Duel: Avelon vs. Zeke

[Avelon]

I, Avelon, challenge Zeke to a story-based duel!

As the challenged, the terms and location are subject to your approval. I present the following terms as part of my challenge:
- No battle magic. (offensive or directly aiding either)
- Melee weapons only.
- No pre-battle enhancements, magical or mundane.
- Duel ends with yield or forced yield/subdual.

I await your acceptance and judgement.

[Zeke]

I accept.

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

The factory was dark, illuminated only by the harsh orange sodium lights. This lit up the massive smelting vats, themazes of pipes, and the landlines. All the colours seemed to be limited to browns and oranges, that of rusted metal. Much of the equipment was in terrible condition, which was the only reason for the figure working at the base of one of the vats to be there. His name was Ezekiel, and he had worked in the business for many years, fixing mechanical equipment. It helped that he had magic with metals and mechanics, which made his job inifitely easier. He was the only source of coour variation in the massive hall. His protective armour was silvery, albeit oily, with firey coloured gemstones inset to provide magic wells. His staff was titanium, with the blade made of the same crystal, just more oily. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the smell of the machinery and the metal. How he loved to be amongst machines.

As he fixed the gear (it had grown rusty, and he had cleared that up with a blast of magic) and reset it into its correct position, he checked the list of jobs still left. Most of the gears he had already fixed, and next he was moving onto checking all the mazes of wires below the walkways. That was a slightly more involved job, but still simple. He just plugged the wires into the sockets on his armour and checked for errors in the system. Carefully loosening the screws on one of the panels he lifted it up, putting it to one side as he plugged himself into the network.

[Avelon]

It was that same light and heat that drew a then-young Avelon toward the building. In the middle of a bitter winter night, no one was around to notice a tall, thin - almost lanky - young man lever himself through a second story window and into a dark storage room. He stopped to steady himself for a moment, glad for the solid floor beneath him. Giving himself a magical boost to leap fifteen feet into the air was like running a mile, but mentally. Gradually, that disorientation faded away and Avelon hurried out of the (unlocked, he was pleased to discover) storage room's door to find a way down to the heat and light.

A stairwell glowed red directly to the cold man's left, looking for all the world like a wrought iron stairway to Hell. In his mind, however, it could have glowed any colour it wanted - that light meant he didn't have to beg for a haystack in a farmer's loft again. Not that there were any farmers here in this big town, anyway.

Trying to ignore the horrible smell of slag and hot oil, Avelon started to descend the stairs.

[Zeke]

As Ezekiel logged into the system, he felt footsteps on his back, and realised there was somebody descending a stairway. He ignored them, despite the strange feel of boots across his muscles. The person felt quite light to his well toned body, and so he was not unduly worried. Some youth.. Concentrating on the network, he found several minor flaws, and sent magic infused in the electricity to repair them on its route. That job done, he sent out a general positive feel which would keep the machinery working smoothly for more years to come.

And so the factory was in working condition again, and beginning to reactivate. Treadmills began whirring, vats began to melt metal into slag and the entire room buzzed with the sounds of machines working away. He decided to stay awhile, as Zeke simply loved being there, surrounded by his work, and working as them. He cut his mind off to the feel of the melting metal, as the pain would be incredible. One of the few disavantages to the whole magic was that. He felt the pain of everything mechanical or metal around him. Moving his mechanical arms he climbed to the top of the vat, and wathing the factory, illuminated by the orange glow of the slag.

[Avelon]

It was as Avelon stepped off of the lowest stair that the factory was reactivated. Avelon had not realised that the place was not already active, but as new waves of heat started to pour through the room, he guessed that it had been deactivated for only a few hours.

He was not concerned about being caught. He could outrun any human he could think of but his mother, and she was asleep in a warm lair, somewhere in the mountains to the far west. He missed the lair at times, and this was one of them. Looking intently around so as not to be caught unawares, whether that be by a guard or a guard dog, Avelon caught sight of a support column in a relatively open space, as far from the hot vats as any other place. He was already a bit too warm, but it was better than that bitter cold outside, he thought, as he walked to the column.

[Zeke]

Whilst Ezekiel surveyed what he considered to be the equivalent of paradise, the movement of a figure far below caught his eye. As he spotted the footear he immediately recognised the person as the one who had descended the stairway recently, and so inspected him closely. He was nothing special, to be honest. Admittedly he had not noticed the wings, but in his opinion the diminuitive figure far below seemed no worry at all, and so he let him be.

In the meantime he put his helmet back on. It gave him improved vision, so he was able to scan the hall quicly and effeciently from his vantage points to see if he had made any mistakes while repairing, a rare occurence but a problem nonetheless. When he had finished the sweep he simply inhaled the smell of the slag and the oil around him, and let his magic sink into all of the metal nearby.

[Avelon]

Feeling lightheaded from the quick change in temperature and the late hour, Avelon did not feel eyes upon him. Settling back against the column, he peered with keen eyes all around, but saw nothing save machinery. Satisfied that he would not be disturbed, at least for one night, Avelon nevertheless drew his sword and placed it over his knees.

Everything would have been fine that night if only he had not seen the chink near the haft of the blade just then. Wishing to rest, he could hear his father's familiar boom clearly in his ears: "Take care of your sword, or it will not take care of you." With a resigned sigh, the young man dug into the bottom of his coin purse and produced a small whetstone, smooth on one side and rough on the other. Poking the tip of the sword into the hard leather of his boot for leverage, he started to draw the rough stone across the sword in long, practiced motions.

[Zeke]

As Zeke stood he nearly fell into the slag as Avelon began to sharpen his sword. Why? Without realising Zekes magic had seeped into the blade, and now with a whetstone running down it, Zeke felt like a grater was scraping down his back. Steadying himself with his mechanical limbs, he activated his mechanical voice projector and roared in a terrible voice which echoed around the room.

"You! DOWN THERE! STOP THAT!"

His staff was pointing at Ave, and electricity sparked around its length. It was a clear sign of how much pain he was in. Normally, no after effects of his powers would show. But when he lost control Zeke lost his grip on sanity and turned into a beserker. The horrible side effect his magic had on him. He made his body reject the pain, but with little success.

[Avelon]

Avelon lurched forward and into a defensive crouch, sword automatically going to one side and his off hand to the other, ready to catch a blow from either side. Eyes wide, he looked all around for the source of the voice, until he caught a faint spark on the edge of his vision, pulling his gaze upward. He froze, unsure of what to do with what appeared to be a magic staff aimed at him.

"I-I'm only seeking..." Avelon cleared his throat and collected himself, pushing away the temporary shock caused from discovering he was not alone, then called out more loudly, "I'm seeking shelter for the night and mean no harm."

He slowly settled back down, still looking up at the figure.

[Zeke]

"I'm seeking shelter for the night and mean no harm."

Zeke grunted as the sword sharpening stopped, and then spoike in a slightly more friendly voice.

"Fair enough. And I will mean you no harm unless that starts up again."

Turning back to the rest of the room, he immersed his consciousness into a vat of molten metal, swimming through the slag in his spirit body. It was an eerie experience, having the boiling heat and bright colours surrounding you at all time. But he could take it. It also helped to return his sanity, if not fully. That would come over a couple of hours. Arcing out of the slag he returned to his body, before sliding down to ground level.

With that, he alighted onto a treadmill before sprinting its length and climbing onto the top of a vat. He followed this by a backflip off which he landed. Just because he could.

[Avelon]

Avelon watched the figure drop down, wondering just what exactly he had been asked to stop. The sword sharpening? He had heard that the sound of stone on metal was almost painful to some. No matter. The chink was gone from the blade, and only a tiny dent remained. Turning the whetstone over to use its smoother side, he spat on its surface, rubbed the moisture over the rock, and then began to rub at the dent vigorously. This part was a much quieter one, and not so grating on the ears; the stone could wear away the metal very quickly, as well. True, this would dull the blade in that area, but he could always sharpen the sword later, and so close to the haft, integrity was far more important than edge.

(Had to stretch it a little because Avelon would understand that blade sharpening = bad and wouldn't do it after Zeke's two lines, but oh well)

[Zeke]

(Gotcha. No worries.)

As the other side of the whetstone began to move even more vigorously, Zeke roared, a yell which echoed around the room. Spinning to face the figure below, he shouted down to them.

"THATS IT!"

And he jumped. He lept from the top of an incredibly high vat, arcing down to ground level and landed it with a roll. Brining up his staff he vaulted over a railing down to the level where Ave was, and stabbed out at the mans face with his bladed staff. Sanity had long since passed from Ezekiels mind, and now all he cared about was stopping this person from sharpening his sword again.

[Avelon]

Avelon's head whipped up at the shout, and with widened eyes he watched the frenzied approach. He fumbled at the pouch his whetstone originally came from, managed after a few tries to get it inside and close it, and looked up again just in time to see Zeke rear back for a strike.

He let out a wordless shout and threw himself to one side, holding the blade to him so as not to carve himself up as he rolled. He quickly rose to his feet and changed sword hands, placing his right foot behind his left and holding his left arm out slightly, ready to defend a second attack if it came. "Wait! Stop!"

(Sorry for the shortness...and do you want to trade attacks one by one or would you rather we both write a bit of the fight scene and switch back and forth after a few attacks and movements?)

[Zeke]

Zeke ignored the shout, preferring to deliver a sideways slash at the warrior. His energised blade slashed through a railing and narrowly missed Ave. He lept to the side, following the sword weilders movements. His mind was clouded, and he could only think about assualting the person who had been sharpening his blade.

Ave slashed back, his sword smacking into Zekes armour. He roared, kicking the blade away with his booted foot, and grabbing hold of an overhead pole he swung and kicked Ave backwards, who slipped and fell to a lower level. Zeke lept don after him, landing on the grille with an echoing clang.

[Avelon]

Avelon's eyes widened as the heavy boots slammed into his chest, knocking him off his feet. He had presence of mind enough to try a tumble, but shocked and with the wind knocked out of him, he couldn't manage to land on his feet. Instead, he turned a partial somersault on his descent and landed on his stomach, keeping himself from another hard blow by putting his weight on his hands. He took only a moment to inhale deeply, let it out, and take another breath, before he put a knee under himself and pushed himself up, just in time for Zeke to land before him.

Gritting his teeth and narrowing his eyes, Avelon focused on his opponent. Zeke had been fast, but Avelon was faster as he took the initiative, body-slamming him while he was still recovering his balance. Heavily armoured as he was, Zeke only stumbled, and Avelon recoiled. Another roar, and the staff was coming around at the swordsman's neck in a one-handed inward slash.

Ducking under the swing, Avelon sprung up from his crouch, putting the full force of his weight behind a stab to Zeke's stomach, which did little but jar his arms and make quite a loud noise. "d**n it," he intoned as he leapt back, anticipating a backstroke from the staff.