Duel:Brennia v Thamalys, Match 2 of the 2021 Titans of Winter Tournament
Duelists: Brennia the bard vs Blue the butcher Duel: Traditional 3 rounds with final defense, 20 minute posting limit. Stakes: A Broken Wing, autohit delivered by winner with allowance for final reply. Judges: Caltarok, Mahri and Josleen.
Walled Courtyard
Passing through the impressive North Gate or standing upon the threshold of Frostmaw Fort, the courtyard sprawls out before you, securely fenced in by the mighty wall. High above upon the wall, soldiers march and sentries stand guard, ever watchful of Frostmaw city's borders and those that move throughout the fort. With the knowledge that sharped eyed archers oversee activity, one can move through the courtyard upon a stone-paved pathway, each piece handcarved with intricate, tribal designs beloved of Frostmawians. Bordering the path are grounds that should be nothing more than packed earth and snow, yet it appears to be a lawn of finely trimmed grass, of all things. How is such a thing growing in these harsh climes? Whatever the sorcery behind it, grass dominates this courtyard, a rare splash of color so far North, and dotted with statues of various famous warriors of lore. Lining the pathway are lengthy, tiered constructs of stone and ice: benches, you realize, cunningly wrought to provide seating for races of any height. Southward lies the gates to depart this area, well-guarded to prevent the ill-intentioned from fleeing. While northward looms Frostmaw Fort, a behemoth construct of stone, wood, and ice, riddled with battlements, towers, and a myriad of deadly defenses. As if the walls, mounted, giant crossbows, and guards were not daunting enough, to the east and west lie the courtyards of the Titan Sentinels, their earthen and frozen heads visible over the walls. The City of War seems to have earned its title.
Thamalys , from a distance, looked like a statue. Not a polished, beautifully refined marbly piece of art, though – more like a broken, jagged shard belonging to some ancient colossus, ruined by both time and storm. Aside from the comically tattered leather trousers, probably of a sharp shade of black some ages ago, everything of the Avian shone a cold, metallic gleam. An ephemeral shirt of pure mithril covered some of his torso, albeit much of that pale, chalky skin simply chosen to withstand the frostbite. He cared not, barefooted as he was, his solid blue eyes apparently focused on some very specific cloud in the Frostmawian sky, the huge, knotty mass of ivory dreadlocks wavering in the wind like a grey whirlpool around his face. Not even the latter was spared by the ink, though. Ivy-shaped tattoos, slithering like creepy vines onto the skin of the Avian, covered him whole, adding a rather ominous glint on the already disturbing appearance of the Healer. On his right shoulder, lazily perched as only an unnaturally large red kite could be, Nebb – a companion of old, who not even in this occasion could be dissuaded to leave his master. In his left hand, two apparently insignificant items: two… marbles, it would have seemed? At a closer inspection, said marbles would actually reveal themselves to be beeswax – go figure. Perhaps to acknowledge the nature of both contendents, the Blue was showing off the full extent of his wings – outrageous, massive curtains silver-coated plumage, imbued by magic as much of his owner as a whole. Merrily playing around his wings, a little murmuration of blue flames masterfully shaped as starlings. This was not an occasion for hatred, or revenge, or death. This was a spectacle, and the Spellblade was determined to provide the onlookers with an unprecedented display of pyromancy and fencing alike. The Healer might have appeared as silent, but quite the conversation was taking place inside his head. || You really think you’ll manage to tame yourself as you go along? I very much doubt it…|| chuckled the Ageless Black, his ancient laughter, after all those years, still capable of throwing the Avian into a rather deep rage. || She is kin, and I owe her much…|| answered the Avian, not a single twitch on those grey, broken lips. Lazily swinging at his right side, Stain – the cursed blade. Forged in blue steel and elerium, an impossibility that only Alvina could solve. Within its metallic vein, a singular, silver-coated feather, almost willingly taken from the Winged Beast to seal that otherworldly blade with a fragment of his very soul. As he strode forward, Stain literally jumped into his hand, the blade immediately catching fire like well-seasoned wood.
Brennia enters, unimpressively and a little doe eyed as she is dressed up in armor that is a little too big for the thin avian. Those solid teal hues travel around the arena as she hesitantly steps into the dueling area and anxiety grips her heart. What did she get herself into this time? Maybe if she is in danger, it will flip a switch with her bard magic, she figures… Great time to do experimenting, Bre! Her gaze catches the familiar sight of Uri and the band of avians he is traveling with to which she gives a little helmeted nod to her friend. The hands resting on her obsidian sai daggers tighten as she waits in anticipation for her competitor to arrive. Finally her gaze lands on the statue mass of a figure on the other side and she would recognize those wings anywhere, “Thamalys.” The name said with adoration for her fellow avian and her warm smile follows suit, but that is just the woman's default, kindness. She really has no place being in a duel! The only thing left open on the bard's body is her face framed by a helmet and her black as night wings that seem the glitter like a clear night sky. Brennia has been looking healthier, but not healthy enough to go on dueling and surely Emilia will have some choice words for her later. When Thamaly's blade bursts to life, she flinches and looks over her shoulder with a hesitant black step as if she could suddenly change her mind. Her armor covered shoulder raise up and her chin dips below the neck of her breastplate making her look like a little turtle.
Josleen :: A tournament emcee who is not Josleen says and occupies this quasi ic-ooc space, too, says “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen to the 2021 Titans of Winter Tournament! Tonight, we bring you aerial feats of strength and dexterity in a match-up between Dean Brennia Cadenza of Schezerade and Thamalys. Contestants have agreed to 20 minute rounds, Thamalys will go first, and the extra stake is a broken wing. The judges are Josleen, Caltarok, and Mahri. Tonight, I'd like to remind the contestants to mind the weather. For Frostmaw is victim to sudden winds, freezing rain, and blinding snow at any given moment. The clock starts now!
Round One:
Thamalys acknowledged the surroundings, taking in the cold, the familiar shapes of the Fort, the faces of the onlookers, some of whom he called friends, some others of no significance to him whatsoever. There they were, crossing blades, two of the few Avians who cared meddling with anyone else other than their Schezerade elite. “Brennia”, he simply stated, contorting his face into a grin that she would have known to interpret as the closest thing to a smile the Blue could muster. Lazily, the Spellblade canted his cranium, just that much he needed to position the beeswax into his ears, his stark gaze never abandoning for an instant the shapes of the Avian in front of him. Just like that, Lythridel went silent – not even the reassuring, familiar sounds of the wind. As he weighed his options, the Avian brought himself into a left woman’s guard, one handed, the grip almost in contact to his left cheek, the blade pointing toward his back, in a well-practised angle avoiding the wings, ready to spring in a split second. Right foot in front, much on the weight in it, with the left foot to balance an equation honed throughout centuries of practice. Some part of him still remembered his old days as a T’zur. Very little memories remained of that time, but the body did not forget. “Let us begin…” whispered the Blue loudly enough, immediately after sprinting toward the Bard, huge chunks of frosted soil flying into the chilly air as his feet moved with the speed of a true predator. Nebb abandoned his post, soaring high into the sky with an ear-piercing shriek heard by probably by everyone exception made for the Blue himself. As he moved, he furled his wings and leaned into his own run, his left hand tracing a symbol that only a few remembered in those days, whilst muttering old words upon which the flaming starlings zoomed across the field, faster even than the Avian himself, to converge in a roaring mass of blue fire on the Bard. At that point, a choice would have probably presented itself. If Brennia was to bear the impact of the flames or, broadly speaking, to remain where she was, Thamalys would have lounged toward her, using his momentum to deliver a rising cut, bringing the blade to trace a lethal path from Brennia’s left knee up to her right cheek. Whatever happened to be in the way of Stain stood little chance to stay whole, but the Blue would have made sure to guide the sword through any gap in the Bard’s armour, most likely at the height of her thigh. In case she opted to evade the flames, though, Thamalys would have changed his trajectory, adapting to her moves by leveraging the martial perfection he cultivated within in the past two centuries. With no hesitation whatsoever, the Blue would have then proceeded to deal the very same rising cut from left to right, offering as little a silhouette as possible, this time aiming squarely at the knee – a much easier target when dealing with a moving opponent.
Brennia feels warm all over as her heart races and she continues to take small steps back even as her friend comes charging at her. Reluctantly pulling her Sai daggers free as her wings finch open before she jumps up a little and those wings beat once at an angle to allow a dodge from the flaming starlings, but the only thing was that he is ready for a second blow and far too close to doge a second time. His attack lands and she lets out a pained groan as she still has that fear twinkling in her eyes, but as his next attack to her knee comes, she attempts to block the blade with her daggers crossed before giving a push back with as much might as she can muster. Crimson begins to seep from where her armor has that chance opening and with her good leg, she pushes off the ground as her wings open again. Taking to the skies in a few glorious beats in order to gain some distance and gather her thoughts for a better attack. In hopes that the heavy clouds that threaten snow will somewhat obscure her opponent's vision enough for a possible surprise advancement in this duel. Higher and higher she will go in order to give her opponent something to chase.
Round Two:
Thamalys forced himself to press on, despite the blood of the Bard on his blade. Stain – an apt name. Luckily enough, he could not ear her grunt of pain: he resorted to beeswax to avoid her magic, but perhaps he wanted to avoid her voice entirely. || Stop thinking about it, idiot… she’s your opponent, nothing else! || silently screamed Korkhoran, but even then, the Blue hesitated – she was kin after all, no matter what. Just a moment it was, but enough for Brennia to connect her daggers with his sword. The Avian might have been a seasoned warrior, but the strength of the Bard was not to be underestimated. Despite his best efforts, she managed to pushed him away, that much she needed to leave the ground. He clenched his teeth. As the bird of prey he was, he followed. Not directly under, though, but moving aside a few steps to avoid being targeted from above – a definite strategic advantage. “Nebb, chase!” he would have roared, his voice soaring into the sky to reach his feathered companion. The red kite knew all too well what to do. Plunging from the clouds, the bird would have tried to land his talons right into the slits of Brennia’s face. Not to maul, but to obstruct visual, Meanwhile, the Winged Beast took off, his silvery wings carving a shining path into the murky air. He would have kept his distance from the Bard whatever her reaction to Nebb’s interference would have been, careful to capitalise on his advantage as opposed to succumb to greediness and attempt another blow. Stain was still in his right hand, and yet again his lips departed to summon more flames. This time, it was the ink on his own skin that came alive, sprouting flaming vines that would have accompanied the flight of the Avian, searching, probing the clouds to deliver to the Bard in a rather painful embrace. Deaf as he was, though, he had to rely solely on his keen eyes to make his way through the sky…
Brennia does not count on Nebb joining the fight, but as soon as the red bursts through the fog of the skies it is all too late for Brennia. She really shouldn't be so surprised as she lets out a loud gasp and scream when the damn thing manages to claw her face and give a scrape across her cheek, but worst of all a nasty cut to her brow that instantly bleeds. It may be subtle, but the spectators below would possibly even feel a hint of fear due to the bard's screech and it is so weak that it's easily brushed off. Of course Nebb... that thing tries to pluck her eyes out whenever Thamalys writes her! With a frustrated grunt, she banks in the air and circles around to find her opponent. Surely there is a cloaked paladin feline in the stands keeping a keen eye on the fight no matter how worried she may be on the inside. Brennia's anger is difficult to rise, but the bard is getting there as she tries to hum a lullaby for Nebb. Unfortunately the notes fall quite flat as this interaction isn't causing the magic to switch on like she hopes. The back of Thamalys' thighs come into view and with a powerful beat of her wings before narrowing, she aims to make a dive for his legs. This should send the fellow avian spinning barefoot over head before she pivots herself midair with her sai daggers at the ready once more.
Round Three:
Thamalys scoured the grey surroundings in the vain attempt to pinpoint the Bard’s location. More of her blood gushed out but her screams did not reach the Blue, nor did Nebb’s desperate warning. Despite his careful watch, it would have seemed that Brennia had found an angle to sneak right at his back. It all happened very quickly: as the Bard smashed into his legs, the Spellblade found himself massively out of balance (and positively bruised), albeit not quite upside down as perhaps she would have hoped. It took more than that to beat the full strength of the Blue’s wings, Artia’s magic pulsing through them with fierce determination. “No blades? You’re too kind!” shouted the Avian, genuinely surprised to have survived the impact without any blood of his spilled. Perhaps her boundaries were better placed than his. As he spoke, the flames erupting from his skin would have run toward the Bard, who appeared to have stopped mid-air. After having recovered his posture, a process that took a grand total of two seconds at the most, the Winged Beast brought himself to another strike. Daggers, against a bastard sword – the key was in the reach. He did not even think about it, his trained mind just registered that information and act accordingly. There was no need to rush into Brennia’s parries, not when she was bleeding already – a ceding parry could have worked instead. In perfect silence and with the smallest of the nods, he swooped toward the Bard in a slow, almost lazy arc – albeit it was difficult to remain in control his sore leg not exactly helping. Bringing himself right in front of her, he would have then levelled Stain right at her torso, apparently looking for a gap in her armour in the region of her neck. If she was to wait, he would have struck, carefully avoiding the jugular but certainly drawing some more blood. If she was to bring even a single one of her daggers on Stain, he would have leaned into her move and slid his sword against her blade, while leaving his left hand, still covered in flames, to deal with the potential threat of the second dagger.
Brennia feels an ache in her stomach as her heart pounds wildly. Maybe all of this was far too soon after her surgery, but something is telling her to slow down and focus. Brennia doesn't retort to Thamalys because he won't hear it anyway and only her brow knits together in worry. The flames from his skin are narrowly avoided once more, save for a few burnt velvety feathers that begin to drift lazily through the air toward the ground. With a grunt, she attempts to block the blade coming directly for her, but with the blood dripping down into her eye, her aim is thrown off and Stain knocks her daggers out of her hands. The little obsidian weapons also begin their descent down to the ground to join the burnt feathers and the cut from his blade lands at her neck, "merde!" The veretian curse word is gasped out as those teal hues connect to Thamalys' while her gauntlet swipes the blade away from her neck, but the wounds from her leg, her brow and now her neck are all too much from the recovering bard. The last effort she is able to give is a hard kick to his middle in order to get him away from her and then her eyes roll back into her head. Her wings slump pathetically and now the aivan's body begins to fall through the air above the arena until she hits the cold hard ground below with a sickening thud. Disoriented, her eyes open to see that her fall landed her by chance to at least one of the daggers and she reaches for it for defense.
Final Defense:
Thamalys hated himself ferociously, as he realised where his own blow was taking him. As his blade slid on her dagger, he found himself in the perfect position to strike at Brennia’s wing, that marvellous curtain of absolute black he never for a moment wanted to disrespect with a blade. || Do it! || spat the Ageless Black, savouring the agony of the Bard already. He was absolutely right, of course. Cutting through her wing would have surely brought her down. And yet, the Blue couldn’t do it. Some things were holier than any code of honour, any duelling etiquette. His hand trembled, the tattoos on his arm writhed in disarray. Luckily enough, Brennia took the matter in her own hands. Her gauntlet would have pushed Stain along another trajectory, avoid the wing altogether and finding her neck instead. The blow would have barely gotten to her skin. Stain wanted more, but a well-positioned kick from the Bard would have put an end to the fray. With a sombre grunt, the Winged Beast would have watched his opponent fall from the sky, while trying to recover some balance in between a series of nasty bruises. Even for an Avian, meeting the ground from that height could have meant serious damage – and the Blue was feeling abundantly guilty already. As such, he would have let go of Stain, which would have plunged from the sky, hopefully far away enough from royal boxes and the like, furling his wings to dive down in the attempt to match the speed of his falling kin. If allowed, he would have taken her into his arms, gently nodding an “enough…” with voice half-broken in between adrenaline and sorrow. If his attempt to save the Bard from a painful meeting with the Frostmawian soil was to be unsuccessful, however, he would have instead kept his distance, slowly landing some twenty meters away from her, still surrounded by a merry congregation of blue flames. He was in a foul mood, though, as the laughter of the Black kept echoing into his head.
Winner: Thamalys
Auto Hit and Response:
Thamalys strode forward, removing the beeswax from his hear. He stumbled, as the silence was replaced by a mighty collection of various noises. Limping, he approached the fallen Bard, as Nebb, faithful bastard he was, landed upon his right shoulder. Stain came close to decapitate a rather innocent bystander, but such were the dangers of witnessing an aerial fight – or so Blue thought. As he came closer to Brennia, he could see there was little left to be done in order to honour the stakes of the duel. The Bard could not quite stand, and yet she clutched a dagger still into her left. “I am sorry, but it must be done…” he spoke in his most gentle voice – which came across as nothing more than a grunt, sadly. “Let us give them what they want…” continued, kneeling and, not without a sigh, putting both of his hands onto her right wing, the bones already dislocated upon the impact. He recoiled at the pleasure he derived from that touch. Avian’s wings – nothing more intimate existed for those proud beings and yet there they were. “I will take care of your wounds myself – it is the least I can do…” he whispered, as with a sickening sound he pulled even further on the already torn tendons. With a horrid crack, thus the Bard’s wing was finally broken. As the crowd cheered, his heart sunk – and yet he held onto that feeling. The warrior in him would have learned how to capitalise on that outrage in the next duel…