Duel: Jaxson V Arlyeon, Match 5 of the 2023 War Games - Larket V Cenril
Duelists: Jaxson vs Arlyeon/Ina/Etc. Duel: Traditional 3 rounds with final defense, 20 minute posting limit. Stakes: Autohit delivered by winner with allowance for final reply. If Jaxson wins, Arlyeon is jailed Bonus stakes: If Jaxson wins, Arlyeon is Jailed. If Ina wins, originally theft, but 'Legend of Cenrils Sewer Gator was better' Judges: Daisy, Mesdoram, and Rumiko
Cenrils Sewers
Why isn't there a sewer tile?
Ina is a lot of things. Con artist, Cardshark, sneak thief, compulsive liar... Okay, most of it is terrible, really. But the thing is- she's really *good* at being an awful person. For instance, playing the long game of ingratiating herself with an especially lonely sewer worker, if only so she had access to his uniform, and whatever maps he had Cenrils underside. (Don't ask, don't tell about the worker. it's fine). Anyways, this is a good start, but it was the fact that she managed to get a small squad of Larketian soldiers over the wall that was the real bit of art here- thanks to an acute awareness of when the guard rotations were at this chunk of wall, and who was serving when. With a surprising degree of efficiency, six men had vaulted the walls, a combination of lightness potions and adhesive having allowed them to make the trip with relatively little fuss. That is, until they reached their actual destination. 'Operation Sepsistance diet' - her plan to clog up Cenrils sewer system, and potentially blight the water supply with backed-up effluence. A sort of grossly glorious plan that -should- have gone smoothly, were it not for one key factor. For some unfathomable reason, the majority of the Larketian soldiers are goons. That's not to say they aren't capable soldiers. They'd certainly followed the crux of her instructions- donning the outfits she'd prepared, and even eschewing their normal light sources in favour of the dull bioluminescent potion bottles that had been distributed amongst them. That said- there was a sort of...childish petulance to some of them, which had led to a few unnecessary fatalities. Okay, so, *all* of the fatalities were unnecessary, and it was only through the intervention of one sergeant ...Thorngorge something something? Maybe Throatgorge? ... Whatever the orcish sergeant had introduced himself - since, she'd taken to mentally designating him as Curiously Beefy George. He, at least, had a handle on running the show. Enough so, in fact, that she'd been willing to pass off a number of her potions to him, and enact the second part of her brilliant plan. She got herself tied up. In hindsight, it was probably less brilliant than she'd intended, especially since 'George' had said he'd need to slug her in the stomach to really sell the whole 'Captured sewer worker leading the way vibe'. But here she was- leashed to the honcho, and playing the part of a scared civvy as they planted some decidely extra amped up soufflares at certain points of the sewer system. Maybe not entirely playing, given that one of those soldiers was currently showboating while carrying an especially volatile bit of baked goods. Whatever the case, she'd like to think the facades at least somewhat competent, given her physical appearance is currently shapechanged into a mirror of a poor mook whose currently weighted down in a particularly gross sluice of fecal matter.
Ina mildly wishes she had one of her crappy lemon-soaked rags right now. Maybe one for each nostril. Because she *knows* who went and died in these tunnels, and they still smell nicer than the place.
Jaxson is in a mood today. In fact, he has been in a foul mood for a few weeks now ever since the war officially kicked off and skirmishes and battle have ensued between Larket and Cenril. He has not even really seen Valrae, and often times what little sleep the man does get is in his office, rather than the bed they share. Cenril’s military forces have long since been in disarray, between the corruption of the previous regime who ran things and the effects of the undead plague, the noble has had extraordinarily little to work with. The people of Cenril are tired, and wading into a war was not high on the agenda but, given how things have gone over the years at least now they’ve something to point those pent-up frustrations upon. This does not come without its growing pains though, as trying to lead some of these volunteers has been more challenging than he anticipated. Like the crew, the man is currently heading to check up on. Composed of several of the more lackadaisical members of Cenril’s military, the younger men have been sentenced to combing the sewers for patrol as punishment for neglecting previous duties. Hoping this would teach a lesson, it wasn’t two days before a report came across the Captain Commander’s desk that they had gone awol. The headache grew, the constant thorn in his side aching just enough to make the noble decide to forgo sending someone else and take it upon himself to check on this matter. It didn’t take long, and the sheer fact he has to descend into sewers only heightens his already raised ire with those he intends to reprimand. Luckily the man is garbed in his work attire, which also serves as his battle attire given recent situations. A mixture of a toughened leather tunic with his family crest etched upon the back, matching greaves, and a custom pair of forearm-length leather gauntlets are topped off by a custom duster jacket that is dyed in the colours of Cenril, with the symbol of his station sewn right above the right breast. Upon each hip is a weapon, the left a short sword while on the right is a chain whip (a new toy). While he has not had to use any of this, yet he knows it helps make him look more official and would hopefully scare these damned wayward hooligans a bit. It takes only a few moments for him to find his way down, and what he finds are not the people he personally sent down here, but rather a whole squad of strangers, dressed in the uniforms of the men he had sent down here. There is a look in their eyes, and the fact they’ve all caught each other off guard creates a few moments of tension that hangs in the air. “Well...” Starts the noble, as he examines the numbers and the situation, his mind working a million miles a minute. “Seems today is going to be a day, isn’t it?” Before the Captain of the Guard moves his right hand down to the hilt of his short sword, as eldritch energy starts to build up in his left. “You guys really chose the wrong day.” As the man’s eyes fall to the one detail he needed, that maybe they forgot. The names of the men they have killed are still on a few of those uniforms, and Jaxson knows Henry Wilkins isn’t a massive orcish brute. “You all really should’ve waited a day or two...” Is all he says, before...
Round One
Jaxson doesn’t even let the words he just spoke fully end before he starts to channel the eldritch powers, he wields to amplify his own already inherited magical abilities into his own physical being, empowering his physical abilities to heightened levels as he explodes into action against this band of would-be saboteurs. Weeks of pent-up anger coupled with just the fact he has been wishing to get from behind a desk and into the action are unleashed as he blitzes past the smaller foxkin that has been poised to seem a would-be victim, some rational thought that maybe they could, in fact, be a pawn playing into that decision, while all the others have that look in their eye. Killers, one and all. Jaxson’s speed could very well catch many by surprise, given the magical amplification of the man, but regardless its only a moment before the Captain Commander has the orc face in his left hand, and he’d use that momentum from his charge to smash the large orc face into the sewers grim and muck stained floor with enough force that audible cracks can be heard. He is not done here though, as the closest man to his left finds himself the focus point of a danger close Eldritch Blast aimed center mass, sending him hurtling back into his comrade that was behind him, leaving a visible dent in the breastplate of his uniform. Three down in the course of a few moments, it may be clear why Jax is the Commander of Cenril’s forces, and the realization of who they just ran into may start to sink in. Shock, maybe fear, or just the outright inability to process what just happened may play a part, but either way, the Ravencroft heir just doesn’t stop. The men they killed to obtain those uniforms were down here because of him. They died because of his command. They will be avenged by his own hands. Rising up to stand within the middle of the remaining four, Jax unsheathes his sword from its resting place and takes on a fighter’s stance as he prepares for his next move, once more that eldritch power channels visibly from his free hand. His mind calculating once more how he’d dispatch these enemies as quickly as possible.
Ina already looked frightened, which is good, because Jaxson showing up makes her -really- feel it. While she wasn't overly familiar with the man beyond his status and reputation, she had watched him go toe to toe with Dyraxdiin during the tourney- a simple fact that makes her wish she could simply cut and run, to be anywhere but here. But no. Nooooooo. She had to let herself be tied up, and run around in nothing more than the fabrics alloted to sewer workers- as opposed to the warrior in his swanky full regalia. The going has officially gotten tough- which meant it was time to get going. Ina, in a bold act of cowardice, decides to make use of their disguise as a relatively non-descript and plain human, raising their hands in an altogether sincere attempt at getting rescued from this situation. She even has the voice down pat,"Sir! Hel- Urk!" Like it was going to be that easy. Seemingly without missing a beat, George has shotgunned back the -entirety- of the potion of strength she'd given to him earlier, (without even being -slowed- by the gross detritus that had accumulated on the mouth of the vial), redoubling his hold upon the rope in order to halt the foxkins' flight, a soldiers intuition likely tipping him off that her panic wasn't feigned. That said, George's battle savvy doesn't amount to much in the face of Jaxson's unnatural burst of speed, the sergeant skidding across the floor. Around him, his less-experienced colleagues are hitting the ground at an alarming pace- and for a moment, it may even seem like the Larketian forces are routed almost as soon as they were discovered, the remaining ones seemingly torn between standing or fleeing. And then Ina's rope twitches again. With a violent heave, George wrenches upon the rope binding Ina- snapping it taut with every intention of sweeping it across Jaxson's legs and tripping the man up. And yet, that display of strength hardly ends there, because a secondary exertion is more than enough to heave the fearful foxkin off her feet- the force enough that even should Jaxson lose his footing, she'd still hurtle at him fast enough to crash into his back. "AHHHHHHHH!" This was the worst. George is the worst. Larket sucks. Whyyyyyy?! George, for his part, is a bit more composed, having risen back to his feet with artificially imbued ursine endurance (and decidedly furrier arms). A swift gesture of his hand to the soldiers adjacent to Jaxson (and his substantially scarier presence) serves as more than enough motivation to remind them that they have swords. Ina, for her part, just spends a few moments on the ground, flopping like a fish. That, and trying to wriggle out of the ropes before 'George' gets any more clever ideas, and gives her brain damage that she didn't start with.
Round Two
Jaxson‘s gaze sweeps from enemy to enemy as he processes what his next course of action will be, the enclosed surroundings of the sewers limiting movement but also meaning his foes can only move in certain attack patterns. Given his experience as both a soldier and sellsword in his youth (prior to his return to take his role as head of his family), experience here is key, especially as the Orc starts to rally even after having just been faceplanted into shyte-covered stone. Still, it was in the moment that Jax was looking to the opposite side that George sends the foxkin-turned-projectile his way, and with the rope already trying to trip him up and the fact they are in a sewer and it's just a gross environment to begin with, the warlock’s footing is questionable at best to begin with. The sound of swords being drawn can be heard which drowns out the yelp of the impish Arly, concealing just enough that she does indeed fly forth to slam into his back, only Jax is tripped up by the rope being pulled taught, forcing him to catch himself else he becomes covered in the muck of Cenril’s sewers. Arly flies overhead to slam into someone though, the man who had been behind the goon Jax blasted with magic earlier was beginning to rise as well, only to find himself once more knocked down by George’s attack. Knuckle deep in the excrement of the people he defends, Jax’s ire rises increasingly with every passing moment. The orc is the leader, and the best way to deal with this situation would to be to cut the head off the snake itself. So, dirty tactics activated, Jax takes a handful of the very crap he is hovering over and sends it flying towards the Orc’s eyes, given the close proximity and the fact the brute’s hands are still tied up with sword and rope, the muck lands and blind him just enough that Jax can get off a quick counter towards the other remaining fighters in the form of a thunderclap spell. The sonic boom that erupts from the Warlock’s form sends a powerful wave of concussive force that sends them hurtling back against the stone walls of the sewer, while Jax then swiftly uses this opening to rise up and drive his sword hilt deep into the roided out Orc’s exposed chest, due to the fact the damnable brute was busy trying to get the grime from out of his eyes. Using this, Jax spins the orc about using the handle of his sword then leaps up and dropkicks the Orc’s lifeless body off his blade and right towards the growing pile of bodies where the foxkin finds herself. As small as she is, being buried beneath the weight of a large orc would prove to be quite unpleasant. This buys Jaxson a few brief moments of reprieve as he flings the dark ichor of George's blood off his blade and prepares for his next attack.
Ina is incredibly lucky, which might be why her ensuing impact with the now-downed soldier winds up being substantially cushier than she expected. All it cost was all of the man's ribs, and a portion of his face being erased across years of accumulated waste. It's a sobering thought, really- and actually makes her grateful that though she's forced to sniffle, her nose is currently clogged up with the scent of her blood. And that's not the only silver lining, either. The soldier's adjacency means she has a (barely) living body to leech luck off, as she simply rolls over his form, and leans back into him- as though his form might somehow provide cover from any errant magic that might be flung her way. That, and cover from Jaxson's sight- providing her the opportunity to use her roguish talents (and slightly thinner wrists courtesy of some quick shape-shifting) to free up her hands, and gain access to the literal bag of tricks stuffed in her sleeve. Normally, this might be a process to sift through all the garbage in her bag of holding, but- Ina's habit of pilfering people's luck means she finds what she's searching for immediately. A trio of potion bottles are plucked out- the sound of their uncorking covered by the sound of battle. Her potion of suppleness, fire resistance, and a third, and somewhat more untested potion. Metabolic acceleration. While she was planning on marketing it as a weight loss tool, and a means of improving recovery- she was still working out the kinks of the whole 'profuse sweating' side effect. Still, none of those are important in the moment- since the main reason it's been chugged, is to hasten the time it takes for the other potions to kick in, and for them to hopefully filter out, if the effects of turning her gut into an alchemical kiln gets bad. And speaking of bad, it's about this point that Curiously buff George has managed to gloriously stand in the path of Jaxson's blade and catch his sword between his armoured pecs- or, no. No, he's just skewered, super dead, and- "AHHH." Before the body can land on her, she does the only reasonable action she can think of- she takes hold of her bag, and rolls to the side. She regrets it almost immediately. Years of piss and worse things besides coat her outfit, sink into her hair, and try to invade tightly clenched eyelids. She flails, wriggles- and then remembers that she's being a moron because she's out of sight. With no one to witness her form, she's free to shift more freely, flesh bubbling and breaking free of her clothes, skin turning to scale- her body elongating into a reptilian form- nay, crocodilian. That's right, Ina has become the nightmarish stuff of fables, SEWER GATOR ADJACENT. With renewed strength, she surges forward through the waters toward where she last remembers one of the fallen soldiers are. Specifically, the idiot that had been showboating. In a burst of gross not-gamer-girl bathwater, Ina's jaws clamp down around the soldier's form, and promptly hurls it at the wall. Specifically, towards where the showboating idiot had been affixing one of the myriad soufflares that had been spread about the dungeon. With a chunk, his form cracks the outer shell- and then all hell breaks loose. Fiery filling erupts, igniting the gases their bioluminescent potions had been avoiding- filling the air with fire, and sending a rain of debris scattering around the room. Ina, for her part, immediately slips back beneath the surface of the brown brine, to hide from the immediate effects of the explosion.
Round Three
Jaxson lands with a sickening splash after kicking Geoge’s lifeless body away right into the filth of the sewers, covering the thick winter cloak he wears and absolutely triggering every repulsive response in his body all at once. The noble rises with supernatural haste, removing the cloak as fast as possible like it has the plague and tossing it aside. Then, as if things just couldn’t be worse, the sewer is home to a crocodile! The terrible toothy beast bites and tears one of the enemy combatants apart in a display of pure carnage, only for the beast to turn into a –fire breathing- crocodile, because of course, Jaxson had to be in a sewer with invading enemy forces that also homes a fire breathing crocodile? Yep, the screw this button was about to be smashed, and thanks to the distance created by his previous attack, the Warlock is out of most of the harm’s way, that is until the fiery belch of the sewer denizen ignites those lingering gases in the air and an eruption of the foulest make engulfs the immediate area. The only course of action is one that the noble would rather be killed than do, but he takes a note from them croc and dives into the water the moment the eruption occurs, diving into the tainted water just as the flames crash overhead. One would think the man is now in the realm of the croc, yeah? And you’d be right if it were not one major thing. The built of gases have been burnt up in the last attack, and the only thing that stopped Jax from using the more destructive powers at his disposal are now free game. And, given the natural immunity to his own magic, he is granted, the warlock channels a large amount of raw power to unleash a blast of raw electric power right into the dark waters that both he and the beast currently reside. Electric currents flow forth and turn the waters of Cenril’s sewers into a boiling cauldron, designed to cook the beast alive by frying it from every angle imaginable. Jaxson may be saved from the electricity, but the rising heat of the spells power causes the water about him to become dangerous for anything living. And so, Jax takes to channelling the electric powers of his tempest-based boons and uses the energy to propel himself up and out of the water before he becomes a victim of his own attack. He rises from the depths a grime-covered and horrid-smelling mess, steam and cracks of electricity come off his form as he continues to channel streams of electric blasts into the water in hopes of cooking that beast alive.
Arlyeon, normally, should be screaming her head off. Or, whatever might pass for that as a gator- because while she was certainly bulky, and had some scale- it wasn't the sort of thing that could withstand heaps of rock crashing down on her, if the tunnel continued to give way. That said, Ina's a bit quirky as far as alchemists go. In the sense that her habit of cutting corners with her concoctions, and her ability to imbue the things she makes with aspects causes some rather interesting side effects. Take her fire resistance potion, for instance- which was currently in the process of turning her flesh to stone, if only to facilitate its design. in this case, Pyrite- which made her exponentially heavier than she normally was. Second, was her suppleness potion- which helped to keep skin smooth, by also providing it the sort of give that rubber would have. These two elements together were doing wonders to ensure that the explosion's shockwave didn't immediately turn her organs into jelly, and staved off any inconvenient skull shatterings by errant chunks of rock. And this was important, since that metabolism potion? It had kicked in about this point- providing her access to the tried and true (side)-effects. Which has her counting her blessings when that first surge of electrical energy ripples through the waters. The current hits her body, and struggles to find proper purchase against its surface, her body alternating between simply soaking the charge per her elastic form, or conducting through the parts which had decided to be craggier. Better yet, she'd effectively been inured against the rising heat, due to her prep work- which meant, it was time for the finale. Protected as she is, she's able to remain composed enough to shift her form once more, the gator's massive tailing coiling in upon itself tighter and thinner, increasingly tense. And then, like some gargantuan spring, it releases- sending her body surging from the water in a terrifying burst, her maw stretching cavernously wide- her own mutable nature and the suppleness potion turning it into a nightmarish gape full of teeth. Just as quickly it snaps shut, that same elasticity used to deadly effect- as the foxkin attempts to capture Jaxson, and crash him into the wall with her substantial weight. Worse, her impact won't simply stop then, given she'll promptly wind up ricocheting- her rubbery form lending itself easily to a death-roll meant to shatter the man's body if it's in her maw, or to simply roll over him like some weird, feces-covered steamroller if he'd managed to evade the initial charge. A steamroller, whose final goal was to simply return to those crackling waters- since Jaxson seemed like he could use a nice hot bath.
Final Defense
Jaxson falls from an unreasonable height after his propulsion from the murky depths to land on the stone walkway that lies aside the deceptively deep depths of the sewer’s waters, the likes of which still sizzle from the warlock’s previous attack. Strain is setting in now, and despite his intense training as of late his body still has trouble handling such use of raw power. His breath comes in deeper takes, pain riddles his form as the magical effects that usually numb such start to wear off. There is a hope the battle is at its end, and still, there are so many unanswered questions that already start to set in. Where are the men he sent down here? How’d these people get in here? Who are these people? What were they doing? It's enough to drive him mad how he is suddenly attacked by these kinds of thoughts. Luckily, or rather, unluckily, enough for him the crocodile bursts forth from those dark waters like some necromancer’s failed project, its body oddly hard and soft, smooth and hard as stone, quite the mixture! But its more panic than anything else that possibly saved the man from being torn asunder in the foul beast’s jaws, as the very waters the croc flies out from become the focus of Jaxson’s latest spell, the man opting to freeze it by dropping the temperature of the water down so rapidly that it almost seems to flash freeze! But it does not seem quick enough, and with large chunks of the sewer starting to fall apart around them it seems the excess luck the foxkin has stored up leaks off her and out towards him just enough! Why? Because one of those exceptionally large chunks of solid stone falls right between the two, blocking the crocodile-turned-science experiment’s path to him just enough to prevent the nobleman’s gruesome death. The impact of such a large beast would normally cause Jaxson to be caught between the large slab of stone and the wall, but since the beast is somehow now elastic in nature, it would face bouncing off the blockade and right back into the now frozen waters. The same frozen waters it had previously erupted from, leaving behind many icy spikes in its wake. Unable to see this, given his position behind this rather large slab of stone, Jax’s attention is left to the remaining falling debris, which threatens to entomb him at best, or worse crush him in a grave of fecal matter and stone. The God’s now will tell whom they favour this day, as the man tries his best to determine which spell would save his life while hoping beyond hope that the crocodile is dealt with.
Winner: Arlyeon
Ina's' immediate reaction to ricocheting off the abruptly appearing boulder is to curl up, achieving a disconcertingly armadillo-like poise courtesy of her rubbery flexibility, the craggy nature of her flesh only cementing the comparison. Armoured as such, she crunches over the jagged shards of debris, soaking the brunt of the damage and using it to slow her literal roll. One that ends a lot more inelegantly than she'd like, given that midway her form abruptly snaps back to the more familiar guise of her foxkin self. A shift that is far from voluntary, hearkened more by the unstable mixture of tonics currently percolating in her stomach. Her only consolation is that Jaxson lay behind the boulder, out of sight and likely consumed with the imminent concern of the collapsing ceiling - unable to see the way she was handling the potion she'd fed him after the Dyraxdiin fight, sickly streams of sweat pouring off her in such profusion, that it begins to make trails through the filth caking her flesh. Her stomach lurches, and while she manages to prevent the crux of it from coming up, she can't quite prevent all of it - a sparkling rainbow of spew spraying out from between clenched teeth in a shimmering stream that seems uncertain as to whether it wants to hit the ground, or float around in weird bubbles.
Really, things are just looking *terrible* for Ina - save for one particular fact. That surge of fortune that permeated the area could only really lay with the warlocks' primordial patron, because Ina -couldn't- simply share her good fortune with someone else. Were she able to direct it for any purpose that wasn't simply selfish, she would not have left a trail of dead friends in her wake. Which means, right now, Ina is in the midst of a whole lot of luck, to the point that she doesn't even need to go out of her way to trigger a tactile theft of the mass, and become the locus of its focus. An almost overwhelming potency floods into her, and for a brief moment she feels her mind buckle in a manner reminiscent of what had occurred when Langley had consumed her. She hiccups, a small gout of fox fire trailing from between her lips- and some still sane part of herself cups her mouth to stop another one from happening. And here's where the luck really kicks in- because in that moment, her mouth fills with flame, before working its way back down her throat and into her stomach- rapidly ramping up the temperature of her form to heights she hadn't known were possible. Heights which were now serving to cook and -catalyze- the potion in her guts into a brand new tonic. At this point, even if she wanted to stop the process, she couldn't- given that her body temperature continued to escalate- her form a gleaming ember of molten pyrite. Which meant the only thing left to do- was to finish the job. Almost intuitively, she winds her right arm back, the hefty molten limb flinging back -through- the wall like it was made of butter. Really, she extends it as far back as she can manage within those few brief moments, testing the elasticity of this new state- and then she simply releases it with an -extremely- satisfying twang of a rubber band snapping. Jaxson, preoccupied as he is, likely doesn't even -register- what it is that bores through the boulder like a molten drill- the relative darkness of the sewers becoming blindingly bright as the fist collides into the warlock's chest with devastating force. Really, if he -hadn't- been in the process of forming an eldritch bulwark, it likely would have blown a hole straight through him - but its presence means he's spared the molten heat, and simply left with the kinetic force as it sends him ricocheting off the walls of the tunnel like a human pinball.
Ina, for her part, fares a bit better- in the sense that she stays conscious when her arm abruptly recoils to her position and launches her into the air in a decidedly ungraceful cartwheel that ends with her face on the floor. Fantastic. Still, not only was this technically a victory, Jaxson was (probably) alive, which meant tales of a hideous sewer crocodile would now haunt the sewers. The sort of thing that would likely haunt the nightmare of Cenrili denizens for years, and fuel the sort of paranoia she loved to cater to with her wares. That, and it would likely buy a fair bit of time for her -actual- sabotage scheme. All the property damage they'd caused? That was just a smoke screen, because repairing collapsed tunnels was obvious. What was substantially -less- obvious, was taking a bunch of dehydrated gelatinous cubes that had been hybridized with slimes, and stuffing them in a number of key drain outlets, so that they'd slowly grow up the pipelines over the course of weeks, and completely bungle the cities drainage systems. Goodbye morale, and hello fresh water sales. And then? It was time to find something universal solvent adjacent to bathe in.