The battle had raged on, unabated, for days, the two opposing forces clashing
again and again on the lofty peaks of the Razine mountain ranges. Spells flew
back and forth constantly: the scourging, freezing hailstorm of this or that
Aquamancer returned in kind with a brutal boulderblast from their Geomantic
counterpart. Paladins and ur'Guard matched blade and bludgeon time and time
again, and for every warrior of Celestia that was struck down before their
time, a Death Knight found himself spiralling into the abyss of death. High
above the pitched, chaotic melee circled the spiritual leaders, the Celestines
and Nihilists, whose warring was no less fierce for their perceived moral (and
definitive actual) high ground. And yet, again, for every merian that fell
shrieking to his death below, a viscanti would find themselves exploding in a
violent, coruscating fountain of light, their very souls absolved from their
bodies. After three days the steppes were slippery with blood and littered with
fallen carcasses - so many that foul carrion birds were arriving to feast upon
the remains. While the oily-feathered crows of Glomdoring were easily dealt
with, the rocs were distinctly less so, and thus after three solid days of
battle, a ceasefire was called.

* * * * *

"Hail, coward! What news from the Resurgence of stupidity you are unfortunate
enough to call a home?" hailed the Magnagoran ambassador. A huge brute of a
taurian, nearly as wide as he was tall, his size and gruffness belied the keen
diplomat that lay within. The Celestian ambassador - a gold-robed merian
pen-pusher - eyed him mistrustfully before sweeping his eyes across the pokey
little tent (well within the Magnagoran side of the battlefield, of course) in
which the negotations were to take place. Two chairs, a table, a lamp, no
weapons. Seating himself, the merian formed his fingers into a steeple and
gazed levelly at the taurian.

"We are not here to trade insults. We are here because this battle is equally
unprofitable for both of our cities, something your leaders must well know.
What can Magnagora possibly hope to accomplish here?"

"The more Celestians die, the better, har-har! What can I say, my little blue
friend? We Magnagorans gather here in the western mountains and suddenly we
find ourselves besieged! Celestians swoopin' in from every whichway, hailstorms
and blizzards blowin' in all around us, swords at our backs and bludgeons to our
fronts. We acted accordingly, something YOU must well know." the taurian rapped
back smartly, a vindictive smile revealing razor-sharp teeth.

"What were you doing here in the first place? Plotting mischief, no doubt. Or
murder? It is well-known you cannot match New Celest militarily, after all."
the merian shot back. He was pleased - though understandably nervous - when his
Magnagoran counterpart slammed his hoary fist into the solid ravenwood table,
splitting it in twain.

"FOOL! Do you not see the carcasses of your kinsmen piled up outside? I damn
well have; I've been using the skull of one as a toilet!" the taurian roared,
beating his broad chest.

"Yes, and for every merian that falls a viscanti does likewise. Or an orclach,
or a taurian, or whoever else your vaunted "Engine of Transformation" has
managed to corrupt recently." nervously he shuffled back in his chair slightly
as the taurian scraped a hoof menacingly on the ground, like a bull preparing
to charge. "Come. You know we are pledged to fight your Taint just as you are
wholly - if mystifingly - dedicated towards destroying us... but this battle is
exhausting both our resources. Withdraw from the Razines, please, and let this
war continue some other day."

The taurian stroked his braided beard thoughtfully, his blistering rage
transformed instantly into feral cunning. "I got an alternative. How about a
single combat? Champion of Magnagoras choice versus one of Celests.
Reasonable?"

The merian sighed gustily in what could only be taken for assent.

* * * * *

The following morning the chosen Champions emerged on the blackened, cleared
section of earth that had been designated as the battleground. Fighting for the
Celestians stood an aslaran of middling height. Clad unusually in full chaimail,
his lithe form was but sparsely muscled, yet his eyes were keen and alert, and
the dual morningstars which hung at his side were clearly of expert
craftsmanship. His tawny brown fur ruffled slightly by the morning breeze, the
figure he cut was one of cool elegance, and he watched with mild interest and
no fear as his opponent stepped also into the battleground. He was as different
from the aslaran as could be imagined: an orclach nearing nine feet tall, clad
in blackened, glyph-glowing platemail and clutching a greataxe easily with his
right hand. The pair circled each other briefly.

"So you're the man I've got to kill?" the orclach snarled, hefting his greataxe
up and laying it across one shoulder. "I'm bored al-bastard-ready."

"Overconfidence is a luxury one cannot readily afford in warfare, my friend.
Don't judge me by my apperance." the aslaran returned with an easy smile. The
orclach glowered for a moment, then gave a laugh which was more startling, in
its easy good-humour, than any angry yell.

"Truth indeed. I'll judge ye instead by yer actions." the orclach abruptly
charged, hefting his greataxe towards the aslaran. Reacting as speedily as
Shanth himself, the Champion of Celest rolled to the left, and the orclachs
greataxe sank into the earth with a soft flump. The aslaran, sensing the
opportunity for a swift disarm, drew his morningstars and flew at his opponent,
yet the orclach had already pulled his axe free and easily parried the blow.
Sweeping around, pivoting on one foot, the orclach hefted the axe in an
underhand arc towards the aslarans leg, yet his acrobatic foe managed to leap
over it with nary a second to spare.

And thus did the battle continue for several hours: a constant back and forth
of blows which were parried and dodged with a skill bordering on the
supernatural. The pair were as evenly matched as any two combatants could be,
the speediness of the aslaran belying his hidden, coiled strength just as the
bulkiness of his Magnagoran counterpart belied his own uncanny quickness. Like
a good game of chess, the battle was plotted ten moves in advance, and the sun
was high in the sky when the pair eventually stopped their elegant wardance,
facing each other once more.

* * * * *

"Not... bad... for... Celestian." the orclach gasped, leaning upon his greataxe
and nearly falling. The aslaran, in response, grinned toothily.

"You are a skilled opponent. Even now you assume a guise of weariness and
clumsiness, hoping it will goad me into attack - a warfare as psychological as
militant." he noted, gazing upon his morningstars as if to check for any damage
they may have sustained in the long melee.

"Hrmph, you're one to talk, lookin' at your fancy clubs as if your sisters arse
is reflected in 'em. It ain't goin' to make me charge, neither." the orclach
straightened, once again clutching his axe in an easy, familiar grip. "So,
since we're sharin' this great moment of bonding, mayhaps you'll tell me yer
name?"

"My name is Aern hrrYr'nha. And since I have been courteous enough to bequeath
my chosen appelation, I have the pleasure to call you...?"

The orclach grunted brief laughter. "You have the pleasure to call me stunned.
Wordy bastard. Me name's Avarath. ur'Guard, case ye didn't guess."

The pair stood for several moments appraising each other, the crimson eyes of
Avarath meeting the calm, viridian gaze of Aern. The pair began to slowly
circle around each other, but now there was no aggression in the act: rather it
was as if the wardance previously fought had evolved into something even more
primal, a kind of spiritual oneness.

"So, we're quite evenly matched, I've noticed." Aern ventured.

"True 'nuff. I've been thinkin', though, we have quite different styles of
fightin'. If we manage to live through this, we could learn a lot from each
other, I reckon." Avarath shot back, his thin lips twisting into a smile
beneath his greathelm. Aern nodded thoughtfully.

"Yes. For example, I've noticed you tend to rely on intimidation. Similarly you
disguise your motivations behind a burlesque of clumsiness. Yet I regret to say
that I am faster." suddenly Aern shot towards Avarath like an arrow, kicking
out with both legs. Caught off-guard, and weighed down by his platemail, the
orclach stumbled backwards, dropping his axe, before falling heavily, and Aern
was suddenly atop him, morningstars held aloft. "Yield, worthy opponent, and
live to fight another day."

Avarath chuckled throatily, winded. "Ah, yer... quite good... mister Aern. But
you see, yer fancy acrobatics don't protect ye from good harsh physicalities.
You sacrifice power... for manouverability. Whereas I..." abruptly Avarath
bucked beneath Aern, throwing him off balance, and then headbutting him in his
unarmored face. Throwing the stunned aslaran off his body, Avarath retrieved
his greataxe from the ground. "... regret to say... that I'm stronger."

Aern shook his head, clearing the dazed, dreamy look from his eyes. Looking up
- realising his morningstars were some feet from his hands, and Avarath was
directly before him, and now armed - Aern for the first time betrayed anger,
gritting his teeth. "You're damned good. Best man I've ever fought, in fact.
But yet again you have missed a salient point. You are brutal, lacking finesse.
Speed is one thing, elegance quite another, and you possess neither." Aern
abruptly backflipped from his prone position, landing behind Avarath and arming
himself simultaneously. By the time the orclach had pivoted, the pair were once
again on equal footing.

"Ah, quite so, my worthy opponent. Yet cunning only takes ye so far. Brutality,
my Celestian friend, is your true ally. Like so." abruptly Avarath charged at
the aslaran, and before Aern could launch a parry, counterattack, or even leap
aside, the greataxe was sweeping upwards once more, and this time it did not
miss its mark. Rather it cleaved through the flimsy chainmail of the aslarans
leg and then through the leg itself, emerging clean through.

With an animal shriek of pain, Aern collapsed, dropping both his morningstars
and clutching the jetting wound in an agony. Grimly, Avarath wiped his axe
clean and returned it to its sheath, kneeling down before the prone aslaran.

"You were damn good. You were. But my friend, why in the name of Luciphage
would you wear chainmail? Yer a damn Paladin - surely yer strong enough to do
all them fancy acrobatics with field plate on?" Avarath gazed down at the
stricken aslaran, confusion, wry humour and frustration all clearly visible on
his face.

Summoning a smile, Aern beckoned for the orclach to come in closer, and Avarath
did so. With surprising strength Aern placed a hand on the orclachs shoulder,
and hissed into his ear: "One factor... you failed... to consider... worthy
opponent..."

Avarath blinked, utterly incredulous, and gave a booming, hearty laugh. "My
friend, you are truly a remarkable opponent, but yer also bleeding to death.
Surely not even yer acrobatics and skill can save ye from this?"

Aern smiled a peaceful, almost mellow smile, before beckoning the orclach close
yet again.

"not... paladin... Celestine." Aern hissed. Suddenly, the eyes which had
previously been half closed opened fully, and, summoning a ball of cosmic
flame, Aern rammed it into Avaraths face. Shrieking in pain the hapless
ur'Guard stumbled backwards, the scent of his own burning flesh filling his
nose, only to find himself facing a severe archangel. Glittering with Celestial
light, the angel grasped one of Avaraths wrists in each hand and held him. He
could only watch as Aern stood, falteringly, on one leg, before waving one hand
imperiously and miraculously growing another. Aern advanced upon his opponent
with a wry grin.

"That battle was a ploy. You see, each time we passed by one another in combat,
I drained just a mite of your mana. But over time that adds up, doesn't it?
Let's see if you can dodge this, my erstwhile foe." Aern placed one hand upon
the orclachs chest and, in a glowing aurora of Celestial flames, purged his
soul from his body. Avarath fell, lifeless, onto the blackened ground, and Aern
walked back towards the Celestian base of operations to report his triumph.

* * * * *

EPILOGUE

Following the famous Razine Mountain battle Aern gained a great measure of
renown in New Celest. The tale of his tactical skill, his speed, his cunning,
and most of all his supernatural skill with bludgeons (despite being a
Celestine priest) were no doubt deciding factors in his election as Champion of
the Celestines Guild and, later, Prince of New Celest, the first non-merian ever
to attain such a lofty title.

It was almost five years following the battle that Aern was awoken one night by
a peculiar scuffling sound at his window, in his private rooms at the Star
Palace. Leaping from his bed Aern crossed the chamber imperiously to peer out
of the window. However, seeing nothing there, he returned to his bed... only to
be woken, some hours later, by a throaty chuckle.

"Yer certainly wily, aren't you, my little Prince."

"Who-!" Aern gasped, but never finished his sentence, for his head was cleaved
from his shoulders. As a crimson gout stained the Imperial bedsheets, that
chuckle rang out again.

"Me final two lessons, boy, are as follows. One, actions speak louder than
words; they're also a damn sight quicker. And two, stick around when you kill
an ur'Guard. We're called Death Knights for a reason. Though I doubt ye'll put
that lesson into action... you aren't, after all, a lich."