Duel:Leoxander v Vexar, Match 8 of the 2021 Titans of Winter Tournament
Duelists: Leoxander vs Vexar Duel: Traditional 3 rounds with final defense, 20 minute posting limit. Stakes: Standard, autohit delivered by winner with allowance for final reply. Judges: Mahri, Kasyr and Josleen.
Walled Courtyard
Passing through the impressive North Gate or standing upon the threshold of Frostmaw Fort, the courtyard sprawls out before you, securely fenced in by the mighty wall. High above upon the wall, soldiers march and sentries stand guard, ever watchful of Frostmaw city's borders and those that move throughout the fort. With the knowledge that sharped eyed archers oversee activity, one can move through the courtyard upon a stone-paved pathway, each piece handcarved with intricate, tribal designs beloved of Frostmawians. Bordering the path are grounds that should be nothing more than packed earth and snow, yet it appears to be a lawn of finely trimmed grass, of all things. How is such a thing growing in these harsh climes? Whatever the sorcery behind it, grass dominates this courtyard, a rare splash of color so far North, and dotted with statues of various famous warriors of lore. Lining the pathway are lengthy, tiered constructs of stone and ice: benches, you realize, cunningly wrought to provide seating for races of any height. Southward lies the gates to depart this area, well-guarded to prevent the ill-intentioned from fleeing. While northward looms Frostmaw Fort, a behemoth construct of stone, wood, and ice, riddled with battlements, towers, and a myriad of deadly defenses. As if the walls, mounted, giant crossbows, and guards were not daunting enough, to the east and west lie the courtyards of the Titan Sentinels, their earthen and frozen heads visible over the walls. The City of War seems to have earned its title.
Vexar exhales deeply. A gentle plume of frigid frost escapes his lips and rises, briefly clouding his dark features before evaporating into nothing. His figure yet hides behind the daunting walls of the courtyard, but the crowd bubbles with anticipation of his reveal and he revels in the moment nonetheless. Dusk has already given way to night, and the only glow cast over the arena spawns from the light emanating from flames summoned by four mage guild apprenti, the likes of whichis reflected onto the battlegrounds by giant, polished sheets of steel. Suddenly, the palace guards get the signal to open the gates from the emcee. The blinding mirrors are redirected, focusing all of their light on the competitor that now emerges from the tunnel. Trumpets blast his arrival and a flock of golden geese explodes forth, their paths to freedom impeded only by the rain of confetti they accompany. Shortly, the light from the magi is entirely unnecessary, as the recently set sun rebels against the night and rises to fight again, drowning the arena in its warm summer glow. All eyes fall to Vexar as he emerges, clad in gallant attire. His feet are protected by heavy golden boots; his legs, wrapped in tight black leather. His shirt is pristine white, decked with a waving collar, and only just visible beneath a gaudy coat of golden sequin falling in length to his thigh, which reflects the magical spotlight obnoxiously. The crowd does not know why, but nearly the entire arena explodes with adoration as the vampire is revealed. Perhaps they love the bad boy. Perhaps, despite their obsession for the Blue Demon, they yearn for a good upset which Vexar so nearly delivered not months prior. Or, and entirely more likely, perhaps they are simply drunk and enraptured by the illusionist’s mundane ability to turn night to day. Nonetheless, the fighter takes a smiling lap around the courtyard as his warmup, waving his appreciation to the throng of Frostmawians.
Leoxander buckled up the second belt looped to worn leather pants as he turned to pace across the north bridge toward the stadium walls of the courtyard. Damn whiskey went right through ‘im. A half-arsed touch of salute from the fingerless-gloved hand holding that flask was meant for the large wardens that didn’t afford him even a look. He took one last pull from it before it was stashed to an inside pocket of his jacket, the fabric of a black face cover drawn over features that had suffered a recent, traditional shave. It’d be back by five bells. Hearing whatever shout or signal invited him to an assault in the arena, he cut across the pathway and grass in a more direct route to the heart of that sector, oblivious to the trail of bootprints stamped into the strangely lush lawn. While all eyes fell, Leo’s raised with a squint in one, his expression concealed as he observed those glorious golden geese in flight. It was only after he got a good look at the elder vampire that he raked a hand through copper-blond to drag it mostly out of his eyes before the hood of his jacket was caught and pulled over his head to the line of his brow, a steeled gaze fixated upon his opponent as he took a premature victory lap, waiting, patiently, in Leoxander’s standards. Taking in Vexar’s form with a head-to-toe, waist-to-shoulder scan, he reached for his back pocket to remove a tarnished copper coin, worn beyond any point of legibility in the design. No telling who might hear it clink against the stone as it bounced and spun to land on one of those carved runes between them. “For a favor.” He stated those three words through the dark mask, whether it had been previously discussed between the two accursed men prior to that moment, or not. A slight tilt of his head aimed a sidelong look toward the spectators, or perhaps a specific spectator, before cold blue eyes returned to his competitor. Who ever said Leo wasn’t a gentleman? The rogue was waiting for him to make the first move after he was finished with his display. “You done?” A rhetorical question, though he had no weapon in hand, just yet.
Mahri waited until the remnants of the last battle are cleared from the field before once again clearing her throat to get attention. Gods, she hated this. Josleen was going to owe her big time, later. "For the second half of tonight's double feature, we have Vexar against Leoxander!" Ooc: Stakes are undisclosed, Vexar is first up, time limit is 15-20min posts
Round One:
Vexar completes his lap around the arena and comes to a halt very near where he first exposed his grand prologue. The frost on the pristine grass beneath his booted feet cracks. The very air around his figure smolders in protest against the gelid atmosphere. In fact, the beating rays of the reborn sun seem to entirely fail at offering any warmth to the mountainous air. The enthralled crowd slowly loses its vigor as the cold sets back in. The blistering sun sinks back into its grave as the vampire strides deeper into the courtyard battlefield. In kind, the glittering robes and boots melt off his frame into nothing, revealing bare chest and feet, littered with scars. Upon the man’s cursed shoulders rests his dark cloth mantle, and the leather trousers are still snug around his legs. As a drowning darkness again sets over the arena, thus does a realization within the just previously envigored Frostmawian Horde: this is the Harbinger of Death. Fleeting light from the Magi’s mirror glares off the coin that Leoxander flips to the ground, and Vexar nods in respectful agreement to the terms it implies as it rings to rest upon the cobblestone. His analysis of the pirate is brief. He recognizes the man, yet cannot pin the memory. There was memory of a similar figure at the Yule parade, for sure...but something more lurked within. No matter, the ivory wand on which the necromancer deeply relies is produced forthwith and nary more a thought to their history is offered before he begins his mantra. In a wisp, the wand transforms to a dagger, or so it seems; false steel to represent threat. And the threat is carried out, as Vexar sprints towards his opponent, flashing the dagger high to represent a mundane attack almost too straight forward to work. Indeed, the real threat is the gorish slave corpse that lurks in the dark, the Harbinger’s obedient shadow, responding to the call of the bone wand. It lurches from the gloom of the shade, attempting to grapple the pirate-wolf into submission under the guise of Vexar’s faux melee strike; in reality, the vampire had no intention of physically engaging Leo at all, other than to perhaps attempt a fleeting eye poke with the tip of his wand, should the opportunity arise, as he careened by.
Leoxander took in a deep, purposeful breath with an internal shiver that woke his senses. War was a religion to some men, no matter how simple or dire the stakes. When it began, he absorbed himself into the duel. And as sure as coins clinked, bones rattled. Not a sound lost on a lycanthrope’s hearing. He knew there was something hiding, and he recognized that aggressive attack as a misdirection. Leo even pinpointed on the way he held that materialized blade. Nothing like the backward grip his calloused fingers took on leather bound hilts of dark-steel twins, drawing them into the foray. It was a risk, the wait of mere, split seconds, but Leo held his ground until he could feel the chill of death on the back of his neck and the vampire completed his impulse rush. Oddly enough, it was two slices of blade that sought to cut at either bicep of the unbeknownst wand wielder, hardly a wound worth mentioning. And although he might be caught by a handful of jacket by the grip of a corpse that did temporarily bind him in that spot, any -successful- slice would park Vexar in a similar predicament, as the non-fatal but paralyzing poison worked into the vampire’s bloodstream to stiffen limbs or at the very least - double his efforts to move. Attempting to free himself, he forfeit one of those eleven inch long blades in a backward, upward strike aimed under the ghoul’s chin to center skull, while using that thief trained dexterity to try to break free. One weapon left in hand. At least of what could be seen.
Round Two:
Vexar rolls to his left at his opponent’s first movement, having anticipated that the corpse would knock Leo into his path before the lycanthrope had a chance to act. What was not anticipated was the preemptive strike even with regard to the potential blind side captor. The twin blades do not meet flesh in the upper body as intended, but the unreactive evasive maneuver perhaps sets Vexar onto an even worse course. One of the tainted daggers glides easily through the leather pants, cutting a path through the Harbinger’s thigh. The pain is of little consequence but the streaking hot radiance that courses through his leg is indicative of a more ominous result. The vampire regains his footing, lilting ever so slightly to left as he finds himself unable to fully support his right side, just in time to see an uppercut displace his corpse-y friend. How could Leo sense the animation’s encroachment? And that attack...so quick, yet precise. Almost inhuman. Yes, now the Elder could smell the infection that coursed within this one’s veins. “Scurvy dog….” he mutters, so deeply under his breath that it would prove easier to read the wisps of fog his words exhaled than to hear the vocalization itself. Thinking it prudent to maintain distance from the adept rogue, the necromancer recalls his findings during his flamboyant pre-fight lap of the arena. He’d not assumed the prior matches were so maiming, yet he’d found, nonetheless, limbs and bones of all sorts. They were scattered on the outskirts of the courtyard amongst discarded sacks of burlap and drunkenly tossed glass bottles. There were skulls, legs, and even a handful of teeth. A brief incantation, “Askh mesah terkd shek!”, and a twirl of his wand found the decrepit remains hurling at Leoxander’s form from all directions. One such implement blistered through the icy support beam making up part of the grandstand. These tiny missiles were not to be underestimated.
Leoxander had sensed the creation too late, whether it had made a sound or not. But he had a few tricks up his sleeve, in the literal sense. Motion lag to the golden goose - (Because Vexar was definitely earning a nickname that night..) - check. So many other senses to disable, particularly with a vampire… an elder vampire, at that. None of which would be easy. But ‘fight smart’ was a mantra he had adopted in his younger years. It wasn’t always easy to balance the tricky rogue with the aggressive beast, but partly due to a new rune under attire on his chest, there was no desire for his alter ego in this bout. Even when Vexar taunted with that title that made him almost grin under mask. “Been called worse.” He retorted, right before that necromancer magic targeted him. One of those so called tricks would be the heavy armored sleeve he’d concealed in his jacket as a piss poor shield but it blocked enough of those icy skeletal missiles to miss his eyes and throat. Didn’t do much to disrupt the one that lodged right into his thigh. He found that range to be a burden and seemed to ignore the wound without removing the piece that kept his blood from leaking to a quick, fatigued state. Instead, Leo reached for one of the throwing blades at his boot to chuck one far left of his target, which exploded against the arena wall through some rune and powder alchemagic blend, a misdirection of his own. Sprinting to close the distance and favoring adrenaline over pain, his combination consisted of a bone and ice pegged left arm expelling a blinding powder toward Vexar’s face, and in motion he slid across on his knees to try to hamstring the leg that wasn’t already stiff. Leoxander might have had some bones stuck into his back, but a lung could bleed for a while. (I didn't see the all directions part.)
Round Three:
Vexar seethes as the crafty and discerning lycan unveils his quip with ease; it even yields a respectful smirk, that wiley pirate. However, as Leo discharges the dagger the vampire instinctively cheats to his right; the gambit reveals his weakness and the Harbinger limps, almost entirely incapable of supporting his weight on the now worthless right leg. With luck, the projectile sails untrue and the explosion does little to distract Vexar from the problem at hand. The poison had numbed his nerves, yet not enough, it seemed, to dull the searing pain that explodes from toe to hip with every gruelling step. A thousand needles thrusting to the bone with every hint of pressure. He curses the venom, before fortifying himself for the impending, inevitable collision with the quickly encroaching pirate. Eyes closed and arms braced, a massive collision propels him sidelong, pummeling him well out of reach of the rogue’s crippling blades. In his wake, Vexar’s faithful corpse remains to take the brunt of the brutal cut, having successfully driven its master from danger. The fury of the would-be assailant is evident, as torso and legs of said slave are violently strewn to juxtaposing sides of the arena. The Elder stands, barely, grimacing through the pain but lusting for the battle it represented. While Leo is lost in the aftermath of his bloody dismemberment, Vexar produces his moonblade ‘Nyx’ from the void in which she rests. Weight on his good foot, he hurls the implement towards his opponent, the chaotic brand perhaps screaming a bit unwieldy as it sails through the night seeking to impale the Lycan’s backside. The glaive is maniac, and streaks with deadly purpose for its target.
Leoxander | Final show. He didn’t have the talent of effortless magic. No call upon death or levitation of ice. The brand on his palm remained bandaged and abandoned, shunned. But he had a rogue’s arsenal back in hand. Knives and bones might crack through stones, but shadow would always lure you. That device was definitely not his ‘go-to’, but who said there was ever honor amongst thieves? Perhaps similar to a prior contestant’s ability, darkness swelled and seemed to swallow up the wolf-pirate, as he had been dubbed more often than his memory or awareness could recall.That dusty laced-disguise had been triggered, and one who might awaken the dead might see his image similar to a wraith in the dark of night for how the details of his being spread and blurred. His form seemed to split in black mist, then split again, a fading, roaming circle on prey. But that bloodthirsty blade tracked him like a wolf on a bitten doe, searching out the truth among the lies. Seeing his only opportunity, relying on his speed, and fully aware of the draining blade’s chase, he reforms from shadow near the elder vampire in time to attempt to drive his separated twin of steel deep into Vexar’s back, perhaps just as Nyx tears across his own.
Final Defense:
Vexar traces the precarious pirate’s path long enough to surmise his attack would fall with a moment’s notice. Indeed, the vampire had witnessed this shadow magic and seen its blinding agility first hand. Even with all of the Elder’s speed not burdened by this crippling encumbrance, he knew well that egress was no option. Legs be damned, there is nary a threat the Harbinger will concede to with less than, failing all else, brute force. As such, he crouches, his left knee flexed to support the squat while his right simply dangles off to his side. The sapphire vambrance on his wrist, gifted to him by Nikola, begins to glow, emanating a pulsing aura that engulfs his perimeter . The azure implement radiates a hazy distortion as Vexar focuses on bringing all of his necrotic energy to the fore, seemingly channeling into the wrist guard. A brutish exclamation triggers the mana pool to release it’s nova just as Leo snaps back to reality, but the thrust of the daggers is too quick for the implosion. Both blades taste the flesh of the crouching vampire’s shoulders before they, and wielder, are unceremoniously displaced from Vexar’s proximity by the detonation. The kiss of the poisoned steel shivering through the Elder’s upper body could be enough to end the bout.
Winner: Leoxander
Auto Hit and Response:
Leoxander likewise felt that tear into the spine, and nearly collapsed on the elder as it ripped through layers of leather and cloth and flesh. On his knees beside his opponent, who had greatly earned the respect of the pirate, he motioned with a hand that probably spared them any fatal wounds to signify the spar to a close. Vampire and Lycan blood painting the arena floor around them, he wasn’t entirely disabled just yet, and planted a hand on Vexar’s shoulder to help him to his feet as he might do in return, should there be an unspoken consensus on that matter. They would definitely need a drink after this. Once both had managed to their feet, Leo painfully moved to the copper coin on the ground and winced as he crouched to take it into hand and hold it between thumb and forefinger in display to the powerful vampire. "You owe me one." Was the weakened grunt with a grin that reached his eyes that the mask concealed.
Vexar begrudgingly boosts himself to his feet, his opponent supporting the crux of the weight as he's unable to even drape an arm over Leo's shoulder. The tattered couple manage to limp off the courtyard proper, and Vexar finally manages a slight chuckle as the coin vanishes into the pirate's pocket. "I may owe you two, for helping me off that frozen ground." Upon reaching a bench, the vampire collapses into its embrace, quite pleased forget about any pressure on his leg for the next few minutes. "I'll stay out of arms reach of you next time."