Nemesis: A Tale of Two Champions
Upon a dark battlefield, a contest of champions was about to begin. Lightning split the sky, revealing the dry grasses, rocks blackened by plains fires, and the powerful foes, less thanthirty meters apart.
The Saris snarled, curved predator-claws snapping to full length as she drew upon the realm she was familiar with, tapping energies not fully under her control. Her paws became enveloped in bright Spirit energy, mage-fire flames adding to the cacophany of color. With a short exertion of mental prowess, she willed herself immune to normal attacks, and prepared for the battle.
The werewolf howled, curved predator-claws splaying wide as he drew upon the realm he was familiar with, tapping unclean energies not fully under his control. His paws became enveloped in sickly green Blight energy, corrupted lightning adding to the cacophany of color. With a short exertion of twisted mental prowess, he willed himself immune to normal attacks, and prepared for battle.
Not willing to waste time posturing, the Saris charged, roaring the creed of the Spirit Disciples and calling upon the knowlege she'd learned in a hundred battles, felling a thousand foes. Her motions became blurry as the power of her spirit mastery lent additional power and fury to her charge.
Not caring to waste time posturing, the werewolf charged, roaring the litany of the Bloody Talons and calling upon the knowledge he'd learned in a hundred battles, felling a thousand heros. His motions became blurry as the ghostly energies of the Talons's fallen members lent additional power and fury to his charge.
With ferocity, the champions tore at each other, rending flesh, spirit, bone, soul, and sinew. To an observer, it would appear that each blow became more lethal and furious than the last, and that the flurry of blows became too thick and fast to see every one. The combatants, in some remaining rational portion of their fury-stoked brains, realized the same.
At last, torn almost beyond recognition, the loser fell, blood and other fluids streaming from a hundred ragged tears in the hide and underlying flesh, consiousness fading into a final, gurgled cry.
The winner fell, blood and other fluids streaming from a hundred ragged tears in the hide and underlying flesh, screaming victory to the uncaring stormclouds.
Far away, the lightning struck again, raising flames from the dry grass. The pyrrhic, pyre-like battlefield couldn't have cared less about the epic battle.
