Greenborne- Fellow Foe
The fortess of the Dark Warriors teemed with marauders, but not just those native to the wicked structure. Chains glistened in the dim torch lit as a wary adventurer walked the dark halls with his blade drawn, alert for anything. Passing by a dark corridor, he thought he witnessed two faint lights. Checking back, the tiny points vanished. They could have been eyes. It was a small, narrow hall that led in a dead end. Trusting his sword forward with a fierce shout, the point clattered against only the stone in the darkness, no flesh, no foe. Rubbing his eyes, trying to rid whatever spell currently beset them to see such tricks, the more cautious treasure seeker turned to leave the corridor. As he did, the two dots in the dark returned, just where they were before. Silent laughter poured out from the sinister grin that, too, shone in the shade. These vile teeth, however, appeared above the eyes.
With his legs spread out and locked into the corners of the wall and ceiling and his arms pressed firmly to the walls, Bimblesnaff had been waiting some time for suitable target to pass his trap. Swinging down to the floor without a sound, Greenborne crept like a spider between the shadows, working his way to his victim. As he drew closer, he slowly attached his battle armor, piece by piece. With hammer and shield ready, he pulled out the last ingredient for his assault. Speaking the abysmal words, the retrieve stones vanished as a bolt of dark forces lept from his body to that of his prey. The magic forces surged through the man's body, weakening his very soul. With a feral yell, the lunatic charged with his war hammer falling fast to make short work of the brave soul.
Things would be tougher than originally thought, however, as the heavy head only clashed with the stones of the floor. Quick thinking had gotten him out of the way for the first try, but Bimblesnaff was not so sure luck would side against him twice. Before the hefty maul could be lifted from the hole, the warrior in chain stood upon it as his own weapon sprung for a strike. The blade was deflected off a rising shield, glowing with divine grace. The protection of the Silver Star would help the maniac some in this battle, but he and his foe knew that even the gods tended to keep their presence out of the acursed and bloodied Northern lands. Plowing forward with the same shield, a windmill motion brought the war hammer back down upon its target. Catching the force of the blow against his vest, his arms folded in upon his wound. Laughing madly for having scored such a tremendous blow, the merriment was soon spoiled by the other's laughter.
"It's chain mail," he mocked, still refusing to relinquish the weapon pressed against his chest. Pulling back his head, he smashed the rounded helm against that of his enemy's. After repeated blows, the visor began to dent. With both of here ears ringing madly, the madder of the two braced the shaft of his sledge and charged forward, crashing its captor against the opposing wall. Dust from years of settling billowed from the cracks, masking the air. Under the veil, the two became separated, but each could still feel the others presence in the area. The bout was not over.
A blade cracked against the back of Bimblesnaff's plate mail, a blow he could have avoided. Well aware of the footfalls heading towards him, the risk was taken to land a more solid hit. As his foe approached, Greenborne slung the great hammer over his head, arching the massive, metal block around behind him, crushing the warrior between the plate armor and the weapon. Pressed flat against his assailant's back, the victim wrapped himself around the lunatic, locking his arms and legs around the stiffly armored limbs. Straining the extremities with immense force, the maniac flailed madly, crashing against walls and the floor, trying to shake the man from his back. Grinding him up against a corner, the two again parted from each other and collapsed breathless to the floor.
"Wow," the fiend in green wheezed, "we're... pretty evenly matched."
"I'll say," surprisingly agreed the other. Panting a few more times, they lunged at one another with their weapons in a fury. Their limbs shortly fell victim to exhaustion, and soon they were crashed, breathing hard, on the floor. "Okay, this isn't getting us anywhere."
"Obviously," blatantly told Bimblesnaff. "We'd never be able to kill each other."
"However," mused the other, "we could probably kill someone else..." Greenborne rose a brow. "Think about it, we're about equal. If we found someone else with as much skill, we could easily overcome them together. What do you say? Fifty-fifty?"
"Dibs on any runes," the maniac grinned. "Name's Bimblesnaff Greenborne. And yer moniker?"
"Skate Boy 300." The answer was met with an odd glance. "My family has kept the name for a long time. Once it went past six, no one in my family wanted to stop carrying it."
"But what's a 'skate'," the lunatic questioned.
"A fish thing, I think," the uncertain answer came with a scratch on the head. "People always get them confused with Sea Bishops, which the first Skate Boy was said to have as a father."
"Huh. So that's some special blood line yer carryin' on," declared the fiend. Skate Boy 300 nodded. The lunatic then knew that, once the two found an appropriate target, he would have to team up with the new victim to finish off the legacy of the fish man.
