Duel:Berkedai v Hildegarde, Match 5 of the 2014 Frostmaw Tournament
Duelists: Berkedai vs. Hildegarde Duel: Traditional 3 posts each, with final defense. 15 minute posting limit. Stakes: Autohit post. Advancement in the Titans of Winter Tournament 2014. Judges: Satoshi, Vehara
Trist'Oth Arena
Trist'oth Arena, notorious for being a battleground with myriad effects and alterations. Some combatants have had to face total darkness, others rotating walls of mirrors and ice, and others still a drowing flood of sea water. This evening the semi-finalists of the Titans of Winter Tournament will be facing their own challenges while fighting each other. The arena floor stands ready, the only visible addition being large patches of low-lying, sickly purple fog that drift along sluggishly. It is only once the entrants set foot in the arena will they find the enchantments in place: an increase in gravity's pull, making limbs feel slower and armor heavier. The only relief from this pull is escaping into the patches of fog... and yet, there is a drawback to this as well, for the fog is necrotic in nature, designed to rust weapons and armor it touches, blister and decay flesh, and dry out and turn to dust cloth or leather. Which will the combatants prefer? Increased weight, or necrotic fog? Who will triumph over these magical hurdles?
Berkedai steps into the arena, throwing a rather disgruntled look over his shoulder to the strange city through which he'd been escorted. The nomad is on foot, having left his horse behind rather than risk its life in such a fight. He carries his bow, strung and ready, while a quiver of arrows, his curved sword, and a knife hang from his belt. Instead of the armor worn at his last duel, the herdsman is dressed in a simple leather and leggings, with a thin, coiled horsehair rope wrapped around his waist just above the belt. The only other armor the nomad wears is the bracer he won at the last fight, set with naga teeth and strapped to his right wrist. Immediately, he notices the heavy air, the weighing sensation of the arena's enchantment. With his face set in an expressionless mask, Berkedai sets his bow down carefully near one piece of fallen stalagmite before advancing toward Hildegarde, avoiding the strange purple fog out of principle. He draws his sword as he moves, unwinding the rope from around his waist as well, revealing a sturdy lasso most likely used on sheep and goats. Holding the sword low to conserve energy, the nomad only begins to move swiftly at the last possible moment, feinting first left, then darting right as best he can, hacking out with a sword that is aimed to take Hildegarde in the waist but, taken by the gravitational force in the room, it dips mid-swing, curving sharply toward the knight's knee joint. A split second later, the lasso snakes out, flicked along the sand by a snap of Berkedai's wrist, the loop meant to catch the dragon's foot, should she step to avoid the sword, so that with a heave the herdsman can topple his foe to the ground.
Hildegarde had only visited the Underdark once before and it was under entirely different circumstances. Perhaps when she was not on a mission or here to fight, she might actually explore the city. For now, she was able to take in the sight of the arena and the two types of swirling fog: neither looked appealing, but she too avoided the purple fog perhaps just to mirror her opponent. A nod is given in his direction as he draws his sword, the knight hefting up her halberd with a grim expression set on her face. She could feel the weight, her legs had spread into a defensive stance and she had bent at the knee just slightly: looking as though she was well grounded, but really dispersing her weight and trying to counter the pulling affect her heavy armour had upon her. As the nomad comes rushing towards her, she only watches him. His body language implies he will dart to the left but the knight cannot take risks by protecting only one side, so she twirls the polearm between both hands to make a wide defensive arc; causing the metal to shriek upon contact, the nomad’s sword dipping from her knee to just under. A sharp inhale is the only sound she elicits. But the sight of that lasso had not escaped her thoughts and he has already snapped it forward, which the knight immediately lunges toward to stomp down on it and push herself into a forward roll along the length of the lasso as her halberd spears between his legs, a quick swish from side to side to wallop the shaft of the weapon against either of his knees before she hauls it upward in an effort to catch his crotch and drag him up and over her head with her sheer might.
Berkedai jerks his sword back savagely when the strike misses, and throws himself to one side as he sees the woman roll toward him, meaning to hack at her again as she comes up. The lasso stops him, however, trapped as it is beneath the knight's weight. His dodge is cut short by the tension, and he stumbles to one knee, so that the halberd's end slams into his ribs, winding him and knocking him back, away from the continued motion of the polearm, and through a small patch of the fog, the rope slipping out from under her as he strikes the ground. The lessening of force there is not lost on him, nor is the itching, burning sensation, and he swiftly exits, moving away from the dragon. Sticking his sword into the sand, he swiftly loops his lasso around a small piece of shattered stalagmite, cinching the rope tightly around the sharp-edged stone. This done he steps back into the patch of fog, holding his breath in case the substance is toxic. In normal gravity again, he swiftly begins to whirl the now-weighted rope above his head, taking instinctive aim before letting loose, sending the stone sailing through the fog on what seems to be too high of an angle to hit the knight. However, when it exits the area of fog, the stone arcs downward sharply, so that the once high trajectory now seems on a crash course for Hildegarde's chest! As the necrotic magic begins to burn his skin and rot his clothes, he dodges out again, drawing his knife as he follows the stone at a run, struggling against the magical pressure and the pain in his side. He drops low just as he approaches, meaning to explode upward from the sudden crouch to drive the point of his knife up and in through the woman's armpit, even as his weight, hurtling forward, attempts to drop her onto the sand.
Hildegarde is envious of the nomad’s speed, but she knows it comes at a price. Everything comes at a price, she thought for but a moment. Although it is her sheer force that has knocked him backwards, she has already learned from fighting mages, rogues and warriors alike that she mustn’t give quarter. So rather than stand there and wait for Berkedai’s improvised weapon to come into effect, she is stomping towards him and immediately breaks out into a sprint when she hits the purple fog: earnest in her efforts to bulldoze right into him. It is evident that from her sudden burst of speed that her stomping forward was actually her efforts to run toward him, utterly impeded by the fog that bore down upon them both. In the purple fog, though, her armour would take longer to rot: she had much more layers than the nomad did, and even so, metal might decay a little slower than just leathers and fabrics. By the time Berkedai is ready to let loose with his improvised weapon, the knight has already gained upon him, ducking down suddenly with a grunt – the stalactite has scraped the top of her scalp, taking fiery red hairs and flesh with it – as she throws her entire body weight against him in an effort to pin him down into the purple fog; but that is not all she can offer him as she expels what breath she has left in her lungs, emitting the paralytic gas native to her species, intent on relaxing his muscles or at least causing lethargy.
Berkedai is quick to see the knight's advance, and he responds by ducking to the side again, his leather armor already showing signs of decay. He is nimble, but seems slowed by the wound in his side, so that Hildegarde's lunge clips him, knocking him to the ground solidly enough, but failing to pin him. Thus, as the gas streams from the dragon's mouth, he is far enough away to avoid the worst of it, holding his breath until he can scramble free of the fog. Gasping and dizzy from the gas and fog, Berkedai covertly pulls a single arrow from his quiver, holding the iron point in his hand even as he hides the shaft behind his forearm. Thus armed with arrow and dagger, he drives forward again, as the fog drifts on, his breath coming in agonized hisses as he fights both the enchantment and his injuries. As he nears his opponent he looks as though he is going to try the same thing as before, but the crouching action stops just as soon as it begins, turned instead into a lunge, so that the long knife can thrust toward the knight's midsection, where the breastplate ends and the armor is the weakest. His other arm, thrown out as if to maintain balance, suddenly slams in as well, the barbed arrowhead now on a course for Hildegarde's unprotected face, where the sharp hunk of iron can wreak horrendous damage if it is not stopped. The nomad seems to summon his last reserves of energy, forcing his arms to work as fast as possible under the magical pressure.
Hildegarde , like Berkedai, does not wish to dwell in the purple fog any longer than she needs to and with the nomad failing to be pinned by her, thanks to his agility, she has already moved on to a patch of fog that weighs her down immensely. Although she stands here in the fog, she is not without a plan, for the Underdark reminds her of her beloved liege and the gifts he had bestowed unto her. She unsheathes the short-sword at her hip and tucks the shaft of her halberd in at her elbow, slashing the tip of the blade against the hard ground of the arena and in the direction of Berkedai: causing the earth itself to tremor for but a moment before spiking up in haphazard motions towards him as he advances in her direction. The move serves more than one purpose: certainly, if the earth impales him or harms him it is to her advantage, but if it even sends him somewhat off course, it is to her benefit. But Hildegarde has faith in her armour and she’s, unfortunately, been stabbed in the gut numerous times to find it a rather common occurrence – she can only offer a strangled growl as the knife pierces armour and flesh alike. The way brazen attack has filled the knight with irritability, shown in the way she expels a concentrated blast of frost in the direction of Berkedai’s oncoming arm – if not to freeze it solid, then to slow his attack down – as she swung her body and flat of her axe-head towards him in an effort to slam against his body and send him sprawling away from; hopefully into the purple fog where he might rot.
Berkedai reacts well enough to the shifting ground, stepping nimbly aside at the first sign of a spike, and merely changing the angle of his run toward her. He rejoices in the feel of a successful strike, his attention diverted just enough so that he has no warning of the sudden chill sapping the life from his limb. He lets the arm drop, the arrow spinning uselessly away, and likewise lets go of the dagger buried in his enemy's torso. He half-turns, staggering backward toward his sword so as to finish off the wounded dragon. It is then that the halberd swings, and hearing it, the nomad simply drops, the heavy gravity bringing him down to the sand swiftly, so that the swinging blade merely glances off his numbed arm, spinning him around as he falls. Although the blow sends needles of agony through him, Berkedai rises to his feet once more, turning to assess his foe.
Winner: Berkedai
Berkedai steps forward again, grunting in pain as he reaches out with his good arm to grab the handle of the dagger protruding from the knight's mithril armor, wrenching it out mercifully without twisting it, then brings his fist back up to slam the dagger's hilt into the dragon's chin, connecting solidly to drive her back and down. After a moment taken to ensure that the woman is truly down and out, the nomad staggers over to collect his weapons, carefully unstringing the bow and even collecting the unused arrow from the ground near his unconscious opponent.