Slow Burn (Open to One)

[Zook Murnig]

Acrid stench filled my nostrils as I stepped through the portal, when my first breath gave me a lungful of wood-smoke. I hacked and wheezed. Stumbling from whatever platform I had been deposited upon, I splattered against soft, wet earth. I wiped mud from my eyes and blearily took in my surroundings from where I lay in the boggy, scorched undergrowth. Burnt out trees and roots rose around me, a flame-touched cage for giants. One great oak had been felled by the apparent blaze, its roots still dug deep into the swamp and anchoring it at a low, sloping angle. A soft, red glow emanated from beneath those roots, and I could see and hear crackling and smoldering embers in the high branches of the trees. The air around me was thick and hot as I struggled to my feet, clutching my sodden staff for balance. I foundered once when my deadened foot slid in the loose mud, and I drove the staff deeper into the muck before I fell again.

I wiped clumps of dead vegetation from my vest and trousers, though the stains would remain for a while yet, and craned my head back to the thick root from which I had fallen. I caught a glimpse of orange cloth against the pale marble of the Citadel beyond, before the gnarled oaken door closed and faded into the burnt husk of a tree. I cleared my throat and heaved a sigh as I scratched my scalp, all too aware of the caked mud in my hair and kippah. The fires were dying, and would be gone soon, I noted as I drew my wand from a pocket. Some kindling still remained, however, and I would needs be mindful of where my spells fell, lest I be engulfed in my own flame.

[Scribe of Marwolaeth]

Stepping through the portal, Marawol sunk ankle deep into mud.

"Mud," he groaned, pulling out his boot and taking another step, only to sink again. "I hate - no- despise mud."

Casting about for a dry spot, or even just a less mud infested one, Mar noticed the man. As always, he found himself at quite a height disadvantage, a fact that never failed to grate his nerves.

Trudging closer, he spotted a small pool of water.

"Pool? More like a puddle." After dipping both boots and stepping in front of it onto slightly firmer ground, he turned his attention back to his combatant.

"Evening." Peering up, the sky was shrouded in clouds and smoke. "Well, at least I assume it is the evening."

Again focusing on the man, he was happy to note that he wore no heavy armour. In fact, it looked as if he only wore a robe as any sort of physical protection.

Mar was no fool. Physical protection wasn't the only kind of protection. He was sure that close up, this man would reek of magic. His time studying magic, although largely unsuccessful, had taught him to distinguish between magic and no - magic users. This guy fit a magician's profile.

Tightening his grip on his bow, he eased his rapier slightly out of its scabbard, and checked that his shield would slide of his back without hindrance.

"No point in waiting an longer." In one smooth motion, he plucked an arrow from his quiver, nocked it, and drew back the string. Usually, he aimed for the heart, but, after a quick shrug, he lowered the arrow and sent it streaming at his left knee.

"Might give him a nice surprise."

[Zook Murnig]

"Evening," I heard from across the clearing. No sooner had I laid eyes on the archer, than his arrow was knocked and aimed straight at me. I tightened my grip on my implements, feeling the smooth grain of the wood in my fists. My will flowed into the staff as I drew up prithvi from the muck at my feet. An explosion of pins and needles erupted in my senseless calf as the energy for the spell rushed into me and filled in my constructed will. Every muscle and sinew in my body ached with the power and quivered in tension.

I could barely make out the man's mouth working, perhaps a spell of his own, before he abruptly shifted his trajectory just barely down and to the side. The arrow loosed, spinning and darting through the air, feathers fishtailing behind it. "Adonai!" I screamed, whipping my staff about left-handed to slam into the earth between us. Mud flowed up the staff in an instant, spreading on either side into a bulwark of rotten sludge. Too late, I realized that my spell wasn't designed for wet earth, and as the mire hardened, a silty spray guttered in all directions. The missile crashed into my shield, and its shaft audibly shattered. The head of the arrow, however, fared much better, and burst through the rapidly collapsing construct. I felt a tug on my trouser leg, and heard the squelch behind me as the swamp swallowed the bit of metal.

I imagined, briefly, a deep, oozing gash in my unfeeling calf muscle. There was no time, though, for inspection, as the man could easily fire again before my shield was readied. With a grunt of effort, I thrust my wand at him, slamming rage and will into the focus. Out burst a lance of force and flame as I shouted, "Yahweh!" The wave of heat licked out and reignited the little kindling remaining, and roared through the dead mist and smoke of the swamp.

[Scribe of Marwolaeth]

The mud that shielded his arrow did little to surprise him. Having already guessed that the man was a magic user, Marawol just needed to test what spells he could muster. However, the screaming spear of fire was completely unexpected. Having thought the wizard would have studied only one element and gaining much control over it, fire was definitely not on the original menu.

The fire clipped his shoulder, spinning him around, and sending him to his knees. His face burned, and he thrust his cheek into the cool mud, hoping for relief. His shoulder throbbed, although his chain-mail remained unbroken, the heat had probably burned his shoulder badly.

"Maybe the burn will be shaped like the chain-mail... That would make an interesting scar," he thought, alleviating the attention from the pain. Staggering back to his feet, he groaned loudly, scowling at the wizard.

"I hope I don't look as bad as I feel because you'll be in trouble for ruining my face." Nocking another arrow, he aiming straight at the man's neck. His right eye blurred, and the pain in his shoulder increased to a dull roar. Even holding the arrow felt like cumbersome. It wobbled in his hand, and he knew this was his last arrow of the battle, he didn't have the sight for another.

Letting it fly, he wasn't sure if he was aiming in the right direction anymore, and with a frustrated yell, he threw his bow right after it. With anger being his new fuel, he drew his rapier and stalked towards his prey. Murderous thoughts clawed at his head.

"Who needs a shield, I'll gut him now."

[Zook Murnig]

Magic is draining, physically, mentally, and emotionally. As my opponent crept ever closer, blade in hand, I began to regret my hastily cast fire. Under normal circumstances, I would have drawn tejas from the air around me, channeling it through my will as I had done with the shield. Instead, I had rushed the evocation, and my body felt the strain of casting from its reserves, my head pounding and muscles twitching painfully in my chest. I slumped against my staff, clutching my wand as I cast my gaze back around for refuge -- some fortified position to defend. Immediately, I settled on the steadily glowing cave of roots, beneath the half-toppled oak.

I half-limped, half-ran for the shelter of that burnt out husk, and the heat of the pyre within. The water deepened as I sloshed through the marsh, the soft footing falling away beneath me. I abandoned my staff to the mire as it reached my chest, and I swam. Pushing through the filth, my arms were aflame with the strain, and as I crawled from the bank to the scorched and rotted roots, I made up my mind. I knew what had to be done.

I pulled myself up on the ash-covered wood and stumbled into the charred hollow. Still gripping my now-caked wand, its markings and capstone now covered in drying mud, I limped to the fire. In the low-hanging cage of roots, this large of a flame filled the hollow with choking smoke, and I struggled to breathe. I knew what had to be done. But I hadn't the power left to do it myself.

I had to borrow it.

"Answer me, Djinn," I whispered, and I threw myself on the pyre.

[Scribe of Marwolaeth]

Marawol was stunned. He wasn't sure if the wizard was a fool, or planning something. Sure, he could summon fire, but jump into it? He stumbled forward, tripping over a root. Cursing, he stopped for a moment. His face still burned with pain, and his shoulder wasn't much better. He needed to rest.

The wizard was obviously not dead. The arena would have vanished by now, or at least some form of notice would have appeared. Mar didn't like this. Spying a stump not far from him, he careful traversed the unstable ground to take a seat.

"He might be doing some dangerous magic," he thought, scanning the place he had last seen him, "but at least I can enjoy the show."

Without a shield or bow, he felt exposed. Far to many duels had ended this way. Unable to block, not strong enough to attack.

"Oi! You going to do something, or are you just going cooking us a meal?"