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Wind howled mournfully over the plains, grass whispering with the voice of the dead. Islaitha Frost stood at the edge of a grand lake, eyes impassively sad. He whispered a soft spell and cast the snowflower out over the water, its pristine blossom gently wafting down until it alighted on the surface, sending out ripples. His own eyes reflected the color of the water, cold and pure.

"Two years ago," said the mage. He ran a black-gloved hand through pure white, randomly spiked hair. "Two years to the day. Wonder how much has changed?"

The child stepped one foot into the chilly waters, his natural aura forming a shell of clear ice as he waded deeper in. Elaborately decorated white and blue robes were pulled together as Frost cinched the shimmering azure silk sash around his waist, looping it through the two sides of white pants with loose legs for movement. He made certain his cloak was secured firmly to a silver brooch resting above his collarbone. It bore the appearance of an elegant dragon in flight, and held special meaning to Frost. Hard leather shoes crunched on pieces of broken rock the further he walked, until the shell completely encompassed him.

He stopped moving and let his own magic guide the "egg" of ice that contained him. He sank further into the depths, eyes looking around for something in the dark water. "The water is fouled. Has that damn necromancer's magic not been purified yet?"

CRASH!

The egg broke apart as a massive spiked ball impacted from the depths of the water. Frost barely managed to form a thicker wall around himself. He was thrown out into the wet, hands to his mouth. When they came away, an opaque ice mask was left, filtering oxygen from the water. A clear visor of ice formed over his eyes, revealing his attackers.

The three Necroknights stood facing the mage, the visors of their armor reflecting burning eyes, animated by the power of the necromancer. Each wore the same thick, jet-black armor, but they had different forms. Far different from when they had been normal people.

One was tall and slender, inhumanly so actually. His legs and arms were extraordinarily long, enough so that he could suspend his body like a spider, with the torso at least four feet off the ground. On his hands and feet he wore devilish gauntlets, with sharp claws that were serrated to tear the skin when struck, rather than just slice. Getting down on all fours, the beast eyed its target.

The next was bulked up considerably, his muscles beyond that of any normal mortal. In his hands was a massive spiked ball, about the size of a beach ball, but this was considerably heavier and more lethal than that. Attached to it was a long silver chain, which was wrapped around one hand while the other held the ball that had smashed Frost's egg.

The final one looked normal, as much as a risen corpse can that is. Her weapon, however, was anything but; a massive double-sided battleaxe, with a skull connecting the two blades and a long black handle. The weapon itself was larger than the one who wielded it. Swinging the head up to rest it on her shoulders, she eyed the mage.

"So, an Aura family member has returned. We've been waiting for you," said the female one, her voice echoing in the deep. "We knew that you would come back eventually, and we would take our revenge."

Frost sighed and said, "I don't have time for you. Once long ago you faced a scared child who was weak. If you are what's fouling the waters of my hometown, I will exterminate you."

"Hah! This town is fallen. We have done nothing more than remain bound by that cursed necromancer's power."

As if materializing out of the depths, Frost saw the dark forms of houses, streets, walls, and the descending tiers of Fygaron. This entire city was underwater, its last defense mechanism against the invading army these Necroknights had been part of. His hand formed into a fist. He would remove this taint from the water, so the dead could at last rest in peace.

"This will not take long," he stated.

Ice swiftly bubbled out of the water, forming itself from the liquid. The limber Necroknight was torn to pieces by lances of the frozen glass that pierced him from behind and then exploded. The dark magic screamed and dissipated as it was crushed by the water.

The ball and chain knight threw its payload, only to have Frost smoothly "fly" down the length of the weapon using ice gauntlets formed from the water. He dug the claws into the knight's neck and tore his head off. The construct crumbled to pieces. One left.

The axe came bubbling down towards him, but the Necroknight was not used to fighting in the water. A flash of magic and the mighty weapon was halted. Its owner was encased in a block of ice then crushed, the darkness dissipating.

The water instantly seemed to grow clearer. The corruption had been ceased. Frost swam back to the surface and stepped out, the wetness of his clothes flaking off as ice until he was completely dry.

He sensed a presence and turned to face it. He called a diaphanous blue staff from the ether and gazed at the person. "Who are you? Have you come to further foul the waters of my home? Speak quickly, lest you find a frozen dagger in your breast."

Ice armor formed on the child. Gauntlets, part of a breastplate over his right side to protect the heart, and a pair of greaves. Frost gripped his staff tighter. A blazing of ice-cold flame, Icefire, raged to life at its tip. It was not solid, so no blade would be able to block it. Rather, only magic or auras could defend against this flame. Frost lowered the staff-turned-spear point first at the person and stated, "I say again, who are you?"

------------------
Name: Islaitha Frost
Ability: Mastery over ice.
Manifestation of Ability: Icefire. A blue flame that is so cold it burns. Capable of freezing near any liquid.
Age: 7
Book: Imbalanced

Wyborn drew his breath between his teeth as the boy emerged from the water, the water on him freezing and falling off in chunks. The water had been thick with corruption only a moment ago, had reeked of it, but even before the boy had emerged it shimmered clear.

"Who are you? Have you come to further foul the waters of my home?" Wyborn was so taken aback that for a moment he did not realize it was him being spoken to. "Speak quickly, lest you find a frozen dagger in your breast." The staff that appeared in his hand seemed to do little more than complete his appearance, as if he were progressing to a more natural state by drawing his weapon. But, Wyborn knew, he tended to just see people that way.

He stepped from the shadows, hands down but palms open towards the youth, and the morning sun fell over him in a wash. There was not much to see - a tall man in brown robes and leather sandals, his eyes bright in the light. He took his measure of the youth in front of him, trying to determine how old he was, or how dangerous he might be, or anything. Any quality he looked for in the boy seemed elusive, or like shadows hiding behind shadows, and he realized he couldn't tell anything about the child. That frightened him.

Armor seemed to form on the youth from the mist that the sun was burning away, and the staff became a spear, and this was tipped with a flame that made him wince despite its lack of brightness. "I say again, who are you?"

"My name is Wyborn." He tried to force a smile, but let it drop when the youth's expression did not change. His tone changed then, too, to one somewhat more frank. "I came here because of that lake - I had heard rumors of it, and when I came to this place it offended me like the stench of a corpse. The corruption was like oil, and I hoped to purify it..." He tilted his head, then, and his eyes were wide, and he tried to really look at the boy. "But you did already, didn't you?"

"I did," said the youth.

"You can trust that I'm not here to befoul this place, boy," if boy you are, he did not say. "But you...who are you? What drew you to this place?" He let himself grin again, and this time it was in earnest. "And what magic is it that lets a child be so fearful?"

The mage moved back to standing position, one hand releasing his staff. The flame on its tip still flickered, but was now far less at risk of freezing this man for a wrong answer. Frost brought one hand up to his face and let the mask and visor fall away, dissipating before they hit the ground. "My name is Frost." said the boy, looking out over the water. He could feel the purity of the lake returning to normal. Had those knights really done so much damage alone? He would have to seek out the necromancer himself to prevent any further damage. "As for why I'm here, I corrected a past mistake."

"And what magic is it that lets a child be so fearful?" said the stranger, Wyborn he had called himself.

Frost looked at the man, "My own. The magic of my family." He scrutinized Wyborn. He had come to purify these waters, but had no weapons at all? Either he didn't know the history of this lake, how it hadn't existed until two years ago, or he did, and would still have been able to defend himself from the abominations within.

"You say you came to purify this place, yet I can't sense any kind of magic, weapon or not on you. The rumors you heard, did they detail how, until two years ago, this place was the city of Fygaron, a high-ranking port town? It's amazing how fast a name can be forgotten when nothing remains. People have come here before, but all have either fallen to the lake or been twisted by it."

Frost saw a ripple break the water near the center, and what he thought for certain was a hand. So, the taint was still not gone, and would not be gone until the necromancer's grip was broken permanently. The townspeople would not be able to rest until he did so. "An entire city slaughtered by an army interested only in the magic artifacts held by the Aura family. At the head of their forces was a contemptible necromancer, who raised the townspeople as each one fell, twisting them into his own forces."

Splack.

The undead archer's bow snapped wetly, blank sockets staring at the two people as he sank back under the surface. Frost sighed, "Even now they continue to fight in death, holding on to their last order to take the town. When it became clear that the town was lost, the Aura family engaged its final defense."

Frost pointed to the far-off ocean in the distance. "Fygaron drew its water from the sea, and purified it through an underground system. The defense was simple. They released the safety, and all the water in their reservoirs overflowed in a torrential wave of power that reduced the fallen city to rubble."

The mage's gaze moved back to Wyborn. "How were you going to purify this place? Even now, after removing the necromancer's three knights, the taint is still not gone. Until every risen construct is destroyed, the souls of the city will continue to fight for eternity. You must have known what lay beneath this waters. What power do you possess to give the confidence that it would be enough?"

"What power do you possess to give the confidence that it would be enough?"

"I don't," Wyborn said, striding past Frost and kneeling next to the side of the lake.

"How can that be? You cannot purify something without the means to do so."

"I have the means," Wyborn said, drawing a knife from within his robes and tracing a circle in the dirt with the edge, "I just don't have the power. The reason that you don't sense any magic in me is that I don't have any of my own." Within the confines of the circle he began to trace seemingly random lines, varying the width by turning the blade, that began to come together into more intricate designs. "My magic, such as it can be called mine, is channeled from an outside source greater than myself. In my world, magic works differently." He continued tracing, and it seemed that the circle was full, but still he drew more, crossing over lines and becoming constantly more convoluted. Frost looked over the other mage's shoulder, and looked away; he did not like how it lead his eyes.

"If you didn't have the power, how did you expect to be able to kill what blighted this place?"

Wyborn waved his hand dismissively, drawing the knife away from the dirt and inspecting his design. "Just because I am not powerful does not mean I am without power, my friend." He drew the knife's edge across the inscription once more, to correct an error, and then leaned in and blew. The design disappeared in a whirl, and the dust settled on the face of the lake.

Something happened where the granules fell; the surface shimmered and rippled and glowed, emitted light as if it were a lightbulb filament with current running through it. The white light was first visible under the sun, then so bright it was difficult to look at, and it spread over the now-calm surface of the lake like a glowing white oil spill. As it spread, it thinned out, until it was forced to break apart, each segment held together by miniscule tethers of light. As it spread further the hunks themselves became smaller, and by the time the entire lake was covered it looked more like a gigantic, glowing spiderweb.

"This is only temporary," said Wyborn, "but if they try to come up for the next while this will burn their flesh like flame would burn ours." Rising to his feet, he wiped off the blade of his knife with a corner of his robes before putting it back into the folds. He looked back at Frost, then, and he was smiling the smile of a man who knows he has a secret. "You wanted to know how I was going to purify this place?"

"I still do; more, now."

"Then I will tell you a secret. Afterwards I will ask you for one; at that point you can decide whether to share with me or not."

"Very well, but know this: I will not divulge my true name, nor will I tell how I came to possess my magic."

"Agreed." Wyborn bent and lifted a handful of dirt, rubbing it between his palms as he straightened. "I did not have a plan on how to purify this place. I couldn't. I didn't know anything about it, much less what caused the taint here." He grinned at the look on Frost's face. "Yes, I came here blind. I planned to learn what was important about this place, and what haunted it. I came here for its secrets."

He opened his hands, and the dust fell to the ground.

"My power lies in secrets, Frost. I know the secret for using my life like a sword and shield, I know the secrets to unlock the power in the mind of any man, woman, or child. I know the secrets that make people into sorcerers; I know the secrets of how the gods may die at the hands of man." He clenched and unclenched his fists, and the look in his eye became unsettling. "I lack power of my own, but in my secrets I have the power to shake the Heavens. I learn the secrets of people, too: Sheharazhad, and the Iron Warrior, and Joker, and Erdawn the King, and Meredia, and Dusty, and dozens more. I learned the secrets of their hearts when I fought them, and though they were far greater than me as you or I measure power, I was able to stand up to any of them. Where power would fail me in a heartbeat, the secrets I know allow me to triumph."

"All of them were greater than you?" Frost sounded incredulous, but he did not outright reject the idea. Somewhere out on the lake he heard the sound of flesh hissing and popping as if it had been spitted, and the fading gurgle of a drowning throat.

"They were. In ways that you and I measure power, they dwarfed me." And Wyborn smiled, then, not a grin but a smile, a peaceful thing wrought by knowledge and contentment. "As do you. Come, Frost, let me see the power you wield: the secret I ask of you is that which you reveal with your arm. We do not have to fight to the death, as I have with so many others; we will butt heads for a time, and I will learn that secret, and if at all possible I will help you with the problem of this lake." He held out his hand, and Frost noticed now that it was unlined, and he had no fingerprints. "What say you?"

OoC: And with that, we begin. I can't imagine our characters fighting to the death at some point, so this won't really be a fight we're trying to win so much as it is an exhibition. If you want, we can set a post limit now. The ball is in your court. -OoC

Edit: This is probably the most dialog-heavy post ever.

Runic magic. Author has shown me a variation of it, but it was nowhere near as powerful as what I just saw. Perhaps it would be beneficial to further test his capabilities.

Frost brought his free hand up and grasped the silver brooch. "It is agreeable." A swift tug and it came off, the cloak falling backwards into the same pocket dimension he had pulled the staff from. To those with the power to see auras, Frost's distinctly became much more unfocused and wild, the flickering blue chaotic and unrestrained as it spiraled up his body. Ice enveloped the ground in a circle five feet across, with Frost at the center. Now that the cloak was gone, Wyborn would see pieces of black leather armor, particularly around the torso and parts of the arms. To complete the preparations, Frost's aura dimmed and focused as a silver ring materialized on his left hand.

"Since this is not to the death, I will refrain from using my Icefire," said Frost as ice formed over his hands, feet, upper torso, and bottom portion of the legs. A small amount grew on both ends of his staff, which would serve to augment his particular style.

Frost distinctly let his body go slack, limbs completely relaxed, they would not be needed. He reached up an formed a face mask of ice, eyes gazing at Wyborn. "Well then, shall we begin?"

He launched at Wyborn with inhuman speed, the butt of his staff slamming down to vault the boy over him. Upon landing he glided backwards with one hand out, sharp tips forming on the fingers. A single thought and they launched outwards, one piercing Wyborn in the left shoulder. Though not lethal, it would be best for him to pull it out. "This is but one of the secrets you may be interested in. I am not truly moving this fast, nor do I possess such acrobatic capabilities. Rather, my control over the ice is so minute and concise that the impossible becomes my method of battle. Through the movements of this ice, I fight."

"Through the movements of this ice, I fight."

"Do not tell me your secret!" Wyborn's voice was thunder, and as he turned his left arm hung unmoving by his side but his right hand was tracing a trail through the air. The earth heaved behind him, spewing forth a chunk of condensed soil as hard as stone, and this chunk flew along the path traced by his finger, hurling towards Frost. "Show me!"

The hunk of earth was between them, cutting through the air at speeds too quick for the human eye to see. In all of this movement, Frost did not notice Wyborn reaching for the needle in his shoulder, and Wyborn grinned because he knew he had not been noticed. Touching it with his fingertips, he knew that the needle was not normal - the fact that it had to be pulled out was proof enough of that, it was still magic, it had Frost's magic. Wyborn felt the same magic tingling and rushing just beneath Frost's skin....which meant the needle would make the perfect conduit.

His power flowed around it, into it, embedding itself into Frost's magic, hiding within it like a virus. He knew such secrets.

He threw it, and it sailed almost lazily behind the makeshift boulder.

Frost's answer to the first projectile was simple to the point of elegance: a motion of his hand, an exhalation of his breath, and it froze, moisture clinging to it like crystals. A movement of his other hand brought around his staff like a warclub, and on contact the earthen weapon shattered like glass. The fragments did not fly into him like shrapnel, either; robbed of all energy, they fell to the ground in a cloud, making no sound of great importance.

Frost actually did see the needle flying back at him, but his eyes tricked him into thinking it a collection of moisture from the first attack, and he did not recognize that it was moving towards him until it was too late to stop it.

It struck him in the cheek; the magic of his ice met the magic of his blood. Wyborn's magic burst forth from the tip of the needle, flowed into the side of Frost's face, and erupted.

There was a flash of light and heat as the magic erupted, parting flesh and searing its edges, throwing up the sickly smell of overdone meat. Frost fell back with a roar, more of shock than of pain, and his free hand came up to touch his face - his fingers brushed his teeth, revealed when the body of his cheek was blown apart and incinerated. He roared again, as much as a child may roar, and in that moment of distraction Wyborn was upon him.

An unlined palm slammed against the side of Frost's face, not in a slap but in a shove, and Light exploded from between his fingers. Frost's head was hit with force equivalent to a wrecking ball, sending him flying to the side, hitting the ground and rolling and bouncing in a flurry of limbs before coming to a stop on his back.

"DO NOT HOLD BACK!"

He saw Wyborn's sandaled foot coming down in time to roll out of the way - it smashed the ground where he had been lying a heartbeat before, a burst of light sending glowing green clumps into the air. Frost moved in ways that shouldn't have been possible for his musculature - supported on one hand he swept with both of his legs, forcing Wyborn to leap back to avoid being tripped, and the same movement brought him to his feet, the ice on the end of his staff sharpening and lengthening unitl it was a wicked spear, which thrust out and came back with a speed that was literally inhuman.

Wyborn saw all of this, and sweat ran down his brow in spite of the chill in the air around the boy.

He felt the beginning of the movement in the air and propelled himself with his Light, allowing himself to dodge the flurry of Frost's attacks by the width of a hair. His own hands lashed out, glowing and terrible, aiming for the haft of the boy's makeshift spear to knock it from his hands or shatter it, but Frost was always a millisecond too quick, the tip barely avoiding his counter-attack with every attempt.

Ah. I see, then.

Light flared in Wyborn's left ankle, and he jumped into the air - just high enough that the tip of the spear sank into the front of his left thigh. Painful, and so cold it burned, but mostly harmless. The tip sank into the bone, which hurt a lot more but added the one bit of resistance necessary to hold the spear in place as Wyborn's Light-wreathed right foot came around and struck Frost in the chest.

There was an eruption, and Frost's ice over his leather armor cracked like plexiglass, the force of the kick rippling through his torso. He was sent flying backwards, and landed on his back with a thud.

He didn't let go of the staff. ****.

"Show me your Icefire!" Wyborn shouted instead. "Do not show me only part of your secret!" The position he took was defensive, because Frost was already getting up, and Wyborn could already see that he had managed to do precious little.

****. ****. ****.

Frost got up from the ground with a macabre grin on his face. He tossed his staff away and started to clap, a hollow ringing sound from ice on ice. "Congratulations, Wyborn? You injured it."

The staff rose up, and shot across the still lake. Frost watched it go, but paid no mind. He passed a hand over his wound, recreating the skin effortlessly. He did the same for each piece of cracked armor, always keeping that grin on his face. "Come now. A mage is skilled in the arts of the arcane, but has precious few defenses against surprises. While you may not realized it, your attacks would have killed me. Had they actually hit me."

The sound of ice cracking and popping echoed in the air as Frost's face morphed into the black visor of one of the Necroknights he had destroyed. The entire body lengthened and split in places as it elongated into the form of the first Knight, his serrated limbs waving through the air as he swayed back and forth. His helm split open at the mouth to reveal crystal clear ice fangs. "You claim to have come here for knowledge. Well, feast your eyes on this. Just one of the foes that inhabited this lake not ten minutes ago.”

The ice golem finished morphing and stood twice as tall as Wyborn, head cocked at an odd angle. With a sickening snap, it twisted completely around to gaze at Wyborn upside down before righting itself. “I was expecting a little more…refinement, from you. Instead I receive a method of fighting that has no rhyme nor reason. Just doing whatever.”

Two more arms grew out of the golem’s black torso, gaining the appearance of the knight they mimicked. “Allow me to demonstrate my way of fighting. You have heard the overture, it is now time for the first act. If you are lucky, then we may get to the finale, though only one person has ever heard it, and I’m not sure if he’s still alive.”

The golem brought all its limbs in close and bent its knees. “So, let the opera begin.”

And then it was a whirling tornado of blades, the head remaining stationary as the rest of it span around in a lethal carnival. Wyborn raised up a boulder and pointed at the golem. The chunk of earth was reduced to sand in mere seconds as the limbs flew about. The golem laughed, a hollow sound considering it had no lungs. It bore down on the man, threatening to envelop him completely, which would almost certainly be fatal.

Light flashed from Wyborn’s hands as he deflected numerous split-second attacks, the golem continuing to advance with each spin. Wyborn jumped back and swept his hand imperiously towards the golem. The ground beneath it crumbled and sank the monstrosity up to its waist. It laughed again. “Impressive, but still not good enough. Focus! Strength will always bow to wisdom!”

The construct shot out of the ground, a long flat tipped pole extending from its feet. Those same limbs fused together and rotated at increasing speeds. It hit the ground and drilled in. Wyborn sensed the movement of earth and jumped back just in time to avoid the maelstrom that erupted underneath. He spotted an opening and lunged with a Light-covered fist, intending to break it apart.

The golem completely stopped. Wyborn’s fist snapped its torso in half. And the smile never left its soul-less face. “Act 1. Finished.”

The golem’s limbs broke off and straightened into spears. The arm and leg shot into Wyborn’s extended arm and fused themselves while keeping the blades. If he wanted to pull it out, he would have to cut himself even more. The rest of the creature broke apart into pure ice, and reformed into the visage of a young girl, about Frost’s age. The reflecting surface shifted over to an Illusion spell, one of more potency than Frost had been able to mimic. And unlike the previous golem, her aura was not Icefire, but rather an intense white flame.

“Hello there, who are you?”

-----------------

Frost gasped as he felt an incredible amount of his power leave, close to a quarter, and snapped back like a puppet cut from its strings. The ice disc he sat on wobbled crazily until he exerted enough power to stabilize it. He didn’t understand. One minute he was channeling the golem’s movement, and the next it was like his mind felt less…crowded.

“Not good,” he said, realizing immediately what had just occurred. “She’s not stable. Certainly not in a golem body. If she’s destroyed while inhabiting it…”

He facepalmed himself. “No, not going to happen. I don’t know why or how, but I do know she has to come back. I’m not losing her. Not again.” He leaned on the disc, and shot forward across the lake towards the fight.

Strength will always bow to wisdom? Jesus, these people are straight out of a comic book.

"Hello there, who are you?"

The sheer inanity of that question stunned him; for a long moment he stood there staring at the girl, every beat of his heart sending another small fount of blood running down the length of the spears. His head swam. If he could remove the objects form his arm, he still wouldn't be able to use it properly, he could practically hear the splintered bones scraping together with even the most minute movements.

This isn't working. I can't focus well enough to see where the real Frost is.

He raised his left hand, hands curled into claws, and Light leapt from his nails and ran along the length of his fingers. The air shifted around him, blowing around him in a funnel that became visible with the dust kicked up around him. He turned his eyes to the girl, and his smile was twisted.

"My name is Wyborn. I GIVE MY ARM!"

His left hand came down on his right shoulder, and there was a flash of light, and the air shifted again.

His arm hit the ground with an unimportant sound.

He reached out with his mind.

--------------------------

Every living thing for miles around was suddenly aware of the presence of something besides themselves, more intimately than if they were merely walking next to someone. All across the countryside was the oppressive sense of another will, another mind scanning that of everything it touched.

Eveyr tree quivered, and birds took flight, and foxes looked out from their dens with the sense that if they emerged into the light they would surely die. They felt Wyborn's presence, a massive invisible predator whose very gaze meant the death of everything he hunted.

He reached out with invisible fingers, touching everything all at once, aware of every pebble and every crevice in the shell of every ant; he knew the heartbea tof the hummingbird, the anxiety of flowers in win too strong to be natural with the sun out.

He reached out with his mind, and in that instance he was everywhere, and he knew everything that could be known.

He felt Frost sailing over the lake, the sun shimmering off of the water between the gossamer strands of Light.

There is no way he could be that stupid, Wyborn thought, and the thought echoed throughout the landscape, and every animal and plant and gust of wind and person flinched as if it had been spoken aloud inside of their skulls. But he is.

Wyborn's entire attention turned to the lake, and the sky above it darkened.

--------------------------

Frost moved so quickly that when the wind whipped his hair into his eyes it stung like knives, but he did not care; he went as fast as was safe, and no slower.

Wyborn's presence hit him like a brick wall, sending a shudder through his body, and he knew there was no more hiding.

"He knows I'm here...no matter. I will simply have to end this sooner."

Frost!

The word echoed in his head, and sweat beaded on his brow before crystallizing and falling into the water with an imperceptible splash. He heard the hiss as it struck one strand of the web and exploded into vapor.

Do you think you're the only one who knows how to set a trap, Frost?

Did his heart stop? It felt that way. The ice mage used all the speed he could muster, but he had a feeling it was not enough.

--------------------------

Wyborn turned to the girl, smoke rising from his cauterized shoulder. He already looked ragged, but he was grinning and seemed quite amused with himself. The air crackled around his head, popping and hissing as if great invisible jets of energy were spewing from his ears.

"Yes. I'm Wyborn. Just met your friend Frost there. Please, let's continue as we were. Or weren't. Illusionists are such a bother if you aren't prepared for them."

He looked as if he might laugh, but in that moment he launched himself towards the girl, left fist pulled back and darkening the sun with its brilliance. The fist he threw was slow and clumsy, but it trailed a stream of white in the air and gave off the distinct smell of ozone. The girl ducked beneath it, and struck out with a rising palm that should have broken Wyborn's elbow, but only resulted in him flipping backwards with a burst of flame. Wyborn hit the ground and swept with his foot, and the girl leaped over it with a grace that was almost nonchalant; she was faster than Wyborn, even now, but he roared and struck again and she kept having to retreat from blow after blow. After a full ten seconds of such ineffective attacks she launched herself backwards and landed gracefully, heat trailing from her hands and feet. She landed in a defensive position...but Wyborn did not move to attack again.

He stood there, just grinning his fool's grin, and beckoned at her with his one hand.

"Come now - you're the one who got sumoned out of the ether to do battle. You are supposed to be the tough one between us. Show me."

She did.

As she launched herself over the space between them, Wyborn snapped his fingers. He did not stop grinning when her fist smashed into his face, shattering his nose and collapsing his cheeks inward, dislodging a number of his teeth and sending him reeling, wide open for the next strike, which hit him in his stomach.

The trap sprang.

--------------------------

He was less than eight seconds away from the edge of the lake when the words rang in his head.

Surprise, Frost!

There was no time for conscious thought on his own part. Invisible against the sun reflecting off of the water, one strand of the massive web of silvery light reached up as if pulled by the finger of a god, snaring Frost's foot. There was no force exerted, but where the strand touched flesh it hissed and burned and cut, split flesh like ham and seared it like onion paper, and in that moment Frost realized the entire nature of the web.

All around the edges of the lake, for miles around, the tethers of light snapped loose and sprang towards Frost, snapping like strands of elastic. The entire body flew through the air at hundreds of miles per hour, whipping about in the shape of a constantly-more visible contracting mass of otherworldly feelers.

It was so very difficult to do this. I had no idea you were an illusionist, it jsut seemed the kind of thing to set up.

Strand upon strand struck Frost, wrapped about his face and head and back and arms, pulling tight and burning him as well or better than fire would. Wyborn's Light (because this mass could not be anything else) seared him, turned his ice disc into just so much vapor, and before he hit the surface of the lake so many hundreds of thousands of hair-thin strands had wapped themselves about his flesh that he was himself no longer visible.

Luck was on my side though, Frost. Investing this much Light meant I was going to use it anyway, but you being out there right on top of it...

When he hit the surface of the water he bounced, the Light keeping him from breaking the surface, so that he skipped across it like he would solid stone. He thrashed, free to move as the Light enveloped his every digit and limb but unable to break it, and all around him it was burning him, consuming him like fire, and he bounced and lost all sense of where he was or what he was doing. His left arm shattered on his second impact with the water.

It's really something special, isn't it?

All of it had happened so quickly that he had not yet struck land.

--------------------------

The force from the girl's punch rippled through Wyborn's torso, shattering his ribs and dislodging organs that he was scared to look inwards to examine. Blood burst from his mouth as he barked in laughter, a sound echoing hollow form his fractured chest.

The water behind Wyborn hissed and roared in a splash, and he knew the time had come. The girl may have been aware of what was happening to Frost, but it would not have mattered.

She threw out her fist again, this time in a blow that would have shattered his sternum and if not stop his heart then at least render him powerless to act; but his fingers wrapped around her wrist, and the sheer reach advantage he had became painfully obviously as he swung with his entire body, sending her through the air without anything to brace herself against. Heat flared from her arm and the flesh on Wyborn's hand cracked and peeled, but he swung, and the girl could not stop it.

Frost bounced ashore, still enveloped in Light.

The unnamed girl smashed into him, and when Wyborn released her both of the children flew inland, a tangled mass of limbs and light, and the girl found that the Light was corrosive to her, too. The force of the impact shattered her ribs, and there was no telling what it did to Frost.

They rolled awya from the lake, the air around them howling with conflicting sources of hot and cold entangled in so much of Wyborn's life force, and the one-armed wizard grinned his malignant grin before throwing up his palm, fingers splayed. A moment passed, during which the pair of smaller warriors crashed into a rock and abruptly stopped, and then he clenched his fist.

All of the Light that had bound itself to Frost's flesh exploded.

--------------------------

The earth roared. Trees were stripped bare of leaves, branches cracking and sent hurtling through the air. A wave of concussive force traveled over the lake, ripples traveling out in concentric semicircles. The air itself seemed to compress, and everything was very heavy for miles around.

The sound was indescribable.

That was all.

--------------------------

It ended, and Wyborn staggered, dropping his hand and vomiting blood as he fell to his knees. He clenched the still-smoking stump of his right shoulder, afraid that it would burst and he would bleed to death.

He had managed to shunt away most of the concussive force of the blast with his mind, and the heat had not in itself been too great, but his ribs had been reduced to powder and the only reason he could still breathe was his ability to force his lungs t expand and contract with his mind's hand. His legs were similarly broken, and his face had been reduced to ruin, and he had used up so much Light so early...

But he grinned through his bloodied teeth, because he was fairly sure he was still in better shape.

He forced himself to his feet, holding his legs together through sheer force of will.

"Come out, Frost!" he called. "Come out, and let us continue."

“As you wish.”

The smoke parted and Frost stood with the girl, intense flame and ice auras enveloping the two. They were most definitely hurt, but that didn’t matter for either of them. They could use their elements and force the limbs to move. Frost’s robe was almost completely burnt away from those tendrils, though his skin bore only medium wounds. His right arm hung limply. Ice armor was falling off in chunks from both of them, scored with heavy gouges from the attacks.

“You have made two mistakes. One is thinking that your life force is sufficient to overpower a mage. You may have studied secrets to gain your knowledge, but surely you must have realized that there is no way you could take down someone who has studied the arcane arts almost exclusively. It is akin to assuming that in a swordfight, the less-experienced one could best the knight who has been training all his life. Though one may score blows through natural talent, skill, and maybe even luck, it is inevitable that the knight will win.”

Frost dropped to his knees, his entire body quivering, like someone who had reached exhaustion. That spell may not have been able to destroy him as intended, but the sheer amount of power tied up in it meant that Frost had had to use a mass amount of magic to avoid being killed. From this point on, he would be limited to Movement and Manifestation. Unless he tried to Summon.

He shook his head. No. To Summon meant that he was trying to kill. It was his final resort. But, he did have something else up his sleeve. Or rather, in the left eye socket. He slowly stood back up and forced himself to speak, “The second, was attacking her. That alone would be enough to justify ending your life were it not for the fact that I said I would not strike to kill.”

The girl was in worse shape than Frost. She was missing her arms, a leg, and part of her face, with a broken torso to match. Only the fact that she was an ice golem had kept her from dying from the injuries. Frost touched one finger to her chest and then to his. A silver thread connected the two. The frozen aura misted over and built in intensity to conceal the process. When it lessened, the girl was gone and Frost stood alone. He concentrated, and the aura transformed to Icefire once more.

“If you wish for me to show you my Icefire, then take a good long look. And ready yourself. Frozen Shard, release the fury of winter. Bind this land in winter glass!”

Frost’s left eye shattered. It had been enchanted glass. A brilliant white-blue orb remained behind. Ice began to spiral up Frost and the temperature plummeted as the Frozen Shard woke. Water splashed about the place turned to ice, and the fringes of the lake began to glass over. Tree trunks cracked like gunshots as the water within them expanded, destroying them utterly. Wyborn would begin to feel his skin burn, the first sign of frostbite. If he touched Frost directly, he would receive the full effects instantly. The mage picked up a stick and watched it freeze in his hand. He fashioned the ice into a sharp point and hurled it upward. The dagger rocketed at Wyborn, guided by Frost’s mental commands.

“If you’re wondering, I am currently suffering internal bleeding, several broken bones, and a few torn muscles. Not pleasant. But, so long as I can manipulate ice, I can fight until my body turns to dust.”

Frost shot at Wyborn, spinning rapidly as several blades formed from the armor, much like the golem before. This time was different though. As each blade hissed through the air, one could almost swear they were leaving a trail of mist. And this was true. If Wyborn was cut by blades at that temperature, it would do so much more than just a little frostbite.

“Did you know,” said Frost, still audible even over the sound of hissing air, “that the skin is around twenty to thirty-five percent water on the surface? Imagine all that liquid suddenly expanding. Why, I think that it would be just awful, since it would mean the entire top layer of skin would, quite literally, burst.”

Behind Wyborn, the lake edges, already frozen, lifted up and formed into hundreds of icy needles, all having the same vapor around them that indicated their temperature. They wasted no time and shot at their target.

OOC: Nearly been six days, Wyborn. I'll give you four more for a total of ten before I consider it your official forfeit.

Hahahahahahaha....hoo.

Sorry, buddy, doesn't work that way. If I forfeit I'll let you know. Until then, I just ask for patience.

Ten days? Damn man... Try ten weeks, then maybe just maybe you can consider it a forfeit. Maybe. Considering some fights picked up again after three or four months sometimes...

AAgreed...there was no specifications listed in 1st post

Tiding you over.

Perched on a tree a safe distance from the battle, Calem sat. A heat-mirage seemed to shimmer to his side, hanging in the air off the limb of the tree. It should be noted that Frost’s Frozen Shard barrage of ice-conjuring had reached to them and past them, coating everything in a scientifically unsound pallor of ice.

“Who does this guy think he is?” Calem said.

The heat mirage shifted.

“An ice mage, yes. But for all those arcane arts he supposedly studied, he’s ignoring the basic principle of his element. You can’t just generate this stuff like, say, lighting a match. You have to take the heat away, put it somewhere else. Otherwise you’re really doing an injustice to the nature of things. And pissing me off.”

Calem paused, tapping a finger to his chin as he stretched out and laid against the trunk of the tree, cocking his head to maintain a view in the distance.

“Plus I think he talks to much – or is trying to be too edgy – or something. I mean, I talk too much, but at least I know what cold is. And I never, ever allude to operas.”

The heat mirage shimmered contentedly at his side.

OoC: Do not be alarmed, anyone, it is simply an icy character - and his bodyguard - of my own dropping in on the proceedings and observing. This used to happen a lot Back Then. /OoC

OoC: Ah, the ol' *watches battle* style post. Everyone used to make these.

Oh yeah, bump.

Ah, endless apologies. My post will be up sometime tomorrow (Thursday). It's been an unbelievable week, I couldn't even tell you.

Trickster

Dang it, Wyborn, I saw that this topic had a new update from you and I greedily clicked on it, hoping to immerse myself in more literary brutality.

Instead, I got that^.

This fight has definitely been interesting

A warning, however:

If Islaitha beats you in his very first battle here, I may laugh myself to death.

You wouldn't want that now, would you?

This post was formerly very unobservant.

^That's exactly what I said!

There was a moment, however brief, where everything hung in the air. Frost and his armor, the dagger far ahead of him, the needles flying at Wyborn's back, and the bark of laughter that burst from the one-armed sorcerer's throat.

The hanging ended. Wyborn reached out with his thoughts and yanked.

Frost was aware as the sorcerer tore away control of the needles and dagger, stared in confusion as all of the projectiles flew towards their target more quickly than he could have ever propelled them. They hit Wyborn from seemingly all sides, spurting blood with every impact, every impalement. Frost could tell that they had pierced nothing vital, but what could the psychic have been doing?

But Wyborn laughed again, and his eyes opened so wide hat they took up most of his face. Frost could not look away from them, could not drown out the sound of the laughter. The eyes were glowing, and that light was spreading, reaching with radiant fingers through the frigid air. They grew in his sight, expanding until they seemed to be a single terrible green eye that grew and grew and grew, until it was everywhere, it took up the entirety of his sight...

His vision was a field of green, and then of black, and he hit the ground with a thud. Frost began to dream.

Wyborn, standing over him, began to work.

_______________________

The air was thick, here, thicker than cold tree sap. Frost thought that it might have been the very thickness of the air that made it so dark, so thick that light could not pass through it, but after a moment he realized he had his eyes closed.

He opened them, and felt incredibly sluggish as he did so - the damned air was so thick that blinking was its own special kind of chore. A crack of light ran across his vision, and his first reaction was to wince, but out of fear of getting his eyelids stuck he kept them open wide.

A crack ran across his vision, a sliver of light that ran across the air in many directions - and then it broke, the darkness shattering into hundreds of thousand of butterflies as black as pitch. The light behind them was white, and in that white Light was Wyborn, clothed in black and grinning his devil's grin. Something was different.

Frost reached for the cold, and Wyborn laughed.

"That won't work here, child. Your pontine tegmentum is working too well."

"I'm dreaming?" It felt like there was cotton in his mouth.

"You must be."

_______________________

He ran around Frost's prostrate form, dragging one foot - he looked like he was limping, but the line he left on the ground behind him was too regular, too smooth, to be accidental. He was tracing a wide circle. Blood ran down his leg, dotting the circle's circumference at intervals too regular to be natural.

He had pulled out every trace of the ice not long ago, left it floating in the air above Frost in a ball of misshapen, translucent knives. They hung there, scattering the light.

His shoulder no longer itched.

The air had ceased to be cold.

_______________________

"Are you truly here in my dream?" It did not occur to him to ask how Wyborn could force him into dreaming in the first place; that was irrelevant, now that the reality was slapping him in the face.

"No. I am powerful, but dreams are a terrible thing, and were I to try to enter yours I would be simply unable. This dream is closed off from other dreams...truly a product of your mind." He sounded pensive.

Frost did not mention the comment about power. "If you are not here, then explain yourself."

"Well, it seems to me that if I'm not here, and if I'm not simply a product of your imagination like this place is, unable to affect your dreams but still from outside of you? I must be leaving impressions in the air, echoes of my thoughts that seep into your mind and affect your dream indirectly."

"Is that true?"

"It must be. That, or it's the explanation you came up with for yourself."

Wyborn laughed, and Frost felt a great pressure around his temples.

_______________________

Wyborn teeth tore through the flesh of his wrist, and when the blood flowed in great spurts he swung out his arm and flung the blood in a red rain that fell to the ground within all parts of the ring.

"I give my blood!"

The blood hissed and burned and burned and burned, flaring into red flames that spread over the dust and made shapes strange to the human eye. The red flame touch the ice above Frost without touching Frost himself, and it melted, and the water fell all over Frost and flowed over him and past him, soaking into the flame and turning it a terrible shade of indigo.

Wyborn ran his glowing tongue over his wrist and burned the flesh shut, and the smell of ruined meat filled his nostrils but he smiled.

The fire spread, never touching the boy, and Wyborn began to sing.

_______________________

"I lied about being less powerful than you," Wyborn said. "It was a ruse, meant to lower your defenses, but it is your fault for falling for it. We are all created equal here, Frost."

"Is that true? About you lying?"

"I think so." Wyborn's grin widened. "But again, it could just be what you're telling yourself. I am doing things I shouldn't be able to do, if you're truly so much greater than me."

There was a long moment of silence; Frost was left pondering if this was something he was merely creating for his own sake.

"A man is a fool not to put everything he has," Wyborn said, "at any given moment, into what he is creating."

The conversation was getting ridiculous. "What?"

"Frank Herbert said that. It always makes me feel better, for one reason or another." Wyborn dusted off an arm that should not have been there. "What he means to say, at least in the context I'm giving you, is that anything one creates deserves the fullness of one's efforts."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Wyborn tapped the front of his foot against the ground, rubbing it into the invisible floor for a moment.

"It's the reason I'm going to kill you, Frost."

_______________________

Wyborn's singing was not really singing in the strictest sense; there were no consonants in his sounds, just a constantly shifting howl that covered such a range and pitch that the subtlety of his voice went beyond the range of the human ear. Every vibration in his chest was carefully measured, every rise and fall of his voice planned and full of portent. He sang, and the fire raged.

The indigo light was everywhere.

Wyborn continued singing as he reached out with one hand and gestured up with his fingers. An invisible hand grabbed Frost by the back of his neck and yanked him into a standing position, no more conscious than he had been moments before but at the least somewhat more dignified.

Wyborn reached down with one hand and scooped up a handful of earth; the earth glowed green in his hand and then burned and then ignited with a wonderful sound. The one-armed sorcerer threw it.

_______________________

"Don't be so surprised man, you had to know that by now the kid gloves had come off."

"We agreed that we would not end each other's lives."

The air shifted, which was like being hit by a truck, and Frost reeled back in his dream. His arms moved in slow motion, as did his feet, and the fact that he did not simply fall seemed a miracle.

"Don't you try to feed me that!" The dreamscape shook, and Wyborn's teeth slammed together hard enough to send sparks skipping off into the shadows. "I can smell your killing intent like sweat, you gibbering cow anus! You've half a mind to kill me now, but you're holding back on me, refusing to utilize your 'true potential' or show me your entire secret because you think me so weak. You are not taking me seriously, Frost, nor are you honoring your agreement to show me your secret. For that, I will burn you to nothing."

He sighed, and the shaking stopped, and Frost saw his shoulders slump.

"It's a damned shame, Frost, because there's a lot we could have shown each other. How old are you really? Five centuries? Four? Less? So many things."

Frost opened his mouth to reply, and he suddenly felt as if the cotton were gone.

His mouth burned.

The dream was gone.

_______________________

Frost opened his eyes, pulled into wakefulness by the sensation of fire being put to his face. He did not hear Wyborn's singing, did not see anything past the blaze before his own eyes.

His first reaction was to call on the cold. But something was wrong.

The shape on the ground, inscribed in the ring, flared up. Wyborn's singing reached a fevered pitch. The air shifted with a thunderclap, blowing Wyborn's hair back.

The fire in Frost's face should have died with a whisper. What happened was it grew, flaring up into a miniature blaze that burned his hair and singed his eyelashes and eyebrows. Out of reflex he reached for more cold, driven by shock to draw on as much as he safely could. It would match the cold that he had drawn on before, chilling the air around him and freezing the very surface of the lake. It should have done that. But there was another thunderclap, and Wyborn's voice rose in a laugh.

Wyborn threw his arms over his face as the air around Frost exploded into a raging inferno, a screaming, writhing bubble of flames. The hair on his arms burned off when hit by the air coming off of the fire, but he threw down his arms and his eyes were blazing green suns and he charged into the inferno, disappearing into the flames.

Frost could not scream - the air burned and would not carry his voice. In the instant where he had tried to use his magic the licking tongues of Hell were everywhere, they covered his flesh and plunged down his throat and filled his lungs and stomach. His flesh cracked and flaked and blackened, falling off in strips, and he felt the burn reaching down into his bones. The fluid of his eyes expanded from the heat and the ocular membrane in the right one burst and it ran down his face in a stream of white. He cupped his hand over his left eye and all of his power was there, he broke the spell in that moment of need and cold preserved his eye as it could not save his skin.

The insides of his lungs were burnt to cinders.

His tongue crumbled to ash in his mouth and was blown out between his teeth.

But he regained his strength, and he reached out with the intent of a demon, and cold flowed, enough to put out the fire like a match in the rain-

But the cold died and the fire filled that space. It was in that instant that Frost realized that the fire was not under his control, and probably had not been for some time. He pushed with the cold and the wind howled and the fire roared and it was everywhere, all over him, and Wyborn's Light was in it. He expelled the fire from his body, kept it from burning him more, but he could not quench it.

Wyborn came roaring through the fire. It did not touch him. It whirled about him, drawing away from Frost, away from the surrounding area, funneling in towards him. His eyes were huge and shining as he reeled back with the arm that he had severed, a motion that would have been meaningless except that the fire was whirling into the space that his arm should have occupied.

In the space of a heartbeat all the fire whirled into that space, filling out a mold of Light that bound the heat and light in the shape of his lost arm. It burned brighter than his eyes. The skin of his shoulder ignited.

Frost pushed with enough power to kill an iron foundry; the ground froze and the air became empty of moisture as it fell to the ground and crystallized.

Wyborn pushed forward with his fist of flames, igniting the air in its wake. His makeshift fist was a meteor punching through Frost's cold as if it weren't there.

"HRAAAAAA-" Wyborn's voice was lost in the roar of the wind screaming between his fist and the ice mage. His face was twisted into the visage of a demon.

The fist collided with Frost's chest, piercing through the armor of ice and cold as if no magic bound it at all. There was a moment, an exquisite silence during which the two warriors hung there suspended - Frost with his one eye and Wyborn with his two arms - and then his one. The flame broke away from his shoulder and flowed down the length of the arm, collapsing it in on itself and slamming the entirety of its mass into Frost's chest. The fire howled, swirling and drawing in, burning brighter and hotter until it made the Sun seem a candle, growing smaller until it was the size of an earthworm's heart. It pulsed in time with Wyborn's heart.

Wyborn and Frost locked gazes. Wyborn grinned. Frost did not.

The point of light, of Light and fire and magic, hissed. Then it burst. Somehow, all of the force was directed through Frost's body, away from Wyborn. The psychic felt the boy's ribs shatter, could see his organs turned to paste. Then he lost sight of it.

The sound it made was not a boom so much as it was a WHAM.

Wyborn protected himself from the concussive force enough to not die in the backlash, but it still threw him like a rag doll.

Frost was lost in the light.

_______________________

Behind Frost, trees were reduced to blasted cinders, their shadows burned into the grass behind them.

A shockwave of force stripped the grass and blew the land flat and clean in a tidal wave of dust.

Above it all, the things that still lived within the inferno could feel Wyborn watching.

It ended.

That was all.

_______________________

Wyborn stood with the lake to his back, looking out over the blasted landscape before him. He did not see Frost, but that did not mean he was not there - he could have been under the ash, behind one of the surviving boulders. It did not matter. It seemed that the whole world smelled of burning hay and wood-ash.

"I am here to bring down wrath upon you," Wyborn said, and the world heard him. "Our word to not kill has been broken, in your heart and by my hand." He sniffed as the wind turned into his face, spat a mouth full of too much ash onto the ground.

He should have already bled to death, but the inferno had burned his wounds shut. None of the needles had pierced his vitals. Too many of his bones were broken, but he could still move if he concentrated, still breathe by force of will.

There was a hiss from the lake, and whatever rose up from it saw what had been done and receded.

Wyborn smiled, not a grin but a smile, and it was a terrible thing from his burned face.

"Come out, Frost. I am ready."