Duel:Leoxander v Mathollak, Match 12 of the 2021 Titans of Winter Tournament
Duelists: Leoxander vs Mathollak Duel: Traditional 3 rounds with final defense, 20 minute posting limit. Stakes: Standard, autohit delivered by winner with allowance for final reply. Judges: Mahri, Leone and Caltarok.
Hidden Mountaintop Colosseum
Branching out from the lovely scent of the night blossoms, a secondary exit to the mines is found. However, it is an exit, and just that. Cut off from the frozen slopes that everyone knew as Frostmaw, a grand- and recently built coliseum has been erected. Roughly a hundred meters in diameter, and several stories high, none from inside could mistake this grand colossus for the structure for what it really was. The entrance sloped up, and was one of twelve- each gated off from a tunnel that lead to an even deeper, more complex network of tunnels underground. Amidst the dead center in the ring of combat, an acutely-shaped slice of rock rose heavenwards. From the stair-shaped seats that rounded twenty foot walls, one could simply note that it was a massive sundial, the gates being the hand of time it represented at the current moment. At the twelve-o-clock gate, a small booth stood out above the seats, seven chairs of importance standing firm. Naturally, a light cover of snowfall masked the blood-spattered and weapon torn field of battle. In passing by, none would ever figured the steep rocks of the mountain to house such a feat of architecture.. Although the occasional cry of death, or clang of sword could suggest otherwise.
Mathollak is among a group of frost giants, playing a lively game of pichenotte. It's just wrapping up, and as he flicks his last disk, aiming to sink his last target, his opponent seems almost crestfallen. Mathollak rises to his feet as he wills the wooden disk to fall into the hole. "Yes! Yes! Yes...wait. No. NO!" He crumbles and falls to his knees...the disk stops short of the hole. He forks over a bag of jingly metal disks. Can't do double or nothing. It's time. "Alright man I gotta go. But don't spend that! Cause I'm comin' back for it." The guy yeah-yeahs him and lets him walk. Finally into the ring, Mathollak stands shiny red in spiky mithril armor head to toe, except for his magical belt, axe, and cloak; which are golden. Color-coordinated for his convenience. Presently, he leans on the butt of his weapon while the edged half of its head cracks the stone underneath. An imp crawls from that crack, hauling a hot beverage up the shaft of the axe, up Mathollak's arm, and finally tipping the edge to Mathollak's lips. "Oo that's sweet," says Mathollak, who likes a little more subtly in his hot chocolate.
Leoxander | Unlaced footwear crunched into the layer of iced-over snow as the pirate stepped into view and walked toward the center of the arena. Once again, on his own; this time looking as though he had overslept on that crucial hour, save the fresh shave he obliged himself to. No leather attire timeworn by the elements secured on his torso. No concealed daggers strapped to ribs or waist. That deadly and precise compound bow missing from his shoulders. Although his focus would be fixed strictly on his opponent before the duel began, there was time taken to gaze across the large auditorium and the crowd surrounding them, too far in the distance to see the tension in his jaw as his teeth clenched. It wasn't a fear of a fight that had his hands flexing and relaxing again, the left once more wrapped in a loose bandage. But it was too late to doubt his instincts, now. Progressing closer to the stone sundial (if it had been repaired and replaced), his attention anchored upon his competition, who may or may not be perplexed to see the rogue approach unarmed and unarmored - had he come to forfeit?
Mathollak drops the stone cup delivered to him by the imp and slides his helmet on, taking note of Leoxander's lack of weaponry, but not thinking for a minute he walked into the arena to forfeit. Hands and feet and tooth and nail were all perfectly valid weapons. "For who?" Mathollak asks the crowd casually. "FOR DELISHAAAA," he reminds them. They'll figure it out soon.
Leoxander looked a little amused at Mathollak’s hype and shout. “Let’s face it…” He shrugged out of a long-sleeved shirt unfastened at the front to only a simple, fitted white tee thin enough to allow ink to bleed through the fabric. Maybe someone should inform Leo that this was not -that- kind of show. “...You’re nothing without your ‘Dark Mother’.” That low spoken and solemn barb was all he would offer Delisha’s follower. No penny for a favor tossed in, this round. He pushed off his boots, instead. Collecting himself with a deep breath, spectators of the fight would be the audience to something only an unfortunate few had witnessed before. Blue light suddenly flared at the center of his chest, visible from afar, but only Mathollak was close enough to see his pupils dilate out and shatter, the color in his irises swallowed by a molten hue. Sickening pops and a heavy growl of anger and anguish made the transformation unpleasant for host and onlookers alike, but with the control and domination a peculiar rune allowed, coarse copper fur split through clothing down his spine and surged across the hybrid form that swelled in stature in a matter of moments. Hackles bristled between shoulder blades that heaved for breath, his heated exhales expelling thick vapors while coils of steam rose and dissipated from his lycanthrope form. A predator’s glare rose to target the blood knight, clearly ready. The rogue’s secret was out, and while he worshipped no god of hellfire or goddess of shadow, there was a brand on palm and a pendant on chain in a representation of both.
Leone said, "Welcome to the *mumbles* annual Titans of Winter Tournament! I'll be serving as your announcer this evening. We have Leoxander and Mathollak all suited up and ready in the arena. I need a "ready" from each contestant, at which time the clock will start for Mathollak's first post. The Powers That Be would like to remind the contestants of Frostmaw's ever-shifting winds and weather, and to mind their heads. Contestants, ARE YOU READY?"
Round One:
Mathollak imbibed his monstrous brew (hot chocolate) and while Leo transformed into a monster, Delisha's magic boiled in Mathollak's veins, steaming out of his pores to form a viscous looking, translucent aura of deep purple. It stretches out over his armor, coating his weapon, accentuating the spikes on his shoulders and helmet. But his arm, as is his will, bears the brunt of this magical corruption, as it warps into the claw of a monster, incorporating the mithril as his flesh burgeons wildly until the proportions are all mixed up. He's essentially dragging a chitinous raptor claw now, and clutching his axe in his other hand. Almost casually, he bends his knees and sinks the tips of his new talons into the stone floor, gouging three abyssal ravines under each hooked talon. He curls his arm sharply at the elbow, scooping up gravel, while the jagged valleys extend from their initial punctures, snaking their way around the angry pupster. There's a deep exhale of steam and a spray of blood from the fissures, before three lampreys, one from each crack, bursts from its home. They mean to triangulate him as each aims to entangle and suck their many rows of teeth to a leg, an arm, and his neck. In a three way tug of war match where everybody wins except Leoxander, Delisha's pets aim to each take their dinner to go-back to the bloody depths of whatever realm they emerged. Mathollak meanwhile, rushes over to the massive triangle of stone jutting out toward the sky, and smashes the hammerhead of The Piecemaker into the base. As prescribed, pieces crunch out of the base, and cracks run throught the entirety of it. In another moment, the entire thing begins teetering toward where Leo is hopefully restrained, while Mathollak begins to scurry away from the impact zone.
Leoxander flattened back his tufted ears and dug the clawed grip of digitigrade hind feet into a sudden charge. This body was a structure built for offense, and his intact awareness now worked with the wolf known as Dal’ken, as if the rogue were piloting some war-bred creation. That human intelligence recalled the tactics used by the blood knight in battles before, and they typically revolved around a few favored methods. Delisha’s borrowed power being the one most frequently observed, though the axe and weighted claw came as no surprise. The fact of the matter was that it would take precious moments to create those fissures for darkness to spawn and slither from, and the lycan had nothing if not his speed. He wasn’t immune to Mathollak’s clever pets, but by the time the axe impacted that once again defiled stone, a strengthened leap brought the beast forward, aiming to tackle him backward even as the broken construction toppled the other way. Whether his grip on the weapon faltered or not, jaws aimed to clamp down on mithril and armored forearm with a violent shake as if Leo’s intentions were to rip the monstrous disfigurement right off his limb, curved talons of werewolf claws searching to dig into skull and back and lock in, there. Rage blinded him to the hungry maws of Delisha’s tendrils latching onto him, feeding through a thick pelt and trying to puncture tough skin, fighting his empowered physical strength to drag him toward those void ravines. But if he managed to successfully catch hold of his prey, the weight of his form would seek to send her servant home to the dark mother, lurching, throwing him toward the split in the ground where fragments of sundial were toppling into.
Round Two:
Mathollak has never fought a werewolf before, and was unaccustomed to their speed. So when it came to meet him at the base of the giant sundial, even with Delisha's babies holding Leo back, Mathollak had time for but the one strike. His escape was cut off. Not desperate, but perhaps appearing so, Mathollak throws his axe in a clear miss that sails well beyond either of their reach, and instantly engages Leo with fist and claw. That's when Leo figures he'll use his ugly claw like a chew toy, and Mathollak sees an opportunity. He shoves the ugly claw further down Leo's throat, aiming to plunge one hooking talon into his guts and pull them out through his mouth. Bang! The axe head bounces off the wall of the colosseum and sails in another direction. To get leverage for his claw, Mathollak has to endure gouging scratches into the back of his armor. As they begin to peel at the layers of metal like an onion, he slides his free hand just to the side of Leo's slobbery tongue, and The Belt of Freedom glows with divine and arcane magic, giving him the strength to escape any bonds. He pulls his ugly claw out of Leo's mouth, soaked in blood and some kind of green ooze that leaked from a multitude of puncture wounds. Luckily Leo didn't pay much mind to the lampreys, for once they found purchase in his wolfy flesh, they rapidly gained in size and strength as they drained his. It allows Mathollak to free himself from Leo's grip with a shove seconds before the bulk of the sundial comes crashing down, and Mathollak superman dives out from under it, his golden cloak seeming to glow and provide just a touch of lift to the move.
Leoxander | As with any ‘chewtoy’, the hound had clamped down from the side of Mathollak’s appendage, and not attempted to swallow the dangerous weapon like a Kingsfisher. But that didn’t deny the clutch of a talon low on the werewolf’s throat, closer to his shoulder joint than a vulnerable vein, a spray of lycan blood painting the snow in the fray. Squelching metal and sharp snarls echo against the tall stone walls of the colosseum, while green and crimson and eroded fur capture a brutal abstract on white, and for a moment the lycanthrope writhes and snaps viciously at the shadowy tendrils that rapidly gain some dexterous maneuver, clever to the life force they hungrily drain. Triggered by frustration and rampage, the fuel finally boils over and ignites, erupting around his form in a brief but blinding glare of hellfire that doesn’t singe the wolf’s fur but scorches bits of stone and leaves a large radius around the beast melted of snow. His only means of banishing Delisha’s gluttonous shadows into retreat, if not annihilation. Not a beat of an erratic heart passes before the beast is back on his feet and once again loping on hind feet and hand paws toward Mathollak’s landing point from his evading dive, and Leo attempts to get hold of the armored body on the ground by an arm or leg, twisting to pile drive the bloodknight into what is left of the jut of stone, skull first. Like a mallet to an iron stake. To the very least, a swipe of a large foreclaw that would send him careening into it, should it make contact.
Round Three:
Mathollak is well out of the blast range of the hellish explosion, but the hungry babies weren't, and their flesh boils and melts into a rapidly congealing pile of blood. Then the bulk of the sundial falls on them, so they're very, very dead. Mathollak rolls over to find Leoxander about to pounce on him. Smack! The Piecemaker ricochets off a new piece of rubble and comes careening toward them. Leoxander grabs hold of Mathollak's leg and swings him around and into the rest of the shattered sundial, with Mathollak bracing himself with both arms behind his head to protect it from the earth shattering impact. But when Leoxander grabbed him, the sorriest creature in the entire arena crawls out from beneath Mathollak's cloak, now heavy and wet with his dirty blood. The imp who delivered Mathollak's beverage and should've prompty been squished, but now its crawling behind Leoxander! Unfortunately the servant's death is going to be more painful than ever, as Mathollak's corrupted blood is absorbed on Impy's skin and swallowed down Impy's throat. Even diluted, its nontheless a massive overdose for the small creature. Its flesh ripples and grows into brutal and warped muscle as its skin melts away, showing the stringy red and white of its skeletal muscle. Mathollak is recovering from becoming a mallet, pulling off his helmet and isolating the many doubles of Leoxander that he sees, into the one that's most likely to hurt him. He opens his mangled and uglier-than-usual claw, gathering blood in it. It coagulates into a lance as Strong Impy leaps into the air and catches The Piecemaker while it sails. Mathollak hurls the lance toward Leo's abdomen, Strong Impy heaves the Piecemaker down toward his head. "Aggressive doggies need be fixed!" It cries in its wretched and ear splitting voice.
Leoxander had no time or patience to avert his attention to insignificant, squished rodents. Some might call it seeing red, but it was more an inverted thermal attuned to the shadows and heartbeats that directed the lycanthrope’s vision and aim, now. The rogue was still in there, in control, and not oblivious of the pain and the weakness that was starting to cramp a usually inexhaustible form. Although some part of him is also conscious of the weapon manipulated around the arena throughout the bout, the beast lurched forward toward his fallen opponent just as that helmet clonked on the ground, exposing Mathollak’s cranium indefinitely. It would have been fairly simple to clutch hold and continue shattering the bone that protected the blood knight’s brain, particularly with his touch of vertigo, but the last of his energy was expelled into clutching the throat of the duelist and continuing his forward momentum toward the edge of the grounds, avoiding a executioner’s decapitation via the peacemaker but catching an achilles tear on left back leg that more or less removed enough of his hind heel to expose the splintered bone. At the speed he was moving, that wound wouldn’t trip him up in time, but the lance was entirely unavoidable, and the weapon would be seen splitting through the center of his furred upper torso under ribs with a howl of pain from the beast. Not a shred of a second later, his clawed grip attempted to crush open Mathollak’s head like a husked coconut against the stone barrier of the arena, the wolf’s weight collapsing into that force.
Final Defense:
Mathollak was lucky to hit Leoxander with his lance at all, since his depth perception had been way off. But it was more or less a direct hit! And now it was essentially the only thing between him and a squished head, so he grabbed onto the magical lance of mixed persons' blood, and held on for dear life. It was essentially a catch pole, the only thing between a dog catcher and a dog's jaws. Except instead of a stick and a loop, it was a stick and an impalement. Behind him, his feet were attempting to find solid ground that he might find some leverage as the monster's claws lie just out of reach. Its no use. Mathollak tries a different tactic. He bounces once in the air, then drops all his weight down on the end of the lance. The sudden shift in center of gravity as the butt of it sunk and wedged into the ground as Leoxander impales himself further and gets what he wanted the whole time. Mathollak is in his grasp. Desperately, Mathollak tears his cloak off and shoves it between the monster's jaws, while he fights to protect his precious face. Leoxander plunges his gripping claw toward Mathollak's head hoping to crush it, and Mattie's luckily able to jerk his head away while a thumb claw scrapes a bloody smile from the corner of his mouth to under his ear. Mathollak's able to trap this claw under his armpit while he props a knee between Leoxander's chest and his own. Coupled with the leverage from the bloodborn javelin, Mathollak's able to flip the beast over his head and scramble to his feet.
Winner: Leoxander
Auto Hit:
Leoxander felt the moments pass in a strange blur. He was only half conscious as the blunt end of the lance found the ground and toppled them, but unfortunately for the blood knight he might end up on the bottom of an aptly named dog pile. With the polearm almost entirely through his middle to the grips, Leo’s grip flexed instinctively on the chokehold he had, and a spray of mud, ice, blood, snow, gods knew what else finally ended the feud like the way an angry earth shake might submit to settle again. It might just be that the moments would creep along before either worthy duelist stirred, blood starting to spill from maw as his head lifted and he struggled to recall where he was, what had happened, his own vision as blurred as Mathollak’s had been. A sudden grip clutched into the chestplate of the blood knight’s armor in what might appear as a malicious finish, but as the lycanthrope, stabbed through, crawled backward away from the slush and the stone wall, he tried to drag his opponent into a more seated and less smothered position. Panting, bleeding, claws retracted into blunt, dirty fingernails, tattoos washing up his arm as russet fur shed away and retracted, to reveal a shirtless pirate in a tattered pair of leather pants overdue for replacement. He didn’t try to remove the spear lodged at his center, nor did he try to end Mathollak’s life. “C’mon, mate…” He coughed up a bit of blood which drizzled down chin and throat, panting for the air to add, “Yer a’right…”