Duel:Quintessa v Mathollak, Match 5 of the 2024 Titans of Winter Tournament

Titans of Winter Tournament 2024

Duel: Traditional 3 rounds with final defense, 20 minute posting limit.
Stakes: Standard, autohit delivered by winner with allowance for final reply.
Judges: Daisy, Meri, Mahri

Intros

Mathollak ::Two satyrs from among Mathollak’s favored acolytes stretch a long banner across one of the fighters’ entrance paths. It’s bright enough to show even during these blizzard conditions. It must be Mathollak’s, because the banner shows him wrangling a massive monstrous bovine creature by the horns. A metaphor, surely. The ground trembles, and one of the two is wiser, and sees the impending catastrophe, and lets go of her side. She bounds into the stands like a deer might through the forest. Not a second later, a monstrous and possibly burning (?) ox-like creature barrels into the dangling tapestry, with Mathollak doing what he might call “riding” it, but nobody else would. They both fall, and the ox recovers first, thanks to its fury. A life-saving jiffy before it plunges its twisted, branching horns and all of its thousands of pounds into the ridiculous human, it disappears leaving behind nothing but a cloud of reddish smoke and burning hoofprints. Mathollak swings his humbata fur cloak against the obscuring cloud, and raises his arms exultantly. “My Loves! It’s so nice to see you all again!” He saunters to the center, no sign of his near death on his face. Was the drama just a ruse?

Mathollak is dressed more for warmth than war, he learned long ago that armor does little more than hold a fighter back in a duel. Some strategic points are metallic, such as his left gauntlet, a glossy, almost mirrorlike black material that seems to pulse. Shimmering red waves travel from his palm to the clawed tips of the gauntlets, menacing his enemies with the promised heretical magic within. The Belt of Freedom in glittering guilt wraps his waist, a well known staple of his by now, and a source of impossible strength. Two clawed paws cross his chest, the hulking murder mittens of the humbata, crafted into a cloak during his time as “honored guest” in Alithrya. The rest of his attire seems mostly mundane, but designed for the region at least. The Piecemaker hangs off his shoulder by its beard as he addresses the crowd, and then as he raises a golden goblet to them. “To you my beloved! And to you, my rival,” he says, toasting Quintessa too, with mischief and malice. “And of course…to the one who brought love to the hearts of people, the rhythm of the world, Our Dark Mother, Delisha!”

Quintessa arrives without any of the drama Mathollak has. Today she comes dressed in her typical combat gear: Mithril-threaded spider-silk shirt and leggings to serve as lightweight armor, knee-length leather boots that pulse with shadow-magic to aid her mobility, and a cloak that can grant her invisibility. On her right wrist is the Bloodstone Bracer of Thorns, an item that gives the changeling command over plants, and also equipped is Quintessa's elaborate alchemist's belt filled with mithril tools, vials full of potent ingredients, pre-mixed potions, and antitoxins ready for her to use during the fight. On her left hip, practically buzzing with pent-up aggressive energy is the Jubaku no Kijo, Quintessa's signature weapon and unholy sword, and on her right hip is her newly acquired and mysterious dagger, the Accursed Blade. On her head is a wide-brimmed witch's hat and covering her mismatched eyes are a pair of runic goggles meant to shield them from harsh conditions. She gets into position slowly, giving herself enough time to wave and blow kisses as her adorning fans before taking her place and leaving her gaze at Mathollak. "So we meet again, dear friend." She flashes him a pointy grin, a hand holding her hat against the buffering snow and wind from the north. "You better not hold back."

Mathollak said to Quintessa, "Don't know how."

Environmental

Without the usual pomp and fanfare of an environmental hazard, four metal posts shoot out of the ground. A metal platform rises beneath the duelists feet, making the arena no more than five meters across on either end. “Let’s call this one the Q’na Special!” The announcer calls, as a magical glass manifests to trap both duelists within. Sand begins to pour in from above, revealing that the two are at the bottom of a very rapidly filling hourglass, made out of a material that seems to resist all damage. With the rate that the sand is falling, with it already lining the floor of the small arena, it would seem that they only have minutes before they are buried. The center of the hourglass seems just wide enough for one person to pass through at a time, making it a possible escape if the duelists can get past the rushing sand and each other. Little do they know that this will only cause the hourglass to turn over, repeating the cycle until the duel comes to an end.

Round 1

Quintessa's grin fades as the four metal posts rise into the air around them, but the black witch wastes no time worrying about it, instead jumping into action. Her lips part as the sand begins to trickle in, spilling on the floor around her feet as she shouts the words of a spell. "Lefiad!" A levitation spell takes hold, allowing the changeling to push off the shifting sands with her feet and hover just a few inches from the ground as their transparent prison begins to fill. Quintessa floats backwards like a moth, her lithe fingers quickly fiddling with something on her alchemy belt, a brightly hued potion, as she puts distance between the two combatants. In an instant the changeling has a bottle of neon red liquid in her hands and in another instant she is drinking it, taking large sips as she hovers to just the right spot for her plan. With the leaking sands between them, Quintessa parts her lips again but this time not to speak the words of a spell. Fire as hot as the flames from a Great Red Dragon spill from her mouth, black smoke churning around her head in suffocating plumes above her as she discards the empty bottle to the ground. When next Quintessa exhales her breath produces a massive cone of flaming inferno directed right into the flow of sand, sending globs of molten glass flying at Mathollak as she looms closer and closer, red hot flames only pausing long enough for her to take a breath and send another burst of flame at her rival like a living flamethrower. Quintessa wants to turn up the heat right at the start of this duel, it seems.

Mathollak knows better than to freak out right before a duel, he should expect it! “Woah Daddy, what? You can’t trap me in this!” But they can, and they did, and his prison of glass begins filling quickly. He smacks his axe against the glass. The Piecemaker is notably enchanted to break things (more than a regular axe) and yet, the glass doesn’t break, and their opposite enchantments repel each other somewhat dramatically, and he’s almost lucky the reaction doesn’t bounce his axe right out of his hands! It doesn’t change the program too much. As Quintessa takes to the air, and puts what meager distance between them she can, his toast becomes much more genuine. He tilts his heretical goblet to his lips and imbibes of Delisha’s Love, as Quintessa imbibes her own mysterious substance. His is better, he knows. It’s the rarest vintage in the world. As soon as it passes his lips, a surge of power courses through him, igniting every nerve and sinew with intensity, and ecstasy. He’s so blessed. Flames start leaking out of the sides of her mouth, and right away he can see what she’s aiming for, or some approximation of it. “I didn’t know you were a glass-blower,” he says, resisting the urge to wonder who Mr. Glass is. This arena is so small, that she could never put enough distance between them to get away from him. It also meant that he couldn’t hide anywhere from an attack like this. Well, maybe in just one place. As she exhales her dragon’s breath into the tumbling sand, he flings his axe to his side as hard as he can, imparting an incredible rotation to it, and then he runs in the other direction, sprinting around the rim of the hourglass where the sand hasn’t created too much of a burden yet. The axe careens around the edge, gaining speed, gaining height, and thanks to the distance Quintessa put between her and him, gaining proximity. Globs of molten glass fall around him, over him, and he lifts his cloak against the incoming heat to protect his face. Unfortunately, this leaves his legs unprotected, and globs of it sizzle against his calves, quickly burning through his fur and hide. Luckily a quick dash is all it takes to come within striking distance of Quintessa, and as his axe comes around to clap her on one side, he thrusts his wickedly clawed gauntlet toward the center of her belly, as if he might take that potion right out of her guts.

Round 2

Quintessa tries to follow Mathollak with her cone of fire the best she can, but the Delishain moves with the swiftness only gained from divine forces. Her flames spudder as she pivots in the air, keeping her eyes upon him right up until the moment it was too late. Even zipping in the air like a hummingbird, Quintessa could not avoid the two pronged attack, and as she dodged to one side she slid herself directly into the arc of Mathollak's famous weapon, the Piecemaker. Padded silk armor could only protect her so much, and as her cry drowns out the sound of her ribs cracking she flies through the air yet again- this time involuntarily. She crashes into the side of the wall with a thud, barely managing to catch her footing as she slides down the wall, vomiting up the neon liquid she just drank a moment before. No more dragon-breath. Instead Quintessa gestures a hand in the air as the other wraps around her side and with a flick of her wrist the changeling commands her magical energy to shift and transform, conjuring a multitude of sparkling lights before her. "Chwyth... prismatig!" The changeling croaks out, her struggling voice still carrying mystical intention as the twinkling orbs before her take a more sinister form. They move swiftly, swirling forward to crash into Mathollak like a thousand embers from a shooting star. They strobe with a disorienting luster, a brightness hot enough to create optical illusions as the image of her attack threatens to burn into his very retina if the potential magical burns were not enough of a threat. They dance around him in a swarm, buzzing like a hive of sparkly hornets, sweeping down in random intervals as Quintessa did her best to catch her breath, her goggles protecting her eyes from damage as she watches for her next opening.

Mathollak feels exultant as the Piecemaker cracks into his adversary. As is often the case, he finds himself weaponless, but for his body, and the Goddess’s favor. He wants to chase her, to pursue his advantage, but his first step is a stumble. The molten glass plastered to his legs was hardening, and one rendered practically immobile. Quintessa had enough time to get a spell and summon a swarm of twinkling novas to dazzle and burn him. He had no time to waste, and hardly any time to aim, but luckily the Piecemaker was still in a pile with Quintessa. While most people enchant their weapons so that they can call it back to them, Mathollak is an innovator. He calls himself to his weapon. And so he does. He calls upon the axe-hammer’s enchantment, and it sends a pulse through the world, like a heartbeat thumping from inside the cracked stone head. As the burning pest-like projectiles gather around him, he lowers his center of gravity an instant before suddenly flying like a cannonball, forearms in front, right toward the Piecemaker, and therefore right toward Quintessa. They were gonna get him anyway right? He flies directly into a good number of them, and right through the peak of the sandpile, exploding it into a dusty rain that sprays against the sides of the hourglass. The force of his speeding body, his strong bones and arms, and perhaps even the trailing explosives that no doubt accompany him, create a perhaps existential threat for the changeling.

Round 3

Quintessa continues to steady her breathing, disoriented and backed into a wall but not rendered flatfooted. Her shadow-stepping boots pulse with the mana stored within in reaction to her peril, ready to carry her to safety when she needs it. Speaking took too much effort, she had just found that out with her last spell, so she needed to rely on other ways of combating Mathollak that didn't involve verbal components so much. As the explosion of sand announces Mathollak's charge, she takes one last breath and shadow-steps out of the way at the last moment, leaving nothing but the glass wall in her wake for him and the explosions that follow to crash into. Emerging on the opposite side she clenches her right fist, activating the Bloodstone Bracer of Thorns and causing it to grow out into a long, thorny vine that she snaps once like a whip, drawing a wince from her lips before she shadow-steps to a new side of their tiny arena yet again. Quintessa appears on one side of her target, growling in pain as she brings her arm down once again to properly strike at Mathollak despite the way her ribs protested it. Luckily for her the bracer did most of the work, reacting to her mental intentions to curl around Mathollak and slice him open with what Quintessa had nicknamed "The Thorns of Anguish" moving around on its own like a sentient tentacle. Continuing her assault she disappears into the shadows once more, this time shadow-stepping on Mathollak's other side, a low sweeping arc aimed right for his legs in an attempt to trip him up. With the Piecemaker back in his position Quintessa could not risk taking another blow from it again. She needed to end this quickly; Her adrenaline would only carry her so far.

Mathollak would get somebody with the old ‘my body is a projectile’ maneuver one of these days, but not today. He takes satisfaction in the cacophonous bell sound that thunders away from his impact against the wall. Even if his bell was the only one that got rung. Dazed, confused, and peppered with a starbolts, he staggers to his feet, now knee deep in sand. He knows what happened, he’s seen her do that thing before, stepping in and out of the shadows. He’s just about ready to try to figure out how he’s going to get from one side of the room to the other with one good leg and one a kaleidoscopic art piece. In anticipation of a divine summoning, he begins gathering power in his left hand, in the maliciously clawed gauntlet he wields like a raptor wields its talons. Cracks in the metal glow like magma as he prepares to exact some pain against Quintessa. Then she teleports over to him, and commands her tendrilous vines to wrap him up and drag thorns against his flesh, ripping him to pieces. He’s still seeing stars and he can hardly react, but to slap his hand against the vines where he feels them and tear them away, at least somewhat mitigating the lacerations. His clothes are already red, so no one can see his blood until it starts staining the sands. Then she steps into the shadows again, and he has no idea where she’s going to end up. But he’s not the type of guy who plans things, so he engages his Belt of Freedom, willing it to imbue him with great strength, enough to compensate for being effectively one legged. And he dives into the shadows after her, emerging just behind. Will she be surprised? He attempts to tackle her to the ground, pushing her shoulders lower and lower into the ground and under the sand that was still burying them both. As he channels Delisha’s Love (it was love from his perspective at least), the molten heat of her realm of fiery passion begins to heat the sand through his hands, threatening to imprison the changeling in a glass prison.

Final Defense

Quintessa is indeed surprised when she comes out of one shadow-portal with the intentions of continuing her assault against Mathollak only to discover that he has followed her through it. Before she can even cry out in shock he is upon her, tackling her and driving her under the sand as her protests are muffled by it burying her. Soon it gets worse as burning pain surges through her due to Mathollak's divine magic and she knows she cannot remain pinned like this. In this position she only has one escape from certain immolation and suffocation, and that is to shadow-step once again, but she knows this time Mathollak is coming with her. With little space left to offer and what was left quickly filling with sand, Quintessa instead shadow-ports them into the top half of the hourglass, forming a portal on the side of the wall that she uses to spit him out first before exiting it herself. She has but a second to cast a spell- her last spell this bout she reckons, and with all her willpower she can muster she pushes the pain in her lungs out of her mind and shouts the words "Delwedd drych!" Blood or perhaps more of her fire-potion sputters from her lips as her Mirror Image spell takes hold. Four false copies appear to surround her, each moving independently and blending with the real Quintessa- which one is the real her? They move to surround him, each ready to unleash the Thorns of Anguish upon him one last time, right at the moment he has picked the "wrong Quintessa" but would Mathollak choose correctly? The outcome of this fight seems to balance on this last moment.

Winner: Quintessa

Auto-Hit

Quintessa || There is a moment of hesitation that lasts far too long. Instead of waiting for Mathollak to pick a Quintessa she instead strikes like a viper, lashing out from all angles. She and her illusionary quintuplets wrap up the Delishian as if she were wielding lasso, sharp thorns digging into his flesh as she pins his arms to his body. The vine pulses as it grows longer, wrapping around him like a constrictor snake as the illusions fade away, showing that only one Quintessa was true. The revelation comes too late for Mathollak however, as she slowly reels him in, more and more of the vines wrapping around him until only his head is visible. "Yield." She speaks with a commanding tone as she appears before him, knowing she has won. This either ends with him giving up or passing out from lack of oxygen but she was gracious enough to give him the dignity of a choice in the matter. Just to make her point she squeezes her right fist, the tightness reflecting in how hard Mathollak was being constricted by the vines. "Do you yield?" She repeats with a devious coo, her lips peeling back into a smile as she awaits her answer.

Mathollak said to Quintessa, "Do it again."

Mathollak said to Quintessa, "Harder."

Quintessa obeys Mathollak's command, squeezing him harder with her wicked vines. "As you wish." Soon he is unconscious and she releases him, her vines snapping back to her bracer as she hobbles over to the healer's tent.

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