Duel:Kasyr v Keerawn
Keer {Jaidins} Judge was:Senka, Kasyrs Judge was: Errin, Mid-Judge was: Eyren
HEART OF THE FOG FOREST
Seeing anything here is difficult but you can just make out that you are in a wide open clearing, presumably near the centre of this fog infested forest. One object is however clearly visable, a gigantic tree with no branches, in the middle of the clearing. Oddly its branches are not all gnarled and oddly purple hued like most of the tree's here it is a strange light tan color, almost as if the bark had been stripped from it to reveal the soft wet wood underneath. On further examination you notice a number of small items are stuck to the tree mostly various colored leaves of species that are obviously not native to this forest. One of the leaves is golden and shinning and has some strange inscription written upon it. Perhaps this most unusual tree is sacred to a group of druids or wood elves and they have sought to protect it from the strangely eerie powers of this forest. You could stay and examine this oddity further or travel down any four of the fog filled paths that lead north east south and west.
Keerawn enters the fog forest with a grim determination upon her angelic visage; red curls sweep upward with the wind that carries itself not from the skies, but seems to be emanating from the pixie, herself. Black translucent wings, dulled by the absence of light in the fog-filled forest, flutter with an excitement barely contained, statue-esque stance brimming underneath the skin in vibrations. Jade sloed-eyes look upon the man to be her foe this fight-- the rather infamous in an understatement, Tiefling. Lips tilt in the slightest of smirks as she acknowledges him with a silent statement of being ready. Nary a second more is wasted... the near-spell blade woman reaches to her waist, upon which a Kusari-Gama hangs. One of a kind, likely the original, or still only, weapon in Hollow's existence. The woman unlatches the serrated-edged syphe-like end from the belt on her waist, then letting the length of reinforced steel links slink to the ground, the weighted, spiked ball hitting the ground with a thud. Right hand picks up the chain, and raises, hard. With a great swooping motion of her arm, the ball swings in the air; kama-end's handle firmly within her left appendage's grasp. Bare feet take flight; heels lifted, balls treading with light, quick steps to enclose the distance between Keerawn and her opponent. Nearer now, one last swing of the spiked weight coupled with a loosing of her right hand send the chain sliding through her grasp, the ball traveling Kasyr's way. Following the long chain, the soul-druid follows up with a slash of that serrated edge for the Damned one's midsection.
Kasyr had already been present within the forest, albeit his current partial status as an interloper of a worse kind. Even still, his decision to fight that day would likely look foolish upon the revelation of his figure, his trenchcoat was adorned with countless puncture marks along his torso, arms and legs- each one adorned by a few bits of clothe wrapped tightly about the area. Likely, they had all been white at one point, but now they held a sickening copper tone- an indication to the still fresh injuries which lay beneath. The hybrid did heal fast; and seeing a cleric after that bought had saved him a greater handicap than he beheld then- but he wasn't in peak condition nonetheless. It was thus, that rather then some attentive pose, he rested up against a tree, Gospel already manifested within the gloved hand of his right, the Cursed edge having taken the form of the Nodachi. The Pixies approach was noted well enough, the odd weapon affixed a curious glance- and yet not enough to cause him to stir or straighten up, his weapon bearing arm simply straying outwards to one side. It was only when that weighted ball was hurled towards his present location that he deigned to shift, the most minimal of motions used~ That arm outstretched was promptly slammed towards the ground, The Nodachi easily piercing into the earth. The tiefling then simply followed, slouching off towards the right and narrowly evading the weapon as it crashed into the bark of the tree. As the 'sickle' itself was brought forth, Kasyr would jerk his right hand forth, dislodging the Black bladed sword and sending himself falling towards the ground- his motions only partially sparing him from the assault this time, as could be easily seen from the gash which formed upon his side. It had managed to rip a path through the weighted trenchcoat he wore, carving a line up along his ribs- but it was not something to come without a repercussion. Rather, as the paladin Fell, his left hand would outstretch towards the ground, ensuring that he didn't collapse outright, and granting him the ability to promptly shove off and come up in a spin, tenebrous metal glimmering wickedly as it curled upwards in a spiral, to carve up the Pixies side, before the Hybrid simply swaggered back, and then stumble stepped forward and towards the side, blade to come down from it's dizzying ascent in a rather vicious attempt to clip the wings of the 'vulture' as promised.
Keerawn wastes no time dislodging the weighted ball from the tanned bark of the protected tree. The slash goes as unexpected-- but a hit nonetheless, vitae dripping along the curved steel, if at least in a minimal amount. Eyes narrow into further slits as she watches the Tiefling's progression, and then makes to protect herself from the first cut sent toward her tanned body that has underwent years' of training. The two-handed sword brandishes its bite to her side, precious innards saved only from a quick moment's backstep, heels working hard to keep this warrior woman upright. Blood stains the article of clothing on her torso, a sharp 'hiss' resounding from betwixt carmine lips that prior held such a vicious snarl of hate in the momentary heat of battle. Her hand now free clamps down upon the spot the blade had sliced most deep, whilst her other brandishes the sickle-like object with her life's dependency. The vicious assault aimed at her wings is blocked, in the nick of time, with a twist of form and aid from the serrated edge. The force of the vampire's blow sends the woman backwards, stumbling until proper footing is once more gained-- weapon lost in the process, to tumble to the ground, forgotten. No matter-- Keerawn stomps her feet upon the ground in what seems to be an unthought-of pattern. Subtle directions from the druid within-- all around the Tiefling, mounds of earth raise at this human-sized fae's bidding. It's a frenzied dance, toes wiggling the orders. Some chunks from the terre are tall and wide, raising high into the sky, above the fog that corrodes the forest... others, are spikes that while not holding the density to impale, could surely scrape if contact is made.
Kasyr did not hold that hatred the fae had, though he could feel it palpably by means of wisp magic, his little gift of empathy. Rather, what guided him was an almost drunken sense of tranquility- a forceful fixation upon what would come after this match, a moment of respite to cease fighting, for wounds which existed already and worked to heal, and that new bloodied mess at his side which screamed to be tended to. It was through this promise to himself that he continued to move, that he managed the sickeningly serene look upon his face albeit the occasional wince of pain. It was a composure that remained all but flawless, up until the Pixie began to have her tantrum, and the earth leaped up to respond, "...Oh, Hell. You have magic. I forg-" An oversight made apparent as a mound of earth manifested beneath his foot, launching him upwards with such speed and suddenness that not even a gift for grace near feline could compensate. Rather then be lofted up wholly and be left at Keerawns bidding, he made no attempt to combat gravitys sudden hold upon his form~ falling quite hastily from the perch-far-from-his-choosing towards a series of spikes which seemed to creep up like weeds as though on cue. Thinking rapidly, Kasyr would quite violently plunge Gospel into the side of the column of earth he had rested upon, using it to slow his downwards momentum and ensure that the inevitable collision did not end in a fatalistic manner. Damned if it didn't hurt, regardless. Colliding heavily with countless of the earthen spikes, he couldn't help but hiss as the ripped and tore at wounds formerly bandaged, the tiefling managing to roll into a crouched position at the end of the debacle, wheezing from the unexpected assault. Or rather, he was crouched until hands pressed harshly into the ground, to launch himself forward at Keerawn with a shriek that could have been considered that of a madmans, Nodachi lashed out in a sweeping arc towards her midriff- with the velocity of the tieflings lunge carrying enough force to carry him past, to allow him to skid himself to a halt by means of Hands coated in mithril mesh- so that he could simply spin about in place and rush forward to jam the tip of gospel twixt a third and fourth vertebrae
Keerawn watches with a glee only a pixie could hold at another's pain, Kasyr's descent and painful roll about the earthen tips. She was in the process of summoning up some wind, when the Tiefling launches at her like a banshee let out of prison-- madness gleaming in those eyes, the pixie's losing her own and replaced with fear, sloed shapes widening to the point of a human's roundness. Barely a second passes; her mind has little time to process what was happening. The pixie knows how to think on her feet, but before she can, the Nodachi's tip was nearly at her midsection. The pixie jumps quickly to the left, the blade gracing her ribs with a wound to match the other side of her body. Visage winces in the pain that starts, rising up along her side and nearly crippling her. The old Chief of the Sky Tribe does not allow herself to fall to one knee, but rather lets the rest of her body be lifted with those wings. While she is not able to fly for long, the translucent objects flap strongly, and carry the pixie upward... Kasyr's well-aimed attack finds homage instead along the back of her moving leg-- ironically, the one that already holds a vicious scarring. The tip of the blade tears through skin and little fat, asunders the scar tissue, and Keerawn cries aloud in pain. A quick maneuver sends the woman to a tree that borders this foggy clearing; landing upon a branch, with her weight resting on her 'good' leg, the pixie trains jade eyes upon the Tiefling. Precise chopping movements afore her form gathers the air that intensifies, emanating from her form-- energy taken from the skies themselves; from her position in one of the purple trees, 'blades' of hardened air travel quickly to where the vampiric male stands. Perhaps a dozen careen toward him, whilst the pixie then bends over in pain and huffs from the exertion taken, and places her hands on the worst of her wounds-- the back of her leg, surely, beads of sweat dripping from her brow as she starts the glowing process that will heal it up enough to stop the bleeding-- a quick fix, until she's able to, later
Kasyrs' eyes were still wide with a sort of feral madness, even after the winged one had removed herself directly from the fray. Even still, the tiefling could not follow her as adeptly as he might have been in better conditions- forced exertion on already damaged limbs causing what mobility he held to falter at a rapidly accelerating pace. It was thus in an altother feline esque posture that he observed her, crouched low, with his hands pressed to the earth 'twixt feet- staring with a keen sense of understanding at the attack which approached. He had done this before, and though the distortion within the air was difficult to pick out- it was not impossible to defend against. Gospel was finally lofted up, before himself, tip buried into the ground directly before himself, before his focus came onto it- to the form the sword took. Even as the magically created 'blades' of condensed air bore down onto him, the Abyssal weapon changed- Thickening and broadening; growing denser~ Shifting until it's characteristics were that of a Broadsword, one which the hybrid wearily collapsed against as the barrage of magic crashed upon his position. The defense was not complete, reverbrations of energy, and bites of the razorwind gale finding their way to the man; shredding apart more of his coat until it veritably clung to him by mere tatters, the force which had been held from the staccato of blows forcing out a bloody cough from the being. But it was enough. Focusing on strands etheric, on the weavings of emotions, on fear, on anger, on glee, on every single hint of emotion he could find in the damned woman- the tiefling found them caught hold of them- and forced them into a state of solidity, their permance based on the very mood of his prey. And then, with a shifting of his feet to Gospels flat to brace himself, he'd tug her forth, every intention of ripping her clear of her perch and dragging her quite brutally into a collision course with his grounded sword- The likes of which would be met by a much more Visceral approach, of a hand to grab at her hair should she get into arms reach, so that he could personally loft her up then slam her into the earth to kiss the ground. "Vulture."
Keerawn rested against the trunk of the purple tree, it's dead form lending a solid form to lean upon. She was spent; energy wafted from her form as breath quickened, trying so hard to find air to those lungs that cried out with a need for the precious substance that filled their capacities. Barely done, but she managed to gain enough breath to keep from passing out entirely. Even her eyes bore a tired appearance, the glitter of curiosity and lust for a good battle dulling to muted shades of jade. Just when she thinks that this is over with and she can collapse and recuperate, the Tiefling uses strange magic she yet has come upon. It was like a fist clenched upon the fabric of her shirt, grasping her collar and hurling the girl forward. Wings try in vain to battle against the force that drags the pixie from the tree. The woman tries to twist about to miss the sword-- she tries hard to command the winds to slow her collision course, to save her... But what she manages is a less-hard slam against the flat of the broadsword, with an 'oomph' that leaves carmine lips. Fingers attempt to grasp the handle of the blade-- or any part that will save her. In the end it is to no avail, as Ashen finds a hold in her curly tendrils, and lifts upward, only to slam her hard to the ground. One last effort is given, so that a broken nose is not the result of this impact. Hands hang below her falling form, and the moment that the callused pads touch the terre, the area below the fae's form liquefies into a very squishy mud. Keerawn is slammed into it-- and though mud is lodged orally and into her nasal cavities, the woman's bones are saved from a hardcore slam.
KASYR WINS~ 2-1
Keerawn settles nicely into the mud, the woman's exhaustion taking over, and consciousness ceding to make way for the ever-wanted sleep. Muscles relax and blood seeps thinly from the wounds on her side-- the back of her leg resembles a war zone, but the flesh has been mended, at least, so that the deeper pieces don't fall out. Later, the pixie will come to repair the damage that she did in this foggy forest. The mud eventually stops sucking her in, and it's rather like a comfortable bed now.
Kasyr eyes the fae only briefly, resisting the sinister whisper of his blade as it endeavoured to coax him into taking advantage of the Pixys state and seeing just how well her wings would take to being clipped. As it was, the tiefling hadn't fallen that far, and so- he'd simply drag himself up using his blade, before slipping one arm about the womans waist, with every single intention of wandering the hell out of the forest, and dropping her off at a healers. No good to let her get eaten by the Lycaness whose forest this was. And hell if anything else was going to get in his way with a broadsword {which was effectively weightless in his hands, but still} leaning over his shoulder.
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