Duel:Eirik v Syrri, March 23 of the 2017 Frostmaw Tournament
Duelists: Eirik vs Syrri Duel: Traditional 3 rounds with final defense, 15 minute posting limit Stakes: Auto-hit to the winner Judges: Lionel, Hildegarde, and Leone
Animal Allies Pet Shop
Leone 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. The quaint little tent-shop has been converted into an arena. A tower of cages has been built in the center of the circular structure, each one filled with a slavering, ravenous animal. The shopkeep is also on the offensive, her elegant, pale form perched atop the cages of her minions. The woman is enraged, furious, and well-trained. She is an expert in the art of wrangling, hubandry and cavalry. The cage openings are enveloped with different thicknesses of ice, each one dripping and leaking more as breath and body heat permeate them. In a matter of seconds, the first few cages will pop open, loosing their captives into the fray. A variety of tamed animals line the outside of the ring, made available for the use of the contestants. Good luck to Eirik and Syrri!"
Eirik marches into the shop, eyes flicking to the pent up animals who snarl at his arrival. Silver eyes shift from one creature to the next wondering just what might spring forth. This however grants the man an idea. The berserker grants only a cold hard stare towards his opponent joining him in this place battle; Brann Forbruker, a runic long sword, and pine round are shield drawn. The Lycan had come prepared for war, dressed in his usual attire, with only minor modifications. A single armored sleeve works its way up right arm and weaves into a steel pauldron. A sleeveless silver stitched black leather jerkin the only thing to protect his torso. Matching pants give way to scuffed steel greaves and leather boots. The Ashen warrior ceremoniously clangs sword and shield, metal thrumming in bitter reprisal announcing his readiness. Before leaping in, Eirik takes a sharp inhale of air, bends forward and expels every ounce of breath. Its an age old battle-cry, the sounds of a berserking madman which many can attest to. Crazed feet beat upon the ground in barbaric display, a testament to his raging mind. His first target, the ice wall for a mammoth - blade raises high as voice bellows ominous words. The searing white hot blade, bites deeply into the cage door, heat ripping at it and shooting large cracks into it. Without further word, Eirik pulls that weapon free and jumps off to the side, using the shop walls and shield to deflect what might come flying to him. The creature within, rears its head back and shatters the remaining ice with a massive lunge - which might send shards of ice into the pint sized opponent, and heavy body directly into her path!
Syrri was still shaking with the realization that she was healed as she stepped into the tent-turned-arena. Her hands nervously flexed around the leather-bound hafts of Fate and Luck as she marched toward the center of their environment, dual-colored eyes of azure and chestnut darting toward the tall collection of cages before shifting in a quick assessment toward Eirik. She'd heard stories, surely, as she spent the week in bed in the Frostmaw Clinic, about the Ashen warrior, the berserker who easily towered over her now as she met his snarling rage with a battle-cry of her own in those initial moments. The cursed halfling could spare no more time reminiscing about the wounds that now only showed up as distorted, reddened flesh across the right side of her skull, the silver locks being shorn to the skin on that side, leaving the rest of her hair tossed over the top and to the other side as she raced forward toward her foe, but she skidded a stop, stury but small boots halting her path before she whirled about on a heel, only narrowly missing a spear of ice shooting toward her. She felt it whiz by as she spun around on that momentum, hands tightening either handax before she quickly dropped either to dangle from wrist by their leather straps as she reached out with a kick off the ground, grasping at the massive tapered tusks of the behemoth thundering toward her. Part of her winced as she held on for dear life, scrambling and kicking at the ground as the mammoth tossed its head this way and that before stampeding toward Eirik. Syrri managed to swing her left leg up and around the tusk, pulling herself up as her hands dug into thick fur near the creature's angry maw, soon hoisting herself up onto the neck of the beast, keeping her out of the way of those angry projections of bone. The mammoth launched a bellow of ire at the halfling before barreling head-on toward Eirik, tusks sweeping in wide arcs left and right to mow down the berserker.
Eirik couldn’t believe the nimble creatures ascent to become a cavalry rider. This was beginning to turn into everything he had hoped for. Though no such thoughts keep him from the grim task at hand. The madman sneered in defiance as Syrri mounted the creature - his plan coming to fruition! Unlike most, he waited for mere moments, not hesitating, but putting plan to action. Abruptly the lightly armored male dove towards the beast head on! Berskerking like a crazed lunatic, he would never give ground and narrowly escaped the tusks aimed to cleave his body. The problem Syrri might find is the wall that was at Eiriks back - he hoped to watch it smash into the building and bring it down upon them. This is not his final move however, shield is dropped while he climbs to his feet. A familiar fragile gourd pulled free from his belt; filled with flammable oil. The container finds itself bombed at the Mammoth, to spill its bile all over the hulking creature. Brann Forbruker is raised again while gritting his teeth. The ashen warrior springs into the fray, fiery sword spitting and hissing. With another jump, the berserker sinks blade into furred flesh, catching the Mammoth on fire in but an instant. The mount she sought to use as an advantage had been turned against her! Meanwhile another set of creatures find its way free, wolves barking and howling as they scream out of their cages. Eirik and the sword - using only his weight, fall from the large creature, blade coming with him. Flames searing parts of his own black leather jerkin.
Syrri hunkered down low atop the wooly head of the mammoth, her fingers curling tightly into its russet blanket as it slashed and swept at the madman. Cursing under her breath, no time had passed before she realized she was going to have to jump ship, Eirik's fiery assault already causing the air to grow thick with the pungency of burning flesh and fur. Weighing her options over the span of a heartbeat, she slowly steadied herself to her feet, crouching low as she balanced precariously atop the beast's constantly shifting back. The beast's muscles beneath her rippled and tensed as it found itself unable to slay the berserker, going into a rabid panic and nearly throwing the halfling from its back in the process. Fate and Luck were in her hands again, and as the creature bucked, she launched herself from it, axes held high. Syrri letting out a whoop as she descended upon her target, suspected to be prone beneath the angry swings of tusk. The mammoth continued to thrash around as her three-foot-three form arced down toward Eirik, the chipped edges of each weapon whistling through the air as she jumped down toward his stomach, the blades' aims his shoulders. As she landed, however, she was knocked aside by the toothy maw of a wolf snapping at her right arm, sinking into the Nightstone leather sleeve protecting it and scratching against the skin. Yowling, Syrri swung at the wolf with her other arm, hacking into its eye and releasing its fierce grip before circling around behind her. Meanwhile, the cursed halfing was still spinning with the momentum, and as she turned toward Eirik again, she brought down her right hand, flipping the haft in her palm so that the metallic edge arced toward his face too.
Eirik wasn’t ready for her to jump ship - shield gone from his left hand and that smile came to his face again. Blade rises to attempt at deflecting her blow, but another wolf tears at his right boot, pulling one leg awkwardly off balance. The bite of one axe can be felt tearing into flesh of his left shoulder, biting deeply as fingers go numb. He didn’t have enough strength to stop both - the other clangs against his fiery brand, being deflected by his sudden awkward stance. That wolf kept pulling. The berserker turned abruptly to rid himself of this annoyance ripping his boot. Fiery blade diving deep into its skull, the action however twisted his body away from Syrri’s last attack and he scrambles to his feet. Her axe narrowly missing its mark, ripping the backside of his jerkin. Drawing deep breathes, he could feel the sting of muscles, the ache of the call. Though still no shift would come. Instead runic blade crosses in front of his frame, grip tightens and he swipes viciously for Syrri’s breast. Toes dig into some of the ice which riddled the scene now to fling slush - water and ice to the face of his cursed opponent to disable sight for but moments. He’d follow that attack with one more, twisting the blade in hand, to thrust the fiery thing straight into her mid section. The sneer never leaving his scarred visage.
Syrri ;; As luck would have it, Fate met its mark, but as the lilliputian warrior slashed at the lycan, slicing through leather and flesh and muscle, the frost giantess could watch from her vantage point and do nothing no longer. Leaping down from atop the pyre of cages, a blur of pale blue descended upon the ice-flecked floor with a wild growl, summoning more beasts to the fray with a crack of ice and a wail of command. Syrri twisted away from staring at the frost giant, caught up in the moment and being drawn back by the fiery pain that immediately spread out from her chest, clutching her breath in a strangled gasp. Organs had narrowly been missed, but the irony behind the repeated wound was not, causing the halfling to twist quickly away, yanking shoulder back from the edge of that blade. The slush smacked against her cheek, stinging with the cold touch that numbed her almost immediately, unaccustomed as it were to the snow still. As the frost giant beckoned a pack of ravenous ice implings to stab at massive Eirik and the lesser Syrri, the cursed female gripped both handaxes and swung them together to deflect the sword's thrust crosswise, twisting both in upward opposing arcs to remove the blade from its path. She took that moment to lunge beneath it, launching herself between his feet in a tuck-and-roll before both axes were swung backward, each aiming at the weakpoints in the backs of his ankles.
Eirik can still feel the sting of his aching muscles, the sore wrought from fighting. Blood dripping down his chest and left shoulder. Fingers still numb and there is no way the warrior could hope to use that limb - but still he must press on! His body rocked from the forceful land of the Giantess, silver orbs flick to the onslaught which ensues. Eirik shifts his weight, Brann swipes in a circle, leaving visible tracers of flame to catch the ice implings and toss them aside. His weapon flicking out of life at the last moment - rage inside dying. As Syrri rolled beneath his frame, he had no time to relish in the fact that his attack has just previously landed. Instead of twisting to follow her roll or even trying to put up a certifiable defense, the lycan springs ahead rolling beyond her reach. The axe heads scything through the soles his new boots, severing layers from his well earned foot protectors. Body comes to a slow rise, but blade is thrust into another impling and ripped out with a violent disregard for its life. The creature sneered in an agonizing display before falling limply to the ground. The berserker twists his near six foot frame to Syrri, giantess still hovering in the background. He drew more breath readying himself for more.
Winner: Syrri!