Duel:Gregor v Vornir
Part of the Rynvalian War Arc
(Vornir def. Gregor)
Location: Mountain Path Duelists: Vornir, Gregor Judges: Leigh, Rheven, Eyren Stakes: Rynvalian War Time limit: Fifteen Minutes
Mountain Path
The air is a little easier to breathe in here, for you are in somewhat of a rut. It is kind of nice, you think to yourself, as you look up at the hills and small mountains that rise on your north and south. A cool breeze blows by, causing a slight chill and you shiver. The altitude here is pretty high, and gets higher to the west, making for cooler weather. The path here has become more of a road and wagons have made deep cuts into the earth, keeping any foliage from growing along this way. To the west, a slight uphill climb is needed, and you spot some travelers in the distance, head away from you. To the east is a simple mountain road, and it becomes wider from the many richer travelers that use the stagecoach to move from destination to destination. Your weary legs and sore feet make you hesitate and think about paying the now more reasonable fees that the service requires.
Gregor is a dragon and seems to be a druid. Gregor is wearing drow-chain mail on his body, dark-steel horned-helm on his head, Visor of Eternal Dark on his face, multihelix-bone piercings on his left ear, multihelix-bone piercings on his right ear, Pendent of Krekai on his neck, Mantle of Chaos on his shoulders, black-chainmail sleeve on his left arm, black-chainmail sleeve on his right arm, license on his hands, Black wristband on his left wrist, Black wristband on his right wrist, Meterioric Iron Leggings on his legs, and Spiked boots of Chaos on his feet. On one of his left fingers, you see mystical silver-band. On one of his right fingers, you see mystical silver-band. Gregor is using fishing pole as a weapon. Gregor is using Heavily armoured sleeve as a shield. Gregor has green eyes, light skin, and brown hair, and is single.
Vornir is a giant and a paladin. Vornir is wearing Black-Ice-Glowing Breastplate on his body, Everfrost-Tribal-Enchanted Circlet on his head, Black-Ice-Stud on his left ear, Black-Ice-Stud on his right ear, Black-Ice-Shoulder Guards on his shoulders, Black-Ice-Plated Sleeve on his left arm, Black-Ice-Plated Sleeve on his right arm, Blue-Iron-Plated Gloves on his hands, Black-Ice-Plated Leggings on his legs, and Blue-Iron-Plated Boots on his feet. On one of his left fingers, you see Black-Ice-Carved Ring. On one of his right fingers, you see Ring of-the Empire. He is using Axe of-Northern-Winds as a weapon. He is using Black-Ice-Large Shield as a shield. He has blue eyes, pale skin, and blonde hair, and is single.
Judges: Leigh, Rheven, Eyren
Gunnar moves to gain a better vantage point for this upcoming battle, the frost giant offering a simple sacrifice of blood, via a small cut on his hand, as offering to Aramoth, his patron diety. " MAy the War God bless you with glory this day cousin!' Calls out the mighty warrior, his fabled warhammer once again raised in salute to his people's champion.
Gregor eyes the giant who would soon be feeling the wrath of nature, and of The Fold. Emerald optics ablaze with passion for the mission he had been sent to complete, the druid began to work, his ruby robes falling to the ground in pieces as pale skin began to disappear under shimmering golden scales. Gregor knew this fight would be near even as far as girth was concerned, but he intended it to be quite one sided otherwise. As he takes to the skies with a quick flap of muscular wings, magic could be felt filling the air as mana was summoned to complete the druid's connection with nature, leashing it to do his bidding. The ground below suddenly begins quaking violently, causing fissures to appear throughout the entire area, and jets of breath hindering gas to erupt- released after years of build up- from the core of the Earth itself. The foundation under the giant would progressively worsen, the earth receding from the area, hopefully leaving the giant partially submerged in the magnificent pool of ground water that had been hidden with the gas below. From above, the roar of thunder would be heard as a storm quickly rolled into the area at the dragon's bidding, filling the sky with black clouds against which the saurian's golden scales contrasted brilliantly as he flew about in their midst. As if every flap of draconic wings rallied the electrical power within the clouds, lightening struck the pool of water repeatedly, filling the entire body with millions upon millions of volts that all raced toward the armor clad giant, a waiting fish in someone else's pool.
Vornir Brimirsson enters into view from the west, his axe swinging in his gauntleted right hand, its bearded head glimmering white with hoarfrost. The giant is clad head to toe in armor, of mixed types. Some is simple, deep blue iron, heavy and durable, while some is made of thick, hefty sheets of black ice, the substance enchanted to hold its shape, harder than tempered steel. His shield falls into this group, a massive, oval-shaped tower, the edges of which have been ground down to a long, curving blade. Hidden in a makeshift leather holder on the inside of this shield rest three javelins which, though small for the giant, still measure eight feet in length, with barbed, blue iron heads. The Champion's head is all but bare, however, crowned only with a band of white, crafted from the enchanted everfrost that his people love so well. Graven here are the symbols Vornir carries to war: Aramoth's axe, Jarl Ezezil's crst, and Brimirsson's own sigil. The paladin of Aramoth smiles widely at his standard-bearer's call, and hefts his own weapon in reply, murmuring a supplication of his own to the god, shouldering his shield warily. Icy blue eyes meet the green as Gregor takes flight, causing Vornir to lift his shield, keeping it between himself and his foe. He is caught rather unawares by the sudden shift in the ground, and, owing to his massive weight, he sinks down, iron shod feet resting on the bedrock itself. Luckily, that is not all that far, given the mountain range close by, and Vornir's chest yet rises above the water. Abruptly, he lifts the axe in his hand, slamming it down into the water surrounding him. The liquid pushes back, as if attempting to escape the frigid blade, leaving a small space around Vornir's form before freezing, making solid barriers of muddy ice. The giant hooks his axe on the edge, calmly unpacking the javelins. It is then that the lightning strikes, however, a few fragments of electricty making the jump from ice to metal, sending mind-numbing shocks through the Champion's body. His teeth bare, gritted tight from behind the mass of frazzled beard, and he shakes his head, as if trying to clear it of cobwebs. His arm cocks back, then snaps forward, hurling the first javelin with baleful force at the winged creature. Slwowly, calmly, the rattled giant takes aim and throws again, not even bothering to watch his missiles as he takes a hold of the axe once more, beginning the slow process of hauling himself free of his icy prison.
Gregor notices the javelin almost immediately due to its massive size. Deciding his best chance to avoid the attack was to head higher and higher into atmosphere, the dragon shot upwards as fast as he could make his oversized body move. Swirling about the clouds, almost carefree despite the battle, the druid decides to loop back down in an attempt to ensure a quick and unexpected attack. Sadly, as he declines the javelin meets a scaled golden leg, penetrating scales to tear into flesh below, sending droplets of draconic blood down upon the giant. Nonetheless Gregor continues to fly around the upper parts of the horizon only slightly slowed down by the wound he had suffered, until a sudden dive was made by the draconic giant. Natural gas was still building around Vornir and escaping to the atmosphere above as it rose through the depths of the earth fissures below. Growing nearer and nearer with every passing second large jaws were let lose, allowing the escape of a mist of fire that rained down upon the ticking time bomb. The gas ignited in a flash of light and a large explosion, the water and ice, that had once served the dragon's purpose melting and evaporating with the heat to hopefully leave the giant in something that resembled a large flaming crater. Meanwhile, the wind grew in magnitude as it picked up the debris that had been brought in by the lightening storm and flung it toward the giant- turning the natural missiles into miniature comets as the flaming material made its way towards its target. It would be almost impossible to avoid burning in this scenario and so the dragon idled in the air preparing to watch the giant become his home made barbeque.
Vornir's climb is slow, but successful: upon clearing the wall of ice, he begins to slog toward the end of the oversized puddle, hastening when he catches sight of the dragon swooping in. Though he is slow already, and delayed all the more by joints stiffened by shock, the giant's long legs eat up the distance swiftly enough, and he is clambering out of the morass when his worlds sets alight. The explosion is powerful enough to set even Vornir's gigantic form in motion, rolling him a time or two away from the center of the blast. His vision blurs for a moment, though he has the forethough to pull his shield over his body, allowing the earthly missiles to ricochet harmlessly away. In a haze, the battered champion staggers to his feet, noticing with grunts of pain that his boots have melted to his feet. He lets his pain out in a yell, his booming voice shattering the air as he lets loose the ancestral war cry of his kindred; "Aramoth!" accompanied by a raucous clash as he slams the flat of his axe against his shield, the latter reverberating shrilly, over and over again. Again the axe is let loose, in favor of the last remaining javelin. This, he touches to the axe's head, allowing it to freeze over as well before taking careful aim and shooting it at the dragon, aiming to pierce his foe's wings, to bring him down to the ground. Vornir does not stop with the spear; rather, he sends a few of Gregor's own weapons back at him: rocks, clods of earth, shattered bits of trees, all are sent with dangerous accuracy at the hovering dragon. Vornir breaks into a hobbling sort of run, scooping up his rocks as he goes, the pain of each step building the rage that mounts, hot and red within Aramoth's paladin's body.
Gregor knew the giant would have more than one trick up his sleeve, and so was not expecting more projectiles. While he was able to dodge most of the debris that headed his way the dragon lacked the dexterity to dodge the javelin and it priced straight through a leathery golden wing. The sting Gregor feels from the wounds inflicted only pushes him harder to end this fight one way or another. Arching down toward the giant in an uncontrollable line of flight, leading him on a collision course to the mountains bellow, a deep and loud bellow of pain, agony, and pride erupts from the jaws of the golden giant. The sound waves echo off the surrounding mountainsides, giving snow, gravel, and remaining debris the final push it needs to begin a shuddering slide from their perch in the hills on the north and south of the battle arena, into a final resting place down below. The mudslide gains momentum, pushing forward faster and faster down the mountains- foliage and branches from the trees, broken at odd angles, stick out from various and numerous points within the rubble, serving as nature's knives as the natural avalanche appears to run down the giant, hopefully burying him entirely or in part beneath the debris. Beneath the sound of the thundering avalanche hooves and padded feet would only be heard by a well trained ear, as animals begin rushing out of the hills from the east and west in an attempt to outrun nature's fury. With animals rushing madly back and forth from east to west and the mountains unloading themselves from the north and south, Gregor was clueless as how his adversary might avoid his final assault, nor could he find time to care as he battled the pain shooting from his wounds as he tumbled down the mountainside.
Vornir cheers loudly as the dragon falls, and unlike his foe he is prepared for the next event, well before it happens. Vornir swiftly sets his shield before him, crouching as small as he physically can behind his. A low keening emits from his huddled form, a sort of chant as he croons out, "Jarnelding, mother of my line, lend me your aid now." This he repeats, over and over again, as the torrent of earth bares down upon him. The front line of debris strikes, slaming into the shield, ringing off of pauldrons and breatplate, and even slicing lines of red across Vornir's bared face. But then, the glorious idis appears, her own shield, large and nearly transparent, enforcing and strengthening the living giant's own. Though some rocks still strike, illiciting grunts of pain, the majority of the landslide piles around the pair, finally ending, stacked to Vornir's hips. Wearily, he begins to climb, leaving his ghostly ancestor behind as he moves to the top of the heap of rubble. Just then, a straggling rock, small and sharp, bounces up to gash the Champion's pale cheek deeply, starting a fresh torrent of blood. This seems to be the last straw, for now the giant's frightening wrath breaks lose, the sacrifice of pain and blood sufficient to call Aramoth to his Chosen warrior. Instantly, the war god's fury fills Vornir, blotting out the pain and weakness, tapping every last bit of adrenalin in the giant's form. Again he roars, voice filled with the ecstatic, berserk hatred of the god himself, now given form in the son of Brimir. Moving as swiftly as he can, Vornir rushes at the dragon, lashing out with his axe in a sideways arc, cutting low toward Gregor's legs. However, the hooked weapon halts behind the dragon, wavering for a split-second before the giant hauls back on the handle, putting all the corded muscles of his back into the heave, hoping to catch his enemy's legs, or at least one of them, in the path of the rushing metal. The shield comes into play again as Vornir swings it in an ungainly arc, relying on brute strength to guide the bladed side toward of Gregor's head, all this followed up with a low kick, the bottom of the frost giant's boot, spiked for traction on ice, sent hurtling toward Gregor's chest. Then, all sense is lost, and the giant hurls himself bodily at his prey, weapon and shield forgotton as he smashes at Gregor with every limb, even resorting to biting as his strength begins to wane, wrath slowly draining away.
Gregor is in no state to state to defend himself properly any longer. Rolling over to turtle himself to the ground wings are raised to protect a scaled head as Gregor tries to move away from his adversary. These wings are almost immediately met with a blade and the agony that is only worsened thereafter. Scales protect well, but not well enough for the druid to escape without gashes on his legs, and a badly hurt chest as he continues his roll in an attempt to escape any fatal damage. Once the giant launches his entire body Gregor can do little else but twist his massive body up and over the giant in an attempt to pin the giant to the broken ground. Perhaps it would end the chaos for the day.
Rheven said, "ooc: Vornir wins, unanimous decision."
Gunnar rises from his position some distance away from the carnage that was the battle, the frost giant wondering what awaited his people's champion as he began to walk towards the scene, his fabled warhammer held tight within his grasp.
Vornir = 4-0