Open Chronicles L-l-l-let's Get Ready to Rumble!

[Szesh]

The crowd was deafening, but they could not drown out the shearing metal clangs of the fights throughout the arena. Warriors scuffled all around, kicking up sand and yelling with exertion. Each pair had plenty of room, but the arena still felt crowded.

Szesh peered across the bloodstained sand. He was told that his opponent would be entering from the opposite side, and he was very difficult to miss. Dark wings stood out against the pale stone and sand, and his fine features were lined with equally dark hair and mighty white horns. Szesh had never seen such a man, and he had learned that the unique ones tended to be troublesome to put down.

As Arumi entered a battle stance, Szesh knew he had also been spotted. It wasn’t difficult, of course, blending in had never been a luxury for him. He stood tall on the sand, and his silver scales caught the sunlight, throwing it across the stands. He spun his spear in his his hand once, and then he too crouched a bit lower.

This was meant to be a spectacle, after all, so let’s give the crowd what they want. Szesh unfurled his wings, stretching them out to their full length. He inhaled deeply, and roared across the arena. A jet-black maw of obsidian daggers gnashed at his opponent, and he heard the bloodthirsty fans grow rowdier at his display.

It was pure pageantry, but a little intimidation never hurt (although Arumi did not seem the type to get rattled easily). Szesh brought his wings back and pushed forward off powerful legs. Sand flew back behind him as he rushed towards his foe, spear ready to pierce forwards as soon as he was in range.

 

[Jason Chronicles]

Kalla grunted, beckoned an adjudicator over, and began collecting his scattered weapons.

The woman had suffered a head blow.

He believed the fight over.

 

[TTamark]

A ref ran up to Aeyliea

"Miss are you willing to concede, and receive treatment? You will not be out of the tournament, there is always a chance you can drop this fight and pull through from behind."

He said with genuine concern is his voice, the medical team peering around him waiting to be allowed to issue treatment.

 

[Ermengarde]

Out of all pairings, her's seemed the most normal of all. Perhaps she should consider herself lucky or not.
And was that a quip at her? Ermengarde blinked briefly.
»Well well well, that will make my time here much easier.« She chuckled.
She unsheated her rapier and began to advance towards him to get in range.

 

[Infernal]

Wendolyn let out a sigh of relief, the fire extinguishing itself once she spoke the deactivating words. Making her way back to the gate, she collected her things and was glad for a break.

"Water, please." She felt like she was plastered in sweat, her hair sticking to her skin and her legs shaky with exertion. Hopefully the rest was all she needed, as she did not want to collapse in the middle of her next fight.

 

[Arumi Shacen]

((OOC Szesh your post is awesome! ))

The gleam of his opponent's scales was off-putting. The creature must groom himself to intentionally be a beacon. Arumi wondered briefly if he was indeed fighting a man, or if it was a senseless wild creature.

Another question entered his mind as those massive wings spread, casting a wide berth of shade across the sand: could his opponent actually take to the air, given his bulk? When the dragon-man bellowed his challenge, Arumi lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes. So this one too was here to be part of the spectacle, riling up the crowds. It appears I joined the wrong sort of battle.

Arumi's crouch lowered and he draw his arms into his body, midnight wings unfurling the full magnificent span, as Szesh rushed at him. His eyes skipped over the incoming attack, checking his movement, seeking any gaps in those silver scales, and noting that while the man was immense, he was also not particularly fast.

Arumi's claws clicked out and he inhaled the scents of sweat and blood and iron and leather. A flame flickered to life between his hands, and his wings swept down powerfully to lift him into the sky as the spear came within reach. The blade sliced through his trouser leg and drew a trickle of blood from his calf - the pain was infinitesimal, but it was good. His flight dodged to the side, out of the bulk of his opponent's trajectory and lifted Arumi out of the spear's reach. The winged elf sneered, baring his sharp canines, and hurled a ball of fire at the man's face, aiming for his fathomless black eyes.

 

[Smiling One]

A Rapier? Not often Willis sees those in the battlefield Rapiers were usually wielded by nobles when they want to do mock fighting. The young man only knows one other person besides this lovely lady who uses the Rapier in live combat and he is an artist with it. Willis saw the wooden armed woman approaching him the sharp end of her sword approaching his throat. Willis slapped the Rapier away with his Cutlass sidestepping around the woman until he reached her right hip. Raising his Cutlass Willis performed a horizontal slash aiming directly at the woman's side.

 

[Mualiin]

The crowd was silent for a moment, as an armored giant of a warrior strode into the stage. His boots did not step. They did not stomp. They ground against the earth with every striding movement. Each pound upon the earth resounding within the crowd's breast. His armament, blackened from years of combat, gleamed ebony in the noon sun.

The joints did not groan, they did not creak. With every move, they growled, like the prowl of some great beast. One hand gripped an axe as large as he, with a smooth ironwood handle and a curved talon of an axehead, also gleaming black under the sunlight. With both hands, it swung and bent like a hidden fifth limb, flourished with equal ease as a child flails with a stick. Violet, narrowed irises peered with vermilion sclera, a gaze of some entity that seemed almost... not of this world.

He roared a call of challenge, a bellow of such noise it roused the crowd into a united cheer, of anticipation. Of blood to be spilled, of the performance of this newcomer to the grand Arena. Standing proud and tall even to an Orc, he stood out among the fights as a pillar of black, a dark executioner waiting for his victim.

He was Mualiin, Armored Wanderer.

And he was roped into this gig for a bag of gold. Poor, unknowing fool.

His opponent, that is. Not himself. Nope.

Karrade

 

[Ermengarde]

With a twist of her wrist the raper's blade wrapped around the scimitar, stopping it in it's motion. The blade's tip traveled in a circle before stopping somewhere at Willis shoulder before the woman lunged forward.

 

[Szesh]

((Likewise, Arumi!))

Szesh thrust the spear forwards as soon as he was within reach of the avariel, but his opponent was quick and deftly leapt into the air. As expected, this one would be tricky. The rush of black feathers was punctuated by a singular source of light, and it flashed forwards towards his face. Still moving, Szesh jumped to the right. He felt the hot ball of fire rush just beneath his chin, and its radiance stung and singed the scales of his neck. He hit the sand heavily and rolled to his feet facing Arumi, sliding to a stop after several yards. The torn shred of Arumi’s trousers fluttered to the ground.

Magic.

That complicated things. If he could wield fire, what else could he do? Ordinary flames would find it difficult to get through Szesh’s scales, but as he had learned from battles past, magic played by different rules. He swallowed and felt the raw skin of his neck, the result of a passing glance. What would a direct hit accomplish?

He preferred not to think about it, and bared his teeth in agitation. An aerial battle would be less than ideal. Hollow bones made Szesh slightly lighter than expected, and granted him just a hint more speed, but feathers would always beat him in agility.

Better perhaps to stand his ground here, and wait to see what else this devil could do. Wings outstretched at the ready, he stood lifting his spear once again.

 

[Aeyliea]

Aeyliea was for the most part unresponsive. Perhaps when the world stopped spinning, and when her stomache settled, she would be able to give proper answer.

As it was, she had to be helped off the field, the dazed look not improving markedly on that journey, though various healers plied their arts in her. The only thing if substance, and only indication of any awareness, was a hissed warning for someone preparing to use magic on her to back off.

Grozkalla

 

[Arumi Shacen]

Szesh reacted quickly, tumbling and touching his neck where the flame had blown past. Arumi felt a jolt of pleasure as he saw the burn on his opponents neck - he was vulnerable to flames. That was good. The fire attack had been a test, as much as anything else, as Arumi had felt sure his opponent's scales would be impervious. Now he had options.

His wings flapped methodically, keeping him in approximately the same spot a good two-spear-lengths away from the dragon creature, while he waited for the retaliation. Instead what he received was the baring of razored obsidian teeth and little more action than that. Perhaps he was right in thinking the winged beast couldn't fly.

Arumi contemplated his options; he had no weapon, and was much more accustomed to close combat, but was understandably wary of getting within arm's reach of his sparring partner. He noted the cast of the shadows across the sand, considered the rules they had given, and shot high into the air with the sun at his back. Were his opponent to look up for him, the day's bright rays would likely be blinding. The avariel did not stay in that position for more than a few seconds before flipping his trajectory and diving at the dragon-man. Wings tucked tight to his body, flames flickered about his fingers as he aimed to grapple around his opponent's neck, hoping he was quick enough and had used the daylight well enough to catch the beast unawares.

 

[T’suris Flameblade]

[Match between Edmund Adelard and T'suris Flameblade]

Waves of heat rose off the bloodied sand as the sun scorched above the Arena. T’suris followed some of the other competitors through the wooden doors, thrashing his tail with either impatience or excitement, light catching the metal plates laced with leather on his gorget and chestpiece. The leather was boiled and lacquered to provide the best compromise between protection and mobility, his legs clad in simple linen pants, his lower legs and clawed feet uncovered, though by no means unprotected.

He heard slurs flung from the crowd, and allowed the roar of the rest of the crowd to drown them out, the cheers invigorating him. The Arena was already chaos, though he noticed a few Komodi in the stands, their loose clothes billowing around their arms as they waved at him, cupping their hands around their mouths as they shouted and cheered – separated, of course, into their own section. Typical, T’suris snorted. But he needed to focus – now was not the time to dwell on such things. Besides, it was unusual for even his own kind to cheer him on, and he reveled in it.

He could barely hear the announcer, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t watched a few fights in his own time – thought, admittedly, none had been on such a large stage. His expression was neutral, patient, but his body language was radiating with barely suppressed tension, despite his best efforts to stay calm.

The russet Komodi turned to face the opponent he had been partnered with. Placing his spear in both hands he took a step back to make himself a smaller target, leaving his two scimitars as backups in his belt. T’suris nodded once to his opponent, dark blue eyes gauging his rival.

Whatever the outcome, he was going to relish this day.

 

[TTamark]

Grozkalla was finally officially announced the winner of his fight, and allowed to his five minutes to recuperate.

 

[TTamark]

The announcer stepped out into the open to announce that Grozkalla and Wendolyn( Infernal ) would be opponents in their next fight.

 

[Jason Chronicles]

Deepset eyes like pinpricks of ice swiveled to fix upon the new foe.

A dwarf.

Nostrils flared, tusks grated.

Kalla despised their kind. He noted her shield and armament, then made his decision.

Stalking over to a weapon rack during his five minutes, he stored his bow and arrows in a case of goat hide, then plucked five javelins from the rack, tested their weight, and grunted with satisfaction. They would do. He left his enormous two-handed sword with the bow as well. Too slow, and he needed to strike like the scorpion, not the hippo.

Two javelins he planted in the sand beside him, two he held in one hand, while the other clutched the fifth. Then he waited.

Infernal

 

[Infernal]

After a long swig and dousing herself in the liquid, Wendolyn looked to where her opponent waited. An ogre, it looked like, or maybe a large orc. The fear grew in her stomach, but she had to ignore it for now. With a chill running down her spine, she quickly began tracing runes upon her weapon, while still having some time left.

"All right, breaks over. Time to get back out there."

Gulping down her nervousness, she quickly ran out and struck the ground with her hammer. The magic seeped into the earth as she whispered the words. "By the power of Undyr the Mountainous, I command you, transmute." Her eyes never left him, because she knew he would make his move soon. When he did, she'd be ready.

 

[Smiling One]

Willis cried out in pain as part of the woman's Rapier pierced his skin. He immediately felt blood oozing from his shoulder and took a step back, his Cutlass flashing. "Not bad," he muttered to himself going down to perform a sweeping leg kick to the woman's exposed ankles.

 

[Jason Chronicles]

Some magic ran afoot, some magic ran afoul.

Kalla wasted not the opportunity as the dwarf gathered energy, but drew back his arm and with a mighty huff cast forth his dart.

Kaliti forged steel flewed true, carried on a shaft of juniper that jumped through the air with the force of thunder, fierce as a kick from a steed.

Straight for her midsection it sailed, and sailed well. Hard enough to spit a boar.

 

[Infernal]

The missile came down at her, and she dodged out of the way just in the nick of time. It embedded itself deep into the wooden gate, wobbling slightly from the force. Wendolyn had to act quickly, or else the next one may just get her.

"As Undyr swims through the earth like water, so too will you. Now travel."

Again she struck the ground, feeling through supernatural means that they were on their way to Grozkalla. Normally one could hear them as they made their way, but with the clash of battle and the roar of the crowd, there's no way one could hear the three metal spikes making their way underneath the ground.

 

[Jason Chronicles]

Fortunately, Kalla spoke Dwarvish.

He took two immense steps and leaped, thews like an ox launching him up, over the traveling spikes, and right down beside the dwarf in a spray of sand.

Groz slapped at her, a javelin in each hand, and whipped one of them toward her face, hoping to smack her with the juniper shaft.

A good head blow or crushing of the mouth would end these pesky spells perhaps.

 

[Infernal]

Using her shield, she deflected the wooden shaft before it could bash her face in. If not for her armor, she would certainly be hurt.

Diving between the large man's legs, Wendolyn rolls behind him, getting up and attacking with one fluid motion. With a glorious battle cry her Warhammer went up to her opponent's crotch, aiming to smash his genitals and cause enough pain to cripple him from the fight.

In a fair fight, she knew she was done for, but this wasn't a fair fight. This was a fight of blood and sand, Thunder and valor, life and death. Glory was going to be hers, and she refused to watch it slip away from her grasp just because her opponent was larger than her.

 

[Jason Chronicles]

She caught his strike and rolled beneath him. Kalla pivoted, trying to turn in time. It may have saved his testes, but it did not avoid the blow. He felt the hammer whallop the meat of his inner thigh and grunted with pain, even as he completed the pivot and came around to face her.

Tiny eyes fixed on her, full of the cold, calm fury of the Sereti mountains, where Sword Lions train from birth to become supreme warriors in battle, and Kalla with every weapon under the sun. He remembered lessons in the way of Two Sticks in a yard at Kherkhana. The sticks needed to come like a growing drumbeat, beating toward a crescendo, and so he let them fall.

He struck, a javelin in each hand, seeking not to pierce but to slap with the wooden hafts themselves. His blows rained toward her, like the patter of heavy rain, falling toward her face, her shoulders, her arms, her hands, in a flurry that built upon itself as the gathering snow builds in the peaks of the Seret. Not killing blows, any of them, but bruising, battering, and breaking slaps that would be felt even through chainmaile.

There would be no respite for this Runecarver of the clans.

 

[Infernal]

Even with her armor and her shields, she was taking a beating. Every part of her told her to fight back, but the blows were coming too fast. With her shield protecting her face, her hammer went down one final time, the shafts striking her arm, causing her to cry out and drop her weapon.

Backed into a corner, she was down, barely able to hold her shield, breathing heavily, and bleeding from her lip. "No...no this can't be it...I can't lose..."

 

[Ermengarde]

As quiclyk as ermengarde tried to disenge, she snapped back like an extended spring.