Duel:Eboric v Slintora
Duel Info
- Judges: Tiphareth, Jerralith (mid), Kasyr
- Stakes: Slintora must stop harrassing women and show Eboric humility, autohit knockout round
- Rd/time: 3rds / 15 min
- Date: 01/02/12
- Location: Overlooking Gorge
- Decision: Eboric
Venue
Overlooking Gorge
Eboric vs Slintora
Eboric stands at his full height, dressed for war. His body is draped in armor of the finest quality, as befits such a warrior. A shining hauberk of mithril rings covers him from shoulders to thighs, the sleeves plated with the pure white of Frostmaw's enchanted armor. His wrists are encased in black bracers, gold glittering from engravings there. The armor on his hands, legs, and feet matches the sleeves of his hauberk, white and icy, while at his belt, his weapons hang; an axe on one hip, a black-and-gold hilted sword on the other, while the barbarian's signature seaxe is sheathed along the back. The big man gives Slintora a calculating look, before raising his decorated, masked helmet to settle firmly on his head. From behind the mask's eyeholes the hard, blue eyes continue to stare, as the werebear draws his axe with his right hand, slipping the left around behind his back to draw the seaxe from its sheath with a sinister hiss of oiled metal on leather and sheep's wool. Thus armed, he advances on his foe across the shattered, barren landscape. Moving at an easy pace, Eboric closes the gap between himself and Slintora, almost imperceptibly shifting his weight to the balls of his feet as he walks, assuming a fighter's stance so well-practiced as to be second nature. It is only when he is within the last few feet that the barbarian springs into action, putting his huge strength into a sudden burst of motion. He feints left, as if he means to flank his enemy, but then abruptly changes mid-step, moving instead straight for the disguised minotaur in a lumbering charge. Weapons seem to be forgotten as the warlord ducks one shoulder low, jerking once with his head in hopes of first bashing the heavy side of his helmet into Slintora's mouth -a blow easily capable of shattering teeth and jawbone alike- moments before the heavy, ice-armored shoulder crashes, should all go aright, into the foe's chest. It is only then that the huge warrior uses his deadly-sharp blades, bringing the seaxe around in a wicked thrust meant to pierce Slintora's perhaps unbalanced body under the ribs, the blade angled so as to rip up into the lungs and heart; a true death blow.
Slintora already knew exactly how to defeat this bulky brute that was across the chosen place of battle. It would be most entertaining for him, even if he lost. Flames wavered and flesh began to bubble. Boils formed, filling up with pus and blood. The skin stretched and became transluscent, showing the fur beneath. As Eboric came near, the flesh burst, sending forth a blinding spray of boiling fluids. It would perhaps be enough to just briefly blind the foe, but not enough to stop the charge in general. Rising from its crouched position, long ebony horns stretched upwards while thick red fur covered the beast. Sharp hooves stamped into the ground as the bull began its bellow. This was cut off however as the charge slammed into his body. It was a good thing the minotaur had bulk otherwise he would have been pressed into the ground. However he was well over the weight of Eboric and as axe came to meet his barrel of a chest, two thick forearms came to meet the barbarian in a mad swipe. The axe swept across the thick hide of his side as it had been redirected by the blow. And should Eboric still be there, the beast rose its powerful arms and slammed them down onto the ground where the werebear would be, fully intent on beating him down into the ground without mercy.
Eboric , alert and ready for battle, manages to turn his head so that the spray of foul liquids is kept from his eyes by the metal of his helmet, but it still manages to blast in through the links of his hauberk, searing the skin and hissing on the frozen, Frostmaw armor. Undaunted by this, and even by the change in the enemy's appearance, the barbarian keeps his wits about him and, as the enormous arms rise up to begin their punishing blow, Eboric leaps to one side, allowing them to pummel the ground where he had stood mere seconds before, following up with a swift hack with the seaxe, meant to bite into the inside of Slintora's elbow before he has a chance to recover from the huge blow. This is just a swift, opportunistic strike, and is followed soon after by the warlord's deadly axe. Crafted by the elves, lightweight and enchanted by druids, it is brought around in a whistling arc, its bearded blade biting the air as it seeks to sink itself firmly into Slintora's leg, in the meaty part of his thigh. The blow has an even more sinister intent; so hard is it wielded that, should it connect, it will easily lodge itself in the bone, at once laming the minotaur, and releasing the elven magic of the weapon, which rots the flesh surrounding the wound at a fast rate, which increases the longer the axe stays buried in its victim. Eboric's goal, of course, is to ensure that the axe sticks in the bone, the enclosing flesh making it nearly impossible to remove, and then to release the haft of the weapon, drawing his free hand back across his body and forward again to deliver an open-handed blow, knuckles bent for protection, toward his foe's snout in hopes of cracking bone and cartilage and driving Slintora to the ground, or at least blind him with the pain.
Slintora roared with fury as he turned for a quick swipe with his arms, the initial attack having expected to fail. This was only a minor setback, this battle was thrilling and his primal instincts were taking over. With a turned body the blade only found contact with hide once more, but this slicing through his side. Boiling blood spurted from the new wound, spraying at Eboric briefly before it coagulated. The axe however was a different story. It buried deep into his thigh and even cut a bit into the pelvis. A deep bellow was released, anger and pain filling the mind and causing the mino's eyes to glaze over. Falling to the ground, held up on one knee and his arms, more blood and even flames gushed out, burning away his own inflicted flesh and forcing the axe out. As of yet he was outmatched by the barbarian. That single thought crossed his mind, filling him with a brief flare of strength. Fire erupted on the fur and the air around them both was increasing in temperature rapidly. Rising even faster when fist made contact with face and he fell. That was the snap. All his current anger was focused on Eboric, the air suddenly flashing bright in a powerful, searing fireflash that would quickly devour the flesh if it was allowed contact. Around Eboric the air was combusting, would his armor perhaps combust too? It was perhaps hot enough to meld to his flesh.
Eboric is no fool. He can feel the temperature rising, can see the flames flickering from the strange anomly that he has chosen to fight. Thus, when the whole world seems to explode, the barbarian throws himself flat on his face, allowing the wave of heat to wash down over his back, licking in the blister and blacken the leather and flesh under his armor, although the Everfrost pieces keep his shoulders, arms, hands, legs and feet safe, by viture of their icy, heat-resistant nature, although the thinner parts begin to melt, steaming in the aftermath of the explosion. Eboric staggers upright again, baring gritted teeth behind his helmet as the mail shifts across his tortured back. All the same, he keeps his body as low as he possibly can, knees bent, weight forward. His eyes gleam with a wild hunger from behind his helmet as, his axe now gone, he draws the sword Eidhurr, its ornate length sliding easily from the oiled scabbard. Although the grevious burns have caused Eboric to flag somewhat, the drawing of the blade seems to infuse him with new energy as the vengeant spirit of Alimer screams in the barbarian's mind, scrabbling for control. Ignoring this as best he can, the werebear lashes out with the sword, first slashing low, then thrusting, then slashing again, trying to drive Slintora back, closer to the yawning chasm. Abruptly, he explodes out of his crouch, lunging first forward and then upward, meaning to catch the minotaur's chest with his burly, ice-armored shoulder at an unpward angle, using leverage in an attempt to drive him back and over the edge, sending him into a long, fatal fall.
Slintora was already crawling back, still consumed by madness. His thigh had sealed itself with blood, but he wouldn't be able to walk with it until it was healed which may be a while from now, even with healing. Pain filled his head, making him a bit confused, which would only add to the anger of the primitive mind that was currently in control. The sword was quickly met with flesh, opening new cuts, even thrusting into the gut of the great beast. However he was not one to be afraid and as he dragged his lame leg against the ground painfully, he would not allow himself to be taken out in the fall. As Eboric lunged for him, a hot wall of flame would rise at the last moment, obscuring the barbarian's vision long enough for the Minotaur to strike. Arms flailed upward, using all his strength to toss the man into the pit himsef.
Eboric , as the wall of fire springs up before him, tries to stop himself, but cannot quite succeed, instead turning his leap into a headlong dive. He roars in pain as his burned flesh receives another dose of flame in the brief moment before the wall disappears. However, this small sacrifice of hair and skin saves the big man from a worse fate for, instead of encountering the minotaurs thrusting arms, he slams into the beasts solid shoulder and rebounds, throwing himself into a painful roll that ends with him back on his feet a short distance away, shaken but alive.
Autohit Round
Eboric forces himself into a walk, moving over to the still-prone Slintora. He slams his foot forward into the side of the minotaur's head, stunning him, then drops down to sit on the beast's chest, looking into the bovine face. "I am Eboric, son of Penda," the barbarian says, slamming a huge fist down into his foe's face. "I slew the beast Ymheshphilun." Another punch. "I slew the beast hunter Taki." Again, he hits his enemy. "And I have cast you down like a pup." He whales Slintora once more. "From now on, you will speak to me with respect. You will not harrass women, unless I say you can." He leans close, masked face mere inches away from Slintora's own. "If I find you have done otherwise, I will kill you." Rising into a crouch, Eboric grabs the bull by the horns, literally, and slams his head inot the stone ground, driving the consciousness from his body. Satisfied, the big man stands, hoists up his hauberk, and urinates on the comatose minotaur. This done, he collects his weapons, and staggers away.