Duel:Kurlurk v Saren
Winner: Kurlurk 2 of 2 votes.
Format: IC Duel
- 3 posts each + final defense.
- 10 min limit
- 5k Gold stakes
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.
Saren stood in the arena before stretching his arms a bit, a customary thing for him to do before entering battle with an opponent. Best to keep from pulling something mid fight otherwise he might find himself on the wrong end of the orc's blades, with a casual smile as if he wasn't about to make an attempt to shed the enemies blood. The human quickly drew an arrow and set it in his bow pulling the string past the length of his arm, it took him only a moment to aim before he sent it hurtling straight towards him. Saren could feel that his magic was being blocked by something in the arena but this was to be a fair fight supposedly and a fight based purely off skill, well now what could more fair than that. Setting another arrow after the first had just left his bow he waited to see if it hit, should the first miss and Kurlurk charge him he'd loose another one aimed for the knee in an attempt to slow him down.
Kurlurk stood in the arena, he looked about the stands at his Orc brethren he shouted words of hate for the slender humanoid creature. Two prekleks laid at the far end of the Arena each had failed to please the Orc Mobs and so only the remains of what wasn’t eaten was left behind for the others to see. Around the Arena one would easily see the many spike like lumbers that bent towards them, a potential weapon Kurlurk would know, for he had used them in the past. Kurlurk was a massive orc, his torn clothing was the remnants of what must have once been fine clothing. Though upon his legs he wore what was now tight leather, the result of killing a drunken fool from the tavern the other night. Looking to his opponent he was ready for battle, as the human moved to fire an arrow the orc would bellow to the skies a mighty battle cry. In this time the first arrow would launch itself for the Orc, soaring through the air with expert marksmanship. It would land fast and hard in the center of the Orc’s head where it would stay for a moment stuck in the flesh before falling to the blood stained earth of the Arena. The skull of the Orc was obviously too thick for such a trick. Thick and smelly blood coursed down his head as he now charged for the human. A second arrow would also strike him although the aim would appear to have been off hitting him in the lower leg. The Orc seemed not to notice it and continue forward. “Mamma told Kurlurk, not play with food!” he would shout as he came in range of the Human and in his right hand was the falchion he had drawn from his back. Slashing first diagonally and then again horizontally from the other direction he would attack. Should the human back away too hastily he would leap for him in a forward stab of the falchion, an attempt to easily kill his prey.
Saren noted just how deafening the sounds of the other orcs within the arena were, an interesting choice of place he thought. No help would come should betrayal come about, the human's focus never drifted for more than a moment as he could afford to do such with the distance he'd managed to get between himself and Kurlurk in the beginning of this fight. The fact that he'd just witnesed him take an arrow to the head was quite suprising, smirking he knew the orc would be in for quite the headache later this evening if not hemoraging from the brain altogether. As the second arrow found it's mark the putrid smell that was all to common for his opponents species assaulted his sense of smell which caused him to react a bit slower than usual, the falchion within the orcs hands would find it's mark as the cloak the human wore fell from his shoulders along with leaving two lovely gashes in his armor deep enough that a bit of red pooled around the fresh cuts. Seran practically cursed himself for being so stupid as he shouted in pain, using the momentum of the second cut he twisted around bringing the bow in a bat like motion aiming for the orcs head. Whether this worked or not Kurlurk would find him rolling to the side and drawing his scimitar to bear should a counter attack be on the way.
Kurlurk would yell in triumph as his blade cut two gashes into his opponent. The smell of the Orc was strong to any that was not use to it, and surely the smell of the Arena smelled of nothing but Orc and perhaps the others that had fallen in their Arena. Kurlurk wanted almost too much to taste the human blood, a sweet taste that he rarely had chance to partake of in the city of Gualon. The foe would then fire another arrow, this one for the head as well and would do the same as it struck just to the right of the first arrow where it to would stick in place for a moment before the movement of the dwarf would dislodge it and allow gravity to suck it back to the earth. The Orc would feel nothing, its skeleton the hardest in all the lands, second to only Dragons and perhaps Giants. Another small amount of blood would flow freely to the right of the orcs eye, the thick pungent smell did nothing to the orc himself, and if anything it would work against the human. Kurlurk would see quickly the opponent’s blade, his adrenaline rushing throughout his veins quickly already as the battle lust of his race began to boil. The Orc blasted an assault of attacks at the human, the orc thought nothing of the enemy’s blade and so took the single strike at his side which seemed to wrap around and cut through the hide of the Orc. He cared not, a single blast of pain would erupt through his gullet but he could deal, the pain threshold that was so highly set for his race seemed to come in handy here as he completed his assault with another rough slash and thrust for his opponent.
Saren ditching his bow as he focused purely with his scimitar the male quickly rose to his feet while the orc struck careless several times, using his thinner more dexterous form he managed to dodge each swing of the large blade. His own had managed to bite into Kurlurk drawing even more of the putrid smelling blood into the open air, coughing as he started to lose focus Saren barely had enough time to bring his own blade up to defend against his opponent final attack. Kurlurk's superior strength proved the winner of this contest as the slash smashed into his scimitar with such force that his arms went numb from the impact, even going so far as to bite into the armor enough to leave another slice along his shoulder that would spill even more of his blood this evening. Leaning back as his opponent brought the blade back for a thrust that would end his life he steadied himself quickly on one foot and sent the other straight up aiming for the groin, using the distraction should it work he'd quickly leap back and crawl a few feet away trying to recover from such a vicious onslaught.
Kurlurk began to feel the pain, the cut of the scimitar taking its toll. The orc knew he needed to end this now and planned to do nothing to prohibit that. Not taking the time to utter his clever phrase for a foes death he would simply launch himself forward arms outstretched in a kind of tackle dropping his own blade to the earth just as the human raised a kick for his groin which would miss and possibly help to pin his opponent to the earth. If the opponent would raise a blade to stop him he would catch the sharp of the blade in one hand to better protect any vital areas, and then gripping it sharply he would rip it form his grip and toss it aside allowing any damage his hand may take. Should he pin him the blood of the Orc would fall dripping in a congealed mess upon the being. Pulling back his orcish fist he would attempt and pound at the mans head with several punches, and Pulling a single axe from his side he would ready it high above him and bring it down hard to his opponents head and neck area in an attempt to end this here and now. This was the strength of the Arena Brawler, the one whose nickname in battle was known to all of his kind as “Teethsmasha.”
Saren did indeed find himself being tackled by the much larger orc, it happened mostly the way his opponent predicticed it would. The blood dripping down around him served to disorient him further as his blade was ripped from his hands, shouting in pain as the first blow found his jaw causing him to begin coughing up blood from the force of the blow. Struggling through the pain he managed to regain enough awareness to notice the axe that his opponent was preparing to bring down upon him, sending his left arm up at the last possible second he caught the blade as he heard a sickening crack of bone. The human's emerald eyes went wide in horror as he knew his arm had just been broken, struggling widely he managed to get the axe away long enough for him to slip from beneath the orc as the blood he was covered in was serving to make quite the lubricant. Crawling to his blade he'd leave his left arm limp at his side while seeking the dagger he kept belted to the back of his waist with his right, drawing it in an inverted grip he knew the fight was over.