As the spectators sit in the stands and wait for the fight to commence,
much of the talk is about Anashi's sudden removal from the competition; and
of the new representative for the Hydra's Heads, Thorne. When the doors at
one end of the Arena open, and Thorne steps through, the crowd is nearly
silent.
Thorne however, doesn't seem to notice. Tall for an elf, standing at
about 6 feet, Thorne has disheveled, dusty-blond hair, with blue eyes
shining mischievously, almost like he sees a joke no one else can catch.
Slender and lithe, like all elves, he is dressed in baggy black pants, and a
black silk shirt. He seems to be concentrating on something, and doesn't
seem to notice the crowd's silence.
As it turns out this is mearely the calm before the storm. As the doors
at the other end open and Tellafar enters the Arena the crowd burst's into
life. Standing a little over 6 feet tall with a muscular frame and long
blond hair tied into a ponytail falling between his shoulders, Tellafar is
an imposing sight. He is dressed in silver glittering platemail underneath
the traditional vestments of a priest of Lathander, yellow adorned with a
red sun. And today it seems almost like a true sun is embroidered on his
chest as a soft yellow, golden glow surrounds the man. A white cloak billows
behind him as he walks and he carries a long staff with the ease of long
familiarity while a warhammer is strapped to his belt.
As the crowd alternatively cheers and boos, Tellafar walks forward slowly
and regally to his starting point. When there he looks at his opponent and
raises his staff in salute. He raises his voice and it sounds clear through
the Arena. "Thorne, your evil ways can never hope to defeat my divine
powers. Surrender now, for you can never stand up to me. I am a disciple of
the Stormhawk, no one can defeat us."
As he finishes saying this, the announcer declares the beggining of the
fight. There is a momentary flash of green from Tellafar's right hand, and
then the action begins.
Thorne, with a slightly sneering grin at the green burst of light, folds
his arms across his chest. His stance shifts slightly, a mien of
nonchalance coming over him. His eyes stay directed on his opponent, though
he shows no inclination to emerge as the aggressor.
His lack of action, however, gives the spectators a better view of him.
Looking quite unimposing, he gives no sign of the ability needed to stand
against, much less defeat, Tellafar. His folded arms, however, do bear
bands of sharpened metal at the wrist, and two black scabbards, which seem
to blend quite well with his black pants, hang at his waist. His
shoulder-length dusty blond hair is tied back with a simple, braided-leather
cord. A single stone orbits around his brow.
Some of the more intelligent spectators shift slightly with apprehension
as they gaze upon him; few comprehend his apparent motionlessness, though
they have enough sense to fear him.
Slowly Tellafar starts forward, his staff grasped in his hands. He
walks toward his opponent while words of magic flow from his lips. His
armor shimmers for a moment, and when it fades it has turned into a
mirrorlike surface, as well as the rest of his body. With this additional
layer of protection in place, a ghost of a smile plays across Tellafar's
face as he continues his advance across the Arena floor.
Suddenly Tellafar bursts into motion, rapidly making his way across the
Arena. His eyes flare green as he looks across to his oppoent, who still
stands only a few feet from his entry doors. In the stands, the spectators
wonder if Thorne has forgotten that he is involved in a battle.
Thorne waits until Tellafar is halfway across the Arena before his lack
of movement abruptly ends. His hands go through a series of quick movements
before he brings them in, cupping a transparent, shimmering globe
of...something. Thorne launches the globe, sending it flying straight for
his priestly foe.
Tellafar continues forward and the globe rushes to meet him. It never
makes it however, as the globe explodes into green globules about ten feet
from Tellafar. The green..stuff..sprays out, but none of it seems to hit
Tellafar, who continues in his rapid advance.
Tellafar continues forward until he gets about 90', when his eyes flash
and a glowing green ray bursts from them. The bolt of energy races across
the distance separating him from Thorne. However, it seems to run out of
energy, fading away almost ten feet from Thorne.
A twisted grin pulls at the corners of Thorne's mouth as he gives his
opponent a slight, appreciative nod. His eyes, however, seem to shine with
contempt. Members of the audience not focused on Tellafar notice a slight
flicking of his wrists, revealing gleaming bands of sharpened metal twined
around his forearms.
Thorne, his visage strangely blank, void of both emotion and
concentration, bursts into motion, launching himself at his foe with
blinding incredible speed. As he closes the distance, another blast of green
light erupts from Tellafar's eyes and words of a prayer flow from his lips.
The green bolt speeds at Thorne, but again fades away before hitting him.
Even as the green bolt fades into nothingness, one of Tellafar's hands
suddenly bursts into flames and he quickly hurls a fiery globe at his
opponent. The globe hits Thorne square in the chest and tongues of fire
dance over his form, but within moments they die away, revealing Throne none
the worse for wear.
Closing to melee range, Thorne's balled fists flash toward Tellafar,
though he pulls his swings and hooks them in odd slashing motions. He moves
rapidly and it is hard to see the results until he steps back for a moment,
revealing blood streaming down from Tellafar's upper (right) arm.
Seeing that his opponent is well protected from magical attack, Tellafar
decides to do it the old-fashioned way. Gripping his staff with both hands
he brings it around in a powerful arc, swinging it so rapidly you'd think it
had no weight.
Ignoring the incoming attack, Thorne has a mischevious smile on his face
as he begins the words to a spell. He never finishes though, as Tellafar's
staff connects solidly with his chest, sending him reeling back a few feet.
Thorne, stunned both from the interruption of his spell and the force of the
hit, tries to get himself into a defensive position, as Tellafar dashes
forward to bludgeon Thorne to a pulp.
He has only gone a couple steps though, when he trips. His arms
cartwheel as he tries to keep his balance. Thorne ducks to the side to
avoid the madly flailing priest. Tellafar manages to keep himself upright,
then turns again towards Thorne.
Thorne shrugs, and a look of slight resignation flickers across his
features. His shoulders slump slightly, and his eyes express the emotion of
loss. To most of the spectators, it seems that Thorne, though very much
alive, has given up for some unknown reason.
He starts to back away slightly, but Tellafar is already on him. His
staff swings in again and again, hitting Thorne four times before he falls.
Stepping to the side, Tellafar looks down at his foe, but it seems evident
that he is not going to rise. From the judges box comes the declaration of
Tellafar's triumph.
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