Duel:Nasurate v Phallajian

Stakes: Five-thousand gold pieces.

Winner: Phallajian.

Nasaurate lifts his head, sky-blue gaze going upwards to view the walls of the pit, noting the ice about the walls, taking interest in pieces of rock that wold seem ready to break off from the side of the wall. All of the surrounding environmental factors, the ice on the walls, the loose rock, the chunks of snow that threaten to fall into the pit from the opening above, are noted, taken into proper concept, before gaze then lowers, eventually to the man that stands before him. Phallajian's armour is then given the same scrutinisation, looking for small holes in the joints, examining for areas that may have rusted, or softened, making the armour easier for a blade to punch through. Atlast, posture and build of the opponent is calculated. Quite heavy set, seems to know what he's doing with that sword of his... The Elf's chin dips into a firm nod, careful steps taking him closer toward the dragon, fingers curling further around the body of the blackwood staff for a better grip, "Aye, Dragon. I'm ready." Just as these words are leaving that small crevice between slightly parted pale-peach lips, his right arm, the arm that ends in the handle which clutches the thin blackwood staff, is drawn backwards, slowly over his head, while the mage focuses on drawing from his internal energies, drawing his powers forth, tapping deep into the broken planes of magic, gathering as much of the tender wisps as he is mentally able, and keeping a steady flow of energy from his mind and into his staff arm. That gloriously slow movement of drawing the staff backwards finishes, and the star-shaped head of the blackwood magic tool is brought over Nasurate's head and thrust, forcefully into the ground below them. The gathered energy is released with violent intensity, a sudden blast of compressed air being fired upwards. It shakes the pit as it powers upwards, finally escaping over the lip of pit as calmer air flows down to take it's place. But nay, the shockwaves damage has been done, for as the compressed blast had powered upwards, those loose chunks of rock, those frail looking ice shards and the snow atop the pit has been disturbed, and disturbed most horribly. A careening screach rips itself through the pit as the first chunks of rock begin to break, now fully severed from little had kept them in place, and they begin the freefall down upon the hapless pair below. Snow falls freely from over the lip of the pit, an avalanche to bury those beneath, and the ice sharps join into the steady torrent. Chaos ensures within the pit, the walls vibrating, the ground shaking as it all comes to bury the pair, and both, Nasurate including, would be crushed to death if nothing is done. Nasurate means of protection also serves as secondary attack, those chunks of ice, rock and snow that would have fallen on him instead being thrown toward Phallajian, by way of blast of air that come from the head of the staff whenever required.

Phallajian 's hand resides on the dark blade belted to his left hip as the elf studies him. There is a long moment where nothing happens at all, and the elf simply stands there with his wand held aloft, but then Phallajian can feel the air surge upwards around him. With a flip of his wing muscles the scaly appendages catch the air suddenly and Phallajian finds himself rocketting up to the very top of the pit. The walls shake and from his floating vantage Phallajian can see bits of ice and chinks of rock start to break loose. Altering his coarse with his wings the Dragon Phallajian smashes himself into a large stalactite of ice wich falls cascading down into the pit, wether it would his the lithe elf or not the shard's exploding outward as it shattered could still be devastating. At that moment the surge of air ceases and Phallajian seizes this moment to curl his wings and drop with breakneck speed toward the elf. Phallajian can hear a crash as the ice shard he dislodged shatters somewhere below. Hurtling through the air Phallajian's right hand reaches back with intense speed to the holy sword on his back and The Dragons powerfull arms rip it lose. as he neared the ground Phallajian's wings unfurled and flourished slowing his decent just enough to prevent injury as Phallajian swings his long sword down at the elf's neck and right shoulder. Phallajian was unsure if his attack had made contact as He hit the ground. His armour and muscles absorbed most of the impact but the force of impact shunted Phallajian onto one knee and the stones beneath him cracked under the weight. Phallajian's legs bulge, chords tighten, and his immeanse saurian strength forces him shoulder first towards the elf with enough force to send a solid steel door flying off it's hinges. The shoulder blow was intended for the elf's upper gut and lower chest, Phallajian hoped it would force the air out of him. Phallajian's left knee was ready to fly up into Nasurates ribs the second that Phallajian's shoulder blow made contact.

Nasurate curses loudly, spitting the foul obscenity into the air as the Dragon flies upwards. The rocks that cascade are flung upwards with renewed vigor, increased ferocity, raging winds to having them make it that far way. Yet, it is quite a push forwards, and those that don't fall short have been tossed to far to be accurate. And so, the mage battles with the surrounding dangerous environment for a few moments, air blasts from the staff throwing the oncoming debris sideways, small bursts of flames having the ice and snow melt in mid-air. Before long, two large piles of broken rocks have build up either side of the now angered Elf, where he has been tossing the debris back and forth in attempt to prevent injury. A few of the smaller, more pointed stones have gone unnoticed, fallen to cause slight cuts across his cheeks, but nothing more. As the barage finally ceases, as the last rock is thrown to the left, the staff rises again, this time for the oncoming shards of sharp ice broken by the dragon avdersary. Of course, ice is a simple thing for one skilled in fire magics, and it takes a mere open wave of upwards flames to melt the shards, reducing them to harmless water. The flames continue to climb toward the Dragon but, of course, him being a Dragon, very little, is anything would be suffered. The next way of aggression is, again, quite easily defended, Nasurate always having thought that any attack that would come from above be so much easier to block than one from the front. The rapier that sits in Nasurate's off hand his left hand, is brought upwards in a wide arc, the blade travelling from the left side to the right, over his neck, where the two blades meet, and continuing downward over the shoulder, cleanly deflecting the blow, and leaving Phallajian's blade to move away from his form. The charge, coming from one who has been downed, and therefore less accurate than it would usually be, is avoided with a hasty side-step, yet not hasty enough, the should catching just the side of his lower ribs, causing a gasp of unexpected pain, and an instrictual response to thrust the rapier blade forward upon the moving side of the opponent, where any such thrust would be difficult to repel. The blade thunders for the kidney of the Dragon, aimed for a small spot on the armour where it appears worn, rusted even, and therefore easy to punch a blade through.

Phallajian feels his shoulder connect but he can tell it is not a clean hit and as he glances back he sees the nimble elf has allready prepared a counter attack and is jabbing his thin rapier toward the Dragon's side. Realizing that his momentum is too much to stop and that he can not block such a blow from his current position the battle weary Dragon instinctually drops his weight to the ground where he collides with a loud thud. The sudden drop of his target sends the elf's thin blade deflecting off of Phallajian's heavy plate armour and as he missed his stab, from the ground Phallajian can see that the elf is over-extended and left off balance. Phallajian rolls off of his stomach to the left and away from Nasurate, The dragon uses the spin's momentum to force his right foot up straight at the elf's chin. Hoping that the element of surprise mixed with the elf's precarious position would grant a clean kick to the chin from heavy armored boots. Phallajian would continue his roll, going over his own shoulder and landing in a low crouch with his long sword in hand. Phallajian once again uses his strength to push against the ground and explode out toward the elf who Phallajian hoped would still not have completely recovered from his kick. In an amazing display of power the long sword in the Dragon's hand whips about light as a foil in his muscled hands and a swift up and left oriented slash would be aimed at Nasurates left ribs. Phallajian would use the momentum of the swing to knock himself off balance backward on purpose. on his way to the ground back first The dragon's great muscled legs are forced furiosly outward toward his opponants chest, just as a bright orange jet of flames surges past Phallajian's maw in the generall direction of his opponant; hoping to gain the saurian enough distance to regain his footing.

Nasurate gives a startled cry as his failed thrust takes him off balance, and in a haste to steady himself, the blackwood staff comes forth, the prongs that form the staff's tail going outward to dig into the earth, provide a support for the Elf to gather his weight from. As soon as his body is again his own, runed boots take a well-timed step backward, and the pupils of sky-blue eyes follow the course of the armoured boot as it whips past his face, yet not actually making any contact. The staff drops again to his side, yet continued onward to press against the straight back of the Elf, Nasurate correcting his stance so that his feet carry his posture to be side-on with the Dragon, the rapier extended forwards, held ready in Nasurate's usual en-guard position, the position from where he will meet all blades, if allowed the time to prepare for the blade in question, as he has now. Of course, the rapier flashes outwards, the thin, small blade proving enough, from Nasurate's body posture, to knock the blade off course for a second time, the rapier again having fulfilled it's primary function in keeping Nasurate from bleeding wounds. A pale brow lifts as Phallajian responds to this with some harp-hazard backward manieuvre, and promptly sends himself fall backwards. What an odd move, the Elf ponders, and this absent-minded train-of-thought is what distracts him from the boots that lash out against his chest. As such, both feet make forceful contact, sending the Elf sprawling backwards, doubled over, arms which still clutch his weapons curling around his chest as he coughs, winded for air. Oxygen is forced into his lungs and he lifts his head as soon as he is able, to see the oncoming barrage of flames from the Dragon's maw. The blackwood staff lifts, going off to the side, catching the flames and sending them uselessly off to one side using Nasurate's fire magics, and it is the same magics that prevent him from anything more than some small minor burns, considering the fires had been quite close to his person. Rapier now lifts upon the downed Dragon, and the staff is thrust underarm in a backward motion, releasing a fierce blast of compressed air, which aids the speed of the Elf's forward charge. Upon the backs of small winds the mage runs, his small blade extended, and with lightning-quick speed, lended by the air manipulation, the Elf simply falls upon the Dragon, his blade extended to embed within Phallajian's plated chest.

Phallajian sees nasurate charging toward him swiftly with blade extended. As the elf neared, Phallajian kicked his left foot outward, trying to trip the charging elf but his attempt proves fruitless as the nimble elf simply steps over his foot and appears to fall forward with his thing flexible blade pointing down at the Dragon's heart. His panic increasing Phallajian desperately tries to move out of the way but could not get far enough as the elf's blade slips through the plates on Phallajian's left shoulder. The blade slips easily through the soft flesh of Phallajian's shoulder and forces itself out the other side, the blade impacting in the soil and driving down nearly and inch. Phallajian gasped as he felt the blade pass through him but despite the pain the dragon nearly smiled. It was a clean stab and had missed any vital areas, but one thing it had done was bring the elf too close to simply dodge away . Overwhelming rage took over the Dragon's actions and his right arm flew upward six inches violently and his fingers wrapped around the elf's right wrist in a crushing grip. Rolls right while pulling down on the elf's wrist using gravity against his opponant as he pulled the elf past his natural center of gravity. Nasurates blade leaves the soil as Phallajian's body leaves the ground, rolling over his opponant and trying to pin the mage to the ground. Phallajian sends another blast of bright orange flames toward his opponant who Phallajian doubted could dodge them at a range of severall inches. If succesfull Phallajian will be on top of nasurate both on ground.

Nasurate struggles. Hell, does the wiry male struggle against Phallajian's superior strength, yet it all in vain. The man is taller, and is racially his superior in matters of raw strength. Teeth grit together as the dragon rises, Nasurate's wrist clamped in his hand, and in an act of desperation, the runed boots are lifted, both feet pressed against the chest of the death knight, and with all his natural strength plus what little air he can gather without use of his staff, Nasurate kicks outwards, releasing the gathered air downwards in a slight blast. This is sufficent in force to rip his wrist from Phallajian's grip, but the armoured fingers curl around the mage's ankle instead, causing him to trip, fall backwards onto the floor with a painful bump. The dragon comes toward, and with the wind knocked from him by his blow to the floor, the mage cannot struggle against the dragon. Thank the Gods, then, that he resorts to his breath instead of his blade, and thank the Gods further that the breath is sent into his face, where the protective runes that Nasurate paints onto himself daily are more concentrated. Through use of Pyromancy, also, that lends him extra protection from fire, the Elf mentally moves the fires over his head, causing them to thin out, become weaker yet more widespread, the flames being manipulated by minor twitches of the Elf's fingers. As such, when the flames do fade, little damage has been sustaned, save for a few minor burns under his eyes, and the smouldering ends of his silvery-white air. The staff, still clutched, is knocked against the ground, causing another rabid blast of air, which sends Nasurate sliding from underneath Phallajian's form, ripped from his grasp, and he hastily climbs to his feet, staff coming to his side, rapier extended.