Duel:Leoxander v Nortengaal, Match 7 of the 2023 Titans of Winter Tournament
Duelists: Leoxander vs Nortengaal Duel: Traditional 3 rounds with final defense, 20 minute posting limit. Stakes: Standard, autohit delivered by winner with allowance for final reply. Judges: Mahri, Quintessa, and Valrae.
West Arena
Large crowds can be hosted here, with ample room in the rise of stone seats. The arena has been restored to pristine condition with beautiful carved white marble archways and pillars. The center is filled with hard-packed earth and lined with fully stocked weapon racks.
Leoxander heard his name called from the lists and he had to suppress a sigh. Not that he’d turn down a good fight, but for charity… he put that in the back of his mind as he entered the arena. Well, this was new, deceivingly beautiful that was surely a mask to some extreme hazard. Taking himself from the corner of the area with jacket ditched, revealing the blades holstered to his ribs. “How you wan’ do this mate? Blades ‘r fists?”
Nortengaal ambles into the arena humming a jaunty tune to himself as he walks, his beloved yo-yo’s seeing action as he goes through the routines he’s been working on lately, manipulating the strings almost cat’s cradle style to make interesting shapes and designs as the “toys” move through the air in intricate, complicated patterns. At his side is his trusty hellhound Escher, who dances around the bearman playfully, nipping at the yo-yo’s as they go by him without any real intention to catch them. All in all, one might not know he was about to engage in battle on one of the largest stages around for all the care he seems to show. In truth, he’s a little anxious about the whole thing, but is keeping himself calm with the yo-yoing and humming. Arriving at his place in the arena, he stops his humming and ends the yo-yoing with a flourish before storing them in a pouch at his waist. He gives Escher some affectionate pats and scratches, then whistles a short, specific tone. A moment passes, then the hellhound steps into Nort’s shadow and sinks away, leaving him alone. Dressed in his usual blue dress vest with nothing underneath, plain old boring pants and well worn - but still sturdy - boots, he looks more ready for a stroll in the fields than a bloody battle, but he’s more prepared than he looks, and he raises a hand to wave at the gathered crowd of familiar and unfamiliar faces before turning his attention towards his friend and current opponent. “Heya Leo. Hm… I’m thinking fists. Whadaya say we give these lovely people a show eh?” He may have had a drink or few to calm his nerves before the fight, and while he carries himself just fine, it shows a bit in his speech. Will it affect his fighting? He’s about to find out.
Valrael || As the mayor lifts her hand, mages surround the arena. Before long, magic fills the arena and the hard packed earth changes. Beneath the contestant’s feet,
frost-fire roses burst and grow wildly. Given the name for the unusually deep violet and azure streaked petals, these roses were lovely but hazardous.The first that one might notice are how much larger and densely packed they were here, unlike how they might be found in the wilds of Frostmaw, and how wickedly dangerous the razor sharp thorns were. They continued to grow until the arena was filled with twisted, towering, thorn covered pillars of rose stems. The second might be the thick plume of near miasmic pollen that rose up like a cloud of frosty snow. It would limit visibility, as well as cause difficulties breathing if inhaled too often. Beneath it all, the floor was now covered in a thick layer of black ice that would make movement without sliding into those thorns a horrible gamble. “Contestants,” Valrae begins. “While these flowers look lovely, this is no bed of roses.” She almost smiled at her own joke. “Mind the pollen and watch your step.” The witch warns before dropping her hand. “Begin.”
Round One
Leoxander managed to suppress most of the grin as Nortengaal made that decision, and loosening his shoulders, he unclipped the blades to toss then aside with his jacket. The hound got a glance - a significant one that might silently warn the animal of his alpha status, though bonds of loyalty typically outweighed instinct. The rogue abruptly kicked into gear, albeit carefully in case that floor needed to acquaint itself with his treaded boots. Unless Nortengaal doubled back to avoid his friend and opponent, the werebear and werewolf we bound to cause some ricochet of energy around the arena as they clashed. Not entirely ignoring the dog but focused, the wolf circled the therianthrope like prey and reeled back in a fairly obvious left jab, anticipating him jerking a dodge in the opposite direction where Leo attempted to jar his senses with a brutal change-up.
Nortengaal takes a moment during the environmental unveiling to sneak a quick swig from the flask he keeps on his waist. Nodding in appreciation of the flower’s deadly beauty he replaces the flask, slipping out of his boots as he does so. A brief look of concentration flashes over his features as his feet grow slightly and change shape to become more paw-like, growing little hairs on the pads to give him a little edge over his worn boots on the icy terrain. That done, he immediately starts forwards to meet Leo in battle, raising his hands in an easy, open handed stance. As his friend circles, he moves with him, careful in his steps on the black ice. The wolf throws a left jab, and Nort, surprisingly, steps into the blow, blocking with with his right arm partway through the blow, softening it and dodging the follow up entirely. In the same motion, he steps forward with a straight arm thrust punch aimed towards Leo’s solar plexus, hoping to knock some of the air out of him while pushing him towards the deadly floral arrangements surrounding the two combatants. “C’mon Leo, I know you’ve got more than that for me.”
Round Two
Leoxander seemed to have sure enough footing, for now, with agility and dexterity in a constant contest against strength his wolf blood leant to his humanoid form. And the rogue had no desire to loose his equilibrium - who knew for sure what a slice from what of those flower pedals might do. The pirate decided Nortengaal needed to be the guinea pig to research that department to get an idea of what they were dealing with. That strike to the core of his torso was enough to tear the oxygen out of his lungs for a moment, but he refused to let Nort have much distance between them as he rebounded back on his hands rather than fall and launched the soles of both boots aimed for the man’s gut. If not, it was just a convenient and showy way of getting back upright for the next clash. At first, he was testing the waters with the man he’d sparred with before to make certain he wasn’t going to hold back. The much confirmed, the second wave rolled in more aggressively and he murmured, “Yer right, mate.” Nortengal much expect another trivial swing, but instead the rogue broke forward like a linebacker and attempted to sac the bear with a ball on a string to his back. Except Leo attempted to afford his friend the curtesy of one of those large, swords-for-petal flowers to ‘cradle’ the tackle, should he manage to catch onto the slightly larger male. The wrapping around his hands wasn’t likely to do much to protect those razor stalks, but if he couldn’t have a weapon of iron, he’d improvise in his attempt to keep Nortengaal down, and sought to stab or slice the man’s back of knee or hamstring in the struggle, but who knew how reliable that plant was or what it might do, disturbed.
Nortengaal‘s sense of satisfaction from landing his punch was short lived, as the pirate springboards back up into a hefty body blow of his own. Nort takes the full brunt of the kick to the gut, doubling as over as the air is driven from his lungs this time. A great, heaving breath is taken - only for the bearman to discover the effects of the pollen laden air being much less breathable than is comfortable. A conundrum then, take another deep breath to try and catch himself, or take smaller ones and leave himself open longer. The thoughts flash through his mind quickly, and his body takes over and begins rapid, almost hyperventilating breaths. This perks him up enough to get his bearings, and he raises his head in time to see Leo barreling down on him. Considering his options, he smirks and crouches, lowering his center of gravity just in time to meet his opponent head on. Leo crashes into the bearman hard, driving him back towards the flowers with their dagger thorns ready to pierce the man wherever they can. Clawed feet dig into the icy ground trying to find purchase to keep from being pushed entirely into the bushes, and he’s mostly successful, still taking a rather large stab to his right buttock. “Arg! My frackin arse!” he curses, even as he raises his arms high above his head and brings his fists down hard, hoping to strike the pirate in the back and dislodge him from his grasp. Whether it works the first time or not, he’ll continue to rain blows down until he is released one way or the other.
Round Three
Leoxander had to focus on the now of the moment and disregard his brain pointing out the voices of their two missing crewmates. He had a spar to focus on, thanks to the seemingly demure deviant he was due to wed. Regarding that duel, leave it to a wolf and a bear to turn into rams, albeit briefly. White shot across his eyes from the blunt force but Leo was nothing if not hard headed, and answered kindly return the favor, what aim he could muster targeting the bridge of the bearman’s nose. He had some blur in his vision, but because of the mask, managed to pant for much needed air without choking on it. He was still going down that checklist for his challenger’s senses; get those crimson eyes blurry and blind. So he got a ham hock rather than a hamstring to shake his balance; hard to be too precise in their tussle. And if successful: a faceful of red that couldn’t be deciphered whose blood was whose. But whether or not his headbutt was as effective as the bear’s relentless ‘bro-bump’, the hulk-smash against his middle back summoned a groaned growl of pain, connecting with his spike, but it also put Nort’s hands out of the way to go for a choke hold, heated breaths riding the air, blood splattering the ice, and thorns of frozen flowers probably coating both men like wild burrs in their lycanthrope forms. A twist of his body to brace a knee and although he was risking more scratches and tears and bruises in the fight, his arms imitated the grab of a pit bull’s jaws, half praying that he’d maintain that hold until he slumped over. Leo was aware of the companion’s presence, kept on alert in case it came to help its’ master. One beast at a time was of course the preferred outcome.
Nortengaal lets out another growling retort in response to the now familiar pain of a freshly broken nose as Leo’s headbutt smashes into his face. “What is it with you and the nose?!” A downside of healing - fixed things can be unfixed just as readily. Blows are exchanged between the two men, the smell of fresh blood almost as thick as the miasma - at least to the bearman. Breathing through his mouth now he gets a fresh coating of pollen in his mouth and throat and coughs uncontrollably, his body trying to clear the way for more air. Unfortunately, this plan is further derailed by the chokehold Nort finds himself in as the two tussle dangerously close to the edge of the thicker parts of the rose bush, protruding thorns tearing into whatever flesh they can reach. Struggling to breath doubly now, some of the fight is starting to leave his limbs even as he throws elbows behind him to try and dislodge the pirate. In a final act of desperation, Nort leans back slightly to adjust his weight, then with a burst of raw strength throws his body into a forward roll, either bodily dislodging himself from the choking lock, or hopefully taking Leo with him and ending up slamming the man into the ground and breaking the lock that way as he rolls.
Final Defense:
Leoxander managed to answer his associate through labored breath with a spill of blood from the corner of his right eye and dabbing a sanguine smear under the mask, adding some highlight to his half-grown beard. He managed to get his eight seconds clutching the bear like a pissed off bull seeing red. But that burst of strength from the therianthrope successfully caused his ink-backed grip to slip enough on a white knuckled hold, when in leather handwraps, and if the ground was as frozen as it appeared he might slide conveniently into a patch of ire vines and come out looking as though he had a bad day walking through a briar patch in an ice storm. Staying close to his opponent wasn’t a tactic the rogue fell back on often, but if the wold was going swimming in the frostfyre nettles, Leo wasn’t the only about to lose some scruff and skin. Nortengaal’s heftier weight landed on him while he went over a seemingly innocent little recital that could be final for more than a nursery rhyme. Head, shoulder, knees, toes. The spine sticking in such a demeaning spot, but the attack tendon covered knees. For a moment, it looked like Leo was going the one that was going to try to bearhug the wrong bear, but a sudden reach across his chest clutched the man’s right wrist hard, not to pull it away but to anchor it there. If successful, the arm still behind him snapped back like a taut band broke and fired the bend of his arm just above the marred scorpion tattoo, the impact hopefully enough to dislocate or snap the middle bone of that limb without mercy. He always had the other to freshen up his yo-yo skills on.
Winner: Nortengaal
Auto Hit:
Nortengaal extricates himself from Leo’s grasp in time to save his arm from being broken, though it still hurts like hell to do so. Hearing his name announced as victor has him raising his eyebrows in a bit of surprise, in the heat of things he kinda forgot the whole tournament aspect of the fight. A wide, bloody grin spreads across his face and he turns to clasp Leo’s arm with the better of his two arms currently. “Well fought man, that was a helluva time.” His grin turns devious and he suddenly yanks the pirate forward into a headbutt, breaking the other man’s nose to match his own. “There, now we’re even. Now lets go get patched up and get to the drinking.”
Leoxander | A grin was a rare thing on the rogue, but even the mask couldn’t hide it from his eyes as he looped his sore arm around his friend to accept a little help but. Definitely a rib or something broken back there, but the adrenaline was still rushing strong. And Nortengaal needed no physic power to know what medicine Leo needed. “Even… my ass. Then again, ‘least I can sit’n mine.” A little blood wiped away, splattering the floor and ruining the pristine shape of crumbled or broken leaves and the two turned to leave the scene of the crime at the middle of the arena floor, Leo seen patting shoulder or sore chest, backtracking over the quick match in\ a low conversation void of anger or accusation.
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