Duel:Hildegarde v Svilfon, Championship Match of the 2013 Frostmaw Tournament
Duelists: Svilfon vs. Hildegarde. Duel: Traditional 3 posts each, with final defense. 15 minute posting limit. Stakes: Autohit post. Winner of the Titans of Winter Tournament 2013. Judges: Eboric & Vehara
Frostmaw Arena
The stands of Frostmaw's colosseum are once again full, although one seat is noticeably empty: Lady Frostmaw's. None seem to know where Satoshi has gone or even recall seeing her in the past number of days. The concern and curiosity creates an uneasy undercurrent to the normally boisterous noise of the arena, with many a glance thrown to the blank glass of the scrying panels above. Like Lady Frostmaw's seat, the panes are empty, nothing more than sheets of glass hovering around the arena, no images offered of the final match preparing to start at any moment... that is, until a high-pitched keening sounds from the ruins. It is a noise of anguish, rage, and helplessness, a wail of the bereaved, of the heartbroken, of a creature in a pain too sharp to be physical. The sound pierces so deeply into the hearts of those that hear it, that the colosseum falls instantly silent in surprise and alarm. All that can be heard is the ghostly wail, and a low, building rumble as much felt in one's bones as heard by the ear: the land and skies responding. The permafrost shudders as if with a minor earthquake, the snows and ice crackle as they shift against one another, and the churning dark clouds above growl with unshed thunder. Whatever has made the terrible sound is potent enough to rile the very elements of Frostmaw. To those attuned to the magics of the world, they will feel a surge of mana flow over the lands, raw energy tinted with the same emotions riddling the cry. Yet before the arena's audience has a chance to discuss the oddity, the scrying glasses blaze into life in response to the mana wave, to reveal the place of combat for Hildegarde and Svilfon: Aramoth's sacred Temple of Judgement, where the eyes of statue warriors will witness all. Let the match begin.
Temple of Judgement
As you come inside the old, dusty, and earthy smelling temple, your eyes dance around in wonder. Along the circular room, you see various plaques among the walls, and among the plaques each glow magical runes. Before the plaques, you see, made of stone, a man kneeled down, weapons in hand, and praying. After close examination, you notice one statue for each class native to Hollow. A warrior, a death knight, a druid, a mage, and all the other trained classes as well are here. Not knowing what the words or runes read, you are forced to wonder what this place could be. As well, you find yourself within a field of light and dark energy as you see shadows of hatred, and souls of kindness entwine above you overhead. The opposite energies of the beings collide and erupt into a vortex of some type, this effect is constant, and never ending. You glance to your east, and to your west and see two halls of some sort, while to your north you see a pair of steps, and to your south you see another area. You may also go down, back into the old caves.
Hildegarde had spent some time with her family, taking turns to press their foreheads together in a silent display of affection amongst whispered words of courage, faith, respect and, most importantly, love. She left them in the Colosseum, off to find the Temple of Judgement and the friend who awaited her there, for that was who Svilfon was - her friend. The trek to the temple was frightening, full of spirits and pathways that would be unwise to cross unaccompanied or at least unprepared. But the knight had courage and she had the will to continue onwards. So here she stood, in the temple, eyes glancing around to take in the statues with their weapons and the auras of power circulating above - clashing endlessly and powerfully throughout the ages - like a ticking time bomb, simply waiting to go off at any moment. When she was made aware of the wizard, she was quick to turn and offer him a smile. It was that winning smile she offered everyone - the one that said she was kind and sweet - but it was laced with trepidation, "Hail, my friend," she said, lifting Whim off the ground just a touch to greet him properly. Her armour was brand new; sparkling mithril with lapis lazuli forming the sigil of Frostmaw, as if to declare her a real and true knight of Frostmaw. She stood taller than usual it seemed, as if proud in her new armour, with its chainmail hauberk, a thing she could never afford before, but now had thanks to the generosity of her Queen. At her hip sat a new blade, its lion head pommel visible from its comfortable leather sheathe. "We are the finalists, it appears! I am glad that we are going to fight again, my friend. For the honour and pride of Frostmaw." A little pause before she added, almost bashfully, "I… I shall show you how much I respect you today, my friend." She knew that he would understand the meaning of her words.
Svilfon wanders into the temple with a small frown on his face, dressed as ever in his fur-lined robes and with the land's most magnificent hat upon his head. The torrent of mana which flowed throughout the frozen City of War is felt keenly by the perceptive wizard, but he knows he cannot dwell upon it, nor upon the lady icicle, who he's sure has some kind of hand in it. He was facing the silver dragon, and he knows he must focus on the battle... only then can he seek out the source of such a cry. So with determination now washing away the frown, he lifts his pale gaze to Hildegarde and offers a brief tip of his hat. After listening to her words, he nods solemnly in understanding, "Lady Knight. I told you the giants do not lie when they speak in whispers of the silver dragon. You have proven yourself worthy of your mantle... but the time has come to finish this, for good or ill. Let us begin..." He offers a very quick bow to the woman, before pulling his Xalious wand from the air itself and adopting a battle-stance befitting of a wizard. There he waits to see what his opponent will do.
In the colosseum, Kirien is curled in a tight little ball on his throne. The rest of the royal booth is empty save the staunch presence of the guards stood to either side, the arena itself plagued by an eerie silence and uncertainty following the shift of wind, and the keening, heartrending cry that rippled across the sky moments ago. He was already unsettled by the lack of Satoshi’s presence to his left, her empty chair a very noticeable hollow in his vision. Now the empath is clearly distressed, his agitation causing the arena foundations to shiver intermittently. Blind eyes on the scrying glasses, Kirien extends an arm out to grab one of those guards by the hand and borrow his eyesight, ready to watch the match unfolding in the Temple.
Hildegarde offered him a bow in response, as it was only the honourable thing to do to a man such a this; a man she had fought with twice before and had - sometimes reluctantly! - come to respect and cherish. She knew there was no fooling around the wizard, that this duel would be unlike the duels before: this duel could kill either one of them, if it went that far. Whim was weighed carefully in her hands, given a twirl to rebalance the weapon and to set her mind for war. She levelled the wizard with a stare and drew in a breath, a calming yet deep breath that she held as she began to sprint for the wizard. Once her polearm was within reach of the wizard, she turned into a harsh spiral and swung Whim, axe-head aiming to tear him in two through his gut. But her momentum did not end there, she was not foolish enough to assume the wizard would stand and allow her to cut him down. Her spin continued, with the axe-head of Whim coming to bear down on Svilfon's shoulder, as if to rend his arm from his body. Again, she twisted with her weapon - ever building momentum and speed, as if she were nothing more than a ballet dancer - but her weapon seemed to shift in her hands; sliding and turning until the end made specifically to wrest riders from their mounts was lurching for the wizard. She intended to grip him with it, to pull him upwards with her might only to swish her axe-head downwards in the effort to tear him asunder. It would appear that the knight was genuinely out for blood this evening. In typical combat, she would want to gain space between herself and her foe, but it would be unwise to give the wizard any room to cast his spells against her. No, she needed to dominate him with her might and overpower him with brute strength. Whim twirled again and she with it, as if she were ready to strike at him again, but once she was close enough to him, she feinted the attack of her halberd and spewed her concentrated frost, almost pure ice, breath against him, uncaring of where it hit.
Svilfon watches his opponent rush at him and cannot help but smile. As the weapon is sent through its pernicious strikes, the wizard steps forward, taking the first hit from its shaft rather than the axe-head. The force is enough to send him back from the next few blows, even as agony erupts through his body. But he doesn't stop, instead he snarls with feral anger and launches himself back into the fray, again too close to her for the axe-head to ravish his robed body. He grips the shaft tightly with his free hand when it swings towards him, and when she drags it upwards to tear him asunder, he uses her own strength to launch himself across the room, away from her final feint and the blast of cold breath. He lands with a dull 'thud', but is soon to drag himself back to his feet. He knows he won't have long, so he wastes no time in twisting his hands through a series of complicated patterns before his body. Almost immediately words follow in the gesticulation's wake; they come harsh and guttural, echoing through the temple like the strangled cries of a trapped animal. The chant is soon completed by way of a flourish and a final shouted word, and the effect of the spell materializes into Hollow: a sickly substance born in the air between vampire and dragon. It floats there languidly for a moment as Svil stares at it uncertainly, before he shrugs and flicks his hand in Hildegarde's direction whilst uttering a dark command. The green-hued liquid wastes no time in erupting forth, rushing at the knight with vicious speed. As it nears her, it begins to stretch out, growing like a puddle in the rain, before the wizard clenches his fist. Reacting to this, the liquid snakes inwards and attempts to wrap around Hildegarde's head, before trying to drive itself into her nostrils, her ears, her mouth, her eyes... anywhere it can gain access so it can begin to choke her, strangle her... to ravish her insides with almost sentient cruelty. As it does, Svil whispers a quiet spell before lifting his unclenched hand and sending a torrent of fire in the liquid's wake. Its intent isn't to directly harm the dragon, though it is as unnaturally hot as all Svilfon's fire magic. But its main effect is to counter any attempts the silver dragon has in using her icy breath again to stop the wizard's first spell, which itself is unaffected by the savage heat... it seems he learned much from watching her earlier battles...
Hildegarde near roared with fury as the wizard was thrown away by her own attack. He had learned much from their previous battles, but there was something she was certain he had not been counting on, something she needed to keep still for now. But as with all their battles, she was quick to start running for him again, having learned it was better to run through his attacks rather than to run away from them, for it would only tire her and give her a greater task of catching up to the wizard. She watched him summon the liquid, however, scepticism clear in her gaze yet surprise quickly entering those usually sad eyes as the bubble of liquid seemed to target directly after her head. She drew in a deep breath, 'chuffing' a small part of concentrated frost into her nostrils to keep it from slipping into her airways; eyes shut tight as she put faith in her other senses to find the wizard. She ran - blindly - for the wizard, but threw her body down to slide across the circular floor and towards him, having felt the heat skim across her and ignite near her cheeks. It took all her might not to scream or cry, to roll around and beg like an animal for the flames to go away. He knew how much the flames hurt the Silver. But no, she slid across the floor and used her free hand to draw out Oathkeeper, the lion headed pommel striking across the ground as she wished a silent wish. What none knew, save for her and her liege, was that this blade had the ear of the earth. If asked, the earth might listen to her and that was all she needed. The Temple roared with defiance as she ground trembled and quivered, nothing more than that, but enough to send someone off balance. Her breath, however, could only hold for so long, even with the massive lungs of a dragon. So, she swung her halberd out in the hopes of catching his feet, before rolling forward and springing up to her feet. She finally opened one eye, to only catch a brief glimpse of the wizard, before the fluid attempted to overwhelm her eyesight. Whim tucked under her arm and Oathkeeper twirled angrily in the other, as she swung her bodyweight and finally released her breath - that concentrated frost spewing over the bubble that coated her face; blotting out her face from sight of the wizard. Whim and Oathkeeper swung for him, Whim swinging horizontally in a wide berth, before she stepped in quickly, like an expert fencer, and swiped Oathkeeper down for his shoulder again. But she stepped in again and smashed her head forward, intent on crushing the frost covered bubble against Svilfon's face to break free from its constraint.
Svilfon staggers as the earth itself listens to the knight's call channeled through her blade. His balance is lost enough that he falls down to one knee, and his leg takes the brunt of her first attack - Whim so easily tearing through his robes to carve a deep trench in his flesh. He lets out a strangled cry as he pushes himself back, close to one of the statues which ring the temple, and he uses it to drag himself back to his feet. But she is far from finished with him. In a panic as he watches her blindly send her weapons in further attacks, the wizard can only scream the word of his teleportation magic. He has no time to control the volatile magics which give birth to his unique means of travel, and as he appears again at the other end of the temple, a huge fireball roars into life. But it doesn't have a chance to ravish the silver's body, for the frost-bubble she blew would soon put it out. Svilfon drops down to one knee, pain causing his face to distort into a mask of agony, before he spins his hands before his body in rapid patterns, carving on the air an invisible tapestry of magic that only those who're well-trained in the arcane arts could ever hope to sense. Even as he does, the wizard begins to whistle. The tune is an old pirate song, and as the sound passes through the magic he weaves, it begins to grow in strength, echoing off the circular room to create confusion as to where his true location is, at least for someone unable to see. On and on this continues, until the wizard stops moving his arms and lifts a hand to his mouth. He lets out the most high-pitched whistle he can, blown as it is between his thumb and index finger; made louder by the natural hiss of air between the gaps in his teeth. When this noise meets the pattern he crafted, the sound which comes forth is enough to send Svilfon hurling backwards until he strikes the wall with horrendous strength. He groans, but doesn't hear the sound as his ears have begun to leak precious vitae. Behind his spell he was, yet even still it was devastating. Not only has he lost his hearing, albeit temporarily, but his flesh and bones feel like he's been washed down a waterfall, hitting every rock on the way. Even still, he lifts his pale gaze to seek Hildegarde, to learn of the dragon's fate against the brunt of his odious attack while he tries in vain to stop the flow of blood from his leg...
Hildegarde had heard the strangled cry before the liquid wriggled its way completely into her ears, sending her hearing into this muffled world of uncertainty and a lack of clarity. She finally roared with what little scraps of breath she had: angry, confused and finding that her chest was burning with pain from the constriction of that horrific enchanted fluid. She was beginning to think this bubble would be the last thing she would ever see or feel and that simply would not do. She would not be killed by some bubble, she refused. Just as she was ready to try and break free from this aggravating form of constriction, the wizard used her greater weakness to his advantage, but at a cost. The bubble shattered from the high pitch blast of sound that shuddered across the Temple, freeing her and allowing her to inhale deeply and ever so gratefully. But the sound crippled it, it sent her to her knees and had her screaming with fury and agony as the blood seeped from her ears. Her ear drums may very well have caved once again, just like before, but it could not be certain until after this fight. As she screamed with fury, the knight opened her eyes to find a distorted version of Svilfon lying afar. She snarls at him furiously, hand holding Whim clamped to her ear defensively as she levelled him with a stare that almost promised death or some form of reckoning. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, after all. Oathkeeper was raised and smacked against the ground, lion head pommel almost roaring as it did, but she smacked it repeatedly. Once, twice and thrice - sending the earth into three pulsations. The statue he clung to would groan, seemingly cracking and threatening to fall onto him if he did not think it wise to move away from it and quickly. But he had more than hurt Hilde, he had angered her and an angry dragon is far more formidable than an honourable one. She bolted directly for him, trying her best to discern which blurry apparition was him in her distorted world, but she would risk it. She would risk it if it meant he would taste what justice she might bring to him. She screamed so furiously when she was in striking distance, Whim striking out with the rider wresting end, aiming for his gut. Whim lunged for his gut before snapping upwards to strike at his chin as Oathkeeper came in from the side, no longer aiming for his shoulder, the pernicious and newly forged - meaning extremely sharp - blade aiming to slide into and through his windpipe. The Silver would have no mercy for him, only respect.
Svilfon is forced to roll quickly as the statue he knelt in front of cracks at its base, before falling forward. It misses the wizard by a hair's breadth, and is soon little more than dust and clumps of stone. It was the statue of the warrior; it has given the wizard a new weapon. He reaches through the rubble and pulls forth the sword which was once held by this stone warrior, before he gets to his feet and stands upon one leg, his face as feral as her own. When Whim strikes out, the wizard doesn't deflect the blow, he trusts his sturdiness to take the strike, allowing it to hit him in the stomach with such bone-crushing force, before it whips up. He shifts his head to the right, so the secondary attack merely clips his chin, though it's enough to cause a torrent of blood to flow from his mouth. He keeps his gaze on the enraged Hildegarde, though. And when Oathkeeper tears towards his throat, the wizard parries the blow somewhat clumsily with his borrowed weapon. The attack is deflected to his face, another trench carved through the flesh of his cheek, but Svilfon no longer cares. He hops himself forward, twisting the weapon up as he does into a strike at her face, before he releases the hilt and drops to one knee. With the sword flying at her, Svilfon wraps his hand around one of the clumps of stone and channels his own terramancy. It's not a school of magedom he overly likes, but as a high ranking member of the guild, it is one he was forced to study. The stone reacts by stretching out into a spear-like shape, before the wizard again calls upon his innate firemagic. It flows from his hand into the rock, causing it to violently heat up. Just before Svil senses its hardness being lost, he uses his other free hand to hurl some dust up in an attempt to further blind his opponent, before he thrusts the glowing spear with all his strength at the woman's stomach, hoping he has enough power left in his ravished body to drive it through her armour and into her flesh beneath...
Hildegarde could see a glint of something when she was close enough to the wizard, realising it was a blade once he had parried her blow and only clipped his chin. But his blood was spilled and that was enough for her. As he hopped forward, he took her by some surprise. The wizard typically tried to gain room between the two, knowing her physical strength far outmatched his, and did not try to close the gap between the two. It was unusual enough for him to get closer to her. But as he threw the dust up to her eyes, she stumbled back some and threw Whim up near her face to try and protect her gaze. The heated rock pierced the mithril armour, pressing hard into her gut, but by no means far enough to End her thanks to the chainmail and that stumble of hers. The weapon had pierced the soft skin of her belly, causing her to look at him almost bewildered as ruby hued blood spat up from her in surprise. But instead of standing there utterly bewildered for long, she roared angrily and raised her gauntleted arm to smash through the makeshift spear with all her might, lest the wizard try to rend her in two with it.
Winner: Svilfon
Svilfon reacts quickly when he sees Hildegarde attempt to drive her fist into his make-shift spear. He allows more of his firemagic to enter the weapon, so instead of striking hardened stone, she hits a soft molten rock which soon wraps around her arm as it tears itself completely out of her stomach. The wizard, in fierce concentration, commands the burning shackle into obedience. It lifts Hildegarde from the ground, before Svil stands again on one leg and begins to spin his hands clockwise in front of his body. This causes the burning bracelet she is forced to wear to begin to spin around the room. Within mere moments she is hitting the various statues, their weapons striking her armour with fierce strength, some even cutting into her flesh. The wizard, in homage to the God of War, ensures every one of these stone men tastes a touch of the combat which took place here in his temple, before at last the knight would stop at the broken warrior statue. There Svil steps forward and speaks in sibilant tones, "You did well, Knight of Frostmaw. You are worthy of your title, as I knew you were. But... respect this." He retracts his hand before punching the dragon as hard as he can in the face. Truth be told, he probably did more damage to himself than to her. But satisified at last, he turns, letting her crumple down onto the base where the warrior statue once stood, before he limps out of the temple and back to the arena. He spends a moment basking in the adulation of the giants, even as he frowns upon noticing Satoshi's chair is empty. With a brief hat-tip to Kirien, the wizard turns and staggers back out - to return to the library to once again heal from his many wounds before preparing himself to hunt the poachers and also to perhaps challenge the King of Venturil, last years winner...
Hildegarde near wailed as more firemagic was added to the spear, bubbling into her gut and causing her great pain and distress. It seemed to cauterise the wound it was simply so hot. But then her wrist was shackled by the flames and she felt that there could be no greater shame: she a dragon so proud, shackled by the heat. It stung her greatly, particularly with the current issue of poachers striking the hearts of the Eyrie. There was little time to focus on her burnt pride though, as she was spun around the room, walloping into each statue of each class; smacking into stone and weapon alike. She slumped over the broken warrior statue, offering Svilfon a final weak, yet ultimately defiant look as he drove his fist into her face. Her bones were stronger than the average human's though, so it was very likely he did more harm to himself than to her. But alas, it was enough to force her eyes shut. Not enough to send her unconscious, but enough to send her into silence and stillness.
Kirien has uncurled slightly over the course of the match, limbs unfolding almost hesitantly like leaves meeting morning sun. When Svilfon enters the arena to the roaring admiration of the stands, Kirien is quiet by comparison, and still. He releases the guard’s hand as the magics fuelling the scrying glasses dim, the image of the Temple flickering out of view both to his eyes and those of the spectators, and carefully the empath pushes himself to stand. A nod answers that tip of the hat and he claps his hands together to acknowledge his sibling’s victory, calling after Svilfon, “Now I owe you a punch in the face too, okay?” But the tone of his voice speaks the words he does not; he is congratulating him, in truth, only silently instead of openly like the others.
Svilfon snickers at he catches Kirien's words, though he understood the meanings not spoken between the Coterie brethren. But he doesn't have time to dwell - he is in agony once more, and he can already sense Alahir's curiosity at the outcome of the fight...
Kirien then waves to his guardsman, who still seems a touch dazed by the after-effects of having shared his own vision for so long, and after a nod to those in the stands, turns to exit the colosseum. There is a damsel in distress in need of rescuing, and for some reason it isn’t him this time.