Fight:Eboric v Grorat
The Temple
The smell of charred flesh overwhelms as you straggle through the darkness of a small hall and into the soft glow of candles that fill the room. A variety of greens prosper, meticulously arranged in several different rows along three walls, the remaining lined with quicken-tree spits, one still smoldering with blackened remains. Beautifully worked gold ornaments, worn, leather-bound books, decorated stones, tools of antler and bone, ritual implements of bronze, and beads of amber and jet clutter an oblong cherry table, most engraved with the phrase, 'Beannaithe ag Draoithe' and a triangle centered in a circle, spiraling to the right at each point. To the south, the Temple's entrance. To the north, similar mystifying discoveries await.
Grorat never did mind the scent of charred flesh that would normally overwhelm most of the town proper within the room filled with the soft glow of candles and several different rows of a variety of greens along three walls. So it was toward the northern exit that the orc stood, a sort of mismatched sight in a place of reverie with tribal tattoos, bare torso, and a bald head. Massive green shoulders tensed, and the orc's ears tilted back in order to hear behind him, as he had expected the emergence of the werebear in thick anticipation; it was time to test the Aethling. After the bootfalls, after the other sees the thick sage of the humanoid's skin, Grorat turned in order to face Eboric and stared in scrutiny the man of many victories with beady, brown eyes. Both of his crudely-made axes that were once slung at his hips were now in his hands, palmed and held easily with the implication that these weapons, although primitive, were made to fit the hands of the orc with a vehemence that his opposition normally didn't desire to face. It was that same rage that would be directed upon Eboric. With a push off of his back foot, Grorat leapt forward to a dead sprint, and his boots pounded across the temple floor as his tusked maw opened to release a startling battlecry of orkish proportion. He had only malice, and no intent of mercy that burned within his sunken gaze. And upon approach of the warlord, the warrior, twisted his body before he loosed a tension, and snapped both of his axes in a diagonal arc, top to bottom, from right to left, toward the man's shoulder.
Eboric steps into the temple and, armed and armored as he always is, unsheathes his seaxe, the short blade held in his left hand while Eidhur, ever bared, is in his right. As the orc begins to charge, the werebear simply stands, a slight smile on his face, without a single sign of fear even when the beast begins to roar. It is only at the last possible moment that the big man moves, snapping his seaxe up and out with every ounce of his hard-won muscle behind it, catching the axes where head meets haft and, although the force of the orc's blow is great, manages to hold them there. The warlord's smile spreads into a grin, and he shoves back, his arm spinning in an attempt to lodge his blade underneath the axe heads and rotate them away and down, possibly even disarming Grorat. It is then that Eidhur hammers in, the black blade whispering in the air as is whistles toward Grorat's exposed ribs in a vicious slash easily capable of splitting skin and flesh alike. Never satisfied with but the one attack, Eboric's seaxe follows a split-second later, the tapered tip thrusting out, seeking the orc's gullet.
Grorat 's eyes narrowed as the warlord's smile spread into a grin, and knew full well the encompassment of the battle that erupted between the werebear and orc. That didn't put a grin on the face of the orc however, because the warrior was already attuned to his natural strength of bloodlust and the rage that instinctually built inside of him, which he felt course through his veins and this propelled him to a greater strength. Unfortunately, his strength was matched by the Aethling. The consecutive attacks were met with the defense of the orc however, who refused to allow himself to be disarmed, and instead was pulled away and downward only have dislodged an axe and twisted his body around to parry Eidhur. The sounded sequence of metal striking metal, the more refined on the end of the Warlord than the orc's crude weapons, resonated throughout the temple. Grorat, brought up both of his weapons, and struck away each strike of the werebear with tensed muscles that betrayed his use of strength; Eidhur, followed by a sweep upward to knock aside the seaxe that thrusted toward his gullet. This would've brought the males toe-to-toe, and Grorat used his martial prowess in an attempt to gain advantage. He crossed his axes to form some sort of crude shield, as he stepped forward to hook his ankle around the opposite one of Eboric and gave the axes a mighty shove. If it worked well, Eboric would be tripped up by the leg of the orc as he moved backward; but Grorat wouldn't be outdone yet. The axes split horizontally in different directions, origin of the gut of the werebear, in an attempt to rip open his belly.
Eboric is no stranger to such tricks, and as the orc's ankle snakes around, he simply throws his arms out, wrapping them around behind his foe in a sort of a hug, so that when Grorat goes backward, Eboric does as well, feet shuffling as he tries to keep his balance. As the axes move outward, they are much closer to the werebear than their owner likely expected, and so the blades simply slide off of the mithril hauberk, harmless to the man underneath. Pushing back and away from his foe, the warlord throws his fist out, shoving the ringed hilt of Eidhur directly at the orc's brutish nose, hopeing to flatten it even further against the green face and, perhaps, disable the raging beast. In the wake of this distracting blow, the seaxe darts out again, this time dipping low in an attempt to take Grorat in the belly; a gruesome wound, sure to be followed by a slow, agonizing death.
Grorat was surprised briefly when the werebear wrapped his massive arms around the orc in a sort of bear-hug, which was aptly-named at this point, in order to defend against the trickery of the more hand-to-hand suite. It rendered his attack virtually harmless as he had to be pushed back away in order to right his posture and stance. But he didn't have time, because the ringed hilt of Eidhur struck the orc directly on the pig-like nose, and that hollowed out a sickened 'crunch' of marrow and cartiledge as blood squirted from his cavernous nostrils. The orc reeled backward and twisted, and in that movement if perhaps by a mere stroke of luck managed to evade the seaxe that darted outward at his midsection. But Grorat is a savage of a male, and a broken nose wouldn't hinder his veritable bloodlust. So the warrior fluidly continued his twist and outstretched his leg, heel-first, in a roundhouse-kick toward Eboric's face. That isn't all of his monstrous attack; as the turn came full circle, with both of those axes in hand and a nose bleeding unchecked, the orc finished his turn with a flourish of sorts. His axes came around in a combo of assault, first one to lead the other in twin horizontal slashes.
Eboric makes his first mistake of the fight as he takes a moment to laugh at the orc's crushed nose, and has only minimal time to react to the kick that is sent his way. Again, he steps in, hunching his weight toward one shoulder so as to absorb the blow, which still jars him to the core, sending him reeling off the other direction. He recovers well, though, and as the axes swing around he steps back, letting the first one pass him by, then back in, his seaxe hacking out and down at the oncoming weapon, knocking the blow away from his body and perhaps even slicing through the crude haft, if the weapon cannot take the force. He takes another step in, and slams his head forward and down, hoping to land the hard bone of his forehead against Grorat's already broken nose, which he follows up with another heavy slash with Eidhur, the black blade sweeping low toward Grorat's legs, while his left hand swings back around, arm bending at the elbow to throw that solid joint directly at the side of his opponent's head!
Grorat was perhaps a bit more focused on the eradication of his opponent than Eboric, considering his opponent's lack of a moment in order to laugh at the orc's wound, but that proved in Grorat's favor. The favor however, was short-lived, as the seaxe hacked through the crude heft of one of his axes and allowed the blunt of the weapon to sail harmlessly and irrepairably to the stone floor. Grorat was swift, and managed to twist his body in order to yank himself back from both the headbutt of the werebear as well as the heavy slash of Eidhur, which was helped along by the sound of his axe striking the back of the black blade to hurry it along. He wasn't prepared for the elbow. The solid join struck the orc's exposed head and jerked him to the side, and that left a trail of crimson from the continued bleeding of the orc's broken nose as the creature shook his head to rid it of stars. But instead of continuing, the orc took a few steps backward as his chest rose and fell in the labored breath of fatigue, yet he managed to speak in his guttural tone. "You are a worthy adversary in battle. I am honored."
Eboric steps back, breathing heavily from the brief fight. "And you are no weakling yourself, orc. I could use warriors like you in my warband, and so, if you wish, I will allow you to swear fealty to me."
Grorat was no fool, despite his greenskin upbringing. He had friends to consider; a blue feline, a goblin shaman, and a human bard. "In what purpose would I serve you, man-bear?" It wasn't derogatory, but rather for the lack of mannerisms brought on by his kind -they weren't known for titles and nobility.
Eboric shrugs his shoulders. "As a warrior. As a conqueror. I will be your lord, your king, and from me you will gain honor, glory, and gold. Simply place your hand here, on the ring set in my sword's hilt, and swear to follow me loyally, knowing that death will come to you if you break your oath."
Grorat didn't see how this would affect his friendship, so he did as such.