Reports for Myark and al-MutriqaMoskurg:al-Mutriqa suffered his injury fighting a rearguard action. Cooly, he lead a counterattack on the flank of a squadron of enemy heavy cavalry, spoiling their formation with a blast of strong wind, and standing in the middle of a formation like a mountain rising from the sea, protected by his shield of holy wind. Our fine soldiers were able to defeat the disrupted formation, bringing down their horses and slaughtering the then helpless soldiers. After the charge was stopped, the retreat was then safely and professionally conducted, with us losing few troops. At this point, the enemy archmage arrived, and al-Mutriqa boldly closed the range, in order to use Tubikh Rrahim to prevent the enemy from launching fireballs. While dueling the enemy mage, another Arstoskan soldier managed to reach al-Mutriqa, and al-Mutriqa was only able to wound the enemy soldier before getting stabbed in the ankle by the wounded man. Only after holding off the enemy mage for long enough so the retreat could be conducted, did al-Mutriqa notify high command of the wound he has sustained.
A chill wind blows through the jungle, a thick mist driven forth upon it. The Black Phantasms ride through it, unflinching as always. The enemy tower is in sight. They shall put an end to this heretical weather.
Suddenly arrows whistle out from the darkness. Dark riders fall from their saddles, a pained grunt escaping their normally silent lips. More arrows rain down- only to be blown aside by a sudden gust. One of the riders throws off his cloak, revealing himself to be non other than al-Mutriqa, his bright robes and glittering scale lighting up the night. Like a loyal hound, lightning is at his beck and call, raining down around -but never on- the Black Phantasms. The Arstotzkan archers who are fortunate enough not to be hit by the bolts of plasma are unfortunately illuminated by them, allowing the sinister horsemen to charge into the underbrush and cut them down with their wicked scimitars.
The battle is decisively in the Phantasms's favour when a new source of light appears- a stream of fireballs cuts through the night, blowing up trees, rocks, and occasionally a horse and its rider. al-Mutriqa turns towards the source, and spots the by-now familiar face of his rival lurking amongst the foliage.
"Coward! Lurk no more in the darkness, my friend, for the light is here to bring you salvation!"
Myark rolls his eyes at this predictable spiel, but emerges nonetheless. The Phantasms are busy fighting archers and other Arstotzkan soldiers, leaving the two wizards to once again fight alone. They size each other up; Myark in his humble garb, al-Mutriqa in his opulent robes. al-Mutriqa seems to have a new piece of equipment; an ivory staff, covered in fine engravings. Myark regards it suspiciously, but has no time to make a comment before al-Mutriqa charges forth, golden mace raised high.
He quickly conjures a wall of flame between them, bringing al-Mutriqa to a halt just before the eldritch flames.
"Are you so desperate to avoid redemption, brother? Is it not written, 'Fear not the righteous man, for his embrace brings you closer to me.'?"
It may well be written in Moskurg's heathen texts, but it matters little to Myark, who starts summoning a massive fireball to finally end the annoyance that is his rival. He pours ever more power into the spell, until the flickering orb is almost a meter wide. al-Mutriqa, meanwhile, makes no efforts to flee.
"Now it ends", the grizzled mage whispers.
"Now it ends", al-Mutriqa replies, and raises his staff.
Myark prepares to launch the fireball and incinerate his rival, but moments before he does al-Mutriqa finishes muttering under his breath with a shouted "TUBIKH RRAHIM"
With that, the fireball disappears, along with the firewall, the mists, and the unnatural chill. Myark stares at the space between his hands where a fireball once sat, dazed, almost too late to notice the oncoming al-Mutriqa. Just in time he raises his sword to block the downwards swing of the shining mace. The weapons bounce off each other with a clang. Myark staggers under the force of the blow, but maintains his footing. al-Mutriqa is already winding up another swing, and he prepares to summon a crystal axe- remembering just in time how fruitless that would be, and raises his mundane weapon to block the blow instead. Another clang, and once again Myark shudders as the force of the impact runs up his arm.
"Heed my words, man of the north! Only from god comes salvation forth!"
Myark grits his teeth. al-Mutriqa is annoying enough before he starts reciting battle-poetry. He must end this soon, before the incessant chanting drives him insane.
He dodges the next blow, then lunges forth with his own weapon. al-Mutriqa knocks it away, dancing backwards. Myark presses the attack, but is blocked time and time again.
For what seems like hours (but is more realistically five-ten minutes) the two duel, locked in an eternal struggle where neither has the advantage.
Then Myark stumbles- just for a moment, but a moment is all al-Mutriqa needs. He swings wildly- and has his blow knocked away effortlessly, for it was naught but a feint on Myark's part. The spartan spellcaster strikes whilst his opponent is (for real) off balance, striking them in the chest with the pommel of his sword. al-Mutriqa gasps, winded, and Myark wastes no time in laying into him, blow after blow raining down upon the majestic mage. Several make contact, severing the scale covering al-Mutriqa's body, until he is bleeding profusely. A particularly savage blow sends the mace spinning out of al-Mutriqa's grasp, and the wizard falls backwards into the mud.
Myark stands over his prone rival, sword aimed at his neck.
"Any last words?"
"Qad 'illah yurhim ealaykum*", replies al-Mutriqa.
"Heathen nonsense", snarls Myark, and raises his sword for the finishing blow.
...and then spins around to instead block the strike of one of the Black Phantasms, whose scimitar deflects harmlessly. A second rider appears, then a third, and soon Myark is forced to retreat, as the horsemen surround their leader protectively. He spits one last insult at the bleeding wizard, then backs off into the jungle, returning to his tower.
"We stepped out on the battlements for .. something, I don't remember what. Maybe it was to admire the view. Down there it's all tangled green, brown and white, you can't see farther than a couple hundred paces. Above the trees, it's all so much clearer and majestic, reminds me of the pine forests back home. Anyway, we were out there for a couple of minutes, then the horn sounded, then the guard next to us collapsed. Had an arrow straight through the eyeslit of his helm, and if we hadn't ducked a second earlier the next two arrows would have found us too. In the blue light of the spell circles his face was twisted in rage, and he spat out "Al-Mutriqa!"
"How do you kn-" I began, but he was already pushing me into the ward rooms and beginning the chant to transfer control of the Tower to me. Me, a mere apprentice! I still don't know how I held it for those twenty minutes, but it was probably due to the new spell circles being self-harmonising, only needing me to channel the power rather than balance it as well.
So it was maybe three minutes between the horn sounding and Myark rushing down the stairs. Outside, I could hear the rain beginning to pour down. I don't know what happened after that."
-Apprentice Andrei, part of the tower's magic detachment
"Adelita was the one who sounded the horn. We found her body later, with her fingers still wrapped around it. Her Charm was intact and still functioning, but that didn't help her from the entirely mundane spear thorough her lungs. She died a hero - without her warning, we probably wouldn't have been able to fend off the Phantasms like we did.
When Myark appeared I was fighting one of the Black Phantasms on foot. His horse had been killed, but he was fighting like the devil, a ferocious whirlwind of spear and scimitar strikes. Me and Alexander had his back to a tree but couldn't quite get under his guard, until a fireball wooshed past my shoulder and caught him in the face. He screamed and dropped, and Alexander put a sword in his throat while I turned to see where that had come from. Myark was hurling fireballs left and right, burning a path through the melee straight toward a gold-and-purple robed figure at the edge of the clearing. There was a moment when their eyes met, and the electric tension was palpable - exactly like just before a lightning bolt. In fact, it probably was, as a moment later some brave fool rushed at al-Mutriqa and lightning struck the tree next to Myark. That brave fool earned a spear in the face for his trouble, but he did his part - the Charm he'd brought into range must have distracted al-Mutriqa's casting, even if for a second. He picked it up and tossed it into the trees, cursing, but Myark was already upon him with all the fury of an Arstotzkan blizzard. Then there was the sound of hooves, Alexander's yelling, and another Phantasm was bearing down on us."
-Jarl Antonio, sub-commander in the tower's garrison
"Yeah, I saw the duel. I was on the second storey, shooting at the Phantasms best as I could in the chaos and the storm. Al-Mutriqa was an obvious target in his flashing golden robes, but every arrow I loosed at him was wrenched aside violently in mid-air a few feet short of him. So it wasn't until the lightning strike that I saw Myark duelling him.
Myark hammered him with a barrage of fist-sized fireballs from one hand while swinging his broadsword with the other, while al-Mutriqa answered with a precise flurry of wind blasts that deflected the fireballs and blocked with his staff. They danced around each other for while, then the white staff flared and the fireballs fizzled out in mid-air. Myark paused for a couple of seconds, like he couldn't believe what was happening, and al-Mutriqa blasted him backward ten paces with another gust and knocked the sword out of his hand. He raised his staff for the finishing blow, while Myark's hands weaved about, failing to conjure more fire.
Then another Arstotzkan soldier was diving into the path of al-Mutriqa's staff. I didn't hear the crack as the staff connected with his head, but he dropped like a rock. Myark came to his senses and rolled out of the way of the falling body, snatching up his broadsword and slashing at al-Mutriqa's side in one swift motion. He dropped the glowing staff, which instantly dimmed like a candle snuffed out, and suddenly fireballs were once again issuing forth from Myark's palm. Al-Mutriqa recovered well enough to dodge Myark's swings, but the fireballs were a different matter. Twice he caught the fireballs on his armour, which ignited but went out in the freezing rain. He was backing off step by step, as Myark swung his sword in wide arcs, forcing him to retreat as he could not block both the sword and the fire with his wind blasts. Then the third fireball went into his injured side, and he screamed in agony and went to his knees. Myark gathered a larger fireball in his hand to strike the final blow, but another Phantasm galloped between them, forcing him to duck while heaving al-Mutriqa up onto the horse. The last we saw of "the Hammer" was a golden figure hanging limp in the saddle, being carried away unceremoniously by one of his followers. The rest scattered pretty quickly at the sight of that, melting away into the undergrowth like morning dew.
As for Myark, he didn't take having his revenge stolen from him at the last moment well. He blasted a nearby tree with a few fireballs, then stared at the fallen body of the soldier who took a staff to the head for him for nearly five minutes, out there in the freezing downpour, before some others dragged him in."
-Longbowman Arvi, archer in the tower's garrison
As arstotzka troops marched on, snow advanced with them, the enemy weapon turned in long sought relief from home sickness. In the white jungle, however, pockets of resistance remained and one, only one, was enough to draw Myark away from the tower of frost. The effects were already showing, with snow turning into icy rain and the ground becoming slippery, but killing Al-Mutriqa is worth ANYTHING.
"Have you found him yet? where is he hiding?"
"The amulets grows hotter in direction north-north west. We have an estimate of significant magic use just a couple of kilometers in that direction. Either it is another of their mage squads engaging in heated combat, or it is him."
Myark gets on his horse and addresses his bodyguards:
"Men, mount on your horses, ready your broadswords. We go hunting!"
After a few minutes, the small group arrives in a clearing in the forest, where the much sought Al-Mutriqa is found. Wielding a big decorated ivory staff and ordering his bodyguards to slaughter a squad of helpless sleeping Arstotzkans. He staggers and turns toward the direction from which Myark is approaching, ordering his troops to stop the wild slaughter and rally around him.
"You are not bothering to hide your thoughts today. I will pass them to your next of kin, after I hang you on your entrails. If you think you will be spared again, you are gravely mistaken"
"My thirst for revenge is no secret I intend to keep from you. Chivalrious first, butcherer later? is this the unsteady nature of Moskurg? Your people disgust me. And this place will be your grave, not mine" says Myark while rising his wand to send a fireball hurling to the enemy group. The master wizard evades it, but a couple of his bodyguards are roasted alive, falling on the ground with deadly burns.
Al-Mutriqa orders his guard to scatter and after failing to make Arstotzka soldiers fall asleep, he starts blasting them with strong winds, making several fall down from their saddles while the rest still have trouble commanding their horses. This doesn't last much however, as another fireball arrives on him, forcing him to evade with a forward roll, moving ever closer to Myark.
Myark continues his assault with a wall of flame completely surrounding the Moskurg Wizard, followed by a wall of channeled fog engulfing him.
All around them, the bodyguards of both sides fight savagely, Arstotzka with broadsword seeking melee and Moskurg with composite bows, trying and mostly failing to penetrate the thick plater armor. Both sides for the most part stay clear from the wizards, now engaged in a magic duel in which they can't hope to compete.
Myark shouts to be heard above the noise of battle and fire :"You will not come any closer than this. You are trapped. Lets see how you can evade this now." and he rises his wand once more to land the final blow. However, the cage of fire and fog starts to dissipate, as Al-Mutriqa rotates his staff, magic going out as soon as he points at it.
"I learned a few tricks as well. And this wand can do more than this" Says the Moskurg wizard while running toward his foe and evading a fireball poorly aimed for the surprise.
Caltrops are summoned and easily dispelled as well; the wizards are getting close enough to see the white of their eyes.
"Too close" says Myark. "not even you are so agile". He rises his hand, summoning a jet of small fireballs to engulf the enemy.
*fizzle*
"Too close, replies Al-Mutriqa with a grin, while pointing the ivory staff at his enemy.
Myark's face turn from gloating to concern, as he starts moving backward and calls his bodyguard. He puts an hand in one of his pockets, hopefully unseen.
"Oh, no. You are not escaping" calls Al-Mutriqa while using his wind control to stop Myark's retreat. The wind, however, stop suddenly when Myark extracts from his pocket a newly enchanted charm giving off a poderous hum.
Myark grabs his mace and charges "We are solving this the old way. Ready your weapon"
Al-Mutriqa parries the first blow with his staff, but it is soon clear that it is not meant as a fighting weapon, nor he is yet familiar enough with it. Myark's pressing assault doesn't give him time or space to draw his sword and soon the staff is broken and the Moskurg wizard falls on the ground, a rib broken. A stray arrow luckily manages to make the mace fly off before an execution could be done, so Myark gets on top of his long time enemy and punches him with his armored glove.
"I would say it is not personal. Your death would provide my side a great advantage and spare many soldiers"
*punch*
"More resources and wealth for the kingdom"
*punch*, Al-Mutriqa's face is covered by blood, the nose broken
"But I never forgot the defeats you inflicted to me, or the soldiers slaughtered in their sleep due to your magic. Friends lost by lightning rather than honorable combat, prisoners executed last year"
*Punch*, the jaw dislocated and breaks with a loud snap
"From the deep of my heart, I WISH YOU DEATH"
Myark grabs the nearest hard object he can find, the charm, and aims straight at Al-Mutriqa's chest, landing a mighty blow.
*black*
*silence*
*Pounding headache*
*eyes open, slowly*
*light. tent. friendly voices*
"Lord Myark, are you awake? are you feeling fine? we see no big wounds, but -"
Myark forces himself to fully open his eyes and sit on the bed where he was resting. Around him, his tent in the encamptment near the frost tower. His personal medic and 2 of his bodyguards looking at him, concerned.
"What happened? last I remember, I was finally ridding the world of Al-Mutriqa."
"Sir, we could barely see what happened. At some point, we heard a hum growing higher and higher in pitch coming from your position, then there was a small explosion. In the confusion, the enemy managed to bring him away, bleeding profusely, and we found you nearby asleep. it has been a few hours since we got you back to the camp."
Myark ponders a bit, fighting the pain in his head obfuscating his thoughts.
"The charm... it was enchanted way too quickly, in the middle of the battle. Probably it was unstable. Maybe I hit a bit of metal and it cracked. Either way I suppose it broke and released the thankfully little stored energy. And I suppose that sneaky pig used the chance to cast a sleep spell on me. I let myself be blinded by my own emotions, but next time it will be different."
Myark grins
"Either way, it will take at least a year to try to recover from what I did to his face"
amidst the snow and sleet The Great Mage Myark glared at a lowly swordsman with his dainty horsey and a retinue of annoying groupies. A brave marksman fired an arrow into the giggling fanatics, only to be struck down by a bolt of lightning summoned by some cowardly kegger that continued to hide. Myark grimaced, he had been haunted by dreams sent by the gods, muddled images of knights in strange armour dancing under musical lightning and bizarre phrases like "electrical resistance". Myark dismissed the nonsense, as he had long known that Arstozka's gods were all as mad as they were loyal. What was not nonsense was his experience of such battles. He knew that many more of his countrymen would be caught up in this "duel" as his opponent proclaimed it. Myark's grimace turned to a grin, this time, he was prepared, he had a very special artefact, and knew his adversary could not help but to help activate it. Charging up power in his fist, Myark felt his glove radiate power as gems rustled and burst. With a loud proclamation, Myark declared "I challenge you, Allmytreeka, to settle this between just the two of us!" and hurled his fist forwards, sending the gleaming glove flying through the air, striking the enemy 'wizard' in the face before falling atop the pest's horse. The response was swift and predictable "I accept" with a snide snicker and little care for the true magic before the ignorant fool. The glove's remaining gems rattled and burst as the spell drew the fragments of power that could be found in the lowly enemy and drew them into itself to complete the magic. The woven precious-metal of the glove then melted as it flew to the centre of the confrontation, spun rapidly into a ring that quickly surrounded the pair, and then sunk into the ground before a great stone platform rose with only the tow counterparts atop it. Then, forming into each of the two men's hands, from the depths of their wills were called forth a stack of plates, in the style of the central mountains, decorated with arcane figures and moulded from the finest paper-board... The surrounding soldier found themselves drawn to the grandeur of the event, and could not help but to gaze on, cheering, and commenting incessantly on the impressive card-game skills.
Al-mutriqua looked down at the cards. He had heard of this game, and the attitude of the cards was disturbingly Arstozkan, but he felt his own power within them and knew that his own power would decide this.
Myark took the initiative and declared "I call upon the great tundra and bring forth the frozen wraith" as a portion of the platform grew cold and tufty and a shadowy figure rose from the snow and crept forward to battle.
Steeling himself, the fool responded "I bring forth the... Mind-scorching Desert and raise a... Stupid Mossy Wind-djinn, and have it call destruction from the sky" as a whirl of sand rose from a now-sandy patch of the platform and formed into a man-shape with a goofy face drawn upon its head and frilly tunic that resembled a dress of bright colours. The djinn danced about pointlessly before lifting its tunic in a random direction and producing a deafening thundercrack behind it, followed by the spectral shadow dispersing under a bolt of blazing energy.
Myark then brought forth the tomb of icy repose which restored the former shade, and called into being another frozen wraith as the tundra grew further. The wraiths flailed against the djinn, but their shadowy substance proved unable to do more than subtly drain its strength to hold it in place.
Al then spread a dash of plains and raised a "dumb kegger on fat horse" which proved to be a clown with a mop atop an aptly large-proportioned steed. It charged at the shadows as the djinn again exposed the field to a bolt of lightning, and Al brought forth the magic of "Keggers fail fisuks" and the two wraiths dispersed under a deluge of lightning. The clown pressed through the dispersing darkness and struck Myark with a mop.
Myark knew that an early setback was a suitable price to pay for the humility to win this as the riding clown froze in place as frost spread over the platform from "The Frozen Fields of Forenia". Yet another Frozen wraith rose from new ground as one of its peers emerged from the tomb, both held in place by the frozen landscape.
Al then evoked a card of "cheating brain bug" which produced a small but intimidating insect that promptly tried to move for nefarious purposes but failed
Myark watched joyously as the final wraith was revived by the tomb and called forth a mountainous tile from which emerged "night fiend" a dark-furred wolf. The wolf promptly broke free of the suddenly-shattering ice and leapt upon the opposing clown horseman who quickly succumbed, but fed his horse to the wolf to remain alive. The shadows however merged together under the power of a magic "Final Fiend of Frozen Fields" which united the three into a dense standing shadow with a sinister aura. The beetle was promptly drown by the shadows as the djinn was paralysed by the shadow's stare.
Al then called upon his greatest regret and manifested the new and untarnished "chamber of felled dreams", a metal cage of hopeful prisoners, waiting to be released, promptly put to death by stoic guards. bringing forth "too many dumb keggers" incarnated a pair of clowns from the desert and the three of such entered the chamber and promptly expired under swordblows. From thechamber emerged a beast of burning rage, "unbroken horror" red teeth and eyes and fur aflame in the shape of a great hound. The beast leapt upon the shadow and tore it to pieces, releasing the djinn to march upon Myark and strike with a fist of swirling sands, blowing the wizard back to the edge of the platform.
Myark then called upon "chain spirit" from the mountain, and chains wrapped around the dread hound as the djinn froze as a familiar dense shadow rose from the tomb and consumed the weakened beast as the wolf ran forth and grabbed Al by the foot.
Al then called upon "Mossy Pig-head" a Moskurker soldier with a pig for a head that crushed the wolf under a great hammer.
Myark countered by sending chains through the djinn, disrupting its form thus binding it uselessly to the ground, the pigman was devoured by the shadow, and then the final spell "shadows unleashed" destroyed the shadow, converting it into a horizontal pillar of blackness that struck the undefended enemy and threw him from the platform in a great explosion of darkness that flattened the surrounds.
Al-Mutriqa, completely drained of magic and consciousness, was rushed from the field by the battered cavalry of his escorts.
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Topic: Wands Race: Magic in Forenia [Core Thread] [EvictedSaint's Run] (Read 42144 times)