Duel:Kasyr v Linken, Match 10 of the 2020 Frostmaw Tournament

 Duelists: Kasyr vs Linken
 Duel: Traditional 3 rounds with final defense, 15 minute posting limit.
 Stakes: Auto-hit to the winner.
 Judges: ?

Ancient Walkway

Pre-duel Banter and Introduction

Kasyr has arrived to the area with some extra preparations- though it's a bit less malign than normal. In today's case, he's brought a small bundle of tinder and wood, if only so he can start up a campfire in the ancient remains of a home. He'll leave risking frostbite to the guy bringing a metal arm into frigid temperatures. Between the comforting crackle of a growing campfire, alongside having his trademarked fur trimmed jacket and scarf to burrow into, the Kensai is at least set to, "Wait. I didn't bring snacks."

Quintessa did bring snacks but instead of sharing with Kasyr she is content to share with the birds in exchange for letting her sit on their perch on the roof of a ruined building with them. With her cloak wrapped tightly against her lithe body, Quintessa occasionally flicks a winterberry to one of the ravens before popping one in her mouth herself, savoring the bitter-sweet flavor as her mismatched eyes surveyed the surroundings. She couldn't help but imagine what kind of environmental hazards were in store. "Well, at least it shouldn't be dragons and skeletons- why do you think?" The changeling looks at the bluish raven next to her and it trills lightly in response. "Oh, skeleton dragons! You make a decent point, Blue."

Magik makes his way to the same fallen establishment that Tessa is perched upon but is oblivious to her company. The Last Lyastri finds himself leaning on a fallen support beam, arms folded as he looks for any familiar eyes.

Kasyr might be sizing up one of the ravens, and seeing if it might make a decent last minute snack. All those bones, though, and so little meat. He offers up a disconsolate huff, and resumes warming his hands over the flame.

Mathollak passes through the space that would soon become an arena, and then returns a bit shaken. "This place is awful," he says to a Frostmaw native. "I don't even want to tell you what I saw just a little bit North of here." Mathollak realizes with horror that the stranger he's talking to has also seen the angry and extremely dead child. Further, lots of people have! "Well. Maybe her parents should get off of whatever comfy chair they're sitting on in their comfy afterlife and do some damn parenting. Hmph." Then he resigns to watching the fight which will surely take his mind away from that poor neglected orphan nightmare.

Orikahn is looking big, fluffy, inviting, and serene on a rooftop. Except he isn't serene. This is a front, and the invitation is DEATH.

Magik tosses a ball of yarn to the big cat up there.

Quintessa continues stuffing winterberries in her mouth one at a time from a ruined home, the ravens hopping closer to her wondering when she'll toss one to them next. The changeling keeps them on their toes, never looking over before flicking a berry left or right to be caught by one of the large birds. She knows the orphan nightmare Mathollak speaks of and gives a silent shrug. "It's just some kind of apparition- no big deal," she says to the ravens, tossing a handful out to them. Quintessa has seen a lot of spooky things studying necromancy, so perhaps she is a bit desensitized by it.

Linken , after the conclusion of his last duel, took the loss of his hair quite hard, though eventually he would come to terms with it; his locks had shown themselves to be rather detrimental to his already memory-hindered effectiveness in battle, so perhaps the uninvited haircut would prove to be a boon. Taking no more than six days to mourn, the elf chose to divert his focus into preparation during his remaining time before this match, and as he'd approach the gathered crowd along the ancient pathway the elf would at least give the appearance of someone who knew how to fight; Garbed in a dark emerald cloak, not much of his equipment was visible beneath, save the end of his scabbard that hung from his side, but there was -something- under there, and the look of silent determination in his eyes showed that he was ready to use it- whether or not he actually knew how.

Orikahn slicks his ears back and snaps the ball of yarn in his claws. "You fool! You have chosen--oh." His ferocity melts into disappointment. Clutching the loose end of the yarn, he rolls the ball down the roof to slowly unspool, rather like his hopes for excitement.

Mahri found her way through the crowd, spying Magik loitering as usual, and sidles up next to the vampire to jab him with the point of her elbow into his ribs. "You're already dead. Stop tempting a second death, eh?"

Mathollak isn't good with ventriloquism, but he tries. "*Caw* Do you have anything better than berries? *Caw*"

Quintessa doth says to the raven, "I brought berries and nothing more."

Magik is equally disappointed but because of Kahn's reaction. Shame. His thoughts on what to throw next are quickly interrupted by his old friend, Mahri. Her jab causes him to lean to the side a bit, "I wish I was more dead. How about that?" He offers her a toothy grin but his fangs don't appear to be as pointy unbeknownst to himself.

Kasyr isn’t sure how long he’s been waiting at the area before he finally feels the empathic imprint of the individual he’s been tasked with fighting. Enough so, at least, that he’s had more time to contemplate his lacking choice in nommable items, anyways. That said, he doesn’t immediately depart from the comforting warmth of the campfire he’s made- instead deigning to intentionally make his foe wait for a few minutes more. Sure, a part of it is the idea of being fashionably late- but there’s the distinct tactical edge that’s provided if by the weather itself. He is, after all, curious to see if the cold climes might drain some of Linkens stamina- as well as gauging just how well that metal arm of his conducts temperature. That said, he’s not all that keen on risking disqualification- which is why he does eventually emerge from the segment of the ruins he’d cached himself in, meandering in the direction of his opponent. “Hey.” There’s a pause, and the Kensai can’t help but offer up a quick query, “Is it true you’re possessed? Just need to know on a professional basis.” Also a stabbing basis. Not that the Jovial smile painted across his face nor the hand he outstretches for a seemingly friendly handshake reflect it.

Mahri huffs a sort of laugh and rolls her eyes. "Just lemme know and I'll help you with that."

Linken , for the sake of fairness, is shocked by Kasyr's inquiry, a moderate shift in mood reflected by his aura as he stares at Kas' hand with a dead expression. "You don't want to find out, sir."

Environmental Challenge

Orikahn :: As the duelists assume their respective positions in the center of the walkway, the staring ravens grow increasingly agitated. One by one, the ravens shriek and take wing. The circling birds grow thicker, the sky grows darker, and their cries create a clamoring cacophony. Fearless fighters, feel the frustration of fleet, furious, feathered foes! The shrieking swarm swoops to surround you in sickening, synchronized swirls. Your sense of sight is strained! The plumed pandemonium pushes your powers of perception to the precipice. Abruptly, the avian avalanche abates altogether, but in the woeful wake of these wicked wings, cruel curses cloud your corneas like cataracts. The bitter bane of blindness! So deprived, today’s duelists must duly defer to different means of detection

Magik smirks, "Deal. I'll even pay you."

Mahri holds out her right hand, "I'll take that payment up front, thanks.

Quintessa reaches the end of her bag-o-winterberries and dumps the rest out for the birds before sliding down off the roof to join Magik and Mahri who are standing below. "Yo," the necromancer says, landing a bit less elegantly than she would if she were still not recovering from being stabbed by a rusty sword just the other day. "Come to watch another one of these matches, have you?"

Mathollak comments, "The ravens really did get tired of berries."

Quintessa blinks blankly at the circling birds above. "Hmm, must be something in the berries..."

Mahri squints as the birds take flight to avoid getting a stray feather poked in them before turning her gaze towards Tessa. "Someone's gotta watch out for those with death-wishes. Might as well be me."

Mahri pockets the gold and, with a nod, says to Magik, "Soon."

Magik pays the woman and greets the next with a shrug, "I suppose so." As the birds darken the area, Magik holds his palm up between the two women, conjuring a small fire for just the three of them, "Did you feed them..black berries?" What a stupid joke and he knew it.

Mahri gives Magik a much sharper jab with the point of her elbow.

Quintessa said to Magik, "Of course, they were the 'cheepist' I could buy."

Magik forwards the jab to Quintessa, "We all deserve that."

The Duel

Kasyr can’t help the way his expression broadens into a cattish grin that’s ultimately a far more genuine reflection of the man. “Try me.” Yet that easy confidence falters for a moment in the wake of that murderous mass of menacing crows. For an awkward moment, his hand hangs in the air in front of himself, as he comes to terms with the singular awareness that he’s unable to see it. And yet,where his eyes fail him- his empathy still serves him well, highlighting the dark mood that still emanated from the elf, and painting a clear picture of him. With little more to go on, the swordsman begins to stride down the ancient snowy streets- his footfalls hesitant at first, but growing in celerity and certainty with every passing moment as he seeks to close the distance between himself and Linken. It’s once he’s close to his adversary that he enacts his strategy- as he reaches into his pocket, and proceeds to hurl his coin purse off towards Linkens left side. Before it can hit the ground Kasyr launches himself forward into a jump, praying that the sound of the purse hitting the ground will throw the elfs guard off long enough that the swordsman can tackle him to the ground. Should it hit, that would also leave Linken pinned beneath the combined weight of Kasyr and his armoured trench coat.

Vexar clomps into the gathering crowd, working his way into the relatively compact quarters of the alley. A bit more cramped than prior tournament locales. The man’s wrist is wrung taught by firm bandages, bracing the break he suffered in his last fight. Similar dressings adorn his abdomen, hiding the burns. Clearly, he’d been attended to but not yet had time to fully recover. He glances through the gathered. His gaze had opportunity amongst most in attendance, but lingers particularly on Quintessa, the purveyor of said wounds. Such lingering is abruptly marred by the flocking of ravenous birds, though he is certain his confrontational stare is received. Should he have time before the fog of ravens settles, he’d also deign to pierce his next likely opponent, Mathollak, with a quizzing peek.

Linken 's right had rose to shield his face from the sudden onslaught of whirling carrion, though only for a moment until he had grown accustom to the storm of flying distractions. His vision may be impaired, but his hearing hadn't let him down in a fight yet, and his focus would not falter. With a backward toss of his hand, he'd flap his cloak back to free his arm, drawing the blade from his side and gripping it tightly with both hands, expecting an onslaught to come from any direction- he was, however, expecting a blade or some other form of weapon to come slicing or bludgeoning through the wall of crows, the sound of coins striking the ground to his side catching him by surprise. Not wanting to be blind sighted in low visibility, the elf dove straight forward in a reactionary manner, the sound of his blade hitting the stone path with a muted 'ting' as he scrambled to his feet and turned bout face with his blade extended towards the noise. He still could not see or hear his opponent, though perhaps his own preparations would prove useful, albeit in an unintended manner: With the initial toss of his hand to part his cloak, Linken scattered an array of caltrops upon the path behind him amid the storm of birds, intent on maneuvering behind his opponent and pressing the attack to force him into his trap unaware. With that not being the case, perhaps the layer of steel spikes would prove a comfortable cushion for the crafty 'cat' clamoring to carve his beneath the cries of the carrion around him, hoping Kas' would soon join the cacophony.

Quintessa 's mismatched gaze meets Vaxar's for a moment and she gives him the tiny smirk and wiggle of her long fingers before the birds block her view. "Okay, at first I thought the birds were cool but this is absurd." The changeling pulls down the goggles resting on her head and she traces the runes on the leather straps, activating the magic stored within. "Gweledigaeth." Quintessa says, the lenses glowing a faint lime-green. This spell would hopefully help her see through the ravens so she could actually keep track of what was happening in the duel.

Kasyr’s decisive dive doesn’t drop, decimate or even ding his foe- leaving the Kensai on a collision course complete with caltrops. And though the objects do carry a faint imprint of their owners' empathic energies on them- it’s not enough that Kasyr can recognize them for what they are until his efforts at catching himself in a roll lead to him driving the shards of metal into the flesh of hands. Whilst the mithril mesh gloves the Kensai favor do spare him the disservice of driving them clear through his hands, he’s still guilty of making a prolonged hiss of pain that would betray his presence. That said, Linken’s own position still remains clear to the Empath, which helps to dictate what comes next. Perhaps the elf might smell the sudden swell of ozone in the air, as sparks begin to simmer and sizzle in the air about the kensai, coaxed into being about the swordsman so that he can imbue both the caltrops within his hands and across the floor with electrical energy. It was doubtless, however, that he’d hear Kasyr’s intensifying hiss of pain as he makes himself a conduit from that primal electrical energy he so often relies upon- intensifying the energy he’s wielding into an electromagnetic pulse meant to at first drawn in all the stray bits of metal to a point in front of himself. It’s a two pronged offensive, really, because for a brief moment, it provides Kasyr with a solid and electrified barrier to intercept Linkens intended offensive. What’s worse, however, is the secondary pulse of electrical energy that courses through it soon after, meant to send the melting mass of molten metal hurling towards the elfs position, courtesy of the Kensais empathic awareness.

Linken 's ears flicked with excitement at the audible evidence of his ever-successful entrapment, using the sound of his subtle screams to secure a spot to which he'd send his assault. The elf spared not a moment as he rushed in to ram his blade through his opponent opting to omit his (originally obvious) ominous battle cry. only to slide to a stop at the first sign of the surging storm of electricity that began to brew. "Oh, no, not this again, " the elf groaned as he pivoted on his heel, wasting no time in sprinting away, searching for some semblance of security as his sneakily-deployed weapons suddenly came soaring through the air towards him, surging with sparks. Given no alternative option other than dropping down low and shielding his sight and his 'sensitives', Linken braced for the barrage as the caltrops came cutting through the crows, and while most of the murder would make a morbid shield of themselves, catching some of the caltrops with their crying carcasses, plenty would pierce the persistent veil of shadow, the low-fliers would penetrate his person at multiple points, perforating the protective layers of his armor to pierce his shoulders, flesh-forearm and hand, pinning the appendage to his head. Cring out in anger, and agony, the elf elevated himself to his feet and proceeded to pluck the pointy objects from his person, "Dammit!" he mumbled, discarding the deadly devices after several solid yanks made in attempt to remove the remaining one that pined his palm to crown of his cranium. "You have to be kidding me..." Already reaching a certain levl of frustration,, the elf finally began to advance his assault, approaching the arse-hat ahead of him while tossing his ffree-hand forward again and again, sending a surplus of dizzying daggers towards the defender at a relentless pace, hopping to occupy his opponent defensively until he could reach a reasonable range to rear his sword arm back and cleave it across horizontally, aimed at Kasyr's center of mass with the intention of making him a dead man through division.

Kasyr is not privy to the prodigious pall of psychopomps plastered across the street in the wake of his attacks, but he’s still able to take a morbid sense of satisfaction from the sound of shredding skin. Linken’s, specifically, though the sharp sting that surges through his palms does well to drive home the sad state of his own palms after the impromptu projectile had stripped them of their unwanted ornaments.That said, whilst his maneuver has bought the Kensai time, he doesn’t press his advantage, instead choosing to stay his ground. There’s a sense of determination painted across his face, as he continues to evoke elemental energy, even as it eats at earlier wounds. In part, it’s for the way it intensifies his reaction and reflexes- allowing him to perceive projectiles meant to perforate, but there’s a secondary benefit, as well. And that’s because the Kensai’s armoured trench coat means there’s only so many avenues where a projectile might do any harm. That knowledge allows Kasyr to pick and choose which projectiles to contend with, and those that might have done harm are made to suffer a surge of lightning to send them sprawling sideways. The same cannot be said of the Sylvans sudden swing, the force behind it rendering it immune to these measures. But then, Kasyr never really had any intention of dodging the blow. For the first time since the fight began, a sinister smirk flickers across his features as his hands come to clap together on either side of the blade. His skin -screams- in protest to the sensation, and for a moment it seems as though it might slide slicky through from the sanguine soaked surface. And yet, a simple word serves to hold it fast. “Rhew.” Quintessa’s magic made manifest- an exertion of blade magic meant to channel ice magic through a blade. But who said that blade magic needed to be solely exerted on the wielders blade- only the one they were touching. Almost immediately, Kasyr’s hands would freeze over as glacial energies sunk their fangs into the sword, and over it- effectively locking the strike in place. That said, the sheer speed of the flash freeze is apt to do the same to Linken, spreading the glacial energy over his own arms if he’s not quick to relinquish it, perhaps continuing to overtake his body if he has no means of stopping it. The worst part, however, is that Kasyr hadn’t -stopped- generating electrical energy, which means that Linken has done the equivalent of sticking a fork into an electrical outlet.

Vexar ’s emerald eyes float very casually to a brazen raven perched casually on his shoulder. The raven, having taken an opportunistic nip from a bit of seared flesh on the vampire’s neck, receives the optic warning and ceases its flesh foraging. Now of like mind, bird and Harbinger alike cast their fowlish glare upon Quintessa. The clenching of Vexar’s jaw would imply that his teeth are grinding as sharply as the axe he stares towards the changeling. Nonetheless, his lips still curl into a sarcastic smile. The girl did naught more than intrigue him, for the moment. He turns his attention back to the battle at hand; the revenant captivated him. Perhaps Linken would drive the kensai to reveal his true self…or so Vexar hopes.

Quintessa grins with smug satisfaction upon seeing her particular brand of ice-magic being utilized by Kasyr in this fight. "I really should teach him the stronger version of that spell..." the young spellcaster says musingly, thinking back to the last time they had trained together. "...But perhaps -after- the tournament."

Linken 's eyes shut swiftly as the flash-freeze flowed over him, though when his optics opened once again, neither his person nor his appendages were petrified in place; fortunately for the forest-dweller, his prosthetic appendage was infused intimately with the icy element at its inception, rendering the elf physically immune to frost on all fronts. melting to mist the moment it met him. That said, Linken was not encased in rubber, 'acking' and convulsing at contact with his overcharged-opponent, but he was free to release the blade at the first sign of probing pain. Tired of all this electricity everywhere he ends up, the elf rips his cloak from his collar, still steaming from the searing surge as he whipped his wardrobe out into the storm of birds that blasted about, hoping to catch them with in the confines of his cloak and use their barreling bird-bodies to bludgeon the bastard before him, s well as envelop him in the emerald garment in the process, ending and immobilizing his electric opponent long enough to draw a dagger from his belt and drive the death-tool into his torso repeatedly, thrusting outward wildly over and over, depicting the demeanor of a homicidal maniac intent on doing the dirty deed that makes him feel like a god in hopes of delivering Kasyr into the hands of death.

Kasyr blinks a bit, when the ice around Linken liquifies and leaks away- but he's not one to be left. As Linken falls into a frenzy of fowl ferrying, the Kensai calls out a quick cantrip, sending furrows of flame flowing through filched steel to sunder the sad remains of 'Rhew'. Once more beholden to gravity, the sodden sword slides between the Kensais palms, so that he can catch it more properly by the hilt and swing it upwards. And it works well enough in cleaving the cloak. The crows, however, are less than pleased to be poked and pummeled- their release resulting in a rampage that sees the Kensai briefly stepping back, and leaving himself open just in time for Linkens lunatic lunge. The first stab hits home well enough, gouging a hole into his gut, alongside the second- and a frantic part of Kasyrs brain recognizes that despite any threat of shocking surprises, the Sylvan seeks to ceaselessly skewer him. The stolen sword slides out from his hand, but in it's place, Kasyrs fingers find purchase on Linkens arms, meant to desperately keep hold of the man to slow his slaughter- and hoping that the subsequent shocks might send him into spasms, before the swordsmans strength ebbs away.

Winner: Kasyr

Orikahn carefully calibrates his caboose with a few wee wiggles to wind up a painstakingly, perfectly prepared predatorial pounce. Sinews snap like steel springs, and he sails straight for the center of the strife. Neatly by the napes of their necks, he nabs the gladiators and glibly galavants off. One wonders where we would waltz away? A wayward well, ancient and abandoned for ages. Alas, duelists, oh dismal day! Down the drain you dash, submerged in a subterranean cistern. Sayonara! See you sucker someday soon.

Kasyr admittedly doesn't feel well , but that doesn't mean he wants to be tossed down one. Yet, he's yeeted into the yawning opening of an oubliette, with little in the way of life insurance, save the ability to use his also aggrieved and agonizing aggressor as an impromptu pillow.

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