Author: Prince Joeri
497 Views
5 Comments
|
Gray clouds. A dark sky, not well illuminated by it’s finite number of stars. A rapid plunge, a glaring sun and small feathers, flying towards a murmuring woman.
Heather?! Shards of earth erupted from the soil at the girl’s feet, levitating in sync with her free arm. The sound of clashing iron, and wood slinging through a, suddenly appeared glow, emitted by the silvery sphere floating in front of the magician’s staff. A scarlet gleam, originating from a ruby on the staffhead, then seemed to enlarge and incinerate the ball. But out of nowhere the fiery mass was extinguished and a spearhead of purple light, thrusting towards the firebender, was recognizable in the smoke. An agonized grimace of aching on Heather’s face. Then, a purposeful glance with eyes scouring the area for it’s cause; which met another pair.
A lady, dressed in green, with a confident smile waited for her opponent to make a move, whilst the bowman on the southern ledge was chased by what appeared to be a scythe-wielding deity. With a glimpse of gratitude, the blue-caped sorceress closed her eyes in concentration. A white energy molded two rocks, still hovering around her fair hair, into knives ready to pierce the enchantress with the green mask. However, with a sleight of hand the lady extracted the magic out of the stones, which dropped dead immediately. And as if pulling on a string, a transparent mixture of gas and liquid was forced out of her disrupted foe to dissolve into nothingness. Clearly aggravated, the blonde took a moment before her eyes shone golden, behind which one could make out a scroll with incantation symbols radiating one after another. In her mind’s eye, as well as in the masked eyes, two ever darkening clouds were growling and exchanging lightning. Meanwhile, the latter was casting a spell herself. All of a sudden the storming clouds were clouded themselves by a vision of a lifeless body covered in jade-colored silk. This, strangely enough, seemed so appalling to Heather that she forfeited her charm to relieve the heavy burden of responsibility placed on her shoulders a moment ago. Awareness and regret followed simultaneously. Defeat was certain if this continued. Desperate for a solution she intuitively scouted the surroundings.
A tall figure was approaching through the dust. The young spellcaster caught a stressed look behind her adversary’s disguise as a hammer and a blue cape became distinctable. The lightly bearded, long haired man sped straight past the by hope rejuvenated mage. His target was in the middle of an odd, dreamy pirouette which ultimated unexpectedly fast into a forceful gaze, enforced by her cane aiming right into the very mind of her charging assailant. Oblivious to what had been set in motion by this charismatic power play; to overcome the sense of a mysterious presence sabotaging his spirit, the enraging fighter recited a dwarven saying he had picked up during his journey to one of the coldest regions of Tyria, second only to the Underworld: “Death before surrender!”. Suddenly, the female conjurer, now only feet away, was frozen as if looking into the ice-cold face of Grenth himself. Caused not (only) by the boasting warrior, but by the ice-cold element of Grenth; water, shaped into chilly, hardened snow encasing her body and impeding every effort to move. As the Elementalist, satisfied with her revenge, made her way to aid in another battle, and the dwarven apprentice levied his weapon in preparation for a devastating hammer attack, a translucent, blue gorgonian, ornamented with golden feathers, spawned in midair to avert the blow. With matchless ease, the warrior recuperated from this, to him surprising setback only to feel a weird pressure against his skull and experience an augury in which he relived his smash on the receiving end. Shaking his head in resilience he swung his maul a second time, hitting the Mesmer in the stomach, leaving her spinning to end face-down in the dust. Another series of stings in his brain. Hoping to mend his aching, he attempted to crush his suspected cause for it. However, a successful execution of his remedy was prevented by a failing abdominal muscle, due to a dagger penetrating it, causing the normally so steady dolyak disciple to lose his balance. A shadowy haze. Two strikes; piercing the ribcage and shoulder blade, whose sheer speed and precision blackened his vision. The sounds of ongoing battle, to which his ears had grown so accustomed, were slowly fading away. His wounded lung made inhaling nigh impossible and he exhaled more blood than air. Gravity was taking over and the dirt next to the, also heavily breathing witch, who he had just knocked out, was closing in on him. The God of death was smiling an evil smile in the thawed prison around her pair of long, leather boots with high heels.
Clouds above him lit up, and parted to reveal a blessed incandescence, of which the pure solace cleared his mind and mended major cuts and gashes. Although he still felt Dwayna’s warmth, he shivered as a phantom flew right through him and fused with his gavel. He knew somehow this warding spirit was benevolent to him. A vindictive turn to the ninja, the mallet moving on it’s own, cunningly parrying an incoming stab and subsequently wiping the taunting grin off the assassin’s face. A beheaded silhouette now stood before him only to vanish into thin air. The pursuit of the sleazy shadow shinobi was abruptly halted. A spear impaling his foot. Literally pinning him to the ground. Excruciating pain. An armored angel, teleporting away a few yards at every heartbeat. Focusing harder and harder, the golden wings distancing, everything else blurring; dimming in a pulsating rhythm.
A spike of cold oxygen. Cold brightness. Cold sweat.
|
