Duel:Kasyr v Quintessa, Match 12 of the 2020 Frostmaw Tournament

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

Old Avalanche Debris

Pre-duel Introduction

Quintessa comes dressed in her typical attire; Catsuit, invisibility cloak, and alchemical utility belt hugged tightly against her body to help shield against the cold. Mismatched eyes stare out from under her cloak to peer the spectators first before she focuses on her opponent, Kasyr. She offers him a tiny smile before she pulls down the runic goggles on her head over her blue and hazel eyes, giving him one last look of the determined expression on her face. With a slow inhale she found her center, turning her gaze upward as Arh-Nuk's glow bathed her in crimson light. Quintessa's aura began to slightly trickle with the corruption, bloodlust slowing building within. "Let's have some fun with this fight, shall we, Master?" The changeling asks, her hand moving down to her katana.

Kasyrs' arrival is not long after, though compared to Quintessa- his appearance would seem far more lacklustre. It's not so much his trademark look of fur-trimmed trenchcoat, flowing black scarf, and the oddly gravity defying pants that seem to hang off his hips that do it- it's more the incredibly frumpiness of the ensemble. At a glance, it would almost seem like the Kensai had freshly been rolled out of bed. (In effect, it's just a side effect of just how much he was dreading making his way into the thick of Frostmaws balls numbing wilderness.) That said, the general air of discontent he's wearing begins to trickle away when he catches sight of his student, with the start of an easy going smile- that quickly melts away into something closer to disquiet as the aura begins to radiate from her. " It's been a while since you've invited moi to a dance. On y va, Madamoiselle." That said, whilst the Kensai does draw up into a more ready posture from his habitual slouch- he doesn't draw a weapon, instead fixing a look of concentration on the changeling.

Environmental Challenge

Lionel || Where once was a thin sheet of ice, there is now a great heap of snow blanketing the horizon. Joining the snowfield are a medley of dangers, lurking both atop the white and beneath it. Broken trees, having crashed and shattered upon the ice from the most recent in a deadly string of avalanches, have created a zone that is challenging to hike across and easy to trip upon. Huge chunks of rock which were carved off the mountain’s surface from the weight of the snowslide now jut out from the snow at sharp angles. Perhaps even more hazardous is the fact that the snow has fallen such that it resembles a series of hills, and wherever the hills are at their lowest, the threat exists of ice cracking underfoot, swallowing ill-fated travelers into frigid waters. Worst of all, however, is the lingering sound high above, near the closest mountain’s peak. It’s like a whisper for now, though as the duel continues it may grow louder and louder. A cohesive – and terrifyingly large – slab of snow is beginning to scrape across the mountain in a downward fashion. Swifter and swifter it will fall, until inevitability reigns supreme and the debris of past avalanches is joined by a fresh one, swallowing the dueling range in its wake.

The Duel

Quintessa eyes Kasyr like a cat that has just cornered a sparrow, her mismatched hues gleaming with a dangerous luster under her lenses as she surveys her prize. The last time they crossed blades Quintessa was merely a starry eyed apprentice, distracted by the opportunity to study under one of Lithrydel's most famous swordsman. Now the changeling was ready to test herself against the Sword Saint and she would not allow herself to be distracted by anything save for the murderous intent bubbling inside her. "Playtime~." Quintessa sings, her fingers twisting into claws as her baleful aura impressed itself upon reality. Dark, writhing tendrils expand out from the changeling, reaching for and grabbing onto the debris around her before a low, creepy cackle builds from within. The laughter that echoes through the area carries behind it the maleficent force of her curses, bolstering her dark aura and shaking the resolve of those too weak-willed to resist it. With a small grunt of exasperation Quintessa clenches her fists, causing the tentacle-like wisps of her aura to wrap around a pair of fallen coniferous trees before yanking them from the ice and into the air. The strain shows on the odd girl's face as she swipes her right am in a large arc, commanding the tendril on that side to fling the tree at Kasry like a boomerang. As the first tree whooshes through the air loudly, Qunitessa thrusts her other hand outward in his direction, following up the first attack with a second tree, this one lobbed like a massive javelin threatening to impale the swordsman. The changeling quickly brings her hands together as her improvised weapons close the distance with her target, contorting into mystic signals as she prepares to cast a spell. "Aros rhoi," she utters, stopping her chortle long enough to say the magic words. Hoping her attacks would distract him, Quintessa spreads her aura beneath the weakening ice under Kasyr's feet, manifesting a deep pool of ichor teeming with even more tendrils. "Cydio!" At the hex blade's command the tentacles all at once grasp for the man, bursting through the ice in an attempt to hold him still long enough to be pummeled by her evergreen trees. The coming avalanche, however, has not yet been noticed by Quintessa- she has her sights set on other things.

Kasyr let’s out a long exhale- at once an expression of his continued efforts to focus his mind, but also complete resignation at the manner in which Quintessa has seemingly begun to lose herself to that oh-so- familiar bloodlust. As that ominous aura extends out from her proximity and snares large chunks of degree, the Kensai takes that time to solidify his own plans- rather literally, given the manner in which silver shards begin to fracture their way into existence around himself. For a brief moment, the sword saint is wreathed in a halo of steel, as an array of 13 Katanas’ materializes above himself- moments before the weapons are sent hurtling outwards in a fan meant to intercept the incoming arboreal assault. On their own, they don’t possess anywhere near the velocity needed to hinder them- but then, the Kensai isn’t quite relying on brute force. Instead, they serve as remote foci for him to channel his own spellwork. Just as the changelings lips move, so too do Kasyr’s- a few forceful words eked out so that each blade is imbued with entropic energy. As far as results go, it’s rather impressive, as the already dying wood proceeds to decay at an accelerated rate- and causes the impromptu battering rams to collapse under their own weight. It’s also -really- distracting, which is promptly why the Kensai is busy nodding at his own handiwork when the eldritch tendrils that Quintessa had been working on make their introduction- coiling about his lower body and begin dragging him down through the snow. Really, the only saving grace that prevents the swordsman from being entirely immersed is the way the snow rapidly packs under the weight of his coat- but being stuck down to his waist is hardly advantageous. “Uh.” There’s words for this. None of them are Civil. That said, since the Kensai has made literal short work of the logs- that frees up the swords he’s directing for other matters. In this case, to rather neatly remove themselves from the still decomposing remains of the trees- and begin hurling themselves at Quintessa’s general direction. One after another, they fling themselves at the changeling, the Kensai making sure to aim them deliberately, so that he can make adjustments as his student dodges- in the hopes of finding a moment where she’s over extended to land a decisive blow. Mostly though, he’s just hoping she’ll wind up distracted enough that she loses her grip on the spell, so that he can try and scooch his way out of the snow pit he’s mired in.

Quintessa tries to replant her feet as the ice begins to shift around her, it cracking and fragmenting due to the already violent activity. "Rhew!" The spellcaster shouts, her right foot stamping down to refreeze the surface she stood upon as she carefully keeps Kasry in her sights. Quintessa knows how dangerous the former king of Vailkrin could be and she won't drop her guard for a second. As she spies the silvery glints in the air the changeling sprints towards him, her lithe hands yet again squeezing into a tight balls as she punches upward, each time summoning forth a large ice-burg from the snowy field of battle between them. Each hunk of ice absorbs the blow from a projectile, cracking or shattering if the swords didn't outright glance off of them. Snaking through her maze of ice, an errant blade ricochets into Quintessa's thigh, causing a nasty gash to swiftly spread across her leg and slow her charge. "Damnit!" She screams, a limping jog closing the remaining distance between herself and Kasyr, and the spot her tentacles held him captive. "Got you!" The changeling calls gleefully as she crests the pit she had made for him. Quintessa draws her katana swiftly and thrusts downward, attempting a coup de grace while the Kensai was still bond and helpless. It's a less than honorable way to win a fight but a victory was still a victory to Quintessa. Last she checked 'honor' wasn't a requirement to winning.

Kasyr let’s out a grimace as the tendrils hold him fast, his efforts at extricating himself fleeting. What’s worse, however, is the manner in which they seem to ripple and warp during the moment where Quintessa is wounded- that brief sliver of distraction allowing something familiar and altogether insidious within their fabric. A sinister, sibilance which grants them a far more serpentine guise then what they’d carried prior. Even as Quintessa rushes towards him, he finds himself shutting his eyes to try and banish the sight. And it works- it does. Though whether it had truly happened- or was merely a vile delusion brought about by the changelings dread aura is another matter entirely. That said, it leaves him sparse moments to react to the changelings opening move. “Daedria!” It’s both a panicked expression and a prayer, a quick flicker of holy light swelling out from his vicinity to uncoil the eldritch anchors about him. And it hardly ends there, as the words themselves are amplified- the ascendi’s domain over music being used in this case to amplify it to such heights that it obliterates the ice and packed snow beneath the Kensai and start him collapsing further into the snow. Which serves to just barely draw his head down so that he goes from being outright scalped- to having a portion of his forehead neatly excised- a bloody flap of skin sliding down to partially obscure his face, along a slick portion of blood. Not that Quintessa is apt to have much time to revel in her victory, given she’s standing on the clearly unstable brink of the very same hole the Kensai has collapsed down. Really, all she needs is a little helping hand- and Kasyr is happy to provide. With little fanfare, the Kensai extricates one of his many mithril scalpels from the confines of his coat, a quick cantrip spouted off to imbue it with fiery energy- if only so he can make short work of a swathe of snow that writhers him- to hasten the changelings descent down towards him, and allow him the means of an altogether heated rebuttal to her earlier declaration of victory. Which is to say, the scalpel finds itself being hurled towards her. And yet, despite all this- the pit might be the safest option in the present moment. After all, that empowered prayer has had a rather unintended side effect, given the manner in which the subtle murmurings of the mountain have begun to rapidly escalate in volume.

Quintessa balances on the edge of the growing pit, her heeled boots planting into the snow around her feet, and growls. Daedria had protected Kasyr from an anti-climatic death- something well under her domain, however, before Quintessa can lament this something catches her eye. By now the gentle flecks of ice and snow have reached the duel and the tiny droplets on her nose draw her attention. "Oh no..." The changeling's mouth hangs agape in horror as the avalanche threatens to sweep both combatants away and the changeling is left with a hasty decision. "Pwerau iâ ac eira yr wyf yn gorchymyn i ti-" She struggles to chant in time, the air around the odd girl swirling around like a maelstrom and sapping away all the heat in the area. Quintessa had resolved before not to take her eyes off her teacher, but the circumstance has rapidly changed. A single hand lifts in the empty space between her and the incoming natural disaster, preparing to use all of her effort to survive this disaster... And weaponize it. With great effort Quintessa twists the natural forces of the avalanche, pulling the worst of the jagged edged pieces of ice to the surface, and more importantly, diverting the larges chunk of ice among them directly at into the pit... But then the hole expands! The sword saint's clever plan works and the changeling is none the wiser as he aims to quicken her demise. Quintessa's form slips down the edge into the pit, her sword turning downward as she attempts to 'ride' it straight into Kasyr's torso. The ice-sickles from above rain down upon them, one stabbing into her back, embedding itself into her unarmored form as many more others lacerate her arms and legs. Finally, the large chuck of ice fills in the top of the pit, plugging it up as the avalanche sweeps up everything above them, burying them together under now. The darkness deepens and deepen as more snow packs into the plugged-pit, and Quintessa grins gleefully as the shadows consume her. "Hope you can fight in the dark." She says with a sign-songy tune before she aims one final trust for his heart. Does she win some kind of prize if she collects a Kasyr heart?

Kasyr , in that moment, carries mixed feelings for the empathic senses he innately wields. On one hand, they provide him a certain degree of clarity - painting a picture that helps to fill in the blanks where his vision would fail him, hindered as it is by the aching mess of flesh that’s sliding down over his left eye, and the trickles of blood which paint his face. But then, that extra sense also makes the nightmarish medley of emotions which exude from the changeling that much starker. Affection, bloodlust, a desire to both impress and conquer. But the worst of all is a lingering, malevolent familiarity that makes the swordsman's stomach sink. It’s enough that for a brief moment, the desire to hold back is extinguished- replaced instead by the need to survive. Kasyr doesn’t even lose a beat in sliding a new scalpel out from his sleeve into his hand as Quintessa surfs down from him, using what little space he’d managed to earn himself in his earlier maneuver to dive forward. Really, his goal is simple- to intentionally close the gap so that he rests within Quintessa’s shadow, allowing her to take the brunt of her frigid assault. A tactic which seems to be working rather adeptly given the wounds she sustains- though it comes at a cost. And that’s more than apparent in the moment that follows when she impacts into him, her blade colliding into his trenchcoat- the mesh within deforming under the impact and opening a jagged wound across his chest. What Quintessa was likely not expecting, however, is the way that Kasyr takes another step into the blow, the wound growing uglier, even as the blade becomes partially enmeshed in the coats plating. With a hiss that seems more feral than human, the Kensai’s left hand juts out to overlap Quintessa’s hand, just to make sure that she cannot properly pull the blade loose from it’s morbid sheathe. Which is about the point Kasyr swipes his right hand forward. It’s the scalpel from before- and by this point, the changeling ought to be familiar with the cantrip meant to imbue the metal with fire. And yet, it’s not a swipe she needs to gird herself against, as the swordsman overcharges the spell well beyond it’s confines, reducing it into a blob of molten metal aimed towards her face while she remains locked in proximity. Still, skewered as he is, it’s difficult to follow it up with something more decisive- were it not for the manner in which she’s helpfully provided him one last tool. With her hand still in his, he allows one more prayer to Daedria to slip from his lips- a prayer meant to ensure the one holding the blade keeps a firm grip upon the weapon- a blessing at any other time, were it not for the manner in which the holy energy in the blade is being intentionally pushed towards her, to take advantage of her unhallowed nature.

Quintessa is perfectly acclimatized to fight in pitch blackness, her hag-born eyes peering effortlessly though the shadows, but the small wears and tears were adding up. Blood ooze from her leg, making her stances weak. Her breathing is heaving and labored, the ice-sickle just pricing the oxygen-providing organ through her ribcage. Very unlucky, but Quintessa doesn't let that show. Under the ice the changeling is cut away from Arh-Nuk's glow, her magical defenses shrinking by comparison, forcing the girl to lean on her already failing physical abilities. Remembering the basics, she abandons her katana and steps back away as far as possible, her form stooping low as she draws a new weapon. The large dark-steel dagger that she produces offers little protection against the magic that Quintessa senses building up, and she tenses in anticipation. The spark of light and fire that follows only confirm her fears and the changeling flips her blade downward, preparing to foolishly absorb the attack directly. Standing up straight and crossing her arms over her chest, the molten metal impacts her dagger and splatters across her body, setting pieces of her clothing and already shorten hair on fire for a moment before slowly burning out. Quintessa growls like a wounded beast as the skin on her arms blisters and peels back, the liquid metal sticking what little skin got in the way. For once in her life the changeling wishes she had worn armor. Dropping her ruined dagger to the ground, Quintessa shakenly brings her hands up and channels her own dark powers. Doing everything she could to keep the holy energies of the paladin from burning her to a crisp. "Ni all tywyllwch fodoli gyda golau..." She slowly utters, pouring her remaining magic into the aura of malice that defends her from Kasyr's hollowed magic. Stuck here, in eternal stalemate, the winner would be the one who could outlast the other down in this snow-covered pit.

Winner: Kasyr

Auto-hit Stake

Kasyr s breathing is coming out haggard, courtesy of the katana buried partway through his coat and into himself. He's almost grateful for the way his eyesight begins to fail him, if only because it takes his mind away from the nightmarish play of shadows that dances across the walls of the pit, illuminated by the divine light emanating from him. And yet, it cannot distract him from the abyssal evil which still clings to the changeling, even as it recedes beneath her skin- a lurking threat which practically seems to taunt him. The memories of that creature, and what it wants is enough to even make what comes next palatable. It's the awareness of what she harbours- that dread familiarity that brings a whole new level of focus to the kensai, as his mind reaches out to his surroundings. He's searching, frantically, for what he needs- even as the light that is keeping him safe begins to die out beneath the sheer caliginous depths of what has latched onto the changelings magic. There's a grim satisfaction when his search is successful, his mind flicking over the familiarity of his scattered swords- even as the residual entropic energy that had latched onto them has reduced them to broken fragments of metal. And yet, it's enough- for whilst her magic is certainly able to afford her a sturdy bulwark against Daedria's strength- it's ill equipped for the abrupt manner in which the Kensai calls his broken weapons back. Snow and ice provide little obstacle to shards, guided by a combination of will and purpose that sends them sending them shredding through Quintessa's back in brutal a storm of shrapnel- before crowning the Kensai with a shattered mass of scarlet stained steel. But it's only when he can hear her crumple to the ground that he starts breathing again, first out of relief, and then anxiety- as the awareness of exactly what's he done sets in "Oh Fff-."

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