Duel:Rorin v York, Match 2 of the 2017 Frostmaw Tournament

Duelists: Rorin vs York
Duel: Traditional 3 rounds with final defense, 15 minute posting limit
Stakes: Auto-hit to the winner, and a Free Merc Job
Judges: Lionel, Josleen, and Sabrina

Tattered Bridge

Leone said, "Welcome to the sixth annual Titans of Winter Tournament! Here we gather where the Frostmaw shamans have molded and shaped this area, altering the original state into some fresh hell. The tethers that bind the slippery, ice-coated and ramshackle bridge to the platform to the west have been severed. Instead of a stalwart position in midair, the disused infrastructure now sways in the winds. Large gusts are preceded by tiny gales and eddies of windswept snow that twist and turn along the rotting planks of the bridge like makeshift opponents, the icy dervishes looking to drag our two combatants into their disorientating depths. Watch out! Good luck to Rorin and York!"

Rorin kneeled on the South side of the bridge in prayer. The pilgrim had arrived well prepared in full helm with a strange mirrored face mask of a smooth plate, silver plating over a coat in a breastplate that protected his back as well, pauldrons on his shoulders, full gauntlets, and grieves. The coat as well trailed it's ends with splint mail into the coarse frostmaw blue fabric while the inside fluttered with winter wolf white fur. A tall hexagonal iron shield lay at his right arm, bearing a heraldic crest of Akrhen over Frostmaws symbol, the same represented on the other armored plates as well. For weapons a long spear hitched to his back with the addition of a belt across his hips. There sat a boomerang, two pouches for throwing weapons thoughe it could not yet be said what, and a dirk for true close quarters combat. As Rorin prayed light gathered to him filling his soul. Elvish script flowed from the amulet of Akrhen around his neck as a pendant on a mythril chain at his hip sparkled. The prayer wraps itself around the edge and hilt of his spear, his shield, the boomerang on his hip, and the edges of his armor. As the prayer reaches its end Rorin stands as light bursts from him all around. An aura of faith and bravery pervades the space around the squire as it buffets the wind. A stable stance is taken behind his shield; Rorins grey eyes focus clearly from behind his mask to observe his opponents and surroundings. The bridge is damned- further so in the end- though prayer would steady his steps it would never save him from the fall. Crossing the gap with a ranger as his opponent bode ill. He could only have faith his shield guarded him and his blessed weapons flew true. Though he preferred to respectfully meet his contender that was out of the question in this field. Breaths of deep calm steadied hisself. The time for combat had come.

York had no such preparation for the oncoming battle. His attire was much as he always wore, the green and grey cloak obscuring most anything else, though one may see the leather armor on his upper body and the daggers strapped at his side, along with bracers on his arms as the cloak whipped about in the frigid wind. With his bow already in his hands he did not yet draw an arrow, simply waiting at his end of the bridge, letting Rorin do as he did while his gaze swept over the terrain, taking in any detail that just might give him an advantage. On the frozen, swaying bridge, he didn’t find much. Trying not to pay too much attention to any spectators- he doubted he could hear them over the wind anyway- he looked across to his opponent, seeing that his prayer had come to an end. Perhaps breaking with the mood of the duel, though York did not particularly care since he didn’t have the chance to greet Rorin earlier, he gave his opponent a brief wave from across the gap, as though making sure he were /actually/ ready now to continue. Then an arrow was lifted from his quiver, notched on the string, and York brought Rorin to his sights in an instant.

Rorin refused to underestimate his opponent. The ranger would be fast and precise. Rorin was glad York held respect for his religious practices and came to a positive opinion on him. Valens boyfriend seemed like a nice guy. Rorin returned a rally sign to Yorks wave, signalling the start, and issuing a smile under his mask. Perhaps this didn't need to be so serious? There would always be another tournament. As York raised his arrow however Rorin steeled himself and brought his boomerang to his left hand instead of the spear. With blessed speed Rorins dash began across the wildly swinging bridge. It was a challenge but perhaps Rorin could use it to his advantage. His feet were light, his stature neaely unswayed, but the bridge itself sagged towards his form, his feet needing to match the curve and slide of the planks and judge which would break or which would stay. Despite the focus this needed a Rorins talent showed for he waited to defend against an attack before launching the boomering crooked far against the wind. The irregular flight path would give it incredible speed on its return while Rorin drew his spear. Though prepared to raise his shield against the rangers arrows the squire began to slide with his weight when he stepped in effect swinging the bridge in opposite directions. His spear would come forward between defenses, flinging slices and swaths of holy light, random angles and sides provided to him by the swing of the bridge. Moreover these were inaccurate distractions meant to keep York on his toes until Rorin crossed the gap. Rorin had little means of ranged attacks but these and so he could hope for nothing but to close in on York and force him into close combat. That was the plan anyway. He doubted he could block every arrow and had no idea where Yorks first attack would be aimed regardless. It was a matter of prayer honestly.

York ’s first attack was aimed in general at Rorin’s upper body, though the ranger had no doubt that he could easily block that with his shield. It was a starting shot and nothing more. Though Rorin was making his way across the bridge with more speed than York thought he would with that much armor. So he changed tactics, aiming two more shots in rapid succession at his opponent’s legs, figuring it would cause a misstep whether the arrows connected or not. Though he doubted he could remain using his bow for long, with Rorin’s approach and the wind howling. He took a step back at the sudden barrage of holy light, which stunned him for a moment but he recovered quickly enough, going for another shot but this one going wide, thanks to the gale. This strategy was running out already, but he would keep up a general volley as Rorin approached. He did not move back any further though, seeming determined that if they were to enter close combat, then it was going to happen no matter what.

Rorin waved off the first arrow with his shield as expected. It tool a lot of concentration to not fall to his death but he managed. Yorks next shots were aimed at his legs and Rorin had to sweep rather low in defense to avoid them though it slowed him considerably and he nearly lost footing on the bridge. The halfway mark was reached and passed as his magical attacks kept York on the defensive however so the pilgrim at least had that going for him. Nearly there, just a little more, Rorin told himself as he pushed forward across the last half of the bridge. Rorins boomerang neared it's apex with York in its sights, Rorin himself shield first as a volley of arrows sliced his left leg and shoulder. Though gritting his teeth Rorin pushed on. As long as his left leg didn't fall through the boards he nearly had him!

York felt that Rorin was getting far too close for him to continue on like this, though the satisfaction showed on his face from getting a few hits in. No time for that, he brushed off the satisfaction and fired one last arrow, though this had the same intention as his first; distraction. It would hopefully give him enough time before Rorin reached him to prepare. Through this, York had been far too distracted by the holy light to even notice where the boomerang went; it would certainly meet its target once it reached him. But for now, York didn’t drop his bow in favor of his knives, instead simply changing his grip so that as Rorin neared, he would attempt to sidestep and swing. The bridge was narrow he knew, but if he could time it right and avoid Rorin’s spear, he would dodge to the side and strike at his opponent as he went by, hoping to send him sprawling.

Rorin shielded the arrow in his full charge with nothing but the intent to finish this fight before it truly began. York had sidestepped to his right expecting him to swing the spear? That was far too much of an assumption. As the bow came down like a staff Rorin fully brought up his shield, bashing it to down to the side with a loud Crack even in this wind. He hoped it would open York up just enough for one simple strike. Despite his left side suffering arrow heads slashes Rorin could still use it to thrust. The inesnity and rush of the run burned him against the cold. The focus and concentration had cleared his mind so much he had no thought to the intense fear he had faced across the chasm. Paladins had bravery, and here from his prayers, Rorin had faced a deadly drop against a ranged opponent with more bravery than some mustered in their entire lives. Now was the apex. Now would be when his bleeding and his adrenaline came to their crescendo. He could only hope that the effort he expended to cross the bridge alone paid off. One way or another this signaled the end of the fight.

Winner: York

York ’s mistake was costly for certain. His attempt at a strike left him exposed enough for Rorin’s spear to pierce his side, getting him up against the ropes as blood began to flow, as the leather armor wouldn’t do much for him at all. Through the pain he had to tell himself to /quit messing around with the bow/, and so he did, tossing it to the side as best he could and drawing the one dagger he could reach from his belt. But, he obviously wasn’t out to kill Rorin, he just wanted him /out of his face/, and so stabbing at the hand that held the spear seemed like the best option. Once he let go, he would strike at Rorin’s helm with the blunt end of the dagger- but only once or maybe twice if he refused to go down- so he would be, finally, knocked prone on the bridge. Breathing a bit raggedly- hell, there was something of a hole in his side now- he’d ask Rorin if he yielded, as he was no doubt still somewhat conscious. Somewhere nearby, a boomerang flew past.