Difference between revisions of "Duel:Orikahn v Callum, Round 1, 2019 Hero of Freedom Championship"
(Created page with "Duelists: Orikahn vs Callum Duel: Traditional 3 rounds with final defense, 15 minute posting limit. Stakes: Auto-hit to the winner, leaving...")
Revision as of 19:29, 13 August 2019
Duel: Traditional 3 rounds with final defense, 15 minute posting limit.
Stakes: Auto-hit to the winner, leaving a small permanent scar. Three thousand gold coins to the winner.
Larket Pawn and Junkyard
West of Larket's primary road sits a quaint shop, owned and operated by up-and-comers in the mercantile scene. At first, it doesn't seem much; however, upon further investigation, it's quite the ingenious set-up. The front of the store is decorated with a rather ornate display of flowers which surrounds a sign-post which reads, 'Larket Pawn & Junkyard.' The freshly-stained wooden door opens to a counter -- customers may venture beyond to browse through gently-used items ranging from books, weapons, trinkets, even clothing. The atmosphere is warm and welcoming, decorated with various portraits of family and friends, images from the owners' past ventures. A blocked staircase would lead one to assume the owners not only use this site as a primary source of income, but a home as well. The rear exit leads to a junkyard, where items deemed unfit for sale -- primarily metals -- are reforged into raw materials. Adjacent to the junkyard's threshold is the entrance to a cellar, perpetually sealed shut with an ominous black-steel lock, fitting of an over-sized key.
The Larket Academy of Magick has been charged with magically setting the battle arena for all the duels across Larket. Headmaster Percival is the officiant of the duels. Today’s duel takes place in the Larket Pawn and Junkyard, more specifically the junkyard at the back of the lovely pawn shop. Bleachers have been erected on the roofs of the pawn shop and neighboring buildings. Tall piles of scrap metal, wood, and plaster lay strewn about the junkyard. Headmaster Percival explains that within some of the piles are hollow porcelain dolls of soldiers. Destroy the doll (smash it, zap it, cut it, bat it, there’s no wrong way!) and it summons a junkyard golem to fight for you. The golems are weak and easily beaten, but useful and completely under your control. Their weapons are serrated and sharpened pieces of junk. There’s a twist: For every two dolls smashed (by anyone), the third doll is a stronger marble golem who resembles a human-sized chess piece, a sword-swinging King. (E.G. Kahn smashes one, Callum smashes one, and the third is marble irrelevant of who smashes it. Or Kahn smashed two in a row, and Callum smashes the third, still a marble golem that now fights for Callum.) Every third doll smashed is marble and the pattern repeats in this way: junk golem, junk golem, marble golem, junk golem, junk golem, marble golem. There are 12 total dolls hidden throughout the yard. They don’t all need to be found, of course, but have been populated to be found.
Orikahn has arrived in full plate, visor down, cape fluttering. Noisily, he cracks his knuckles inside his spiked gauntlets, reaches into a nearby pile, and plucks out one of the aforementioned porcelain dolls. The big, metal monster looks right at home in the junkyard. As he opens in a trot, the massive plates covering the massive feline begin to grind and shuffle in an ominous metallic rhythm. The metal's unliving shell betrays no glee, betrays no predatorial hunger, betrays none of Orikahn's true feelings or intentions as he barrels toward Callum with frightening ease. After these many years, this suit is his second skin, and he steers it with uncanny, fluid ease. His intention? Any observer can see he plans to close with Callum. Indeed, as soon as he is near enough, Kahn swipes with a punch try and draw some blood with his gauntlet spikes: phase one of "the ol' one-two." The second blow, the more serious strike of the two, aims to smash his doll right into Callum's pretty face, porcelain first.
Callum wore no armor and it might prove to be his downfall, but yet here he is all the same. Accompanied by his recently acquired Xalious staff, Cal chose his own junk pile just as the cat had. The staff was thrown sideways towards a pile behind Orikahn, fueled by air magic. It continuously picked up speed as it flew along, creating a massive, electricity filled cyclone. It’d reach its intended target, lightning and all, just as the Catalian was taking a face-full of metal-covered feline paw and soon after the doll. Blood spurted from Cal’s face--nose broken, an eyebrow split open, and likewise his bottom lip. The witch staggered, kneeled, and spat out the now ever-dripping red liquid before looking beyond the Ranger’s Guild’s fierce leader through that curtain of crimson. The cyclone had stopped in its path, gathering up the entirety of the pile, as well as the doll. And then, it was suddenly on the move again, aimed directly at Orikahn, whipping electrified metal at the cat as lightning the sheer force of the cyclone crushed the golem doll within it. Cal was soon on the move, trying to run towards the next nearest pile to destroy another doll.
Orikahn can't help giving a feral cry, a roar of triumph fueled by the sheer thrill of feeling flesh split and give way beneath his blows, of seeing and smelling bright, fresh blood. Adrenaline floods his veins. And what do his hyperstimulated predator senses tell him? Kahn smells... ozone. Ozone? The realization comes just in time to spot a lightning-charged junknado spinning his way. "GRAH?!" It's a dark cloud over his little victory! No matter! Kahn's course is clear. Using the physical advantage of raw speed, the feline drops his broken doll and sprints close after Callum. The advantage is two fold; he his running away from the cyclone and toward his opponent. As he throws down the doll, it metamorphoses into a clanking rattling assistant that immediately shambles after the fleeing Callum and the pursuing Kahn, but not quickly enough. As quickly as it was born, it is whisked away into oblivion, battered and shocked to bits. Kahn, in the meanwhile, is trying to snatch Callum in his grasp. With feline agility, his steely mitts swipe again, and again, each time trying to close the mage in an inescapable grip. If he closes? He'll draw Callum in for a spine-crushing bear hug.
Callum || The sound of the angry cat prompted a fist-pump into the air by Callum. But, much like with Orikahn, the celebration was cut short because holy frak that cat is much faster than Cal anticipated. “Ohgodohgodohgod!” The swipes reach Cal’s back as still Cal willed himself to run no matter what. Metal claws sliced easily through that expensive shirt and soon after flesh. The Catalian’s own cry can be heard--and there was even some sneezing because, gods’ be damned, he was allergic to cats--as he came to a halt, the looming risk of getting a catmanbearhug increasingly exponentially. Today’s not a good day for Cal’s pathetic (but super hot) human body, it seemed. As the cat’s massive arms closed in around him to crush the witch, he managed to put both hands against Orikahn’s breastplate, summoning up a double jetstream of water in an attempt to throw him back into the cyclone, “It’s time for a bath, kitty!” If he succeeded in even so much as briefly freeing himself from the allergy-inducing embrace, he’d all but dive in that junk pile he’d been running towards to grab that much coveted third doll.
Orikahn audibly rumbles with pleasure as his arms loop around Callum, and he proceeds to initiate the squeezins. Vicelike force crushes down around Callum but then, much to Kahn's surprise, it's bath time? Before Orikan can riddle that out, the answer comes right to him in the form of two high-powered torrents flooding against him. Kahn holds tighter, he digs his claws in to find a grip, he sinks the claws of his gauntlets into whatever he can, as tightly as he can (sorry Callum), but it's no use. The force of the flood is too great. Kahn blasts off into the cyclone, holding two fistfulls of whatever tore off when he got rocketed away on a waterspout. Into the cyclone he sails. Metal "dings" and "dongs" as bits of flying junk smack against his armor. Lightning sizzles, and Kahn braces for the worst, only to discover his armor protects him in more ways than one! The cat has no idea what a faraday cage is, but the principle stands despite his ignorance. Though the ozone burns his nose, the electricity passes harmlessly around him. "Haha-OOF!" A particularly large piece of Kahn's ruined golem flies into his sternum. Right, let's get out of this, Kahn. Drawing upon every last ounce of feline speed, predatory adrenaline, and mystic precognition he posesses, Kahn steels himself against the myrad blows of the cyclone and focuses on the spinning staff at its heart. He times its turns. He coils his arm. He snatches! "Take THAT." Staff in hand, the cyclone crumbles around Kahn. He falls and lands on his feet, as cats do, then resumes his usual MO. All muscle and little brain, the battered Kahn runs (somewhat dizzily) toward Callum once more, obviously intent on beating the mage to a pulp, with his own mage staff no less. Battle drunk and eager for payback, Kahn swings recklessly and often.
Callum || As Orikahn tried his damnedest to keep from getting sucked into the cyclone, flesh is further flayed and that poor shirt of Cal’s is ripped clean off. Goodbye, Orikahn! Tell Dorothy the witch says hi! But, there’d be no singing of Ding Dong The Cat Is Dead, for said feline played fetch and caught the stick as Cal tried to catch his breath, not quite getting to that marble golem like he wanted. Frakking hell. The witch is still winded and bleeding pretty much everywhere as Orikahn found his footing on the ground once more and started whacking away at first, empty air, and then unfortunately an already battered Catalian. He’s knocked to the ground with a thud, a pool of blood quickly forming around him. Cal does manage, though, as he’s always had when the going got tough. So what does he do? He summoned up a tightly knit net of lightning above himself, intent on holding it up for as long as he could to keep from getting pummelled even more by his own weapon.
Orikahn swings, smacks, and generally clobbers Callum with the staff, even after the magical netting goes up. After a while, he gets the impression that he's beaten the mage enough and, with a dimming sense of pursuit and combat, he takes a break to lean on his newfound stick and pant. A little curiously, perhaps to see if the witch is conscious, Kahn prods at him with the toe of his boot. If Callum resumes moving, he'll resume whacking, at least until such a time as the duel is called.
Orikahn tiredly throws down Callum's staff, letting it bounce around on the witch's protective energy net. He throws up his visor to reveal a bloody nose and a ferocious will revived by the thrill of victory. Turning to the crowd, Orikahn roars and beats on his chest, basking in their cheers and boos alike. This goes on for a brief span, but Kahn is eager for hearty meat and drink. A night of revelry will be spoils enough... even if that witch fellow looked tasty. Kahn's done this enough now to know he doesn't get to eat the loser. Spoilsports.