Duel:Ginger v Kasyr

Dark Arena

The arena is filled with various killed and undead as well. Several Zombies seem to be carrying corpses out of the arena, returning them to the masters they served. Many bodies here look disfigured and ill, clearly abominations constructed by Necromancers to serve in the gladiator like battles held here. Several of the other bodies though are completely normal. A battle must have recently gone on here, as the crowds of people step out of the entrance of the area. To your south is the way out, to your north is a path leading to the back of the arena.

Judges: Ginger's:: Mischa | Mid Judge:: Ardan | Kasyr's:: Myrall

Ginger is here in all her glory: blood-soaked troll-skins and an intimidating height of eight inches

~~ Ginger zips into the arena with childlike enthusiasm. Just one more fight and the bracket is hers. . .but no more "punch-them-face". She slows at this thought and turns to her impy opponent. "I best make this'n count then. Punch Them Face!~!" The tiny missile bares her fists and fires herself full-speed at Kasyr, a blur of fury that cannot be stopped. . .at least not so far. She braces herself to turn at the last moment. . .she knows what happens in a game of stickball, after all.

Kasyr was more or less busy brushing himself off, having gotten something sticky in his hair from passing beneath certain archways in vailkrin- and the less he knew about what he was cleaning off, the better he supposed. Even still, what bit of vanity (or general paranoia towards catching something borne of that city) didn't supercede the importance of his opponents charge. Rather, he simply moved his right hand into his coat, keeping an eye upon the incoming bolt of diminutive fury which had somehow managed to best all her opponents- just fixedly staring as fingers brushed against the object he desired- the likes of which revealed itself to be a helmet pilfered from a preklek on the way to the arena. He had, unforunately, been too lazy to visit the bottle store. Still, the function was to be the same, visor to the helm flipped down, if only so that one opening to the armour piece was unveiled, to serve as a catchers mitt to his opponent- one which if unavoided would quite likely end up with Ginger quite nicely plastered against the interior long enough for him to cup the thing to the ground- and step on it so she had no means of easy exit. ...It would have been cuter with a bottle; but, c'est la vie.

You dropped 1 Black Helmet.

Ginger , being rather shocked by the reaction to her charge, increases her speed so as not to be deterred by a mere helmet. The look on her face would have been priceless on any other person: a look of outrage, eyes bulging out. In fact, her eyes popped completely out of her sockets and flew around the helmet on each side. Plink. Ginger hits the helmet hard enough to jar it loose if not all the way out of Kasyr's hands. Before he regains control of the helmet, the eyes unfold their leathery wings and circle back. No other pixie would have bound something like those eyes, then again, what other pixie would be capable of it? The miniature undead beholders emit fine lancing rays of heat at the impling's hands. Ginger attempts to leap out of the helmet before she gets trapped between it and some rotting edible who'd lost -his- last fight in the worst possible way.

Kasyr didn't quite lose the helmet, a not altogether mortal originating from the bastardization of tiefling and Vampire rather assured that (and whatever the sticky gunk in his palm and on his fingers was). That being said, it did slide around a bit, preventing the altogether nasty melange a trois which would have made itself available to ginger- when she got stuffed in the mix and match fun that was the limbs strewn over the arena floor. This problem only grew worse still when those curious eyeballs became apparent, the demi-incubus stopping everything to endeavour to poke at one...or rather see if he could disentangle a hand now stuck firmly to the stuff in his hair. No such luck there, and really, it was probably a good thing, given the moment that little lance of heat struck the aforementioned gunk of a decidely black colour, gooey consistancy- and apparently very flammable nature burst into well...a pretty pyric display that was better off not starting in someones hand. "Mon Dieu. Merde. .." And things trail off from here into a stream of profanity the typist would get muted for, but what remains important is the reaction hand flicked in to try and jar the pixy off the edge of the now flaming helmet before his hand was whipped out, to dislodge the sticky flaming mess of metal and propel it in Gingers direction, so he could get to the more important task of beating out the flame on his coat. "...Eh..Wait." Idly, he just glanced up at his head, a small stream of the black stuff gooping onto his forehead. "...Uh."

Ginger staggers through the air in an almost drunken swerve, landing near the spectating Gorgon, which swatted impatiently at the enflamed helmet arcing towards the tiny, rather filthy maiden. "Ma'am," Ginger stutters. "Thank you. . ." The pixie looks off to the side of the arena and mumbles something that sounds strangely like an apology. She pulls a small rather fragile vial out of her pocket and throws it as hard as she can at her opponent. Meanwhile, the undead are answering her call, moving to prevent escape, rather than attack. One animated eye stares at the airborne vial too long, and incidentally sends another one of those heat rays at it, causing it to break. At first there seems to be no contents, a deafening roar of noise echoes across the arena, sending the rodents into a frenzy. They try to escape in all directions, only to be thrown back into the arena. The creatures, having found no escape, attack the man in the center of the arena, biting at his ankles and attempting to burrow into him to escape the loud. . .voice? Yes indeed, the noise turns out to be a rather annoying voice. "Tra-lala!~!"

Kasyr manages to beat most of the flames off his one hand, the mesh of his gloves having cooked a nice little pattern into flesh during the meanwhilst- regardless, that hand hadn't been annilhilated into oblivion- yet, and thus the tiefling could rest the majority of his attention upon the other two matters of importance- Gingers escapades and freeing his still mired digits from the mucky tar on his scalp. The former was simple enough to follow, the whole of it again enough of a curiosity that it remains unhindered- though the latter fights him to the very end, hand liberated at the final cost of a rather nice chunk of sandlewood brown and silver tipped hair cling vis a vis a mass of tar. Lovely-. Letting out a unpleasent little hiss, it was only as he nursed the wound to his pride that he took notice of the problem- that flash flood of fury bodys rushing at him with a vengeance. "Give me a break damnit? What in the Hell. Rats? Rats? Why didn't tu make it spiders! ...Or the Skeletons, or the Medusae? RATS!" And really, it was about then that he decided he could take another hit to his pride and appearance, hair and tar mixture quickly spread down across the ground in a circle about him by means of left hand, the still slight flaming palm touched to the ring, forming a barrier which served well enough to dissuade the vermin from their ravenous approach, lighting the one hand ablaze anew with a sort of gnawing pain that would have likely found itself kindred in the agonies the rodents intended on causing. Regardless, it was ignored, bitten through at the cost of his lower lip as his left hand moved up to its former prison again, scooping up a bit more tar before both hands were clapped together, flaming spreading evenly between the two before the altogether enraged and bordering 'pon feral hybrid rushed further hands dipping down to clear a path through the mass of carrior crawling rats- till he was within bounding distance of the fae, by which point one rather wild leap was made for her position, to slam both fiery hands into Ginger, and pinion her twixt corpse carpeted ground and searing digits.

Ginger had been listening to the voice she'd released (the undead babble was chanting the wierdest thing, "Eggy!~! Eggy!~!), and therefore had no way to prepare herself for the extremely painful burns inflicted on her by the flaming hands when she was tackled. She beats her singed wings in a supreme act of futility. The pain increases as she grits her teeth and blocks it out as best she can. Her eyes approach her face and sink in with a sickening pop. They stare at the man atop her with a grim humor. One grins at him. Ginger mimics the grin. "You sure know how to show a girl a good time." Suddenly the chanting, incorporeal voice's meaning connects with her brain: Eggy. . . "EGGY!~!" she screams. The ground thunders and the rodents faint, except that damn rabbit, he must know when tricks are afoot. The breastplate on Ginger's chest expands, latching onto the greaves, the sleeves, and the boots. The troll who'd died to give Ginger her clothes was being animated and reassembled. He grins up at the comparatively tiny man atop him. "Eggy breakfast?" A gigantic hand reaches up to grab the man and take a test bite. You shouldn't eat something you aren't sure of, you know.

~<Kasyr Wins>~

Ginger tells Eggy to play nice. Ginger mumbles sadly from inside the hollow troll.

Kasyr , rather upside-downly at that, stares fixedly at the Troll; Shooting daggers, death glares and just about anything else hostile that can be evoked by gaze- up until the moment where he's let go, and a meal is not to be made of him. Somewhere during this impromptu display of grumpyness at the threat of being placed in a digestive system, arms are folded across his chest and fingers formerly alight with a dancing flame die out in an instant. ...So really, It's just a really petulant tiefling hanging or swinging there now. "Er...Let me down, S'il vous plait? Any time soon. ...Like this century?"

Ginger has Eggy set the man down. Eggy sags sadly, so much that he becomes armor once again. Ginger goes over and kicks the rabbit. "It's all your fault, man!~!" Ginger collects her Annoying voice and pockets it. . .

Kasyr is vaguely appreciative of being set down, as opposed to dropped flat on his face- it'd sort of take ages to get corpse bits out of tar infested hair after all. So, praise to the Ascendi for small blessings aside, there came the general task of pushing oneself back to their feet, glancing about back and forth in a sort of skittish manner before the invariable and somewhat ceremonial dusting off began. "Well fought et all." And really, given the amount of wincing caused by the simple act of dusting due to somewhat cooked hands, he wasn't particularily lying. Hell, he was in fairly good spirits, given he was nearly eaten by rats and a troll.