Blanche the Necromancer vs. Solana the Dragon Knight

The Arena, and indeed the entire city, was experiencing an unusually gloomy day. The skies were gray and overcast, the threat of rain imminent but never quite becoming a reality. That did not stop the people from swarming the Arena to watch the match the day promised.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming on this... admittedly nasty day!" Aloysius boomed. "To help lift your spirits in spite of the gloom we have an exciting match for you all! A newcomer and a crowd favorite squaring off for your viewing pleasure!"

One of the gates to the Arena pulled open, allowing Solana to step out onto the sands, waving to the crowd as she did so. Even in the gloom of the day her armor managed to shine. The only thing brighter than Solana's armor was her smile as she greeted the crowd.

"Here she is, Solana the Dragon Knight! Back from a long hiatus, can she give us a repeat of her first performance?" Aloysius asked as he hyped up the crowd. "And for her challenger, a stranger representing an anonymous party with... worrisome motivations..."

The gate opposite Solana slowly lifted, allowing her opponent to step forward.

Alone in the arena’s ready room, Blanche stared into the mirror. The face of perfect Death stared back.

She wore a mask of white bone, veiled by a black cowl. Her eyes were dead and lifeless, reflecting nothing of the candlelight. She could have crawled out of a grave and looked no less terrifying.

She was her Lady’s chosen envoy. The first and strongest of the Deathless. The one responsible for carrying the all-important message to Queen Syndra.

Then why did she feel so ridiculous?

Her heart still beat in her chest. Her breath still flowed through her lungs. Her skin was still warm. All the masks and all the bones in the world couldn’t change the fact that she hadn’t really conquered death. Not yet. She was just a pretender.

Well. If she did her job right, maybe Lich-Sorceress Morted would let her take the next step into the shade. Once she proved herself, everything would be all right.

The gate rose. Blanche had an audience to tempt.

She strode confidently out into the arena, her ragged black cloak billowing just like the Reaper’s. She placed her crooked staff in front of her strides just so, perfectly playing the part of the shriveled wizard.

“Our new, erm, mysterious challenger is… Blanche! From lands unknown, visiting for purposes known only to… a few!”

For the first time in a long time, Aloysius stumbled over his words. He’d been speechless before, but not like this. The crowds were used to hearing him speechless, but they’d never heard him try to avoid saying something. Instead of cheers, Blanche was met with an uneasy murmur.

Blanche turned her hooded gaze up to the announcer’s booth. This was her moment.

“You are a poor liar,” she said, voice echoing throughout the arena. A few spectators checked over their shoulders- the raspy voice seemed to come from all directions. “We both know why I am here.

“I am here to deliver a message. To you, the lying figurehead. To you, the rabble in the stands. And to you, mortal Queen.“ Blanche raised a finger and pointed at the flicker of red in the royal booth. “Death comes for you all.”

Blanche tore the threadbare cloak from her body, revealing her macabre armor and horrible mask. The viewing sphere showed it all in too-clear detail: the skulls and hundreds of overlapping bones, all freshly harvested.

“Do not be afraid, people of Enferia. Death is a fact of your existence. Death is natural. Death comes to all equally. Death is fair… Unlike some.

“I challenge you, lying man, to do your duty as herald, as I do mine. I challenge you, citizens of Enferia, to witness the power of Death. And I challenge you, Queen Syndra, to accept your own inevitable defeat at my lady’s hand. The Lich-Sorceress Mortred casts her eye upon thee.”

The murmurs rose to a near-deafening roar as the crowd began to stand up in their seats, nervously looking for the exits. For a moment the crowd was on the verge of panic- but then a third voice cut through the din like a knife.

“Fool,” snapped the Queen’s harsh voice. “This Arena sees more death in its bloodsports than your lady has ever caused. I have made death my court jester, just as you will be after your pathetic loss today!” Her eyes snapped to Solana in the arena, and the weight of her gaze nearly crushed the knight. “Humiliate her and show us that death is nothing to fear.”

Behind her mask, Blanche smiled her first smile in years. That could hardly have gone better.

On the outside, Solana played things cool. She held her sword out in salute to Syndra, nodding in understanding at the Queen's command. Internally, however, she was... less collected.

"This is bad. This is really bad." Solana thought to herself. "Losing is one thing, but losing after the Queen commanded me to win? Who knows what she'd do! Alright, pull it together Solana. You can do this..."

Solana turned her gaze to her opponent, still smiling brightly. "Heh, fancy getup." she said lightly. "Too bad your boss never bothered telling you bones make for crap armor!"

With that, Solana advanced on her opponent. The woman in bones was likely expecting a sword strike, so Solana opted for something a bit more unconventional. At the last second the knight changed her posture, putting her shoulder forward in a tackle. Hopefully the metal of her armor would crack more than a few of the bones making up the necromancer's armor.

Blanche braced herself for whatever the Dragon Knight was about to throw at her. She had no idea what was coming next. The bone-white skull mask she wore pulled double duty as a calling card and as a convenient way to cover up her own uncertainty.

Doubt clawed at the back of her mind. She wasn’t a warrior. She wasn’t even a mage. She was a herald- a mouthpiece for forces greater than herself. The time she’d spent training had been with the dead, not the living.

So when she’d been told that she was being sent to fight in the Arena, she knew she hadn’t been sent to win. She’d been sent to deliver a message and put on a show.

But winning would be very, very nice.

Blanche raised her staff and evened her stance. Solana paced calmly, carefully, sword pointed at her chest. The knight was feeling her out. Testing her footwork and reactions. When it became clear that Blanche wasn’t about to retreat (or that she even planned to change position), Solana pressed her attack.

Instead of using the sword to cut at Blanche’s armor, Solana pounced on her untrained opponent with the ferocity of a predator swooping down on its prey. Blanche slammed into the ground, a few bones on her breastplate cracking into dust where the Knight’s armored shoulder hit her. Underneath was tightly fitted black leather, with button-rivets in the shape of tiny skulls.

“Solana pins her opponent with her first attack!” Aloysius roared. “Could the fight be over already?”

Blanche gritted her teeth. It was hard for her to breathe with Solana atop her, and her staff had been flung aside. That didn’t matter, though. She reached up and pressed a gloved hand to the Knight’s shining breast.

“Your life to mine,” Blanche breathed.

She gasped as the Dragon Knight’s lifestream flowed down her arm in a wave of fiery heat. The woman was alive in the way the sun was alight- burning intensely, passionately, and seemingly endlessly.

As Blanche drank deep from Solana’s life, the knight’s armor creaked. An outline of rust appeared around the hand pressed into her armor.

Solana couldn't help but shiver as she felt Blanche's magic go to work on her. Everything about the sensation felt wrong, disturbing... unholy. The rapidly advancing rust on her breastplate wasn't pleasant either...

"Okay. Touching is out." Solana thought to herself. "I get that you love the skull motif and all..." she began. "But I wanna see the face you're hiding."

With that, Solana reached back and unleashed a straight punch to Blanche's face. Hopefully she'd crack that ridiculous mask of hers apart as well as break her concentration and stop her casting. Regardless, Solana was quick to hop back to her feet, dancing back to establish some distance between herself and the necromancer.

Bringing her sword back into play, Solana faced Blanche down. "Let's see how you do on your feet, gloomy."

Blanche tried to roll with the punch, but she hadn’t anticipated just how strong the warrior really was. Solana’s punch shattered her mask into a thousand splinters of bone and her concentration into just as many pieces. She clutched a hand to her stinging face.

The Dragon Knight scrambled to her feet and squared off further back, afraid to push her advantage. “Let’s see how you do on your feet, gloomy,” she said, glaring at Blanche’s face.

She was a ruined beauty.

What had once been delicate, rosy cheeks were cratered with years-old pox scars that had barely healed. All the color had been drained from her features, save for her icy blue eyes, which were sunken in her skull and surrounded by the dark circles of one who hasn’t known peaceful sleep for ages.

Her cheeks were gaunt with near-starvation. Her pale, thin lips drew together in a tight line of anger.

“I… wow,” said Aloysius. “Someone’s seen better days.” He turned from the microphone and whispered to the sphere controllers. “Do we really want her to lose? I mean… Think of the crowd, here. We don’t want anyone losing their lunches.”

Blanche rolled her eyes. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” She rose to her feet and breathed. The stolen life within her burned hot as she stoked the fire. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Her pox-scarred skin became brighter and clearer as she drew on Solana’s warmth. She flared the stolen life even hotter.

The crowd murmured as Blanche’s wispy hair flashed from marble-white to a brilliant blue.

“I wouldn’t concern yourself with me,” said Blanche. “I’ll have you on your back soon enough.”

With that, she leapt towards Solana, bone-staff raised. The warriors clashed in a howl of wind and steel, with Blanche repelling Solana’s sword strikes with her impossibly durable staff. At first it seemed neither combatant could gain the advantage over the other, but then it became obvious that neither one was trying. Solana was looking for openings to strike, but Blanche was playing defensively, never committing, never putting herself in a bad position… and with every swing, Solana’s sword grew heavier.

“The grave calls!” Blanche shouted, flinging a shard of her broken mask at Solana’s feet. A moment later, a skeletal hand erupted from the ground and latched itself onto Solana’s ankle, trapping her. Blanche swung at her foe as hard as she could, aiming for the rusty metal of her breastplate.