10-27-2015, 09:42 PM
Once more unto the breach.
Isn’t that what they said when they sent kids to die in wars? Made it sound nice. “Oh just another jaunt through the battlefield.” Kids, most barely eighteen and some younger, sent to die so fat, wealthy old men could grow richer.
Once more unto the breach.
Easy to say when it’s not your life on the line.
Magus scanned his surroundings with an air of utter boredom before resting his regal gaze upon his opponent. He was a physically unremarkable man; slender and of average height. He dressed in tattered old robes and an equally weathered, ridiculous hat.
The fiend might have scoffed at his would-be opponent if not for the eerie yellow glow that emanated from beneath the wide brim of his hat, which all but erased his visage in darkness.
Even more interesting was the low, familiar hum of arcane energy. It swirled around this man like snowflakes in the wind, fizzing and bubbling all around him.
“A fellow spell-slinger,” Magus proclaimed. “I’ve no doubt you can feel the pulse of the arcane on me, as well.”
He looked around himself again. The two of them stood on platforms of steel suspended in mid-air, with bunkers and weapons strewn all about. Two ships not unlike the Epoch floated above them, and below roiled an unspeakably foul-smelling disaster. He wrinkled his nose at the unbelievable stench and did his best to put it out of his mind and instead focus on his opponent.
He tugged on his brown leather glove creating a satisfying creak from the material as it snugged around his fingers. His palm turned upward, and with a sizzling spark, a vulgar, oily blob burst to life in a puff of purple motes. The air seemed to bend around this energy, as foul as the toxic soup below them.
“You’ll die if you fight me, you know,” Magus idly flicked his eyes over one of the weapons racks on his side. It bristled with all sorts of futuristic weapons, tainted by demonic influence. How ironic that the Demon King found himself under the banner of Diablo. “You really should consider surrender, unless you’re eager to hop off this mortal coil.”
“Heat of the light, show your flame.” the odd-looking man retorted, raising a palm up at him and eliciting a raised eyebrow and an amused smirk from his opponent. “Fire!”
“Gah!!” Magus twisted to the side and hit the deck, narrowly avoiding the flame bolt as is seared through the air. He rolled up to his feet and levelled his ball of Gloom at his adversary but instead of loosing the attack, he barked an incredulous guffaw, before breaking out into a fit of laughter. He seemed genuinely amused, but to the Black Mage, it sounded sinister, indeed.
“An incantation?!” Magus snorted. “You require a focus to channel your power??”
“Water chilled, sharpened-”
“How quaint,” the Fiendlord flatly responded, hurling a bolt of Gloom and interrupting the Black Mage’s next incantation. The bolt missed, but it bought Magus enough time to Shadow Step into the plane immaterial.
Tendrils of unspeakably malevolent energy teased at the periphery of his vision, and images of the world around him seemed to shudder and tremble in place. Magus stalked toward his prey and froze for a moment on a narrow, metallic catwalk, halfway to his target.
Instead of one of those fucking shadow people standing outside the force field, there were now dozens. Most were clumped up together, but a few scattered about, half surrounding Magus. And they were all staring up at him, watching him. He couldn’t see their faces, but they were staring.
Ignoring it, Magus broke into a run before leaping into the air and driving a flying punch into the Black Mage’s face. He continued beyond the speaker of incantations and selected a weapon from the Coruscant side. He turned to face his enemy and stepped back into the material plane.
The Black Mage toppled over the side of the railing from the impact, grabbing onto the metal and saving himself from plunging into the pestilent fog below. With a grunt, the dazed wizard hauled himself back over the rails and onto the metal catwalk.
“Heh. Well done, Scarecrow,” Magus jeered, holding his new weapon out to his side. In a flash, the bright red glare of Magus’ lightsaber bathed him in a dramatic glow.
Once more unto the breach.
One last time for you,
Scarecrow.
Isn’t that what they said when they sent kids to die in wars? Made it sound nice. “Oh just another jaunt through the battlefield.” Kids, most barely eighteen and some younger, sent to die so fat, wealthy old men could grow richer.
Once more unto the breach.
Easy to say when it’s not your life on the line.
Magus scanned his surroundings with an air of utter boredom before resting his regal gaze upon his opponent. He was a physically unremarkable man; slender and of average height. He dressed in tattered old robes and an equally weathered, ridiculous hat.
The fiend might have scoffed at his would-be opponent if not for the eerie yellow glow that emanated from beneath the wide brim of his hat, which all but erased his visage in darkness.
Even more interesting was the low, familiar hum of arcane energy. It swirled around this man like snowflakes in the wind, fizzing and bubbling all around him.
“A fellow spell-slinger,” Magus proclaimed. “I’ve no doubt you can feel the pulse of the arcane on me, as well.”
He looked around himself again. The two of them stood on platforms of steel suspended in mid-air, with bunkers and weapons strewn all about. Two ships not unlike the Epoch floated above them, and below roiled an unspeakably foul-smelling disaster. He wrinkled his nose at the unbelievable stench and did his best to put it out of his mind and instead focus on his opponent.
He tugged on his brown leather glove creating a satisfying creak from the material as it snugged around his fingers. His palm turned upward, and with a sizzling spark, a vulgar, oily blob burst to life in a puff of purple motes. The air seemed to bend around this energy, as foul as the toxic soup below them.
“You’ll die if you fight me, you know,” Magus idly flicked his eyes over one of the weapons racks on his side. It bristled with all sorts of futuristic weapons, tainted by demonic influence. How ironic that the Demon King found himself under the banner of Diablo. “You really should consider surrender, unless you’re eager to hop off this mortal coil.”
“Heat of the light, show your flame.” the odd-looking man retorted, raising a palm up at him and eliciting a raised eyebrow and an amused smirk from his opponent. “Fire!”
“Gah!!” Magus twisted to the side and hit the deck, narrowly avoiding the flame bolt as is seared through the air. He rolled up to his feet and levelled his ball of Gloom at his adversary but instead of loosing the attack, he barked an incredulous guffaw, before breaking out into a fit of laughter. He seemed genuinely amused, but to the Black Mage, it sounded sinister, indeed.
“An incantation?!” Magus snorted. “You require a focus to channel your power??”
“Water chilled, sharpened-”
“How quaint,” the Fiendlord flatly responded, hurling a bolt of Gloom and interrupting the Black Mage’s next incantation. The bolt missed, but it bought Magus enough time to Shadow Step into the plane immaterial.
Tendrils of unspeakably malevolent energy teased at the periphery of his vision, and images of the world around him seemed to shudder and tremble in place. Magus stalked toward his prey and froze for a moment on a narrow, metallic catwalk, halfway to his target.
Instead of one of those fucking shadow people standing outside the force field, there were now dozens. Most were clumped up together, but a few scattered about, half surrounding Magus. And they were all staring up at him, watching him. He couldn’t see their faces, but they were staring.
Ignoring it, Magus broke into a run before leaping into the air and driving a flying punch into the Black Mage’s face. He continued beyond the speaker of incantations and selected a weapon from the Coruscant side. He turned to face his enemy and stepped back into the material plane.
The Black Mage toppled over the side of the railing from the impact, grabbing onto the metal and saving himself from plunging into the pestilent fog below. With a grunt, the dazed wizard hauled himself back over the rails and onto the metal catwalk.
“Heh. Well done, Scarecrow,” Magus jeered, holding his new weapon out to his side. In a flash, the bright red glare of Magus’ lightsaber bathed him in a dramatic glow.
Once more unto the breach.
One last time for you,
Scarecrow.
![[Image: Magus.jpg]](http://rpnexus.com/sig/miscsig/Magus.jpg)