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

[Aeyliea]

There was a point when there was no longer any good reason to stay close to an opponent. Kishou was dangerous, far too strong to stand against in a match if physical strength. The blow to the head made her guts twist and her gorge rise again, unbidden, and she could tell that he would continue to use this weakness against her. Blood squelched in her boot, darkened her leather leggings, and stuck to her side painfully.

She relinquished the blade, falling backwards to avoid his backhand blow and only coming to her feet with a maladroit effort. The flash of pain in her wounded leg was great, but it was something that could be ignored a little longer. With her sword in him, he would be hard pressed to do anything fancy or quick.

Dancing back, she unceremoniously vomited to one side, somehow keeping an eye open. Barely.

 

[childish brandino]

His hand swung through the air, making contact with nothing. Kishou attempted to run her down, but the sword in his leg made certain to stop him. He grimaced, every movement sending a sharp pain up his leg. His left hand tightly gripped the hilt of her discarded sword.

Her turning away and puking up the contents of her stomach- it was a window. Casting aside his pride, he dropped his sword to the sand. With two hands, he pulled the sword from his thigh.

A pool of blood had formed around his left leg. The bleeding was expedited as the wound was now open. If he looked closer, he would see bone.

Ripping the blade from his body nauseated him. His stomach felt sick. His head pounded. Tears welled in his eyes. Blood and sweat felt the same as both flowed down his back. With the last bit of his strength, he raised the sword above his head with both hands. His arms curled at the elbows, now holding the sword behind his back. With some effort and a pained grunt, he unwound his arms and let fly the large sword.

The momentum of throwing the sword carried him forward. With only one leg to support him, he stumbled and released the sword a moment too late. He had not accounted for how light it was, and overestimating the weight caused him to use too much strength. The sword shot low- very low- and lodged itself in the sand in front of Aeyliea. It was mere inches in front of her.

Kishou himself fell to his right knee. His left leg laid limp and straight behind him. His blood colored the sand.

The foreigner's breathing was sporadic, and sweat dripped onto the sand below him. His sword was more than an arm's length behind him.

The loss was his.

 

[Matari NoTail]

Matari looked up towards Tsuris, and let out a few coughs to try and stall for time. The axe was making its way back at an increasingly fast rate, and he only needed a few seconds. Then again, maybe it'd be better for him to give up? After that fight with Grozkalla, and now snake boy here, something was telling the kitsune he may be a little out of his depth the further he went on. But at that... the fire in Tsuris' eyes, as he leant over the kitsune with a blade at his neck, it was too good to pass up. It was decidedly infectious, and the masked man's yellow eyes squinted back at him through his mask.

"I-" He began,before his body bucked upwards and he sent Tsuris into the path of the oncoming axe. For a moment he was flooded with victory, but even as he felt the weight lift off of his body, he knew something was wrong. A hand came up to his throat, where blood gushed over his hands. 'Motherfucker slit my neck!' He thought, clasping his hands to the wound even as one final illusion came into view. Him standing up, holding his axe and pointing it towards Tsuris. "Surrender." The illusion intoned confidently, even as behind him and hidden from view Matari was on his knees, both hands silently held up to his neck. He had maybe a minute or two. Needed to either win now or give up.

 

[T’suris Flameblade]

Surprise lit the Komodi's eyes - he didn't think the lithe foxchild capable of throwing him: the kitsune was stronger than he looked. Matari also hadn't been kneeling in a pool of his own blood - which may have had a hand in the situation.

His vision blurred as the loss of blood began to take it's toll; T'suris didn't see Matari get up. The Komodi thought he had smelt more blood that wasn't his own, but there was Matari, standing above and before him, axe back in hand. The Komodi was beginning to feel light-headed. Falling back on his knees, he leaned on his scimitar.

He closed his dark blue eyes even as his head began to swim.

He had been so close.

He sighed.

"I yield."

 

[Matari NoTail]

"Oh thank the fucking gods, MEDIC!" The illusion roared and flickered out of existence, revealing Matari kneeling there on the sand clutching at his throat. A hand came up to rip his mask off, revealing his more feline traits to the Komodi, and he grinned sharp teeth at the fellow competitor before going back to panicking as he slumps over in the sand. Healing mages were already bolting their way over to the duo, and one quickly sealed over Matari's neck. He drew in large lungfuls of the sandy air, coughing and hacking. "Ah I do not want to do that again." He managed to choke out, long hair whipping in the wind as he shook his head violently, before looking over towards Tsuris. "Anyway, I believe you owe me a drink?"

 

[T’suris Flameblade]

Healers rushed towards T'suris, who sat back on his haunches and let his scimitars fall to the sand. The one dashing towards T'suris hesitated at first, but set to work after a quick glance at her companion.

T'suris looked up in time to see Matari pull his mask off: he had never seen another creature like the kitsune.

He chuckled lowly, his blurred vision beginning to clear as the healer worked her magic, sealing the gaping wound on his chest and inspecting where his right arm had been injured. She muttered something about a possible dislocation, or some kind of soft tissue damage.

"Yes, I believe that I do."

"...if we're both still alive at the end of this," he added with a small nod.

Spoiler

Arumi Shacen

 

[Arumi Shacen]

The winged elf turned to the announcer as he heard his name called, his next match proclaimed.

Flameblade? Something about that title stirred up a memory, but Arumi couldn't place it. Something, someone, with a similar name, from a long time ago... He pushed it aside, not needing the distraction. What a pretentious name.

He didn't need to go far to find one of the mage healers, given they were spread all about the arena treating various wounds. Arumi grabbed the arm of a healer who's back was to him as she was walking away from a completed treatment, and he growled his demands. His wing had started throbbing from the bruising, his thigh still streamed bright red, and now that the adrenaline was draining from his limbs his breathing was ragged from the pain of the broken rib. It was to Arumi's benefit that the healers were accustomed to poor manners from their patients.

A few minutes and a lot of swearing later, he was waiting in a less-bloodstained part of the arena for his opponent with only a broad purple bruise on his bare chest and a thin line of scar on his leg. The healers had managed to knit the bone and seal the flesh, but he was told the bruising and aches were Arumi's own to work through and recover from. It was good enough for now. He spun the trident in his hands, bored, deciding the weapon worked well for him.

@t'suris flameblade

 

[T’suris Flameblade]

T'suris stood as he heard his next match called - a little too quickly as his vision blackened. He took a moment to steady himself, bracing his stance with his tail amidst the healers admonitions. So he paused, waiting, as she finished. The healer him a stern glare when she was finally finished before she rushed back to the group of healers, the top of her cheeks bright pink. T'suris frowned, confused.

He pulled both arms back behind him, stretching his chest - the healer had done good work, but the scar would last. And his armour was torn, and covered in sticky, wet blood, which was the real problem; he didn't have the time to get it repaired or cleaned. Sighing, he went and picked up both scimitars and holstered them before he walked back over to the weapons rack, removing his leather tunic as he plodded through the blood-soaked sand, his tail swishing slowly as he went.

He noted his old spear was damaged as he picked it out of the sand. He took it back to the weapons rack with a frown and placed it in the discard pile, tossing his armour next to the pile (he would deal with that later). He reached for another spear to suit himself; it wasn't quite as long as his first one (it seemed most of the weapons were designed for humans, elves, and dwarves) but it would have to suffice.

Deep blue eyes scanned the arena until he found his opponent.

Wings, is it?

He plodded towards Arumi Shacen, tail swishing slowly behind him. He still felt a little light headed from the last battle, but it was good training - he wouldn't always be at the top of his game in the real world, so it was fitting.

He stopped several feet away from the Avariel and placed the butt of his spear in the sand. He nodded once towards the other horned creature, acknowledging his opponent.

"May the best challenger win."

 

[Arumi Shacen]

The trident came to an abrupt stop in Arumi's hands as he caught sight of T'suris approaching him. His opponent appeared to be stepping with some level of caution; judging by the amount of blood on his arms and the angry red scar on his shoulder, his last fight had not gone well.

Arumi openly stared at the komodo when the creature came to a halt. He'd never seen such a humanoid, if this scaled brute could even be called as such. Arumi took in the slitted eyes, the swinging tail, the strange clawed feet. His nostrils flared and he narrowed his eyes at the pleasantry. So, this one could speak at least.

"May the worst burn," he replied, then leapt at T'suris. He shifted his hands to a wide grip on the trident, aiming the prongs at the komodo's bare chest. Deciding to test the same attack from his last fight, flames leapt up the shaft of the weapon and engulfed the head. He was annoyingly aware of the spear held by his opponent, and that his wings were in danger of being pierced at this proximity if he spread them, so they remained folded tightly to his back. The winged elf hoped this fight was more interesting than the last.

 

[T’suris Flameblade]

His spear was up in a flash, angling between the prongs of the trident. He grunted with effort, one leg moving behind to brace him as both arms strained under the force of impact. He narrowed his eyes as flames licked up the trident; he could feel the heat of them radiating against the skin of his hands. At this proximity he could glare at his opponent and see the mismatched colour of his eyes.

T'suris could practically feel the rage radiating from Arumi - from his glower, his body language, even how he moved in to fight. This one was very, very angry - which was something to exploit.

T'suris used his height and weight to his advantage: he heaved and twisted his spear, which he had intentionally stuck between the barbs of the trident, to dislodge Arumi's grip. He saw no other weapons on the winged elf, but the fire - he doubted that came from the weapon itself, though he had encountered a few enchanted weapons in his time. Twisting the spear downwards, he freed one hand to grasp a scimitar, swinging it at Arumi's shoulder.

 

[Arumi Shacen]

He could speak and he was fast. The spear and trident clashed, Arumi's stance wide and his muscles taut as he tried to find an advantage. He noted the flickered gaze of T'suris's dark eyes to the dancing fire, and thought he saw discomfort there.

Arumi struggled for a moment, trying to twist the trident out of the entrapment, his lip curling up in a snarl as the komodo's greater strength became apparent. T'suris forced the weapon in an arc and Arumi felt his grip slide - he let go of the shaft, not willing to be driven into the sand or lose his balance. The trident flipped into the sand, still burning.

Arumi swept one of his now-empty hands in an upward arc, the flames following his finger tips, just as the scimitar swung up from the komodo's hip. Arumi swore, his wings flaring - he hadn't seen T'suris's other hand leave the spear. The blade sliced across his pectoral, opening flesh and exposing a glimpse of collarbone.

The winged elf's face was dark with fury as he saw his opening - T'suris's sword arm held aloft at the end of his swing, and the spear pointing down. Flames engulfed his fingers, hands, forearms and he threw himself at the scaled beast. One hand went for his throat, the other for the wrist of his sword arm, aiming to trap the spear between their bodies. This could go dreadfully wrong, but Arumi didn't care. He wanted to hear flesh sizzle.

 

[T’suris Flameblade]

Rage? Yes, the Avariel was fill of it. Was it uncontrollable? No. This Arumi Shacen must have had some kind of training to be able to keep such intense emotions bridled.

Well, maybe not bridled enough to make strategic battle decisions.

T'suris snarled as fire-engulfed fingers grasped his neck and the wrist of his sword arm; the smell of burning skin and scales filled his senses and stung his eyes. Instead of fighting back, he encouraged his momentum, dropping his spear, pivoting his feet. He leaned forward as he spun, transferring his interia and using his weight to slam his tail into Arumi's rib cage, intending to throw the winged elf off of him and to the ground.

Sand flew as he finished spinning, quads firing as he planted his feet and drew his other sword. His neck ached, and he could see bubbles forming on his skin in the shape of Arumi's hand, black fingers wrapping around his wrist. T'suris hissed at the pain even as the crowd around him cheered. Even the Komodi were up, yelling and hissing in their native tongue, cheering him on. If he had been listening, he would have heard the crowd chanting something about the bird versus the lizard, but his focus was entirely on Arumi alone.

He spun the blades of his scimitar down and launched at Arumi. He did not allow himself time to think about the second-degree - maybe even third-degree - burns to his body, even as the pain rattled his senses. Blades down, he aimed to ground Arumi, going for the Avariel's precious wings to pin him to the Arena floor.

 

[Arumi Shacen]

Fleeting triumph filled Arumi as his fingers wrapped around T'suris's wrist and neck. He inhaled the strange smell of roasting scales combined with charring flesh. The elf's claws were extended, but the chance wasn't had to dig them into the scorching meat of his opponent.

He had anticipated that the komodo would either brace against Arumi or try to avoid his attack entirely. Instead, Arumi's momentum was used against him as T'suris pivoted. The elf glimpsed the swing of the komodo's scaled tail a moment before it battered against his ribs, the weight of it tearing him off his opponent and knocking him sideways.

Arumi rolled when he hit the sand, elbows tucked and wings wrapping around his body, and gasped in pain at the new bruising across his ribcage. A plethora of curses came to mind. He lifted his head as he unfurled himself to see T'suris coming at him with both blades in hand. Arumi didn't have time to get up - T'suris was too close - nor did he have enough stability against the sand to roll into another tumble.

Baring gleaming canines, the fire of his forearms engulfed his entire body where he lay on his belly in the sand, upper body propped up on his forearms. T'suris might be able to slash at him with the wicked curved blades, but he would have to suffer the heat of Arumi's flames. The elf hoped it would be enough to protect his wings, and give himself a chance to stand. He would never admit it, but this once-simple stunt of his magic now began quickly to take a toll.

 

[T’suris Flameblade]

Fire burst from Arumi as T'suris was mid-air: no time to think, no time to change his trajectory. Scimitars came down, point down, into the radius of Arumi's wings with enough force to embed them in the Arena floor below. The heat from Arumi scorched the air; this was a fight T'suris was glad was not on the battlefield, and somewhere behind the adrenaline and the pain, he began to second-guess his disdain for his races' magic. He would not be forgetting this battle anytime soon.

He lept back, the smell of burning flesh stung his senses again. He reached for his spear and pointed it at the Avariel's face.

"Yield!" He snarled, his burns screaming.

 

[Arumi Shacen]

Arumi screamed.

The blades sliced straight through the meat of his wings, through cartilage and feather, piercing out the other side to dip into the sand, wet with fresh blood. The flames of Arumi's body dispelled in a rush of upward air as his concentration was shattered. He screamed, eyes screwed shut and fistfulls of sand clenched in his hands.

"Yield!" The word stung in his ears. Hysterie would be ashamed of his performance. Too reckless. Too imbalanced. And completely ignoring his greatest advantage.

He trembled, the blades still protruding from his wings, just above the top of his shoulders. He could move, but he didn't want to. Something was wrong; his feathered appendages would not fold or stretch as he wanted them to. A muscle or ligament had been severed.

Tears of agony and shame welled in his divergent eyes, his body unmoving apart from the tremors.

"I yield."

 

[TTamark]

The medics rushed out beginning their treatment with Arumi's wing. The announcer soon followed. It was time for Grozkalla to finally fight again.

"After T'suris has had enough time to recouperate, the next fight will be Grozkalla verses T'suris flameblade!"

The crowd cheered, their blood thirst boiling.

 

[T’suris Flameblade]

T'suris gave an audible sigh of relief. He dropped his spear as the healers came running. Forcing himself to his feet, he stepped forward, yanking the scimitars from Arumi's wings.

"Hey!" one of the healers yelled as he ran at Arumi, hands out, rushing to heal the Avariel's wings. The healer gave T'suris a furious glare at the Komodo dropped to and leaned back on his knees, breath catching at the burns on his neck screamed. "Id-iot," the healer muttered under his breath from where he attended Arumi. T'suris dropped the swords at his sides and raised on clawed hand up to the bubbling burns - but another healer swatted his hand away and began her work. T'suris winced, lungs heaving with the need for air, breath catching as the skin on his neck shifted. Yes, he was very glad this fight was not on the battlefield.

"You're strong," T'suris commented, his voice raw and ragged, wincing again at the use of his throat behind the burns, "And you have a great many advantages."

Slitted eyes looked down at Arumi's prone form.

"You should have used them."

The healers worked quickly; T'suris could already feel the pain easing.

"You would have won."

 

[Jason Chronicles]

"Charon, I fear our medicii are too exhausted and Grozkalla's injuries were too severe. We could save his life, but not restore him to his feet. We've taken him to a nearby inn."

"Very well, then who is to fight T'suris?"

The medicus looked at a scroll and paled. "Khurash."

"Oh gods."

* * *
​

The portcullis to the arena groaned as it lifted, revealing a tall and bare chested orc. He shaved his skull but for a single tail of hair at the back. His pointed ears were pierced through with bone, as was his nose, and he wore nothing besides simple pants of rough hide. Muscle rippled beneath jade skin, painted with streaks of blue woad. In one hand he wielded a single-headed axe, in the other knife the length of his forearm. As he entered the arena, he raised both overhead and uttered a guttural roar.

The crowd surged to their feet, screaming. Some began to stamp their feet against the stands, which was soon taken up by the whole crowd in a fervor. To this tattoo, Khurash strode out upon the sands and waited for his opponent. The crowd quieted down.

"Who am I?" the orc bellowed.

"KHURASH!" the crowd roared back.

"How many skulls have I brought you?"

"FIFTY!"

"Fifty-one" corrected an onlooker, to widespread booing.

"What do I see?"

"BLOOD!"

"What do I hear?"

"SCREAMS!"

"Who do I face today?"

"A DEAD MAAAAN!"

Khurash turned and locked eyes with @T'suris Flameblade. He was smiling.

 

[T’suris Flameblade]

The Komodo sighed, closing his eyes as he listened to the crowd roar.

Lovely.

A voice bellowed; T'suris wiped Arumi's blood from his scimitars off onto his pants.

The crowd answered; T'suris sheathed the blades.

The voice bellowed again; the healers scattered.

The crowd answered again; T'suris grabbed his spear.

The crowd booed; russet lips smirked.

The voice roared; the Komodo came to his clawed feet.

The crowd roared back; he turned to meet his opponent.

The orc roared again; T'suris planted his spear.

The crowd roared back; he glared.

The orc thundered; he grew frustrated.

The crowd thundered back; he glanced at crowd as they reveled.

The orc roared again; he forced himself to be patient.

And the crowd went wild.

It was a good tactic - rally the crowd, intimidate the opponent, and amp yourself up all the same time. It was a very good tactic. And it was working. But despite the Komodo's misgivings, he couldn't help it - once that ugly smile was turned on him, he found himself smirking. The orc's manner truly was infectious.

Taking his spear in both hands, he rushed at Khurash and swung his spear low, aiming for the sweet spot just below the orc's kneecaps; if he could sever a tendon or two, the fight might be over before it began.

T'suris just hoped this opponent didn't wield magic as well.

 

[Jason Chronicles]

The horned-thing charged Khurash with a defiant smirk. Khurash curled broad lips in a wargish snarl. The orc felt the rush of battle thundering in his blood, hammering in his heart, surging in his head. Heavy brow contorting in concentration, raw and corded sinew rippling, Khurash whipped his axe around in a blur of motion.

The axehead hooked the shaft of the spear just behind the spearhead and drug it off center, but the edge of the spear still ran along the flesh of Khurash's outer knee, opening up a small channel that welled with blood and stung.

Wasting no time, the bare-chested orc stepped in, toward T'suris, and stabbed down at one of the horned-man's forearms with his long knife.

@T'suris Flameblade

 

[T’suris Flameblade]

T'suris cursed silently as his spear was knocked off target and the orc stepped towards him; already his advantage with his spear was gone. He couldn't avoid the blade - it sliced through muscle and tendon as it came down, glancing off bone. His scales weren't enough to stop the blade, but they managed to deflect it enough from rendering his left forearm completely useless, though his hand was still partially crippled from the blow, blood splattering the sand.

The spear head went down; T'suris whipped his partially-crippled arm up, the butt end of the spear flying towards the orcs face with all his might, aiming for the jelly of the orc's eye.

 

[Jason Chronicles]

Iron met flesh and carved through the meat with ease. Khurash felt a rush. Though he fought for these crowds who knew nothing of his people's ways, he could not help but bask in the glory, as he would the approval of his ancestor spirits.

The horned-man struck back quickly, smacking Khurash in the side of head with enough strength to split skin. Khurash felt a hot warmth trickle down from his hairless brow. The crowd roared as blood from both warriors now pattered onto the sand, but they were far from sated.

Grunting, Khurash took another step in and brought his axe under the spear haft, seeking to loop the head behind the back of T'suris' knee and then reap the horned-man's leg out from under him.

This was the way of the broken branch, the way of his people. In single combat against a warrior of skill, a killing blow would seldom present itself. Cut the tendons. Hack the sinews. The branches would break. And then the tree would be ready to fall.

 

[T’suris Flameblade]

T'suris couldn't believe the orc could be clouted on the side of the head with a solid shaft of wood and remain practically unphased - this wasn't good at all. He was further surprised when the orc stepped in again - did the beast have a death wish? T'suris hadn't come to the Arena with the intent to kill - shed blood, certainly, but he killed enough for his employers. Killing for fun just...didn't appeal to him.

The orc, on the other hand, seemed to be reveling in the idea.

Spear, still raised, T'suris pushed the shaft against the orc, using the momentum to push his own self back while also attempting to stagger the orc, narrowly avoiding the spear head, the blade scrapping the side of his calf. He needed some space between himself and Khurash to regain some advantage.

Hands still gripping his spear, blood draining down his left arm, T'suris squared his stance and lowered his spear at the orc.

Let the beast be the one to come to him this time.

 

[Jason Chronicles]

The brutal shove drove Khurash back and separated the two warriors. The orc steadied his bare feet in the sand, then began to circle the spear wielder.

Blood dribbled down the side of Khurash’s head and along his leg from the cut in his knee, soaking into the rent pants, warm and sticky beneath the heat of the sun. Drying quickly.

But he was not the one who had taken a knife through the arm. Khurash had felt the tip hit bone. He watched as the horned man held his spear and favored his good hand like an elk with a lamed leg.

He began a chant.

“Gray is father mountain.”

His nostrils flared as he drank in the scent of sweat and.... weakness.

“Red is blood of men who climb him.”

He pointed his knife at T’suris, still wet with the warrior’s blood, then ran his tongue down the glistening red length.

“White are bones of men he casts down.”

And then Khurash came at the horned man, like howling wind from down the mountain, raw and cold and furious. The axe and knife in his hands became razored whirlwinds as he set upon the spear and its wielder alike, chopping at the haft or the spear with his axe so that splinters might spray, stabbing at fingers and forearms with his knife so that blood might spurt. The blows rained down fast and furious in this, the Mountain form’s Avalanche strikes.

 

[T’suris Flameblade]

T'suris raised his eyebrows at the orc sarcastically, as if to say "really?" when the orc licked his own knife. Orcs were strange, that was for sure. He didn't know who "father mountain" was - maybe this was some military orc chant? The crowd seemed to enjoy it, but T'suris didn't care. The orc certainly knew how to put on a show at least.

He frowned as the orc charged, holding his patience, the ground shaking with every pounding step the orc took, holding his ground as the orc rushed closer and closer until -

The Komodi took a deep breath just as the orc's hatchet came down on the shaft of his spear, filling his lungs to their maximum capacity; he jerked his spear back, out of the orc's reach to throw the thug off-balance just as he exhaled, spitting sticky, green venom directly into the orc's face. The venom caught fire even as it left his mouth, flames roaring to life, racing down the spray of venom towards the orc's ugly mug. Red and yellow flames exploded all around, encompassing the vision of the two opponents as the air rippled with heat.

Maybe the venom would paint an improvement on the orc's grotesque features.

His good hand left his spear, the band one barely holding on as he grabbed the hilt of his scimitar and slashed for the orc's neck.

((Khurash ))