Guardian of Nekops
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The madman stared up at Tel’rion from the depths of his murky cowl as the salt water poured into it, presumably finding some way inside his body. The eye contact was extremely unnerving… it seemed to last forever, yet when the shards and staff reached the place where the nightmarish creature should be it was already gone, rolling to the right and out of the target area. The dodge had not come quite soon enough, however. Though the broken staff soared harmlessly through the open air, the crude needles of Dragonsalt struck true, slamming into Farsith’s left foot and piercing through clothing into skin. Every last one struck true, somehow, turning the man’s leg into a pincushion.
Tel’rion grinned wickedly as the madman staggered away, vomiting out what he swallowed of the poison water as well as some of the other contents of his stomach. This purged most of the Dragonsalt from him before it could absorb into his body and affect him, but that was fine… the Drakel mage had never seen someone so susceptible to it.
From the ground, suspended over his own breakfast, the fool dared mock him, saying, “Heh, not bad, but not good enough.” With an endurance that could only be born of insanity, the warrior for Darkness stood up, the crystal shards in his leg grinding against bone and ripping at his flesh as he did so.
The Salt Mage sneered at his opponent, glancing down at the man’s ruined leg. What makes you think I’m done with you?! his mind scoffed. My daggers are still in your flesh, your leg is hardly functional as is. Just a little twist of those shards and you will be crippled, spilling your life’s blood on the arena floor.
He smiled wickedly, adding, And in this arena, wounds do not heal.
While Tel’rion was thus lost in thoughts of his own coming victory, the shadowy warrior managed to regain his scimitar by reverting it into the ball of shadows it had been when first summoned, then coming back to fetch it. A rather clever trick, all told, though it left him right at the feet of the Salt Mage once again. The outcast was just about to take advantage of this fact, wielding the remnant of his staff like a mace now, when the madman shot a beam of darkness into his chest from point blank range and started running, the dissolving knives of salt in his leg slicing deeper into his flesh with every step.
The black beam lanced into the Drakel’s crystal weapon, being refracted much as its opposite would have been. The split Darkness then struck the Salt Mage in three separate places on his torso, leaving a great black blotch on the white robes which covered it in each spot. Though two of the branches were too weak to do more than get through his thick hide, the last was focused enough even after going through the staff to bore a neat hole all the way through his left side and into his tail, which also lost a neat cylinder of flesh about the thickness of a finger.
All four wounds were, surprisingly, pain-free. The punctures, even the deepest one, did not bleed… they were instead surrounded by necrotic flesh, the dead bits of his body acting to seal the wound in much the same way that fire would have cauterized them. A terrible numbness that made him sick at heart spread from these places in lieu of the pain Tel’rion would have expected and he fell to his knees, overcome by the infectious lack of feeling and by horror at what was happening to his body.
The cold emptiness advanced through his body like a wave, and the magichemist feared he would be overcome by it, turned to a foul undead in seconds, all his hopes and ambitions dashed upon the rocks as the accursed madman laughed on, his wild whoops and cackling bouncing off the walls and filling the whole of Cellar, oppressing his soul. Before long, however, this unnatural feeling retreated to its proper places; having made itself known at first to the entire body just as pain would have done, the numbness then focused itself back on the actual injured parts of him and the nausea that it caused him became more manageable. Though it was likely within his power to stand, and perhaps even run if he had to, he found himself in no mood and satisfied himself with just looking up, studying his opponent.
In a turn of events which had probably saved him, the madman was now fighting the posh-looking duelist, his weapons changed from scimitars to twin katanas now. Two black creatures, shaped like their mad master, now seemed to be aiding the man in black, a development that caused the wounded Drakel to hiss. Despite the fact that he found the silk-clad duelist annoying, the maniac for Darkness was the real threat here, the thrice-cursed human who had broken his staff, wasted his water, and caused the unnatural wounds which now plagued his flesh. If he could summon these warriors of shadow as well, then the maniac had to be taken down soon, before he finished off the fool and came back for the wounded Salt Mage. Not to mention the fact that there was just the slightest chance that the dandy would actually prevail, and this kill belonged to Salt.
The madman’s left leg was still pierced all throughout with Dragonsalt, which was soaking into his veins, slowly poisoning him. However, the keen crystals were also blocking the wounds, restricting the process of bleeding out, and right now Tel’rion needed a quick death. Fighting against the numb lethargy that still oozed from his wounds, he forced himself to his feet and raised a clawed hand towards the injured leg of his foe. With a feral grin, he clenched his fist, claws in, twisted it, then pulled it down, causing the shards to follow suit. Plunging deep into the already mutilated flesh from all angles, they then carved their way around the leg, slicing at muscles and tendons as they went. Finally, they tore deep furrows down the leg on their way to crash upon the ground, shattering to harmless pieces.
The staff was useless now, the Drakel machinery inside the metal head diligently pulling water in from the air only to send it trickling down the shaft and out the broken handle. Casting it aside, the Salt Mage dropped his hands to his sea-blue belt, taking a bottle from each side. Both contained clear liquids and were firmly corked, an issue which he solved by piercing the side of each cork with a thumbclaw and popping them free. Spreading his arms wide, he stared at the lunatic and his shadow creations, ready for anything but the empty darkness that was slowly seeping through his body.
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