EZ_Sor
05-14-00, 02:29 PM
D'Vinn grinned cruelly, his eyes locked with those of the last elf before him. His lips moved, as he spoke, in harsh elfish, and he delighted in the spark of recognition in the elf's eyes, and then the horror..
"..I win.."
With that, D'Vinn twisted his grip, and the life faded from the hapless elf's gaze. He twisted harder, his grin constant, as blood suddenly spurted in his face, and then held the decapitated head aloft for all to see. A ragged cheer went up, mixed with delighted roars and howls. D'Vinn savored the moment.
Alone in the dusty ring, alone but for bloody corpses, D'Vinn soaked it all in. The crowd of onlookers cheering his victory, orcish howls mixing with ogre roars, Teir'Dal cheers overpowered by the Trollish shouts, all eyes on him, D'Vinn, champion of the ring..
His thoughts raced back to the moment the great match had begun. Alone, unarmed, the great Ambassador D'Vinn, one of the most reknowned Teir'Dal in all of Norrath, faced off against an overwhelming number of opponents. Ten elves, captured by the orcish hordes, all armed with rusted blades, or wicked-looking staffs. The battle began with furious speed, the captured elves, charged by their own fear and rage, seeing a chance for vengence, charged the lone Teir'Dal, shouting battle cries and obscenitys as they came on. And they'd all died, every one of them, at his hands.
D'Vinn revelled. The foolish elves, so ignorant, so foolish to think they'd had a chance against one so powerful as he..
Even without the aide of the arcane magicks that many of his dark kin possessed, D'Vinn was one of the deadliest Teir'Dal known. To compensate his lack of magical talent, that rose others of his kin to greatness, the necromancers of Neriak, D'Vinn had to rely on his own gifts. And resources.
He remembered sweetly the day he'd been patrolling the Nektulos forest, and had happened upon a travelling human. It had been a fierce battle, that one. D'Vinn, then a Dragoon of the Neriak armies, should have overpowered the unarmed traveller in moments. But even as he'd lain into his prey with his dagger, his weapon of choice, the attacked had dropped his light pack, and began a furious attack of his own, with flying fists and feet, his arms blocking D'Vinn's more deadly stabs, as well as denting his dull steel armor with his rain of fists and feet. D'Vinn almost hadn't won that fight, but a lucky strike had won him the battle, his dirk sticking between the foolish human's shoulderblades in the end.
D'Vinn had been immediately fascinated by the lightning-quick style of unarmed combat the human had used on him, and he'd set out almost immediately, to learn more. Luck was with him, and he found another such traveller, this a female human, with the same signs of combat-readiness D'Vinn had been unprepared for in his last victim. This one he ambushed from behind, cracking her skull from behind with the pommel of his dirk, and then had dragged the unconcious victim to his dwelling.
There, he had forced the "monk", as she named herself, to teach him her peculiar style of hand-to-hand combat. She'd been unresisting at first, but D'Vinn had his ways..
..eventually, she tired out her usefulness to him, and he set her to the other Dragoons for their pleasures. But he'd learned much. With the new skills and techniques he had learned, he quickly had ascended into the political world of Neriak, a violent, sometimes bloody claw for power within the confused hierarchy of the darkened city. His fellow Teir'Dal were unprepared for his brash methods of gaining rank, and were at the same time unable to end his climb to power with the much accepted assassinations of the time, simply because D'Vinn was never unarmed, nor unalert. Thanks to his 'training'.
And so Dragoon D'Vinn had risen to D'Vinn, Ambassador to the Crushbone Orcs of Faydwer, the hated island of the Elves, the Feir'Dal, to make an alliance with the bloodthirsty and numerous orcs that inhabited the countryside.
And the alliance was a complete success. The orcs there now had rule of The Faydark, the wood elves much prized forest. Kelethin and Felwithe were the only refuge from the orcish hordes, and even for those fortresses, D'Vinn had plans. D'Vinn had many plans.. His smile widened.
The match had been his own idea, as well, though noone knew it, and believed another to have suggested such as thing as a worthwhile event to celebrate the treaty between the Crushbone and Deathfist orcs that had been pounded out, in blood sometimes, that day.
And so D'Vinn fought, and now was covered in the blood of his enemies.
He savored the glory as the cheering slowly died down, his eyes closed, and his smile self-satisfied. Today would be remembered for years..
And then, suddenly, a roar of protest from the crowd. D'Vinn's eyes snapped open, and turned to the roaring. Above, Teir'Dal and dark kin roared and howled, fingers and claws pointing inside the ring, at the object of their rage. D'Vinn turned to look.
Slowly, quietly, an elf that had lain motionless since the first moments of the epic battle, rose. Wiping blood from it's eyes, it slowly stood, and gazed about the ring. D'Vinn almost started, as his bloodred eyes met those of the lone elf. His mind worked slowly, oblivious to the growing roar of the ring at the standing elf.
D'Vinn's mind backtracked. At the beginning, when D'Vinn was rushed, he'd rushed back, and caught the first elf square in the throat. Then he'd spun, his fist crashing into the next elf's stomach. And the third elf.. Yes, the third elf.. He'd cracked that one across the face, with a blow that should have split the skull easily. The elf had certainly flown far enough, coming to rest roughly against the wall of the ring. D'Vinn had assumed too early, it seemed.
This mistake enraged D'Vinn, even as he sized up the elf before him. A half elf, even height with D'Vinn, a tall Teir'Dal, and with a look of endurance and perhaps speed to him. His ragged clothing was blood-splattered and torn, though the elf didn't seem to notice. The eyes.. Yes, those eyes held.. Something. Dark, dark eyes, like black coals.
D'Vinn became aware of the catcalls from the crowd then. trolls and ogres beginning to laugh at the elf, as it stood silently, eyes intent on D'Vinn. Teir'Dal throwing rotted fruit at him, while the orcs howled with rage at the nerve of the elf to get up after being dead so satisfyingly quickly. D'Vinn grinned maliciously, and raised a hand, dried blood crackling on his fist as he opened it, calling for silence.
Slowly, gradually, the din died down, until even the ogres stopped chuckling, and looked on into the ring. Then D'Vinn spoke, harsh Elfish ringing throughout the ring.
"Half Elf. You have my congratulations. You're the last of your kind here to survive. That deserves some merit."
D'Vinn's cruel smile darkened further, as he continued, the much-hatred speak of the Feir'Dal echoing, uncontested, throughout the ring.
"..So I give you a choice. Do you want to die slowly, or quickly?"
Roars of animalistic laughter burst throughout the arena, as the onlookers howled with glee. The orcs raised their weapons high into the air, howling with laughter, even as the slow-witted ogres caught onto the joke, or more likely started laughing because that's what everyone else was doing. D'Vinn only continued the cruel smile.
The half elf remained silent, and unmoving, even as the gales of laughter rained down around him. His dark gaze remained ever intent on D'Vinn, as though he were the only one of importance. D'Vinn became annoyed, as the elf didn't respond to the tremendous ridicle he was being subjected to, and noted it for later use.
Slowly, the laughter died down, as the throngs of the audience slowly composed themselves, settling back into their seats, to grin evilly at the lone elf. The arena was soon quiet, and D'Vinn again shouted in the unpleasent tongue.
"I'm a kind 'dark elf', Elf. But I must insist you make up your mind! Now, I'll ask again. Do you want your death to be quick, or do you want.."
"..I want a sword."
D'Vinn stopped short, and frowned, as the quiet words of the elf reached his ears. Not in the Elfish tongue, nor even Common. D'Vinn's own language rang in his pointed ears, even as the elf closed his mouth, to be drowned out not by the roar of rage from the crowd, but the roar of sudden tense silence throughout the arena. The onlookers all gazed at D'Vinn now, who now glowered at the arrogent elf, who still remained silent, staring right back down the gaze.
Then D'Vinn chuckled, almost to himself, but so everyone in the arena heard. A self-assured, confident laugh, D'Vinn shouted into the ring.
"You heard the man! Give him a sword!"
Repressed laughter scattered throughout the crowd, as well as a rapid-fire sound of sheaths releasing blades. The arena became visibly brighter, as bare metal was exposed throughout the crowds. Onlookers passed their blades down to the ringside, or simply threw the weapon out over the crowd, to land, skittering in the dust, inside the arena. D'Vinn took a moment to dodge a spinning longsword, and then grinned. A pair of famed Dragoon Dirks came spinning at him, most likely thrown by the guards of the same name. Deftly, he snatched the blades from the air, and then faced the elf again.
The ever-passive elf seemed to be oblivious to the flying weaponry that landed all around him. He hardly batted an eye when a huge ogre war maul crashed to the ground behind him, most likely thrown by an over-excited troll. D'Vinn tested the edges of his daggers, and smiled, waiting.
The blood-splattered elf stood motionless, unheeding of the rain of sharp weapons descending upon him. Then his eyes broke from D'Vinn's, as a blade skittered across the sand, spinning slowly, to stop at the elf's feet. The elf considered the long, thin-bladed weapon, a rapier, and then bent down, taking hold of the weapon, before standing, his eyes again locking onto D'Vinn's.
D'Vinn chuckled, and raised a hand.
"..Fight!"
Again, roars throughout the arena, and the bloodshed was to begin anew. D'Vinn waited, his daggers at his sides, for the elf's charge. But the elf didn't move. He remained rooted in place, the point of his rapier held low, and almost neglected. D'Vinn frowned. Probably scared him stiff. I may as well come to him. It will all be the same in the end.
With that thought, D'Vinn then rapidly closed the distance to his target, his daggers flashing, his intention to fake high, and then drive the blades into the exposed stomach. The elf never moved, only waiting, but the blade was slowly rising. At least he's alive still, D'Vinn thought, even as his executed his manuver flawlessly.
Almost flawlessly.
Between the exposed stomach and D'Vinn's twin blades, caught in the hilt guards of both daggers, was the rapier. D'Vinn realized his mistake a moment too late, even as the elf moved again, drawing a tanned fist back, and shattering it into D'Vinn's jaw.
D'Vinn staggered back, stunned, and rubbed his jaw. He spit out blood, and then glared at the elf. Again, the elf was only standing there, the rapier again low, and unheeded..
D'Vinn felt a deep rage grow within him. That insolent lightbreed! Drawing me to him, so he could counterattack unexpectedly. Bad form. D'Vinn looked over the fact that that's what he'd have done in a second, had he thought of it beforehand. He shouted in his guttural voice.
"You'll pay for that, ELF!"
The rage had D'Vinn now, a sort of berserker's frenzy that had gotten him through tough battles, and into more then enough scrapes. He launched a fresh attack, his daggers weaving around his body, moving unpredictably, and then all once, STRUCK.
*RING*
Steel hummed as blades met. And again. And again. Faster and faster. D'Vinn pressed the attack, his daggers searching, viper-like, for an opening. His eyes searched his prey's for some clue. A moment before his blades could touch flesh, the rapier had come alive, and rebounded each edge smoothly, nearly throwing D'Vinn off-balance. D'Vinn came on, advancing on the wood elf, his keen battle sense taking it in, even as he struck again, only to be repelled. This elf fought like it was all he'd ever done. The rapier was a living thing in his hands, darting, blocking, anticipating, waiting to strike, and then launching against the blades at every assault.
*RING* *RING* *RING*
Steel sounded throughout the arena, as the blades began to dance, each testing the other, searching for a blind spot, a weakness, an incaution. D'Vinn increased his attack, and then increased it again, moving forward slowly, forcing the rapier-wielding elf to slowly back up. Once against the wall, D'Vinn would have the full advantage, and could then come in close, and bury a dagger in the vitals.
*RING, RING, RING, RING*
Blades echoed throughout the silent, awe-struck arena, as the elf slowly backed away, the wall edging closer and closer behind. D'Vinn's daggers slashed the air, the dust, and then bit into the rapier, but never into flesh, nor tattered cloth. It had been long since the ambassador had had such a worthy opponent, nor since the Clan Wars. But though the battle seemed evenly matched, D'Vinn had the edge. He watched the wall even as he watched for an opening. Close, so close.. The elf's foot touched the wall. D'Vinn howled, and then crashed forward against the elf, his dagger sweeping low even as the other repelled the nuisance rapier, to flash towards vital skin.
Fingers closed on D'Vinn's wrist, stopping the momentuem cold.
D'Vinn stared into the coal-black eyes, locked in a deathgrip with the elf. Then, slowly, horribly, the elf smiled...
D'Vinn growled low in his throat, and then danced back, daggers free again. Then the elf stepped forward from the wall, spun the rapier razor-quick around his wrist, still smiling, and then advanced.
*ringringringringringringring*
The attack suddenly reversed, and now it was D'Vinn on the retreat, his daggers barely repelling the deadly rapier as it became a ravenous predator, searching, aching for a gap to slip through, and to taste hot blood. Again and again and again, D'Vinn dodged or met steel with steel, the dirks vibrating in his hands as the rapier, black as night, came closer and closer. D'Vinn realized vaguely that he was backing up rapidly, trying to gain room, while the elf advanced, scimitiar whirling, at a fast walk. The attack was simply too much for D'Vinn to try and attack. Either he put it all into defense, or he'd be skewered.
The crowd had broken out of it's revere, and was now screaming bloody murder into the ring, and at the maddened elf that was somehow putting D'Vinn, great Ambassador D'Vinn, greatest dueler of all Neriak, all Norrath, on the defensive. Teir'Dal necromancers began to shout encantations into the air, even as the keepers of the "Shunned" knowledge, the wizards, enchanters, and magicians, readied their spells hurriedly, trying to gain a bead on the insane elf, even as Teir'Dal archers raised and took aim at the advancing figure, looking to hit something vital.
D'Vinn couldn't wipe the sweat pouring from his forehead, as his muscles screamed to him to quit, to give up. The dirks hummed in his hands before they met the tireless rapier again and again, an unstoppable wave that it took all D'Vinn's energies to keep from sweeping over him. He glared madly into the half elf's eyes, those damn black eyes, and saw nothing but his own reflection. And within his reflection..
Before D'Vinn could react, his back foot hit the wall of the ring, and then the rapier moved blindly fast, and each dagger was whipped away from D'Vinn's hands. And then the point of the rapier was at his throat, the elf only inches away.
D'Vinn gasped for breath, the blade's point mere hairs from his throat, stunned and exhausted, sweat dripping from his forehead. The elf's eyes locked onto D'Vinn's, and he saw the smile gone. And prideful to the end, D'Vinn sputtered, still gasping.
"..Go on, ELF! ..Finish it!"
D'Vinn watched the eyes, those tell-taling eyes. A slight twitch at his words, and nothing else.
A breath seemed to pass in the ring, where archers sighted on the elf's unprotected back, sorcerers redirected energies within their bodies to launch at the attacker, and D'Vinn gasped for air, the razor-point unmoving at his throat.
Then abruptly, the elf turned away, a muttered phrase on his lips as the blade moved away from D'Vinn's neck. The words, as they sank in, nearly drove D'Vinn mad.
"..not worth it.."
D'Vinn's rage enveloped him, and he roared, fists wide, even as his brain screamed that the archers and magi would obliterate this isolent, arrogent basturd before he made three steps. And then D'Vinn's legendly fists flew out at the elf's head.
A rough hand closed on the fist, and D'Vinn barely saw the elf turn. The hand pulled, and D'Vinn was thrown offbalance. The elf then wrenched the dark elf around, spinning him helplessly. And the rapier took blood, again and again, as a demon in the elf's hand, slashes and gaping punctures bit deep into Teir'Dal flesh, red jewels of blood splashing in the elf's eyes.
And then it was over. The spinning body became a corpse before it touched the ground, bleeding from a dozen slash wounds, all over it, blood oozing and spurting out of the ragged wounds.
The elf stood there, rapier dripping red droplets onto the dust, and spoke again, even as the firebolts and arrows flew at him from all around..
"..my name isn't 'Elf'.." ~Sor"It may have been the wind, but you would swear you heard my voice just now..And what I've said has made you scared.."Edited by Sor at: 5/14/00 3:30:58 pm
"..I win.."
With that, D'Vinn twisted his grip, and the life faded from the hapless elf's gaze. He twisted harder, his grin constant, as blood suddenly spurted in his face, and then held the decapitated head aloft for all to see. A ragged cheer went up, mixed with delighted roars and howls. D'Vinn savored the moment.
Alone in the dusty ring, alone but for bloody corpses, D'Vinn soaked it all in. The crowd of onlookers cheering his victory, orcish howls mixing with ogre roars, Teir'Dal cheers overpowered by the Trollish shouts, all eyes on him, D'Vinn, champion of the ring..
His thoughts raced back to the moment the great match had begun. Alone, unarmed, the great Ambassador D'Vinn, one of the most reknowned Teir'Dal in all of Norrath, faced off against an overwhelming number of opponents. Ten elves, captured by the orcish hordes, all armed with rusted blades, or wicked-looking staffs. The battle began with furious speed, the captured elves, charged by their own fear and rage, seeing a chance for vengence, charged the lone Teir'Dal, shouting battle cries and obscenitys as they came on. And they'd all died, every one of them, at his hands.
D'Vinn revelled. The foolish elves, so ignorant, so foolish to think they'd had a chance against one so powerful as he..
Even without the aide of the arcane magicks that many of his dark kin possessed, D'Vinn was one of the deadliest Teir'Dal known. To compensate his lack of magical talent, that rose others of his kin to greatness, the necromancers of Neriak, D'Vinn had to rely on his own gifts. And resources.
He remembered sweetly the day he'd been patrolling the Nektulos forest, and had happened upon a travelling human. It had been a fierce battle, that one. D'Vinn, then a Dragoon of the Neriak armies, should have overpowered the unarmed traveller in moments. But even as he'd lain into his prey with his dagger, his weapon of choice, the attacked had dropped his light pack, and began a furious attack of his own, with flying fists and feet, his arms blocking D'Vinn's more deadly stabs, as well as denting his dull steel armor with his rain of fists and feet. D'Vinn almost hadn't won that fight, but a lucky strike had won him the battle, his dirk sticking between the foolish human's shoulderblades in the end.
D'Vinn had been immediately fascinated by the lightning-quick style of unarmed combat the human had used on him, and he'd set out almost immediately, to learn more. Luck was with him, and he found another such traveller, this a female human, with the same signs of combat-readiness D'Vinn had been unprepared for in his last victim. This one he ambushed from behind, cracking her skull from behind with the pommel of his dirk, and then had dragged the unconcious victim to his dwelling.
There, he had forced the "monk", as she named herself, to teach him her peculiar style of hand-to-hand combat. She'd been unresisting at first, but D'Vinn had his ways..
..eventually, she tired out her usefulness to him, and he set her to the other Dragoons for their pleasures. But he'd learned much. With the new skills and techniques he had learned, he quickly had ascended into the political world of Neriak, a violent, sometimes bloody claw for power within the confused hierarchy of the darkened city. His fellow Teir'Dal were unprepared for his brash methods of gaining rank, and were at the same time unable to end his climb to power with the much accepted assassinations of the time, simply because D'Vinn was never unarmed, nor unalert. Thanks to his 'training'.
And so Dragoon D'Vinn had risen to D'Vinn, Ambassador to the Crushbone Orcs of Faydwer, the hated island of the Elves, the Feir'Dal, to make an alliance with the bloodthirsty and numerous orcs that inhabited the countryside.
And the alliance was a complete success. The orcs there now had rule of The Faydark, the wood elves much prized forest. Kelethin and Felwithe were the only refuge from the orcish hordes, and even for those fortresses, D'Vinn had plans. D'Vinn had many plans.. His smile widened.
The match had been his own idea, as well, though noone knew it, and believed another to have suggested such as thing as a worthwhile event to celebrate the treaty between the Crushbone and Deathfist orcs that had been pounded out, in blood sometimes, that day.
And so D'Vinn fought, and now was covered in the blood of his enemies.
He savored the glory as the cheering slowly died down, his eyes closed, and his smile self-satisfied. Today would be remembered for years..
And then, suddenly, a roar of protest from the crowd. D'Vinn's eyes snapped open, and turned to the roaring. Above, Teir'Dal and dark kin roared and howled, fingers and claws pointing inside the ring, at the object of their rage. D'Vinn turned to look.
Slowly, quietly, an elf that had lain motionless since the first moments of the epic battle, rose. Wiping blood from it's eyes, it slowly stood, and gazed about the ring. D'Vinn almost started, as his bloodred eyes met those of the lone elf. His mind worked slowly, oblivious to the growing roar of the ring at the standing elf.
D'Vinn's mind backtracked. At the beginning, when D'Vinn was rushed, he'd rushed back, and caught the first elf square in the throat. Then he'd spun, his fist crashing into the next elf's stomach. And the third elf.. Yes, the third elf.. He'd cracked that one across the face, with a blow that should have split the skull easily. The elf had certainly flown far enough, coming to rest roughly against the wall of the ring. D'Vinn had assumed too early, it seemed.
This mistake enraged D'Vinn, even as he sized up the elf before him. A half elf, even height with D'Vinn, a tall Teir'Dal, and with a look of endurance and perhaps speed to him. His ragged clothing was blood-splattered and torn, though the elf didn't seem to notice. The eyes.. Yes, those eyes held.. Something. Dark, dark eyes, like black coals.
D'Vinn became aware of the catcalls from the crowd then. trolls and ogres beginning to laugh at the elf, as it stood silently, eyes intent on D'Vinn. Teir'Dal throwing rotted fruit at him, while the orcs howled with rage at the nerve of the elf to get up after being dead so satisfyingly quickly. D'Vinn grinned maliciously, and raised a hand, dried blood crackling on his fist as he opened it, calling for silence.
Slowly, gradually, the din died down, until even the ogres stopped chuckling, and looked on into the ring. Then D'Vinn spoke, harsh Elfish ringing throughout the ring.
"Half Elf. You have my congratulations. You're the last of your kind here to survive. That deserves some merit."
D'Vinn's cruel smile darkened further, as he continued, the much-hatred speak of the Feir'Dal echoing, uncontested, throughout the ring.
"..So I give you a choice. Do you want to die slowly, or quickly?"
Roars of animalistic laughter burst throughout the arena, as the onlookers howled with glee. The orcs raised their weapons high into the air, howling with laughter, even as the slow-witted ogres caught onto the joke, or more likely started laughing because that's what everyone else was doing. D'Vinn only continued the cruel smile.
The half elf remained silent, and unmoving, even as the gales of laughter rained down around him. His dark gaze remained ever intent on D'Vinn, as though he were the only one of importance. D'Vinn became annoyed, as the elf didn't respond to the tremendous ridicle he was being subjected to, and noted it for later use.
Slowly, the laughter died down, as the throngs of the audience slowly composed themselves, settling back into their seats, to grin evilly at the lone elf. The arena was soon quiet, and D'Vinn again shouted in the unpleasent tongue.
"I'm a kind 'dark elf', Elf. But I must insist you make up your mind! Now, I'll ask again. Do you want your death to be quick, or do you want.."
"..I want a sword."
D'Vinn stopped short, and frowned, as the quiet words of the elf reached his ears. Not in the Elfish tongue, nor even Common. D'Vinn's own language rang in his pointed ears, even as the elf closed his mouth, to be drowned out not by the roar of rage from the crowd, but the roar of sudden tense silence throughout the arena. The onlookers all gazed at D'Vinn now, who now glowered at the arrogent elf, who still remained silent, staring right back down the gaze.
Then D'Vinn chuckled, almost to himself, but so everyone in the arena heard. A self-assured, confident laugh, D'Vinn shouted into the ring.
"You heard the man! Give him a sword!"
Repressed laughter scattered throughout the crowd, as well as a rapid-fire sound of sheaths releasing blades. The arena became visibly brighter, as bare metal was exposed throughout the crowds. Onlookers passed their blades down to the ringside, or simply threw the weapon out over the crowd, to land, skittering in the dust, inside the arena. D'Vinn took a moment to dodge a spinning longsword, and then grinned. A pair of famed Dragoon Dirks came spinning at him, most likely thrown by the guards of the same name. Deftly, he snatched the blades from the air, and then faced the elf again.
The ever-passive elf seemed to be oblivious to the flying weaponry that landed all around him. He hardly batted an eye when a huge ogre war maul crashed to the ground behind him, most likely thrown by an over-excited troll. D'Vinn tested the edges of his daggers, and smiled, waiting.
The blood-splattered elf stood motionless, unheeding of the rain of sharp weapons descending upon him. Then his eyes broke from D'Vinn's, as a blade skittered across the sand, spinning slowly, to stop at the elf's feet. The elf considered the long, thin-bladed weapon, a rapier, and then bent down, taking hold of the weapon, before standing, his eyes again locking onto D'Vinn's.
D'Vinn chuckled, and raised a hand.
"..Fight!"
Again, roars throughout the arena, and the bloodshed was to begin anew. D'Vinn waited, his daggers at his sides, for the elf's charge. But the elf didn't move. He remained rooted in place, the point of his rapier held low, and almost neglected. D'Vinn frowned. Probably scared him stiff. I may as well come to him. It will all be the same in the end.
With that thought, D'Vinn then rapidly closed the distance to his target, his daggers flashing, his intention to fake high, and then drive the blades into the exposed stomach. The elf never moved, only waiting, but the blade was slowly rising. At least he's alive still, D'Vinn thought, even as his executed his manuver flawlessly.
Almost flawlessly.
Between the exposed stomach and D'Vinn's twin blades, caught in the hilt guards of both daggers, was the rapier. D'Vinn realized his mistake a moment too late, even as the elf moved again, drawing a tanned fist back, and shattering it into D'Vinn's jaw.
D'Vinn staggered back, stunned, and rubbed his jaw. He spit out blood, and then glared at the elf. Again, the elf was only standing there, the rapier again low, and unheeded..
D'Vinn felt a deep rage grow within him. That insolent lightbreed! Drawing me to him, so he could counterattack unexpectedly. Bad form. D'Vinn looked over the fact that that's what he'd have done in a second, had he thought of it beforehand. He shouted in his guttural voice.
"You'll pay for that, ELF!"
The rage had D'Vinn now, a sort of berserker's frenzy that had gotten him through tough battles, and into more then enough scrapes. He launched a fresh attack, his daggers weaving around his body, moving unpredictably, and then all once, STRUCK.
*RING*
Steel hummed as blades met. And again. And again. Faster and faster. D'Vinn pressed the attack, his daggers searching, viper-like, for an opening. His eyes searched his prey's for some clue. A moment before his blades could touch flesh, the rapier had come alive, and rebounded each edge smoothly, nearly throwing D'Vinn off-balance. D'Vinn came on, advancing on the wood elf, his keen battle sense taking it in, even as he struck again, only to be repelled. This elf fought like it was all he'd ever done. The rapier was a living thing in his hands, darting, blocking, anticipating, waiting to strike, and then launching against the blades at every assault.
*RING* *RING* *RING*
Steel sounded throughout the arena, as the blades began to dance, each testing the other, searching for a blind spot, a weakness, an incaution. D'Vinn increased his attack, and then increased it again, moving forward slowly, forcing the rapier-wielding elf to slowly back up. Once against the wall, D'Vinn would have the full advantage, and could then come in close, and bury a dagger in the vitals.
*RING, RING, RING, RING*
Blades echoed throughout the silent, awe-struck arena, as the elf slowly backed away, the wall edging closer and closer behind. D'Vinn's daggers slashed the air, the dust, and then bit into the rapier, but never into flesh, nor tattered cloth. It had been long since the ambassador had had such a worthy opponent, nor since the Clan Wars. But though the battle seemed evenly matched, D'Vinn had the edge. He watched the wall even as he watched for an opening. Close, so close.. The elf's foot touched the wall. D'Vinn howled, and then crashed forward against the elf, his dagger sweeping low even as the other repelled the nuisance rapier, to flash towards vital skin.
Fingers closed on D'Vinn's wrist, stopping the momentuem cold.
D'Vinn stared into the coal-black eyes, locked in a deathgrip with the elf. Then, slowly, horribly, the elf smiled...
D'Vinn growled low in his throat, and then danced back, daggers free again. Then the elf stepped forward from the wall, spun the rapier razor-quick around his wrist, still smiling, and then advanced.
*ringringringringringringring*
The attack suddenly reversed, and now it was D'Vinn on the retreat, his daggers barely repelling the deadly rapier as it became a ravenous predator, searching, aching for a gap to slip through, and to taste hot blood. Again and again and again, D'Vinn dodged or met steel with steel, the dirks vibrating in his hands as the rapier, black as night, came closer and closer. D'Vinn realized vaguely that he was backing up rapidly, trying to gain room, while the elf advanced, scimitiar whirling, at a fast walk. The attack was simply too much for D'Vinn to try and attack. Either he put it all into defense, or he'd be skewered.
The crowd had broken out of it's revere, and was now screaming bloody murder into the ring, and at the maddened elf that was somehow putting D'Vinn, great Ambassador D'Vinn, greatest dueler of all Neriak, all Norrath, on the defensive. Teir'Dal necromancers began to shout encantations into the air, even as the keepers of the "Shunned" knowledge, the wizards, enchanters, and magicians, readied their spells hurriedly, trying to gain a bead on the insane elf, even as Teir'Dal archers raised and took aim at the advancing figure, looking to hit something vital.
D'Vinn couldn't wipe the sweat pouring from his forehead, as his muscles screamed to him to quit, to give up. The dirks hummed in his hands before they met the tireless rapier again and again, an unstoppable wave that it took all D'Vinn's energies to keep from sweeping over him. He glared madly into the half elf's eyes, those damn black eyes, and saw nothing but his own reflection. And within his reflection..
Before D'Vinn could react, his back foot hit the wall of the ring, and then the rapier moved blindly fast, and each dagger was whipped away from D'Vinn's hands. And then the point of the rapier was at his throat, the elf only inches away.
D'Vinn gasped for breath, the blade's point mere hairs from his throat, stunned and exhausted, sweat dripping from his forehead. The elf's eyes locked onto D'Vinn's, and he saw the smile gone. And prideful to the end, D'Vinn sputtered, still gasping.
"..Go on, ELF! ..Finish it!"
D'Vinn watched the eyes, those tell-taling eyes. A slight twitch at his words, and nothing else.
A breath seemed to pass in the ring, where archers sighted on the elf's unprotected back, sorcerers redirected energies within their bodies to launch at the attacker, and D'Vinn gasped for air, the razor-point unmoving at his throat.
Then abruptly, the elf turned away, a muttered phrase on his lips as the blade moved away from D'Vinn's neck. The words, as they sank in, nearly drove D'Vinn mad.
"..not worth it.."
D'Vinn's rage enveloped him, and he roared, fists wide, even as his brain screamed that the archers and magi would obliterate this isolent, arrogent basturd before he made three steps. And then D'Vinn's legendly fists flew out at the elf's head.
A rough hand closed on the fist, and D'Vinn barely saw the elf turn. The hand pulled, and D'Vinn was thrown offbalance. The elf then wrenched the dark elf around, spinning him helplessly. And the rapier took blood, again and again, as a demon in the elf's hand, slashes and gaping punctures bit deep into Teir'Dal flesh, red jewels of blood splashing in the elf's eyes.
And then it was over. The spinning body became a corpse before it touched the ground, bleeding from a dozen slash wounds, all over it, blood oozing and spurting out of the ragged wounds.
The elf stood there, rapier dripping red droplets onto the dust, and spoke again, even as the firebolts and arrows flew at him from all around..
"..my name isn't 'Elf'.." ~Sor"It may have been the wind, but you would swear you heard my voice just now..And what I've said has made you scared.."Edited by Sor at: 5/14/00 3:30:58 pm