Duel:Riij v Roldan
Judges: Caedan, Afli, Rheven
Stakes: Tongues
Location: Larket Arena
Riij paces the arena of Larket with a sickly grin plastered across his, now-shadowed, features, the cutting, crimson of his venomous gaze affixed to his opponent: dissecting, digesting…destroying. The supple sound of surreptitious movements shakes the sands 'neath his soft-soled shoes, the sibilant hiss of his python-like approach the only warning; strong legs propel the youth at a sickening expedience, the edges of his figure blurring and becoming misshapen with the gathering pace. From the folds of his attire comes a myriad of shapes and objects, each picked deftly with a prenatural grace before being loosed with an explosive accuracy. Smoke ascends as they strike the ground, smoke and blinding heat filling every orifice, socket and niche. Delivered now from the mists that he had brought to bare Xu comes, silent as death and cold as night, empty hands balled into fists and launching into a series of superfluous punches upon weak points within his foe's armour, joints, neck and skull to disorientate - this is but a distraction, right foot departs the ground to find purchase on Roldan's knee, brief grace that it is, whilst his left foot is sent pistoning in a full strike, with the leverage granted by his right, to rocket toward the knight's jowl. The power behind the strike allows for the martial artist to complete a smooth revolution, regardless of success, a complete three hundred and sixty degrees and so it is he lands before his hopefully blinded opponent, left arm shooting out, palm flat, to provide an extra modicum of balance. It had begun.
Roldan the Red holds himself straight as he enters, earning his nickname with every inch of his body. His boots are heavy affairs, hard leather warded by the scales of a red dragon. Matching scales coat his legs, body, arms and shoulders, fitted together at the joints by chainmnail, each tiny ring resplendent in glossy red paint. A heavy cloak of red scales falls from his shoulders, held in place by clasps worked in the shape of snarling dragons, their golden bodies studded with rubies. His head is enclosed in a helm of solid plate, wrought with great horns curving back and away from the face, which is a visor crafted to form a roaring dragon maw. His shield, a round slab of solid dragonbone, is freshly painted; a stylized dragon rears up, black against a backdrop as red as blood. Slung over his shoulder is his sword, sheathed for now but within easy reach. In its place in the knight's gauntleted fist rests instead a small axe; a cruelly hooked chunk of iron fitted with a haft of ash. As the smoke fills the arena, the Sheriff comes to a halt, his shield held protectively at the fore. The heat seems to bother him even less, for his armor all but absorbs it. However, just as he feels confident enough to step forward, his enemy appears from the haze, taking him by surprise. His right leg, cought in mid-step, buckles under the unexpected weight, twisting a bit as the knight drops to one knee. This, though, allows Riij's devastating kick to simply pass overhead, clipping one of the curving horns atop the helm ever-so-slightly. With a grunt, the human heaves himself to his feet, favoring the injured knee almost imperceptibly. Upright once again, Roldan brings the axe into play. Light as it is, it is easy for the knight to swing it in a whistling arc, dropping to a sort of half-crouch as he does so. The weapon hurtles around behind Riij's leg, right at knee level. There, it stops, whether by the shaft colliding with the shape-shifter's knee, or by Roldan's own might for, in a fluid motion, the Sheriff jerks back on the weapon in an attempt to pull his foe's leg out from under him, possibly taking him to the ground. This is quickly and effeciently followed by another swing, this one meant to smash through the other man's skull in a swift, neat strike.
Riij smoothly flows from his grounded-stance into one more befitting of battle, his own style of battle at least, shoulders relaxed and feet constantly moving; sweeping through the sand with a muted 'whoosh' tattoo. Years of battle have honed his senses and so it is that he is not merely standing awaiting an assault as the axe comes arcing toward him, his body snaps to the left, his left shoulder coming across his chest powering the unforgiving kick his sole-flat foot delivers to the haft of his opponent's axe, usurping the direction of the assault, the brutal weapon is retracted suddenly leaving Xu with a lot of momentum to suddenly make up for. Overextended to a degree the fighter uses it to his advantage, smashing his left foot into the ground, sending a shudder through his form, his right, still grounded, pushes up and off from the floor like a viper. Bending his back to a near-breaking degree his arms extend and his weight is brought from legs to his palms as he flips; a brief moment spent meeting the gaze of Roldan, from his upside-down position, with a leering grin. Up, into and through the air he spirals the intention behind his acrobatic maneuver to land, feet first upon the monolith's shoulders, feet hooking beneath his jawline and a sickly twist of his body to be delivered to snap The Red's spine in twain.
Roldan, robbed of the satisfying crunch of blade on bone, takes a moment to recover. He straightens in time to see his enemy's leap and, with trained reflexes, his shield and axe rise above his head to block the falling body. A muffled moan escapes the visor as the human's right knee, already weakened, gives out again under the weight. Rolling awkwardly away, the knight clutches at the injured joint, dropping his axe in the process. Shakily, he hauls himself up once again, limping badly as he moves back to his enemy, pulling at the hilt that rises from over his shoulder. Roldan's now-bared sword, in contrast to his splendid armor, is quite plain. A little more than three feet in length, the blade appears to be plain steel, albeit of above-average grade. It is honed to razor-sharpness along both edges, with a wide groove etched down the center. The hilt is also steel, with a leather-wrapped handle and a small, curved crossguard. But as he brings it into play, it shows its true nature. A single word resounds from within the helmet, amplified impressively by the enclosing walls of metal: "Begin". At once, the arena is lit anew by flickering red light as flames dance along the knight's sword from hilt to tip, encasing the weapon in a blazing inferno. Oblivious to the intense heat - indeed, his armor and shield seem to drink it in greedily - the sheriff closes the last few feet, moving with the deliberation and cadence of a trained soldier. The flames roar, gorging on air as the human swings it in a vicious, sweeping slash toward his foe, a swift, ugly blow easily capable of cleaving Riij in twain even while setting him alight - or of driving him off to his right. Indeed, Roldan seems to expect his enemy to dodge, for he punches out with the heavy shield, hooking the swing ever-so-slightly inward. Thus, should Riij move in that direction, the shield is in place to take him in the throat, crushing the windpipe.
Riij 's disrupted flight lands him unsteadily behind his monstrous foe, a moment taken to right himself and regain his wits from the failed aerial assault. This wasn't a position he wanted to be in, the Knight, now in his element, training down on him shield up and sword ablaze; a retreat of sorts was in order, the serrated kamas at his side broken free of their hip-side residence with a leathery groan. His left hand flashes out, arm coming upward in a harrowing uppercut, to parry the burning blade - the strength of the Knight bares down harshly on Xu, the flames licking his flesh as they ride down the length of his bicep. Through grit teeth and a determination not to be bested, he continues on with his plan, delivering the vicious sequence of assaults that follow in the blink of an eye. As his left arm continues to rise skyward his right comes in its place striking the shield straight on and bringing the fighter around, back first, to meet the surface, his shoulders rolling him across it and his feet pirouetting to bring him facing the Larketian's back. Devoid of all mercy now the martial artist sets to rending the Knight asunder, the serrated blades of his weaponry used in chorus to send mutilating blows one after another to the hamstring, back-of-knee and armpit in a triumvirate of imperceptibly quick attacks - then he is moving once more, slinking backward to gain some distance before his lumbering prey to see what unfolds next.
Roldan's hammering backswing sends up a clang and a gout of flame as, in a stroke of luck, he catches the swift strikes to his leg on his weapon, halting them in their tracks. However, as he attempts to turn to face his enemy once again, the third blow slips into the weaker armor at his left armpit, piercing through to the flesh beneath. Blood seeps; no major artery has been hit, but the wound is grievous all the same. Shield arm hanging loose, the knight finishes his turn, hatred seeping from every pore. Summing up as much strength as he can from his wearied and battered body, Roldan again lunges at his foe. Flames roil as the deadly blade swings again, this time arcing downward toward Riij's knees. The slash seems quite a bit slower than the previous one, as though the knight is too tired and injured to put forth a full effort, giving instead a strike lazy enough for the nimble acrobat to simply leap over. But again, the sheriff awaits a dodge for, with the deftness of a born swordsman, he spins the blade mid-stroke, bringing it down along his own side and beyond, using that momentum to aid himself as his legs coil and release, shoving his heavy frame forward and up, aiming a vicious headbutt at his enemy, hoping to knock him to the ground. Thereon, the knight follows through, his fiery sword moving fluidly up into a swift, almost elegant thrust aimed at Riij's stomach; a last effort for, as he pulls back from this final blow, his knee gives out entirely, dropping him to his backside in a thump and a clatter.
Riij is tired now, his movements betraying the fatigue that harrows his entire body, the lazy-strike-apparent is welcomed with open arms - literally, the flat palms of the youth smashing against the blade as he leans forward, flames tasting the hairs upon his neck as he brings himself up and over the blade with legs extended and intent on wrapping around Roldan's head. Oh crap. Spread-eagled, so to speak, he receives the full blow of the Knight's helmet into his…eh…crown jewels; his first cry of pain blossoming from his lips as he is thrown from his most uncomfortable seat atop coach-Roldan to spiral ground-ward, in time with his faltering foe. Vainly a gleam of metal whizzes from his hand as he hits the ground, whirring harmlessly into the air and staggered tiers of the arena, his clandestine motive revealed. Blanketing the pain and the potential thought of complete emasculation he rights himself slowly, a bent knee used to offer some extra support to his tired form.
Caedan said, "ooc; kudos and props and love to both duelists. riij took this one."
Afli said, "Ahh, I voted for Roldan"
Rheven said, "ooc: Alright then. Very good job, you two; this duel was at a level far above most of your peers. I had a tough time with this one, but I narrowly favor the winner...Roldan."
Roldan, seeing his foe defeated, now pulls from his belt puch the tools he had brought along for this time: a pair of tongs and a sharp knife. Struggling again to his feet, he approaches Riij, his shield and sword dropping to the arena ground. Roughly, he jerks the shape-shifter's head back, reaching in with the tongs. They clamp down, hard, and pull the tongue out as far as it can go. Bending, the knight heats his knife to a red glow in the fires of his sword before bringing it to his enemy's face. The deed is done swiftly and efficiently, the hot metal searing the flesh as it severs through the tongue, which comes loose in the tongs. A mercy, for the heat stops the bloodflow. "Tell your employer," the Sheriff pants, "to bugger himself." As an afterthought, he adds, "or write to him, I suppose."