Duel:Krice v Rawnie
Duel Info
- Judges: Jerralith, Hadrian, Vaidhe
- Stakes: OOCFC Round 1 Advancement
- Assigned Duel Details: Female Centaur Master Hunters (rangers), 1 low-level Magical weapon, no magical armor, DD.
- Rd/time: 3rds / 15 min
- Date: 07/17/2012
- Venue: Boundary of Sage Forest
- Decision: Krice (unanimous)
Venue
The boundaries of this majestic forest have met, a forested corner, with a high wall of stone. Shriveled tufts of grass sprout outward from the craggy face of the cliff, some of the jagged areas inhabited by browning nests. A small opening in the side of the wall releases a chill breath, emanating from the endless darkness within. The wall turns both eastward and southward.
Rawnie vs Krice
Rawnie trots into the small clearing, gaze fixated excitedly to not only the craggy rock face but the perfectly sized gap that would no doubt present itself as a perfect den. Eagerly, her heavily laden pack is dropped onto the grass swathed ground, but the hard leather quiver, completely with six, red-feathered arrows, and long, birch bow remain in hand. As the centaur nears the chilly entrance to the wall cave, that bow is drawn, and an arrow nocked precociously. Heavy steps carry Rawnie closer to her potential new home, but the sound of a stranger approaching sees the weary centaur reeling around as quickly as a bulky animal body could. Without so much as a second thought, her iron head arrow is released, causing the bow-string to snap against the flesh of her forearm; years of hunting within the sage woods have nearly perfected her aim, and as she volleys a claiming, "Mine!" that released arrow seeks to imbed itself within breast muscles of Krice's equine body.
Krice emerged from the shadows of the forest, a four-legged, six-limbed figure of femininity and strength. With her raven hair pulled back into a braid, she was able to hunt and forage--but in this case, hunt--without wayward strands obscuring her vision. Something caught her eye, a nice enclosure half-submerged in the earth and half-enveloped by trees and shrubs. A den! Indeed, that was her prey for the evening... However, something -else- caught her eye as she drew nearer. The centaur's brown gaze narrowed on Rawnie's rump right as she turned and knocked her arrow. Krice did the same, retrieving an arrow from the many nestled in the quiver hanging at her right side. The grooves of her left palm held firm to the swelling grip of her bow and she knocked the arrow on the string, drawing it back right as Rawnie yelled her possession over the den. Oh definitely -not-! The centaur rushed forward, her hoofed feet scuffing dirt and shredding grass as she parried to the left, avoiding the intention behind her opponent's attack; for the arrow did not embed itself in her breast but rather, skimmed her right shoulder. She winced minutely but her focus was steadfast. "Imposter! It is clearly -mine-!" She roared, releasing her arrow for that sweet spot right between Rawnie's eyes. This centaur had roughly the same amount of years to refine her hunting skill, which was furthermore sharpened when her home was threatened. And this den -was- her home! The moment that arrow found flight, Krice's right hand reached for the narrow, long sword sheathed at her left hip and she withdrew it, charging Rawnie to ultimately pierce her horse breast in defiance of her territorial claim, whether or not that arrow found its mark.
Rawnie had meant for her arrow to be naught more than a warning shot to ward off her brethren; unfortunately, it doesn't work that way. "I was here first!" She bellows in return, shuffling her hooved feet, and jerking her head to the right, causing the returned fire to sheer through her loose strands of black and nick the cartilage of her ear. A breath, hissed between her teeth states her annoyance, and quickly her hand curves back to steal another arrow. Five shots left, damn. That first shot is quickly aligned to the ground, whispered archaic words pouring from her lips to charge the shot with a simplistic spell. As the first arrow sees to embed into the ground a few yards before Krice, a second shot is directed to the weathered, stone wall. Rawnie's first enchanted mark blankets the ground in a thick sheen of ice which seeks to pull Krice from her feet the moment she charges onto the nearly ten foot expanse of frozen ground. That second arrow, upon connection with a small fissure in the rock face, explodes, sending boulders crashing down atop the icy patch of ground, and rocky shrapnel flying. All the while, Rawnie is back peddling to keep a safe and secure distance between herself and Krice's blade.
Krice paid little mind to the fact that her opponent's skill was great enough to help her avoid that arrow, but it was with bitter disappointment that her blade did not meet its mark. She recovered near instantly, however, as she knew that she'd succeed in the protection of her new territory. The stars had told her so. Blinding rage had relinquished its hold on her senses and she began to tread in her surroundings with more care to them. Thankfully, her attention to the situation helped her realize just how dire the situation had become; an arrow in front of her turning into ice underfoot. And all she wanted to do was talk with the other centaur. Diplomacy gone, Krice tensed with a grimace and an audible groan, making rigid all four of her equine legs to remain on her feet as the magical ice took traction out from under her. She skated, tendon and sinew snapping tight, straining to keep her hulking muscle mass upright as she slid toward her foe. Her human arms wobbled once, longsword clanking with the ice before she righted both limbs to aide in her balance. What was the imposter doing now? Krice had little time to ponder the issue before it became one, boulders falling toward her from the second magic-imbued arrow. Oh dear. Again she tapped ice with steel, this time on purpose, and her lips moved with what -must- have been a whispered blessing. Right at the end of that sheet of ice, the frozen particles buckled around her and swarmed upward like a waterfall in reverse, thrusting sheets of frost into the falling stone and temporarily enclosing her in a wintry sheathe. One after the other those dense balls of rock hit the ice tunnel, fracturing Krice's responding spell overhead. It shattered right as his hoofed feet scrambled onto dry land, a huff of breath expelled from both pairs of lungs both in anger at her foe's violence and in acknowledgement of her own exertion. With her sword still held tight in her hand, tinted damp and sharp from its earlier contact with Rawnie's spell, the raven-haired centaur thrust the blade at her opponent, sending a barrage of small, tapered ice-needles straight for human chest. Just a brief burst of arcane power, but enough to cause damage if it met its mark.
Rawnie prances excitedly when Krice skates along the icy patch, unfortunately the defense erected around her opponents body results in a heavy snort and angry grimace. Diplomacy and star readings are thrown out the window when her territory is at stake, and she was here first! Just shy of logical, Rawnie charges forward to meet Krice as she exits the frozen tunnel. As those needles birthed from the icy are flung her way, she reels around again, this time to kick up and outward her powerful hind legs to connect her hearty hooves with a collar bone, throat or jaw. Unfortunately, this desperate attempt to protect her future home sees her rump speckled with those crude needles and plenty of blood, and not only that, but her right flank is sliced into by the sword and its thrusted-forth proximity. Her rough buck causes her arrows to spill out of her quiver and onto the ground, and on the off chance that Rawnie's feet miss their mark, her bow, still gripped within her hands, would be swung around to act as a bat and crash into Krice's ribs. There'd either be death or submission, and she wasn't planning on succumbing to either.
Krice released a 'ha!' as those icicles flew from her sword and into Rawnie's rump, but she knew that the change in target meant that she was at greater risk; muscled hind legs bearing down on her. Her nostrils flared with the smell of the imposter's blood and she took it in. Victory would be hers! Her new den depended on it! The raven-haired centaur's tail swished once as if swatting at a fly, indicative of her annoyance, which turned into agony as those hoofed legs fell down on her clavicle, shattering the bone and sending her equine front to the ground. She screamed into the night and the moonlight practically spasmed in sympathy, shadows encroaching on the fringes of her vision as shock fought for dominance over her senses. She would not let it win. She would not let -Rawnie- win. From his equine knees, Krice pushed up and away from her foe, her right arm limply hanging by her human torso, useless, and horrendously painful. As a result, the longsword was condemned to either misuse by her opponent or dormancy on the earth between them. But she had something to use! Rawnie's bow. With her own gripped firmly in her left hand, the raven-haired female thrust forward to counter the other's secondary attack, pushing as ferociously as she could before she reared back on her hind legs and send her front hoofs forward, hoping to deliver upon this hideous imposter the same fate with which -she- had been crippled; a mighty scream of anger, pain, and hopeful victory the punctuation! Stars, diplomacy, camaraderie... nonsense Krice could no longer afford.
Rawnie grimaces against the weight of bow on bow, and heaves her weight and strength against Krice. Unfortunately, the moment her opponent switches tactics, and rears upward, Rawnie steps toward Krice to combat her bodies want to pitch forward, and this places her right arm in the direct path of that descending foot. Given the girth of one's humerus bone, Rawnie's doesn't break under the blunt force of Krice's hooves, but the bone does fracture, and the skin around it splits; equestrian feet aren't too smooth. In a last ditch effort to ensure her safety, and potentially end this fight once and for all, the centaur drops quickly to the ground, and rolls once- much akin to that of a horse wallering in dirt. With the completion of this grounding, Rawnie scrambles into an awkward looking kneel, but poised and ready is one of her red-feathered arrows, snagged from the ground during her quick retreat. Despite the pain of her arm, which is numbed considerably by the adrenalin pumping through her veins, through gritted teeth, she growls a fierce, "This ends, now." One further step from the other female would see the release of that deadly aimed arrow, poised carefully for the heart stored in Krice's human torso.
Death post
Krice 's feet thrust through the momentum of her attack on Rawnie and hit the ground, crushing soil beneath. Her left leg trembled slightly and she ached. Everywhere. From the strain of having to keep herself upright on the ice of Rawnie's initial magic attack, to the crushing blow of her rear hooves on the centaur's clavicle... Despite her size, her muscle density, and her skill, her strength was leaving her. As Rawnie rolled away, the raven-haired centaur quickly - and with a bark of pain - pulled her limp arm into the strap that secured her quiver to her hip over the shoulder, thus pulling on her crushed clavicle and the damaged tendons therein as little as possible. Krice needed to finish this. Coincidentally, it seemed as though her opponent had the same intention. So, with enough gusto to put a territorial male centaur to shame, Krice turned toward his opponent and shook his bow down his arm from his shoulder, the grip bumping over lean muscle and the bone of her wrist until it settled in her palm. From the quiver at her side, she withdrew a second arrow--two others had been lost at some point during the battle--and knocked it in place. "Beautifully said," she coyly remarked through clenched teeth, releasing the steel-tipped projectile for the inside swell of Rawnie's left breast, seeking her heart. Krice couldn't watch the moment that it pierced her opponent's flesh, however, because she was seeking to avoid Rawnie's arrow herself. Within seconds, a choked cry filled the boughs overhead, flesh broke, and the muscle above Krice's heart was pierced with that tapered steel. She fell to her equine knees and grimaced, clutching at the wood that protruded from her chest. She gasped for air, choked on it, but lifted her head to glance at Rawnie. Had she defended her territory as she sought to from the start? Had -her- arrow met its mark?