Battle On a Cliff

Strands of hair whipped lightly across his face as he stared out off the cliff toward the gentle peace of the ocean. Several deep breaths brought with them a soothing dampness and the salt from the ocean, even this far away.

"You just gunna stand there all day?"

The snarl from behind snapped him out of his soft reverie, brought him back to the harshness of his surroundings. Turning to face the man, suddenly the air seemed too cool, the dampness was suffocating, and the cliff was dangerously high.

Coldly he studies his opponent; a wall of darkly tanned muscle topped with a thatch of ruddy hair. Green eyes blazed with hatred and his lip was curled into a permanent sneer. The ax strapped to the ogre's back was appropriate in every way.

Yet somehow he found himself chuckle at the prospect of beating this beast. This would be the time to prove his worth to himself, something he'd long since proven to the world but didn't settle quite properly with him.

"To the death was what we settled on, was it not?" the thin whisper held with it a ferociousness.

"Or surrender," came the rumbling reply and a snicker that showed how this man believed the match would end.

The brute knew very well that size could get him anywhere in life; merely by being bigger he could "persuade" people to give him just about anything. He'd done it many times before, and this time it looked like it would be even easier.

He turned that fiery green gaze to study his victim. Eyes of the coldest ice, tarnished silver, tried to pierce him to the soul, set in a face all angles. Long, snow-white hair billowed out about his slender form, clad so neatly in a black robe that stood out sharply against the man's paleness. His motions were graceful and smooth as he lifted one black covered arm to slide the small sword from the scabbard on his back.

Finding a grin pulling at his lips at the toothpick, the brute reached for his own ax. His movement was interrupted by a soft whisper, "Why don't we make this interesting."

A sudden terrible idea had sunk into his head as he'd drawn his sword. It had never been decided the form of weapons that were to be used. Nothing had been decided at all. With one fluent motion and a silent chant on his lips, the slim man turned and buried his sword to the hilt in the solid rock of the cliff, before stepping back and setting his hands on his hips in a gesture planned to infuriate.

"You can lug that piece of iron about if you wish. I chose a weapon of a different kind." Chuckling again, he held his hands up high, lips moving silently again as a ball of silvery blue fire coalesced into his hands, and he turned to toss it at his enemy.

The summoning of magic had surprised him, and he barely had time to stumble out of the way. Angry now, very angry, the emotion was flung into his voice as he hissed, "Witch." Swinging the ax violently, he charged full scale toward the slender man and swung to chop him in half, very nearly losing his balance as he sliced at something that wasn't there. Staring down off the cliff, he waited for the shove that would send him tumbling down to his death.

As the troll had sailed toward him, he decided that he'd really rather not die. Engaged again in a chant not heard, he rapidly was transported to the other side of the cliff, where he balanced on his toes and called out in a soft, yet taunting voice, "Enjoying the view?"

Once more shocked by his enemy's actions, he turned to stare at the ghost-like figure perched on the edge of the cliff, head cocked to one side and one eyebrow raised in question. He made to charge again, but found himself sluggish, unable to move properly at all. Muttering a curse, he supposed this was the time for his death, this was the time when the final strike would come.

It didn't seem fair, really, to just leave the beast frozen there. Life, however, was not fair, and he used this opportunity to stride deliberately to the man's side. Leaning forward he whispered in one huge ear, "Surrender?"

The word made him shake with anger, and he broke free of the magical binds that were upon him to lunge at the witch. Unsuspecting of such an attack, the other man barely made it back away in time to save his head, at the cost of a rather large gash along his side.

Stammering a curse at his own arrogance and need for flair, he wove a shield about him, to protect himself until he was prepared for another spell -- the one to end it.

Oh, that look that was on the witch's face, he'd remember it forever. Glorious, simply glorious. What a shame he'd made it out of the way in time, though; decapitating him would have been delightful. Chopping once again for the man's middle, the movement of mouth in chant once more went unnoticed to the ogre.

He had to drop the shield to make the spell. He wasn't yet strong enough to hold both at the same time, and as he muttered the words to bring the final blow upon the ogre, he was helpless. Unfortunately, he was so taken up in concentration on his words, that he didn't notice the ax swinging toward him. He finished first, bringing a spell of lightning down on the brute that knocked him down immediately. The ax, however, so taken up in it's movement, continued swinging with the force of the dead man behind it, until his world erupted in fire and blackness.

Were one to have been standing on the ocean's shore, staring up at the cliff and the battle that was occurring on it's top, they might have noted two bodies tumbling to the ground: one chopped almost neatly through, one blackened from the heat of the spell. Only one of the two rose, however, to kick the other neatly in the side. A whisper rose to slide over the ocean, a soft voice moving with the waves, "It's not my time yet..."