Darradarljod wrote:Battle at Darkhold
Darkhold, 29th Eliseas, 1352DR -
Knight-Commander Boris Vyacheslav arrives at Darkhold, in company of Magus Seteneptra Ma'u Vyacheslav and Khazark Kahanak Habdilof, to contend with Maximilian Blackthorne in single combat
Sparks spluttered as the tip of the Thayan Knight's sword dragged along the base of the statue, scarring it to announce his presence. The grating noise not unlike nails shredding themselves against a blackboard. A visitor sharing the platform skirted out of the way, giving clearance to the three far eastern foreigners who now occupied the ascent to the main doors of the keep. A keep that was fitting for such an occasion, as an arena of many conflicts and powers over the years since it was built by the hands of giants.
The Commander Blackthorne turned to greet the intruders. He met his rival with a long stare. Little enough was allowed in exchange of words - what there was, it was concise, and toward the purpose of the visit.
The Vyacheslav aurochs descended the stairs slowly, and on reaching the flat, gave a wide berth to the one-eyed warrior. He took a place with his back to the keep gates and stood patiently, breath misting like a warhorse on the field of battle. The half-elf, Wren Di'Corvi, who clung to Maximilian's arm was dismissed with a bark of command from the Zhentarim Commander - the courtyard was cleared for the combatants.
Boris waited while a horse drew near to Maximilian. A saber was drawn from scabbard fixed to the saddle. A slap on the hind and the beast fled. A trembling young boy delivered a shield and lingered long enough to arm the graying veteran with it.
Commander Maximilian Blackthorne of the Zhentarim of Darkhold and Knight-Commander Boris Vyacheslav of the Order of the Crimson Guard arm themselves for combat
From this distance, Boris could see the Banite's lips moved in prayer, petitioning and invoking the name of the Black Hand for power. Kohl-lined eyes glared from the pits of his visor. A vial was discretely quaffed by the Thayvian in response - a substance so potently magical that it seemed to expand the moment to include the future, by premonition.
The saber in the hand of the Zhentarim captain lift, signalling his readiness. The Knight-Commander of the Crimson Guard answered by touching the flat of his own blade to the brow of his helmet in salute.
Maximilian, taking the aggression of initiative, charged the gap between the warriors in grim silence. Boris, equally silent, braced himself for the oncoming destroyer. His longsword whipped up into an overhead guard and he glared over the tower shield he had set to rest on his left thigh, leaning back with it like a man in a saddle.
Thus rushed upon, melee commenced with a blurring feint from Blackthorne. Thereafter, mighty buffets of his commander's saber pounded on the heavily armored Thayan. The Mulanese imperialist returned what he may in overhead strokes of his blade, and timely punching of his shield.
Vyacheslav snarled as the smaller man took an opening to belt his knee with the edge of his blade - and all of his might. Though Boris saw it coming by premonition, it did not seem avoidable. So fierce was the blow that it caused the giant to falter and strength fled from his leg. He found himself kneeling involuntary, so raised his shield to try and protect himself.
Brought thus low, terrible buffets rained down on the Knight's shield, and then helmet until his eyes saw stars. A strong uppercut of Maximilian's scimitar cracked his jaw and threw Boris on his back. As clumsy as a pregnant yak for his great mass, Boris barely managed to roll out of the way of what may have been a fatal chop of the rivals sword, sparks exploding as the weapon clashed with the stone where the Thayan's head had lay.
Maximilian wasted no time on taking a second overhead swing, but Boris caught it, just in time, on his own sword. The keen edges of their weapons locked. The unholy power of Bane seemed to creep through the steel and into Boris' arm to numbing effect. Palpable dread bled from the blackguard of the Black Hand in this moment of tense contest, as if the powers of hell raged through him.
With the augmented strength of a transmuted body and the visceral rage of a Surthayan soldier, the Thayan warrior determinedly heaved himself upright from where he knelt under Maximilian. Black sabotons stole footing. Powerful legs braced, then strained for him to rise. Their weapons remained locked tight during the ascent of Boris. Muscular arms trembled, flushing throughout with blood and heat and fatigue. The warriors snarled like black wolves face to face, until Boris' had reclaimed his height advantage. At that moment, with a sudden cry of wrath, the Thayan took control of the locked blades to turn them in a great arc, which forced the saber out of Maximilian's hand and put the smaller man off balance.
Disarmed, the sword flung it into the air. The flat of the blade caught the light of the late sun in a flash of red hot gold as it spun tip over pommel. It clattered to the ground less than a stone's throw away and slid, spinning, to a halt.
Left unarmed, Maximilian stepped back from Boris' aggressive advance and, while yet in reach, vanished before Boris' furious eyes. The bull of a man breathed heavily, glaring every which way he may - but Maximilian was gone.
By the time Boris had looked to where Maximilian's blade had fallen, and had noticed it was gone, he felt it enter his back. The cold steel in his warm flesh was sobering - the blow had bypassed his platemail and broken the chain underlay to pierce him. Wounded bloodily, the Thayan turned and flung his shield like an opening door to slam the assailant. No sooner had they engaged again than the smaller warrior had vanished once more. Boris roared for melee, staggering a short way before the clash of the saber fell again across his back like the rod on the back of a slave. The giant staggered again from the blow, caught flat-footed.
He turned in time to engage the warrior again, clashing only a moment before the Commander again disappeared.
From the vantage of the platform where the Magi stood it might have seemed as though they were watching a hawk circling and swooping on its prey. Again and again, the Zhentarim veteran swooped on the Thayan Knight, hitting and running before the larger of the warriors could easily respond.
Before long, Boris was so fiercely beaten down that when Maximilian appeared, he could barely lift his shield. A final crack of the saber across the back of the knees brought the goliath down on all fours like a dog. The Zhentarim commander paced around to the front of the knight as venomous bickering and banter began to explode noisily from the increasing audience.
Subdued, Boris Vyacheslav awaited a death blow. When it tarried, and Maxmilian's shield was cast to the ground, Boris began to rise. He disarmed himself. Removing his damaged helmet, it looked as though his tattooed skull had been beaten in with a hammer. Syrup brown eyes, blooded in their whites, glared from broken eye-sockets on the victor. Maximilian, only lightly injured in the fighting, easily regained his breath. He entertained parley with Boris for a time before the pair parted ways on live, as near to amicably as rivals may achieve.
While Wren Di'Corvi approached Maximilian, the Knight-Commander staggered to the foot of the stairs where Khazark Kahanak Habdilof stood by Boris' wife, Seteneptra. He knelt himself down painfully before them and lowered his shaven head to bare his bull-neck. In his trembling, weak hands he offered up his sword to Kahanak to end his shame. The Khazark simply looked on the knight, then walked away. Seteneptra tarried behind for her husband, assisting Boris on his return to Soubar from where the pair teleported to the security of the Baldur's Gate Enclave, and Boris began the slow recovery of body and pride.
