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Arkim versus Dagolin
Arkim stands silently upon the coastline, his hand lovingly
stroking the hell hound beside him as he tilts his chin, gazing
across the shoreline. In his other hand rests his scythe,
it’s blade glimmering in the twinkling sunset of the
evening. The impure blade seems to resonate softly in the oncoming
twilight, it’s blade glimmering with the foretold darkness
to come. The Chylde’s dreadlocked hair flows in an almost
eerie manner as the breeze delicately caresses his slender figure.
Long, bony fingers slip loosely about the handle of his blade as
he rests the hilt of it firmly against the washed sand, the waves
lapping lightly around his feet. The waters of the grandmother
ocean remain calm, her surface as smooth as can be with the
exception of each passing wave. The heavens above continue to
reign cloudless, without a doubt within them. Each solitary star
seems to shine as brightly as the next one, illuminating the skies
above. Arkim turns his peaceful complexion upon Dagolin, his gaze
unwavering. Almost instantly, that peace is shattered. His
glimmering, aquamarine orbs give into the darkness as they shift
into hues of obscurity, brimming with a malevolent hatred. The
visage of the Chylde Enigma quickly deteriorates, scowling with a
deep loathing. A raspy tone fills the sea air as the voice seems
to claw within the back of your very mind, “So little one,
you say you do not fear bloodlust? Let us see how well you take up
with what is the damned.” The tone cackles in a most harsh
manner. The laughing abruptly dies down as it is replaced with the
unholy hymn of the Chylde’s blade. Arkim’s jaw lowers,
his lips parting as a rather fluent and creamy voice seeps from
within his throat. The notes carry lightly through the air,
singing only the sorrow and pain of the land as the
shoreline’s memories of eons long past are brought back into
existence. A blanket of darkness conceals all light, hiding any
hope from the Heaven’s above and bringing only the pain of
the damned from below. A scorching wind whips about your body as
the chorale of sorrow heightens into a crescendo, a forte striking
upon the wind as the painful memories continue to flow. A low
growl is heard amidst the torrent of endless song from the hell
hound as it’s legs seem to buckle beneath his body,
it’s scarred skin decaying into nothingness as the images
overwhelm the poor creature. The painful sorrow continues to whip
through the air as a torrent of suffering and misery as it begins
to scream about Dagolin, creeping closer every second as the
memories threaten to rip him limb from limb…
Dagolin looks hard at Arkim, sizing him up, gauging his many
strengths. His mind’s eye flashes back to the tavern the
night before, to the brawl that nearly cost him his life.
“Today, we finish what we started,” he mumbles to
himself under his breath. He remembers the hit from Arkim’s
scythe that sent him flying, remembers the pain that lanced
through his skull as it contacted the pole of that demonic weapon.
His memory becomes hazy as his mental reflection flips over a
chair and into a table, sending shattered wood flying. Dagolin
snaps back into the present as Arkim begins to sing, conjuring up
memories of pain, trying to overwhelm him with emotional scars of
the past. The elf begins trying to prepare a defense, but is too
late… his mind slips into memory again, this time going way
back to Dagolin’s youth. He stands on a beach, much like
this one, but the sun was shining… He caressed Feyra’s
arms as he held her close to him, breathing in the scent of her
hair as it mingled with the salty spray of the ocean. “I
love you,” he said to her, trying vainly to express his
feelings for this beautiful elven maiden who had stolen his heart.
She merely smiled at him and pulled him to the ground over her.
But her eyes widen in fear, and Dagolin reacts only as an elven
warrior has the foresight to do. He rolls to the left, bringing
his love with him, out of the way of the thugs dagger that flashes
into the sad that they had occupied only fleeting moments before.
The elves stand, and Feyra turns to run as Dagolin approaches the
armed thug, his empty hands held out before him. “I will
give you my money, just leave us be, please.” The thug
glares at him, offering a quick smirk, and suddenly looses his
dagger. It flies swiftly and truly, imbedding itself in
Freyra’s back….. The sadness of that moment rolls back
into Dagolin, threatening to overwhelm him and drag him into the
pits of an internal hell. He screams, a wordless cry of rage and
pain. His very soul aches, but he manages to pierce the haze of
his mind for a brief moment, muttering a long word in Old Elvish,
completing the spell that he had started what seemed like an
eternity ago. As soon as it had begun, all fell silent as the
globe of quiet spell took effect, shielding Dagolin from the
hellish noise emanating from Arkim’s twisted mouth. Dagolin
straightens, drawing forth his saber. The dragon carved into
it’s hilt comes to life at the touch of it’s master,
and begins breathing flame down the length of the curved steel
blade. Dagolin sneers, rage threatening to overtake him. “So
you want to do this the hard way,” he says. Dagolin raises
his saber and charges, spinning past the possessed scythe and
whipping it around Arkim in a flurry of quick cuts and
thrusts...
Arkim keeps his gaze fixated upon Dagolin. His false, silky
voice remains unfaltering as the song continues, shattering the
silence completely.. His other set of fingers slips around the
handle of the scythe as he sets a death grip upon it. The Chylde
begins to move backwards, stepping one step at a time as his
figure remains elegant and upright as he moves. A series of clangs
can be heard as the Enigma effortlessly parries the furious, yet
poor attacks as he continues to draw Dagolin in a rage. Sparks
shower the tensioned air as the weapons meet each other in
succession. One last clang resonates as it crushes the tension
upon the air, the two warriors held in place by their met weapons.
Arkim continues to gaze upon Dagolin, his obscured orbs piercing
into the depths of his very soul as the song of the damned
continues. The water surrounding the two fighters darkens as it
begins to churn. Slightly at first, it then intensifies as it
grows into a violent swirl. The smooth ocean quickly becomes
rigid, barren of all peace that once was. It’s color shifts
hues as it dips from it’s crystalline blue into that of
darkness. A hand slips from the handle of the Chylde’s
weapon as he snaps his fingers loudly. Another crescendo strikes
upon your ears as the darkness roars from the floor below, rearing
it’s head high above Dagolin. The darkness continues to
shift and swirl as it sways into a massive blade. The crescendo
reaches it’s peak as the dissonance overwhelms your ears,
screaming only death and despair as souls cry out from within the
painful memories of obscurity. The massive blade arcs downwards,
threatening to split Dagolin in two from his skull, down.
Dagolin strikes out furiously, but to no avail. He shakes his
head, knowing that succumbing to anger is exactly what Arkim wants
him to do. He glances up, watching in growing fear as the huge
blade of living darkness forms and begins to descend upon him. He
throws in one last thrust and rolls hard to the left, his flash
scraping the barren, heat blasted ground. The massive blade hits
just beside him, and throws up mounds of dirt and dust with enough
force to knock Dagolin up into the air. He spirals lazily away
from Arkim, slamming into the once-sandy ground with a sickening
thud. He curses, spitting out dust and blood as he rises to his
feet. “One can only abuse Hell so long before it starts to
fight back…” he says out loud, only hoping that his
words may ring true. He grips his saber tightly and waves his free
hand before him, dropping the globe of silence, this time prepared
for the wave of pain that would envelope him. He grits his teeth,
takes a deep breath, and begins to sing out in his own voice, his
melodic tones drifting out above the ground, mingling with the air
much like the dust kicked up by Arkim’s unholy blade,
permeating the ears of all who gather to hear it. The notes vary
in pitch and volume, weaving an intricate song of blessing, a
divine chorus. ‘This is what you get for picking a fight
with a bard’, he thinks to himself as he sings, raising the
volume of his melodic voice to overshadow that of Arkim’s
demonic screeching. Dagolin pours every ounce of his being out
from his mouth, and suddenly, the dark blade vanishes, dissipating
like a cloud of smoke. Grass begins to grow again on the scorched
ground at his feet, and the hell hound ceases it’s agonizing
cries. The elf smiles, lifting the corners of his mouth slightly,
and walks unerringly towards the dread locked figure before him.
He holds his saber loosely at his side as the sun shines forth
once again. Dagolin stands directly in front of Arkim, staring him
in the eyes as his song reaches it’s climax. Just when all
attention is diverted to the beautiful heavenly tones issuing
forth from his mouth, he drops into a crouch, reversing his grip
on his silver blade and kicking out hard in a sweep with his right
foot, knocking Arkim to the ground. The elf grins in triumph as he
completes his spin, and drives his word down at Arkim’s
chest with all of his might…
Arkim growls as he lands upon the now grass-ridden area with a
light thud. His eyes widen momentarily as he catches his breath.
The eyes of the Chylde catch a flash of metal that glints off of
Dagolin's blade. In an instant, the tainted blade is thrown
upwards with all his strength and hatred. The blades glance off
each other in a loud clang as Arkim releases his right hand. His
palm presses upon the ground and in a smooth, quick motion his
body forces itself in a centrifugal motion. Arkim plants his right
foot upon the ground as his body circles, thrusting his left foot
along the arc and sends it soaring towards Dagolin. At the same
time, the tainted blade sings through the air as the Chylde's left
hand is brought about in a flash, threatening to sever Dagolin's
neck in the process.
Dagolin’eyes widen as Arkim seems to defy gravity, regaining
his footing. His saber flies through the air, knocked form his
grasp by the vampire’s hateful blow. Dagolin whips into
action as the polished boot and the malevolent scythe slice
towards him, offering him little time to think or plan his next
action. He breathes deeply, and his eyes seem to lose focus as he
gathers the rest of his strength and power. In a flash, his
emerald eyes snap open, and he dives forward, flipping over the
dark boot, landing on one hand. He uses this hand to push off of
the ground, and he flips up over the scythe’s hellish blade,
tucking into a ball and landing on the grassy earth in a tumble.
He rolls forward, grabbing his saber off of the ground with one
hand and vaulting up to his feet with the other. He pats the
dragon’s head, and the flames along the silvery blade
extinguish. Dagolin sheathes his blade and bows at Arkim.
“You have proven a powerful opponent, Arkim, and a more than
worthy foe. I am honored to have fought against you and
survived.” A haunted look appears in his eyes, perhaps due
to the stirred up memories of his first love’s gruesome
demise. The look vanishes, and is replaced by a new gaze: A look
of respect. He nods once more at Arkim, and turns curtly, walking
out into the mist…
Arkim is declared the winner.
Arkim versus Qengho
Arkim smirks as his long, bony fingers slip around the handle of his blade in a tight grip. The possessed blade glints
in the afternoon sun as it is brought into the air, it's unholy hymn beginning as the battle does. The Chylde's feet plant
themselves upon the ground as he lowers the blade once more, angling it this way and that as he prepares for the attack. His
feet begin to carry him towards his intended target, Qengho, swiftly and silently. Several feet before Qengho, he stops and
leaps high into the air above Qengho. A ball of darkness is wrought between his free hand as it is released towards Qengho,
sending it screaming towards him. Arkim begins descending through the air, the crescent blade spinning and singing as the
blade also comes down upon Qengho.
Qengho watches as Arkim begins his moves. Hearing the hymn as Arkim flies higher into the air. Qengho draws his Blade and
smiles as he sees the ball fly from Arkims hand. Qengho reaches for THe Stone-of-Decar and swiftly raises it , speaking the
language of the sea. The Ball comes forward as the Stone begins to glow a dark hue , inviting the ball inside. From the Stone
comes a flash of lightning which meets the Ball of darkness dispersing both energies into the atmosphere. Looking about he
sees Arkim descending in the pattern of light created by the energy dispersal. He raises his blade to meet Arkims, feeliing
the blades meet and slide, metal on metal. Qengho leans into the coming blade and allows it to meet is flesh feeling the blood
as it pours from his wound. He begins to speak slowly now and watches as the blood flow slows, but not before enough blood
has been released to create a wall that hangs in the air as qengho speaks ancient words. With a flick of his wrist he sends
the wall hurtling at Arkim to try and smother him in a blanket of crimson ,,, Qengho dives forward on his opposite shoulder
dragging his blade with him , swings it towards arkims left leg seeking more blood
Arkim turns his gaze upon the approaching blanket of crimson. He hesitates momentarily, then charges at it without a second
thought. The tainted chorus seems to crescendo, resonating throughout the back of your mind as the impure blade is cut loose
with a blazing fury, sending the blood splattering all over Kelay Way. Almost reflexively, the Chylde senses the warrior's
impending attack as his blade is drawn closer to his body. The sound of metal clanging overwhelms the forte momentarily as
the blades meet. Arkim pushes more force into his swing, sending his scythe riding up Qengho's as it throws him off balance.
A sudden incantation is heard as the raspy voice of the Chylde speaks softly between the notes. A crystalline drop forms upon
the tip of the scythe, lingering there momentarily before slipping off the blade completely. The translucent drop slips through
the air before landing upon the soils of the way. Almost instantly, a rather large claw of ice erupts from the quickly drying
puddle. It soars through the air towards Qengho, circling his body in a menacing manner before it rears it's fearsome appendages
back before lunging at his skull. The Chylde's feet carry him once more, his blade dragging along the soil before releasing
it into the air once more. The blade towards Qengho as it threatens to remove his legs...
Qengho watches as Arkim sends the blood wall all over the road. Feels the force of the blades repelling away from each other.
With cunning interest he watches as a sdrop hits the ground and becomes a claw which roars towards him. He sees arkim charging
out of the corner of his eye and smiles. Qengho faces the claw as it descends upon him. He speaks softly meeting the Hymn
that resonates in the air , feeling the cool wind that accompanies the ice claw . He wraps himeself in his cloak and as you
look steam starts to rise from under the cloak and when it opens Qengho is engulfed in a fire which meets the claw and melts
it sending water all about the opponents. Qengho sees the blade flying towards him and does not retreat , instead he dives
forward. Bringing his blade forward and drawing a small dagger to his other hand. He dives over Arkims blade as he releases
the dagger at his chest and the Morthoseth Blade across the invisible line that matches arkims neck
Arkim tosses his head back in a haughty manner as a devilish laugh escapes the confines of his throat. His body bends
and weaves a bit, easily evading the dagger as it speeds past him and into the wall of the tavern. A windmill of rushing air
can be heard as the Chylde swiftly rotates the scythe by it's handle. Another clash can be heard as the Morthoseth Blade is
deflected by the shaft. Arkim's twists his body as his hand slips the length of his weapon behind him in a smooth rotation
before bringing it back to his front. A well-toned leg instinctively splits through the air at Qengho's chest as the blunt
end of the weapon is brought down, sending it towards Qengho's skull.
Qengho watches as the dagger splits the wood in the wall. Feels his blade meet the staff of the scythe, as ait passes him
by. Qengho looks as arkims leg reaches out for him while the scythe once again seeks his hard head. Qengho jumps up into the
air as Arkims kick catches him in the thigh and plunges to the ground , rolling as he hits it to avoid the skull crunching
blow of arkim. He speaks swiftly and watches the Stone come alive once more. A salty smell fills the road as moisture fills
the air , from the west comes a roar as a wall of water descends upon the site of the battle. Qengho looks and smiles and
speaks aloud as he clenches his own fists. With the right he matches the water , which forms a huge fist of hard water , he
brings this fist crashing down upon arkims head as he sends the left fist into Arkims chest seeking to break his ribs
Arkim snorts as his gripping hand releases itself. The scythe falls upon the road as the darkened chorale comes to an end.
In a most fluent manner, the Chylde's body lunges foward as it shifts it's weight to the right, avoiding the right vist. His
body then twists, his left hand reaching behind his shoulder as his body weight shifts downwards as the weight of the following
fist to speed right by him. Arkim sidles some, regaining his composure as he rises back fully to his feet and circles around
Qengho. His knees shift as he ducks and takes the scythe within his clutches once more.
Arkim was announced as the winner.
Arkim versus Qengho
Death Duel
Arkim slips his right hand about the pick, his fingers wrapping tightly about the handle of it as the rather make-shift
weapon is brandished. With his left hand, Arkim reaches forward and casts a dark blessing upon that of the pick. A rather
disgusting growth appears instantly upon the tip of the weapon, festering with hatred and malignancy. A most obnoxious odor
infiltrates your nostrils as the Chylde whips the pick high into the air, then sends it screaming into the Way. A soft thud
resounds as the pick forces itself into the soil of Kelay Way. A rotting pestilence seems to creep forth from the soil, burning
and aching for a taste of flesh. The very atmosphere about the Way seems heavy and dead as the disease grows with great haste.
Arkim parts his lips as a song of deception and taint escape from the confines of his throat. The very soil beneath Qengho
begins to shift and churn as the plague swiftly encircles his body, threatening to devour him in a slow and most painful death.
Qengho watches as Arkim casts his spell. Sees the enchanted pick hit the ground and smells , tastes and feels the rot grow.
He takes from his neck The Stone-of-Decar and speaks ancient words of the sea. As you look down the way a small trickle of
salt water begins to filter in and deposit itself into the rotting soil. Qengho stands in the water and with a whip of his
hand sends water everywhere washing away the pestilence into other , darker places of Hollow where it can linger and grow.
He looks in his hand and smiles as he sees his trusty blood covered blade. He once again speaks and as Arkim looks he is nearly
blinded by a light from the stone itself , Qengho raises his arm and sends the dagger flying, as it reaches the light a prism
effect takes place and arkim looks now at 1000 daggers facing him , each seeking out his heart
Arkim squints as he gazes upon the blinding light. He quickly removes his weapon from the ground and stands before the
judgement, bearing himself freely. The dissonant whistling of the daggers crack through the air as they soar about him, as
if they were confused. Finding no heart within this empty being, the daggers collapse through the air and quickly dissipate
just as fast as they appeared. Just as the final, materialized dagger slips towards the ground, Arkim leaps and thrusts his
body to the left in a full circle. A precise foot carries itself in a wide arc before coming in contact with the dagger, thrusting
at it's broad side and deflecting it towards Qengho. The dagger speeds through the air at Qengho's torso, seeking to taste
its own master's blood...
Qengho watches as the daggers seek what he realizes is not there. Soon they drop to nothingness as the last is swiftly kicked
right back at him. Too late does he see its direction and he dives but not before the dagger hits home. He falls to the ground
and begins to speak again in the tongue of the ancients. The Stone begins to resonate and all the windows in the tavern shake
as the dagger slowly works itself out of Qenghos torso , blood flowing from the wound. Qengho gathers up the blood and starts
to shape it into the form of a small creature with amny tentacles, He takes his dagger and slices off flesh fromm his arm
and throws it into the mix. The Stone reaches out and touches the creature with a strange light giving it life. Qengho gestures
towards Arkim and the Tentacles reach out and warp themselves about arkims body squeezing him even as qenghos blood drops
all over his body , the blood turning to fire as it does so
Arkim grunts and growls lowly as his prone figure is restricted by the enveloping tentacles. His song falters, leaving
only broken notes and useless words. A sliver of darkness seeps from the Dark One's lips, singing of afflictions and misery.
The darkness touches the tentacles, obviously having some sort of effect on them as a trail of ice crystallizes upon their
fragile figures. They seem to stop suddenly, encased within the chill as they slip down the Chylde's body, limp and lifeless.
Arkim frees himself, then sweeps his foot across the ground and punts one of the frozen appendages into the air. The piece
ascends through the air before it arcs downwards, aiming to pierce Qengho's already wounded body...
Qengho looks on as Arkims song comes out in miscues. He sees his wonderous creature turn to ice with the Chlydes words and
trains his eye upon the now approaching limb, frozen that seeks him out. He gathers into his hand the Stone-of-Decar and calls
upon the Lady of the Sea , gathering energy , he wraps himself with the electricity of a summer storm over the high seas.
The appendage hits the shiled and melts away in the heat . Standing slowly blood pouring out onto the ground he has called
home for so long He reaches out and sends forth bolt after bolt of lightning aimed at only arkim , collapsing as he does so
Arkim spins and dips his elegant demeanor, his arm swinging low as the tip of the pick splits the air. The Chylde sends
his arm upwards, his fingers loosening their grip and releases the pick high into the air. The bolts abruptly halt their travel
and shift upwards into the air, seemingly distracted by the mining tool. The pick slips high into the air, absorbing bolt
after bolt before plummeting downwards. It rips through the air, screaming as it spirals into its downfall. The pick lands
just before Qengho, forcing it's tip deep into the soil of the Way as the weapon writhes with charges. Arkim's opponent continues
to bleed profusely, his lifestream slipping and covering the way before him...
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