words so far 2448
what's happening? Eziskur dreams of the past
what's not to like? He's turning out to be a very observant narrator, slightly paranoid even.
show us!

Warm wind swept over the hillside. Shreds of fog rolled in low, alternately obscuring and revealing bloodied body parts and dead eyes. Eziskur trod around a charred corpse to inspect what was left of the guts. The smell of destruction stung in his nose, but it had a victorious aftertaste to it.

From the corner of his eye, he could see an armoured figure approaching through the mist. The winged helmet was familiar and he stopped to draw a long sword from a sheathe on his back.

"Eziskur the Cursecaster," the man's obnoxious voice boomed. "I have come here in name of the Duke of Aldreik."

Eziskur turned to face the intruder. "Radenkil Wingblade. Fancy running into you here. I didn't think you were one for fields of battle."

"This was never a battle." The warrior waved his sword about. "This was a slaughter. Is this your legacy? Mangled corpses? All who oppose you die a horrible death?"

"Legacies are for dead men." Eziskur crossed his arms. "I am much too busy for that."

Radenkil pointed at him with the tip of his sword, his arm stretched. "You will be a dead man, if you do not surrender to me and end your reign of terror."

"Reign of terror? You flatter me." Eziskur grinned and made a dismissive gesture. "No. I won't surrender because I am not done. Now go away before I add you to the scenery."

Tentacles of mist moved aside and dead eyes seemed to stare at Radenkil in anticipation. Eziskur licked his lips and cracked his knuckles. Time stood still at this moment overconfidence, this memory was painfully clear, so much clearer than the moments after that. Radenkil attacked, all sweeping blade and shining armour. Eziskur retaliated, his voice echoed over the hillside, magic crackled through the air. A duel always feels long, almost endless, but it never is.