Fight:An Eye for a… Well, Not an Eyeball, But Certainly a Ball of Sorts

(NOTE: This was an OOC spar. I do not usually post OOC spars, but this one was a lot of fun, so I figured I'd stick it up)

Arena

Hildegarde had spent enough time standing there and staring at the wizard: the time for action was now. Winterheart twirled in her hands as a show of readiness along with a little dip of her head, before the knight darted forth. Winterheart twirled in her grasp, ready for a strike at any moment. But the knight tucked the halberd in tight between her arm and body, using her bodyweight - and a heavy woman she was - to swing the side of the axe-head against the wizard. A non-lethal attack, but one that would take the wind out of whoever it managed to strike, that was certain. But the knight knew the wizard well, it would be madness to linger but madder still to give him room to work his spells, so she gave no quarter: turning her body swiftly in an effort to swing the halberd against him again but to throw her slightly scaled, curled fist against his face.

Svilfon remains entirely motionless as Hildegarde begins her brazen attack, one the wizard almost expects from the powerful Knight of Frostmaw. She knew him as well as he knew her - a gift shared between those who battle so often in the frozen kingdom - he is prepared. At the first non-lethal strike, the wizard mutters a few words of a simple spell, enacting a form of levitation very similar to the one drow use, though no where near as potent. It didn't make the wizard lift upwards, but it did lesson his weight enough that the vicious strike, while rather painful, does more than just bruise and batter his deceased flesh. It strikes Svilfon with enough force to send him hurling across the arena. Intentions were initially to cast while he travelled through the air, his feet inches from the ground, but the force of the blow is too strong - it robs him of his breath, even as it saves him from the punch thrown by the dragon. So as he stops his movement, instead of casting a complicated spell, he pulls from within his robes a small wand with various arcane inscriptions upon it. The item is lifted quickly, its tip pointed at Hildegarde at the same moment Svilfon speaks the command word. From it comes forth a bolt of crackling electricity; not quite as powerful as a summoned lightning from a mage, but still powerful enough that were it to strike the dragon, it'd be quite a shocking experience.

Hildegarde, like Svilfon, had battled the wizard enough times to know him and his tactics well enough. So when the wizard was hurled across the arena with her might, she ran right after him in the effort to give him no room: she was dangerous up close and he was dangerous from a distance, it made their fights all the more interesting in truth. The dragon may well have been fast, but she was not as fast as lightning unfortunately: but she knew evasive tactics, she had read plenty about it and had done plenty in the battlefield. She had tried to zigzag as she ran, but the lightning struck her shoulder and struck her hard: causing her run to briefly turn into an odd cross between a spasm and a skip, it looked comical to be sure, but the main thing was that she kept on running. The knight turned Winterheart in her hands, aiming it at Svilfon, even though his feet were a few inches from the ground. The knight was tall, she could do what she intended, she was sure. With a mighty battle roar, the Silver thrusted the butt of Winterheart forward and aimed for his gut - but rather than stopping, she kept moving, aiming to pin the wizard against the wall as her hand made to grab for his foot and yank him down to her level, as her head rocked forward for a vicious headbutt.

Svilfon tries to leap away with skill and grace from the dragon's vicious attack, but sadly with feet a-floatin' a few inches above the ground, all he does is flail his legs wildy before he's struck with horrendous force by the butt of Winterheart. This time the wizard doesn't have the air torn from his undead lungs, for the simple reason there was none in there - it wasn't required to fuel his vampiric body. But it hurt enough for a grunt to sound, before his foot is grabbed and he's torn back to the ground, shattering his brief defiance of gravity's unending grasp. Without any time to cast potent magic, seeing as a dragon's head was soaring towards his own - a collision whose outcome he is all to aware will not be favourable to himself - he snaps up the wand in the same motion as he bends his neck to the left. The butt of the arcane item is placed against the wall he's pinned against as quick as he can, despite it being awkward, so that instead of sending a vicious headbutt right at Svilfon, Hildegarde would be sending it right at the sharpened end of the wand... Regardless of whether or not it impales her head, the wizard would speak a slightly different command word this time... causing the wand to expell all its latent power in one torrent of unleashed magic which would seek to devour whatever it touched... be it the inside of her head, or her body before him. It ruined the item completely, but Svilfon can always purchase another.

Hildegarde's eye widened as the wizard snaps his head to the side and leaves his wand ready to deal with her! Before she might have panicked and probably rammed her head into the wand, but she knew she had the wizard's ankle in her grasp and she wasn't about to let that go to waste. The dragon yanked him hard to the side in the effort to put him between her and the wand: either breaking it before that blast of latent power or forcing it to run its course through his own deceased body.

Svilfon is yanked quickly to the side, but he doesn't resist it. Nor does he resist the onslought of the wand's magic as he's placed between it and the dragon. Instead, being a creature of potent power himself, he merely lets it channel into his body, surging through undead flesh without causing too much damage - on a living person, it would perhaps kill them, mage or not, but Svil's vampirism will keep him (un)alive. Acting as a conduit is not all that easy, but still the wizard uses the force of his formidable will power to quickly drive the magic through himself, ravishing him as tendrils of it break free of his concentration, but ignoring the pain entirely. Down... down... until it stops where Hildegarde has hold of the wizard's ankle. There he truly acts - forcing it with a command that is nothing more than a scream of pain - trying to have it drive through the hand which holds him into her own body, where it would seek to devour her like it tried against Svil... except the wizard hopes the dragon is not so prepared as he is to deal with such things...

Hildegarde had been too enraptured by the process to let go of Svilfon's ankle, so the power that had coursed through him begins to course through her and announces itself with a howl of agony from her. But the knight was nothing if not determined! Even as the agony of that magic coursed through her, ravaging her from the inside out, her hand left Svilfon's ankle and reached upward to snake into his magnificent wizard beard, yanking him down harshly as she lunged viciously and endeavoured to clamp near unbreakable teeth into his throat. Her blood was poisonous to him, but was his poisonous to her? It was never something she had learned, truly. But so she lunged for him, depending on that force ravaging through her body to make her bite all the worse: to force her to spasm and tear without intention, to horribly wound him. But the quivering of her body had forced her tongue to slice against her teeth, meaning her own blood was mingling with her eerily freezing saliva.

Svilfon expected a whole bunch of thrashing, and was prepared to dodge wild blows, but he didn't expect her to grab his beard and yank his throat towards her mouth. He reacts by the instincts all living creatures have, and which vampires keep even in death: Protect the throat. So he snaps up his arm, dropping the ruined wand, and captures the bite in his forearm rather than jugular. Immediately the grotesque sound of sickly 'snaps' is heard throughout the arena as her powerful jaws easily overcome the wizard's vampiric bones. Shards begin to protrude out of his robes, but the pain of a shattered limb is nothing to the acidic bite of dragon's blood, mixed with the frost of the silver dragon's saliva. Trying to pull away could well result in him having his arm torn off, so he does the last thing left to him. Two fingers extend upon his free hand, both looking deceptively delicate, but both viciously powerful as a wizard's must be when the fate of so many spells rests upon the minute inflections of his fingers. Extended, pointed at her, the wizard, with a cry mixed with pain and determination, drives his hand forward, seeking out Hildegarde's eyes... he wanted to slam his fingers into her gaze, drive through the soft orbs, before tearing them out before her blood can do more than just burn his insides with the fury of.. well.. a dragon scorned.

Hildegarde tasted the blood in her mouth and growled loudly, more like snarled with delight. Of course, dragon instincts were deeply ingrained: the flesh and blood of the weak only fuelled her innate bloodlust, her desire to hunt and kill weaker prey to sate her voracious appetite. But Frostmaw had taught her to be a warrior, to permanently be ready for war and battle and Dami had taught her that you must do anything to survive. So, she closed her eye tightly and waited for the impact, her free hand surging forth for the groin of the wizard and allowing her spasm wracked hand to grip tightly; to grip with a crushing force. An eye for a… well, not an eyeball, but certainly a ball of sorts.

Svilfon tries to drive his hand into Hildegarde's eyeball for about as long as it takes for her draconian grasp to grab hold of his little Svils and begin to squeeze. Though, the wizard is married to a dragon himself, he's never quite been this acquainted with another one and thankful he would usually be... but not today. There's little left within him for thought as surging pain overwhealms the agony of his shattered arm and boils like liquid fire from down below. He screams in a high-pitched voice, incoherently at first, before it shifts to the quickest spell to alter this situation that Svil knows. Teleporting. It's all he's got left before wizard becomes wizardess, so he enacts the spell with his high-pitched voice and vanishes from the dragon's vile grasp, leaving in his wake another ball for Hildegarde to play with; this one large and made of fire - the combustible after-effects of that spell when it's cast without concentration. But the wizard doesn't even care if it burns the dragon. No, as he appears again a fair distance behind her, he realizes he made a mistake... it seems the higher pitched the voice, the higher up you appear when teleporting... Svil materializes near thirty feet above the arena and has not the will nor strength to stop himself plummeting down to the ground below. He lands in a heap, lets out a little squeak, before rolling with one shattered arm pressed against his chest, the other grasping himself to ensure nothing... well... let's say popped. (Otherwise, I'll be wincing too much to type it!)

Hildegarde's hand closed shut just after the wizard teleported away, so it was a very lucky escape for him. At this point, the magic had just about ran its course through her system, leaving her a twitchy and angry dragon! The knight saw the huge ball of fire and drew in a deep - albeit very shaky - breath, taking a proper and steady stance to balance herself as she blew out what could only be explained as a gust of frozen wind. It was impossible to think her lungs could gather so much air, but it was perfectly fine for a dragon! So, she directed the gust of wind towards that flaming ball in the effort to either snuff it out or to direct it just away from her.

Svilfon doesn't notice Hildegarde defeating another of his balls, as the fire is swept away by the onslought of her frozen breath. All he can do is whimper as he rolls onto his stomach to alleviate some of the agony below, only to be assaulted by the burning pain of his shattered arm. So he rolls onto his back, only for the reverse to be made true. This vicious little cycle is about all he'll be able to manage for quite a while yet... poor wizard, this is what happens when you piss off a dragon! Unfortunately, I doubt it's a lesson learned... damn stubbon Svilfon, he'll be making me wince more in days to come, I'm sure!