The Desert

Pollox sprinted up the rise of sand after Frost. He could not escape. It was plainly obvious that the man had been lost in the desert and was exhausted. Pollox admired him for being able to put up this much of a fight.
He neared the top of the ridge, right behind Frost, and leapt into the air, heavy blade ready for another powerful blow.

-~@8@~-

Castor watched his brother dash off after Frost. He dodged around to the west, so as to cut off the man in black.
He reached the ridge, and bounded as best he could in the dry sand towards the duelling pair.
He drew another sword, and advanced.

<font color="#f7f7f7" size="1">[ September 03, 2003 04:39 AM: Message edited by: Castor and Pollox ]</font>

Frost saw another figure in white running up to cut him off... not good, not good!
He was being surrounded, and was already outnumbered two to one...
He dodged back, swung his weapon and sent a hail of blows towards the assassin with the claymore.

Frost hoped desperately that somebody might show up to even the odds a little.He thought about Alternate-Jess, and hoped she wasn't what this was about...

Clarke woke up, wrapped in cotton wool. Or was it tar? Sticky like tar, tasted like .... golden syrup. Clarke was hungry, and reached out to put his hand on a hard block .. a brick? It would be nice to build a house some day. A place to have a family with a nice dog and a garage and ... a car.

Clarke suddenly sat bolt upright. Or downright. His mind was suddenly cleared when he realised his car was upside down in the desert. With him trapped inside it. Clarke looked to his right where he could see the window, half broken. Clarke attemted to elbow out the window, until the pain from his arm, snapped in two places, kicked in.

With his left arm, Clarke reached under the seat and pulled out his Glock 18 auto. A quick burst from the pistol dispached what was left of the safety glass. Now the hard bit - getting out.

Pollox swung his claymore in a two-handed swing at Frost, who dodged and returned blow after blow with his weapon. It was obvious that he was tired, almost thouroughly exhausted, soon he would be empty, and then he would be dead.
Pollox parried and dodged the slow attacks with ease, watching as his brother climbed the slopes. They were unstoppable. He turned his attention to his quarry, and struck back, aiming for the head.

<font color="#f7f7f7" size="1">[ September 08, 2003 02:21 AM: Message edited by: Castor and Pollox ]</font>

Frost gatehred what was left of his strength, ducking the blow for his head and swinging his own blade towards the assassin's exposed side.

The edge gleamed in the hot desert sun. Frost screamed with rage.

<font color="#f7f7f7" size="1">[ September 15, 2003 02:30 AM: Message edited by: Tiberius Frost. ]</font>

Clarke crawled out of the twisted wreck that was once his car, his right arm throbbing in pain. Clarke gritted his teeth, then proceeded to remove the 15cm long shard of steel from his right forearm. Clarke gathered up his few remaining supplies, the Glock 18 pistol from the sand, and also the katana from the boot. Not wanting to leave too much evidence of his passing, Clarke placed a small hand grenade on top of the fuel tank, pulled the pin, then charged off into the desert.

Clarke felt intense heat on his back as he sprinted away as best as he could in the sand. He turned around to see a giant fireball engulf his car, scattering the once magnificent car all around its sandy grave. The furious flames did their best, all that was left was a burning shell, and no evidence.

Clarke turned away and made deeper into the desert. Further ahead he could see three figures moving around. Perhaps they could help...

Something glinted in the distance. Then...
A fireball gushed up from nowhere. Castor stopped in his tracks. His brother continued the battle, ignorant of the destruction carrying on, and too close for comfort.

The last thing they nedded now was a comlication.

-~=@8@=~-

Pollox leaped over the swing aimed at his midsection, and brought a crushing swing down towards Frost's head.

Under the scorching desert sun, he didn't even feel the heat wave from the exploding vehicle in the distance.

Frost brought his blade up and dodged wildly to his right. Somehow, he deflected the blade.
Pain surged through his muscles, tired, fatigued, worn from his endless trek through the wasteland.

He dodged to his left, forgetting that the dune dropped away there.

Frost Keeled over, fell, rolling, tumbling, flailing. He was standing, no... falling again.

Dragging himself to his feet, sand caking his body and clothes, his vision blacking on one side, both, no, just one side...

He thought he saw a figure in the distance. Was he hallucinating?

A sword!

The silver flashed across his vision, he dodged, fell, rolled again. He was still not at the bottom but his adversary had the high ground, he stuck wildly, catching his own blade on the ground.

He was almost doomed and he knew it. He needed help fast, now...

...the figure in the distance! Help?!

As he watched, the small figure wavered and dropped forwards drunkenly. He keeled into the desert.*

Dead?

Attack!

Parry, a poor thrust, he jumped back, tripped again, rolling further, dropping his sword...

His power died. He reached out for his weapon, gripped it by the blade. It cut his palm, sand mixing with his blood, cutting into the wound.

Too bad, had to stay alive. Frost rolled back and up, leaping to his feet to parry another blow. He summoned strength from somewhere, glancing back and leaping down to the base of the dune.

His assailaint would fight him on level ground.

===================
*Note: Referring to my control of Clarke Anderson's character. Since Clarke hasn't posted in a while I thought it best to take his character out. Since I'm the thread starter I'm allowed to do this (I believe). And if Clarke wants to join again he can claim to regain consciousness.

Pollox lashed out with his heavy weapon, his prey too slow to dodge, so attempting to parry instead.

Pollox let a smile come across his face, his blonde dreadlocks bouncing in the desert breeze.

He threw another attack but Frost leapt away, somehow drawing strength that pollox had not counted on.

'Damn', he thought, but not to worry. He would triumph eventually.

-~@8@~-

Castor watched the man in the distance stagger and drop. He grinned. All too easy. The desert took everyone. His heavy white coat was collecting sand. Oh well.

He flicked his swords and looked around for his brother. He couldn't see them, but he could hear the sound of metal against metal.

He climbed up the ridge, and flicked his swords again.

<font color="#f7f7f7" size="1">[ October 28, 2003 11:47 PM: Message edited by: Castor and Pollox ]</font>

Frost leaped back, dodging the last swing.


His assailant kept coming on and on...too fast to reach a fair playing ground, he'd be dead before he could choose himself a site.


Frost summoned what he could of his last strength, and brought his sword in a desperate upward blow towards the assassin's head.

He hoped this would throw him and advantage.