the staff's underside, hoping to crack him across the temple and cause immediate unconsciousness. This, Lirithen hopes, would cause whatever foul magics were at play to dissipate.
Sanlig laughs, the sound not at all muffled by the fake water. As his creature appears, he turns away, ready to leave the arena - but catches a fist to the head instead, as Lirithen's perception of what is is not quite how things are situated: reaching for the ankle of Tovenaar brings Litheren's hand to Sanlig's head, instead, knocking him forward. Animal instinct alone makes him roll away, clutching his staff. The world around seems to roil and run as the illusionist fights to control the complex net of spells. His staff he retains, and curls around, the disorienting spells doing a number on the mage himself. Slowly, he begins to put things aright, righting first one illusion, then the next, until the world again appears stable, although dry and reset to the way things were at the start of the fight - but with no sight of Sanlig or his illusion, Tovenaar.