Duel:Ignatius v Kuzial, Match 6 of the Frostmaw Tournament
Duelists: Ignatius vs. Kuzial. Duel: Traditional 3 posts each, with final defense. 10 minute posting limit. Stakes: Autohit post. Advancement in the Titans of Winter Tournament 2012. Judges: Gorzhageigk, Satoshi, Akenyil
Frostmaw Colosseum
Kuzial stalks into the arena dressed in his usual armour: sleeveless mithril vest, chainmail leggings and upon his back the flowing, vision obscuring piwifwi all his dark race wear. At his hips lay the hilts of his fine swords, The E' et-Nilah Blade and the Penzance Sabre. Strapped to its back in an elaborate sheath is Shattered Dream, the katana that was once owned by Ginger. Ignoring the crowd who has come to watch, Kuzial stops in the middle of the fighting area and adopts a casual stance, though his ebon hands never stray far from his fine weapons' hilts. There he waits for this to begin.
Akenyil ventures into the colosseum, and walking considerably better than she did after her last time here, though she does sport a limp. She meanders for a bit while she looks for just the right seat, but once she finds it she plants herself with very little to do. She leans forward, cradling her injured hand in her lap while simultaneously pulling her hood further over her face to shield both her eyes from the glare of the light, and her burned face from view of others.
Dyzz can't find a good seat nowhere! She climbs on top of a odd looking fixture, trying to look over the heads of all these taller folk.
Beata nods and waves to Dyzz. as ahe takes a seat to watch the match..
Satoshi is in her seat too, near Dami's own fancypants one, and waiting for the combatants to arrive.
Valor decided to see what all the fuss was about. Being a centaur, she wasn't sure how others would act. But she was here for the show, not the citizens.
Javelin saunters into the arena nonchalently, only pausing momentarily to offer Kasyr a slight cant of head in greeting. The rest of the present onlookers are promptly ignored as the proud elf scans the stands for a seat he favours, before making his way over and settling in comfortably for the upcoming games. He seems notably unperturbed by the fact that his turn in the arena would be soon to follow, but t'was to be expected, the elf himself a weathered veteran of many battles.
Kirien is here with a dragonling in tow, as per Kasyr's orders - and said curious young hatchling is threatening to ruin whatever semblance of secrecy he has left by constantly chirping Kuzial's name as she pads along close by the empath's side. Kirien slants her a look that is clearly telling her to shut her mouth, which Chasz only responds to with a baleful stare and, "Kuzial -lose-." Despite himself, the terramancer snorts. "Rude." Hefting the mouthy little hatchling into his arms, he hops up the steps to the private booth to settle in his seat and holds a wiggling Chasz in his lap.
Kasyr offers Javelin a brief wave, before he meanders up towards the box seats- intent upon taking his spot with all due haste.
Satoshi eyes the hatchling with a mixed look, trying not to outright hate Kirien's little companion for the role it unwittingly played in the kit's own miseries.
Dyzz hovers around, looking at all the weird people, wondering if anyone has anything she can eat. She sneaks around, under peoples legs, picking up anything anyone happens to drop, and some things they didn't drop, giving a small, 'ow' or a grunt every now and then when someone kicked her.
Jerica has probably been her quite bit longer than she actually needs to be. Jerica had found the arena earlier and had decided to simply stick around and watch spars or fights as they happened though the small woman showed little or no interest in all that's going on around her. She is waiting, actually, for a different fight. As others begin to pour in and fill the stands, boxes and other alternative seating areas, Jerica straightens in her seat which cause her feet to be brought up off the floor so that they dangle. With a soft sigh brown eyes are turned to the arena and Jerica takes more active role in observing.
Ignatius made his entrance as well though his was made opposite of Kuzial's and where Kuzial was all silence and intensity, Ignatius was all flare. He waved and bowed, happily acknowledging the crowds that gathered in the seating areas - here he seemed so perfectly in his element as he circled around the perimeter of the colloseum, offering his hand to those that might take it. A choice few would even recieve a rose as a gift from the knight who clung dearly to such old customs. As he came to stand before the rows that Satoshi sat perched in though, Ignatius took a knee and lowered his head. "La mia regina, tutta la gloria di questa lotta ... Mi dono a voi." He said, spoken like an oath. All good things had to come to an end and having said his bit to the queen of Frostmaw, Ignatius had to finally turn his back to the audience that came to see them fight. "Che vengano."
Kirien was looking very tempted to muzzle Chasz, but she has since ceased her grumbling about Kuzial, though her attentions have now shifted to Satoshi sitting alongside them. Kirien wiggles his ears at his sister and mouths, "Fancy," and presumably refers to Ignatius' entrance.
Satoshi stands as Ignatius finishes his oath, offering him a smile (that widens at Kirien's silent remark), and Kuzial a lingering, daggered look. Although she and the drow had never properly crossed paths, she's seen enough of him to treat him with the same caution--and wary respect--one would give to a mad young dragon. Looks out of the way, the magus straightens and makes the customary announcement for the audience, "It's time for the Patron of House Stavret, Kuzial, to face the Sword of the North, Ignatius! I'll remind you both that it is weapons only for this battle, show us your mastery, and let the match begin!"
Akenyil straightens her back as the names are called, her interest piqued. So the Patron of Stavret is fighting? Interesting. A grin splits her face as she imagines another drow proving mastery on the surface.
Javelin straightens in his seat noticeably as the start of the tourney is announced, fixating his gaze upon the combatants and silently assessing their worth as a warrior. Titles and names hold no value to the elf, since he is unacquainted with both combatants, and he had always been one to judge others based on their concrete deeds, not their mere reputation.
Jerica hates being so short. From her seat she is straining to see over heads that lean one way or another as those in the front commented to their neighbors. The combatants are announced and Jerica finally decides to simply stand in her chair ignoring protests from behind as she then blocks views.
Beata watches the two in the center of the ring.. Holding the Fur cloak tightly around her.
Kuzial turns and offers Satoshi a mocking half-bow in the wake of her words, before shifting his psychotic gaze to the flamboyant knight before him. With a smirk the dark elf uses his right hand to draw forth the Penzance Sabre, taken from the corpse of Cornelius, and rests it across the mithril vest that protects the patron's body. "You are the sword sworn to the queen of ice... how does it feel knowing you will be destroyed before her very eyes? A failure to all you stand for; bested by a warrior whose skills you cannot comprehend?" Before the euphoniously toned words have faded from the air, Kuzial is already running forward. As his weapon is lowered to his side, the perceptive would notice a glimmering sheen across its razor-sharp edge. A mixture that was brewed for him by the dryad potion-master, Hector, laces the sword; it's purpose: to eat away at the flesh of any undead it comes into contact with. Upon nearing the deceased knight, Kuzial digs his adamantite boots into the frozen ground to rapidly halt his forward momentum, before he side-steps quickly to the left, slashing his blade diagonally downward as he does. It is a vicious strike, aimed at carving a cavernous opening in the knight's chest to let the poison consume whatever vitals keep the undead warrior 'alive'.
Kirien quietly hopes he won't have too much chain mail to repair by the end of this. Chasz, having stopped squirming, is staring intently at the two combatants in the arena, the empath resting his chin gently atop her scaly head.
Ignatius let his mind clear as he always did, shunning anything that might betray him in this fight - the sounds of a cheering audience that might have deafened him to more important noises, the self-doubts that tried at vain to make him lose his nerve, the fear of failing his queen that threatened to make him choke. Such things had no place in battle. And with this act, came the serenity that the undead knight always displayed in his fight. That calm face and that loose stance, feet staggered and ready to move at a moment's notice while his right hand lightly gripped at the hilt of his backe swerd. Kuzial's comments fell upon ears that would not listen and the only response Kuzial would recieve was that of hollow eye sockets staring blankly back at him from an equally blank face. Ignatius was motionless until Kuzial had made his charge and then at once, his entire demeanor shifted to that of furious movement. Feet slid against the frozen ground to widen his stance as his torso lowered in anticipation of the strike to come. That attack was easy enough to block, his sword being drawn forth in such a way that sent it arching up above his own head to meet the drow's blade before that same sword could cleave its way through his chest. And even as Ignatius did this, he was already lunging his body forward to slam it against Kuzial's - right foot sliding between his opponent's legs to try to hook an ankle and topple the drow's balance.
Kuzial snarls in rage as the sound of steel striking steel rings out, and as the undead moves to attack, the drow doesn't bother to defend. He allows the deceased knight's body strike his own, and as his feet are tripped he lets the momentum play out - rolling over his shoulder until he can languidly stand once more. His left hand lifts over his head and draws from its sheathe on his back the katana, 'Shattered Dream', a sword taken from the remains of Ginger con Snapdragon. Cruelty twists lips into a sneering smile, before the dark elf once again charges forward; or so it seems... Enacting the weapon's power, his illusionary self explodes into a chaotic series of attacks while his true self, which never once moved from its spot, flicks the Penzance Sabre into the air, catches it by the blade, before hurling it with all his strength at the knight's midsection. When done, the former weaponmaster steps into the illusion his sword created and adopts the faux strategy as truth: Shattered Dream twisting into a chaotic series of slashes and stabs from a dizzying array of angles...
Ignatius drew in a deep breath, as unneeded as the oxygen that then filled dead lungs was, and let his head clear once more to free it of the thoughts that had brought about his prior motions against the drow. Excitement welled up inside of him but was ignored, banished from within to help prevent any missteps made by an overly eager mind. There was no time to relish in cheers of a skillfully implemented defense or a well-placed defense regardless of how much Ignatius wanted to turn and wave to the parts of the crowd that favored him. This was more than just some grand melee to gain self-important titles - Ignatius faught also to honor his queen. And when Kuzial made his next series of attacks, Ignatius met brute rage with calm finesse. To say that he danced was not entirely untrue as Ignatius began moving, letting the drow lead in this waltz of their. He did not raise his sword for some time but instead chose to step this way and that to let strikes skirt passed him. It was not a perfect strategy to be sure, as was made obvious by the few strikes that did catch him up the shoulder here and the waist there - the drow's blade sheering the fabric of his frockcoat and the padding of his leather tunic to leave cuts that sizzled and burned. Ignatius swallowed the hatred that swelled at the realization that the drow has brought poison to this fight as he finally lifted his sword to lung it forward in a stab that was not meant to penetrate flesh at all but rather just catch Kuzial's sword at its next slash. "I am Ignatius Dispada, stolto! Sworn sword of the north. Non si può prendere da me." He growled as he drew himself in close to his opponent, " "So remember my name well." And as he roared that last part, he let the elbow of his left arm sail off towards Kuzial's leftmost cheek.
Akenyil grins widely as she watches the Patron's furious assault, as he drives the undead man back. "Yes," she hisses under her breath, too dignified to shout her approval of Kuzial.
Kasyr abruptly begins to lean upon the arm of his seat, the fingers of his left hand firmly pressed against his temple, "Quand meme. Stab him."
Gorzhageigk is more amused by Kasyr's sudden bout of he crazies than he is by the duel below. Therfore, he chuckles.
Satoshi murmurs, "Preferrably through the heart. If he has one."
Hanan was holding the ticket from her bookie tight in one hand, eyes riveted on the fight below. Damn it all, she wasn't supposed to be doing this. She glanced to Kasyr. He didn't... look beat up, which meant that Dami hadn't... Gods damn her, next flash of steel and she wasn't thinking about her damn mission at all.
Kasyr s' affliction can best be summed up as a rapidly burgeoning headache- rather than some flight of folly.
Kirien shifts forward to lean on the railing of the booth, allowing Chasz to slip to sit upon the ground before his chair. "Stab him, oui, stab him. Lots," he murmurs as though in agreement to Kasyr's words, a certain sort of glint in his single eye. Ignatius Dispada. He'll remember that name.
Kuzial swears again in ever-present rage as his thrown sword misses the mark; the man's dancing movements rendering his attack inane without even knowing it. Ignoring the sabre that rests across the arena, Kuzial keeps up pace until his sword catches Ignatius's own. Before he can tear it free to continue, the man speaks his words and sends his elbow striking towards the drow's cheek. The Patron of House Stavret is quick enough to lean back, avoiding the worst of the damage, though the point of the man's elbow manages to tear a line across his face, sending sanguine blood pouring down ebon flesh. Enraged by this, Kuzial steps back a pace, before once again leaping forward. His attack is straight forward, or so it would seem; a powerful overhead slash aimed at Ignatius's shoulder. But it is feint; too learned is he for such barbaric tactics against a skilled opponent. Before the attack is done, Kuzial releases his hold on the weapon, letting it fly down on its own accord, before he dives forward onto his shoulder. In one movement he reaches his arm behind his piwifwi, and comes to his feet clutching a crossbow crafted to resemble a crow ready to consume the flesh of a corpse. With deadly accuracy a finger clenches the trigger, sending a bolt hurling at the knight's skull, before the drow drops into a crouch, ready to defend against whatever next comes his way...
Hanan laughed outright. "Ruttin' hell, really? A themed crossbow?" She nudged somebody next to her. "I think I'll make a sword that looks like an angry bear."
Eboric steps into the stands, searching the crowd. He sees Jerica, and moves to a seat next to hers, offering a nodded greeting before turning his gaze to the fight.
Jerica , standing on her seat and ignoring the continuing protests from behind, grins down at Eboric. It's strange to actually be able to do so before her attention is given once again to the fight in the arena.
Ignatius had to end this as soon as possible, he knew that well enough. The cuts delivered from Kuzial's treacherous weapon ailed him in a way that he was not accustomed to. Since his death, Ignatius had learned to not fear swords and most injuries but whatever poison that coated the drow's blade was a wicked device that ate away at him terribly. It was a cheap trick to bring into a tournament but Ignatius refused to be faltered by it for, should he win, the use of that poison against him would only make the songs more glorious. It was time to stop with the wait and see method of fighting and take on something more proactive, time to remember a few very important aspects of his training - no offense was without an opening and no defense was free of holes. The moment that Ignatius was waiting for seemed to manifest in the form of Kuzial's relinquishing of his sword, disarming himself was something that the undead knight would make the drow regret. "Stolto." Ignatius laughed, a comment made towards the idea of someone throwing away their primary means of combat. He drew his backe swerd across his chest and made his charge, his left hand sweeping up to capture the crossbow's bolt not by catching it but by letting it pierce the rotted flesh and old bone of his hand. It would render that had useless until the bolt could be removed but Ignatius simply did not care at the moment. It was then that his charge would end suddenly as the knight thrusted his right foot forward and let his left foot sweep beneath him to send the knight sliding to slam into Kuzial - his sword hacking forward to bury it somewhere deep within the drow as the crashed into each other.
Kuzial was far from unarmed. The E' et-Nilah blade still rested on his hip, but the drow doesn't draw it. Instead he remains crouched, watching the undead knight charge brazenly forward. It isn't until the very last minute that Kuzial reacts, and even then he almost left it too late. Enacting his innate powers of levitation, the drow throws off the shackles of gravity and lifts gracefully from the frozen ground. The knight's charge manages to strike into his legs, though - sending what was a glorious and soon to be antagonistic flight into a spinning, spiraling mess that only ends when Kuzial is rudely introduced to the stone and ice of the arena's floor. Thankfully, it is close to the fallen Penzance Sabre. It takes the dark elf just a moment to crawl forward, before ebon fingers wrap around the weapon's hilt and once again he stands; disheveled after his rather ungraceful flight, but still eager as ever to continue this fight...
Winner: Kuzial, unanimous
Valor is standing up straight to see what happens. She isn't really celebrating anything. She has ben quiet for the most part.
Kuzial leaps forward again at the deceased knight, his sword ready. Like before the two dance gracefully back and forth, weapons striking weapons, flesh being torn, until finally Kuzial throws all caution away. He takes a vicious stab to his shoulder, but it frees him enough to drive his own blade up, catching the deceased knight's elbow with the flat of the sword. The sickening sound of bone breaking tears through the arena, before Kuzial drives his shoulder forward, pushing the knight from his feet. Like a stalking panther he moves forward, before pressing the tip of his weapon into the fallen knight's throat. The drow looks up at Satie and speaks in tones dripping with hatred. "If this is the type of warrior who swears his sword to you, Frostmaw queen, I am not impressed." With a snort the drow leaves the warrior where he is, picks up his dropped weapon, before turning on his heel and stalking out of the arena - not even waiting to hear word of his victory.
Valor only looks on and narrowed her eyes, her hatred for the Drow kind growing even more in her heart.
Kasyr grimaces at the result of the fight, before he simply allows his attention to drift; the revenant adopting a relatively pensive expression.
Gorzhageigk is sittin' in the stands. Ayup.
Kirien , resting his chin on the booth's railing, extends his arms so as to applaud the victory, calmly ignoring any looks that might be cast his way for it - not that he would see most of them anyway. He remains slumped forward in his seat, knowing there's a certain amount of cool-off time he should give his curious partner before he goes to find him and try to patch up his injuries.
Jerica dropped back down into her seat and looked over at Eboric next to her. Bets that had been made were paid out all around and others made in anticipation of the next match. "That was very exhilarating."
Eboric nods to Jerica, although he seems somewhat distracted as he stares down onto the fighting ground.
Hanan , with a cocky smirk, accepted a good portion of gold from the bookie. "Told ya, didn't I? Drow're tough bastards."
Satoshi stands as the drow leaves, likewise not even bothering to announce his victory as she instead gestures for the ever-waiting healers to tend to Ignatius and remove him from the field. Raising a hand as the knight is guided away--but not before she nods gratefully to him for a fight well fought--the foxkin gathers the crowd's attention as quickly as she's able. "We have an unusual match up next~. Or rather, -matches-, as the final four combatants will face each other on each half of the arena. Will those four step forward now, please?" Even as Satoshi calls for the fighters to appear, the arena floor begins to rumble and a line of blue light spreads from the central monolith. In mere seconds the light cleaves the floor in two and begins to rise in the air, appearing like a gossamer curtain, save that this curtain is woven of the kit's own magic--and augmented by the immense arcane gem beneath the colosseum. With each ripple, the sheet of frosted magic erupts into jagged spikes of ice, a promise to inflict severe bodily harm along with frostbite, to any that stray too near. "Gorzhageigk and Ryker to the northern end of the field. Eboric and Javelin to the southern end."