The Games of Saberhaven
Scourge the Undying vs. Falcor
As the doors open, Scourge steps forth, surrounded by a crimson energy bubble surrounding him at a range of 2 feet. Everything seen through the bubble is tinged with red, save Scourge himself -- though he is at the center of the bubble, he appears in vibrant color.
Scourge's skin is darkly tanned, and bubbles of blue energy leak from his eyes. He wears no shirt, a leather belt with pouches attached, black pants and boots, and a grey cloak that caresses its master like a thing alive. Two scabbards jut out from beneath the cloak, near his shoulders. Stars twinkle in the shadows of his body, and Scourge strides about 20 feet past the door, his face grim and eyes flashing. In each hand he carries a longsword -- the one he grips in his left hand seems normal enough, but the one in his right is jet black, save for a crackling arc of green lighting that rhythmically plays up and down the length of the wicked blade.
At the other end of the arena, the winged Falcor bursts into flight, longbow held ready. Almost as soon as he appears, he looses an arrow across the length of the arena. It veers off just a few feet to the left of Scourge.
Scourge stops and stares resolutely at his opponent, hands at his sides with his swords held ready. Falcor, winging his way slowly towards Scourge, continues to shoot arrows. The first looks as though it will hit Scourge, low, but as soon as it penetrates the red bubble surrounding the Undying, it wings its way out the other side without even slowing. Flustered, Falcor's next shot doesn't even get near to the mage, and hits the Arena floor with a puff of dust. The winged warrior takes aim again, clearly trying to focus, and this time the arrow streaks directly at Scourge's face only to disappear as soon as it touches the scarlet shield, and reappear on the other side. Falcor's face twists in disbelief. Obviously frustrated, the mercenary continues to fly forward as he puts away his bow. "Damn your sorcery!" he shrieks. Falcor straps his shield onto his arm, and draws his sword. By the time he finishes, he is not quite halfway across the Arena. "Meet me with bare steel, and I'll feed you your cursed tongue!"
Scourge spits at the ground, and snarls with a voice that booms loud enough to be heard throughout the entire Arena, "Bah! I have taken your measure, fool, and I have no idea why these idiots thought you were competent enough to even to stand in my presence."
"If I am a fool, then you are a coward!" retorts Falcor. The warrior-mage slowly sheathes his swords into the scabbards that hang from his back.
"You are not worthy of dying at the razor-sharp kiss of Devastator," booms Scourge. "Your blood is not fit to stain her steel." So saying, the wiry elf begins to utter arcane syllables and gesture in a contorted manner. Falcor watches confidently as he flaps toward the mage, and seems unaffected.
The elf begins another spell, as the Winged Folk warrior turns downward into a dive, longsword held ready. Scourge looks on, unmoving and apparently unconcerned, as Falcor hurtle toward him. At the moment of contact, Falcor's sword flashes forth and through the mage's neck, and a cheer goes up from the crowd only to turn to a hushed silence as Falcor tumbles to the ground behind Scourge, who is still standing, completely unscathed. "Treachery!" shrieks the mercenary, standing up. Falcor swings his sword half-heartedly through the still-chanting Scourge, again finding no resistance. "Deceit! Coward!" he screams to the air. "Show yourself!" He then launches once again into the air.
Falcor is only about twenty feet up when suddenly he appears to collide with an invisible force. He wrestles with it for a moment, then gives a frustrated cry as his shield and left arm are wrenched behind his back. Unable to beat his wings properly, he and his unseen opponent settle to the ground. Falcor flails behind him with his sword, but being unable to see his opponent and literally having one hand tied behind his back, his blade seems to find no purchase.
Dropping the sword, Falcor reaches around his back and grapples with the invisible Scourge. He appears to find a grip, but even his mightily bulging muscles cannot twist his arm back into position. Instead, his shield slips a little higher toward his head, and the hawk-man warrior lets loose a horrid shriek of agony. Falcor continues to wriggle and strain as he feels Scourge's breath hot his ear. "Very good, freak," Scourge says softly, "That little trick of yours that protects you from magic bought you an additional three minutes of life. More than I expected, really..."
"But nothing stops me," Scourge whispers evilly. "Tell them, if your masters bring you back. Nothing, no one stops Scourge the Undying..."
As the pain and fury build up inside Falcor, he twists with renewed effort. With a cry, he wrenches himself away from his unseen enemy, his shoulder bending unnaturally in the process. Injured but free, Falcor stumbles for his sword.
He doesn't get two steps before he is shoved off his feet, his shield arm once again wrapped up behind his back. Falcor lets loose a piercing scream of pain, then slumps to the floor, overcome by shock.
Yards away, the red aura around Scourge disappears. The mage strides forward towards the twitching carcass of his former opponent. His cloak flares ominously behind him, and lightning plays about his eyes. In seconds, he stands above his defeated foe. From the arena entrance, the healing clerics and arena guards start shuffling in.
For long seconds, Scourge simply stares impassively. Then, he reaches down and grabs Falcor by the scruff of the neck, and lifts him single-handedly into the air. Falcor dangles limply from Scourge's mighty grip. The priests and guardsmen stop a few yards away, startled.
Scourge tears his fierce gaze away from the winged man, and scans the crowd. He snarls, and his voice thunders out, "This fool poses no challenge. I am SCOURGE, the UNDYING! I am undefeated in over 300 combats against the greatest warriors of Athas! I destroyed the entire city of Draj single-handedly! I defeated Crescent Moon, the greatest combatant the Aracanoloths ever produced! Entire ARMIES have fallen to my might!"
Scourge turns his gaze upon Falcor, and sneers. "And you match me with THIS fool?" Suddenly, Scourge punches his fist into Falcor's chest, blood spurting. Falcor's wings twitch reflexively, as, with an evil grin, Scourge rips the heart from his breast.
Scourge casually tosses the carcass of Falcor off to the side. He steps forward, and focuses his crackling stare on the crowd. Scourge then lifts the still weakly beating heart high above his head, streaks of blood trickling down his arm.
Then Scourge brings the heart to his mouth, and in a matter of seconds, ravenously devours the entire thing. The guards look up to the judges' booth, trying to decide on a course of action. "Let them know!" Scourge shouts, raising his fists in victory, cloak flaring and eyes aflame. "Let them ALL know! Scourge the Undying is here! None can challenge me! None can defeat me! None can kill me!"
"For I am the Undying, and I will taste the hearts of ALL who challenge me!" The crowd goes wild with delight at Scourge's bloodthirsty antics, cheering and whistling and hollering. Hesitantly, the arena guards move forward, their weapons at the ready, and one of them shouts something that is lost in the crowd. Scourge swaggers off the arena floor, looking as if the guardsmen are his entourage rather than an escort.
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