Duel:Dyraxdiin v Mathollak, Round 1, 2019 Hero of Freedom Championship
Duelists: Dyraxdiin vs Mathollak Duel: Traditional 3 rounds with final defense, 15 minute posting limit. Stakes: Auto-hit to the winner. Judges: Kharnus, Brynhild, and Mais
Larket Zoo
A multitude of animals are caged up here, some of which you recognize - the mountain bear, unicorn, and water snake - whereas others are bizarre beyond belief. One thing with three too many heads hisses at you menacingly and in the adjacent cage, something that looks like a bright yellow hydra is sleeping. You notice empty cages and walk up to them to inspect them. It would appear that the inhabitants of these cages were eaten somehow. Looking around, you see a massive lizard, close to the size of a dragon. Tapping on the glass of its cage, you startle it awake. A massive, rope like tongue whips out towards you, only to hit the glass. Looking carefully at the framing, you can see holes where bars might once have been. You can only assume that this is what ate the others.
Environmental Challenge
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 Larket’s zoo. A glass cage has been emptied of its slithering resident. It’s a smaller cage, just fifteen feet wide by twenty feet long. Percival asks the duelists to stand inside the cage as mages from the Larket Academy of Magick enchant glass walls on four sides and above them in a ceiling. The mages will enchant and reinforce the claustrophobic glass cage en masse and throughout the entirety of the fight. Any physical contact with the glass will spark a counter spell that blasts a ray of enfeeblement at the person who touched it, sapping them of their strength and dexterity. Any magical contact with the glass (like spells) will trigger ray of feeblemind which will sap the magic wielder of his intellectual faculties and make spellcraft difficult. Each consecutive touch or spell will trigger another blast. The effects do stack, so try not to make too many mistakes. Bleachers have been erected around the cage. Larketian pennants, foam fingers and snacks are hawked by eager hustlers looking to make a quick buck.
Optional Introduction
Mathollak stands tall, the picture of human physique if he maybe exercised more and stopped putting toxic things into his body. At his side and standing as tall as a shin, is a whiny little imp holding an onyx goblet. Mathollak nods. The imp carefully climbs Math's armor, balancing on a shin-guard-spike, pulling himself over black leather pants and sliding its fingers between the collarbone of his master's breastplate and a red silk shirt. All without spilling a drop of the strange concoction in the cup. Mathollak opens his mouth and the imp carefully pours a bubbling green broth into it. Then Mathollak pulls an open faced helmet over his head. Also he has a crimson cape and a doublesided battleaxe.
Duel
Dyraxdiin makes his presence in the Zoo known by simply exiting the gathered crowd on the sidelines, an easy stride to carry him into the designated dueling area within the glass enclosure. The great wyrm gestures with his left hand and draws his staff out of thin air - tall and black as night, it echoes Dyraxdiin's heritage with an effigy of a snaking serpent wrapped around it. His footfalls draw silent as he stops abruptly, gauging his positioning to be to his liking. His opponent for this bout is studied with aegean-hued eyes from a face otherwise completely still; Dyraxdiin studies his armor and weaponry, so as to gain a better understanding of how to approach this bout. Is that an Imp he sees? Like Mathollak, Dyraxdiin is similarly garbed in armor, but only half-plate, which covers shoulders, forearms, chest and shins. The Mithril can be seen glinting through gray half-robes, it's otherworldly shine a clear indication that the Mage has enchanted the set - making the armor even lighter, more durable. Dyraxdiin flexes his free hand beneath leather gloves, and begins commanding the arcane. To make things more interesting, Dyraxdiin begins to emanate with twinkling energy, a diaphanous construct that flows forth, up to the ceiling and then slowly expands to encompass the entire box, save for a few feet, all the way to the ground - he'd rather not begin this half-witted. The prismatic energy breathes like some sort of living curtain of magic, slowly but surely collapsing - it's set to push the two closer and closer together. For now, he is safe to casts his magic and use that arcane curtain as a nullifying point. A quick tap of his Xalious-wood staff and a surge of arcane missles spew into life like arcing gouts of flame, they shower down at random around Mathallok's position. Despite the curtain, Dyraxdiin is careful to avoid testing his makeshift fix to the dueling conditions.
Mathollak steps into the enclosure and daintily pulls a totem to Delisha from behind his breastplate to his lips and whispers, "This one's for you baby." He stands almost still, barely able to contain himself long enough to wait for the fights commence. Every breath is long and his chest heaves in anticipation, until they finally begin. Mathollak waits for the first move, thinking it should be something blasty towards him, but it isn't. All but ignoring it, Mathollak hurls his axe in a slight arc toward Dyraxdiin, then dead-sprints behind it. The axe lands a mere 5 feet in front of the mage and sticks head first in the ground. In half a second, there's a rumbling in the ground, and maybe a gurgling. Three foot long spires of shiny black rock pierce the surface of the ground in a cone in front of the axe. After one row of spikes emerges, a second one will follow. Behind the mess, Mathollak does his best to dodge magic missiles, many whizz by him, but two in particular he won't be able to avoid. The first one, he kicks, walloping it with his spiked shin guard. Mostly to see what would happen. The next one he ensures lands on the most armored part of his body, the torso. It doesn't look like such a strong blast of magic, so he intends to weather the blow. The magic blasts into the belly of his breast plate and stumbles him. He recovers, resumes his spring, and pulls his axe while measuring his opponents moves. The spikes are fairly brittle and the tapered points aren't very honed, it's mainly intended to corner his opponent against the wall. So he jumps on the first one in the first row, and bounds off it. He carefully avoids letting the axe hit the ceiling and overhead-slams it towards the mage, hoping to cleave him in two.
Dyraxdiin's eyes narrow when the axe falls short of him. He is a Magister Templi, and a great wyrm, a mage that has experienced a great number of battles. This age-old attempt to catch him unaware perhaps falls short of it's desired effect. While unscertain of what's to come, Dyraxdiin readies himself to spring into action. The spikes rise up and Dyraxdiin pivots out of the way of the first, but the second wave wasn't foreseen. "Damn," He mumbles when realization rolls over his brain. One of the spikes strikes him under the left arm, dislodging the Xalious staff from his grip. He fights to regain sensation back from the tingling-pain racking it. He hasn't moved much, and with Mathollak closing the distance, the best option is to pivot again, around to the far side of the spires jutting up from the ground. The prismatic wall continues to close on the duo, effectively cutting off one-third of the original area. While ethereal and fluid in appearance, it's as solid as granite - an ever looming threat as the ability to manuever decreases with each passing moment. The Magister Templi checks the position of the curtain, then grits his teeth against the strain of casting. Guttural Saurian tongue utters two syllables, "Transmute." The black spires turn into a thick, tar-like substance, and collapse down to the ground, perhaps beneath his opponent. Both hands free, they gestigate in wild motions, and a ball of fire sputters into existence, if only to drop to the ground -- right onto the tar-like substance. A wave of heat surges forth, rapidly consuming the oxygen in this cramped place and adding the danger of magical fire to the list of hazards.
Mathollak feels the spire he bounces off give way to goo, and part of his foot sinks, but it isn't enough to stop him completely when he brought the axe blade down to Dyraxdiin. And now he feels Delisha's passion, the potion he drank, coursing through his body now that his blood's pumping. He exhales white steam, and the sweat from his body seems to evaporate as it seeps from his pores. The most notable physiological aspect must be on his face. It's the countenance of pure jubilation! He's muttering something. It's hard to understand because his smile's so large he can't even close his lips together so it's only whatever syllables you can pronounce with a tongue and teeth. Some strange tongued praise for Delisha. You can tell, because between giddy chuckles and unfamiliar words you can hear the name, "Delisha". It's even more wonderful that they're all but stuck together now, Mathollak hated how some mages would treat him like a kite, blasting him then running away before he got close. But this mage was fun and invigorated the death knight into terrible glee. Behind him there was a flash and sudden burst of heat. He shields his eyes for only a jiffy, then shoves his axe into the flaming goop,coating it. He advances toward Dyraxdiin with wild axe swings punctuating each step, waving around the burning blade. Only once he was truly in range, he reached behind him and tore off his own red cape to hurl it at the mage's face. With the cover of this distraction, Mathollak aims a brutal horizontal swing of his axe toward Dyraxdiin's knees, and allows the momentum to carry over into another overhead blow to his shoulder.
Dyraxdiin watches the mad-approach of Mathollak. This fellow clearly suits the role of Death Knight. He casts a quick levitate spell, but instead uses it to push him horizontally, across the puddle of fire, instead of up. This effectively removes him from the rampaging axe of his foe - the tar-like substance, however, flings all over with each of his attacks, which inadvertently hit Dyraxdiin before he even realizes that this could be a possibility. The flames do little to his armor, but assuredly burn through his robes like dry barley. This elicites a strange, sucking in noise through gritted teeth from the great wyrm. He quickly waves the magical fire out before it can consume him entirely. His face, pockmarked from the burns, scowls to his opponent. The curtain has walled off two-thirds of the box and stops. It is time. Dyraxdiin takes in a deep breath from the almost-depleted oxygen - thanking his Saurian heritage for being able to hold a breath for extended periods of time - and throws his upper body forward in a vicious display of ancient power as his mouth opens. Sonic waves cry out like a banshee's wail, scooping up the burning muck and sweeping it in the direction of the Death Knight. The concussive force rips up the very ground at their feet, shrapnel perpetuting the danger that bears down upon Mathollak. But, alas. The curtain is unable to completley contain such magic and, after a few moments, flickers and dies out, leaving trace amounts of magical force to batter the wall in a moment. Dyraxdiin falls to his knees from the ray of enfeeblement, striking him as swiftly as did he release his breath attack. His mind numbs and his hands clench tight, knuckles turning white, he can't move. Hopefully his attack occupies the other long enough, or it will have been in vain.
Mathollak never intended to let his enemy escape the corner he so lovingly positioned him into. It could've been the lack of oxygen wearing down his faculties, or it could've been the pure zeal with which he attacked, but Dyraxdiin floated away from him. Why? The fun part was in seeing the pain in your enemy's eyes and you can't do that from far away. Well, not that far away. The enclosure was small to begin with, and now it was even smaller. Mathollak would get you back Dyraxdiin, like an angry ex who still secretly loved him, he would get you back. But not until after a giant huff and puff. Mathollak felt the enormous gales and had to crouch to avoid being blown out like the fire was. The tar battered him though. He weathered some of it fairly, but one smacked him in the head taking his helmet off and sending him tumbling. Before he would smack into the mage wall behind him, he luckily had the awareness to slam his axe deep into the ground and hold on, bracing his face with his forearm. The tar-storm tornado eventually subsided, and he saw a brainfarted enemy feet away from him. He leaned on his axe with the arm that didn't deflect tar bullets and leaves it where it is, painfully carrying his tired body until he almost directly under the floating mage. He can reach him now with the fake ceiling so low, and he grabs onto his ankle. The guttural excited chants come to a cacaphonous echoy end and black toxic needles emerge from his fingertips to perforate his beloved enemy.
Dyraxdiin fights against the overwhelming sensation of mind-numbing magic coursing through him. Vaguely, he is aware that someone is approaching him. Mathollak. His mind begins to return to him, and he forces himself to stand, albeit shakily, due in part to the great amount of energy he's used since the fight began. His vision is foggy, even for one gifted with Saurian vision, and so in his presently weakened state, he does what any dragon would do to protect himself. Scales emerge beneath burned robe and armor, his body grows wider, a bit taller and his face elongates into something akin to a half-muzzle, sporting scales here and there. Fangs are set on display when Dyraxdiin grimaces against the sensation of being grabbed. The anthropomorphic Dragon jerks away with a great deal more strength lent to him through his heritage and falls backward onto his back end, his agility and balance still not yet returned. After a few more moments, his senses return and he rises up. Aegean blue eyes glare down at the form of Mathollak, his body newly invigorated having cast off much of his previous humanoid shell.
Winner: Dyraxdiin
Auto-hit Stake
Dyraxdiin closes the distance between himself and the Death Knight in one long stride. His grisly, transformed features snarl down to his foe. And then he shifts back, assuming the look of a nondescript human. "Well fought," He states in a low voice, clearly strained from the events that transpired. Then the Mage simply punches him in the arm. Hard. He may have used magefist a scant centimeter before impact - didn't want to bust his knuckles on that armor of Mathollak's. The Magister Templi simply turns and exits the box, intent on catching his breath!