Duel:Mathollak v Rorin, Match 6 of the 2021 Titans of Winter Tournament
Duelists: Mathollak vs Rorin Duel: Traditional 3 rounds with final defense, 20 minute posting limit. Stakes: Standard, autohit delivered by winner with allowance for final reply. Judges: Caltarok, Kasyr and Odhranos.
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.
Mathollak enters the arena in brand new duds! His armor is red and spiky, as always. But! there isn't a spec of dust, nor grime, nor mud. Because its mithril! Upgrades, baby. But that's the least of them. Since becoming the Hero of Freedom, he oversaw the creation of both an epic weapon and a piece of armor. Created in the Heart of Larket by Arcane Forgemasters with the Hero of Freedom in mind, they produced a long-handled axe and a champion's belt. The former is The Piecemaker (no typo)! And it perfectly complements Mathollak's fighting style, and just loves to turn one thing into two or more smaller things. The Belt of Freedom is purported to give Mattie the strength to break even the strongest chains! Or ribs. With his helmet under his arm and a fragrant, magical smelling cigar between his teeth, he waves to the crowd and bends over in a dramatic bow. "For All of You!" He shouts to the crowd. "But especially for you Deli-baby," he says mostly to himself. Now he puts his helmet on, shrouding his face in shadow except for the glowing ember of his cigar, and holds The Piecemaker in two hands, spinning the head. Which will he give to Rorin first? The blade or the sledge?
Rorin stepped into the courtyard with his plate mail and leather shining under a fresh pilgrims cloak. He held a large glaive in his gauntlet clad hands. The blue and silver aesthetic was quite the opposite maths red and black. As he took his position he lowered the weapons head from his shoulder and braced with the tip near the ground. A charming smirk lit his long thin lips and his silvery eyes twinkled like pools of metal. “I see we meet on the battlefield again, Blood Knight. Come at me! Arkhens light shines bright as ever!” The Pilgrim settled on his helmet determinately.
Caltarok stands calling upon his magic to strengthen his voice over the buzz of the crowd and the book-keeping hosted by Vexar, "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen to the 2021 Titans of Winter tournament - this is the sixth battle of the first round selections. We have seen it all folks so far. Warriors being dismembered, spells backfiring, and even the frostmaw peacekeepers corrupted to join the infighting! Who knows what todays battle will hold from our combatants today. All that we can guarantee is another fight for the ages. Today, I have the honor of introducing for your pleasure, the half-elven paladin of Arkhen, Rorin! Facing Rorin is the against the Axe of Love, himself, Mathollak, the hero of freedom! Contestants have agreed to 15 minute rounds, with Mathollak going first, and no extra stakes. The judges are Odhranos, Kasyr, and myself. Tonight, I'd like to remind the contestants to mind the weather. For Frostmaw is victim to sudden winds, freezing rain, and blinding snow at any given moment. The clock will start as soon as I get a "yes" from both contestants. Contestants, are you ready? A reminder to all you spectators out there that any bets you may wish to be place should be done now with Vexar offering to run the betting house for us. All bets have to be placed before the start of the second round."
Round One:
Mathollak stood nearly as still as a statue while he sucked on his cigar, but when he exhaled the smoke, it wasn't silvery and it didn't dissipate in the wind. It was dense, black, and flecked with searing red embers throughout. Instead of dispersing, it billowed seemingly without end, angrily and aggressively building upon itself, growing toward Rorin. Once it got to him, it would seek to engulf the paladin. Not only is it nearly impossible to see through without help, but the embers would seek to creep into his lungs through his nose and mouth, choking him. They would attempt to burrow into his eyes, blinding him. Meanwhile, Mathollak prepared his true attack, sliding the grip of his clawed gauntlets all the way to the butt of the ax. He winds it up behind his head, then swings in a low, low arc, and releases it. The shimmering golden ax spins horizontally like a frisbee, just inches off the ground, aiming to take Rorin out at the knees while he's (hopefully) distracted by the smoke.
Rorin prided himself on his defense ultimately, but the pilgrim held his tactical sense high as well. He may have a touch more speed than strength, but his adaptability to any offense outshined either factor greatly. He had read reports on Mathollak and had kept both a personal and political eye on the dark knights career. Rorin knew that his opponent treasured that axe, and had several methods of increasing strength, durability, as well as other factors. It was not clear yet wether Rorin with the power of Arkhen would have to hold a battle of attrition, or a swift and decisive victory. Mathollak would likely go for the latter. Using superior reach with the glaive - but only barely- Rorin would have to deflect his opponents attacks. Surely taking one of those head on would be disastrous. Precise movements would be necessary to make the blood knight open his guard, and then, with the gleaming tip of his glaive, the shining paladin would go for victory! Leather and metal clad hands wrapped around the haft and his breath tightened. With the grace of his half-elven eyes, Rorin watched and waited - baited breath driving the electric feeling of battle, pumping through his veins. “On beams of light I cross the sky, the wind beneath my feet. Blazing horizons I walk, Arkhen carry me.” This small prayer brought the warm light of dawn to Rorins tread and offered him both haste of body and mind moving forward. Gleaming half plate sparkled in the dewy morning glow that surrounded his every footstep. “Faster. Faster! Quick as the storm, I set upon thee foul ogre- my feet, my blade, my eyes at the speed of light!” The heat of battle burned within the Paladins heart. He began to charge forward with the glaive tip pointed down. Mathollak would rely on smoke and shadows then? As many had so far, opening with a mounting well of darkness. Pah! It would do him no good while this prayers enchantment lasted. His mind raced- the smoke was likely to hide his true attack, just as Quintessa opened with in the last fight against Hildegarde. A stunning opening, that was, but it wouldn’t work against him here. No, likely Mathollak watched the match as well and knew not to simply copy that opening, where she had moved in with a double fold, screech and blade. Perhaps Mathollak would attempt to strike him when he grew closer through the cloud! Well then, Rorin would see to that. As his eyes shone with the light and his blade parted the cloud before him, the paladin changed his stance and began to slide when he knew he was just close enough- a dense whoosh parting the cloud beside him. Was that an axe flying overhead? Rorin came out of the billowing smoke having used his glaive as a pole to launch himself from the kneeled position (his shin guards scuffed to hell after the screeching intonation of power-rock sliding) and descend like a hawk, talons outstretched! Even if he missed the landing he had to keep pressing, testing Mathollaks defenses- quick strikes with the tip using the length of the glaive for distance and leverage. Rorin finished his flashy assault with a sudden swipe towards Mathollak head and backed up, powering a charge towards the opponents body. Meanwhile, he just knew- Mathollak wouldn’t have flown his axe without expecting it to return to him, surely. The back of the Paladins mind listened acutely, waiting to dodge it or deflect it, hopefully leaving his opponent otherwise defenseless.
Round Two:
Mathollak wasn't able to dismember Rorin. That he could clearly see as the paladin lept up and out of the smoke and toward him. Rather than simply let Rorin land on him, he pivoted around, taking Rorin's place back in the smoke that was now settling around their feet, low to the ground. Mathollak was much quicker than he used to be, now that his armor was much lighter, and to each of Rorin's testing blows, he deflects it with a gauntlet or a bracer. But with each swipe, he tempts Rorin further into the smog, until his boot clangs against something hidden within. His ax! When Rorin strikes for Mathollak's head, the bloodknight ducks, gripping the ax but staying low, further tempting Rorin into making the move he wanted him to make. A straight-up charge. Mathollak suddenly rises up, holding his axe just under the head, and presses the crest into the blade of Rorin's glaive, pushing it up over his shoulder. With Rorin's momentum carrying him forward, Mathollak prepares a heavy fist to catch him in the jaw.
Rorin is no stranger to fighting in the dark. Mathollaks constant deflections though proved aggravating and drew the paladin in slowly. The blood knight dipped, Rorin reared back, went to charge, and found his weapon matched! The axe hadn’t come flying back after all and instead became a small trap on the battlefield hidden by the black fog and wary footsteps. Rorin hadn’t just been fast physically, but mentally however, and saw that his opponent was going for a straight knock out punch. The spry half-elf changed his stance just as quickly and pivoted, leaning backward. Weight shifted onto the tilting pole of the glaive while Rorins legs stretched out. As Mathollaks fist and arm came forward, Rorins clamped his armored ankles and thighs around the muscles those fangirls surely loved to swoon at. The glaives blunt end had been struck into ground. It allowed Rorin the leverage to pull and twist in an attempt to have Mathollak meet the ground with the momentum of that planned punch. Letting go before the opponent could drag Rorin down with him, the paladin quickly swung around as if it were a flag pole, turning the haft with his feet. Landing up right Rorin held the glaive with the tip primed for a downward thrust at the blood knights prone body!
Round Three:
Mathollak , with Rorin's help, fell and landed hard on his back in a way that a small circle was cleared where the ember-flecked smog was settling. He threw one arm to one side, attempting to roll out of the way of the coup de grace, and manages to avoid certain death! But the blade slices into his armor and an oblique, before burying its head in the soft grassy dirt. Mathollak seizes this opportunity to roll back over it, either depriving Rorin of his weapon or bringing the paladin down with him. Either way Mathollak rises to his feet and engages again, raising the axe high over his head. All the smoke he created in the arena rises with his axe, swirling and coagulating into a dense, solid lance. When Mathollak swings for Rorin's midsection, the smoke bends and attempts to skewer him from top-down.
Rorin missed! Barely. It seems as if the glaive did cut something, just not enough. And it appears Mathollak has some dirty trick up his sleeve rolling around Rorins weapon like that. The paladin was forced to let go and keep his distance. Mathollak had too much of an advantage in strength to take on up close. The blood knight began to raise his axe and Rorin could feel the acrid smoke being pulled in, solidifying. This would be a tricky maneuver. Tightening his right hand, Rorin executed a clever trap. He had not left his weapon empty handed. A thread of golden light that stretched from his glaive to his palm became thick and taught as he pulled with all his might, throwing his weight backwards and hoping it had to be enough. Enough to catch a leg, to throw Mathollak off balance, and that his nimble roll had evaded both the axe and the dark lance attacks. The glaive would fly forward with Rorins weight - possibly into Mathollaks back if the light chain hadn’t tripped him up, back towards the Paladins grasp. He had evaded the axe, surely, and either the rope or the glaive might be enough to get Mathollak back onto the ground- but the lance fell no matter what. Rorin had not been agile enough to avoid both and it fell not directly into him, but as the paladin twisted and turned, rolling with his weight to tug the cord, it skewered his leg immensely. More blood wetted the arena grounds as Rorins thigh had been fit to burst with the thickness of the dark lance penetrating it.
Final Defense:
Mathollak is bleeding enough for it to drip onto the snow-covered grass, the red sharply contrasting with the pristine white. He drops one hand from his axe and uses it to stem the flow of blood. And as Rorin rolls backward evading the blade of his ax, he notices one of his favorite things in the world. Gold! A long strand of it, flowing from the good boi all the way to his lance. With one quick swipe up from The Piecemaker, Mathollak severs the magical thread, leaving the lance planted in the ground. Now Mathollak leans the shaft of his ax over his shoulder while he stalks toward Rorin, meaning to sever him next. "Let's get it over with, Baby," he says, in prayer to the Dark Mother.
Winner: Mathollak
Auto Hit:
Mathollak is ready to kick Rorin in the head by the time he's done rolling, stopping the paladin from finding his feet in time to avoid The Piecemaker. It meets his chest sledge-side first, caving it in part way. Mathollak has to yank and wiggle the shaft to get the head out, and when he does, there's a quaint little heart-shaped dent left in the armor. "From the Mother," says Mathollak.