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Guardian of Nekops -> RE: =Elemental Championships 2009= Cellar Arena (7/25/2009 22:59:06)
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Tel’rion’s mouth spread into a feral grin as his victim cried out and stumbled backwards, his foot shredded and mangled beyond recognition. Soon the Salt Mage’s foe would fall to the ground, being unable to support his own weight thereby, and be dispatched by one of the others who was out for his head… either the flashy human adolescent or the mysterious man with his strange, unpleasant look; it hardly mattered. The madman would die, and though another blade did the deed, it would be Salt that had made it possible.
Against all odds, however, the lunatic regained his footing, suffering no disadvantage great enough to allow him to be finished off. Instead, the man’s dark cowl and glowing eyes swiveled slowly to glare at the outcast Drakel scholar, his gaze filled with unspeakable hatred and far too little pain. Without even gesturing or looking away from him, the abomination caused another creature of shadow to rise up behind it, sending the minion to join its two fellows in the fight against the duelist in a display of control that made Tel’rion’s spine freeze.
The Salt Mage took a couple steps back, apprehensive. The lunatic had already proved his pain tolerance to be exceptional, but this was just ridiculous… standing on a foot that, for all intents and purposes, had been run through a meat grinder? For that, the man had to be able to completely shut out pain, and probably reinforce the foot by use of shadow. Invisible shadow, by the look of it, or internal… or perhaps some completely different form of magic altogether. That feat in and of itself would have been extraordinary; to be able to accomplish it while controlling three other minions and in so little time was more frightening still.
One thing was for sure; this was not the same man that had wildly attacked him scant minutes ago. This was a new creature, a fusion of Darkness and flesh… and defeating it was probably beyond him.
Just when the outcast was beginning to rally his courage, his lost scholarly mind turning from the odds stacked against him to frantically seeking out options and resources, he noticed something that set him over the edge once more. His enemy’s injured foot was MELTING, together with the other, changing into liquid shadow and flowing down to pool upon the floor. The madman’s calves and thighs quickly followed as the effect rose throughout his body, consuming his arms and torso without apparent cease. Still there was no outcry, no writhing that would denote pain… this was not the villain’s death that Tel’rion was witnessing. This… was something else.
Within a minute the physical component of the madman’s body was gone, leaving only the portion of liquid shadow. The Salt Mage stared at it, trying to keep track of it in the flickering torchlight. To his shock and dismay, the insubstantial object flitted away at the speed of a galloping horse and with significantly more control, climbing up the mirrored walls and dashing into and out of the shadows until he lost its motion in the random motion of the light.
What IS this thing?! the Drakel’s mind screamed as he looked frantically about for it, eyes wide with horror. It should have been brought down by now, it should be dying! It seemed human enough before, but now…
Unbeknownst to the magichemist, the shadow positioned itself directly behind him and reverted to the shape of violent madman. Letting out no laugh this time, making no sound to betray his position, Farsith returned to his proper shape with his twin katanas of darkness already drawn back, beginning their strike. Unfortunately, this meant that Farsith was unable to change the course of the blades based on what he saw there, and that made all the difference.
The shorter of the two blades was aimed squarely at the center of Tel’rion’s back, and its thrust was straight and true… right into what was arguably the only armored spot on the scholar’s body. It’s sharp tip sliced through the blue fabric of the bag on his back, meeting no resistance and staining the cloth a deep black as it slammed into the front cover of The True Nature of Water. The blade easily pierced this as well, but it lost momentum there and as it passed through the pages, leaving a large black blotch on each and every one.
The tome crashed into the Salt Mage’s back as Farsith’s blade ripped through it, the force of it combining with his own fear to send him stumbling forward, barely able to keep himself from falling forward onto his face. Thus it was that the second, longer blade did not sever his head as planned, but rather cut through the flesh of his scalp and etched a deep line into his skull. The stabbing attack, likewise, made it through the back cover of his life’s work, plunging into his flesh only to be stopped by the back of his rib cage. From these wounds, also, spread the numbing antithesis of pain and the dead, rotting flesh familiar to him from the beams of darkness, only this time it was small portions of his lungs and brain that were so afflicted.
Staggering forward far enough to rip the blade free of his back, Tel’rion whimpered as he fought to think, to breathe. His motor control was still intact, but his vision was definitely wrong… dark, fuzzy, and unable to tell the difference between the mirrored wall and the objects they were reflecting. He also had no idea whether the way his thoughts felt lost in his own mind was a temporary effect of his vision and the spreading numbness or due to permanent brain damage. To make matters worse, the dead portions of his lungs were nowhere near as flexible as the living parts required, and his frantic breathing was ripping them apart, filling his lungs with fluid.
What is happening to… I. I. Me. What is… I. I am. Danger. Run!
Permanent damage, definitely.
Whirling about at a speed that turned his entire field of vision black, Tel’rion flung the slippery base in his left hand down to coat the floor behind him and let the acid in his right hand fly up around eye level, hoping that his enemy was following him and that he would hit by blind luck. He didn’t count on it, though; instead, he continued his spin and kept running in what he thought was the same direction he had started in. Throwing the bottles backwards over his shoulder on the off chance that they hit the madman, he reached down to the crystal dagger on his belt and drew it from its dyed leather sheath.
As he continued to run across Cellar, by no means moving in a straight line, he yelled at himself, saying, “Come on, Lel… Leltenriol, cogitate! Get keld of the loony, keep ensorcelled. Kill him dead, after. Deader and dead!”
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