Duel:Tiphareth v Zeneth

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Duel Info

  • Judges: Rheven (mid), Sidney, Nasurate
  • Stakes: Autohit Maiming round - Tiphareth's Tongue or Zeneth's Wing
  • Rd/time: 3rds / 15 min
  • Location: Temple of Kanos Ironbeard, Xalious Mountains
  • Decision: Tiphareth, split

Venue

Temple of Kanos Ironbeard
Alabaster and righteous the fabled home of the Dwarven Ascendi, Kanos Ironbeard, stands chiseled like some sculpture within the Xalious mountain range. Cut and carved from the very foundation of this ever-changing world the magnificent temple resides imperiously in its vigil over the land; acolytes and servitors remaining constant and prepared in their task to save the people of Hollow. Atop the seemingly endless walls that surround the chapel proper, crossbow men bedecked in the ruddy-hued attire of the mountain-dwelling avatar stand sentinel, staunch and unmoving like some living embodiment of the rock their religious beliefs are built upon. Serene in mien, the intricately designed house of worship is nothing short of a master piece, the walls and main building cut from the smoothest marble, making scaling or assault neigh on impossible, should such ever be attempted. A friend to many and a savior to all who would walk to his path, the gates to the manifestation of Kanos power remain ever-open, redemption always possible for the lost. A bas-relief depicts Kanos, axe upraised as if about to strike a cowering vampire at his feet, as a gnome and a spider queen look on in terror, about to flee. Kanos’ figure is a beautiful section of flawless marble, and is unusually lifelike. The cowering figures resemble Vakarash, Coreliant and Astrala.


Tiphareth vs Zeneth

Tiphareth smirks as the avian enters this shell of a Temple, knowing well that Kanos hasn’t dared to show his dwarven visage in these lands for quite some time. The Drow looks about the carvings upon the wall, studying the artwork in detail and shaking his head at the wishfully conceived notions of Kanos standing headlong against the three dark Ascendi victoriously. Finally, his gaze narrows toward the opponent before him, cracking his long ebon digits as he addresses the adversary. “Eventually fools such as you will learn that retribution against me will only prove to further disgrace your own cause, Rydian’s death was his own doing, now you’ll follow him down the path of pain at my hands.” With the utterance complete, the Eldermage grasps the fibrous walking stick firmly in his hands a slow chant erupting from his lips as he swings it first to the ceiling before thrusting it with the bulk of his force into the finely crafted marble floor, the enchantment building within him suddenly released into the hewn floor, its makeup shifting with a rapid transmutation from it’s solid form to that of a thin white clay of easily 2 feet in depth. No sooner than this sorcery takes place, the mage flips the staff on end, driving the inverse point into the mud before him, the sorcery suddenly dispelled as the mud suddenly reverts to the formerly solid form, hopefully trapping the unsuspecting avian within its aggregate grasp. His trap complete, the venerable wizard turns his attention toward an action of more considerable damage, aiming his palm toward the ceiling directly above his insidious foe with a flourish of elegant gesticulations, only a single word follows these arcane gestures causing a large swath of the temple roof to melt into a thick molten rain which descends rapidly toward the Avian’s form, threatening to rend flesh from bone in a fiery display of pain and melted flesh.


Zeneth 's heavily armoured boots clunk loudly on the polished stone floor of the temple her presence graces; mismatched eyes cast sharp glances about the surroundings. Then, and only then do attentions fall upon Tiphareth. As the man prepares with chanting and speeches she takes a breath, closing eyes briefly and exhaling in one slow, fluid motion. Hands clench at her sides, working the magic dwelling within her. Like wildfire it alights as a mere spark in the centre of her body, quickly escalating out of control and consuming her in a radiant aura. Pure light magic courses up and down her arms and torso, engulfing legs and wings in the same instant and transforming feminine visage quite obviously into that of an ethereal creature, sparks of mana spurting forth from a wide maw. "Enough words; let us dance, Drow," hisses the female. The voice she speaks in crackles with power and exhilaration as the first wave is sent forth in her direction. An attempt to move is made but no~, nothing happens and she glances down; the female's nose wrinkles. Still, she does not panic. A click of the fingers and a pair of enormous talons flicker into being at the ends of outstretched fingertips, made of the same light which runs across the rest of her body; these are aimed at the rock surrounding her and with a few slashing motions cracks begin to creep across its hardened surface. More and more appear as the light seeps through between the particles, forcing them apart until finally she breaks free - but not quite quickly enough. The molten roof crashes down behind her as she makes her escape from her prison, large droplets splashing onto her legs and burning through the light to scald flesh beyond. A scream erupts from fanged maw and the Avian wastes no time in attacking her opponent, ignoring the pain as best she can. Despite the injury she moves with the grace and ease of a dancer, dancing across the floor toward the Drow before spinning about with claws stretched Tiphareth's way, aimed right at his neck and upper body. Should the deadly weapons make any contact -- no matter how brief -- they will not only cut skin but send shocks of paralysing magic through his body.


Tiphareth watches with a mere modicum of joy as the bulk of his attack fails to descend upon his adversaries flesh, a look of slight surprise comes over the mages face as the avian takes on the significant transformation, preparing his next maneuver even as she claws and scratches upon the marble floor beneath. The oncoming Avian grows closer with her slashing claws, Tiphareth realizing the apparent claws of light are of dangerous power by the ease with which they penetrated the solid stone about her feet. Tiphareth quickly produces a small glass vial from within his robes, the insidious contents crafted by his own meticulous form of arcane alchemy. The concoction of chaotic blood, magical shards, and various other ingredients of nasty formulation swirls about within the glass confines. A quick flick of the drow’s nimble wrist sends the mystic vial flipping end over end through air toward the midpoint of his attackers vector as she grows ever closer, contacting the ground with an audible crash. The contents react violently and with virulent speed with the sacred temple floor, erupting into a thick plum caustic gas, both serving to distract and conceal as he moves with all semblance of remaining speed left within the aged Drow’s body. A partial dive, partial fall sends the mage to the floor, the claws barely missing the ebon flesh of his face and tearing clean through the dark hood about his head. Struggling backward from the growing cloud of corrosive gas, the mage utters a chain of mystic verse, the wind within this cavernous place growing to tornadic force around his enemy. Slowly the violent wall of wind closes in upon the Avian, concentrating the insidious miasma around the Avian’s form as it threatens to eat away her supple skin.


Zeneth allows the softest of laughs to escape her throat as she feels her talons ripping at something, though because of the cloudy substance floating on the air she is unable to tell what exactly she hit. Immediately the female stops in her tracks, skidding a little on the floor and digging her spiked heels deep into it. Screeching across the stone she quickly comes to a stop and jumps back in that instant, opening up a good few feet of space between her and Tiphareth. A wind starts up, ghosting across her skin at first until it eventually morphs into a raging cyclone of sorts, surrounding her and closing inwards. A sigh is released. "Foolish~" the woman practically sings -- she has faced such things in previous battles and knows how to deal with this -- before flaring her wings and taking off. Speeding upwards like an angel ascending to Heaven she escapes the tornado with relative ease just as it attempts to swallow her up; thankfully the thick tendrils of light slinking and meshing across her body prevent any real damage from the acidic gas and it merely burns her clothing a slight amount. Zeneth decides a tactic change is needed…A pulse of mana dances beneath the surface of pale, light-consumed skin, barely visible as a tiny rippling of features - but if noticed, a sure sign that mischief-making was beginning, or already going on. Magic whispers eerily about the entire hall, flooding out from the Avian-like being like the breaths expelled from her lungs and hanging almost visible in the air. A grin spreads lips wide, sharpened canines revealed in that instant as eyes of carmine and amethyst hue glitter oddly in the light. Then, she disappears, the click of her fingers echoing the only sound heard, the only proof that she was ever there. Silence reigns for a few brief moments, and then she is back, flaring into view like a ghostly apparition of some kind, and right before the mage. Talons -- which, if one looked close enough, are somewhat transparent -- slice once again at his chest but this is merely an attempt at getting the man to jump backwards - the real body of Zeneth crouches behind the Drow, her all too real claws of brilliance now shadowy and dark, awaiting the moment when Tiphareth moves to dodge her illusionary attack. As soon as a twitch is issued from his body she will stab upwards into his leg or back, or perhaps impale him completely.


Tiphareth glowers in disgust as the winged beast launches upward even through the turbulent winds, the accursed Avian suddenly disappearing from view as he glides amidst the air. Two can play at that game, thinks the mage as his palm is extended, unleashing the innate force within his Drow blood, causing a sudden void in the venue’s light, a sizable orb of magical darkness obscures all within this temple as the Drow levitates upwards, near the vaulted ceilings of this mystic temple. Ears pique to hear any sound of the airborne foe within the room, though none can be ascertained. Abandoning the attempt to locate his opponent by audible means, the Eldermage decides on a more savage approach. The dark elves fingers dance with native grace in the air before him as a massive portion of raw mystical force builds between his palms, a soft chant renders the stone ceiling above him into a yielding mass, as he levitates further upward, taking one last breath as he disappears into the earth above. The final action submitted by the venerable mage before ascending into the unseen depths is a rapid downward thrust of the eldritch culmination at his hands. The ball spits sparks of arcane force as it rails with intensity toward the marble floor, crashing with a fury as a shockwave of massive concussive force blasts outward from the point of impact. Shaking the foundation of the very temple whilst the blast soars outward with stentorian force.


Zeneth :: The light cuts out. Illusion fading in the blackness Zeneth falls quiet and still, listening for the attack she is sure will come from this dark. Her form stands out like a light bulb and she dispels of the magic as quickly as possible, brilliance fading and being eaten by the night. She rapidly loses her aura and disappears easily into the spell - an explosion goes off near by at that instant and the female jumps, blinking in surprise. Magic is forced to her eyes, augmenting sight and giving her the ability to see somewhat through Tiphareth's magic. A glance is cast skywards -- or rather ceiling-wards, what with her being indoors -- and the smallest of grins makes itself apparent on her lips. "All right," she whispers. With that said, the light comes back on, flaring up in her hands and swiftly growing in size and power. The blasts grow nearer, a shockwave slams her down upon the ground, and the Avian hauls herself into a low crouch. She skitters across the floor, using magic to amplify agility once more and finding a spot free of explosions where she can continue her attack. Concentrating hard, she allows the mana to build in her palms until it is enormous in size and can barely be held; eyes lock onto the ceiling, grin spreading across her features. "An interesting dance, this was!!" And with her words finished, the bubble of magic is released. It hurtles up to the ceiling and quite literally implodes on itself, dissolving into hundreds of thin tendrils which crash against the rock and begin to sneak their way into the stonework, again driving shards of brick and clay apart. Igniting the radiant stems of light with a clap of her hands and a pulse of magic Zeneth stands back to watch as the entire roof explodes in a shower of rock and debris, hopefully damaging Tiphareth somewhat in the lethal blast.


Tiphareth awaits the inevitable tremor from the blast below within the confines of his earthen sanctuary, suddenly feeling the considerable jarring of the stone about him. Its power more than he had anticipated as the aggregate closes in about his body, constricting his frame to the point of a necessary escape from his arcane shelter. Descending rapidly into the cavernous space below, the magus breathes deeply as his lungs welcome the stale air. His relieve is short lived however, for as he expected to descend into the formerly dark confines he left behind, a surprise meets his eyes as the venue has resumed it’s former light. Only moments of notice are posted to his eyes as the onslaught from his avian foe becomes apparent, her occult rush power grows ever closer the mage’s form as he thrust his forearms to face the coming blow. A radiant arc of scintillating colors forms a shield like pulse which launches forth toward the Avian’s bubble. The spell is not blocked by any means, given the short preparation time the Drow was allowed, but rather slightly diverted to meet the ceiling near him with a violent blast of mystic force. The mana courses through the stone above him, causing aggregate precipitation to speed hastily toward the mage from an unsuspecting angle. Large chunks of angular rock pelt the mage’s levitating frame, his concentration lost as he descends rapidly toward the unforgiving floor. A loud thump is heard as the Drow topples to the floor below the blast, chunks of the falling debris continuing to fall toward him as he dodges only the largest pieces until the onslaught is complete. Struggling to reach his feet, the venerable mage seems to have trouble standing upon his weary legs after such a collapse, turning his attention toward the avian lest it be necessary to further engage.


Autohit Maiming Post
Tiphareth removes the bloodlust dagger from its home upon his side, the very same blade which removed Zeneth’s clan leaders arm. A soft incantation is whisperer upon the blade as it’s suddenly rendered invisible. Tossing the blade high over head, the unseen dagger makes an odious arc over the Avian’s head, coming down with a precise strike upon the sinuous appendage linking the right wing to the Avian’s back. A sick slice, and accompanying tear is heard as the blade penetrates cleanly through the unique limb, it’s feathery form descending unceremoniously to the floor. A quick snap of the Eldermage’s elongated digits sends the separated wing blinking out of sight behind Zeneth’s body and reappearing within Tiphareth’s grasp. “It seems I’m making a habit out of claiming limbs of you Fold members.” With that, the magus closes his eyes, disappearing from view with the newly claimed prize gripped firmly in hand.