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Valarus versus Dergious
Valarus grins wickedly at the dwarf before him. His wretched axe, forged from the fallen god, is held within both pallid
hands. He lifts it up and lies the twin blades between himself and Dergious before speaking in a cold, wicked voice, “No
more words, dwarf. This will speak for me now.” The dreaded weapon begins to drip blood onto the hands of Valarus, it
pours down his arms before staining his white shirt. Ignoring the sanguine fluid, the spell-blade lifts the axe above his
head and screams into the night sky; it is a wordless noise, fill of hatred and a savage want for revenge. Then, like lightning,
Valarus erupts into movement. Both feet send eerie thuds into the darkened street as they carry him towards the priest. Upon
reaching him, the bloodied weapon of Kaizer arcs from left to right with untold velocity, sending a spray of sanguine in its
wake. The wild slash is aimed for the neck of the dwarf and from both the axe and the axeman comes twisted laughter, full
of reckless pride and wicked hatred.
Dergious eyes his opponent, as his axe drips blood and seems calm in the face of the obvious danger. As the vampire charges
the dwarf sets himself, raising his own sentient weapon before him and then brings it forward to counter the man’s attack.
As the weapons clash a tremendous clang of metal on metal sounds. The dwarf, unable to meet the strength of the attack with
but a single arm, is thrown backwards nearly a dozen feet, landing with a solid sounding crunch of armor and and explosion
of curses. He stands, and glares at Valarus. The wicked, stained axe erupts with tainted flames sending thick, acrid smoke
bellowing into the clear night sky above. The ringing of the unbreakable, barbed mithril chain running from the weapon to
the stub of his lost arm, which still remains hidden beneath the rune inscribed cloak, cuts through the relative quiet of
the windless night. The supposed priest swings the axe with his remaining arm, and from the dual-bladed weapon comes burning
crescents of that disgusting, oily fire that whip unmercifully between the combatants. One strikes the earth at Valarus’s
feet, and immediately spreads towards him like fire on grease. Two others take wide arcs outward, only to curve inwards, where
they will meet behind the man and explode outwards. As they move towards the spellblade birds fall, diseased and baking even
before they touch the ground. Then, with a pump of a strong dwarven arm, the axe itself fires straight at him, the wicked
chain following but not hindering the weapon’s flight. As the axe approaches, it spirals sending the nasty tail of barbed
mithril into a great loop that goes over Valarus’s head, intent upon cutting him in half should he try to leap upwards
to avoid any of the strikes.
Valarus eyes the fires as they race towards his pale form. Kaizer’s gift is once more lowered and from it drips blood
at an ever-increasing rate. Soon the duel blades are pouring out the liquid, causing quite a large puddle to soak the dirt
at Valarus’s feet. As the fires reach this large pool of sanguine, they stop. The twin powers seem to face off in an
invisible battle: Red retreats, then advances, but never enough to overly trouble the spell-blade. The axe, though, is not
seen. The barbed mithril catches the back of the vampire’s head, sending an explosion of his own blood to join that
of his master’s. A grunt is uttered, though not heard, before Valarus points his axe of flesh and bone at Dergious.
From the twin blades comes hellacious power. It flies forward but a few feet and congregates there; azure hued, though tendrils
of black lace through it every so often. For a few seconds this energy stays stagnant, then, without action or command, it
explodes forwards. A shriek rings out into the night, as the air seems to cry its pain. Onwards it goes, towards the dwarf,
and if it connects it will rip him to shreds with chaotic energies; no form, no life, just a twisted shell of what he once
was.
Dergious watches the building power of the hideous axe, and knows he cannot bear it unaided. He awakens his dormant psionic
energy, and begins agitating the very air before him, building a wall of chaos of his own to bear. He pours more and more
energy into his barrier as the opposing power builds. It is not enough. As Valarus’s power explodes forward, the dwarf
sends his own in response. The two waves of power meet, and the dwarf’s proves weaker. His barrier shatters and the
power that caused it overwhelms the dwarf with substantial, but lessened power. The dwarf is lifted and shook, his teeth strike
each other over and over. Abrasions and tears in both his armor and himself appear and blood falls to the ground below. He
falls again. Then, with the resiliency of his race, the dwarf springs to his feet, bleeding and battered but by no means done.
He roars through heavy beard and dry, cracked lips and digs deep within his center, from the source of his psionic power.
He musters massive amounts of energy and, straining against the immense forces he is trying to control, shapes them to his
will. Like a smith at a hot forge, the squat figure sweats and strains. Before him the air wavers and ripples, the longer
the man works the more distorted his figure appears to his opponent. Without warning, the mans ebon steed Adumbral leaps so
quickly as to appear a blur, bringing its sharp, wicked hoofs down over and over, trying to split Valarus’s skull or
anything else it hits. The dwarf knows it is time to strike, and does so. Mentally commanding his sentient axe to turn ever
tightening circles about his opponent while trailing the barbed chain behind, he releases the building mental energy in the
form of dozens of pale blue shards of energy, each only a single molecule wide, slicing towards both man and Nightmare. The
shards are capable of slicing through nearly any solid object, save for mithril. As the shards and chains approach, the nightmare
loses form, becoming a shadow of darkness that simply drifts away to safety.
Valarus ducks and weaves against the horse’s feet as time and time again they seek to crush his pale body. Never
leaving the circle of blood, for outside fires still rage, Valarus is quickly fighting a losing battle. Then, like so many
times before, he explodes towards the horse in a reckless charge. A hoof connects wickedly against his shoulder, causing that
arm to lose hold on his weapon, but the other stays laced around the handle, and with terrible force the axe is swung. It
connects with the neck of the horse and, without halting, cleaves easily through, killing the animal and coating an already
bloodied tyrant in more sanguine. Then, without warning for him, sharp pain enters the spell-blade’s entire body. Small
wounds appear almost everywhere, though none are big enough to even leak blood, as the power is only the size of a molecule.
Even though his wounds are small, they still fill the vampire with more lust. He spins on his heel and trailing in his wake
comes the wretched gift from Kaizer. It strikes true Dergious’ axe, sending the weapon into its own flames. Eyes that
once shone silver, burn now with black fires. A look of complete anger surges onto Valarus’ face, and another wordless
scream is heard, coming from the very depths of his being. Once more the axe is sent slicing through the air. This time, where
it cleaves a thin line of red appears, almost as if the weapon has cut through dimensions, which is, of course, what it has
done! From the tiny crease in reality comes a burning fire. It explodes in every direction, burning with ease anything it
can touch. Protected by his axe, Valarus bends his knees to stand defensively, his now ebon eyes scanning the area for his
opponent’s next attack.
Dergious sees the hated axe and the flames, and knows fear. While his own axe affords protection from fire as well, it is
weakened with distance! Having no choice, he runs towards the flying axe and the eruption of flames. The axe of Kaizer rips
through his armor, tearing away flesh and slicing bone at his side, but the dwarf still moves forward towards the flames that
follow. The conflagration engulfs him and still he moves forward. The flames burning his skin but cauterizing the torn flesh
both at his side and the numerous ones from the bastard’s previous wall of chaos. The blaze burns less and less as he
approaches, and then grabs the weapon from the ground. Now fully protected, but hurt and sizzling, he uses the flames as camouflage
while still running forward. As the dwarf exits the flames only a few feet from the vampire, he flings his burned, runed cloak
aside, revealing silvered and clawed metal arm, fashioned for him the previous night, that flashes brightly even in the darkness
of this night. The mithril chain running from the nasty axe runs to an armband of the same material. The dwarf charges at
the hated spellblade before him. The tainted, burning axe in his left arm, and the silvered arm flung wide. As the dwarf closes,
he releases the axe altogether and the sentient weapon rushes forward, as if hungry to taste flesh. The dwarf then moves his
good arm to the silvered appendage, pressing a gem upon it. With a ringing sound blades lance out from each finger, each eight
inches long. As the axe rises and then descends with an over the top strike, the chain flies low and left, coming at him from
opposite the now swiping blades of the priest’s new appendage. As the bladed fingertips near the vampire’s side,
they extend yet again, now a full 12 inches. The dwarf obviously hopes the man will have misjudged the distance and time he
would have to block the attack.
Valarus swings his axe upwards and blocks the flaming axe of Dergious. Flesh and metal collide once more, this time a sound
akin to the torturing of a cat is heard by all who watch this dark duel. A grin forms on Valarus’ lips as he begins
to counter, but that grin is soon burned off his face by an explosion of pain that rips through the arrogant slave, causing
him to drop to his knees among the blood and chaos. A large wound drips more blood onto the floor, his white shirt has been
easily torn to shreds by the dwarf’s twisted arm. A cough sounds out, drowned instantly by vomit, that pours easily
from the vampire’s thin lips and coats the burning, bloodied and much trodden upon ground. Slowly, and with much pain,
Valarus stands before the dwarf. His eyes shine once more silvery, and his face contorts into a puke stained grin, “Words
now, dwarf, my axe has spoken enough…”
Kiya nods to both duelest and announces Valarus as the winner.
Valarus versus Siolad
Valarus steps back from where Kristerl once stood. He spins on his heel, causing a small crevice in the dirt at his feet.
His left hand snakes down and pallid fingers lace around the handle of his weightless axe. Fluidly he draws it from his chain-leggings,
and with a subtle twist of his wrist, he spins it around, watching as the twin blades catch the moonlight and reflect it almost
perfectly. Twisting his head around, the spell-blade lays his silver-hued gaze upon Siolad. He offers the man a mock bow,
a crooked grin and then he explodes forwards. Dust granules swirl in his dark wake and soft thuds come from his boots as they
connect with the dirt road. As he reaches his opponent, his axe is lifted high into the night sky, then with a dark curse
and a wicked prayer he slams it down towards the drow, clean blades aimed to split the man clean in half, from head to groin.
Siolad cocks a grin, his hands opening and closing as Valarus rushes him. Oh how Siolad enjoys crude attacks like this. Without
much more then a thought, Siolad lets some arcane words leave his mouth. His magical energies fill the air and quickly take
effect as something shimmers infront of him. It happens to be some type of shield. Siolad quickly grabs it and lifts it, letting
Valarus' axe slam into the magical metal. Though the shield bends, as thought it was mear paper. It doesn't go all the way
though, as Siolad pushes off with his feet, finding the time the shield has given him enough to escape. Siolad finds himself
a good distance away from Valarus, as that is how he likes to battle. He waves his hands, and lets more magical energies fill
the air. Purple smoke seems to start to swirl from under Siolad's robe. It spreads before him and collects right infront of
the illusionist. It forms a monkey, the color purple evident. It pops into exsistance, with a chirp and a howl. It doesn't
stop there as it once again pops, and splits, magically creating two. Those two split and we can all figure what is going
on. Many monkeys are made, and they all quickly crap right there. The smell fills the air, which isn't to plesent, and Siolad
waves a finger. "Alight!" Suddenly, the poo catches fire, and each monkey grabs up its own. "Fire!" Siolad yells out, and
each monkey takes its turn in throwing the flaming pile of poo. Not only does it stink, flaming poo might burn on the skin.
Valarus lets forth dark curses as his blade’s hunger is not filled. As the monkeys appear, Valarus casts a curious
grin at them. His free hand laces upwards and finds home on the handle of his axe. Expecting an all out attack he shifts his
feet to be standing defensively. As the poo appears, Valarus lowers his weapon, raises his eyes to the night sky and lets
forth a wicked laughter. Though Siolad’s words quickly snap his silver gaze back upon the monkeys, he is a little too
late. Flaming poo lands just in front of him, its smell enough to make the spell-blade dry retch, and cause a look of complete
disgust to form on his pallid features. Quickly he begins to step backwards, side-stepping left and right as poo flies towards
him, though he is a little too slow, or too disgusted, and some of the poo lands upon his white shirt, catching the fabric
alight and burning wickedly the skin beneath. A pain-filled scream tears itself free from the vampire and he changes tactic.
No longer leaping backwards, he once again charges towards his opponent. Feints left and right stop more of the poo from marring
the rest of his clothes, and as he passes the monkeys his weapon snakes out, removing one’s head, and the arm from another.
This is ignored, though, he leaves the purple monkeys in his wake and once again leaps towards Siolad, his axe this time he
swings upwards, single handed, his free arm swings from the other side in an awkwardly thrown punch, aimed for the man’s
head.
Siolad eyes go wide, stunned at Valarus' way of dealing with this attack. Siolad takes a step back as his opponent passes
them, and with that, each one becomes the smoke they once were. The illusionist twists, still not accustomed to fighting armed
opponents like this to dodge the axe, which he bearly does. A nice slice in his robe though is apperent, but what Siolad doesn't
stop is the punch. It collides with his face and the illusionist flies backwords. He lands with a heavy thump. Though that
doesn't seem to stop Siolad as he fights, weakly, to his feet. Breathing heavily, Siolad starts to chant. A red hat appears
on his head and a parchment appears in the air before him. "Thats it! I'll change my stats to make me a fighter!" With that,
Siolad starts to manipulate the paper. Siolad fully believes this is a stat page, which his many strengths and weaknesses.
Siolad swings his hand out widely and smiles, "Ah ha!" The paper starts to glow, "Watch me become ultimate!!" Something happens,
but it isn't to the extent Siolad thought. Above us all, a gigantic apple pie floats. Siolad looks up and starts to curse,
"Damn it, that was my apple pie recipie, not my.." It was apperent that the apple pie was changed into a massive, freshly
baked pie. It is apperent that Siolad's magical energies are doing this. He meekly looks down, his eyes wide as another curse
leaves his lips, though it flooded out as the bottom of the giant pie breaks away, and the very hot sticky middle of the pie
comes out of the sky, like some sort of hot sticky waterfall. Now if anybody knows anything about pies, they know they are
extreamly hot, and with the alterations that magic has done on it, there is a extream amount, and it is filling Kelay way.
Siolad is smart, and starting to scramble up the tavern wall, trying to make his way to the roof, but what of Valarus.
Valarus returns his weightless axe to the loop in his leggings as Siolad makes his somewhat unsuccessful attempts at spell
casting. From the other side he draws forth a weapon gifted to him, as the sealing of his bargain, buy Lord Kaizer. A wretched
weapon made from the very flesh and bone of the fallen god. Into both hands this weapon lies, and from the twin blades eternal
blood drips onto the poo covered road. Then, from seemingly nowhere, the pie forms. Unable to comprehend really what is happening,
Valarus simply stands there and stares at this nice looking gigantic treat. Then, as the bottem collapses and burning hot
pie falls, Valarus snaps back to attention and begins a fever pitched charge towards the same tavern Siolad has climbed upon.
The vampire bends his knees mid run, and using all his power launches himself high into the night sky. Sadly, his leap is
ill timed and his legs become covered in the burning sticky goo that makes what can only be a nice tasting pie. He lands upon
the building, and instantly collapses under the burning pain. His axe, still held within his pale grasp, he points the darkened
sky. “No more games! No more clans! Death stalks you now!” The weapon of Valarus is lowered down in stark contrast
to his words. Slowly it is leveled until the twin blades lie parallel with the roof. Without command seen by any, power begins
to erupt from the wicked axe. It pours into the night sky, colored deep azure, and pulsing with what can only be tremendous
energy. It surges into the night, swirling prettily until it has formed around the drow a wall of power. The blade of Kaizer
is suddenly slammed into the rustic roof and from all sides the energies come. They fly with untold velocity at the drow,
seeking to remove him and his odd powers from this much troubled land.
Siolad bearly manages to make it to the roof, apperently spent when he hears the shouting of Valarus. Siolad quickly turns
and eyes this new foe, actually not knowing anything about the axe or the power. The hair on the back of Siolad's neck starts
to raise as the energies start to fly. With as much energy as he can muster, Siolad starts to raise up some sort of magical
defence, a barrier between him and the energies. But, of course, this barrier pales to the energy that is released by the
axe, and is quickly shattered, though it is apperent that at least some of the force was suck up by the small spell, something
that might save his life.. Siolad is struck, and you hear screams of pain from from the illusionist. Though, Siolad starts
to fight forward, using everything to move towards his opponent. The illusions fail, and the drow visage die away. Even the
robe disappears and a naked, scared, old human battles his way towards Valarus. Though the illusions seem to fight to come
back, the visage of a drow forming once again, and his robe. Siolad somehow makes his way, right infront of Valarus as he
pulls something from somewhere. More illusions. "Rabbit... of... doom.." Siolad holds out the chard and blistered hand and
a small furry rabbit is held out. It is apperent that it isn't effected by the energy by the blade. It starts to vibrate,
madly. Siolad closes his eyes, and lets a peaceful smile fill his lips. An explosion rips between Valarus and Siolad, flinging
the illusionist from the roof and roughly onto the ground below. A cry of pain is hurt and Siolad opens his eyes, trying to
focus his eyesight, to find out exactly what has happened to his opponent.
Valarus glares with cold hatred at the man who pretends to be a drow. He opens his mouth to speak, but words are silenced
at the appearance of a rabbit. Completely unsure what to do, Valarus brings his axe around, stopping its flow of power. He
places the twin blades between himself and the rabbit just as the explosion rips out. His flesh seems to erupt with the power,
wounds form upon his face, his arms and his legs, though his chest fine, defended by his weapon. The force of the power sends
the spell-blade off his feet, he sails through the air, misses the roof, and falls down upon the road. Another scream of pain
comes from his thin lips as the still burning, and rather sticky pie mixture engulfs his. Burning his burns, filling his wounds
and even some manages to make its way into his screaming mouth, replacing the wordless cry with a moan of almost pleasure,
“Damn, that is good pie..” A small chuckle finds itself free of the vampire, before his eyes close and pain once
more forms on his face.
Tylirion versus Valarus
Tylirion sets himself up, watching the eyes of Valarus inside the circle of people. The stakes are high and losing isn't an
option. He reaches for his belt, something he doesn't do so often. His digits find three obsidian-hilted throwing blades.
Tylirion smirks as he whirls one towards the ground at Valarus' feet. Tylirion mutters some words as the blades' inlaid gold
begins to burn fiery red. He steps forward, turning and whirling the two knives. They speed unheringly toward his foe's head,
the moonlight reflecting upon their blade. Tylirion leaps backword, whispering more words. Then, as if caused by him, a large
crack forms down the way. Inside the crack is visible hot magma as the crack widens and seeps toward Valarus. Tylirion smiles
wryly.
Valarus stands before Tylirion, his face is a mixture of boredom and contempt. Lazily he draws out his axe. As the first
knife is thrown, the spell-blade takes a quick step backwards. The fires erupt into life before him and defensively he raises
his axe blades in front of his face. Two loud clangs then erupt into the night; the two other knives thrown by the human bard
have slammed full force into the axe, causing but a scratch upon its deadly blades. A semi-amused grin forms on his thin lips
as he moves the weapon away from his head, only to see magma crawling slowly towards him. With a small shake of his head,
and once again a look filled with contempt the spell-blade raises his hands. “Fororl’k, maigtt’er”
The magma suddenly erupts like a volcano, it surges into the night sky, before crashing down towards the human.
Tylirion leaps and shoulder rolls, dodging all but the slightest of the magma. A clot catches his back, burning his cloth
and scarring his back. As stands, wincing, he says something unheard to mortal ears. A look of anger and hatred rages through
the experienced bards eyes. "Wipe that look off your face, or I will". In a heartbeat the bard backpedals, taking out his
flute. It is a humorous sight, in this particular occasion. A fast, rumbling sound is heard as iceballs the size of pomagranates
shoot toward his victim. A smirk shows in his eyes, not his face. The bard puts away the flute, whilst doing so, muttering
more words. In response to his whispers, a large white ball illuminates above Valarus. The ball quivers and wavers, making
crackling sounds. As the bard says more words, it grow's larger. Soon, the booming voice of the bard is heard, "Adraeith!"
The ball crackles madly as it send streams of lightening toward Valarus.
Valarus swears under his breath as the ice-balls appear. Fluidly he starts to move, his huge axe seeming to weigh nothing
in his hands, as the spell he cast last night still holds sway over the weapon. Viscous curses then erupt from the spell-blade
as ice hits his shoulder, sending him spinning on his heels. Unbalanced now the vampire starts to take a wicked beating at
the hands of the frozen projectiles. Then as the white light appears above, Valarus begins to act. His axe he starts to swing,
his body merges with the weapon almost, and like a dancer he shatters the flying objects. From the sky now comes the lightening.
Having faced such an attack last night he is not overly worried, and as it slams full force into him, his white hair erupts
outwards, framing his battered face like the mane of a lion. A quick shake of the head is all that is needed before once more
the vampire erupts into motion. He runs forward, the bruises on his body seemingly not effecting him at all. As he reaches
the bard he leaps upwards, his axe is raised above his head, and in fluid motion he brings it down towards the skull of the
bard, attempting to split him in twine.
Tylirion does not hesitate. This is shown explicitly when he eyes the spell-blade cooly as he leaps. Swiftly and fluidly the
bard reaches a cutting dagger. The vampire slipped up. He run to the side of the vampire while in a haze. He attempts to slice
his gut while he runs. That wouldn't dampen the vampire's attack and he knew that. After doing such, he follows through with
swinging his lightening-shield backward, to push or defend from the vampire spell-blade. The bards face contots, showing tolerance
for the bad burn on his back. Glancing to the right he notices Valaria, giving him extra strength. He also notices the blood
seeping his cloth from a blade of the axe. He grips his shoulder, grimacing. It wasn't over yet. The bard backpedals once
again, sending a fury of fireballs at Valarus. In turn, an earsplitting screech of his dire hawk is heard faintly in the distance
as he coninues his ravage of fire.
Valarus moves, again, more like a dancer than a warrior. His body seems to flow around the barrage of fireballs. Some manage
to find a burning home on his pallid skin. His leg, through his clothes, is burnt quite badly, but still his movements continue,
his body moving ever closer to that of his opponents. Then into the night a horrible curse is heard. A fireball has struck
the side of the vampire’s face, causing a horrible wound. All movements stop aside from two. Both hands are once more
lifted shoulder height, his axe still resting easy in one hand. With a palm facing outwards, one locked around the shaft of
the blade, eyes burning with savage blood lust and a face still sending tendrils of smoke into the air, Valarus cries, “Hall’ik
maaol’d” All the fireballs start to move away from the spell-blade, curving around his body, then being sent in
every direction. With untold velocity, the burnt and bruised vampire charges towards the bard. Again he leaps upwards, though
this time he screams a soon to be familiar spell. Blinding light again erupts around Hollow, and at this exact moment the
axe is again bought down towards the head of the human.
Tylirion glances, seeing Alexiasis before the blinding light surges through Kelay. Instinctively, the human rolls to one side,
finding a safe haven from the menacing twin blades. As he rolls, though, he strikes his shoulder. The bard shouts out in pain.
"Norain, feliu arune!". The bards voice surges through all of Hollow as the lighteneing shield bursts, luminating and protecting
Tylirion. Tylirion's face shows no feeling or remorse. "That can't stop me..." The lightening shield shines upon all the faces
in Kelay Way, and also shows the battle wounds of both warriors.
Valarus leaps fowards suddenly. The weightless axe in his hands becomes little more than a blur of motion before around its
deadly blades a sanguine explosion erupts forth. The weapon has connected with the head of Tylirion, splitting it clean in
half and killing the human instantly. The spell-blade spins on his heel, ignores the dead body and grins at Valaria, "You
just killed him, bitch."
Valarus is declared the Winner.
Valarus versus Alexander
Valarus turns from the Kirsterl and allows his silver-hued eyes to fall on the lord of hope, “Well met, Alexander.”
A small smirk contorts his thin lips, before they open and from deep within comes an arcane chant; it flows like all his words
do, seemingly mixing with all other sounds in the area. Around the body of the vampire, scarlet light starts to pour. It mixes
with the sanguine hued liquid already bathing the spell-blade, causing him to once more appear almost demonic. With a subtle
twist of his wrist he brings up his wretched weapon; a gift from Kaizer, an axe forged from the flesh and blood of the fallen
god. Then, in a blur of movement he erupts forward, his axe trailing in his wake. As he nears the lord of hope, the light
around his body seems to explode; a wave of burning energy flying in all directions. Following now quickly in its wake, Valarus
comes, his axe held high above his head. As he reaches Alexander, he leaps to the left, and brings his tainted weapon around
from the right, aimed for the neck of the paladin.
Alexander remains standing still as he watches Valarus with a keen precision. Runeblade begins to glow with a divine light,
responding for the first time in many months to the power of Kaizer. As Valarus bears his axe upon him, Alexander falls to
one knee, narrowly escaping the executioner styled strike as his grounded leg presses forward, sending the Knight of Hope
past Valarus' side, thrusting out with Runeblade as he does. The tip of the sword barely touches its target before Alexander
pulls back his blow, landing a few feet behind his opponent as his boots scrape to a halt. A faint trail of light seems to
shine from the tip of his sword, trailing back to the very spot it touched Valarus when suddenly, you see several similar
strands break away from that point, almost as if the very air around him were webbing outwards. Alexander remains in place
with back turned to his opponent while these strands of light soon enclose Valarus, making his form seem as if made of cracked
glass. The moment the last strand connects this webbing fully, Alexander pulls forwards on his blade with all the strength
he can summon. As the tether pulls tight, it also begins tugging on the lines surrounding Valarus, not only seeking to entrap
his body, but to cut it to shreds as easily as a fishing line pulled too tightly around a finger.
Valarus swears as Runeblade tastes his pallid flesh through the armor that offers little protection against such a weapon.
Then, as he feels himself incarcerated within the tendrils of light, his cursing dies out. The axe forged from Kaizer is quickly
bought into motion. The spell-blade begins cutting at the lines, severing each one touched with ease. The sheer amount of
lines is too much, though, and as the lord of hope pulls his blade down, terrible pain erupts through the vampire’s
body. His armor fails once again to protect him, the webbing slices through it with as much ease as the axe, and all over
his pallid form crimson lines appear. Though none sever his body, the pain causes his face to warp into a twisted mask of
agony. Unable to shake the feeling, Valarus can only act. He once more speaks ancient words of power. Clouds appear in the
night sky, and wicked thunder erupts around the area, though no lightening is seen. The axe of Valarus begins to rain down
blood all upon the much trodden road. And from each drop a small tendril of smoke starts to pour into the night sky, almost
as if this land was once again rejecting the influence of Lord Kaizer. Unnoticed to the spell-blade all this is, he continues
to weave his words, causing more clouds to appear and block out all stars in the sky. Then, like a terrible explosion, thunder
erupts once more. The strength of the blast is enough to cause small trails of blood to pour from the ears of Valarus, but
this is hardly known as the slave is already covered in his lord’s sweet vitae. Behind the wave of sound, he comes once
more. Another trail of sanguine is noticed, as this time the weapon is swung directly down, towards the back of his opponent,
aimed at splitting the man clean in half.
Alexander's nose wrinkles as he recalls the smell of such ichor. His eyes turn to the strand of light that grasps at the tip
of his weapon as it starts to dip down, plainly showing that Valarus is still mobile behind him. He closes his eyes as his
lips begin moving slightly, as if whispering some silent prayer. As the strike comes down, Alexander raises Runeblade to defend
as the two collide with such a sound, that the land trembles, remembering well when the two powers of Evil God, and Mortal
Man collided last at this very spot. Alexander Tries to heave the axe up slightly before diving to the ground in front of
him in a roll, yet he spirals out halfway, ending on his side as you see several green colored feathers swaying back and forth
to the ground, showing plainly that the axe had indeed tasted his flesh. He rises up slowly, yet you notice his left wing
now dangles behind him as several longer feathers brush the road. He winces in obvious pain, yet focuses himself to his opponent
as his eyes erupt in their customary green spiritual flame. Nis neck dips backward as his mouth opens and from his throat,
a high pitched call is heard. Much like that of common birds, it bellows out as above, a small place in the clouds opens.
From within this small gap in the darkness, a single light shines forth, to luminous to be that of sun or moonlight. When
it has come an estimated thirty feet from the ground, this light seems to reverberate upon Alexanders voice as it breaks apart,
shattering into many smaller parts as they join the rain in this downpour. Each fragment of this heavenly light showers down
upon the area, causing the surrounding onslaught of blood to bubble and crackle. As light mixes with darkness, the blood from
the ground is suddenly heaved towards Valarus, taking with it these shards of light as it has become apparent that the two
powers that had clashed so many times, now come together in a mix of energy upon the vampire. One carrying the wrath of Kaizer,
the other the power of Alexander in this hail of good and evil combined.
Valarus watches the wave of death come down on him with a horrified look. The spell-blade spews words that are pathetic
and weak. “Help me, Lord. Help me…” The sound is washed out by the waves of sanguine mixed with terrible
light. As they reach the stagnant vampire the blood seems to weave away from his body, turning slowly to miss the slave of
Kaizer. Though pathetically powerful his words were, they were not powerful enough and some of the mixed energies land upon
his shattered armor, burning it and him with terrible malice and divine retribution. Another pain-filled scream is heard,
even over the waves, and the once mighty slave master drops to his knees. His scream changes as he does, though, unable even
to look at Alexander he screams the words of his spell directly into the twin blades of his axe. The power of the slave and
Master mix and for a moment little happens. Then, like the heralding of destruction, another scream comes from the thin lips
of Valarus; though this one is pure hate. His eyes shine brightly, no longer silver, glowing now with fires directly from
the Hell that he is forced to call home. A voice explodes throughout the night, though its words are not understood by any
who dwell away from Hollow’s dormant hell. The road below begins to violently shake and rumble. Millions of tiny dust
granules fly upwards into the air, forming together a mighty storm, which challenges the sky with its might. Within this field
of dust, the axe of Valarus is pointed directly at the lord of hope. A whispered word is heard by a few, before ebon power
comes forth. Unhindered by the physical restraints in this land, it has no effect on the storms of dust. It flies straight
and true towards Alexander, moving as he moves to evade evasion. Its dark tip distorts for a moment into a face wearing a
mask of complete malice and from the open mouth comes a scream, before the power reaches Alexander, attempting in its cruelty
to drag the lord of hope back to Hell, where he will feed the slaves of Kaizer for an eternity.
Alexander 's eyes open widely as the area responds to the display of power. He brings Runeblade to ready as Valarus points
the hellish axe at him as the emerald flames in his eyes flare tremendously from between his eyelids to flow like liquid around
his body, encompassing it in the same fires that display in a minor fashion the being that Alexander is behind the mortal
skin. He thrusts Runeblade towards his opponent in the distance as the Sword of Hope beckons forth a similar bolt of power,
ivory in color with a spiraling green flame around it, showing distinctly the almost symbiotic connection of Alexander and
Uriana, the angelic spirit that resides within Runeblade. The two collide as both combatants now lock themselves into this
assault, neither willing to give any quarter to the other when suddenly, the center of this shimmering white and green display
opens, as a mere hole forms. The outer ring is pushed out as it overlaps the dark power of Valarus, each display of raw energy
now free of the other to strike out at their intended targets. Alexanders eyes close tightly as he raises his free hand out,
as if he could block this power, yet sadly enough, it tears into him, fighting back the immortal flame that surrounds Alexander
as armor, cloth, metal and flesh are ripped at. Slightly at first, then in seconds Alexander falls to his knees, no longer
being able to keep himself upright as all he can now focus on is fighting back this evil force that gnaws at him. The now
circular beam of light that hollowed out comes to bear upon Valarus in the same manner, threatening to do the same to him
that befalls Alexander at this very moment.
Valarus keeps his hands locked on the handle of his mighty axe. His eyes still burn with hellish fires, and these lock
upon the power coming at him with untold velocity. Afraid to move his axe for fear of breaking the power, Valarus mearly lowers
his head a little and takes the full impact of Runeblade’s divine power. It tears at his flesh. His armor, already destroyed
beyond repair is shattered completely, leaving the former slave master completely naked. His pallid body erupts in a wicked
tapestry of wounds. Blood pours from everywhere, coating what was not already sanguine, and covering even Kaizer’s blood.
He keeps his axe held straight for as long as possible, before turning it in his hands and placing the twin blades between
his body and the power. For an instant time seems to stop, then like so many times in the past, it starts once more with a
terrible explosion. This rips the tattered remnants of Valarus off his knees and sends him flying quickly through the air,
stopping only when his back has slammed against the tavern wall with a viscous sound; bones breaking, flesh ripping and a
muffled cry of pain…
Alexander is declared the winner.
Valarus versus Demont
Valarus lifts his pallid grasp up his weapon before grabbing it with his other hand. His silver-hued eyes drift around
the area quickly, before they fall on the assassin. The smallest smirk forms on his still bloodied lips before they are opened
and a dark, evil sounding war-cry is set free. Valarus starts to charge forward, the ground between the two is still muddy
from earlier so instead of thuds, slops sound out each time a foot is torn from the ground. As the spell-blade gets nearer
to his vampiric opponent the war-cry is replaced by fast spoken words, “Mej’kill loliryt meaailt!” A blinding
flash explodes from everywhere at once, blinding any who are foolish enough to look. At this exact moment Valarus leaps forward,
his axe in his hand. He leaps partially to the left of his opponent, as he gets beside him he arcs from the top left to the
bottom right, his axe down at the shoulder of Demont, hoping to cut the man literally in half. But, sadly, because of the
mud on the ground his leap isn’t quite what it should have been and instead of going for the shoulder, the axe of Valarus
flies right towards the body of Demont, still to cut him in half, just not quite so cleanly.
Demont watches calmly as Valarus shows his weapon, not worrying at all about what the spell-blade may have up his sleeve.
Instantly a burning sensation is felt within the azure toned eyes of Demont, his right hand shooting instinctively to shield
his eyes from the blinding source. With his sight temporarily impaired, the muddy footsteps of Valarus sounds in his ears,
signaling the advance. Remaining calm, he slowly brings each of his hands to the opposites sides of his body, each digit seeking
the black, worn handle of a curved blade. The ears upon the vampire perk slightly as the sound of a slight rustle of wind
resounds, the assassin can only surmise it is the attack. Quickly drawing his duel blades and taking a gently step foreword
he prepares to swing outward, but suddenly a searing pain runs from his back to his heels, a warm liquid running down his
back. With a slight growl he stumbles forward, silently cursing as he turn to face his adversary. Within seconds Demont rushes
forward at Valarus, drawing his arms across his chest, placing each blade on the opposite side of their former region. With
the distance shortened, Demont swings the blade horizontally in a scissors like motion towards the mid section of the loathsome
creature in front of him.
Valarus smiles darkly as his weapon cleaves the flesh of Demont. As he lands from his leap his feet slip in the mud and
the pride-filled vampire lands flat on back. Crimson flushes his cheeks before he leaps up and spins on his heel. At this
moment the blades of Demont slice the air towards him. Because of what can only be stupidity both blades fly at the same point
in his body and the spell-blade lifts his axe to meet both weapons. Sparks erupt around, and an almost tangible shock is felt
as the three weapons connect. The blades remain locked for just a moment, before Valarus removes one hand on the weapon and
aims it palm first at Demont. Using what must be the simplest spell of all, the vampire doesn’t even speak, doesn’t
even move, he simply wills it, and from his hand a fireballs tears itself free to soar towards the assassin. Because of the
lack of pressure on the weapons, the axe of Valarus is forced back at the last and one of the swords runs down his arm, leaving
a crimson wound upon the flesh of the slave who is also a master of slaves....
Demont ‘s eyes dart to the fireball quickly making it’s way towards him, his brows furrowing in frustration as
he feels his right blade make a measly wound upon the arm of Valarus. Rearing back quickly as the fireball reaches ever closer,
Demont rises his left arm and simultaneously turns to the right, placing his left shoulder and left side of his body to the
blazing object. Another growl runs from deep inside his throat and out his lips as the ball of fire collides with his bare
flesh, causing a shower of sparks. As Demont stands, a large charred circle upon his flesh can be seen, smoke rising ever
so slowly from the area. With a simple shake of his head, the assassin brushes his lock from his eyes and presses firmly from
the muddy earth, a slip or two initiating the advance towards Valarus. With his feet firmly placed as he speeds across the
road, he narrows those blue eyes, his sight focusing squarely on the spell-blade. In an instant his eyes widen and he swings
both blades upward in the beginning of a long arch upon his left side, both blades following closely behind each other as
the begin a decent towards the right shoulder of his foe in hopes of cleaving that appendage off, or causing severe damage
to make it painful for Valarus to wield his axe.
Valarus ignores the blood pouring down his arm from the wound and once again he places his axe between himself and the
blades of Demont. Like last time the assassin has slashed them both in the same place and like last time the axe catches them
both. This time Valarus keeps both locked and grins at Demont, “Slave.” In a blur of motion Valarus moves. Fluidly
he shifts his axe from under the swords and in the same instant takes a step to the left. Both blades continue down leaving
the spell-blade’s vampiric opponent almost defenseless. In this exact moment Valarus reacts. His axe he swings in from
left to right, aiming to remove the arm off who will be his newest slave. His free hand he once again faces palm first towards
Demont and but this time no fireball erupts, instead a river of small blobs come, aimed mostly for the face of the assassin.
Demont spits in disgust as his blades dig slowly into the wet earth, his gaze following his future master the whole time.
Suddenly, a loud snap is heard as the white wings adorning the back of the vampire unfurl, a single flap leaving the two objects.
With the motion of his wings he lifts from the ground, removing most of his body from the path of the wide blade of the axe.
As he moves away from Valarus, the very edge of the weapon finds a mark upon his unarmored skin, a thin line of sanguine appearing
in the path of the axe. Wiping his face away from the blobs,--What ever they are.-- He attempts to hide his face, but to no
avail. As his face begins to become covered in the magic attack, he suddenly drops of his blades, making his left hand free.
Just before all sight is extinguished from Demont by the blobs, his free hand makes it's way his belt, pulling three of five
daggers lose, Skillfully he brings his arm under him and after only a second throws his arm foreword with a snapping motion,
sending three deadly blades tumbling through the air towards the right knee, chest, and left arm of Valarus. With the blades
moving foreword, end over end, the winged vampire falls quickly to the ground, making a hasty attempt at removing the blinding
objects from his face.
Valarus takes a few step back as wings appear on his opponent. The hand which spat the blobs –which are blobs—falls
back onto the shaft of his axe and holding it two handed he continues to back off, unsure what his opponent is planning. As
the knives of Demont are thrown, the spell-blade tries to dive to the right of them, but once again his feet slip on the mud
caused by his earlier attacks on Istrak and Aranna. His axe he waves wildly in an attempt to right his center of gravity.
More by luck than skill the axe catches the knife that would have been rather homey in his chest. The other two blades slide
past the waving weapon and sink with horrible force into the arm and leg of the vampire. A scream is heard as pain glides
through the body of Valarus. Then, unceremoniously the vampire falls flat on his face in the mud. Curses are heard bubbling
up from the ground, before painfully he drags himself to his feet, tears the knives out and throws then on the floor before
the struggling Demont, “Enough, slave. I tire of this. Wounded me you have, be proud. Now is the time for eternal slavery…”
Valarus is declared the Winner.
Valarus versus Crisiant
Valarus stares at the vampire in front of him for a long moment, before rolling his neck left and right. Loud ‘cracks’
resound around the road as his bones creak and rattle. His pale digits tighten their hold on the axe that his slave just acquired
for him and in a whirl of motion he starts to charge forward. Soft ‘thuds’ replace the sound of the bones cracking,
and in the charging vampires wake small storms of dust surge upwards, challenging the sky with their pitiful might. With cat-like
grace, the spell-blade darts left and right. A whistle is explodes from the sky, and a glint of light is all that can be seen
as the axe in Valarus’s hand arcs downwards towards Crisiant’s neck. Whether the blow connects or not the vampire
is unsure, so as he passes his opponent, he swings once more from the right, aiming this time for her stomach…
Crisiant is caught quite off guard by the Valarus’ by his swift charge, only the sound of his boots against the dirt
covered ground gives him away. With a jerk, the mage fruitlessly attempts to dodge the blow towards the neck. Her opponent’s
axe grazes her collarbone, digging faintly into her skin and causing crimson liquid to seep from the open wound. Out of the
corner of her eye, she sees the axe coming back towards her. Dazed by the pain rippling through her body, Crisiant clumsily
steps forward to avoid the blades return and topples towards the ground, landing on her hands, unharmed this time. Groaning,
she rises to her feet, body trembling, wielding no more than a rust covered dagger. Soft words are uttered swiftly and within
an instant what was a dagger has become a rather large, yet plain sword. Both hands shakily grasp the hilt as the vampire
steps forward swiftly, thrusting the sword towards Valarus’ midsection. As she does so, an unseen force explodes from
the tip, one that isn’t powerful enough to knock him down but daze him should he not realize its presence.
Valarus smiles slightly as his blade finds Crisiant’s flesh. Both his naked heels dig into the ground and he grinds
to a halt just past her. As he turns a force slams into him. His mind, for just a moment, swims and at that moment the blade
of Crisiant slams into his chest. Strangely though, it does not enter his body. Instead the runes that cover his chest, hidden
to most by his dusty, old rags, stop it. Another slight smile forms on his pale lips before in a blur of motion he leaps back
and begins to speak archaic words, unknown to everyone not versed in the ancient writings. The axe in his hand responds to
this command by letting off a faint moan, and an even fainter scarlet glow. Fluidly the slave of the balance lifts his hand
up the weapon and wraps his other pale fingers around the hilt, holding it now two handed. With fluid grace he once more leaps
towards the mage before him and in an almost virtual replay of his other attack he swings the blade towards her neck. This
time it is different, though. As the blade draws near it seems to explode. Scarlet tendrils of energy erupt off in almost
every direction for just a moment, before targeting in around Crisiant, hoping to lock her in place, while the deadly axe
comes screaming towards her neck…
Crisiant ‘s arm jolts to a stop as the sword’s tip collids with Valarus’ hidden runes, a look of confusion
crosses the vampire’s face only briefly. Continuing to hold the weapon she wields at Valarus’ exposed chest, Crisiant
carefully listens to the words uttered, understanding only bits and pieces. Standing steadfast as the axe comes towards her,
another word is spoken. The sword clenched in her still shaking hands shatters into a myriad of shards, all directed towards
her foe. Once shattered, you see that the rusty dagger still remains. Quickly, Crisiant attempts to back away from the other
vampire before the axe locks her to strongly into place. With much trouble, she succeeds and with not a second to spare, the
axe whizzes by her face, narrowly avoiding her.
Valarus swears in an unknown language as the shards of the sword slice towards him. Unable to stop himself he can only
pray to his masters he will survive such an onslaught. A thousand small, sanguine explosions erupt from his body. His face
takes most damage, it is left little more than a shredded mess with skin dangling painfully from everywhere. Still, Valarus
finishes his slash, though he knows he cannot connect in such a state and once more he leaps back from his opponent. Without
giving a thought to the terrible pain lacing throughout his undead body, Valarus raises his silver-hued eyes to the sky. A
most tainted scream tears itself from what seems to be the depths of his soul. The air around the road grows wickedly cold.
Ice forms wherever there is moisture, and the breath of the spectators sends angelic mist floating throughout the area. The
temperature doesn’t seem to bother Valarus, his eyes fall back to his opponent, “You are mine!” Valarus
keeps his mouth open and from within his body crimson light starts to emit, giving the slave of the balance the impression
of throwing up his sanguine vitae, which still pours in great amounts from his tattered face. It explodes outwards, slicing
the icy air with ease. Towards Crisiant majority flies, its intent unknown to all bar the spell-blade. The smallest touch
heralds decay. Death. Pain. Rot. This is the power of destruction in its most pure form. Available only to this vampire by
the grace of those who own his very soul…
Crisiant the sudden movement of Crisiant stepping away from her adversary causes the wound on her neck to send a shocking
pain throughout her body. Her right hand comes up to grasp and cover the injury. Attention diverted from Valarus’ to
her pain causes her to not notice any bit of what he is doing in all the time it takes. The first few droplets land on the
bottom of Crisiant’s leather dress, eating away at the thick fabric. A few more land on the arm grasping her neck, burning
at the skin. Jumping the moment she feels it touch her, the well practiced mage shoots her gaze over to the oncoming liquid.
The burned arm raises and slowly the liquid begins to stop, though, a few more droplets manage to get buy and land on various
parts of her body. Once to a complete halt, Crisiant gives a flick of her wrist and turns Valarus’ own attack back on
him at a rapid speed.
Valarus can only smile at his opponent’s horrible stupidity. The power, having come from his own body, does not hold
any effect on him. It drenches his body, his clothes and his face. Two shades of red merge: his own blood, his own power,
each covering his body and giving him the look of a smiling demon. He removes one hand of his weapon, and gracefully throws
it against the tavern. It sticks into the wood with vicious force, sending a small rain of splinters to fall on any standing
in the building’s apparent shade. Silver eyes lock once more and Crisiant, “Powerful you may be, bitch. But smart
you are not…”
Valarus is declared the Winner.
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