Maryk Grimbeard vs Enialis - Incomplete

Maryk Grimbeard  	Purple light flashed through the Colosseum, as a massive, intricate summoning circle was burned into the center of the arena floor, a glowing purple pentagram encircled and lined by sinister, unholy runes of power. "Våkne, Torulf. Din mester krever din styrke," boomed a gravelly, disembodied voice. The glowing pentagram surged in the arena, and vanished, leaving a black scar in its shape behind; and then the stone cracked along those black lines, before shattering apart entirely as the rotting, violet-skinned hand of a Storm Giant burst through. Dirt and dust was thrown into the air, as the undead giant rose from a grave that didn't belong to it. Standing nearly fifty meters t

all, Torulf Brandrson had seen better days; his pale violet skin and long white hair and beard were still mostly intact--but that flesh had rotted away from his eyesockets and forehead, from the two smallest fingers of his left hand, and there was a gaping hole through his chest, right where his heart should be. Crackling arcs of lightning came to life in his empty sockets as he came to his full height, the undead Storm Giant was clad in heavily damaged armor reminiscent of a Roman legionnaire's lorica segmentata, save that the steel was clearly bronzed for aesthetic effect, and he lacked a helmet. Lifting a hand, the giant called down a bright blue thunderbolt from the nebulous cl

ouds surrounding the Colosseum to serve as his weapon, the lightning taking a solid, blade-like shape. "Med tiden vil jeg spre dine ben over rike, skjebneverdige. Hva trenger du av meg?" Torulf growled in response, lifting his lightning blade, as if ready to smite a dwarf he did not see--that is, until the rotting little lich appeared on the giant's shoulder, wearing his own immaculate plate armor. "Tålmodighet, mitt dyr. Hatesprinsens arbeid er aldri skyndet. One of these mortal fools will throw themselves unto your wrath soon enough," the dwarf replied, fluidly switching between Krombral, tongue of the giants, and the Common Tongue--as if to invite any spectators to do just that.

Enialis  	It seemed as if a new arrival had made their appearance, or rather, a few. A woman who appeared in a manner similar to himself was one of them; a westerner, if he was to guess, one who the lecher certainly ogled as she made her way to the bar. The other? A large behemoth of a creature that rose from the earth, which caused the sage to slightly stumble where he stood before looking up to the large monstrosity. "...Well, that's ugly as sin," the man laughed, only to find his attention shifting to the lonesome, seemingly unloved Frisk that disappeared into the shadows. Well, this was something of a dilemma. On one hand, a beautiful woman, on the other, a thing that appeared possibly hostile, and another, a woman which he simply wanted to make smile for the sake of giving her a little extra happy in her life. "...Oh well shit. Hey, you!" the sage called out towards the dwarf necromancer and his large buddy, "Don't break the place!" From there, the sage began towards that same small dark area he saw Frisk walk towards. Lecher-ing could wait; sage had more important duties first.

Maryk Grimbeard  	The undead giant's stormy eyes turned towards the sage, and what remained of his bearded face twisted in ire--but the giant could no more throw his thunderbolt at Enialis, than he could flatten the dwarf on his shoulder like an annoying gnat. Maryk's will dominated Torulf; that the Storm Giant could speak or move on his own at all was a luxury the Dwarf-Lich had allowed him. "I will break what I please, little man. Perhaps I will start with you," the giant boasted proudly in the Common Tongue, tightening his grip around his thunderbolt. Maryk himself, meanwhile, seemed amused, but he continued to stifle the giant's impulse to crush the sage, more to test his own patience than any true sense of mercy. Perhaps if no one else had the courage to stand against him and his undead champion, the lich would let the giant do as it was wont to...

Enialis  	As the sage continued his stroll towards wherever Underfell went, the loud, booming voice of the giant's threat was enough to rouse a chortle before a hand was cast over his shoulder in a half-hearted wave. "You wouldn't be the first, thurirl," the sage laughed as he peeked around the corner where he saw the other disappear to, only to find that they had disappeared, thus, turned back around to face the pair once more, "But I do appreciate the enthusiasm, and attention~" Despite the massive brute being more than capable of crushing him, the sage was far too relaxed. Either it was the fact that this place granted him immortality or he simply possessed the means to defend himself as needed. Either way, his pursuit was canceled, thus, was left to either try and flirt with a cowgirl or not get squished by a giant. ...If only it was a giant cowgirl; oh how pleased the sage would have been~