High Plains~Crom the Conqueror vs Burning_Ice vs AlexM vs Tuv

Grotaar watched in grim satisfaction as the wave of fire was cast aside by the shadow creatures magic. Meanwhile dark flaming tentacles burst from the other humans shooting straight toward the creature. With inhuman speed the creature drew forth his blade and slashed through the tendrils.

“You seem to have missed something in the heat of the moment beast!" cried the human pointing.

Grotaar looked down as well seeing the dark tainted sheet of power.

"YOU WILL NOT GET AWAY FROM ME BEAST!" yelled the human and suddenly a dozen more flaming cords burst from the black sheet and began coiling around the creature.

Grotaar panicked. He could not allow this manling to steal his vengeance! Lurching to his feet the orc barreled forward intent on cleaving the wicked human through. However just as he grew close the blind human threw something and Grotaar stopped short as the projectile summoned a great bolt of thunder and was momentarily blinded.

The mighty bolt of lightning ripped the tentacles and threw Sword back causing a little crack on his left foot. Sword had not time or interest in soft landing. The dust flew aside. Sword lifted himself back to the ground and turned to the blind man.

Who are you...there are not many of your kind...those who are...enlighted...

The blast had blinded Artua for a moment, and cut through Artua's tentacles, but something was... different. The black energy layed on the ground, not dissipating like he was so used to. He tried to move it, and it did move, not as cleanly as it did normally, but it moved. Artua played with this new discovery, like a child with a match, something had changed when the sword was added into the equation.

Another bellow laugh came over Artua, but not a laugh of evil, or malcontent, but a laugh of victory, the laugh of a magical scholar scorned by his peers, creating the opus of his life and humbling them all.

Artua looked at the man who had thrown that dagger, it had reflected the sun, and Artua saw what made it so powerful. Runes, Artua had learned much of them from the Artifact Smiths of the Northlands, though he never became skilled enough with them to consider them as a means to fight with. He had a flashback to those days, his hands shook, and the runes never came out straight. The instructors had always known that Artua's were botched, and made him test them anyways, then they would beat him for his failure. But Artua knew of the power in runes, and though of a way to test his new discovery.

Descending from his fountain of fire, and landing on the ground, Artua absorbed the black flames around him. "You, rune-User" he exclaimed. "Throw one of your daggers at me!, make it a nasty one, and aim for something vital!"

Torin shook his head, the rune had not been powerful enough. He had only recently started with experimenting with lightning runes and this one had been a failure. What was supposed to be a bolt large enough to fry anything within ten feet and loud enough to shake a man to death at 15 had been little more than a bright light and loud noise, impressive but hardly effective.
I'm happy for to see ya home, Hurroo Hurroo
Apparently his little light show had drawn attention to him though, the chaotic one demanded his identity, and the burning one his ire.
I'm happy for to see ya home, Hurroo Hurroo
Not knowing if they could hear or not he answered anyway "I am one who's past was stolen, and if you wish for death, well, who am I to deny you?"
He pulled a knife out, no need to search for this one, the little black knife was near and dear to his heart.
I'm happy for to see ya home,
He silently flexed his off hand like this then like that, and the rune on the palm of his glove activated, along with the dampener rune on the back of the same glove. He held the knife aloft and charged.
From the isle of Ceylon
As he approached the chaotic one he let fly the knife, straight in front of his own feet, and listened. Silence, and then, a chuckle.
Johnny I hardly knew ya
Now one identical face amongst dozens, maybe even hundreds considering how long he had been pouring mana into that rune, he charged forwards, surrounded by his fictitious brothers.

The light took a moment to fade and for Grotaar's vision to return but he was already moving before that had occurred. His blade seemed to guide him like a honing beacon to the evil creature and he could see the shadowy outline. With a roar he charged forward intent on crushing the thing beneath his great girth. Intent on smashing him across the ground. Intent on slaying the creature that had slew his kin. Too bad when his vision cleared he realized he was charging straight into the sword bearing human.

Sword was a bit confused when he saw the giant chore of those Spearmen charging besides him. They all looked the same, most probably those were just illusions or spell clones. Sword was also amused to see the other orc charging at this flying kid. It looked like Sword has lost all the attention. Perfect.

Turning to the forest Sword began to run, faster and faster. Until he finnaly stopped to move his legs and started to dash forward, being few centimeters above the ground. He left behind him a trail of dust and a pile of dead orcs.

He looked back to be sure that they dont follow him.

The beast was escaping, but Artua cared not. He had discovered a new extent to his power, and a new view on the world. Two large pillars of orange energy burst from the ground between Artua and the charging army, and from the pillar, hundreds of hair-thin threads of energy wove across the area between the pillars. More tentacles burst from the ground as well, tripping and grasping at feet and ankles and legs.

Artua turned around, confident that those means were enough to stop them, and began walking up the road. Waving his hand dismissively and speaking in an eerily calm tone.

"You are honorable fighters, unlike that cowardly beast. You had best not try to push through those wires, evisceration tends to hurt I hear. I go now to a place of great magic, a congregation of mages, a man of great and benevolent power is there, perhaps I may see you there as well."

The burning one turned, and as he did two spires erupted from the ground, quickly forming a web of energy between them, more tendrils surfaced, reaching, grasping. They were easy to avoid but his clones were not so lucky.
We had suns and drums and drums and suns, Hurroo Hurroo
Without minds to guide them, his clones ran on, caught by tentacles or ripping themselves open on the deadly energy net, they dissolved into the thick viscous goo they had been made of. One prey lost Torin quickly cast about for the other, where was he? Where was the chaotic one? But he was already gone.
We had suns and drums and drums and suns, Hurroo Hurroo
No...His prey, his balance...it was gone...he had failed. Venting his frustration and rage in one long roar of anger and loss he fell to his knee's and slammed his fist against the ground.
We had suns and drums and drums and suns
The dampner rune, already strained, finally caved, and the rune on his palm unleashed it's effects violently It had been building up power and pressure, like water in a sealed container over a fire, and now free it reacted quickly. From his fist a circle of death expanded, all grass dying and decaying, often times being little more than dust before it even finished falling, the glistening goo from his clones hissed and evaporated, the base of the spires, grew brittle and crumbled. Outwards and outwards the circle expanded until everything within 10 feet was naught more than a blasted waste, the runes on his jacket glowing dimly, staunching off the effects of his own rune.
The enemy never slew ya
Rising he gritted his teeth, he would collect his weapons, and give chase. They could run, but he would track them over granite by moonlight if necessary. They would tire, and slow, and he would run them down like dogs, and slaughter them. There would be balance. He spun, looking for his fallen weapons.
Oh Johnny I hardly knew ya...
As quickly as it had come the fey mood, a frenzy even, left him, exhausted, he shook his head.
What was I just thinking? he wondered
The fight had been rough, and he could no longer remember why he had not run from it, monsters and demons all his foemen were. He shook his head again, he was tired, but he would collect his equipment, he had a shrine to find after all. He was suddenly aware of the orc(He still couldn't believe it! An orc! they were real after all!) somewhere off to his side, and he tensed slightly, hoping to avoid any more combat, but ready should it present itself.

The great orc foiled by his own momentum charged through the pillars and with a cry of frustrated rage his mighty girth smashed through the web of energy. Even as he did so the clones of the blind men collided with them as well. The next few moments would be lost to Grotaar forever for as he charged through the pillars his body lit up with a fantastic agony of which he had not ever felt before and as he passed through the foul energy he collapsed to the ground right outside it unconscious.

Grotaar opened his eyes. His blade was still in his hand but it no longer covered in the unearthly dusty light. The foul ones were gone. He knew that ever before he got to his feet. The savageness that had so consumed him moments before was gone and he thought with a true clarity of mind.

He turned and saw the blind man was still there. Had his rage still consumed him he might have attacked him for costing him the vengeance of man and beast. But he wasn’t. With a sigh that sounded more like a growl he stalked off down the road abandoning the man to his fate. The mountains were his destination and so to the mountains he would now go. This side trail had offered only suffering. It was time to get back unto the road.