Wind4Air
04-11-2008, 10:50 AM
As the human walks through the medow he notices the burnt remains of a loanly oak tree. Turning around to insure that no one is fallowing him, he turns to leave the area, facing the tree he suddenly notices a darkly cloaked figure standing besides the chared branches. Quickly recogizing the dark apparition as an alfarian foe, the human quickly grabs hold of his battle axe and charges. Muttering under the wind's breath, the dark one raises his hand as a dozen corpses suddenly rise out off the earth, surounding the human. Still in the middle of a charge the human cleaves the decesed enemy infront of him. Before he can start to charge once again the undead start to claw at the plate armoring on his back. Quickly swinging around to defend himself, he leaves himself open to the severed body parts of his first kill. Before he can react to this reanimation, his plated boots have been riped and his leggs hevaly damaged. Smashing his axe deep into the shread happy corpse he finishes off that abomination. Every single undead was within arms reach now, clawing at the warrior's heavy armor from every direction. In retaliation the man swings his axe in a wide arc, swinging on his axis, he seperates his foes from their waists. Knowing this wont be enough he's ready to counter the next attack, and indeed the body parts start to creep tward him. Before they reached him however, they shuttered for a second and their heads fell to the gound. Their souls apparently released from the spell binding them to this world. Puzzled, the warrior stares at the crowd of limp humaniods and suddonly remembers. The cloaked figure! Turning around he saw his attacker stareing intently at him and rabidly waving his arms around in a circular motion around a dark orb, eminating shadows up and around his cloak and the surrounding enviroment. Suddenly realizing that his attacker has been casting a single spell sence their encounter begain, the warrior felt a stong fear. Thinking a mile a second, he guessed that he's been casting for so long, that spell could have been built with almost any feature, range, area of effect, and most of all damage. In his weakend state there was no way he could surrvive a hit like that, and in this bare envorment, the only cover to be had was that dead tree right next to the caster. The warrior's only option was to stop the spell from being cast. Sprinting at full speed the warrior closes the gap between the two. Calmly muttering away the dark caster continues his efforts, never taking his eyes away from the pray, sure the warrior was faster then he intisabated, but there was much to far away for him to reach him in time to surrvive. But suddenly the warrior cast a fireball! Haulting his casting efforts for just a second to dodge the warrior's weak efforts at spellcraft. It posed no real threat, but there's always the possiblity of stoping the spell from being complete, and he only had enough mana to cast it once. But that second needed to dodge bought the warrior more time, and the caster realized that there was suddonly a possiblity that he might just get within range of the melee spell interuption. As the warrior became close to his goal, the spell was suddenly completed and fired! Flinching the warrior prepared for death, but then why was he still alive? The caster had missed! Taunting at his opponite for missing on a spell that he counted completely on, he resumed his charge. As the last few feet closed, the dark caster stood there, perfectly still. Suddenly the warrior was enveloped in a cload of shadowy death, exploding from somewhere behind him, he fell to the ground, defeated. Watching his vitory unfold, the caster rolled his head back, crackling at the warrior's foolishment. "He had thought I missed by chance?" Knowing that his spells AoE would have killed him as well, he had aimed at the ground some distance away, barely keeping the spell's AoE away from himself has proven to give the caster his vitory in many encounters. Looking at the corpse of his fallen pray he once again summoned an undead to his side. As the minon slowly pulled the fallen away, the alfar slowly melted into the ashes of the oak, still crackling at vitory, and the thought of his next victom facing thirteen rotting corpses.