Fable - Ask Chaos into Opportunity

A roleplay which may be open to join but you must ask the creator first
Urzak slowed his mount to a halt beside her. The horse snorted softly as the horde spread out below them. Fires, movement and scale enough to turn even veteran instincts cautious. He took it in without comment at first, eyes tracking patrol patterns, listening to the distant noise roll like surf.

Then he exhaled through his tusks.

"Aye."

He shifted in the saddle and looked to her fully.

"I assume you are challenging?" Urzak continued, voice level, certain. "If you win you may gain control of this force by right or at least fracture it badly enough that it stops being one blade."

He glanced back down at the fires, already sorting implications.

"If you challenge they'll expect witnesses. Ritual ground. No interference. Whatever face you show in that circle is the one they'll remember."

Urzak nudged his horse forward a step placing himself a half a length ahead.

"Shall I act as your Herald or Seneschal and announce your challenge? I will make sure the challenge is recognized cleanly. If we are agreed then just say when."

Zathria At'Arel
 
Zathria gave a nod to what he was saying. That seems like a good plan, she said. It seemed like he had experience with groups like this and she guessed this probably wasn't terribly different than his Clan, which could work to their advantage.

She gave him a nod to proceed and she reached down to take a small piece of darb root from her pouch and shove it into the corner of her mouth, chewing it slowly and releasing its minty flavor into her mouth.

It was a relaxation technique. Something to keep the fidgets at bay that she had learned to when the nerves were flaring up. When the inevitability of combat was right there, but the fight hadn't started yet.

She could already feel her heart beginning to pound faster inside of her and her hand wanted to shake, but she just gripped the reigns tighter, forcing them into stillness.
 
Urzak caught the nod. No smile. No flourish. Just a slow, deliberate inclination of his head. Acceptance of a role.

"As you wish."

He noticed the root but didn't comment on it. He recognized rituals meant for the self.

He straightened, reins shifting in his hands as he turned his mount toward the horde below. The easy stillness he'd carried on patrol fell away replaced by something older and harder: ceremonial authority.

He glanced at her one last time and turned his mount full downhill, posture tall, unmistakable and began the ride toward the fires.

The horde would hear him. And they would listen.


Urzak rode alone.

Not fast. Now slow. At a pace that announced intent rather than fear.

The ground changed as he descended. Trampled earth, ash and discarded bone. The smell of smoke thickened, fires looming larger until figures began to separate from shadow.

He stopped well short of the nearest ring of guards. Dismounted, planted the butt of his axe into the soil with both hands resting atop it.

When he spoke he did not shout. He projected.

"Horde of Draz the Unbreakable." Urzak called, voice carrying with the weight of mountain stone. "Hear me."

Movement rippled through the camp. Warriors turned. Murmurs spread. A few laughed... until they saw how still he stood, how unconcerned he was with the blades in their hands.

"I am Urzak of the Spine." He continued. "Commander under Lord Azrakar. I speak in the old way, on ground watched by your fires."

That mattered.

"You raid. You range. You test strength." Urzak said evenly. "So do my people. That gives me the right to stand here uncut. I come not to beg. Not to threaten. I come to name a challenge."

That stilled them.

"By your customs dominance is decided by the circle. Strength against strength. The horde watches and the right to lead is proven before all."

He lifted one hand, not raised high, but enough to mark the moment.

"A challenger approaches." He declared. "Not to steal. Not to slaughter. But to face Draz the Unbreakable in open rite."

A ripple of reaction. Surprise, sharp interest and hunger.

"She is not of your blood." Urzak said plainly, anticipating protest. "Nor am I. But strength does not ask where it was born... Only whether it stands."

He turned slightly then, angling his body so the slope behind him was visible.

"The challenger waits above. If Draz accepts the circle is drawn and the horde bears witness."

His eyes swept the crowd, daring interruption without inviting it. The pause was long enough to be unmistakable.

"If he refuses." Urzak concluded, voice hardening like frost. "Then the horde will know what that means."

He removed his hand from the axe and stepped back one pace.

"I have spoken. Send your answer."

Then he waited still as stone. Certain that somewhere among the fires a leader who called himself Unbreakable was already deciding whether pride would carry him forward or break him in front of his people.

Zathria At'Arel
 
Zathria looked down on the horde from above. She couldn't hear what the orc said below, but she could almost hear it in her mind nonetheless. The declaration of challenge and the requirement to come.

The person that met the Orc was a massive man nearly seven feet tall and built of solid muscle. He only laughed at the challenge.

Show me to this challenger, he said, leading the way up to the circle that the Drow had made around her. She stood in the center and as Zathria saw the man, she had to wonder if this was a mistake. This guy was huge.

She'd fought bigger monsters in the underrealm, but dang if he wasn't massive.

He had brought his own small group of witnesses and Zathria took a stance in the middle of the arena, drawing her blades and saying nothing.

She spat the root onto the ground.

Two in the circle. One walks out, she said.

You wee little lass are going to kill me? No, your body will be broken and I will... he said, and then went on to describe vile things that should not be repeated in good company.

Shut up and fight, she spat the words.

And with that the fight was one. A flurry of blows at speed. She had less reach and strength, and this guy was faster than even she expected, but she had decades of experience and countless fights under her belt.

Subtle cuts, a burst of magic, and nearly ten straight minutes of fighting later and the man was dead, bleeding into the dirt. Zathria, however, was far from unscathed. Her left shoulder was dislocated, bruises covered her face, and she had a bleeding gash on her right leg that made walking almost impossible.

She collapsed down to the ground, gasping for air but victorious.

Urzak Iron-Hold
 
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