Duel:Kurlurk v Naith (DD)
- Format: Kurlurk vs Naith - Death Duel
- 3 posts each + final defense.
- 10 min limit
The scent of sweat mixed with blood wafts through the air, filling your nostrils with a stench so overpowering that you stop in your tracks. The flooring is made of a loose compound of crushed rock and sand, an easy mixture to make and cover up whatever horrors lie beneath it as you notice you walk up a slight incline every few feet. The high spiked walls surrounding this enclosed arena are stained with crimson, azure, and other various tones from all the diverse creatures that have met their death or lost a limb or two. Ragged clothing, blemished with drips of blood hang from a random spike as cowardly foes tried to escape, only to meet their end in a gruesome fashion from unruly crowds. A mysterious orb is locked within a crystal ball atop a single pillar to the extreme north, its effects known as you remember seeing a plaque upon your entrance: No Magic Allowed. In a cage to the north, you notice a creature gripping onto a barred door, eagerly waiting to escape though appearing as if he could do so at anytime. To the south lay a similar enclosure, but with a different monster letting out a repulsive cry as it waits for battle. This is the arena. Victors and losers are born here. Turn back, or step up to the challenge. A Large pulsing portal hovers in the centre of this arena. A Dead Preklek is here. A Dead Preklek is here.
Kurlurk enters the arena proudly like he has every time before this. As he reaches its outer perimeter his right eye fails him completely and then goes dark, the magic of the rune suddenly canceling out. Inside of him, near his heart another portion of him dies, the spirit field that protected him against enemy magic now died as well, though Kurlurk knew not what to think of this, the dumb brute would look to the sky with his one good eye and think aloud, “Gods not want me win?” Anger would fill him as he refused to believe such. “Me show Gods! Me Kurlurk Necksnappa, me win!” he would finish yelling to the heavens. Finally reaching the far end of the Arena he turns to face the humanoid creature that wished a warrior’s death. Pretending now that nothing impaired him he raised an accusing finger. “You be fifth to fall to me here that not be Orc!” Kurlurk stood at five foot three, a bit short but a strong muscular fighter, at each of his sides one would easily spy the hand axe’s he would have resting there and upon his back a falchion. Dropping his hands to each axe he pulls them forward as he rushed towards his foe, the brutish nature of the Orc making him want to end this quickly. However he knew he would need to work hard without the blessings of the gods on his side. An axe in each hand he would soon reach the humanoid creature and instead of slashing right away as was his norm he would side step to the left quickly before slashing with one rather strong slash horizontally from right to left. The Orc did what he could to keep his opponent in his range of sight, naturally he would lose sight of him from time to time, but he would soon recover and find him once more. Continuing his attack he would rush inward toward the beast and try another slash with an axe in his left hand. The foul smelling orc not caring to wipe the bit of drool or snot from his face as he battled, in fact it was not even on his mind for this was the norm for the battle hardened creature. All that existed to him now was himself and the enemy, and surely at its end he would be the only one left.
Naith eyes the brute from across the arena, giving an indifferent snort upon sight of the stupid creature. Muscular, yes, but quite dumb. Naith stands nearing six-and-a-half-feet, both taller than the Orc and with a greater reach of his strong arms. At his side, one half-gloved hand wrapped around the wooden pole of such, is the Mage's Bane, the berserker's favoured Lochaber axe. It's length almost great enough to rival Naith's own, the wooden pole was topped off with a single curved blade that jutted forward from the weapon, the tip gleaming evilly in the daylight. Kurlurk brings his axes to the ready and Naith makes a stance in preparation for the combat, legs shifting to turn the broad humanoid side-on with the greenskin warrior, with both hands gripping the Bane and holding it outwards, metal blade aimed towards the oncoming opponent. The wyrm grits his teeth as he prepares for the impact, shifting the aim of his blade as the Orc ducks towards his left and lunging forward to bring his axes in a slash for the berserker's form, but Naith is quite ready. Just as Kurlurk comes forward so does his opponent, the pole-arm's blade aimed to jab directly into the Orc's abdomen and sink deep into greenskin flesh, leaving the raider stranded upon the end of the weapon. Then Naith's weight would shift again, spine bending backwards to lean the wyrm's torso out of Kurlurk's reach. The axes would then merely slice through the air before the berserker's bare chest, and once the assault has passed, Naith resumes his own. Stepping forward again his arms thrust forward, giving the axe a good twist as he does so, attempting to drive the point further into Kurlurk's flesh and force the curved blade up beneath the rib cage into the Orc's vital organs. Whence suitably impaled the humanoid wyrm would then dart forward, gripping the axe at the tip of the pole, just beneath the blade, and pulling the weapon high over his head, hopefully with Kurlurk still stuck upon the end, to go over his form and bring the raider crashing down, head first, onto the hard, unforgiving arena floor.
Kurlurk’s head tilted slightly mid battle as the being moved this way and that, easily dodging the Arena Brawler’s slices. Then for a moment more he would lose sight of his opponent, and just barely was he able to regain his visual mark before the long handled axe would pierce his right side and cut its way outwards as the Orc still continued to move. Kurlurk would grit his teeth at the pain, though he felt more of a pain in his pride for allowing such an attack to hit. The Orc’s pain threshold was high, and he was still ready for battle, rushing inward to his foe hoping to close the gap again while he was shifting his rather large weapon Kurlurk would toss his right axe towards his enemy and draw with the same hand his falchion from his back. The bloodied earth of course would quickly soak up any blood that it may as the Orc still bled as he attacked. Next he would slash outlandishly towards the berserker and after that he would drop his axe to the blood stained arena floor and grab the hilt of his falchion with both hands before thrusting it forward in an attempt to catch the being in the chest, perhaps even the heart. To add to this should he strike the being he would open his large maw and attempt to chop down on his enemy with his razor like teeth should he be close enough to do so without releasing the falchion from his grip.
Naith parts his lips and begins to suck in a deep breath of nearby air as he feels the axe make contact, though it seems his attempt at dragging the Orc off his feet was unsuccessful. Unable to steer the weapon quick enough to adopt a defensive stance he simply allows the pole-arm to fall from his grasp, instead lifting his hands before his chest in a careful position, taking matters, literally, into his own hands. Hands which were housed within fingerless gloves of fine yet strong dragonscales, and bearing fingers which were hugged by a pair of steel knuckles, each sporting three inch-long spikes that looked quite sharp. One hand axe comes hurtling towards the humanoid, but it is swatted away with an accurate forward lash of the male's right hand, the thrown weapon clattering to the floor. The gloves served well in their protective role, and would come forward to do so again as the second axe darts for Naith's person, the blade's edge connecting soundly with the steel knuckles and rendering the wyrm unharmed. Sadly, this is not the case with the falchion, the weapon being far too large. Instead the berserker takes a hasty leap backwards, not successful in the fullest extent, as the sword bites into the male's abdomen before the wyrm manages to come out of range. Gritting his teeth against the pain of the wound, mindful of the crimson flow from his lower torso, Naith now reacts to the oncoming maw. One leg, clad in ebony chainmail, comes swiftly upwards, armoured knee aimed to catch Kurlurk's chin before his teeth can find the Silver's flesh, hopefully leaving the raider quite stunned and unprepared for what comes next. Mindful of his tender side Naith now lashes forward, one set of spiked knuckles careening forward to sink into the Orc's throat while the other darts downwards, aiming smash through the greenskin's ribcage. At the same time the wyrm releases that baited breath taken moments before, releasing a torrent of frozen winds that rush forward at temperatures low enough to freeze blood and flesh in an instant.
Kurlurk breathed heavily through his maw with each new step or attack, each new move and each defense. The Orc cared not if the first couple of attacks had managed a hit or not and instead relied solely on the Falchion which indeed pierced the wrym’s flesh even if just barely. Reaching up forward in an attempt to bite him now the armoured knee would land true to his face throwing him to the right making the next attack on him miss although the next one would land true to his side where the previous axe would had injured him. The pain he felt from the armoured gloves with spike like weapons on each was great, but the Orc merely gritted his teeth against it and considered it his punishment for going through with a battle the gods may not have wanted him in. He began to think twice of his chances at winning but instinct would take over with the flow of adrenaline through his veins. As he reached the earth his foe would breath heavily towards him and he knew instinctively he would need to move quickly and so by rolling quickly towards him and ending on his side he would bend a single leg backwards in a hook kick behind the wyrm hoping to make him fall forward, ending his own attack. Kurlurk knew of breath attacks, for he had one as well, the odor of which has caught many of his enemies off guard. He wondered how potent this enemies was but would decide only to ask later as his with his falchion still in hand he would jump to his feet quickly and attempt a slash or a stab, if the enemy was upon the ground he would instead try an assassins style stab doward through the head or chest.
Naith :: "Woah!" comes a strangled cry of surprise as Naith feels the Orc's leg collide with his ankle, and he is promptly thrown head over heels, landing face-down into a pool of his own generated frost. Thankfully the cold poses little threat to the Silver, being a creature of the cold himself, so while the temperature is uncomfortable against his flesh, 'tis not threatening. He composes himself quickly, throwing his weight into a sideways roll; just as the falchion stabs into the patch of ice where he had just lay. The berserker instinct not takes over, adrenaline flooding through the humanoid's veins. Red comes before the man's vision, the pain from the wound in his side subsiding to be replaced by rage, a insatiable thirst for blood and battle. Berserker indeed, as Kurlurk would find out momentarily. Leg muscles tense beneath chainmail leggings, bending and releasing to send the wyrm flying into a frenzied sprint, hands balling into tight fists as they again bring the deadly spiked knuckles upon Naith's foe. This time his right arm is flung upwards to drive the knuckle spikes in an uppercut aimed beneath the Orc's head, followed immediately by a wide, angry lash by the left fist, the solid force aimed to smash directly into the side of the raider's head.
Kurlurk grinned as his enemy fell to the blood stained and now frosted earth. Quickly he stood over him in an attempt to end this battle with a stab to the chest. However this would not be, at least not at this time, for his opponent would roll away from the attack just in time. Growling loudly he would turn raising the Falchion in front of him as he devised the many different ways he could rush and kill him before he could regain his footing completely. However he didn’t, the once Raider smiled as the foe now rushed him bare handed aside for the armours he wore upon his body, some of which doubling as last resort weapons as well. From the ground he would pick up his enemies weapon and give it a large toss hoping to somehow throw his opponent off guard, but not knowing the weapons weight it would fall instead a good distance before reaching his enemy. Backing up steadily he was near the edge of the arena which surprised him as they had started near the center. The many spikes that were meant to catch the arenas cowards were standing, bloodstained daring the Orc to use them against his foe. Now the enemy wyrm was upon him, his barrage of attacks were first blocked hastily by the falchion though soon it would be forced out of the way and the wyrm would enter range for a strike to the Orc’s head. The blow would miss as the Orc ducked and rolled to the left avoiding the wyrm all together as well as just narrowly missing a chance at impaling himself upon the spikes around the arenas perimeter and preparing instead for a counter attack should he feel it necessary.
~Kill Post~ Kurlurk grins as saw his moment to best end this match. Kicking his foot strait backwards he would break free one of the many woods stakes around them. Quickly he would bend low and snatch up just in time to turn back around and hurl the stake towards his enemy who was only now turning around, the bloodlust had clouded his judgment, and now he would pay for his treachery as the stake would pierce him through the torso and exit the other side only to stick like a dart to dartboard at the Arena Wall. The many Orcs that followed Kurlurk would cheer and shot in their Orc-ish tongue never doubting their champion. Kurlurk would turn from his enemy, he was now dead upon the stake. “Me kill, me win without gods help this time!” he would say as he approached his fellow orc brethren.