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Fierach

Feast of Blades: Trueblade Arena: Martial Heights

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Tzak "The Ripper" Bishop (Player: @Twitterpated)

Mōmoku Akuja Kenshi, "Senjō no Ōkami" (Player: @Etched In Stone)

---

Martial Heights-

In the middle of a town square in Predator's Keep, there lies a platform two stories in height, fifteen by fifteen feet across, made of tempered wood. It is ringed by stepping poles, that make their way to the top, and flanked on two opposing sides by smaller platforms only ten feet by ten feet that also have ladders on them. The Custode escorting you to the arena notes that loss was not determined by falling off the platforms, if one could still fight.

[You have one month OOC to conclude your battle. Time extensions are allowed on request within reason.]

---

 

Edited by Fierach

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Emerging with his escort, the Russian Meta paid little to no mind to the eager crowd. These were not his lands, nor his people. They knew not of his history, nor of his short time claim to fame. From banging in the streets, to brawling and organized crimes, to prize fighting and personal quarrels; He had quite the following back on Gaia Primus. Though here, he was a nobody. At least until today. Win or lose, the people present were in for a treat. Even without his usual arsenal and his abilities, Tzak "The Ripper" had a history written in blood and viscera. Not just because of his mental disorder, but because of poor life choice. Having been put through the grinder quite a few times, Bishop had been tempered into a monster all his own. Often times, he was widely known for being quite the underdog. Many times had he faced adversity greater than himself, only to come out on top. Today, despite a lengthy retirement, he hoped would be no different. Taking a good look at the arena selected for his opponent and himself, Bishop grinned menacingly. 15x15 feet was just enough space to move around without having to worry about his opponent being squirrely. Still wearing his cargo pants from his arrival as well as his boots, the Russian Meta appeared topless. Across his shoulder blades were large, bold letters inked in Olde English that read ACHERON. Likewise, the sleeve of ink on his right arm was exposed, save for the portion of the forearm shrouded in fresh boxer's tape. 

Already he had his spiked cestus' strapped to his fists respectively. It wasn't too terribly easy to convince his gracious host to allow him to carry his personal mace, under the pretense that he wouldn't use it's advanced features. Either the head was extended to make more of a flail, or he opted to keep it a morning star; In which he chose the latter. Hanging from his right hip, he finally reached the center, highest platform of the arena in which he gave his escort a nod of gratitude. Inhaling deeply, his chest seemed to expand slightly more than what most would think capable given his slender frame. Jumping off of the ground, he angled himself just enough to face the ground before exhaling a gale force that easily through up an impressive dust cloud, though not as impressive as the force carrying its caster into an inevitable flip that landed him upon the platform. While some cheered over this feat, it most certainly wasn't a part of the show he had in mind for the people. This was the easiest, fastest means of getting to where he needed to be. Now that he was there however, there'd be no further displays of his gifts. With the sun's rays shining against his fair complexion, and the general shape of his chrome teeth with the fang tipped canines, it wouldn't surprise him if the masses mistook him for some sort of day walking vampire; It certainly wouldn't be a first for the Russian Meta. As he awaited his opponents arrival, Bishop casually paced to the epicenter of the platform he'd projected himself to a brief moment ago.

@Etched In Stone

Edited by Twitterpated
Tag*

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That one moment where you realized what a major badass Jin is.Clear as day, the sun peaked out no further with an abundance of native birds swimming the blue sky. Unable to make it in time for the actual dedicated feast itself, he stuffed himself with Fuji red apples and sencha for energy and whatnot on his way to Predator's Keep. Today, he traveled far and wide from Genesaris for the Feast of Blades tournament as a testament of his skill and prowess of 200 years. This being the Soke's only appearance in such worldly events for glory, honor, any of the likes - his years of Tsujigiri were long behind him, but even so he still couldn't remove the stained past of his Saburai swordslaying. The audience parted as a sea at the trio sight of Cobran wolves and a Swordslayer in their forefront bearing dual steel swords in their respective scabbards fastened by the brown obi tied to his waist trekking towards the arena. Beneath the visage of a largely brimmed Kasa ash black tendrils cascaded down his back in abundance with all the shorter hairs falling across his face as bangs to conceal his barely noticed iridescent white eyes. Apparently the Datsuzoku warrior was more than capable of handling himself, these extra sets of ears, eyes, and paws were more servant than bodyguard, or companion - after slaying their alphas Kenshi captured and domesticated every last one of them as Wolves of Jigoku under the Okami clan. There were nearly five hundred of them in total. The crowd seemed rather uneased by their sheer presence granting them clear passage as the foreigner approached plain in sight in an indigo summer robe with a body of light chainmail underneath, wooden geta sandals and a large three foot metal polearm resting with it's curved one foot blade against his spine in a downward position to the ground. It was a strain to imagine that a legendary Swordslayer, a man of battle and bloodshed was amongst the people of Predator's Keep, breeding grounds of the Order of the Force Majeure. Slowly, did he and the escort walk up now in range of the large pillars holding the foundation of the heightened arena in tact. He ran a tender hand over the material of the wooden plank upon the ground, allowing his fingers to feel into the grooves, it's sturdiness, dimensions for his own clarity before stepping a few feet to the rear as his escort and he would finally part ways. To the people of PK it was evident this moment that the Swordslayer was blind, yet many would wonder from this point just how an effective fighter he would prove to be in the Trueblade event. Taking off to an unpredictable burst of speed sandaled feet kicked from the ground and he now rushed for the large pillars. Spewing dirt and sand everywhere in a few paces the distance was soon closed short. Springing from the ground Kenshi propelled himself forth in a leap into the air with his leading foot to place itself upon a single pillar, he continued in his direction with a small application of his ki applied to his soles running up the plank without the heave of gravity pulling him down. In this moment he felt completely, weightless. His rosary beaded left hand reached to grapple an edge of the arena floor as he hoisted himself onto said platform, singlehandedly launching his body over the edge so he physically cleared the obstacle above him. Landing with a vibrating thud across the spacious wooden floor, the stench of the unfamiliar opponent now lie in front of him. Standing by the edge of where he descended there wasn't any words to escape his lips. No, seems the people been waiting enough for the first match to commence. However, delivering his adversary a slight bow went following as Kenshi lowered himself in an arch briefly enough to rise himself in the same motion. He stood silently with his ears first, allowing them to guide him safely through the loss of his sight, his pupiless whites remained lowered momentarily beneath the Kasa concealing his countenance. 

@Twitterpated

Edited by Etched In Stone

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0fee06495b4af73dee90d8d5ea79d5a0.jpgThe Russian Meta smirked, the fact of how mature and humble his opponent appeared to be meant he'd likely, actually be a challenge. While he didn't necessarily see the evidence of such, the monk jingling in the slightest, most peculiar way. 'Chainmail...heh' He thought as he flexed his fingers around the handle of his mace once more. That polearm could serve as some real issue given how he limited his own reach. However, if Bishop could simply get in close and hit him a few good times, he was certain he'd end this fast. That chainmail wouldn't do much to protect the monk against the likes of his bludgeoning and piercing type weapons. 

Bishop afforded the monk a slight bow in return, simple and silent respect. At the point that it was afforded to him, he had no choice but to reciprocate it. Street rules. Not to mention, the ass whooping to come was nothing personal. Though they looked nothing alike, this monk vaguely reminded him of his brother, Elliot Pope. Their personalities were quite similar, though his brother would have likely appeared with his preferred Kusarigama.

"Don't get hit, I'll hurt you*."

He warned. While it might have sounded like a threat made out of arrogance, it was simply the truth. While his opponent harbored more or less weapons that cut, even while he himself was the one not even wearing a shirt, he was more concerned about just how violent of a nature he had; Concerned about feeling that same violent nature buried somewhere deep down inside this monk. Birds of a feather flock together, always.

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The pack settled close to the restricted zone of the arena in obedience to their master and slight distrust towards the People of PK. A grazing wind passed the foreigner slightly washing over his yukata and form, his hair beneath the kasa and  basking sun - giveth the last bit of fresh air he'd feel until the end of the match. He had yet flinched, slackened with his dangling left hand free and to his side until the breeze was quieted. The man Bishop hadn't decided to take the first attack, or move - in retrospect, there was no rush for commencement, just yet. This moment, this tension anxiety of unknowing was as any other day in the field and chattering swords, but in the honor of his students and the Imperial Datsuzoku family that he served as General and Soke. He had fought many battles for himself, his own pride, his hatred. Yet, what he learned, well … Kenshi wasn't in haste to display in the early beginnings of their match up. Discarding himself of the Naginata, he removed his geta wooden sandals along them away from being in reach of obstructing or being used against him. His rosary left hand hanging by his side flexed it's digits once untensing them and their joints, while the other unexposed arm remained firm in the elongate sleeve obscured from the sight of the enemy close to the pair of swords hipside. In a casual walk forth he began to inch way from one side of the wood platform to cross the distance between he and the one announced as Bishop.

On 9/21/2019 at 1:20 PM, Twitterpated said:

"Don't get hit, I'll hurt you*."

Kenshi's two swords was sufficient to equal out the playing fields, unless he was unable to defeat his foe as so. Without a senseless word to come back and reply with, he followed the source of the voice that was Bishop's and painted the imagery of the battle from underneath the straw hat with his Blindsense. From the submits of his fighter's card this guy wielded a mace and spiked knuckles meant close quarters was something he was skilled in, most likely his comfort zone in battle. Still, in his slow stride forth his feet gently glided across the wood panels in little to no sound at all - weightlessly, pressing from the balls on his toes in his approach that not even the floor boards creaked in response. The draw of attention from the audience was suddenly pulled into sighting this if they weren't already reeled and anticipating.

@Twitterpated

 

Edited by Etched In Stone

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His blue hazel eyes narrowed with focus as the Wu assassin discarded his pole arm and kicked off his sandals. So the karate kid wanted to even the playing field, sacrificing superior reach without even testing the waters with Bishop before hand. Admirable as it was, Bishop felt a little insulted. He'd have easily preferred his opponent use every weapon at his disposal. It was safe to say that the Meta wasn't casting any of his weapons aside, unless he was throwing it literally at his opponents head. Without any further hesitation, Bishop exploded into motion, initiating combat the best way he knew how; Getting in a mufuckas face! With a few swift log legged stride, Bishop closed the distance on his opponent coming from the center of the arena. His mace readied to be used defensively against the swords on his opponent's hip, his intent was simple...Get close enough to neutralize the effectiveness of those swords, or crush them. Regardless, if he managed to make it within his natural striking range, the Russian Meta lead with a stomp of his right foot, aimed at the opponent's lead foot. Simultaneously, his closed left fist readied itself in a half guard, prepared to follow the stomp with one of two punches dependent on the results there of. If Kenshi never tried to use his swords, then soon he'd wish he would have.

@Etched In Stone

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The floor's reverberation of sound across the platform to the sense of the man nearing, disrupting the natural path of Kenshi's travel. As sightless his eyes had cursed him with in his birth, the foreigner was certain the distance was closed far enough - striking range, was a physical judgement call. This instinct of impeccable awareness was honed to be mastered, but never could something be perfected. Once that right leg felt lifted from the wooden panel, shuffling his back leg forward to the front leg Kenshi's front leg went up. The Soke made it quick to draw his own right knee, pivoting on his rear foot counter-clockwise in a step away from the center of his opponent. Snapping his kicking leg horizontally with his hips in a 90 degree angle, he stretched to clear the entire arena in his aim with the incept of his bare foot to knock the badejesus out of his opponent and smack him right dab in that mouth with a roundhouse. The force enough to send his body ricocheting disorient in the opposite direction with stunning effects, knocking him out the remainder of the match if he was unable to withstand such trauma; even possible to cause Bishop a serious mandibular fracture in need of immediate care.

Yet, the foreigner had high hopes of his first bout and unwished to be discouraged so early, he was not to let up lightly and underestimate.

"...."

@Twitterpated

Edited by Etched In Stone

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The shifting of his opponent's footing might have caused his stomp to miss. His opponent was right to assume that close quarters was his forte, for telegraphing the incoming kick was almost too easy. Fortunately for the monk, the Bishop would've liked to have responded wasn't possible in this moment. To compensate for the speed of the kick, he merely raised his left fist to sit beside his head as he tucked his chin. Where his opponent hoped to kick his face, he'd find nothing but the metallic spikes protruding from Bishop's knuckles. Judging by the explosive force behind the kick, it was safe to say that the damage the martial artist would receive from the kick would be more sever than anything imparted from a night perfect block. Flexing his body in unison the moment of impact, Bishop refused to allow his body to move under the prowess of the kick. 

Before Kenshi could withdraw his leg from the roundhouse, Bishop's left arm swiftly swept around the underside of Kenshi's leg as he stepped towards the monk once more. The grasp on his leg and the step forward was mostly meant to further disrupt Kenshi's balance. Immediately the step was followed by a snap kick from Bishop's right leg, aimed at Kenshi's left knee. Together, the combination proved capable of severely disrupting the opponent's footing before violently dropping them on their back and head.

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Right now, in this moment of time the focus was taking down his target as quick as possible yet, the Soke's first attempt seemed to backfire. Bishop had enough endurance and agility to defend himself from the roundhouse in time. This foe of his was able to block a great kick, timed well near flawlessly, without even moving an inch as if ate the blow completely. What seemed like a failure, or some risk taking maneuver was actually a costly examination of his opponent the Ripper. Those damned spikes. Kenshi's right barefoot pierced the metal skewers, blood spattered across the stage in utter beauty beneath the roar of the cheering crowd in their excitement over the first shed. Though the metal spikes appeared to inflict more than what the foreigner slight grimace expressed his feet bare were solid too surreal, how concrete and enduring they really were in actual measurements. A seasoned warrior conditioned to suppress his physical sufferings. That wasn't to forget the throbbing sensation soon to come, or if some immobilization of said foot for the duration of the match. Instantly, his foot retracted flat onto the wooden surface with extreme prejudice, his hips shifted once again as he turned and angled into his opponent's left side without a moment to spare for his technique to come. Tactics changed as the battle pursued. Giving their closer proximity of each other, his rear foot now slid forward slightly to support his entire body flowing with momentum, the free left hand peaked crossing over with little notice of movement to his right side. In a flash of metallic light and expert speed pressing his thumb against it's tsuka, he drew the first of two swords, the Wakizashi in a diagonal slash cutting from his opponent's left hip, ending across the shoulder of exposed and naked flesh in milliseconds. Far from a traditional strike with the short sword, but still quite effective. 

@Twitterpated

Edited by Etched In Stone

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His arm shook on impact as his finger's pressed against the side of his head. Warm liquid splattered onto his fist, as well as parts of his face beyond the protection of the blocking limb. He wasn't surprised about failing to grab the opponent's leg; If he had managed to do so, it would have only reflected upon the martial artist in a poor manner. With their close proximity growing ever closer, Bishop felt like he had the guy right where he wanted him. Though if Kenshi assumed close quarters was his specific forte, he'd soon learn that Bishop's methods were a little more twisted than that. It wasn't hard to tell that the man was finally moving to withdraw one of his swords, nor was it hard to tell that avoiding the entire cut was a fool's game to play. As opposed to necessarily moving back and away from it, the Russian Meta committed to a half-step to the right as he pivoted left. While the blade would still likely cut into his flesh, the latter portion cut was likely it's deepest point. Simultaneously, before the sword even completed it's path from the intended cut, Bishop's right hand swung that mace around low, aiming to strike Kenshi in the side of his left knee. Not even the chain mail dress could save him from the devastation of such a crude bludgeoning weapon.  

@Etched In Stone

Edited by Twitterpated
Minor edits due to positioning*

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Nearly two feet shorter than a Katana, the Wakizashi was small enough to be carried by a single-hand yet, vicious in close quarters against an enemy. It's long, wide thick blade meld a lighter guard and tsuka to easily double cutting damage in comparing it's greater counterpart whilst reducing the Soke's draw/strike time in theory. Proving to be an equal match against the Mace being popularized for indoor usage, the Swordslayer followed through with his initial cut, concomitantly unsheathing and attacking in what seemed a blink of an eye. The kisaki curved edge pressed down at Bishop's left hip, the rosary left hand guided the sharp blade with a slight quarter-twist of his wrist, riding it's honed tip across the air. The Russian chose the route of stepping with the attack, his boots vibrated across the tempered wood below Kenshi's bare feet evidence of the movement and evasion. As well as, the point in which he changed directions, possibly tactics. This yatsu had knowledge of implementing simple, effective techniques yet, how well did he stand against his own pressure? Turning with his sword hand fingers curled over the tsuka as the cut produced in full however, before the point of impact Kenshi flicked the wrist enough to miss the intended target across the upper torso atleast by a hair. At the time Bishop began his shift in travel, Kenshi's rear foot slid to the front of his left from his arched position despite impalement and bruising. His body leaned with his right foot away from Bishop, his left foot stepping in a right pivot avoiding the incoming blow to the left knee. Failing to strike the guy was intentional to save the leg, all the while, appearing to the audience as if Bishop was the better, skilled fighter. The Mace swooped in low smashing the molecules in the air, however without ever reaching the side of the Grandmaster's left knee. Retracting the Wakizashi from it's full discipline, his hidden right hand unveiled itself beneath the robe to frisbee the Kasa into the side of the man's line of sight. Simultaneously, as Kenshi withdrew his bladed hand he thrusted forth the tip towards the exposure of Bishop's right ribcage. His legs spread wide to support his jab as he twisted himself into the attack, his left rosary hand contorting beyond the missed Mace for a clean and direct impalement into the rib cavity.

@Twitterpated

Edited by Etched In Stone

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"!"

At the point that his mace failed to strike the target where he knew the man was, Bishop knew his opponent was on the move. A glimpse was all he caught of the swordsman before his visage was temporarily disturbed by the headgear thrown at him; No doubt as a diversion. Still, it was enough to know where his opponent was standing. Without over extending into his swing, his mace arm recoiled, his weight shifting to his left leg. His upper body leaned as his right leg lifted from the ground, coiling with the hip aligned with the heel. The angle of his body when the thrust occurred prevented the blade from so easily sliding between his ribs, the blade cut him violently to the bone no less. Even if the swordsman possessed the strength to penetrate with is sword regardless, he'd find himself stopped short by the completed execution of a side kick aimed for his right hip. The force behind this boot should prove sufficient enough to remove his opponent's balance as he was forced back, away from Bishop and closer to the edge of the platform. For any blood forced out of the Russian Meta, Kenshi received nothing more from him than his narrowed, bloodshot green hazel eyes and a shit eating grin.

@Etched In Stone

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About half a foot from the kisaki tip of the cold steel blade plunged itself into the Russian's defenseless side along the gap, beneath the area of the shoulder close to his top four ribs. The single hand grip made fighting effortless for the Soke to get in and out of ranges quickly whilst, offering an extra limb to provide for shielding or certain situational circumstances. The Blue Robed swordslayer began at the offensive since the commencement and for just a brief second, he thought it was possible the first fight for Feast of Blades was his for taking. From turning with the airborne thrust the hand used to throw the Kasa curled to expose their 4cm long, serrated claws and grapple the incoming leg at the knee area to tear a chunk full of cargo pants in his grip. Consequently, taking the winding hit to the hip in his resistance as it knocked his breath away momentarily and staggering. Instead of moving out the way, Kenshi's left digits twirled the Wakizashi's tsuka overhead so that the blade and it's tip pointed down at the right leg held in his clawed right hand. In securing his clench further around the grappled leg, he drove the handle hammering down to pierce through the entirety of the meaty mass on his leg slightly above the knee cap itself. The Foreigner allowed himself to step with the momentum of the drive and used the grip on Bishop's right leg as leverage to control and shift the balance of his footing to also, kick forth that bruised and swelling right foot down into the guy's left shin. Instead of on it's incept, the ball of his toe was used to force the man cowering to his feet. His own foot paining quicker by the passing, but the adrenaline of battle kept him fighting strong!

@Twitterpated

Edited by Etched In Stone

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The moment Bishop has his leg grabbed, he pushed off of his grounded foot. His body was allowed to fall in the direction it was already leaning in, in which his left arm extended, his open palm smashing into the ground as his right arm swung his mace parallel to his grappled limb. The reassuring ting of metals clashing ensured him he had deflected a blow, and that he'd likely afforded the a bend into the folded metal of the wakizashi, compromising it if not knocking it out of the swordsman's hand completely. Simultaneously, that left leg tucked from it's temporary loss of use found itself violently ejecting for Kenshi's right leg just above the knee cap. This jutting kick help enough extreme prejudice to severely fracture if not break the knee. Between the foot, hip, and now the knee all being targeted on the same limb it would be obvious soon what Bishop was up to. With the connected strike he'd yank his right leg free and work to recover before his opponent did. Still he refused to get further from the man, and still he'd encourage the man to approach the edge of the platform.

@Etched In Stone

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Why to some degree it was indeed wise of the Russian to drop to the ground on his supporting leg once the pummel was deflected. Allowing the blade to be knocked from his hand to the other end of the arena in it's uselessness, Kenshi's now free left latched around the base of the foot held captive as he slid to his opponent's front view, rather than the side angle which he began his thrust with the Wakizashi. With two hands gripped versus one leg undoubtedly, the hanyo had strength advantage over his opponent lying on the wooden deck. Not only, but he'd feel when the other leg moved from it's stationed area as it was then lifted, throwing more weight shifting onto the previous grappled leg. Before the kick to the Swordslayer's knee found itself in projection, the Foreigner lifted his own right nearest the guy and in a basic side kick snapped his leg low into the groin on the ball of his foot whilst, his clawed right snagged the pant leg sending those golden gooses ever eggs screaming in mometary kahutz. Even a blind man could see the london bridge fall down to this one. Concomitantly, the Soke's right hand met with the ankle on the opposite end of his rosary left; this also prevented Bishop from swinging with his Mace hand from beneath for the time he remained on the wooden deck and without a supporting limb to gain any extra reach. Pulling left and down with his rosary hand at the toes, while his clawed right tugged and pushed at the back of Bishop's heel a loud snap from the heel popping out of place was heard next. 

@Twitterpated

Edited by Etched In Stone

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