|
Arena!!
Jun 11, 2017 23:18:59 GMT -6
Post by Vincent on Jun 11, 2017 23:18:59 GMT -6
A magic blade? A blade imbued in the nether. Vincent was all too familiar with these sorts of things now. Between Neil, the shamaness that tried to kill him, Near's Worm blade, and most recently the wight that had unleashed a powerful weapon of mire upon him. He was far too familiar with it and the dangers they possessed. He still ore the pockmark-like scars on his arm from the match with Near, and he could never forget nearly drowning in the mire against the wight, or the cage of Ruin he was threatened to be crushed in by Neil.
Just the sight of such a foul blade made Vincent's heart race and his ire rise. Why did it have to be nether? Why did it ALWAYS have to be nether!? As the pulse of foul power buffeted his senses he felt Phoenix Heart stir to life, the pale glow now solidifying into a bright and hot light. This was a fight that even his blade could get invested in now. Despite the early fight not going into his favor he certainly found himself grinning like a mad fool. This was becoming a fight he would have to remember. Mizuyuki... he would add him to his list of future rivals, but unlike the others, he refused to suffer another loss. This was not the stage for it.
Vincent had put a great deal of strength and power into his initial strike but his opponent was a quick one. He spun and danced around the young hero using feints and quick footwork. So he was that type of fighter. The Duma and Ryu type it is. He needed to seal that momentum or else he would lose, if not for defeat, at the sounds of the buzzer. As his blade reached low Vincent too spun bringing his blade around to meet Mizuyuki's. A clash of a dark and light blade is never fun. The volatile nature of such clashes always end in magic going wild.
"AHHHHH!!!!" He brought his blade higher clashing upon the underside length of Mizuyuki's blade. In an ideal world he could knock his sword aside and proceed to bringing the blade to his rival's neck ending it, but here, they both had magnificent weapons.
Luckily for Vincent the loose nature of the ground allowed him to shift his left leg around easily to meet for the clash. Not so fortunately sand is not the most stable of earth. The great quantities of nether that poured from Mizuyuki's sword and the ever growing light that shown from Vincent's own rejected upon impact. Each blade unleashing their power into the other. The light and dark mingling and rejecting lashing out in a gray sort of light. Finally at the point of impact the energies exploded. Vincent found himself reeling from such a clash, stumbling back in the sand, nearly tripping. "Blast!"
This man in front of him was a much bigger hurdle than he had anticipated so early on. If not for using both of his hands on Phoenix Heart he was liable to have seen his blade get tossed somewhere across the arena. 'Alright Phoenix Heart! LET'S GET SERIOUS!!!' As Vincent hardened his will an observant viewer could see a pale light in his eyes, not entirely his own. "SEAL, RELEASE!!!" He shouted. The blade broke its first seal shining brightly now. To break the second was too risky to his opponent's life, but clearly, he would need to utilize it as more than a light empowered beat-stick. It was getting more interesting and Vincent's grin got wider.
The heat he felt inside was rising, he needed to keep the sword at bay and keep his own resolve to win no matter what beyond the blade's demands, lest he be consumed in judgment fire. If his opponent wanted to spin and twirl with blades then Vincent would show him just what it meant to spin and twirl. He unfastened his cape and let it drop into the sands, he did not wish to let it weigh him down. Drawing on his defensive blade he took the dual wielding stance he was famous for.
There was no way of telling or knowing how his opponent would act. His was a wild card in his mind, and his sword a dangerous enemy in its own right. How would he utilize it? He nearly took out his leg already, and had he hesitated in the slightest it would have all been over. The thought alone was a chilling one in a way, he had suffered a number harsh blows but that would have been the greatest among them.
In this moment he needed to make one blade into two, make two feel like four, and let the magic bear down upon him and suppress the power of his dark blade. It was a lot to do in a time-span of mere seconds, but that was how battles boiled down to at their core. Catching his blade with the sword-breaker would do him no good, but he had an alternative plan. Recalling his match with Ryuzaki if he could catch the arm instead he could damage it and force him to loose the blade, or switch hands, he was likely to be capable of such he suspected. When Vincent made his approach he unleashed the force of Phoenix Heart just before getting close. He was still too scared to use it upon an opponent directly but he could cast it upon the ground of which he stood.
Letting a bolt of light strike the earth at his enemy's feet he could cloud the air with the sandy particles and keep him off balance. He would not make the same mistake of allowing a greater distance this time. After loosing the bolt the young hero took a backhanded swing with Phoenix Heart across his body. He wanted to knock his opponent's blade away so he could follow on with goring his arm with the barbs of his sword breaker. All the while he moved to keep close, using a spinning motion of his own like a hurricane of blades. That was the goal.
|
|
|
Arena!!
Jun 12, 2017 15:57:08 GMT -6
Post by Mizuyuki on Jun 12, 2017 15:57:08 GMT -6
Mizuyuki was faintly caught with surprise threatening to breach his deadened visage. With the size of weapon his opponent doted, he hadn't expected them to be able to entirely keep up with his own speed yet maintain the same level of control. The force of the larger light infused blade crashing into Yamigarasu forced him to lean into the lock with right arm shifting downwards. Muscles taut for a moment as the currents of dark energy writhed and swirled around him. The blast from light and darkness intermixing sent him stumbling backwards. A few steps backpedaling at a time while he pivoted his weight to stabilize. He broke up the motion and regained control by hopping backwards a step, before re-asserting his stance and gazing towards his opponent once more. Darkened hues drinking in the sight of the golden blade. From his own blade he could feel the surge. Excitement. Blood lust. Murderous desires. All of them swirling up within like a maelstrom of intense fell intent, and it manifested as the amethyst bedded within the blade's hilt pulsed a bright violet shade; the core stained with an umbra shaded essence.
The blade became entirely obscured as a thick veil of energy coated its entire length. Swirling and twisting with a foul stain upon the air, like a great miasma building to burst. Mizu's pulse was still racing but now he felt that shroud begin to obscure his thoughts. Every muscle twitched. Every reflex honed through a life-time of training and development, and yet his intent to kill was contentiously rising. Mizuyuki lifted his blade as the air grew thick. Laden with a gathering power. Sphere's of dark shadowy energy bubbling to life around him and trails of energy that danced as if upon currents of toxic wind to form a faint storm around him. He leaned forwards as his weight moved to his heels, ready to lunge or leap as he felt his expression darken.
Light magic. Something he'd dealt with regularly against the Etrurian forces. However beyond those conflicts he'd seen little of it. He knew enough to know its speed and power made it a dangerous threat. The quiet Sacaen saw the surge of light around his foe, and in that moment looked inwards. His ancestors in generations past had been able to use this blade to its fullest. Though most would yield in later years they did last for years beneath its oppression without buckling and still gave full command of the dark powers it held. Mizuyuki's palm tightened around his hilt. Knuckles stained white from the grip as he lifted Yamigarasu slowly until it's image looked as if to split himself into two clean halves down the center. Eyes shut and center soon found itself. The overwhelming dark presence tried to pry and tug at every emotional weakness. Every outburst. Like a stream could be guided, so would he guide this power. Darkness exuded from every crevice of the blade and the pressure centralized around it erupted with bulbous blasts as the energy refined further into a closer proximity.
Despite his best efforts to find an inner calm, Yamigarasu would not be denied. Like a single overwhelming heart-beat echoing through every last inch of his entire body, Mizuyuki felt a terrible surge of darkness. His mind flooded with the faces behind each feather resting atop an arrow within his quiver. Every smile. Every laugh. The scent of blood filled his mind as recollections of that night plagued him. He slowly hunched forwards. Shoulders dropping for a brief second and grip on his blade running slack, as he felt himself ever so slightly begin to slip away. The flash of light barely caught his attention, and he wasn't quite fast enough to leap backwards before the veil of sand washed over the air around him. Everything boiled into a seething white rage. Mizuyuki's grip on Yamigarsu tightened once again and this time, the blade sang with power. As if every current of a obscured river opened and converged into one single flow. The energy extended beyond the blade's length and as he lifted it, the air began to hum around him. Dust, sand and clouded air parted from the shockwave of the weapons pulse to life in full and cast a violet hue upon the Sacaen swordsman.
Every muscle. Every motion. All guided by the instinctive fury that he'd been led into through subtle manipulations within and external provocation of his foes strike. As Vincent spun, Mizuyuki lifted the sable blade high and gripped it with his right hand before leaning forwards and holding it with right arm crossed over his chest and blade curved around his side. The blade's power channeling as the foe swiftly spun closer, before the Sacaen rushed forwards. Had he been in the right state of mind he would have felt a rush of excitement in the prospect. Mizuyuki was intimately familiar to the motion of a spin. It was a very common practice in his own style. He was also familiar with the weaknesses of it. It denied vision on the opponent for the duration in which the neck pivoted and head had to arc. Gazing swiftly mid spin from right to left could alleviate this but also distorted the sense of vertigo that grounded a fighter, and was exceedingly dangerous. This lesson he'd learned the hard way. The other fatal flaw, was that once it'd been exposed too many times the opponent could always know where the blades would be. No individual had the presence of mind or reflexive awareness to adjust and alternate swings mid rotation without falling into a pattern.
Mizyuki swept his blade initially before he lunged closer to range. The sweep would never collided with the blades, let alone foe as he was still approaching. However it did release a powerful pulse of dark energy like a globe shaped wave around him outwards. More to disrupt and distract than harm. Sand and dirt scattered from the pulse and Mizu paused ever so briefly upon approach before lunging for that key window. Pressing every sense. Every aspect of his reflexes and speed to their maximum. Had his blade been even slightly heavier or himself slightly slower, he would have easily been caught in the strike.
Between foes limbs and in a closer range he was far safer than at just out of arms length where weapons needn't be adjusted to cleave. Mizuyuki's weight shifted to his right foot as he swiftly transitioned from his slash to a reverse grip. The raven blade's tip pointing downwards as he shifted into the non-lethal adjustment of Form II and swiftly brought his blade upwards while pivoting his weight. The flat of the blade intended to crash into his right shoulder with primarily blunt force trauma as his weapon. While the infused force of the dark spell would deliver the rest of the blow. An explosive blast of nether essence to splash over and cause far more wide-spread damage.
With him detonating more of the pent up energy in the twin pulses he could safely rely on the time between build ups to know that were he to connect, he would not cause permanent harm. Enough to injure the ball joint in the right shoulder and break a few bones, but nothing healers could not mend. The darkness within his weapon, and consequently himself, sang at the prospect of the violence and he felt the rush threaten to consume him entirely.
|
|
|
Arena!!
Jun 12, 2017 17:59:31 GMT -6
Post by Vincent on Jun 12, 2017 17:59:31 GMT -6
It was becoming exceptionally, and painfully clear that to lock down his opponent was not going to work as he had intended. Perhaps if he had the regal metal worked into his dagger he could have been able to force a clash against his weapon and shut him down. It would have made things so much simpler, but as it stands only a magic weapon can contend with another magic weapon. As the young hero rushed his opponent his strike of light magic blinded his foe. The sands clouded the air to full effect but only briefly. Instead of keeping his opponent blind and choking that blasted nether blade pulsed out once again clearing the air with its foul power.
Vin would have very much preferred to change his approach at this point, but with his blade across his body from that lead in he had to commit. As his swing began Mizuyuki wasted no time. He lunged right past the hero's strike evading it before it could even rightly begin. 'BLAST!' it was the only thought that could rightly go through his mind in a moment like this. Was he always destined to receive a punishing blow from an opponent and return in kind EVERY BLASTED DUEL!!!? Well, maybe it just was not a proper bout if it did not happen, but boy did he know this was going to hurt.
If Mizuyuki was going to take his arm, then he would steal his leg! 'COME ON!!!' As the two men met, Mizuyuki loosed a savage strike of mire upon Vincent's right shoulder. He could feel the force Tear apart the clothing and burn into his body. It struck deep. This was nothing like the Wight who used the mire to force him under the nether, this was direct. "RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!" Vincent let out an enraged roar! As the dark bit into him he too had managed to bring his blade around far enough to retaliate. Something in him stirred, it was the berserker that always had a way of rearing its head when he was clouded by pain. He wanted to make sure his enemy felt it just as much as he did!
With Phoenix Heart mere inches from Mizuyuki's leg Vincent loosed a powerful burst of searing light. If he would cripple his right arm, then Vincent would leave him unable to walk. Of course, nothing the healers could not fix. But finally, he could seal his movements. As Mizuyuki landed his strike Vincent loosed his own burst of searing light simultaneously. A simultaneous trade! The light should encompass and burn the greater area of his leg and thigh. If he wanted to hop around he would have to contend with the crippling pain.
Ah man, why was he seeing red? His right arm hurt, but it would not move properly. It had to be an insult to reality to feel that much pain but not go entirely numb. Ah yeah, that heat he was feeling in his body. Phoenix Heart was threatening to overpower him. He was letting his will to win falter after just that hit? Why was he here to begin with? He needed to make his debut into the world stage of Bern. He was known in Lycia, Ilia, and Sacae. He was The Heelcutter and the nemesis to the Black Feather Assassins, The Court, and many more. He could not loose here, let alone let the blade overtake him. He had to fight, he had to WIN!!!
"LIKE HELL!!!!" Vincent shouted as he let go of both his blades. If his swords would not cut it against this man, then his fists and legs would have to do it. He took that blow, and now he was as close as he needed to be! In his left gauntlet was a hidden blade, he could deflect with that if absolutely necessary, but now, he needed to take the man to the floor. If he received that searing light like he thought he had, there was no doubt in Vincent's mind now.
He spent months in the fighting pits, strengthening his body and control, he practiced the lithe maneuvers of the assassins and shed the gear that would weigh him down. Rising up to meet his enemy face to face at last he had to bank it all here. He only had the one arm to strike with, but he also had legs and elbows. "Gotcha!" In pursuit of his foe Vincent would proceed to try and headbutt Mizuyuki and take hold of him stealing his legs legs into his space. If he could do it he would only need the one arm to take him to the ground. If he could mount his opponent a barrage of strikes would follow. Perhaps it was a lot to aim for in the final moments of such a battle, perhaps he should have done so sooner, but to throw his enemy and bring a steeled fist down upon him would be able to end it.
|
|
|
Arena!!
Jun 14, 2017 15:14:06 GMT -6
Post by Mizuyuki on Jun 14, 2017 15:14:06 GMT -6
The successful strike had no time to register for the dancing Sacaen initially. The sudden surge of oppressive light washing over his leg and scorching flesh in an instant made his knee begin to buckle as his calf throbbed in agony. His expression shifted to one of pain, and agony as the black magic washed over his foe's limb and ate away at flesh as if an unholy flame. Mizuyuki instinctively adjusted his weight to compensate while lowering his arm only briefly. The pain would've materialized in audible form with a shout, but he bit back on his tongue and pursed his lips into a feral scowl as a brief spasm traversed his throat and adam's apple while he swallowed his agonies. Mizuyuki's entire body instantly enveloped in the murky veil as he drew, willingly this time upon his blade. His pulse was racing, and he felt himself become numb for a fraction of a second. Body entering fight or flight and his perceptive senses going into over-drive. The world became brighter. Obnoxiously so. He felt almost as if were hyper aware and then...nothing.
His mind went blank. His gaze dipped and the noise of everything fell into the void. Mizuyuki's body sustained for the lapse of a brief hanging moment as his grip solidified upon the hilt. The blood lust that encroached washed away as his mental state cleansed entirely. In the face of such a foe, in such a sudden shift of positions from the fight he fell upon the most subconscious of instinct. Where his blade did not exist within his hand, but in his mind. Where he did not will it to happen actively, his body responded to the basic reflexively honed instincts raised and trained into him. Where the conduits of magic and the reservoir within the blade acted upon instinct. Yamigarasu surged as it lowered. His foe had dropped his blades, and Mizuyuki rose his own. Still clasped in that reverse grip while he shifted his weight as if to lean backwards with heel raising off the ground as he extended his leg. Initially swaying backwards, before body surged forwards and he launched his blade in an upwards slash with a torrent of dark magic erupting from it. It was not the blade that delivered the strike. It was the wave of darkness guided by the weapon, like a metal conducting baton weaving a path through the air for the fell symphony to traverse. The pressure of the fluid like magic surged and twisted while it churned before erupting towards Vincent.
His upwards swing swift, with right hand rising upwards from lower right side to upper left shoulder and the small wall like wave of magic blasting intent to knock the foe backwards and away. He admired the determination to resolve things with fists and conflict, but Mizuyuki could not discard his. Ignoring the dishonor it would bring upon his family to throw his blade to the ground, he relied on it for literally every major form of fighting. He'd received minimal martial arts training and enough to maneuver to a weapon when disarmed and little more. The surge of darkness swirling around his blade and erupting was more akin to a wave of condensed power, palpable enough to exude a force that could knock the two away from one another from concussive pulse even thought he bulk of the force was aimed for the body of his foe. Were it to make impact it would not have centralized but instead splashed over and erupted externally. It shook and erupted through the air like an blast. A sable tide erupting into explosive currents while Mizu's blade rushed upwards in an ascending diagonal slash with reverse grip so the blade continued to point downwards. As he had though, the abrupt grip of Vincent and the smash to his skull managed to initially land before the shock-wave forced him away from his foe.
The trance like state he'd entered instantly shattered as a thin trail of crimson passed down his forehead, along the right side of his nose and began to trail along his upper lip. His weight was shifted onto his left leg, right leg fairly limp and his shoulders rose in repetition as he attempted to sharply maintain his inhalation through the nose. Mizuyuki's darkened gaze narrowed as his blade sang with delight at the violence and carnage. Purple and shadowy shades intermixing as the Sacaen braced himself.
|
|
|
Arena!!
Jun 15, 2017 16:15:36 GMT -6
Post by Plot Device on Jun 15, 2017 16:15:36 GMT -6
The announcer looked on in amazement. He had no idea this fight would be… this fight. These competitors did more than liven the tournament. The crowd was going wild. The light and dark magical weapons drew an ever growing amount of people from around the nearby festival. It was fantastic. Fans cheers filled the air. Ohhs, ahhs, a few gasps here and there. The scene was overwhelming. The announcer wanted the fight to go on. Surely the crowd did as well, but he knew there were other competitors waiting to show their stuff as well.
The announcer saw a pause in the fighting after the white haired swordsman threw down his weapons to move into a hand to hand fight. Well, hand to magical sword, as the dark swordsman threw a cast of mire at the weaponless fighter, sacrificing a hit to the dome in the process. The announcer called it. “Time! Weapons down, those of you who are still holding weapons that is.” There were more than a couple fans who were upset at the announcer for calling an end to the intense combat. Oh well, came with the territory.
“Can you believe it folks? This was poetry I tell you. White haired, grinning light swordsman vs. the dark haired stoic dark swordsman. Spinning and clashing. Trading blows at each turn. I couldn’t have staged a better performance, trust me. Let’s hear it for both our competitors!” The crowd began to churn with jumping excitement.
“Alas, it is my burden to have to declare a winner of this fight. So what do you think people? Who likes our White haired hero of light, Vincent?” The noise level was huge. Probably even bigger than when that wyvern rider first appeared.
“Hero of light indeed. That magic was everywhere, even in his very eyes.”
“Most of his planning was nice. Using smokescreens, thrown weapons and such.”
“The fortitude! To take a hit to the shoulder and switch to hand to hand combat. That was gutsy.”
“And what did we think of our dark, mysterious Yeoman? Mizuyuki!” Noise exploded again. People were calling his name.
“Grace under pressure. That’s what I like to see.”
“Looked like he never made a misstep. Til’ his leg got hit that is.”
“If you think about it. When the announcer called it, the guy had a sword and the other one was weaponless. No matter how I look at it, only one way I see that going.”
The purple haired announcer nodded. “Congratulations, Mizuyuki! You will be proceeding to the next round.” Now then, in order to find who would be facing Mizuyuki, the next fight had to begin. The announcer took a deep breath before speaking. He could only hope the next fight would be as entertaining as the last.
“Tough act to follow, but let’s see your best shot. Kasimir and Gar come on out!”
|
|
|
Arena!!
Jun 15, 2017 23:30:49 GMT -6
Post by Gar on Jun 15, 2017 23:30:49 GMT -6
Gar was stuffing his face full of sweet cakes when the last battle came to a close. He hadn’t eaten foods like this in quite some time. You don’t come across sweets this decadent on the isles. He was washing the food down with water. Of course, he would’ve preferred a stronger libation, but who knew what Bern would do with a drunken sailor? Not to mention he had to fight in the arena today. Gar was very much enjoying his time at the festival alongside his friend. Alas, it was almost time for him to battle some guy named Kasimir. Strange name. Thought the man known simply as Gar. I'd prefer if you were preparing for the fight. I will not be pleased if we lose. Gar smirked. His weapon was wrapped in cloth to ensure no one recognized the legendary Xigshaw. Apparently, some people knew what it looked like and could spot it on sight. If they also knew how powerful it was, Gar would be receiving a lot of unwanted attention from theives and bandits.
Gar heard his name called and promptly rose. He had been to many arenas in his time, too many to count. Arena combat was a pirate’s pastime. He had even managed to snag a few wins every once and again. That said, he had yet to be in an arena such as this one. It had such an emphasis on fanfare instead of simply beating your opponent into submission. Gar found it strange, but he was game. He had faith that he could put on a show if that’s what the people wanted. Time to play up the pirate in him. Kids loved pirates right?
Gar strolled out into the ring with his signature swashbuckler swagger. He addressed the crowd as he moved. He spoke loudly, as if he were issuing orders to his crew in a thunderstorm. “You land-lovers haven’t even seen an axe wielder fight yet.” Gar sent his magical axe spinning upward into the air. As if descended, the berserker caught it by the grip. He grinned at the crowd. “Let me show you what one can do!” That bit of fanfare was supposed to effect this fight twofold. Once to get the crowd on his side early. Nothing wrong with that, it could even demoralize the opponent. Twice to tilt his foe ever so slightly, as if the competitor was an afterthought to the berserker. Of course, Gar took this white haired swordsman seriously, but the swordsman didn’t have to know that.
In fact, Gar turned to examine the opponent more carefully. He cracked his neck. Old salt swordsman? This ones gonna make me work for it huh? Gar raised an eyebrow, feigning concern about the guy’s appearance. “You gonna be okay mate? Looks like you haven’t seen the sun in years.” It was a playful rhetorical question that still drew a bit of a chuckle from the berserker.
Then the berserker scanned the terrain. Naturally he would prefer to fight on the sand rather than the grass. He was more accustomed to fighting on sandy beaches, but either way worked. As an absolute last ditch effort he could take it into the water. On second thought no, that's not what the people were here to see. Two rocks, good for rising or falling strikes. He also spotted some singed earth and the residue of nether magic. Gar would have to be careful to avoid stepping in a puddle of Mire magic.
That was enough analysis for now. Time to get the fight started.
Gar took the first move, slowly at first. He had to be careful around those little sword wielders. They could pick you apart with even the slightest opening. Gar accelerated through his approach, prepping his giant, cloth covered weapon. He tapped into the weapon's strength boost to give him extra speed. As the opponent entered the strike zone, Gar unleashed his strength boosted swing at the opponent's upper body. The berserker paired a shout of effort with the attack, mostly for the crowd's sake. "Graaah!" He was attacking horizontally with the flat of his axe but it would still do some serious damage if it connected.
That's why Gar anticipated a duck from the opponent. For both their sake really. He prepared his right knee to launch up into the opponents face if his anticipation was correct.
|
|
|
Arena!!
Jun 16, 2017 12:57:24 GMT -6
Post by Kasimir on Jun 16, 2017 12:57:24 GMT -6
Kasimir had been watching the previous matches on a stone bench near the front row with varying degrees of interest. There were clashes between novices and veterans alike, and he would have been remiss in not acknowledging the pure tenacity of both opposing parties. When his name was called by the announcer, his mouth contorted into a smirk. He had been involved in one-on-one combat many times, of which a respectable statistic took place in arenas across Elibe. Absentmindedly, the albino swordsman ran a hand across the maroon and gold-trimmed sheath concealing his killing edge. It was an instrument, not merely a blade, that had guided him through symphonies of bandits, sonatas of competing mercenaries, rondos of pirates, and more. Though the weapon was not nearly as old as he (though, to be fair, he was still fairly young by most contemporary standards), Kasimir knew the decades of blood, guts, and entrails cleaned off of it were nothing short of emblematic.
As the sun settled over the horizon, Kasimir wandered into the ring, his trademark smirk not vanishing from his pale face. He wondered if the ample light made it easy for the audience to realize that he was obviously not Bernese, given his blanched pallor. It was easy for him to make out the features of his opponent - a big, beefy man with an apparent penchant for swagger.
Gar. What kind of a name was that? Was it short for something? Garfield? Garfunkel? Gartholomew? On its own, the name sounded like one of the six sounds bandits were capable of making, aside from words such as "kill", "steal", and "crush".
Gar had addressed the crowd in a thunderous, booming voice, as if attempting to summon a maritime gale with sonorous tone alone. The theatrics were, as courtesans always put it, en pointe, even though it was admittedly difficult to take the man seriously when he was tossing his axe to himself for the enjoyment of the audience due to the fact that he had neglected to wipe a smear of frosting - likely from a sweet cake being served in the stands - off of his otherwise neatly-trimmed beard.
Kasimir's red eyes glinted with intrigue, attempting to match this man's candid verbal swipes. "So, have you ever used a napkin in your lifetime, or did you flunk out of that course in troll school?" he called back teasingly. It had been a juvenile blow to be sure, but a few snickers issued behind Kasimir were promising.
The swordsman then turned on the spot and addressed the crowd. "Anybody? Does anybody want to be so kind as to give this man a napkin?" Kasimir asked aloud, to a fairly positive reception. Some people jeered, while one brave young man near the front tried to crumple up a piece of cloth and toss it into the ring, only for it to travel less than a foot from his outstretched palm. He looked crestfallen after that. The pirate Gar looked nonplussed as he held his axe aloft.
And what a colossal axe it was! To call this mammoth of a weapon "large" would be a severe understatement, perhaps even an insult. Kasimir knew he would have the advantage of speed and agility over sheer brute strength in this battle, but one misstep would still result in him being smushed into paste. Not wanting to be outdone, Kasimir immediately brandished his ornate-inlaid killing edge and began to move and gyrate with impeccable swiftness and precision, swinging his blade as though it were a baton conducting an orchestra whose members were late for supper. He tossed his blade to himself while engaged in this dance, catching it by the hilt at several different permutations of movement. The audience began to cheer once more, albeit with some reluctance. Finally, he came to a halt, grinning.
"Shall we dance, Gar? En garde!" Kasimir called.
It was time to commence the match, and Kasimir began with a languid frontal stance, his blade poised in front of him as Gar came charging with his behemoth of a weapon. The first thing that Kasimir noticed about Gar's fighting style in the crucial opening seconds of the match was that his style, while markedly brutish, was incredible. For an axe-fighter, he was remarkably quick. He went for a horizontal swing that would have crushed Kasimir's solar plexus had the latter not jumped straight back, feeling the energy generated by the tip of the axe ruffle his hair as though a puff of a breeze. Kasimir could have ducked, but that would have left his entire rear wide open for a parry.
Kasimir was secretly hoping that his opponent over-swung, which would buy him a few precious nanoseconds while Gar reconnoitered. He couldn't be sure, but he couldn't spend the entire match dodging near-lethal blows, either. Sooner or later, even if it took hours, he would tire himself out. As Gar attempted to recover from the missed swing, Kasimir swiftly assumed a 45-degree stance, gripping his blade with his right hand while his left remained slackened behind him, poised for momentum assistance in case he needed to scramble away and attempt a new approach. With nimble veteran dexterity, Kasimir sprang like a bobcat, aiming a swift horizontal swing at Gar's right side, his sharp silver instrument flashing in the sun like a water-smooth baton.
|
|
|
Arena!!
Jun 16, 2017 16:57:32 GMT -6
Post by Gar on Jun 16, 2017 16:57:32 GMT -6
From the looks of it. Kasimir had come to put on a show as well. Even if he seemed to be imitating Gar’s fanfare with his own flavor added. The back and forth of jeers and tossing their weapons around was fun though. Naturally, Gar knew not to take any of it too personally, even if he was a little embarrassed about the crumbs. The opponent had brought a killing edge to a nonlethal arena. That seemed inherently contradictory, but to be fair, Gar’s weapon wasn’t entirely safe either. Gar wished June had its old powers, then his very skin would be shining like a beacon of light. It sure would’ve been difficult to mimic that. But no, June had obtained other powers now. Powers that could form hardlight constructs that could shield Gar from attacks. Powers that were most certainly going to come in handy.
There was no duck from his opponent, therefore no subsequent knee from the berserker. Instead, the swordsman retreated the entire distance of his reach added to the length of the axe. If that were the case, Gar had plenty of time to recover from his swing before the man made up the ground. Utilizing the strength boost again, Gar retained control of the axe and lifted it high above his head.
From the positioning, one may have assumed that he intended to drop the axe upon his foe’s head. But, if anything, that was a feint. Gar hastened the motion. Crossfading to the use of Lux Aeterna, Gar cut vertically through the air before his opponent. Behind the axe was a lingering, sparkling wall of hardlight. The magic illuminated the small area between the fighters. The light reflected off the steel of Kasimir’s weapon and the gold in Gar’s earring. Perhaps the enemy’s momentum would carry him right into the hard wall that was constructed before him.
The hardlight wall extended from above Gar's head to the sand beneath his boots. It was as wide as his axe was long and visually split the opponent into two sides. One side, Kasimir’s right, with the incoming horizontal cut, the other with the lazy left arm trailing behind him. The arm was probably there for balance purposes, like an animal with its tail. Naturally, Gar would want to shift to the side of the wall where he wouldn’t be gutted like a large fish. Didn’t want to spill all those sweet cakes on the arena floor.
Gar lifted his weapon from the ground. His boots stepped a couple strides forward through the sand. He was on one side of the wall, the incoming strike was on the other. Gar was confident that he was defended from the swordsman’s strike. Gar’s front side was facing the wall. He switched back to the strength boost to respond with his counter. Like a fencer, Gar jabbed the head of his axe forward at the swordsman’s ribcage. This attack, while not necessarily a fight finisher, would at least stagger the opponent enough to give Gar the advantage on his next move.
Gar would want that advantage, especially with the time constraint. He didn’t know how many more moves he could make. Perhaps only one or two. Better make them count. He barely had enough time to truly show all of his skill. So he was careful to see this attack connect. Of course, the sword fighter could retreat again, but wise would that be in a combat that was designed to keep the crowd entertained?
|
|
|
Arena!!
Jun 17, 2017 14:42:18 GMT -6
Post by Kasimir on Jun 17, 2017 14:42:18 GMT -6
Kasimir had been right not to underestimate Gar's fighting style. He pivoted his heel firmly in the dirt as he closed in to strike, but the burly pirate had recovered from the swing earlier than he had anticipated. Suddenly, before Kasimir could even comprehend the result, a wall of light bisected his gaze, no doubt resultant of a feinted stroke. It almost seemed that Gar's taunt about Kasimir's complexion was less that and more of a cautionary forewarning, for his intent seemed to be to blind Kasimir.
Fortunately, the albino swordsman was well-attuned to shutting his eyes and focusing solely on the movement of his lower half. He jammed both lids shut as soon as the light pillar was erected - magical weapons were an absolute pain to contend with - and, since he had already put the entirety of momentum behind the stroke, accepted the counter. He blinked rapidly in an attempt to diffuse the radiance protracted from the hardlight wall, though he reeled for all of a few milliseconds as his unstoppable force met a conjured immovable object. Just before his blade ricocheted lightly off the wall - no doubt abetted by the fact that he had slackened his grip ever so slightly on the sword (in addition to firmly keeping his feet planted in the sand with his knees slightly bent) so as to dull his relative stagger value, which bought him ample time to jump aside, attempting to match and even surpass Gar's speed.
Gar had aimed a counter-stroke with the head of his axe beyond the wall, no doubt using the accumulated momentum Kasimir had unwittingly ceded to him, but hopefully unbeknownst to Gar, Kasimir has feinted his stroke despite its perceived momentum, in a similar vein to how he had bested his dual-decade-standing adversary just a couple of years prior. It took years of practice, refinement, poise, blood, sweat, tears, and grace, but the sheer tenacity intermingling with finesse proved fruitful. The point-blank feint, as Kasimir had called it, enabled him to retract his blade in the blink of an eye and skirt around the wall with superior flexibility and agility. Given Gar's seasoned experience and reflexes, Kasimir knew he had zero time to dally with this attempt.
To conduct an orchestra, be a conductor. To immortalize an orchestra, move in time with it.
It suddenly seemed as if every stroke, every inflicted gash, every year of tireless toil had led up to this moment. Kasimir moved his body as if gliding along a breeze, every ounce of muscle and tendon lending itself to speed and precision. Though the hardlight wall had made a laudable attempt at bisecting his concentration, Kasimir found himself meandering around it in the span of less than a second, and he aimed another horizontal swing at Gar's left side this time, his blood thrumming heatedly into the radial artery buried beneath layers of flesh in his wrist as he drew back the stroke and plunged into the stroke as if it were the bow of a cello.
Kasimir was hoping to, at the very least, graze Gar's rib cage or his side. Kasimir wouldn't have the time nor the strength to full-on disembowel him, but nor was that his goal in the first place. The audience desired a show, and Kasimir aspired to be the headlining act. All in all, however, Kasimir was duly grateful that he had been matched with a worthy opponent, for he had longed to experience the inexorable charm of battle in this manner once again. He almost found himself dismayed at the idea that he only had a few more moves to enact within the allotted time limit.
A listless staccato, the gathering crescendo of blade versus axe, the unwavering dedication of both practitioners - this was truly the choreography of battle that Kasimir had yearned for.
|
|
|
Arena!!
Jun 17, 2017 19:26:50 GMT -6
Post by Gar on Jun 17, 2017 19:26:50 GMT -6
Kasimir danced around the hardlight wall as well as the jab of Gar’s axe. Honestly, the guy had some moves. After the battle, Gar might have to question him about where he had learned them. Not many people could avoid the berserker's strikes like this. Knew he’d make me work for it. Gar sucked his teeth, but really he was glad. No one liked a fight where the opponent was unfit. This opponent of his was more than fit. Kasimir seemed to be enjoying the fight, and Gar was always happy to compete. The berserker retracted his axe to his hip, rotating his torso in preparation of his next strike.
The hardlight wall dissipated into sparkling air. It was a scene of fairy dust in the breeze. Gar was still trying to learn the time span that these constructs lasted for. It seemed like the durability and duration correlated to how much power her drew from the weapon. Had the wall continued for a bit longer, he likely would’ve used it for leverage. A kick off the wall would absolutely have looked pretty cool to the crowd. Alas, it had faded and Kasimir was striking with another horizontal cut.
Instinct made Gar want to dodge, but time was running out. Gar's internal clock was ticking. He knew he didn't have any time to spare. Fully dodging may have taken up too much time. So Gar suppressed that survival instinct in favor of another. Namely, his instinct to win. He needed that ephemeral edge, that infinitesimal advantage that could turn the tide on a fight. To that end, Gar only leaned away from the blade, not fully dodging it. However, he did dodge it enough to ensure that there was no lasting damage. Not to mention the healers could patch him up immediately after the fight. The sword cut a slice through Gar’s turquoise coat and the flesh beneath. To think, Gar had only recently gotten his coat repaired after the Cyclops encounter. Certainly, the cut hurt but it was just a grazing blow after all. Blood spilled onto the sand. The berserker gritted his teeth, unsure if this little gamble of his would pay off.
Gar needed more of an edge on this opponent. He didn't want to use his skill so early in the arena, but there was no point in holding back against this albino swordsman.[Celerity] Gar’s skill activated, to compound his small advantage. He took multiple steps in the time span of a single one. He moved forward, hip to hip with his opponent. The flat of Gar’s giant axe circled in a rising helix. The strike was aimed for the back of Kasimir’s head. It was a strength boosted swing with every intention of knocking his opponent unconscious.
Hit or miss, Gar’s speed continued moving him forward. He pivoted in the sand to properly face his opponent. He prepared his cloth covered axe for whatever counter came from his opponent, if any.
|
|
|
Arena!!
Jun 18, 2017 16:02:59 GMT -6
Post by Kasimir on Jun 18, 2017 16:02:59 GMT -6
As the ensuing struggle continued to unfold like a sordidly-constructed paper crane, Kasimir felt the small of his blade-tip dip into Gar's coat, slicing it ever so gently with a splitting tear. Though Gar had seemingly attempted to dodge the incoming blow, it seemed apparent to Kasimir that the latter's footwork had outpaced him somewhat, for a few streaks of scarlet were now visible on the dais sand. Or perhaps Gar had anticipated this. He seemed like the kind of man who had no qualms with taking a blow in order to reshuffle the tactical deck, and Kasimir respected that. He wondered if the scars that his own flesh carried mimicked the unseen ones that Gar might be carrying. Akin to chapters in a book, scars were, in all honesty, accounts of a battle.
Kasimir kept his blade aloft in a defensive stance after the light blow had connected, his heels digging gently into the sand to keep the traction on even keel. His eyes briefly met Gar's, though that latter had already begun to move, and fast.
Suddenly, Gar was moving with impossible speed, as though he were a boar charging across several bounds in the span of a usual human step, his hurried stride seemingly yards long. This was the true, unadulterated power of the berserker, and Kasimir was all but prey to the crazed beast. He barely noticed the oncoming blow courtesy of the colossal cloth-covered axe, barely registered that the retaliation could very well decide the match. He attempted to throw his body aside, diagonally, with all the strength and agility that he could muster, knowing that the axe's arc, if it connected, would result in a massive blow to his occipital area. A full-on strike would crush the rear of his skull to powder, that alone a fatal injury, not withstanding the amount of blunt traumatic force his poor brain would be subjected to.
As Kasimir dived aside, his heart facilitating the pumping of more adrenaline than he had ever felt before, not even this incredible swiftness could enable him to completely avoid the blow. Though he had dodged the relative bluntness of the swing, he felt a crushing, cold, sweeping metal glance hard across the small of the right side of his temple, which caused him to stagger. It was as if somebody had affixed a machete to the end of a saucepan and swung it at him with all their might. The familiar sensation of cold metal juxtaposed with hot, throbbing, streaming blood greeted him. Sparks danced behind his eyes and the side of his head erupted into unmistakable pain. He gritted his teeth, not daring to make a sound, not daring to allow his condition be suggestive of faltering.
Kasimir leaned into the stagger ever so slightly, gathering all of his resolve in order to shut out the festering ache from his wound. The metallic tang of blood pooled in his throat. With any luck, Gar would lean in and attempt another swing, and, since he was well within striking area, Kasimir could use this to his advantage. Despite the burning in his temple, as well as the clouding of his consciousness, Kasimir knew that he would be taking a few lumps. Perhaps several. Hell, he could even have found himself gagged and bagged home-bound for Ilia, a vegetable if not a corpse altogether.
Shutting out the pervasiveness of his injury in his mind long enough to sustain the stagger for another nanosecond, Kasimir seized the opportunity of proximity and immediately sprang out of his pseudo-disorientation. He had feinted, had faked the stagger long enough to lure Gar into striking range in spite of his mildly concerning head wound. He would wager all of his decades of training on this next lunge. Speed was an absolute necessity here. The choreography, the finesse, the musicianship, the notes that his blade would spin... they all had to be executed perfectly, in syncopated near-tandem with one another. This bout had evolved into something of a fierce rivalry, and was now decidedly a life-or-death situation. Kasimir was willing to fight tooth and nail to end in order to preserve the former.
Kasimir's head swilled with blood and ache. He felt dizzy, but not disoriented. One more blow, however, could extrude unfathomable consequences. He thusly felt obliged to use one of the most taxing and powerful maneuvers he had acquired and refined over the years, one that he was hoping to conserve in case he excelled further in the arena. But he could not lose to this incredibly powerful brute, this denizen of the seas, this awe-striking serpentine predator in seafaring garb.
Kasimir respected Gar, respected his dedication to the finer palates of battle and its intricacies, envied his acquisition of an impressive magical weapon. Had it been uncovered, he would have collapsed on the spot from his wound. But it was time to end this assault, fully aware of the possibility that only one combatant could walk away from this alive. Thus, it was time for...
[Adept] Kasimir poured every last reserve of adrenaline into his attack. Again, he horizontally swung at Gar's right side...
...Then feinted the blow. Within the span of a precious millisecond, Kasimir channeled his natural energy into his dominant right arm, pivoted in the sand directly in front of his opponent before he could bring his axe crashing asunder again with both ankles while employing as much swiftness and precision as he could muster, and attempted a left-diagonal swing in the immediate shadow of the first, aiming directly for the center of Gar's abdomen. The wound it aspired to inflict would be grievous, but not fatal.
In the back of his mind, Kasimir knew that this would be the definitive technique that would decide the match, win or lose, life or death. Right now, it was the blade or the grave.
|
|
|
Arena!!
Jun 24, 2017 7:24:39 GMT -6
Post by Plot Device on Jun 24, 2017 7:24:39 GMT -6
The announcer looked on in amusement. He was nodding happily as the crowd continued to build. Noise from the cheers was enough to fill the town, drawing more interested folks. Again, he wanted to continue the fight. He shook his head, again noting that there were more competitors and more fights to be fought. The purple haired man wove his hands above his head, both in an attempt to quiet the crowd as well as to signify the fight had ended.
“Time! Weapons down.” Honestly, the announcer wouldn’t have been surprised if the big guy in blue continued to fight. He didn’t seem to enjoy following the rules all too much. But the large guy obliged and dropped his large weapon to the ground with a surprisingly large thud. The announcer moved to stand between the combatants.
“Another great combat, lets hear it for our fighters.” Cheers and applause met the announcer’s words. Time to decide who actually won this fight. “Who likes our incredibly quick swordsman in black?” The announcer listened to the comments from the crowd.
“Kasimir’s movements were so smooth and quick. You can tell he has a wealth of experience with that blade.”
“He danced around that strange light wall like it was noting. His reaction speed is incredible.”
“Ahh but that shot to the head he took. That would certainly slow him down.”
The announcer nodded and put his own hands together out of respect for the fighter. “Who would rather see our turquoise axeman fight in the next round?” Again the announcer waited for the responses from the crowd which would determine who would continue.
“He swings that giant axe like it was nothing. He must be ridiculously strong.”
“Fast too, did you see how quickly he was moving at the end there?”
“Also, his use of the magic in that axe, it was so exciting. I just have to see more.”
The announcer nodded. “Congratulations Gar, You will be advancing to the next round.” The announcer was pleased that the next round was already going to feature some incredible fighters. He could only hope the trend continued. He allowed a moment for the combatants to leave the ring before introducing the next two.
The announcer punched his fists in the air a couple times. “Get excited my friends. This next round is sure to be a thrilling one. We have a paladin and a warrior.” The announcer was happy that there was another mounted fighter in the arena. He was also happy to have a man capable of taking out a mounted fighter. He was almost certain that this would be an entertaining match up. “Now give Emil and Vic a warm welcome!” The announcer bowed out of the arena, making room for the next fighters.
|
|
|
Arena!!
Jun 25, 2017 17:38:16 GMT -6
Post by vic on Jun 25, 2017 17:38:16 GMT -6
Victor proudly strode into the arena as the announcer called him in. He quietly chuckled to himself as he came in. It had been so long since he had done something like this, as the last time he had done so was when he was a much, much younger boy. He wondered where Kyresh and Seiyu were in the crowd. Were they watching? The three of them had spent much time talking last night, catching up and reminiscing on days gone by. Of that, he also thought about Talus. The lad had been furious with himself for loosing in front of him, he could tell that much, as much as Talus tried to hide it. He was still proud of the boy though. Talus was getting braver and braver when it came to confronting people.
Thus, he decided that the boy needed something to take his mind off the frustration he felt. He knew how badly Talus could melt down when he bottled up his stress for too long. The impairment in his judgement could easily result in the boy saying something to anger the wrong people... At that moment, he snapped himself out of it. Extra thoughts would clutter his mind unnecessarily in combat, and leave him open.
He took a deep breath as he mentally analyzed what he did know about his opponent. His opponent being a warrior meant that they would be using an Axe, and/or a bow. He was more betting on the former being used more often than the latter, because most warriors he knew had bulk best suited for the former. He might be faster on a horse, and armed with a sword, he would have an advantage.... provided he could get close enough without getting hit. His plan was to mainly stick to hard and fast hit-and-run tactics so that he wouldn't have to worry too much about taking a hit that could knock him off. If that happened, he was going to loose for sure.
"Come on, lad. Ready your axe and bow, and hold nothing back. Even though I, Victor, am old and crippled, I will not lose to you!" he said in a brave tone as the match began, making the first move. Though he could not turn back the clock for himself, his eyes would still burn as bright and powerful as they were then as they are now as he charged towards his opponent on his horse. He would try and slash at the warrior, using Venisanctus to make a quick slash that would not kill, merely wound, at the Warrior's chest, slashing past him quickly so as to stay out of range of potential retaliation. For him, that was good enough.
|
|
|
Arena!!
Jun 26, 2017 1:21:17 GMT -6
Post by Emil Aurion on Jun 26, 2017 1:21:17 GMT -6
Emil had heard about some sort of fighting tournament in Bern, he knew it was an event for him. It was as if the gods were calling out to him, outside of skirmishes out at sea he hasn't had a fight to the caliber to the ones he had back on the Western Isles. The roar of the crowd, blood, sweat, two warriors clashing to prove who was the better fighter, the butter to the bread of Emil's life style. The rules wasn't what he was use to, but he didn't care if it meant he got the beat the living crap out of somebody and people cheered him on.
He had entered the chambers the fighters had waited in with a wet towel draped over his head, he found a bench and placed his axe against it before sitting down staring at the ground beneath his feet. As time passed the towel began to dry up but Emil remained in the same position not paying attention to the fights, only listening to the roar of the crowd and for somebody to call his name. It had felt like years, then his name was called. Wasting no time he did a light hop up standing straight and slightly raising his head. He brought his fist near his face as he bounced from foot to foot, punching in front of him, shadow boxing for a moment. He grabbed his axe and latched it to his back before heading to the door way. Stopping in it he finally pulled the towel from his head dropping it to the floor as he grinned staring at the arena as well as the crowd.
Walking into the pit he had saw the man he was fighting, an old geezer on a horse. Ha, were they trying to insult the ex-pirate in putting him in this kind of match up? The man had told him to ready his weapon, Emil laughed out loud at him. "Leave the words to the women old man. Real men use their fist to do the talkin." It didn't take long for the horse to start charging him, Emil stuck his chest out and braced for impact as he felt the sword smash upon his armor.
Emil had took a couple steps back but remained upon his feet as the rider went past him. Emil turned around to face him, pounding his right fist upon his chest as he let out a loud roar. Finally removing the axe from his back, he waited for the man to attempt a second charge.
|
|
|
Arena!!
Jun 26, 2017 1:59:35 GMT -6
Post by vic on Jun 26, 2017 1:59:35 GMT -6
Well. The young man was made of sterner stuff than he thought, armor and all. That would mean he'd have to change his tactics as he watched the man pull out an axe. Time to pull some of his more unusual tricks out of the box. Turning his horse around at him, he decided to try a trick that most would certainly call 'questionable tactics.' Someone like his opponent would appreciate said tactics. As he charged, he let himself build up momentum and speed as he charged at his opponent before... "HIIIYAH!" he shouted as he had his horse attempt to leap at his opponent, using the momentum and gravity of that to execute a downward Slash that,assuming the man was caught off guard by the sudden manuver, would be quite the blow to the young man, at the very least staggering the young man for a bit. Once that had happened and his horse was back on ground, he performed a u-turn with the intent to follow up with another charging Slash at the chest past him while the young man was recovering his bearings, perhaps even trample them. A blow that even with armor, would hurt quite a bit.
Assuming the young man wasn't caught by the sudden manuver, Victor would have the horse wheel around as quickly as possible to prepare himself to block a retaliatory assault, maybe catching his opponent by the horse's hooves as it reared around.
This was not going to be easy by any means. But then, actions spoke louder than words.
|
|