A Fight Scene

[Seraphim]

((After reading a post by ThePharaoh a while back, I was inspired to try and write some what-if scenarios involving my characters fighting each other. It was fun, but also took me a long friggin' time. Hope you enjoy.

Also, this post is rated PG-13 for violence, mild gore, alcohol use, and generally everything Ktar says. Read at your own risk.))

Terokkar Forest

Two warriors met at a crossroads, among alien pines and the ruins of a migrant culture.

The orc, dressed in brown robes and the scars of an aging warrior, carried a well-crafted sword with a worn wooden handle. There was a story behind that blade, involving old friends and bitter enemies; perhaps the one far-fetched tale he had never anecdotally mentioned in conversation.

The Draenei, with a scowl carved into his stony face and armor which had seen better, less dire times, brought with him two weapons. Both were longer than a man stands tall, with blades reforged enough times to be unrecognizable, even to their wielder. Their only story was a continuous novel of war and utilitarian bloodshed.

The warriors' eyes met, and both knew what was to follow.

Birds grew silent, and the scattered clouds paused in their endless sojourn. The only sound was that of an ancient river, too senile to know when to cease its self-centered ramblings.

A single bluish leaf twisted and fell to the beaten, aching ground.

Goldshire, Elwynn Forest

Ktar had been drinking a bit too much that night. His words were slurred, his balance off, and his advances without inhibition. Perhaps it was because he hadn't seen his cat in a few days. Perhaps it was because this was exactly what he did every day of every week, and hell if he was going to change now.

He stood up, and almost tripped on his blood-red robes. The room spun, his head reeled, and the chair he desperately leaned on did a merry Dwarven jig. Pretty poor timing, all things considered, but Ktar managed to remain upright regardless.

"Awright, whuzzah... Hey." Through blurry, darkening vision, he spotted a woman. At that point, there really weren't any other details that were even vaguely important. Looked like she had two arms, a head- Good enough. And she was a redhead, at that. There was probably some euphemism people said about redheads being good in the sack, but he couldn't remember it.

"Hey, babe," he said, stumbling in her direction. Probably her direction. He'd get there, one way or another. "You wanna head back ta my place, mebbe play a little game? Howzat sound, sweetheart?"

Ktar had a good feeling about this one. But then, he was pretty drunk.

Felwood

“Elune, no- What have I done to you?! Why would you-”

The cold, unrepentant blade ended her cries, drinking deeply of well-aged Kal'Dorei blood. Her body writhed erratically as its tip pushed through her vocal cords and into her spine, and then was still.

“Because you have suffered long enough.”

He released his grip on the woman's hair; it was long, silken, and the color of moonlight, with just the occasional bloody patch to mar its perfection. She fell to the ground with a thud, as only a pile of inert components could. Blood began to pool around his feet, reflecting the unsettling green light of his plague-imbued armor.

When he turned, expecting to see his unholy charger, the death-bringer found another Night Elf standing in his way. White and gold armor clashed fiercely against the surrounding gloom, and a veritable cache of weapons rested precariously upon his back.

His golden eyes were twisted into narrow slits, glaring from the corpse to its maker.

“Another to add to the ever-growing pyre,” Seraph said. His voice echoed from within the horned barbute.

Maladras shook his head, drew the war hammer from his back, and gave the only response that could do his anger justice: A bestial roar.

Northern Azshara

To say that Kadhras was lost would be something of an understatement. He had been lost years ago, when he first stepped outside the borders of Eversong; now here he was on a foreign continent, walking North out of Azshara and into Ashenvale. His eyes darted to the side at the slightest sound, and his footsteps were hastened with anxiety. He had almost died more than once in this place- An experience he did not want to repeat, if he could help it.

Of course, to him, the perpetual night beneath the virtually unbroken canopy of the forest ahead seemed to promise just such an event.

“Never. Ask a goblin. For a map.” he said, his irritation targeted at no one in particular. He probably should have guessed at the accuracy of the document, given that Ashenvale itself was written as ‘Probably a lot of trees and stuff'. Still, he saw no better way of returning to the lands of his race's allies than to go through the forests his ancestors forsook so many thousands of years ago.

So Kadhras crossed the bridge over the Southfury, oblivious to the pair of silver eyes and the arrow trained on his heart.

Goldshire, Elwynn Forest

Arineme had been drinking a bit too much that night. Which wouldn't be immediately obvious to anyone, save a mind-reader. Her wall of stoicism remained high, in spite of the alcoholic tide lapping at its base.

"No," she said flatly. She wouldn't even bother looking at the disgusting wretch looming behind her.

"Ahh, c'mon!" Ktar put a hand on her pauldron, causing her to immediately straighten in her seat. "You'n me, we could play, um." He blinked slowly, one eyelid after the other, apparently trying to remember the title of one such game.

"... Me havin' sex with you, th' home version! Hah! Heh-heh." Arineme rolled her eyes at his suggestion, and the reek of gut-rot on his breath. "Winner gets ta, uh. Take off their cloves off. Their clo- Cl..."

"I said no."

The man grimaced. "Wassamatter with you, huh? Y-you wunna them... Girly-Likin'-girl... Girls? Huh? Or jess a dumb idiot."

Arineme said nothing. Her expression was blank, as usual.

"Or, oh! I know. You've prolly got a boyfriend somewhere, huh? Wait, nah," he rambled, flinging his arms out to the side. "If ya did, ya'd be with him! Yer prolly here 'cuz he broke it off with yer dumb ass, 'cuz yer a fuggin' prude!"

Arineme stared straight ahead, her gaze passive. As usual.

"Or, no! No, nononono no. Wait. I got it. I'll bet he's dead. Lyin' in a ditch somewhere, an' all you can do is sit here an' wish you coulda done somethin'! All yer armor, an‘ yer uppity attitude, an‘ you couldn‘t do crap at stop him from bleedin‘ out!”

Arineme's eyes narrowed, anger suddenly flaring behind them.

That was unusual. But then, she was pretty drunk.

Felwood

The Elven warrior charged, the head of his hammer trailing behind as would a hunting nightsaber's tail. The Death Knight stood his ground, listening only to the dripping of blood from his runed weapon onto the tainted grass and roots slowly dying below.

The heavy metal head of the hammer connected with plate armor, and sent a crash screaming through the air. Were there anyone to listen, they may have likened it to a star striking the ground.

Seraph was forced into a stumble, slamming against a large, fel-poisoned tree. The force of the impact had left a hole in his armor, and a slow ooze of thick, onyx blood from his side. He looked down at the puncture, but had no reaction. Only cold, steady breaths and that sickly green mist.

Maladras cracked his neck, white fangs bared with each panting exhalation. He let free another call to the moon, and set his hammer for a second collision with the human's torso.

This time, Seraph lifted his sword.

Goldshire, Elwynn Forest

Ktar Riel flew backwards through a window, shattered glass and drunken mage falling in unison to the forest floor.

Arineme stomped an armored boot down on the broken window-sill. "I‘ll pay for the window," she stated, her eyes focused with deadly intensity on the now-bloody man below her. The bartender just nodded.

“Ah, dammit! Yer strong, fer a chi-” Ktar began, and was promptly cut off as Arineme came crashing to the ground. She lifted the mage by the collar, and glared into his eyes with a fire that had too often been squelched by reason. Its fuel was ale, this night, and it burned red.

“Give me one good reason not to punch you until you stop breathing.”

“Uhh. ‘Cuz I'm sexy?”

Arineme socked him in the jaw, the crack being audible even to those inside the tavern. Ktar let out a string of loud curses the length of Onyxia's tail.

“Let's try this again.”

Ktar growled, holding the side of his face. He suddenly seemed a bit more sober. “How's this fer a reason, ya lightdamn b***h!” He shoved his hand at the woman's eyes, and arcane fire instantly leapt up from between his fingers.

Arineme let out a yelp, and had to release the drunkard to avoid her face being blasted from her skull. Ktar cackled, dropping to his feet and immediately looking for an escape route. He took a couple of bumbling steps toward a tree.

Ktar didn't get very far before Arineme picked up a length of spare wood from a pile at the side of the building, and sent it careening for his skull. Another painful crack, this time with the added bonus of a concussion.

Ktar dropped, now bleeding from the back of his head, and laid twitching on the ground. Arineme promptly flipped him onto his back, knelt over his chest, and began the task of bludgeoned his face in with her gauntleted fists.

That is, until he started to laugh.

Eastern Ashenvale

Kadhras was constantly looking over his shoulder, hoping to at least see the giant cat or purple amazon when they inevitably came to rip his lungs out. He contemplated drawing the swords from his back, but decided against it. The things were useless to him, except in making bandits and highwaymen think twice about robbing him.

Kal'Dorei and sabercats probably wouldn't be so easy to fool.

Just as that thought crossed over his consciousness, the glint of metal caught his attention. It was far off, originating from the cover of a bush; the brief metallic shimmer could have been his imagination, or a trick of the light.

Somehow, he knew that was wishful thinking.

Kadhras took off at a run, desperately looking for something to hide behind- By then, it was too late. The quiet release of a bowstring was followed by a slender arrow, which shot through the darkness and into Kadhras' shoulder. Had he not jumped for the cover of a rock, it would have found his heart.

He writhed on the ground, gripping at the arrow‘s shaft. “Nygh! Sodding hell!” He looked to the sky, and to either side, but saw only the head of an axe twirling in his direction. It took all of his strength to roll to one side, the weapon biting into the dirt inches away from his head.

When he looked back up, she was standing over him. Her eyes were harsh, glowing points, with a cruel smile fixed beneath them. Her skin and hair were blue, her armor comprised of ramshackle pieces of studded leather.

“Oh, Light, no…” He struggled with one of the weapons sheathed behind him, and barely managed to bring the sharpened steel to bare in his shaking hand. “Back,” he yelled, “Get back!”

The Night Elf laughed. She drew another axe, this one much larger than the weapon stuck in the ground, and swung it at Kadhras' blade. The sword went flying, landing far from his grip. His fel-colored eyes followed its arc, losing all hope as it struck the ground.

Then, his gaze fell to an object that was closer. A necklace, comprised of clear, pink beads on a simple hempen string, nestled among unkempt blades of grass; it must have fallen out of his pouch during his attempted flight. His eyes widened, and his hand instinctively reached out for the trinket. Suddenly, a leather boot stomped the beads into the moist ground.

Kadhras turned his head, looking up at the grinning woman the foot was attached to. A second boot rose to kick him sharply in the face.

“What's wrong, orc-lover?” Surienna taunted, her words full of venomous spite. “You a drunk, or jess the worst fighter on th' planet?”

Kadhras coughed up a spray of blood in response. “L-Light, please, don't do this…” His eyes twitched with fear and pain.

Surienna glared, a frown appearing where before there were only fangs and malice. “Are you begging?”

She shook her head, and replaced the battleaxe on her back. She then reached into her quiver, and drew out more ammunition.

“I hate begging,” she said, her disgust more than apparent in her tone. The nock of her arrow met bowstring. “You pathetic, fel-sucking coward.”

Felwood

There are some who enjoy battle for the show of martial prowess. Others see artistry in the flashing of weapons, and the struggle between combatants. Seraph cared little for the fight itself; it was a means to an end. And the end was always the same.

Crying, begging, spouting empty threats and insults, and then silence.

As Maladras charged for a second time, Seraph tried to predict which words this creature would try to wound him with. How long it would take him to realize that death was inevitable, unstoppable, and blind to names, faces, and conditions.

The Elven warrior switched his grip on the handle of his weapon, swinging it up for an overhead attack at the human's skull. Seraph, in turn, dropped the tip of his sword to the ground and waited. Just as the hammer head's began to fall, he flicked his blade upward, and swung hard. The weapons collided, hammer falling far to the side, its initial course completely negated.

Maladras was caught by surprise at the Death Knight's speed, especially with such a large weapon- Seraph proceeded to sidestep, letting his sword's momentum bring it far to his left, and then reversed its direction. He slammed the blade against Maladras' back, who in turn fell against the bark of the dying tree.

Seraph wasted no time. He reached for the Kal'Drorei's hood with his free hand, gripped both cloth and shaggy hair, and bashed Maladras' head repeatedly against the trunk. He slumped, seemingly unconscious, blood falling from his nose and forehead.

“So few die as such,” Seraph said, sending more frigid clouds of toxin into the air. “Peacefully, and in their sleep.” He contemplated simply running the warrior through, but took note of the armor covering him from foot to collarbone.

A pool of what had once been water, but now more closely resembled demon's blood, bubbled and hissed to the side. Without another thought, he reestablished his grip on the Night Elf's hair, and began to drag his helpless form toward the sizzling shore.

Goldshire, Elwynn Forest

“What the hell is so funny, you motherless freak?!” Arineme put the beating on hold to yell in his face.

Ktar continued to chuckle, even through the rivulets of blood running down his chin. “Y'wanna know? Y'really, really wanna know?”

This earned him another punch, which only helped to speed the bruising of his right eye. “Awright, hey! Fuggin‘…”

“It's funny,” he said, and had to pause to spit out a tooth, “'Cuz yer jess provin' I was right. You can beat on me all day long, doll, but it ain't gonna bring yer guy back from th' Nether.”

Arineme blinked. She didn't exactly look less angry, but her body relaxed to an extent.

“He isn't dead,” she said from behind clenched teeth. “He's fighting… Fighting for what he believes in. And he's coming back.”

Arineme wasn't looking at Ktar's mangled features anymore. Her eyes were adrift, somewhere in the past. Whether it was the influx of memories, or the subject at hand, her tone softened.

“He promised.”

Ktar was silent for a moment. Then, he laughed in her face.

“Oh, man! Y'know what that means, babe? Because I do! Means yer loverboy is off sowing his oats! Spreadin‘ the love, chasin‘ skirts!” He continued in his abusive cackling. “An' you think he's comin' back ‘cuz he promised?!”

Arineme's gaze returned to Azeroth, and her expression became stormy once more. With a clattering of armor, she stood, and took a wavering step away from the bloody mess of a man. “You are the worst kind of garbage,” she growled.

He simply howled with laughter. “Hey, I ain't the one tryinna convince myself that somebody actually gives a shit! Sorry, but you've been had, sweetheart!”

The laughing came to an abrupt halt as Arineme stopped and turned. Without warning, she stomped purposefully on the region between his legs.

“And now you're going to be the one trying to explain to a priest how that happened.” She kicked him once in the side, for good measure, and clomped miserably toward the inn's front door. He was frozen in place, one eye popped open wide with the sudden, excruciating pain.

“Damn,” Ktar groaned, curling up into a fetal position. “Fuggin'… Damn it.”

Before he descended into a concussion-and-blood-loss nap, he grumbled, “Nobody better take my fuggin' napkin…”

Eastern Ashenvale

Kadhras went silent. This was the end. His murderer stood above him, sneering, with an arrow aimed for the center of his head. He closed his eyes, and his mind scurried for the right words, the right feelings. For all the time he spent lamenting his imminent death, he was suddenly unable to think of anything to say.

“Aneska,” he whispered, tears forming in the corners of his eyes, “I'm so sorry…”

Surienna shook her head. Without a word, the muscles in her hand released.

An arrow soared through the air, and connected with its target.

Felwood

• You know, Maladras, death really doesn't suit you.

There was a voice in the darkness. An old friend.

• And, honestly, you don't need this human making your face any more horrifying to look at.

Jokes, as always.

• Mal. You said you were going to take care of her for me.

The Kal'Dorei fought to open his eyes, and was immediately assaulted by a dizzying pain that burned throughout his entire skull. He was facing the ground, with a pool of ominous green liquid seething at the edge of his vision. Soon enough, his face was brought within feet of the noxious ooze.

Seraph lifted the warrior higher, and prepared to toss him to what could only be an incredibly painful death.

Maladras steadied himself, mentally, and suddenly jerked the muscles in his arm. His plated elbow came crashing against the Death Knight's helm, forcing him to release his grip. Maladras reached into a pouch on his belt, hastily retrieving a recently-purchased explosive as he fell to his feet. The Gnomish device was a grenade, more or less, with a large metal spike on one side and a manual detonation pin on the other. Apparently, it was meant to be used in reshaping cliff-faces.

Maladras had always thought he could find a better use for them.

He spun down and under a menacingly-armored limb, and used the grenade's thorium spike to puncture a second hole in Seraph's breastplate. With the device forcefully stuck into his enemy's back, the warrior pulled the pin. A fiery explosion shook the boughs of dying trees, and caused maddened furbolgs to sniff the air with rabid curiosity.

Seraph flew forward into the pool, and despite the thrashing of his unnaturally-strong arms, quickly sunk below the bubbling surface. Maladras was catapulted in the opposite direction, his cloak aflame and a high-pitched whine piercing his brain.

The Kal'Dorei rolled on the dusty ground, eventually killing the fire that gripped his covering. He looked up at the tainted waterway, but saw no sign of the murderous human. Just angry, black smoke rising from its steadily-boiling center.

Shaking his head, Maladras slowly took to his feet. He would approach the broken corpse of his sister under Elune, and scoop her up in his arms. Felwood was no place to bury the honored dead.

He looked once more to the pool, exhaled, and then began his long march to the South.

Eastern Ashenvale

Kadhras winced, looking away as the arrow flew from a nearby tree and severed the woman's bowstring. She dropped the now-useless arch of wood as its sinewy cord lashed down her cheek, almost blinding her in one eye.

She shrieked, releasing a curse in Darnassian, and then snapped her jaw shut. “You brought friends?!” She glanced around the clearing, but could see no one. With a roar of pure frustration, she sprinted away from her intended victim. Surienna's long legs quickly carried her to the cover of the trees, where she disappeared before he could even begin to piece together what had happened.

“W-what?” Kadhras peered at the arrow that had severed the she-elf's bowstring, which had sunk deep into the ground. It didn't look carved, as his arrows were, but rather like it had been grown to be perfectly straight. Its fletching was made up of owl's feathers.

He looked out to the tree-line, but had no time to contemplate his good fortune. As his mind slowed to its normal flow of thinking, it reminded him of the arrowhead that was lodged in his flesh. He gripped his shoulder, crawling to his feet, and took a few tenuous steps. Then, he remembered.

Kadhras frantically searched the ground for the necklace. His breathing became hurried once more, until his eyes spotted the soil-covered beads stuck within a clod the Night Elf had left behind. He grasped the hand-crafted bit of jewelry in his glove, and compulsively rolled its glass beads between his fingers. For a brief moment, he was both content and relieved.

Then, a bird of some kind hooted in the distance. Kadhras jumped, and sprang off to where he prayed he would find an Orcish encampment.

Terokkar Forest

The wind gave a sudden encore of its previous whispering conversation with the native moths and birds, inadvertently sending the adventurous leaf a bit further on its journey. Upon its second landing, hooves thundered and blades were drawn.

The Draenei sought to emulate the Azerothian bull, as he held both swords before him, to skewer the Orc like so much salted meat. By contrast, the aging greenskin stood as a mountain. His hand rested lightly upon the handle of his fallen brother's blade, but did not remove it from its home just yet.

Thunderhead came raging toward the solemn shore, with its promises of fire and panic.

The shore, as always, waited and listened.

The azure behemoth was upon him, then, and so the Orc finally called his sword from its rest. It yawned, making a steady and even stroke for the Draenei's left hoof. The thunderhead's gigantic blades found only misty air as their target turned, and shifted away from their course. The bull found its leg faltering as half an inch of its foot was now removed.

The Orc allowed his finely-sharpened friend to drift back into bed. As metal slid against leather, the Draenei fell to his chest, the force of the collision likely knocking another hunk off of the planet and into the Twisting Nether. A worn sandal found itself the only inhabitant of his barge of a shoulder blade.

“I could allow you some honor, warrior, and remove your head.”

The rocky scowl was chiseled deeper onto his face.

“But I think you have probably not had a truly well-made cup of tea in your thousands of years of life.” The Orc was smiling, as though the two were old friends. “And I would not want to be responsible for such an atrocity as sending you to your ancestors before that.”

He lifted his foot, let it rest back upon Draenor's soil, and hobbled down the road with the patient footfalls of a cloud.

“Once you have done that, wanderer, see me again, and I will gladly afford you the dignity of a death at my hand.”

Another leaf fell from its perch, and danced in the wind's quiet applause.

Somewhere, a crane soared against a sky dotted with stars.

Felwood

• I love you, Sehran. I love you so much.

It burned.

• I'll always be there, I promise.

This was the suffering he had always spoken of.

• My smart little boy…

A shaking hand shot up from the acidic pool, the armor around it having almost dissolved completely. His blackened flesh, the color of a strangulated corpse, now glowed with the fel-corrupted liquid which ate at his entire being. Two ice-blue shards of light emanated from below the brackish surface.

• My beautiful son.

[Beltharean]

((That was... Amazing Seraphim. It's obvious that it took quite a bit of time and effort by the sheer quality of it. It is, without a doubt, better than most books that I've read in my time; And that's not some half-assed compliment, I've read a -lot- of books. In any case, it truly was a delight to read, thank you. .))

[c0rzilla]

((Ffff, Seraph. And I was gonna punch you if you killed Kadhras. Amazing work as always.))