Dark Rain 2.0  |
| Radd versus Teal | |
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| Topic Started: 13 Mar 2009, 02:41 (264 Views) | |
| Radd | 13 Mar 2009, 02:41 Post #1 |
General Purpose Roleplayer
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Cecil stepped into the battlefield, heavily armored with thick steel plates. The clank of metal against the packed dirt floor was awfully intimidating to any amateur warrior, but Cecil knew the sound all too well when he was a war chief for a traveling camp of Ogres. He took a few steps in, and then stopped, his posture as straight up and as courageous as a legend. His right hand grasped a custom-made Dao-like sword. There wasn't too much special about it: the hilt was handcrafted from his grandfather, and was made with multiple, tough layers of leather. The blade was made of pure steel, with an abnormally high iron content. Cecil was a striking man. He stood at a tremendous six foot six inches, which was strangely high for the time period. He was completely encased in steel armor. Under his steel armor was a layer of the same leather armor that was used for the hilt of his sword. This was to protect him a bit from any fire spells. None of his skin was showing, except for the top half of his face, so he could breathe. His eyes were heavy with hope and determination, for if he were to die in this battle he would die with honor. Of course, the chance of that was rare—Cecil had much experience in one on one warfare, especially with leading generals of other troops. Regardless of his experience, he was not going to underestimate his opponent. He knew better than that. The arena floor was made of packed dirt, completely cleared of brush and any flammable plants. They were enclosed in a stone coliseum, smack dead in the center of a desert. Ancient columns supported the top of the arena outside the center. On the north, east, and south side of the coliseum were rows and rows of bleachers, all empty of any spectators willing to watch the epic duel that was to ensue soon enough. On the western side, however, there was a few rows of bleachers, but the most distinguishing feature on the west was a highly elevated throne only fit for an emperor. However the times of emperors were long gone, for civilization had fallen due to a drought and they had all fled the accursed land that Cecil found himself in. Edited by Radd, 14 Mar 2009, 16:23.
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| Teal | 15 Mar 2009, 02:13 Post #2 |
Ba dum - pish!
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An ancient coliseum, having well withstood the passage of time and the fall of a civilization, stood forlornly in the center of the desert, lonely and without neighbors. An arched entryway was carved into the western side, an iron gate sitting in its center made from crossing bars of metal. A light wind whipped the sand from the dry ground as an armored figure approached the entrance. A turban concealed her face, blocking out the bitting sand and sun. Her torso was covered in a shirt of steel links, with a softer leather vest on underneath. Her legs were adorned in a pair of loose pants, the color matching the sand that swirled around her. On her feet were a pair of soft leather shoes. In her right hand she carried a steel sword in a loose grip, three feet long and one and a half inches wide, each edge carefully honed and sharpened. In her left hand she bore a long and dry branch, its dead leaves crackling as she moved. The fire mage paused at the entryway. "I am Condra Darmish, and I am here to spill blood. Allow me to enter." Her voice was rough and scratchy, her throat parched. In response to her gravely tones, the gate began to slowly grind open. Its masters were long gone, but the arena still remained to serve its original purpose: To drink the blood of slain gladiators. Condra ducked under the gate, removing her turban at the same time. She had short cut, brown hair, tied behind her head with a thin leather band. She wore a steel helmet that hugged her skull closely, yet was cut widely enough that it did not restrict her vision. For a normal human, the combination of the light armor that she wore and the blazing desert sun would reduce them to a pile of sweat. But not her. No, the fire, the heat, it embraced her, and she embraced it back. The heat was part of her, it fueled her. No, the desert sun was her friend, and a good one at that. The other man, well, he would be having fun. Standing at a daunting six feet and a half, he dwarfed the fire mage who was a foot shorter. His body was covered in layers of steel, leaving only a sliver of skin at the top of his face, revealing a cold set of eyes. He has killed before, she was sure of that. In his hand he grasped a long, slightly curved sword. It was about as long as hers, a bit thicker in the center, and seemed to be also made of steel. That much armor, in the desert? He must be in terrible pain, and it would only worsen as he began to exert himself. She might not even have to use her steel in this duel. Cooking him in his armor could be sufficient. "My name is Condra Darmish. May I be privy to yours before we attempt to kill each other?" |
  Warden of the rift of danger, Will Robinson!
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| Radd | 24 Mar 2009, 14:50 Post #3 |
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General Purpose Roleplayer
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“Hello, Condra. I am Cecil Odin. I am honored to have the opportunity to battle you on this broiling desert day. Let us duel.” Cecil was sweating. Licking his chapped pink lips, he wondered if it was smart for him to bring all of this armor with him. He would have to end Condra's life quickly, before he kills himself in dehydration. Laying out his options, he figured he could run in and simply slash wildly, like he did in wars come to past. However that was with many dull-witted goblins, not one light-footed woman. Perhaps simply intimidation and psychological “warfare” was to ensue. That was boring. Cecil wanted action! Another way to go would be to approach her and let her attack first, where he could devise a clever counterattack and reign victorious. That also seemed feasible. Rather, everything could be done: but was it worth being done, or practical? Setting up a foundation for a larger attack would be wise, but he didn't have much time for preparations. Condra could unleash a wave of flame and heat, which would give her the upper hand. He couldn't let her gain the upper hand. Like his grandfather had once said in a game of chess: White's goal is to win! Black's goal is to draw. Cecil would not be white. Cecil fixed his distance to about five feet away from Condra. His sword was roughly two feet long. Tightening his grip, he took two large steps forward and swung for Condra's left midsection. (From Cecil's point of view.) This opened up his right midsection and upper torso, but he could easily use his elbow to deflect anything that came in that direction. He was facing at an eleven o'clock position, his cold eyes were set on Condra, anticipating her next move. He would not let her harm him. She was weak. Cecil was strong. Nothing was to defeat him. |
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| Teal | 26 Mar 2009, 22:29 Post #4 |
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Ba dum - pish!
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Cecil Oden. She softly tried the name on her tongue. It was an odd one, more like a woman's name then a man's. Cecil was interesting to say, a soft, slow beginning and then a sharp "il" at the end to finish nicely. Oden was simpler, invoking many nameless feeling within the fire mage. She felt as if she knew the name, or something with a likeness to it, yet what it was escaped her mind. Cecil Oden. What a good name. What a waste, to give such a good name to a man who would die young. The man with the good name had begun to move. Condra was given a few short seconds to contemplate her, and his, actions. If he struck first, then she would be at an advantage. His first strike would open him up for a counter attack, and his short blade lacked the power to punch through any of the armor on her torso or skull with a slashing attack, and a stabbing one could be easily dodged by her light and nimble frame. Yet if he did not strike, then what would she do? Attack from a distance? Use her weapon's superior reach to attack him from a distance? Or stand still, and wait for him to strike? All of those were good options, all of them running through her mind as the man stopped just short of sword reach away from her. Condra pivoted on her right foot, turning her body away from the man and placing her blade between them, the branches hiding behind her body. She would match him in swordplay for some time. Her fire was her secret. They had not met before, and the longer that she hid her magical talents to more devastating they would be when released. She would wait, maybe until the first round of blows had been exchanged, each party retreating to check their wounds and their enemies as well. Yes, that would be perfect, but now, her sword would be fighting her battles. Not her mind. Not yet. Then he began to move. Slowly, waited down by his armor, he advanced forwards, his body completely open. The moment that he was in reach of her blade and she was out of reach of his, her coiled arm sprung forwards, sword lancing out from her body at breakneck speed. Its target was the place where her foe's metal cuirass and the armor on his sword arm met at the shoulder. There would be a slight gap there, thin enough for the tip of her sword to slice through if he did not move out of the way. It would not hinder him much, that first blow, but to be the first to lose blood would be a dangerous hit to moral. And then he was on her, sword slashing in a deadly arc towards her lower torso. She pulled her own blade back, jerked her arm to the side, and then caught his blade with the side of hers, his arm stuck out from his body at an angle that left his entire chest wide open. She tested his strength, straining her muscles, trying to force his blade back. He was as strong as she, maybe stronger. His blade would not give ground until he let her, she assumed in that lighting quick moment, while their two swords still hung in the air, each trying to make the other give ground. A hopeless battle. |
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Warden of the rift of danger, Will Robinson!
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| Radd | 1 Apr 2009, 00:52 Post #5 |
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General Purpose Roleplayer
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Cecil pushed a little harder this time, but still the girl wouldn't budge. She was a tough one. Tough and strong-hearted. It was a shame that her last breath would be taken so soon. Cecil took a daring move and released his sword from the struggling battle for control. Before she could react to the sword, he slightly curled his leg back and kicked her forward leg as hard as he could. The armor on his boot was sure to knock her down, and if anything else crack a bone. OOC. Sorry, just figured I'd type something up so you can reply. 
Edited by Radd, 1 Apr 2009, 00:52.
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| Teal | 3 Apr 2009, 20:22 Post #6 |
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Ba dum - pish!
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(You ignored my thrust at your shoulder. And you get props if you catch my sort of accidental quoting of Shakespeare) With a shriek of steel grating against steel, Cecil slid his sword out of their duel, leaving her own blade hanging free in the air. Too good of an opportunity to waste. Her sword was not as suited to body to body fighting as his shorter one was, but 'twill do, 'twill serve. The fire mage's face was grim mask as she sent her longsword whistling through the air towards the gap in his armor between helmet and cuirass, a fatal blow if it were to land properly. A battle of swords? This sport had gone on long enough. Her talent was twofold, and the second part had remained hidden long enough. With the desert sun as a guide, a series of electrical currents and small chemical reactions began flowing from her skull to her left hand, the air heating up in her palm. Then, the air erupted, bonds shattering, reforming and then the Oxygen become something new, something that roared as it it burned and feasted on the lean sticks in her left hand. It spread, grew larger, and burned ever brighter. A symphony of spark, crackles, heat. And she was the director. And Cecil was the unfortunate audience. As Condra's sword arm moved, the blazing inferno in her other hand leaped from the brittle branches, leaving its host and flying up towards her foe's helmet. There was a gap for his eyes and mouth, and the fire targeted it. It would not burn, but as long as she remained close, she could control it, orchestrate it movements and keep it trapped inside of his skull, burning away at his face and blinding him with light and heat. There was a twitch. A small one, but she could see it. The fire mage steeped lightly to her right, swinging as she moved and moved out of the range of the kick. After her first strike connected or missed, she would attack again with a series of short, piercing blows to her foe's side, attempting to weaken or break his hard metal armor and taking advantage of the pain of blindness her fire would grant. |
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Warden of the rift of danger, Will Robinson!
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| Radd | 4 Apr 2009, 00:16 Post #7 |
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General Purpose Roleplayer
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[Where did Condra get sticks?] Cecil retracted his right leg back in fear of counter-attack, but had no idea of the fatal attack issued upon him in the minute gap between his helmet and his breastplate. Cecil slightly turned his helmet towards the flying sword. While doing so, Cecil turned away slightly, which made the attack miss and stab his armor instead. Unfortunately, the defense was pure luck and no skill. He won't let such a naive mistake ruin his chance of winning again. All of a sudden, in a matter of seconds, the bundle of sticks in Condra's left hand oxidized into a large wave of heat and light. Cecil staggered back a centimeter or two in fright, for he had never enjoyed flame, but he must stand tough. Nothing was to pierce his bravery. A few moments ever Cecil blindly released his kick, which Condra easily avoided. Nothing was to stop him. Cecil took a few steps back in order to avoid the fire. He had a small vision of his area, but the flame simply caught up with him. However in that vision he saw the blurred fire mage Condra Darmish. Cecil's eyes widened, extending his vision as much as possible. He shook a little in his armor, making a screeching rattling noise. His head started to hurt from all the noxious fumes. He was sweating profusely. Just then, he brought his left foot forward and jogged [he would run, but his armor refused] in the general direction of Condra Darmish, his armor reflecting most of the flames from entering his armor. Just then, when he could feel her, he drew his sword and slashed horizontally. |
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| Teal | 4 Apr 2009, 02:55 Post #8 |
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Ba dum - pish!
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(Fine fine, only one. It serves the same purpose) The fire mage frowned to herself. Her sword was merely bouncing off of his armored plates, making little or no marks. Her own chain mail was clean and spotless, not yet soiled by sweat or blood. She intended to keep it that way. The stick in her other hand had been burned to a thin crisp, now made of only black soot and skeletal leaves. A few sparks still danced on its surface. They were useless, stealing food from the real pack. The pack caressing her foes skull. She released the sparks, sending them back to where all fires go eventually. Oblivion. Then he moved. A slow, lurching gate, he backed away from her. She followed, her sharp, jabbing thrusts only bouncing off of his heavy armor. The combination of fire and sun must be boiling him by now. No normal man would last long in these conditions. Seeing that her attacks were failing, she recalled her pack of crackling beasts to the smoldering branch, releasing Cecil from his prison of flame. But the fire did not want to obey, or rather, some of it was still controlled by the higher powers of nature. Even a master of the fiery arts could not quench a fire's thirst for fuel, and in the flame's short trip from face to branch, some of it died of hunger and faded away into the hot desert air. The large man began to jog. Condra was ready, she had been given a split second to prepare. Her body was turned, sword between her and the armored covered hulk. Branch extended to one side. She stopped the fire from eating away at the long rod of soot, despite its complaints the branch was useful. She could hold the roaring flames in her hand, but the brittle wood gave it an extra two feet of reach when it needed to strike at its foes. His sword began to move, slashing horozontally towards her torso. In a flash, her own blade was there, blocking its brother in mid air and releasing a screech as it continued its fight that had been ended only moments before. But this time the test of strength lasted only a moment. Her armor could stop most slashing blows, and he would not be able to build up enough speed in his blade from where it was, only a foot from her body, to harm her. Realizing that, Condra slid her sword down out of its embrace and snapped her wrist, pointing to at his chest and violently stabbing forwards with all of her strength behind it. As she jabbed, her body twisted and she stepped forwards, placing her back to her foe's blade and stepping forwards quickly, increasing the power and speed that was being transfered to her sword's tip and hopefully, to her enemy's armor and then through to the soft flesh within. |
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Warden of the rift of danger, Will Robinson!
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| Radd | 7 Apr 2009, 22:35 Post #9 |
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General Purpose Roleplayer
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Frustration. Not at himself, more so towards his adversary: Condra Darmish. She was too swift for Cecil to handle. It was much different than standard warfare with policy, regulation, and nobility: it was just Cecil and Condra. It was a clash of wits, not strength. Unfortunately Cecil had modest aptitude, and based most of his actions on chaste vigor. Regardless, he tried to come up with a clever solution to this dilemma. Cecil could no longer rely on brute strength. He would have to think of something good enough to work. All of a sudden, as Cecil was considering what to do, Condra hastily strafed aside and punctured his body armor, dead core of his torso: the more force she applied, the worse the breastplate began to shred, and eventually the edge of her weapon perforated his skin. Cecil paced back, but Condra pressed on. Cecil retorted by revolving east. The sword completely reduced the left side of his armor to nothing, leaving a colossal gash and severed flesh: but the sword was no longer worsening the wound. At least for now…Cecil had spent eight of his nine lives. Nothing will hold him back now—or so he hoped. “Condra, you have…” Cecil took a break to catch his breath from the wound, “put up a good fight. I’m…afraid it must end now.” Cecil then tactically faced westward to protect his wound and chopped for Condra’s left leg. |
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| Teal | 8 Apr 2009, 01:17 Post #10 |
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Ba dum - pish!
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The fire mage's arm was jarred and shaken as the tip of her blade struck against the hard metal shell that her foe was clad in. The first moment was slow, her sword resting on the armor, her muscles straining forwards, seeking the hidden flesh and blood. Then the moment was gone, and the blade slipped very ungracefully into the suit of armor. It passed through a thin layer of soft leather, widening the hole the deeper it moved. Then it struck flesh. The sharp tip penetrated through the tender skin, a fountain of blood opening up on the point of contact. The ground beneath them stained red. As the man began to turn, his massive bulk twisting away from her, her sword danced across the surface of his skin, leaving a line of twisted metal and bleeding flesh in its wake. He had made a fatal mistake. His sword was now across his body from her, useless in its current position. Her own blade was already on the surface of his skin, mid torso, just below the ribcage. His armor had now been made useless on the point of contact, especially after his turn, which had completely wrecked the metal on his torso. The moment his turn came to an end, her blade still piercing his chest, Condra stepped closer, driving her sword deeper still. There was no armor between her blade and the open air on his other side. Only soft flesh and wet, wet blood. (Short post, sorry, but there wasn't much to post about) |
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Warden of the rift of danger, Will Robinson!
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7:57 PM Feb 9
