Duel:Ginger v Samir

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Ginger vs. Samir

  • Judges: Reece, Parsithius, and Jacklin
  • Winner: Samir, split vote.

Samir meanders slowly up the sun streamed path, his tired eyes still struggling to adjust from their former dark environs. Chartsend clinic was missing a patient, him. Though the reason for his stay there was no longer due to injuries, or at least none of the physical variety. Samir had just awoken for the first time in many days, finally broken of the deathlike sleep which the unstable man had retreated into. Most would call him foolish to accept the call for battle, to show up despite his recent state, and perhaps they were right. Yet the Avian knew what he was doing, felt a deep seeded need for this battle, a need to rectify his recent defeat. His mask has been discarded, cloak and cape as well. All that remains of his former terrible visage is the single jagged weapon which hangs upon Samir's left hip, hidden within a simple leather sheath. His uneven footsteps halt as Ginger comes into view, hovering some ten feet away. He pauses, electric blue eyes running smoothly over each of her features as pale lips part and make motions of speech "This will be the first 'honorable' bout I have had in some time." comes his quiet intonations, and the smallest hint of a grin rises upon his features. His piece being said, Samir wastes no more time in moving forward with quick strides. Now lacking his enshrouding garments, the true grace with which he moves can be observed, only blemished by a slight hobble when striding forward with his artificial leg. Quickly he closes the gap, gaining every slightest bit of distance possible in that short time. He may not be the strongest of opponents, or the speediest, but he was certainly one of the fiercest, as showcased by a vicious opening display. The cold digits of Samir's right hand lock in a death grip around the hilt of his weapon, and stepping forward with his right foot his sword is ripped outward toward the hovering pixie in a diagonal strike that could likely sever her if struck, though the little creature would be a hard target to hit when moving.


Ginger holds her "hovering" position suspended upon rather large wingtips above her former perch upon an emerged root. She need not move to hold her position, but should the tiny pixie choose to move, few could stop her. Her own face, scarred from several past barbecues where she was the guest of honor, holds no emotion. No fear. No joy. This is strictly business. Ginger's arm cradles a medium sized-jar of a viscous amber liquid: the strange and elusive pixie honey. "Honor has nothing to do with this, merely business. If you would sign here?" Ginger opens a -very- large book with her free hand and points to a line on the page. "The fight would become redundant and I can walk away one step closer to the gold. Just. . .sign." Being as she offered no quill, the request seems a bit unlikely to be acquiesced to. Just as predicted, the avian does not sign. The mottled green pixie whistles a soft ditty and her wings collapse, burrowing into the ground and dropping her just in time to evade the blade-stroke. As the avian passes, Ginger continues her spiel. "The formalities of battle are tedious to some people, and I am quickly growing into an impatient member of their number. Just sign the. Damn. BOOK!" On the last emphatic word, her honey reacts by boiling. It was never meant to be handled near a magical creature, even one as mystically weak as an entropic pixie. The fumes drift into the air, twisting reality and skewing perception. Ginger glows a darker green, her avarice growing beyond her control. The book reacts with an amorous sigh of satiation and belches a large dose of anti-pixie dust directly into the cloud of honey vapor, creating synergistic windspouts that weave in and out. The tiny pixie realizes that things are out of her control and mumbles unrepeatable words, ducking behind the jutting root. In a fit of self-preservation she also calls her wings back from underground, and they come back. . .from the other side of Samir. Every last sharp, jagged one of them racing to reform on the pixie's back.


Samir action : had anticipated his first attack's evasion, and begins a quick recovery that consists sliding his left foot forward, leaving a gouge in the soft moss beneath as it brings him into a rightward rotation. His sword follows suit, and the motion of his initial swing never truly stops, simply gets redirected into the second. His style is rigorous and meticulous, more mechanical than emotional, each action flowing from a preceding one with no halt in between. Within only a moment his blade has been set back on course for the pixie, growing closer, almost to the point of slashing ginger in twain, yet then.... BOOM! Samir had absolutely no clue what sort of vile magical concoction had just been utilized for the goal of his destruction, but he hated it. The resulting backdraft catches his wings, forcing them open and ripping Samir from solid earth. He is sent hurtling backward, like a kite taken by the wind, and this is perhaps the only thing to save him from whatever other ill effects might be suffered by prolonged exposure. Yet the air was his second home, the place where he felt most comfortable, and upon reaching it's embrace the Avian retakes control. Wings flare wide, and beat powerfully in opposition to gravity, keeping him aloft and speeding him up as a large circuit of the immediate area is completed. He whips around, and surges earthward like a hawk racing to take it's meal. He pulls upward at the last moment, his wings now generating another powerful beat from a horizontal position that should serve to not only unbalance the pixie, but blow away any remaining honey fumes that linger in the air. With a crunch he hits the ground, dropping to a knee as his free left hand gropes the ground. It rises seconds later full of small stones, half a dozen or so, and with a violent jerky motion he makes to throw them at the pixie. Hardly and intense attack, throwing rocks in a serious battle. However as the weight of stone leaves his hand a small bubble of force proceeds outward from his palm, and accelerates the little missles to a deadly speed. They could easily crack a skull, pierce a lung, all manner of awful things, and he hoped that they would do something of the sort.


Ginger allows her wings to reattach, and barely in time. They cradle her in protection from her own mishandled forces. Small pebbles shred her exposed flesh in the gaps between the bones, but the larger stones ricochet off the thick enamel of dragonbone. As soon as the hailstorm of stone ceases she leaps up from the ground and screams at the avian. "It didn't have to be this way. Daisy damn you for unkind thoughts." Her anger merely fuels the hunger of the book that still spews the dark reversed pixie dust, but in ever increasing amounts. "I'll give you another chance. . .sign your forfeiture." Ginger glares at the avian, but before he can move to attack. . .or sign, if he had wanted to. . .she turns all her wingtips toward Samir, creating a wall of spikes that would disembowel anything that got near, twisting and gouging until nothing is left but a frothy soup, and Ginger likes soup. She angles her jar to catch a large clump of dust, which fluffs into the brim. The jar creaks at the sudden tension, and the tiny pixie does all she can to brace the sides, even climbing inside to stop it from collapsing. She aims the opening at Samir. The alchemical honey reacts once again to the unnatural dust, but more focused and malevolent. A cyclonic vacuum spears from the opening, tearing shrubberies from their roots and collecting a distant herd of deer and dropping them into the wing-spikes only to be shredded and pulled into the vortex. What such forces would do to an avian can not be good.


Samir couldn't possibly consider signing the little pixie's contract, wouldn't have been given the chance to do so even if the thought had crossed his mind. Yet for all her former emotionless attitude, cold beaurocratic mannerisms, and idiotic ramblings about whatnot, Ginger certainly seems to have grown agitated. Reality slowly looses it's solidity as the 'anti' pixie dust filters into Samir's lungs, distorting distance and sound. Then moments later the soupy cyclone vacuum (yes... that.) erupts into existence with a roar and begins to suck him in. For a moment Samir resists, digging his heels into the ground and beating his wings with every ounce of strength they could muster. All for naught it seemed, as slowly but surely, he began to loose ground. First a little slip, then a whole step, then another. It seemed as though Ginger's ploy was working, yet she had made what was perhaps a fatal oversight. Samir's mind was still in a fragile state of affairs, struggling to rebuild an image worth facing in the mirror, and though freed of the beast which had consumed him, Samir was still for all intents and purposes completely wacked out of his skull. The hallucinogenics only made it worse, harder to hold tight that hard won bit of honor. In a split second decision the Avian changes tactics, rushing into the cyclone rather than away. He had no sure confidence of success, nor even any confidence in survival, yet here in lies Ginger's mistake. Samir couldn't care less about living, not any longer what with all the funny things she had done to his mind with her strange little powder. With a speed greater than any yet displayed the Avian charges forward, a sadistic grin sprouts into existence as Samir envisions his face going through the grinder, and then he laughs. Five feet, three feet, one foot, His jagged sword is raised overhead waiting for it's moment, his left hand is drawn upward, leaving his palm facing the pixie. It was all or nothing, win or lose, success or soup. A bellow rips from between his lips, and in that moment he forces -everything- that he has into one singular purpose. From the palm of his left hand comes an explosion that is powerful enough to shake the ground below, and if his planning shows true it should disrupt Ginger's soupy cyclone vacuum, and gnashing wingtips long enough for his final blow to be struck. From on high descends his sword, it's jagged toothed edge seeking to bury itself deeply withing the poor little creature's shoulder and split the muscle and bone roughly. Death is likely upon success, even with some miracle defense total escape from the devastation will be hard to ensure. Yet to Samir.... all that mattered was drawing her blood, whether he lost or won, or even died. So long as she bled he would be happy.


Ginger, already bleeding from the puncture wounds of the flung rocks, is busy holding her vortex together as it grinds wild animals into dwarven rations (cuz you were -so- dying to know where rations come from). The wings are set to autopilot, grinding and liquefying anything and everything. . .though to be honest, liquid pine smells kinda nice. She completely ignores any attacks pending, trusting to the gnashing construct to protect. The wings slice into the avian, adding his insides to the insides of others which are now outsides, splattering Ginger with blood and whatnot. The severance of her left hand comes as a shock to her. In exasperation, shock, and not a small bit of anger, she turns and yells at the avian. "Bastard-face turkey!! I liked that hand. . .on nights when I'm lonely, she would. . .er. . .nevermind." Ginger leaps after her hand, stopping her wings by necessity to do so. She uses her remaining hand to collect the dismembered limb and drops it into her honey jar. "Now," she says, leaping onto the avian's back. "Ready to sign? You can use your own blood. . .more binding that way. Lemme help. . ." She lowers her tiny head to the man's left cheek and begins to bite. . .hard.

[No Final Post]



Kelovath and Jacklin Tournament