- - by Alkan
Alkan fell back upon the ground as the other man bowled over him, struggling to get away from the conflict. He growled and exhaled sharply, straining to get a look up the hill. He pushed himself up slightly with his hands then paused, receiving a glimpse of the night elf as she turned to step forward. She watched the burning mage, his attention still devoted to tormenting the younger girl huddled in the corner. The old priestess began to chant, calling out to the heavens as a new heat seemed to add itself to the equation – a familiar heat, a heat of life, yet a heat that would snuff out the life of this infidel.
A few seconds ago, a peaceful discourse on the powers given by the gods to their servants; now, a melee with some diabolic magician. Just another quiet day in Stormwind for Alkan.
The younger mystic scrambled back as the ancient kaldorei raised her arms, white fire rising from the ground at her feet and moving with her limbs. Her chant grew louder, a cacophony of righteous passage and scripture taught only through the course of the centuries she had lived. Alkan understood little of the tongue, but the effect was clear to him: he watched as more and more of the white fire reared up from the earth, spiraling around her and into her hands, gathering as she concentrated with all her body and soul, gazing calmly upon the heretic even as the burning inferno raged around her.
The mage finally spun on his heels from his victim, glaring at the priestess that sought to interfere. Grinning madly, he instantly called crimson fire to his own hands, chuckling at the woman. “Do you honestly think yourself to be a true master of this art, elf? Why don’t you go back to playing with animals?” he hissed darkly, turning a palm to her and beginning to mutter the arcane words of his own spell.
Alkan watched her eyes narrow and her hands shoot to the sky as she cried out a holy word, the fire about her giving one last roar before it flicked out of existence. A rumble resounded across the skies, as if the gods themselves were crying for vengeance. The mage paused, looking up to the skies, just in time to watch as a pillar of white fire, the same that had swirled around the priestess, roared down from the heavens. He screamed once and raised his hands as if to shield himself. His effort proved to be futile, as Alkan watched the fire strike with the force of a hammer upon an avil, engulfing the mage's body in blazing light.
She spat as the pillar incinerated the occultist. “Burn in righteous fire, fiend. It will always be more potent than your silly little incantations.” She turned back to Alkan, who quickly scrambled to his feet as she gazed on him, her countenance once again cool and calculating, watching the movements of the ever-curious human. He straightened up quickly, to which she allowed the hint of a smirk. “Come on, boy. Today you saw but a small example of the divine fury of the gods. There’s still always more to show…”