Duel:Kasyr v Vexar, Match 6 of the 2020 Frostmaw Tournament

From HollowWiki
Duelists: Kasyr, and Vexar
Duel: Traditional 3 rounds with final defense, 15 minute posting limit.
Stakes: Auto-hit to the winner.
Judges: Lionel, Magik, and Orikahn


Snowless Training Yard

Optional Introduction

Kasyr should perhaps be limbering up, but frankly, this particular slice of Frostmaw affords the Kensai a unique opportunity. Which is to say, it hadn't taken too much fiddling with those chunks of pulsing fluorite to set the scene to a suitably warm beach scene- despite the arenas more frigid surroundings. And really, it makes the starting area the perfect place to lounge, once you drag a chair over, fling your trenchcoat off to the side, and pour out a mug of mead- which is almost the crux of what the Kensai has been doing this afternoon. Really, the only burst of activity that Kasyr can make any sort of claim to, has been the brief bit of effort he exerted in placing a half dozen barrels around the vicinity. Sure, the contents were perhaps a bit anomalous from what Lionel may be expecting, but the swordsman had actually gone through the proper channels, so he felt relatively satisfied that there wasn't much in the way of reprimands he'd be facing.


Vexar emerges from the border of the enchanted barrier and steps into the warmer confines of the training grounds. There is no shiver or shake to expel the remaining cold from his body; any sign of relief from the wintry conditions is completely devoid of the vampire’s taught-jawed, stoic facade. His form is complemented by an attire similar to that which he donned in the first round of the tournament. The only distinguishable differences would be a lack of greaves on his feet, to bolster agility on the sandy surface; the absence of the ensorcelled vanguards that aided him in his bout with Khitti, as the burns on his forearms are still dressed and quite painful to the touch; and, most notably, the moonblade ‘Nyx’ is already taught in his grasp. His eyes are naturally drawn to inspect the quite mesmerizing crystalline orbs in turn, before settling on Kasyr. The cat-eared paladin struck an unimposing demeanor, looking quite at ease in the guild’s arena. However, Vexar had bore witness to his current rival’s clash with the axeling, and knows well that to take the kensai for anything less than worthy would be folly. He’s also heard...stories. Immortality. Revenant. The latter sets the conflict-obsessed Harbinger’s adrenaline to hasten. “We’ll see about that,” he orates. The words elicit a subtle chuckle from Vexar, though undoubtedly leave onlookers a bit befuddled.


Environmental Challenge

Orikahn :: In preparation for tonight's duel, the terrain enchantments for the training yard will be tuned to an exotic setting: mixed geothermal hazards. In shimmer of magic, the golden sands of the training yard change to cracked, black basalt. The ground gives a shudder, a thin chasm splits the ground between the duelists, and cherry red lava seeps to fill it. A moment later, the lava spills over the edges of the rift and begins creeping outward. Not far behind Vexar, there is a rushing sound beneath the earth, and without further warning, a scalding geyser bursts up through the rock and showers steamy droplets over the field. Beneath Kasyr's feet, the ground trembles and abruptly tilts up at a shallow angle, forming a jagged break in the earth. And the duel has hardly even begun! Fresh hell yet awaits, for the whole training field is aquiver with pent-up eruptions, effusions, disjunctions, and all myriad manifestations of terrestrial malfunction!


The Duel

Kasyr just barely manages to spring up from his chair before the arena shifts, though the sheer severity of the change makes a complete mockery of his effort . . . to provide a mocking bow. Really, it's some form of cosmic justice, and one that continues to exert itself as the Kensais trenchcoat and vest are abruptly pulled into a molten fissure in the ground, "My Coat." A beat. "My Scapels!" Really, it's all the swordsman can do to offhandedly take a swipe at his mug, sparing it the indignant fate that the rest suffered. Though, it's salvation is rather short lived, given that the Kensai proceeds to take a few measured steps, pours a small burst of electrical energy into the metal of the mug, and proceeds to hurl it straight towards Vexar in what looks to be an almost petulant display meant to jostle him towards that spray of steaming water. It's only when the latent burst of electricity inside it bursts in a blinding flare of light, and causes the object to promptly veer towards the barrel nearest to the vampire that he might realize there's something else in store. Though, he's not going to be apt to be able to guess a combination of black powder and nails, the likes of which is more than happy to detonate by virtue of the extreme heat of the improvised missile. It's a somewhat satisfying display, but one that has the Kensai immediately looking for some sort of defensive measure, "I should, not be -here-." There is, after all, a good number more of these barrels scattered about, and it's only a matter of time before a hazard prematurely detonates them.


Vexar reaches a single, steady hand behind his head. Lengthy fingernails claw at the dragonbone skull draped over the necromancer’s shoulder. The unkempt nails hiss a wretched, stomach turning, shrill of a cry as they scrape along the ivory to find a grasping point. Finally, and at great relief to those who could hear the discourse, his fingers plunge into the dead beast’s eye-sockets where they clutch and drag the dragon’s head into place over his own. Vexar wields his glaive defensively and crouches, his left leg bent as the right fully extends in front, only to sweep backwards, tracing a widely sweeping arc through the golden….gray….obsidian, sand? As the terrain metamorphosizes betwixt his bare toes, and the myriad crevices erupt with Hell’s fury, death’s visage does well not to betray the disdain now on the face of the preparer. There is no time for the vampire to rue his poor, bootless decision, as at once an energized mug-missile is charging his direction. An adept response finds the hilt of Nyx parried upward, and the rapidly ensuing change of the cup’s course indicates to Vexar the weak attempt was successfully navigated. The putrid heat beginning to sear the sole of his exposed feet is all the motivation need to spark an assault, and Vexar springs to action, running for Kasyr with his glaive drawn along side. The thunderous explosion of the powder barrel is written off as yet another volcanic detonation; the furious shrapnel cannot be so easily ignored. One, two, six nails drive into the charging man’s exposed back; chain mail was also a poor choice. Regardless the assault continues, and as he finally encroaches on the kensai a wide, sweeping arc of the moonblade threatens to split the trickster in twine.


Kasyr doesn't want to be here, and not just due to the singleminded manner in which Vexar bears down upon his location. No, the Kensai can already feel sweat soaking into the layers of his shirt, and the noxious scent of the air is enough to make his head swim. Faced with these myriad threats, as well as the risk of straying too far in any direction and risking the volatility of one of his own traps setting off, Kasyr likes his chances with Vexar the best- which is perhaps why he chooses to remain steadfast during the vampires advance. Instead, his focus flickers onto the space between them, a fracture of silvery light rapidly coalescing into the guise of a mundane Katana, the likes of which the Kensai is only just barely able to take hold of in the wake of Vexars vampire speed. What results is an unsteady parry, the Kensai falling to a knee as he seeks to redirect the blade away from his body, despite the hideous wail of his blade. And it manages to a degree, though not without Nyx managing to take a hefty bite out of his right shoulder. Gritting through the pain, the Kensai doesn't waste another moment in staggering up to his feet, if only to promptly hop back. Whilst the motion would normally seem almost childish, there's a set of whispered words, the likes of which form an aura of disorted air about the sword Saints blade. With a single violent swing, a blade of condensed wind is sent carving through the air towards Vexar, which in itself might carve into his tainted flesh- but which serves a secondary purpose of propelling the Kensai further into the air, while simultaneously rocking the precarious patch of earth Vexar had choosen to step onto in order to confront Kasyr, threatening him with both a loss of balance, and a fresh spray of magma from his immediate vicinity.


Vexar smiles beneath his mask. The simple yet riveting ecstasy of Nyx’s first true strike in battle ignites a satisfaction he’d not felt in some time. The bite was so potent, in fact, it appears the victim is already fleeing. The vampire relaxes for but a moment; the adrenaline subsides; the pain ensues. The projectiles lodged along his spine ache with every twitch, a most unwelcome acupuncture session. Vexar’s free arm flails behind, desperately seeking to rip the nails from their fleshy sheaths in the mere seconds he has. Four are struck loose. A trail of seeping blood rapidly manifests from the now-free puncture wounds. The vampire’s back has become a microcosm of the battlefield, with red-hot magma oozing unceremoniously from any orifice it can find. As he gropes for the remaining two, the hurricane force of the mage’s slice lands completely and utterly undefensed. So distracted, Vexar had simply not seen the strike coming. It rips a gash through the chainmail and into his sternum, dwarfing the injuries to his back in a new torrent of vitae. This painful mistake enrages the Harbinger. He lashes at the aloft Kasyr but cannot reach him. The runes tracing the length of Nyx burst to life as the crescent blade is dug into the soft obsidian below, cutting through the molten rock with ease. Uppercut after furious uppercut ensues, each digging deeper into the earth, flinging torrents of magma at the sky-borne foe; both combatants are caught in a rain of fire, along with two of the barrels, exploding in turn as they cannot resist the scorching fuse.


Kasyr is still twisting in the air when he catches sight of the absolute violence contained within Vexars assault upon the earth. When the first mass of flaming stone is sent hurtling towards his position, he cannot quite prevent his reflexes from kicking in, and the manner in which his own blade swipes out to impact the rubble and knock the mass of it askew before it reaches its impact. But he certainly knows better, because when the metal of his sword begins to contort and then snap, he looks more annoyed then dissapointed. What's worse, is the spatters of which trailed after the large, spatteringg against the fabric of his shirt and searing their way in. Without another moment wasted, the wound upon his right shoulder begins to bleed out sparks, surface tissue evaporating into a trail of sparks to fuel a shift in the Kensais ability to perceive- as well as providing fuel for the lightning charged dashes he begins to make in the air. At this juncture, the Kensai is more than willing to allow Vexars rage to vent itself as he weaves between the hellfire of debris- but the roar of the detonating barrels provides an opportunity. As a swarm of shrapnel builts are sent through the air, the Kensai allows the intensity of the energy he's channeling grow, even as it sharply cuts into his muscles and causes his right arm to abruptly lose feeling. It's a curious decision, and yet the effect is almost immediately noticeable, as it causes the trajectory of the various nails both airborne and still in Vexar to become drawn to the former revenants vicinity, and may even threaten to disarm the man. At least, until Kasyr flings the broken blade towards the Vampire point first, with every bit of channeled chunk of electrical energy behind it. The effect is immediate, as the Kensai is sent hurtling back through the air in an opposite but not quite equal speed- even as the blade threatens to skewer Vexar, or at the very least blow apart the sad remains of his platform. What's likely even more insulting, however, is the storm of nails that's going to play interference during the entirety of these proceedings. Really, it's likely a site to behold, but Kasyr isn't really in a position to enjoy it, since he's busy hitting the ground dangerously close to a geyser that seems to be on the verge of erupting. "Maybe . . . can just push . . ." ...Right, wrong arm.


Vexar finally relents his lava-catapulting assault; a necessity, considering defensive measures must be taken against the waves of threats now crashing down on him. Time itself seems to slow as the Harbinger defiantly stares down the looming barrage from above, as though daring the broken blade, the Kensai, and his army of nails to do their worst. Did this man know fear? Perhaps not, though he wasn’t entirely wreckless. Again the runes within Nyx burst a brilliant emerald and the very light, a manifestation of chaotic power, swirls into the wielder’s being. In a stunning display of speed, Vexar is able to evade blade and blade thrower, though the prior implement indeed does well to implode the very surface on which he stands. Following shortly after, the maelstrom of nails hails down, several running the necromancer through before pelting the pooling lava beneath. He does not flinch. Witnesses to the clash may now consider that Vexar is dangling from, if not entirely fallen off of, the brink of insanity. His bare feet are enveloped in flame; the sweltering heat from the volcanic inferno seeping through the rock has quite literally set his flesh on fire. Yes, the physical pain is seething...but the psychological pain is the driver this day. Vexar despises revenants, perhaps for reasons unknown to only those closest to him, and very much considers that he is currently entangled with one such being. As such, victory is so paramount as to be afforded at the cost of his very well being. Two options are now heavily weighed; re-engage Kasyr, or seek alternative solutions. Once again, in his brief pause for consideration, logic prevails over fury. Fearing that he may lose his ability to walk forever, he bounds from the pool of molten rock straight for another of the Kensai’s barrels. A mighty heave sends the super-heated barrel flying for one of the weather-controlling orbs, and it does well to detonate upon impact. Yet another volley of nails cascades over the arena but, more notably, the confusion of the array of runes twists the conditions and unleashes a diabolically contorted cluster of various, unpredictable natural disasters on the combatants.


Kasyr can hear the rumble of water in front of himself, and that is certainly cause to feel the blood within his form run cold. But it's nothing compared to the singular sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when those calico ears of his hear the sound of splintering wood behind him. He barely has time to bark a shout prayer to Daedria, a plea to reinforce his flesh and numb the pain that grows all the more sharper as he takes his good arm and shoves himself away from the Geyser. And yet, even as those nails begin to pelt across the battlefield, the shower of boiling water never comes, as the terrain itself gives way to first the familiarity of sandy dunes, and then the grasping clutches of fetid mire waters. It's this latter shift that actually does well to draw the Kensai down and away from the crux of the projectile storm, leaving only a sparse few to slam into the field of divine energy provided by Daedria. Though it leaves the Kensai in the awkward position of try to get up, even as the very terrain conspires to make mobility all but impossible. Still, perhaps the same can be said for Vexar. It's a distinct hope, as the Kensai waits for a singular decisive opportunity.


Winner: Vexar

Auto-hit Stake

Vexar limps towards Kasyr on firm ground, now cooled by a light sprinkling of snow. Apparently, the explosive ordeal lessened the barrier twixt arena and the rest of Frostmaw. Several swampy vines had leached from the ground and taken hold of the kensai, who is too weak to break free of their constriction. Vexar picks up remnants of the mug that initiated the battle, barely half remaining, and upon arriving at Kasyr’s position sharply drops the shattered cup on his skull. Rivulets of blood immediately pool at the point of impact as the Habringer looks down on his defeated foe. “Next time, do not hold back. I want your true power.” As though signalled by his words, though much more likely signalled by an organizer fiddling with the enchanted fluorite, the vines release their hold on Kasyr. Vexar turns away, satisfied, and in desperate need of feeding.


Kasyr 's fingers from his good arm clutch onto the vines, trying to find a way to drag himself free, and failing to do so even as Vexar draws close. For a brief moment there's an unfettered and almost feral look of hosility that corsses his features, expectant of the sort of excessive cruelty that has marked these tourneys in past. And yet, the exchange carries a cold sort of civility to it, even if it does little to quell the shriek of exposed musculature, or the pronounced sense of inability that flickers through the swordsman. Still, he's left with his conscious, albeit with a wounded pride, the Kensai takes that moment to begin staggering in the opposite direction. The sooner he could find somewhere quiet to retreat, to lick his wounds the better- especially if it meant avoiding members of the healers guild, especially the more inquisitive ones.