Duel:Leoxander v Thamalys, Match 11 of the 2021 Titans of Winter Tournament

From HollowWiki
Duelists: Leoxander  vs Thamalys 
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.

Snowless Training Yard

One would never know this patch of land once held the bloody remains of innocents killed long ago, for all have been cleared away and given proper burials nearby so that this area could be reborn. And reborn is has been, transformed from a battered street to a wide yard fenced in by a low, black stone wall. The yard sprawls out on either side of the iron gate that serves as an entrance, and the expanse seems to be sectioned off into four large rectangled areas by strange white lines drawn upon the ground--deeply embedded strips of marble, if one were to examine these closely. The ground itself is a peculiarity too, a soft, golden sandy surface without a single speck of snow upon it, as if the weather refuses to go near it. In fact, even the numbing chill in the air seems to be buffered while within the yard's boundaries. You suspect the four orbs of pulsing fluorite--white in the north, black in the south, crimson in the east, and cobalt in the west--that decorate the corners of the fence have something to do with this, riddled as they are with elaborate etchings of runes, sigils, and other arcane markings. Here lies the training yard for those learning the art of outdoor combat in Frostmaw, a blank slate to be altered as teachers see fit in instructing their students through the rigors of environmental conditions, for it takes no more than an adjustment upon the fluorite spheres to produce any arrangement of climates within their given battlefield. Rain, sleet, arid desert, howling wind, or boggy swamp, the four fields are infinitely mutable in their existence, as is to be expected of an institute devoted to the art of combat around the world. To the west looms an immense building, even by Frost Giant standards, with behemoth double doors of a darkly colored pine bearing the stern facade of Aramoth, God of War, chiseled across their collective front. One can safely assume this is the training academy proper, where various dojos, studios, and classrooms can be found, and unimaginable lessons attended by eager students of the art of War.


Thamalys lazily assessed his balance by slowly positioning both his bare feet, the left in front, along the icy cold strip of marble running across the Yard. Most creatures would have been howling in pain at the simple touch of the frosty stone, but the Blue barely registered a faint, tickling sensation. In contrast to his personal taste, who often resulted in clothing choice hovering around the white region of the colour spectrum, he was mostly clad in a fairly blackish attire. Rather loose linen trousers of a dark blue hue and an equally loose shirt, this one black as a moonless night and fairly tattered as well. Below it, though, the comforting, chill touch of a mithril mail, which that day was accompanied by two vambraces made of pure black ice. Such Frostmawian pieces of armour were hidden below said black shirt, covering the forearms of the Spellblade from elbows to wrists – having had the pleasure to cross blades with the Lycan before, the Winged Beast had a feeling he might have needed a couple more of proverbial aces up his sleeves. Swinging at his side in a richly decorated sleeve, Stain, the cursed blade, whispering already tales of death into the Blue’s mind. As if there was any need for that, on top of the gleeful depravity of Korkhoran, the ancient black dragon constantly tempting Thamalys toward a path made of sorrow and rage. In his left hand, standing almost as tall as the Avian himself, the Gossamer Halberd, yet another miracle of a weapon, glimmering in a threatening light. As opposed to Stain, forged in blue steel and elerium, that halberd was made of – mithril – and elerium, an incredibly dangerous combination brought to life by the High Priestess herself. Impossible to discern any particular emotion on the Blue’s face, albeit the magical tattoos covering his entire body were twitching wildly. An outrageous, almost comical ponytail had been crafted, collecting each and every dreadlock on the Blue’s head into a knotty mass of ivory falling in between his shoulders, where two huge wings, each feather clad in enchanted silver, unfurled in a wall of metallic sheen. Nebb, faithful companion he was, could have been found perched on the low, black wall enclosing the yard, at a good distance from both Lycan and Avian, perhaps ready to spring, perhaps simply watching in blissful amusement – hard to read the thoughts of a red kite after all. As the Lycan would have entered the yard, the Winged Beast would have acknowledged his opponent with a curt bow – and a grin, as he thought he knew whether Leoxander would have returned such old-fashioned mannerism.


Leoxander arrived at the training grounds with no fanfare. No frightening beasts or guards to escort him. His drums of war came in the sound of hoofbeats, a distant rhythm of keratin on stone until foundation gave way to sand and muted the steps of large, fresian-like hooves cuffed in snow matted fur. The sight of the pirate on horseback was a rare one, but the aged equine who lived wild and defended the herd was an old acquaintance of Leo’s. Dismounting from an unsaddled back, he released Odysseus from the leather cords that secured his small arsenal, a twitch of muscle rippling beneath a blue roan winter coat and a proud toss of head throwing that icy, never-cut mane in display. As if the stallion were the contender, here to win the crowd over. His half gloved hand gave hindquarters a hard smack that caused the creature to plume a disgruntled snort through flared nostrils and both mount and rogue turned, one to head back out the gates, the other to face the center of the arena where his competition stood. Metal thunked into the grainy terrain with a clink as he tossed what was obviously a grappling hook aside, his gaze fixed upon the silver-winged Avian. Face mask not yet drawn over freshly shaven features, there was some tick of amusement at the corner of his mouth as he unslung and shrugged the reinforced obsidian compound bow into grip, a tally of ammunition in the quiver at his back. His head dropped in a slight nod in return, about as much respect as the pirate might ever show another, but it came with an expected jab of words meant for Thamalys alone. “Brought yer old friend…” Leo fought the smirk as he raised the ranged weapon in a significant gesture, but simultaneously dug into his back pocket for a tarnished copper coin that might be familiar to any spectators of his prior duel. “Here we go again.” The wolf simply put as he flipped that coin in his opponent’s direction. His face cover was drawn over the bridge of his nose, his hood drawn forward to brow, his leather attire all the same save a curious fit of dark lenses hiding blue eyes as he paced back a few steps and awaited the call to start.


Caltarok in human form stood with a small whistle to grab everyone's attention as his magic enhanced his voice to be heard easily, "Ladies and Gentleman, welcome! I, Caltarok, will be your emcee this day. This match is the 11th match of this season's Titans of Winter. The third match of the second round. Without further ado, let's meet our champions! We have the avian Thamalys proving his brutal streak in his match with Brennia facing off against Leo, the dastardly rogue. I would like to remind the contestants that this field is a magically generated one provided to us in this training yard by the Frostmaw Guard. The combatants have agreed to a 20 min round. With the extra stakes being a token in the shape of a copper coin that was tossed between as they entered into the battlefield. This token is a promise ‘tween warriors to meet again on the field or to assist the other as needed one time. A worthy price for such a battle. The honor of first strike belongs to Thamalys. Our judges: Mahri, Leone, and myself." Looking between the warriors, "We can begin when we hear acknowledgement allowed that you both are ready."


Round One:

Thamalys ’s grin widened, as the Lycan showed off his bow. Yes, the Blue remembered it well, but he somehow doubted the Pirate would have gone for a similar approach on that day – time would have told. The gesture involving the coin caught the Spellblade off his guard, though – was that a tradition of the tournament he somehow managed to overlook? Was Leoxander waiting for him to return the gesture? “I am afraid I have no – oh, wait!” went the Avian, hastily producing with his right hand a few coins from one of the many pockets sowed into his shirt. A loud trio of sneezes from one of the onlookers added some flavour to the already comical start of what was supposed to be a fairly deadly confrontation. A copper piece was soon to be found, and swiftly tossed into the ground in the general direction of the Lycan with an expression that did little to mask the Blue’s underlying confusion. And that, suddenly marked the end of the pleasantries. The solid blue eyes of the Blue shifted on the Pirate, as his tattooed face descended into a state of utter focus, the blue ink madly slithering in the form of creepy vines onto the pale skin of the Winged Beast. “Well then” simply noted the Spellblade, wedging with his left hand the Gossamer Halberd into the soft ground, just aside the white marble stripe he was standing on, while murmuring a few words in a language forgotten by most and fetching Stain with his right hand. “Let us dance, shall we?” asked to no one in particular the Blue in an undertone, his dark attire waving in the icy wind. As the bottom of the halberd shaft, razor-sharp, carved its way into the frosty ground, a mighty blast would have followed, as the magic of the Tzur came to life once more. While the halberd would have stood as proud as a flag on a battlefield, huge gushes of blue fire would have erupted from the metal. As the flames would have run toward the Lycan, the Blue clenched his left fist, bellowing some awfully coarse instructions to the result of his own pyromancy. Instead of rushing straight to Leoxander, the Blue would have split the flames into two massive arcs, flanking the yard to converge on the Lycan from both sides, with the intent of preventing any attempt from his opponent to increase the distance between the two duellists. As if that display was not enough, the Winged Beast thought it worth adding some confusing – if not downright disturbing – elements into said fire magic, by shaping the two masses of roaring flames into two massive wolves. Carefully assessing the Lycan’s reaction while steering the flames so as to adapt to any attempt of his to escape the burning embrace of the fire magic, the Blue weighted Stain into his hand, crouching a tad bit and unfurling his silvery wings that much he needed to bring the rims to obscure a good fraction of his silhouette, thus counteracting any potential ranged threat originating from Leoxander, an especially swift as much as dark bow being a very plausible candidate. Meanwhile, Nebb took to the sky, surveying the grounds below with keen eyes – waiting. It would have not taken that long for the two flaming wolves to clash into the Lycan…


Leoxander shifted into gear at once. Of course, he remembered the pyromatics his old sparring partner possessed, but he seemed to have had some remodeling done as well, the metallic sheen of silver plume the most obvious in a glance - which the rogue assumed might be as resilient as they appeared. An obstacle he’d have to find a way around or through, once he managed to avoid the heat. Sharp eyes danced left to right as the flame split and took form, a muttered, “Cute…” under his breath for the chosen shapes as they poisoned to bite. It was precisely that moment that the avian spread wings from his back that Leo nocked an arrow impressively quick, the pounds of tension pulled into double bow strings requiring a lycan’s strength to draw into an arc. Less than a second of time between release and hit, only… it wasn’t Thamalys the barbed arrowhead sank into. A triggered timer set as the fletching spliced across grip, the missile planted into the sand several feet in front of his opponent. The sniper had missed? Not quite. And while those wings might have come forward to shield, it would be counted ticks later that a glaring light burst across the training grounds, perhaps even causing the surrounding crowd to flinch or shield their eyes. The spellblades flames whipped across his back painfully as he bolted into a rush forward, relying on the chance that the blinding grenade had dazed the other. Wolves snapping at his heels, the snick of a blade from holster brought one of the twins into his hold, and although that halberd was a swift weapon with it’s enchantments, the combination of his distraction and speed allowed him to close the gap in moments. One hand free to defend with grip or the armor concealed within his sleeve, the assassin attempted to sidestep into a roll under wing or swing, a backward strike of blade aiming to hamstring the man that would serve a double purpose as a shield against the blue fire pouring in like a massive wave.


Round Two:

Thamalys was waiting for an arrow – aimed at his very self, though, as opposed as to the ground in front of him. Fearing some sort of trap – pirates are such even as Lycans after all – the Blue stepped forward as opposed to seek to increase his distance from the arrow’s point of impact into the ground. Centuries spent to hone his graceful movements into a perfectly timed carousel, the Spellblade turned by 180 degrees while stepping forward, knees bent so as to offering as little a target as possible, while simultaneously unfurling the full extent of his silvery wings. As Leoxander’s trap sprung, the metallic curtain of the Winged Beast would have found itself facing the blast, thus managed to divert the vast majority of the blinding light. However, that rather creative parry was far from being perfect. The Avian might have escaped the trap, but in doing so he would have had to renounce, even if for a split second, to the visual on the incoming Lycan, whose blade came low enough to threaten the calves of the Blue. While it was impossible for any blade to cut through Artia’s magic, the strength of the blow would have resulted in the Lycan’s sword to slip across the rim of Thamlays’ right wing, only to insinuate between that silvery shield to find the Avian’s ankle. A diverted blow such as that would have probably failed to do serious damage to any essential tendon or muscle, let alone bone, and yet the Lycan’s acrobatics signified first blood. All he got in response was a low growl, as a few droplets of red blood hissed onto the frosty ground. Then, simply allowing his own momentum, carried over from the swirling motion by which he turned to counteract Leoxander’s attack, Thamalys would have answered with a quicksilver, downward blow of Stain, brought down with a mighty fury to find the potentially exposed shoulders, or even neck, of the still-rolling Lycan.


Leoxander was countered from his intentions rather well. Although he had some footing beneath him by the time that executioner’s weapon came crashing down, he failed to find the balance to dodge it entirely. The arm that possessed that armored sleeve was his only defense, and not a very good one. Lycanthrope strength would keep the massive blade from slicing right down into skull or amputating an entire arm, but as the gossamer metal hit into his shield, it would repel just enough of that force that the blade drove into shoulder bone, generating a low, painful sound that was half a scream, half a roar, from the rogue-wolf. Blade still in a hand that had not been handicapped by a serious wound, he hoped to trade off wounds by thrusting the steel beneath ribs, aimed for a lung rather than the killstrike of a cardiac attack. Strike true or not, that’s when the poison would begin to crawl up the avian’s leg to slowly stiffen and cramp muscles along the way as it worked it’s course. And should that self same blade impale the man’s torso, what was left of that coating (not as potent as first strike), a similar situation would complicate his respiratory system, stifling breath much needed in a quarrel such as this. It was all a matter of seconds in that a desperate combo ended in a coil and jerk of his better arm, meant to aim the impact of his elbow against Thamalys’ jaw while also, literally, twisting the knife. His bow had been dropped from the trauma that had barely missed a serious vein in his throat, and with that grip he kept Stain from sinking deeper into its lycan feast, attempting to follow up one strike to the face with a second, brutal headbutt that proved the pirate dangerous in close combat.


Round Three:

Thamalys felt the poison working his way up from his ankle. “I thought you to be a wolf, not a snake!” yelled the Blue, for the first time in a long while opening up to the words of Korkhoran and thus to an unprecedented rage. The Spellblade registered the attempt of the Pirate to thrust his blade into his torso and… simply let him. The metal pierce the already battered black shirt but he would have stopped against the mithril below, potentially resulting in a serious bruise, but, hopefully, no additional Avian blood. Meanwhile, as the savage exchange took place, the ever-pursuing roaring flames would have caught up with the Lycan. The two masses of wolf-like fire would have clashed into Leoxander, caring little about the Blue himself – his own magic as well as extreme heat or cold, he could tolerate without even flinching. Leveraging the distraction that most likely the fire would have caused, the Spellblade would have engaged his left vambrace to squarely block Leoxander’s uppercut against the black ice. At the same time, knowing that Stain had found its mark into the Lycan’s flesh, the Avian hollered a single word of power, following which the entire length of the sword would have been drenched in blue fire. The searing heat would have carved through the open wound with untold pain, ulcerating the Pirate flesh into black shreds of dead meat. Ironically enough, that magic was not dissimilar to the mending approach the Blue so often adopted as a healer – but not on that day. Back then, that fire was meant to deliver unadulterated pain only. The Avian had everything under control – or so he thought – faithful to his Piratesque credo, the Lycan managed to squarely butthead Thamalys, who was not expecting that at all. A loud thud followed, and the Winged beast called upon his wings to both keep his balance and swoop up into the air with a single, fluid motion, so as to put some distance, both horizontally and vertically, between the opponents. Hovering a few feet above the ground, his nose bleeding profusely, the Avian would have managed to keep hold of Stain, while watching his opponent dealing with the burning inferno all around him. He spat, saliva and blood staining the snow. He could barely feel his left leg below the knee…


Leoxander snarled violently as he grappled with the avian, and the searing intensity was a sensation that would follow him in his nightmares. Thamalys broke away, not quite cleanly with the blood that smattered his face, but he had escaped another wound, countered another blow, and in the sandy arena the pirate was swallowed in a large brazier of blue flame. It seemed that the resounding growl of the stubborn rogue was silenced by the spellblades fiery display and a victor had soared away, abandoning Leoxander to defeat. That’s when the dancing element started to change. Licks of red fighting, building, to overtake the blue in a sudden, furious opposition. Violet splitting as the two blinding hues began to merge, wrestling for domination, any sign of it’s victim concealed by it’s intensity. And then it was overtaken. Orange became a bloody red, almost black, with a bizarre outline worthy of tales told of nine hells. Leo’s enraged scream could not be muted, and as the agonized and infuriated sound echoed across the grounds, a sudden blast went toward the sky, toward Thalmays, like an exploding weapon of warfare. His competition, as witnessed now and in the past, had a tolerance of elements. Hellfire was nothing so natural or life giving, and Leo had purposefully concealed it for years for a reason. The arena would be illuminated in a shock of light and heat and when it dissipated, the rogue would be on his knees in the sand, badly burned with tatters of leather attire not entirely chewed through, exhausted but breathing. The seal on his left hand, typically bandaged or covered, pulsing like the dying embers of a discarded fire.


Round Final Defense:

Thamalys witnessed with mounting confusion the melding of fire with fire. “What in the name of the Wind…” sputtered in between cracked lips while making sure to put some more distance between him and the Lycan, presently intent into some sort of alchemy the Blue never saw before. “Nebb, no!” shouted loudly enough the Blue as the red kite, as per instructions, abandoned the wall to engage with Leoxander after the fire magic would have vanished. Only, it did not quite vanished. “Stay away fro-“ insisted the Spellblade, his leg pulsating with a sore pain he did not feel since the Wooden Puppetter cursed him. Then, hell let lose, in the form of a fiery blast that bashed the entire arena. The sand of the Yard would have flown into the air, as the multicolorued jet of flames burst toward Thamalys. But his wings were strong, and untouched by any harm. A single swoop would have managed to bring the Avian even further away from the Lycan and his lethal concoction of hellish flames. Almost. Some of the hellfire would have still found the very same leg the Lycan inflicted a wound before, notwithstanding the flying prowess of the Winged Beast, very little would have managed to escape entirely unscathed that brutal display of sheer rage. Fire, he could still manage, hellish or not. Drawing on what remained of his strength, the Blue put the flames off, but he was to find that his flesh was badly burnt. “Impossible…” whispered, as he plunged from the sky, Stain leading the way as a ray of silvery sun, onto the Lycan for the last time. Nebb, shrieking madly in fear and pain, ambled poorly on the ground, mightily disoriented. He would have welcomed the pain he should have felt in his left leg, but at that point he could not feel it at all. Eyes burning, he furled his wings to call for all the speed he could muster, readying himself for the impact against the spent Lycan.


Winner: Leoxander


Autohit:

Leoxander should have just collapsed, at that point. The way he breathed, so shallow, his body riddled in burns, his shoulder and it’s adjoined arm more or less useless. And unbelievably, the rogue put his good hand into the sand to aid the process of climbing up to his feet, hair singed shorter and even more reckless than when he’d arrived. As Thamalys landed, Leo grabbed the blade he’d have left from a holster against his ribs that had somehow survived. Purposeful but weary steps closed the distance between them and while it might seem that the wolf might leap and bite at any second, he stopped, reached down, and dug out a piece of rusty, tarnished copper amidst a few new, curious shards of dull, chunks of glass that some of the blackened sand had formed into. He stood, looking a bit drunk for the way he had to step to maintain his balance, and held the penny between thumb and forefinger to state lowly to the Avian. “You owe me one…” This said, a bit disoriented, he just kept walking, retrieving his bow on his way passed the spellblade, perhaps putting himself susceptible to an angry, unsportsmanlike swing. But knowing the past he had with this formidable competitor, Leo really didn’t see that happening. Curious how the 'dastardly rogue' never seemed to want to finalize his fellow duelists into defeat.