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

[Arumi Shacen]

After the announcement of his next opponent, a healer trotted over to where Arumi knelt in the sand. They carried a canvas pack full of bandages and vials. The winged man scowled, but the healer rolled their eyes and seemed not concerned about his demeanor. No healing mages? No one to instantly knit his wounds back together? He struggled to accept how mundane this treatment wound be.

The remaining shred of his shirt was cut away. He lifted his arms as instructed while the medic bound his chest to prevent the cracked rib from moving over-much. A cold liquid was applied to each of his wounds that felt like a breath of ice and smelled strangely minty, but helped to alleviate some of the pain. His leg stung, but the spear slice was shallow and was covered with a soft bandage.

The winged elf stood as the healer walked away, apparently satisfied with their pathetic ministrations. He looked around for Ermengarde , and spotted the weapons rack in the sweep of his gaze. Arumi strode over and contemplated his options. Weapons had never been his preference, but he wasn't sure yet who (or what) precisely he was fighting, as he really hadn't been paying attention to names of the other competitors. He didn't want to again be at a disadvantage with only his natural tools. He selected a steel trident mounted on a wooden pole. Options for reach, entrapment, impalement... This will do.

Returning to an unused space of the arena, he awaited his new opponent's attention.

 

[Aeyliea]

It was little tells, subconscious, that gave her the cues on his attacks. She could see sharply, had been trained with spear and buckler to read her opponents every move and act accordingly. The training blended well into the sword, which was her preferred weapon anyway.

That coupled with an innate instinct for the ebb and flow of a battlefield, and she was dangerous beyond comparison when not facing overwhelming odds.

Sharp eyes, like a hawk - approapriate, since she was usually referred to as such. She saw the movement before it happened, tried to guess at how he was react to subtle dance moves. Weighed and calculated the risks versus the gains, and decided it was worth both. She slid to the side swiftly, so that the slightest shift of her blade moved tit to the left of his thrust. And then she allowed the lightest of touches, fending the blade as she spun around with the blade to the fore as a guard. He did not overextend this time, which was fine.

Efficient motion, she moved to sweep his feet out from under him. She did not know how much longer she could ply a mixture of martial arts with swordplay before frustration or anger - anger at being beaten by a woman, or just anger at two failed attempts - led to him abandoning the subtler arts and slipping into savagery. She could see the savagery there, below the surface. She could not face him strength for strength, and sooner or later he would came at her in earnest.

 

[childish brandino]

He was strong.

His fundamental skills, discipline, and technique were flawless.

One could understand Kishou's shock as he had never been bested so easily in a contest of skill. The moment she began her evasive movements, he was able to track her. Even as she reached the edge of his eyesight, he was aware of her presence. His head snapped to follow her fluid motions. He could anticipate her, yet her technique was so elusive. He watched a slender leg swing towards the back of his knees. It was like a whip, the way it lashed out at him.

He leaned forward. He bent his right knee slightly and brought his foot up off the ground. It was a minuscule movement, completely efficient with no wasted energy. He then snapped his foot back. It was not a powerful strike, but it caught her shin mid-swing. He used the contact of sole-to-shin to bounce away and spun to face her. He smiled, pleased with the result of the exchange.

 

[Aeyliea]

Stab of pain, but it was someone else's pain. Minor, inconsequential - and later, when no one was looking, she would curse and sputter. For now, her mind was a honed blade, forever seeking any opening beyond her opponents guard.

She still held the blade off as she snapped her kicking leg back into the ground to retard the sudden reverse in rotation. Even should he force that weapon towards her, as close as they were and with their relative positions there was no effective way either could use their weapon without backing off. It was a vulnerable position for her, but one not without its potential rewards.

The bird skull seemed to leer as they came to face one another. Still holding his blade at bay, she did the first thing to come to mind: lean forward violently, swiftly, and try to put the crown of her head across the bridge of his nose.

 

[childish brandino]

No mere nick on the nose this time. Kishou's nose crunched quite audibly under the sudden blow. His head snapped back. The pain was sharp, but it was more shocking than anything. Instantly, a fountain of blood poured down his face. Over his lips. Over his chin. His vision blurred as tears attacked his eyes, but he did not close them. Instead, he sucked as much blood into his mouth as he could in a moment. He filled the rest of his mouth with air and pressed his lips tightly together. He used the pressure of air to spray his blood onto her face in a single crimson mist through a narrow gap in his lips.

He stepped in and slid his blade down hers until the guards of their swords locked together. Being significantly taller, he was able to push a down on Aeyliea. His left hand reached out. He grasped the forefinger and middle finger on her right hand and attempted to pry them from the hilt of her sword, intending to dislocate them.

 

[Mualiin]

Smiling One

Mualiin regarded the statement with a blink. Then he took a wide step forward, slamming the axehead into the earth with a literal earth-shaking thud.

"I will not be so relentless to you, young warrior. I am not one to pick on the wounded."

He considered that an appropriate response. He recognized the first sentence as a joking statement, a jab at his size and the armament he donned. Unfortunately for the man, it was not all parts and pieces. Man and metal as one, as a golem of immovable will.

He would regulate his strength, as to not shatter the wounded shoulder on a random swing.

 

[Aeyliea]

The red mist was a distraction, albeit a good one. Not good enough, not in the face of other problems she had to face.

He was strong enough that, even one handed, he could overpower her. It had literally nothing to do with height and everything to do with weight and strength. It was not her style to try and face an opponent head-on for any length of time. She felt his hand, saw the intent, and immediately acquiesced, yeilding that hand from her blade, sliding as swiftly as she could to the left and away. Back, disengaging, retreating to take up a renewed stance.

Her head throbbed from the impact, aggravated by the blow. It was a costly gambit, and she could feel the reverberations of what the ogre had done to her echoing back and forth in her head. The confusion and the daze did not return, but the pressure in her skull was beginning to build again, had the moment she used it as a weapon.

 

[Ermengarde]

Arumi Shacen
Ermengarde walked into view. The medics were able to propperly patch her up by now. Man, what did those mages use to accelerate healing by so much? Nevertheless those deep cuts were long gone and just a memory of a fight past by now.

The woman wore a padded white jacket and over it a long blue cloak. She was one armed and only had a long rapier in her grip. She shifted into her stance, contemplating how to even counter an Avariel.

 

[childish brandino]

I will not give you time. The flow will be mine.

He chased her. In a swift bound, he closed the distance between them. Small, agile, and nimble. He would not give her time or freedom to use her advantages against him, yet he remained cautious of her immense skill. After all, she was surely accustomed to such mismatches of build.

If she was a river, then he would be a large boulder that stubbornly disrupted her current.

His mouth slightly hung open. Blood stained his otherwise white teeth red. He had difficulty breathing through his nose, and he could feel swelling already. His nose responded with an annoying throb following every motion that jolted his body. Blinking a few times cleared the tears that welled up in his eyes.

Kishou gripped his sword with a single hand now. The hilt was firmly pinched between his thumb and forefinger. The middle finger was wrapped not loosely or tightly around the hilt, and the remaining two fingers gripped the hilt like a vice. This allowed for pliability without sacrificing a great deal of strength.

The moment he closed the distance, he delivered a diagonal swing down towards Aeylia’s right shoulder.

 

[Arumi Shacen]

They're pitting me against that?! A one armed human woman? Did the managers of this fight think Arumi was a joke? Disgust was evident in his expression, lip curled and brows drawn.

No killing. He inhaled, nostrils flaring, cyan and violet eyes narrowed. ...if possible. He rolled the trident in his hand. They expected him to fight this slave race, to put on a show, and not kill the woman.

Arumi bent at the knees, midnight wings unfurling, and leapt into the sky. The bruised appendage ached with each flap, but did not impede his ability to stay airborne. The cracked rib was more cumbersome, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through. He's fought in much worse pain. But at those times there had been stakes. This was just a game.

Tilting his wings, Arumi swept in a circle over Ermengarde, looping around her like a bird of prey, about fifteen feet in the air. On his second pass around, he stretched out his empty hand. Berry-sized orbs of fire began to rain down on the woman, trailing in the wake of his circling.

 

[Ermengarde]

The woman crouched a little, her stance like a springboard, reactive and fast at a moment's notice.

As the Avariel circled around her, her head and eyes moment just enough to take his propper glance. He wasn't that high above her, but any movement should be accounted for.

A snowfall of embers caught her at a shortlived surprise. Some caught flame on her cloak from behind, but she stomped it out in the sand. Motivation enough to not have it try land on bare skin. She would move sideways and out from the circling trajectory of the Avariel, dodging most of the downpour.

 

[Arumi Shacen]

The moment Ermengarde's attention dropped from Arumi to her burning cloak, he swooped down on her from behind.

The trident struck out as he attempted to catch the rapier in its tines and disarm the woman, twisting the weapon in his grip for good measure. If he was not to kill her, he would not be able to use his usual tactics.

 

[Ermengarde]

The'd never let go complete attention off the avariel. As soon as he swept behind her, Ermengarde turned with him. And as he swooped in charge, Ermengarde stood still and only sidestepped just in the nick of time to her right and squatted lightly to avoid the wingbeat. A rapier might not be a prime slashing tool, but still she aimed to slash a nick at the flesh of the wing as it passed.

 

[Arumi Shacen]

The rapier passed harmlessly between the silken feathers at the edge of his wing, doing no more than shave a dusting of downy.

Arumi's flight swung around Ermengarde in a tight turn. His wings folded and he dropped to the sand easily, immediately aiming a swift kick at her armless side. He snarled, canines gleaming, as pain lanced across his chest at the twisting movement.

 

[J'Darak Moghahk]

With very little fanfare, the fur scrap and leather armoured Moghahk entered the arena. His thick, glistening grey leathery skin stretched taut over wide plains of muscle, marred by countless scars and dried blood-caked open wounds of varying depths. The healers had done their best to try and heal him, but he refused any and all touch of magic, even going so far as to threaten violence if any came near him. It was clear the Black Orc was more beast than man in mind, guttural throaty snarls, jaw grinding as saliva rolled down the hairs of his chin, teeth glistening still stained reddish pink from his previous fight.

With beady little golden eyes beneath a perpetual scowl he swept the arena for his next fight, ignoring all of the other combatants. Distractions would lead to death, he had to focus, be the best he could be and with it, he raised Gja'Tok; the crude, vicious black-iron great-axe. Slamming a fist to his left pectoral, he roared and bellowed to such a degree the saliva tinted red from the tearing of his throat. Muscles bulged, veins pressed to the surface and his entire body practically shook, completely out of his mind on a concoction only he knew.

"Cuka uis, cuka uis omd kesrs ka cuvord!" J'Darak barked in Clan-Orcish with a spray of spittle, roaring at apparently nothing; as if the words would summon his next opponent, the next one to feel the Bite of Gja'Tok.
____

Szesh

 

[Smiling One]

The large armored warrior slammed his Greataxe onto the ground creating a tremor that nearly threw Willis off balance. "That's nice!" Willis smirked trying to ignore his beating heart. "That'll make it much easier to beat you then!"

The young man circled the huge man keeping his distance while he readied his spear. Willis began to jab at the exposed gap of the giant's armor trying to get a feel for him.

 

[Mualiin]

Caution? He would understand this approach. But smaller opponents capitalized on his bulk. In an ideal scenario for smaller foes, he would be pelted with many small attacks, pokes and prods for chinks in his armor. Unfortunately for them, save his black visor, they would find none.

This young warrior's attempt to find weakness was obvious enough on its own. And with a reach like that weapon, approach would be ill-advised. But Muallin had another, more taunting word for such tactics.

"Amateurish."

With a speed that belied his size, he came upon the man with all the momentum of a landslide, his fist up in an overhead hammerfist. If it landed, there wouldn't be a match to witness, for sure. Even with him controlling his strength, the armor all but ensured it would hit like a club.

 

[Szesh]

Szesh stood up from the wall he’d been leaning on and picked up his spear. He had finally been given a new opponent. The period of rest had been a privilege, and although his arms still ached from the previous fight, he was ready to start again.

J’Darak, the Black Orc. Szesh had never seen a black orc before, and he did not exactly know what one looked like, but he found his opponent immediately. He was tall and muscle-bound, with skin like an rhinoceros and probably just as thick. He looked positively feral, and Szesh had no doubt that he would not be abiding by the “no killing” suggestion they had been given. That axe was immense, and it looked as though it could cleave off Szesh’s leg with a single swing. This would not be a battle of speed and finesse, as it had been with Arumi. Brute savagery awaited, and luckily it was something Szesh could understand.

He strode onto the sand, the sun shimmering off of his scales as he left the shade. Thick black talons tilled the ground as he walked, and he shook off his great wings. J’Darak roared, loud and maddened, his body pulsing with power. He barked in a language Szesh did not understand, but it’s meaning was clear.

Szesh answered with a roar of his own, opening an obsidian vice of sharp teeth and producing a flicker of flames. He held his spear in both hands and stepped forward into a battle stance. Two giants, beasts fighting for spectacle. The crowd could not get enough.

____________
J’Darak Moghahk

 

[Aeyliea]

Giving ground.

She leaned backwards, blade coming up to deflect, angled so that the majority of the force continued to travel along her weapon. The man was as strong as she had measured him up to be, and even diverting most of that force away, she stilled staggered back from the hit. Falling, then, backwards as she became unbalanced.

And rolling, acrobatic feats a specialty to go with the fluid style of combat she preferred. She rolled back onto her feet in a low crouch, blade held one handed before her, perpendicular to the ground. Shoulder aching, head aching, she darted forward without allowing a pause, blade coming into two hands.

There were a particular set of forms that had been taught to her by the old instructor that had helped her learn the foreign weapon. Her people did not use swords; the spear and the bow were their weapons of choice, and had been for centuries. She could always see the elegant dance in her minds eye, deceptive in that practical use would see blood spilled.

She used the graceful moves now, nto to kill but to test strength. Despite the apparent size of the weapon, it was light in her hands. She unleashed a flurry of short cuts and thrusts, all measured to not overextend her guard. She did not expect any of them to succeed, but did expect to see some more of the warrior before her's mettle. Each movement a subtle, growing pounding in the back of her head.

 

[childish brandino]

The speed and compactness of the sudden rush left Kishou very little openings to deliver a counter. His ideal style is defensive, yet against such a fluid and nimble fighter, he struggled.

She did not extend, so he could not knock away her swift strikes and deliver his own. Kishou parried a few, and evaded most of her attacks. Her speed was manageable, yet he had trouble anticipating her flowing movements. Her style was something that unsettled him.

He could only react, and did so with some difficulty. His legs were firmly planted and gave his form a stable foundation. Her blows were fast, yet weak. With each parried and avoided blow, he inched closer.

Patience, He reminded himself, Break the flow.

His next move was deliberate and fierce. A compact thrust approached Kishou. He made a small movement as he twisted his whole body to avoid the blow and stepped forward with his leading right foot. His free left hand pushed the woman's blade away as he stepped in. He swung his sword horizontally, aimed at her left shoulder.

 

[Ermengarde]

According to all known laws of aviation, Ermengarde would have never expected a wingman of such size to turn so quickly.
And he did.
And it hurt.

Ermengarde exhaled a bit forcefully as she stagged and tossed some sand around from the kick, but turned just enough to thrust her rapier at the thigh muscle of the kicking leg while finding ground and regaining balance. Her posture again on high alert she seamlessly lunge to aim a stab at the leg once more.

 

[Aeyliea]

She went down immediately, instinctively, on her back, rolling swiftly to the side to et out of harm's way. His blade whistled over her body, missing her cleanly. Somehow she managed to keep hold of her weapon, and still come upright to the side and back a little from where she had come. Blade in hand, breathing a bit harder, sweat glistening on her forehead and arms.

She wore a deep smile on her face, and it did reflect in her eyes. She was clearly enjoying herself and the interplay between the two of them, despite the pounding in her head.

She stood with her weapon gripped, blade up, edge out, and waited for him to come to her this time.

 

[childish brandino]

Kishou’s mouth hung open and he breathed hard. His broken nose made it difficult to breathe how he’s used to. He blew coagulated blood out of his nose, and onto the sand below him. He stared at the woman for a moment with a serious demeanor, but her smile eased his tension. His face slacked, and he smiled in return. He forgot about the tournament, and the fighting around him faded to silence. He simply saw this remarkable warrior in front of him. They spoke to each other in ways only masters of the sword could. In that moment, he wished to push her to her limits.

He still gripped the sword with one hand. His left hand grasped his sword’s scabbard. He pulled it from the sash around his waist, and approached. Once he reached a satisfactory distance, he took a new stance. His right foot was forward, and his right hand was low by his hip. The tip of his sword was pointed at his opponent. He held his scabbard above his head, the point of it aiming down at her.

He thrusted the sharp point at Aeyliea fully intending to pierce her, yet he expected the telegraphed attack to be avoided. It would disguise the blunt strike he intended to follow up with using the scabbard. He didn’t expect either to do much, but it was his turn to deliver a flurry of blows.

 

[TTamark]

As T’suris Flameblade's opponent resigned soon after they were matched up, they were announced the winner.

Matari NoTail on the other hand was receiving some bad news, because of some complications of the rules his second fight did not count. So to make up for it he would have to face off against another second round contestant. He would be allowed to keep his third round defeat however.

So the announcer pitted T'suris against Matari.

 

[T’suris Flameblade]

T'suris sighed, russet shoulders dropping a little, the fight having ended before it even began. He walked back towards the walls of the Arena, making room for the other fighters as they continued, weapons clashing. The crowd booed at T'suris, but he focused on the Komodi in the crowd still cheering for him. He raised his hand that held the spear as he locked eyes with them and nodded. He wasn't going to step down.

Sweat already trickled down his neck, the underside of his armour already slick with it. Dark blue eyes turned towards at the sky as he lowered his spear-arm - there wasn't a cloud in sight. No wonder he was sweltering - as they all were, likely.

Lowering his gaze, he heard the announcer shout the name of his next opponent, Matari NoTail. The Komodi hoped this one would be more of a challenge. Though he held no ill will towards those who resigned (these fights were for sport, after all) he still found no joy in succeeding opponents who backed out so quickly.

Turning, he straightened his posture and planted his spear firmly on the sandy ground as dark blue eyes scanned the Arena, searching out the kitsune.