Duel:Aevo v Varn, Match 5 of the 2016 Frostmaw Tournament

Duelists: Aevo vs Varn
Duel: Traditional 3 rounds with final defense, 15 minute posting limit
Stakes: Auto-hit to the winner
Judges: Diryon, Hildegarde and Reginae

Frozen War-Fields

The town, that silent, broken ruin, is left behind as the land changes here. It becomes flatter, yet no more beautiful for it. Ice coats everything in sight, making footing treacherous in places. Where ice cannot be seen, it is only because it is buried under mounds of snow. The white powder is layered everywhere, and the gusting wind carries the crystals to slap stingingly against the face of any traveller. In this featureless white, the eye is drawn to irregular mounds, odd humps under the blanket of snow. A cold, still hand sticks out of one such, a booted foot out of another. Could they be bodies? But why were they here, left to lie in this lonely wasteland? Where were their loved ones to bury them? And why were there so many dead? Bending to touch a hand only increases the suspicion that these poor bodies have been long since forgotten by any in the land of the living, and you can’t help but wonder, “Will my fate match theirs in this place?”. This area leads north, south, west, and east back towards the ruins.

--

Balgruuf steps forward, his hands gesticulating up and down in the air in indication. It seems the crowd is wise, and as the various spectators and gamblers begin to quiet down, the aged being takes a stance at the center of the fighting pit. The mouth piece is a towering man, an elder frost giant whose hair and beard have turned a stark shade of blue-tinged white. His voice is growling and severe as he booms out to those present, "Welcome to the first round of the Titans of Winter Tournament! Here we gather in the Forgotten War-Fields to watch two noble warriors do battle." Once the signal to begin is given, the crowd steps back out of the way to allow both combatants to do their worst, and Balgruuf fades into the jumble of frost giants collected at one end of the fighting area. "Good luck to both Aevo and Varn!"

Varn stares out across the frozen field toward his opponent, a look of both resolve and sadness in his eyes. The frost-giant offers Aevo a single wordless bow before trudging resolutely toward him. His thick snow-wolf cape, made heavier by its hidden ghroundium weave, flaps fitfully behind him as he moves, and his huge leather boots leave deep divets marking the passage of his feet. The warrior-monk moves confidently across the ice, being well-accustomed to Frostmaw and its various hazards; keeping his balance is second nature. At a distance of perhaps fifteen feet, Varn lifts his right hand and unlimbers his weapon of choice; it is a five-foot long-bladed spear attached to an eight-foot quarterstaff by a length of heavy-gauge spiked chain. The odd implement had previously been resting across the frost-gian's massive shoulders, and now it rests in his right hand easily, barely dragging the ground as its bearer takes one more heavy step forward. Suddenly, Varn lets out a startled-sounding bellow as his left foot appears to skid out from beneath him. Though the falter may look and sound believable to an onlooker, it is in fact a ruse, the better to allow Varn to simultaneously surprise his assailant and change his trajectory. The giant's right arm cranks back and then explodes forward and downward even as his body falls forward, bringing the spear in a vicious arc toward his foe from above and to the side, meaning to carve him from neck to navel with a sudden, decisive stroke. Not one to leave anything to chance, Varn slams down onto his right knee, left leg splayed out behind him, and shoots his unencumbered left arm outward just above the ground, hand spread in an unmistakable attempt at seizure. If Aevo somehow avoids the hellish spear aiming for his vitals, he may find his legs clutched by an inexorable hand, whereafter he will find himself at the mercy of a creature far larger and stronger than himself...a creature more than willing to brawl in close quarters in order to put a quick end to this contest.

Aevo was in the midst of handing of his backpack to his human companion when he finally got the first look of his opponent. THe lycanthrope's jaw dropped. "Aw are ye kiddin' me? Really?" He looked to Sid. "Really? A Frickin' giant? Gonna have 't find whoever set this tourney up an giv'em a piece o'me mind." Tapping the human's shoulder, Aevo turned and took a few steps forward onto the battlefield, a deep breath taken as he began to daydream the various ways this thing could kill him. C'mon you can do this. With a gentle salute, Aevo prepared for the first round- a preparation cut short by the giant's immediate rush into battle. Immediately one of those gem-adorned gauntlets hit the ground and in front of the lycanthrope a wall of ice erupted; roughly fifteen feet in height, arcing over his form in a shell like wall of defense. Hopefully enough to shield the blow and obscure him from view. It would not be enough however, as the spear crashes through with some resistance. One foot planted behind him, Aevo pushes off of a moung of snow and ice, hoping to circle around the right of his barrier in order to surprise the giant. It is here that he would make haste for the giant's leg, his right hand balled into a fist; a ball of lightning crackling all around the glove. His aim would be the larger man's genitals, an attempt at getting him to lurch over so that he may swing an uppercut next into the giant's throat.

With his weight on one knee facing Aevo's conjured ice-barrier more or less squarely, Varn is well-positioned for what happens next. Ice shatters and Varn looses his grasp upon his weapon immediately, needing it no longer. He catches sight of Aevo rocketing around the edge of his barrier and instantly adopts a defensive position, tumbling to his right side. The blow aimed for his genitals strikes the frost-giant's left shin as he rolls onto his back and brings his left leg up and across toward his right. A howl of pain rips out of the frost-giant as lightning tears into his leg, causing the entire limb to tremble, but it quickly turns into a roar of triumph as his knees meet, with Aevo caught between them. Wasting no time, the enormous warrior-monk sits up, balls his right hand into a fist twice the size and weight of a bowling-ball, then hammers it down toward the top of Aevo's skull. Since his knees are currently attempting to pin the lycan in place, Varn has no qualms about using his left hand for a similar purpose, pistoning it downward at a steep angle to hopefully impact with the lycan's stomach.

Aevo was a little to eager to celebrate victory as he heard the frost giant's cries of pain, only then to find himself the fly in a spider's web. "Blood hell!" he called out, trying to pull himself free in fervant stuggle. Seeing that hand rain down from above, his left hand lifted in defense, this time to utter a single word from his lips. "Defnium!" A green colored gem on the knuckle of his left glove flashed a brilliant white; And from it originated a liquid metal that began to encase the arm up to his elbow. It would from here begin to leap from his appendage from both sides, hardening into some sort of a makeshift round shield. It would be enough to absorb a good portion of the blow, but the downward force would cause the lycanthrope to hit himself and nearly buckle from impact. A loud set of curseing would echo out. As the giant's left arm barreled for his guts, Aevo let loose another word, "Firata!" From the knucle of his right hand, the one that were trapped between the giant's knees, a ball of flame would erupt, hoping to scorch the larger entity just enough to loosen its grasp. Aevo would use this moment then to barely avoid the swinging fist, using the giant's bent knee to propel himself upward, both hands reaching for Varn's shoulders. With the forward momentum, Aevo would then intend to slam his forehead against the giant's nose repeatedly; both in hopes to disorient the creature and maybe even knock him out.

Varn grits his teeth in a snarl of determination as fist meets conjured shield. This adversary is proving far more resourceful than he had expected. His left fist misses flesh, and suddenly both of his knees are ablaze. A blood-curdling yowl escapes him, so loud that snow within a few feet scurries away in little puffs and blasts from the force of the sound. The frost-giant, angry as well as agonized, lurches forward and upward, pain propelling him to his feet even as Aevo's hands latch onto his shoulders. The first headbutt connects with his upper lip instead of his nose, splitting it and spraying blood across his teeth. He bellows again, full into Aevo's face, and lumbers a step forward. As Aevo's head looms for another smash against his face, Varn reaches up with both hands and locks them tightly across the lycan's back. Crunch! Aevo snorts blood, coughs, bellows again and stumbles forward, sparks of light dancing in his vision. Suddenly the giant leans his whole body forward, almost perpendicular to the ground, then hikes a knee straight upward. At the moment just before terminal impact, the giant's hands bear down with terrible force on the spell-blade's back and shoulders, crushing him bodily in upon himself even as that upthrust knee seeks to pulverize him from below. With that much mass, momentum and force coming to bear on him from both sides at once, Aevo may literally be broken in half, spine and ribs shattered courtesy of one very angry frost-giant monk.

Aevo screams out in pain with Varn's initial grasp, his mind sent soon into panic mode. Think quick. Think fast. He fists begin to beat against the giant's forearms with little to no avail. He was terrified. All sense of hope falling from the lycan as he realized this would be how he dies. In the grasp of a deadly giant. Angered with himself, a plethora of thoughts race through Aevo's brain, flashes of a good life lived. The more he thought, the more the grew angry with himself for being so stupid. Suddenly anger turned to rage, and it was here that he may have a fighting chance; For within Varn's grasp, Aevo began to shift. His body pulsed and rippled, bones beginning to crack and shift; Blackened fur rapidly srouting in places that fur should not grow. At least on normal humans. Before long the human had come wolven, and like a dog he wriggled about wildly trying to free himself from Varn's grasp. Large white teeth fell upon the Giant's wrist with enough force to hopefully allow himself a moment of freedom. From here, Aevo would still fall against the giant's knee, although with slightly less force so as to not completely rend the wolf from life. A sickening crack could be felt within- at least three ribs broken on impact. Blackened fur tumbled to the ground below, and as the pain surged, so too did his rage. Fighting with every last ounce of misery, Aevo used his powerfil back legs to push himself forward in a powerul leap, once again aiming for that spot between the giant's legs with teeth prepared to chomp down on the larger man's kibbles and bits and end this once and for all.

Varn is lost in bloodlust, hardly aware of the nature of his foe at all even as he begins to shift. The feel of teeth on his wrist is a dim pain, but when his hands clap shut on empty air, the frost-giant comes back to himself. His head is ringing from repeated impacts and his nose may be broken, but otherwise he is still fit to fight. A rising puff of snow near his feet causes the warrior-monk to look down even as Aevo, now in the form of a massive wolf, arcs up toward his crotch. Not wishing to be thus maimed, Varn backpedals a step and snatches at his cape, which comes free in a flurry of fabric and ghroundium. The garment is quite heavy and bulky, and acts as something of a shield as Varn hastily lets it unfurl down his front instead of his back. The wolf's teeth meet the cape instead of the frost-giant's unmentionables and Varn violently twists his wrist, hoping to entangle the beast's muzzle long enough to spare himself the worst. Impact causes him to step backward again, though it is nowhere near enough to knock his several-ton bulk over, and Varn lets go of his now balled-up cape, kicking up snow and keeping one eye on his momentarily entrapped foe even as his other eye seeks his discarded weapon. This fight is not yet over, and honour in the eyes of Aramoth comes only to he who finishes a battle as the victor. The frost-giant spies his peculiar spear-staff and snatches it up, braying a war-cry into the quiet. "Come, beast!" he shouts, voice echoing for miles. "Come, and let us end this!"

Winner: Varn