Duel:Eirik v. Khitti, Match 7 of the 2017 Frostmaw Tournament

Duelists: Eirik vs Khitti
Duel: Traditional 3 rounds with final defense, 15 minute posting limit
Stakes: Auto-hit to the winner
Judges: Lionel, Sabrina, and Hildegarde

Blood Stained Ice

Lionel said, "Welcome to the sixth annual Titans of Winter Tournament! Here we gather where the Frostmaw shamans have molded and shaped this area, altering the original state into some fresh hell. As if the red ice and remnants of long dead bodies, preserved by the City of War's climate, weren't enough, a wall of icy vapor surrounds the field, bleeding into the near reaches like a mental fog that you can't quite blink back. Shadowy shapes move mirage-like in the distance. At last, a shambling, dark form breeches the mist. Is it heralded by a screeching moan echoing through the field. Then another appears. And another. And another. Each of them with skin bleached to a deadened white and blue, wild, wide eyes, and mouth agape. When the Frozen Souls of War spot our combatants, they advance at alarming speeds, clawing and wheeling through the air as their forms flicker and dart across the bloody ice."

Eirik shifts to a near statuesque attention while coming to a halt in the middle of the Blood Stained Ice, ready for war. Blackened chainmail sleeves work their way up his arms and weave into fur covered steel pauldrons. Scuffed steel greaves start at his booted feet, dying just below the knee. In left-hand lies, a new steel wrapped round shield and recently enchanted - named Coerator. The rest of the man is adorned in silver stitched black leather and cotton. His visible ash covered bits of skin are an ominous foretelling of a herb-induced psychosis. It is evidence of a ceremony meant to shut out the pain and induce further anger. What he didn't expect was for it to act like a camouflage of sorts within the mists. From beneath the veil of grayed features, violence infused silver eyes take in the scene. The Northman locates the misty devils and his target Khitti, sights single-mindedly narrow, fixating on her. In the abrupt breadth of an instant, Eirik lurches forward, bellowing; muscles tighten, neck bulges, spittle does fly freely from his mouth. He wastes no further time on words, instead, leaping into action with all the splendor of a mad man - a Berserker. A familiar looking frail gourd filled with oil is yanked free from his belted waist and bombed at her. The item in question is aimed at the ground where she would go, shattering on impact spraying the inner bile all over. The first creature is side stepped in a hurry, claws swiping at the air as he passes, narrowly missing the Lycan. Brann Forbruker is drawn, it's a simple looking rune inscribed longsword, though it is far from mundane. In moments the gap is bridged, the crazed Lycan is upon her. The enchanted shield is brought low and with every fiber of his being, flung out and upwards to smash squarely into the underside of her jaw. No sooner is that shield launched and sword follows, Eirik screaming "Ignite!" In a defying act, the sword is engulfed in flames, spitting fire like drool dripping from the maw of a dragon. The runic blade is swiped downwards in an attempt to slice open her chest, but his follow through brings the blade to the ground to ignite the oil. The act is also an intent to pull the attention of the creatures to the light, like moths to a flame.

Khitti could only smirk at the presence of the undead as she sensed their descent upon herself and the lycan. Figures. Adorned in the scales of that damnable blue dragon Raiez, she pulls the hood of her duster up over her head, hiding her crimson hair from sight. It was as much camouflage as she was going to get. As the gourd reaches the ground, she side-steps away with a hiss, covered in its horrid liquid. The bile starts to eat through the leather on her pants, but doesn’t seem to do much at all to those dragonscales. Diamond Dust in hand, Khitti sidesteps away from Eirik and his flaming sword, blocking it with her own weapon, and quickly shadowstepping away from the wolf-boy--right into the undead. An arrow is pulled from the quiver on her back, knocked and sent flying towards Eirik with frightening speed. Much like that gourd of his, it too is aimed at his feet, and would explode into shards of ice, hopefully freezing the lycan to the ground. No sooner was that done was a flare of shadowfire summoned up in her now arrowless hand, one ball first sent towards the lycan’s chest, and another to ward off the spirits that sought to make both combatants one of them.

Eirik lets out a low grunt as the force of his blow is deflected nearly howling in sheer disappointment! Eirik had come prepared for this fight, and trained specifically for combat against the shadows. As the arrow finds its mark at the lycans feet, shield is raised and Coerators power rips into life. Visible ripples of light do streak through the air forming an iron curtain of holy magic. The power imbued by the paladin Rorin himself. There is a side effect, however, as those magics absorb the brunt of the force, the undead might find themselves in terrible agony as it washes over the field. The lycan himself is rocked back, bones jarring at the explosion at his feet and though he would like to believe that he was strong enough to remain standing, he does not. Beyond the sudden gust of wind, he finds himself landing hard upon the icy ground screaming in defiance. He is quick to scramble to his feet, Coerators power returns. This time the mysts are used and Eirik begins stalking her from within the shadows, using his advantage. Mid-stride however, an angry member of the delegation of creatures comes at him The Lycan is forced to take a step back, as a it launched an arm in a mighty blow to cleanly separate life from fleshy body. An audible grunt is heard as shield turns to catch it at an awkward angle; a glancing save. The backpedal used to keep from rocking the berserkers body as might meets it. Coerator, rings with a defiant hum, the enchantment springing to life in an instant, visible ripples of light aid it the deflection. This time Eirik closes the gap in a much more steadfast demeanor. He does not introduce his presence by way of a scream, relying on the chaos of the field to ridden his opponents ears with distraction. Again the Lycan is upon Khitti, sword swiped in a horizontal angle aimed to cleanly disembowel the woman or shatter that longbow. His is then launched forward in an attempt to literally punch her lights out and break her nose. Eirik was beginning to sweat, feeling the wear his body was succumbing too.

Khitti sensed that surge of holy magic as it erupted from Eirik’s shield, doing her best to push her way through the undead to at least get behind them. Their terrible cries fill the air as they take the brunt of the magic, though Khitti too lets out a scream. It’s enough to disorient her and allow Eirik to make his attack on her, though his sword doesn’t quite disembowel her as were his wishes. They dig into the dragonscales of her corset, but goes no farther. Out of spite, she takes that punch to the face, her nose soon dripping with with blood. It doesn’t deter her, no, instead it only makes things more exciting. With a bloodied grin, she does as instructed by some crazed fan in audience and attempts to ‘punch that guy’--and with a fistful of fire too--the flaming hand aimed squarely for Eirik face. Whether it hits its mark or goes flying elsewhere, she’s stepping through the shadows again, though directly behind him this time. Summoning up that vampiric strength of hers, both hands reach out to shove the lycan harshly into the undead horde, as they quickly recover from Rorin’s magic and become all the more angrier.

Eirik had wondered of the fire was working or not, but the moans coming from the distance seem to tell him that they were not. Exaggerated breaths are taken, bringing that precious oxygen back to his lungs. Ignoring the sting the mists might bring. The lycans heart pounded in his chest, practically screaming slow down to his herb-induced body. This would not be the end. Silver eyes catch that punch, but her speed far too great for him to fully react too. That flaming fist smashes into the face of the Lycan, rattling brains inside the cage. Suddenly he loses sight of the vampire as she shifts behind him with blazing speed, shadow stepping really and finds himself being pushed forward. Instead of fighting it the berserker moves with the momentum. Eyes shift yellow in an instant. A bestial howl rings out through the scene, the change upon his already psychotic mind. Bones snap in twist mid-stride, teeth elongate. Fingers break and elongate, mouth moves to a muzzle. Skin rapidly replaced by fur; the madman shifts into the creature of cursed legend. Weapons and anything soft enough to be dropped or shed in the transformation find themselves on the floor scattered about the battle field. The undead, are receive a swiping of claws and are literally shoved aside as beast hits the scene, knocking them away like a bowling ball to pins. Moving away into the distance anther howl is released, freeing his mind from the exhaustion of earlier. He was literally a monster of rage now. Four feet beat against the ice and snow covered landscape, dodging a corpse here or there. The ashen hybrid leapts, intending to just smash, full body weight into her, toppling the vampire over. Whether hit or miss, a savage claw reaches up to swipe at Khittis face. Another follows in pursuit but aimed for her legs.

Khitti shifted into a hunter-like mindset as she watched Eirik shift into that lycanthrope form. The fire was forgotten now as he leapt at her, the heels of her boots digging deeply into the icy ground beneath them. She braced herself against the beast’s full weight, using every ounce of strength she owned, taking the half-second then to pivot to the right and force him off of her, to send him crashing to the ground nearby. The redhead is visibly tired now, blood still pouring from her nostrils, but she pushed on as she darted away, putting distance between him, whatever remained of the undead, and herself. Arrow after arrow is nocked and sent flying in rapid succession with an angry shriek until no more remained in her quiver--four to his feet and legs, one to each of his shoulders, and one, finally, straight to his heart. Just as before, if they succeed and arrows pierced armor or flesh, they’d burst into jagged spikes of ice, with hopes of freezing Eirik and stopping his onslaught.

Eirik does indeed launch forward, but arms are quick to catch the weight of the berserking werewolf and a moving frame, riddled in the mists makes for a much harder target. It was vampire vs Lycan in this moment. A thing most might find terrifying, shocking, grotesque or horrible. Instinct kicks in, predator versus predator. An arrow finds its mark, digging deeply into the thigh of Eirik. The wolf lets out a howl of pain and stumbles, rolling in sheer shock of the bows sudden made mark. The arrows aimed for the ground, do exactly that. The ones aimed for shoulders miss their mark mid-stumble. However, the one aimed for heart bites deeply into his side during his awkward climb to his feet. The Lycan breathes, snorting win anger, huffing in some bestial form of exhaustion. Golden eyes flick back to the vampire turned huntress. If a wolf could smile, this was surely it. Teeth bare, as Eirik snarls. Already his lycan blood working in unison with his earlier herbs keep his mind dulled to the pain. A another howl is released as he readies himself for more.

Winner: Eirik

Eirik continues his deep ragged breaths, circling to one side of Khitti; Eirik is collecting the strength for his final assault. Suddenly, muscles snap, throwing the lycan full bore at the Vampiress, who his sane mind might actually adjust for. But this was a duel, and the Lycan could think of nothing more! In an instant he reaches her, arm whips back and launches forward. He is every bit of insane as he is angry. However, something was amiss, though. Without warning, the man shifts back mid swing, stealing the brute force behind his blow. Claws turn to fist, and it soundly batters against his opponent, sending her body reeling to the ground - unconscious. The Northman had to gather his thoughts, herbs still berating his mind. Feet now move the lycan to the pile his earlier transformation had created. Calloused hands scoop them up and he is off.