They battled high upon the wall walk, pushing and pulling, slashing with their blades, and slinging spells, neither gaining a foothold over the other.
A blast from the Elder and the thief was slung hard against the parapet. The Elder was on him instantly, his long, thin fingers wrapped around his opponent’s throat.
“Your god favored you truly this night. Nevertheless, I shall have your Prayer,” he hissed.
“I will not give it up willingly, Elder,” the thief replied and slung a last, desperate spell at the Elder, who countered it easily.
“Your Prayer, thief,” the Elder repeated.
“Never,” came the reply. “I will not relent to the demon to whom you Pray.”
The Elder chuckled. “Nay, I do not Pray, for my god has Blessed me.” With this he opened his right hand, revealing a bloodened crest. The thief’s eyes widened.
“You will have to carve my Prayer from my body, then.”
“Flesh magic,” he spat. “Very well. It will be as you wish.” With that, he drove a pike through the thief’s skull and prepared his blade.