Duel:Adain v Bryyn

Melee Division

Judges: Rheven (mid-judge), Eyren (Adain), Ginger (Bryyn)

Victor: Adain [3-0]

Bryyn looks across the arena at his spellblade foe. His cold azure eye's focus on the green eyes, is there fear in them? The next few moments will show. The tiny fae shakes back his long ebony locks, wishing he hadn't forgotten the simple leather tie he usually uses on it. Reaching all the way to down to his twin rapiers, he curses the ball of anti-magic, for the blades should leap to his hands as they draw near. The blades feel a bit heavier too, “Oh well.” he thinks, “Same for both of us.” Giving the blades a quick whirl in each direction, he takes a couple steps towards the lycan, the little feet crunching from the unknown substance beneath them. Running up to the black clad Adain, blades whirling in a furious blur, he leaps up taking flight, bringing the left blade up to slash from the right towards his right thigh, while the right hand blade jabbing straight for his throat, hungry for the life blood of this victim.

Adain eyes his opponent across the arena, his golden tinged irises searching the fae in fine detail as the lycan’s mind races through the possibilities of the fight that lay before him. Casually he rolls his neck about, releasing the stress that had built up in his already tense muscles. He could not let Bryyn know his nerves tingled and his heart raced before the fight, no, that would give his opponent the upper hand. The fae breaks into motion, gaining speed until he was bearing down upon Adain at a dead sprint with blades at ready to cut deeply into flesh and bone. Adain grits his pointed teeth in anticipation of the oncoming attack, his hand flashing down to the leather bound pommel of Winter’s Bite at his side and wrapping his fist firmly about the tool of war. He pulls to free the chill blade from its housing, the familiar crackling hiss of steel on steel watered down this time as the effects of the arena sap the frost magic from the dread weapon. The gravel and sand beneath his feet crunches as Adain steps back and slings his blade across his body to parry off the more deadly left hand while his free hand comes down heavily towards the attack nearing his thigh. Bryyn’s nimble hand makes it just ahead of the lycan’s, carving a long line in Adain’s skin with the point of the dagger as it is knocked down with a stunning blow from the lycan’s fist. Snarling at the stinging cut, Adain brings the pommel of his blade back sharply from the parry directly towards the fae’s skull with intent of knocking the fae prone with the concussion at such close quarters.

Bryyn giggles in delight as the crimson fluid begins dripping from Adain's leg. Before the sparks from the clash of steel of his right hand blade fades away, a deft twist of his left hand, slaps away the heavier blade with just enough force to miss the head slash. Soaring higher into the air, the dark fae slashes both blades diagonally downward to slash at the spellblades face, ending in a crossed scissors to block an upwards attack. Hoping with all of his heart that this battle goes quickly, as the stench of blood and entrails is near enough to make him black out.

Adain’s eyes begin to go wide with rage as the fae flits about, ducking the blow he had dealt and slapping his blade away as if it where nothing more than a nuisance to him. Buckling at the knees and falling backwards to the earth as quickly as he could, Adain just narrowly dodged the downward strikes slashing at his face. When his left hand hits the gravel and sand to catch his fall it sinks deeply into the loose mixture, his fingers coming in contact with the cold waxy flesh of a dead warrior that was buried in the very floor he was walking upon. The lycan recoils from this corpse, determined not to become like that unfortunate soul as he picks up a fist of stones and sand throwing them at the fae hovering above him just before lashing out again with a potent swing at the fae’s left side.

Bryyn growls his aggravation at the falling lycan, an opportunity for blood fading into the past. Snorting the stench from his sensitive nostrils, he sees the debris grabbed and thrown. The tiny pixie becomes fluidity of motion, as he dips up, down, right and left. Still pelted in the face a bit, his eye's burning and turning red. Diving down beside Adain, he kicks more of the unknown noxious debris, at his face. Meanwhile, his blades descend in a quicksilver arc, the left jabbing at the chest, and the right slashing at the face.

Adain falls back onto his back after lunging up for the violent swing cleaves though nothing but the stagnant air and the cloud of dust that hung there after his attack. With Bryyn darting about so quickly his temper soared, teeth grinding together in hatred of the fae as he rolls towards Bryyn to get another swing at the man. The dust and rock sprays directly into the lycan’s face as he turns, the stones pelting his skin and the dirt flying into his mouth and stinging his eyes. Cursing and spitting, Adain drops his blade to the dust and tucks his arms to his side, rolling away just before the downswing of the daggers bit into his flesh once again. With a final burst of energy Adain pivots on his hip in the gravel, bringing his heavy boot about in a wide swing that was aimed for Bryyn’s back, using this turning motion the lycan plants his palm on the ground trying to regain his lost footing at last.

Bryyn smiles broadly as his rapiers drink more of the sanguine fluid of the lycan. So caught up in his joy at the stumbling form of him, the swift kick wasn't even noticed by the diminutive spellblade. All of his breath is whooshed out of him as his body careens across the arena from the unexpected force of the blow. Crashing into the wall, narrowly missing a protruding spear, he regains his feet, and pulls a small strip off of the piece of leather tunic hanging from the shaft of the weapon. Tying his hair back properly, he flies back to the center of the arena, blades at the ready for any more moves from the lycan.

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