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Fierach

Feast of Blades: Trueblade Arena: The Charnel House

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Arthur Uskglass (Player: @Voldemort)

Artanthos Thulmann (Player: @Damnatus)

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The Charnel House-

One of the many main training grounds for the Order of Force Majeure, it is a large pit, with solid ground hidden under a slight layer of sand. The smell of blood and sweat is fierce here, and silent deactivated automatons of all sizes line the walls, with all manner of close-combat weapons in their hands. The Custode escorting you to the arena notes that they are detachable. 

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

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Edited by Fierach

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Arthur belched out loud in the open antechamber, the sound echoing off the walls in the privacy of the open-spaced room. The mage chuckled, resting the seven foot shaft of his pollaxe on his shoulder as his other hand pushed open the doors to the Charnel House. Instantly, he was greeted by the roars of the gathering crowd, especially when the mutant began to descend the stairs towards the pit at the center of the training grounds. For his first battle, the alchemist wore his black dress shirt and slacks, his brown lace up boots rounding up the first layer of his outfit. The second layer was composed of a number of pieces of steel armor, adhering to his body by preternatural means in a curious combination of protective components. He carried three weapons as well. A combination of axe and hammer gleamed from the top of the pollaxe's long shaft, a narrow point extending upwards for thrusting. Meanwhile, hanging from a pair of thick, zig-zagging baldrics of brown leather, his long sword (Bogatyr) was sheathed on the left side of his hip while a Rondel dagger was sheathed on the right. Arthur's fiery eyes surveyed the crowd of strangers, grinning roguishly as he enjoyed the limelight. After all, renown and the showcasing of his skills were the only reasons that the alchemist even entertained combat-oriented competitions, even after the immense failure of Heaven or Hell and the near depletion of his wallet in the process. Stepping down onto the pit, the mutant walked leisurely to the middle of the pit, planting the sharpened bottom of his pollaxe on the sandy floor and awaited the arrival his opponent (and friend). 

@Damnatus @Fierach

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Artanthos was not one to be fashionably late to a duel, but he was not wont to miss such challenges entirely.

The raucous generated by the crowd was a living, breathing thing as the exiled knight finally began his descent into the arena. It was enough to make the ears ring; not like the sudden, deafening retort of munitions going off several yards away, but the dull, throbbing roar of an army signaling their readiness to their commander. No generals to control this lot, though, and their eagerness - and impatience - was well-heard. The scent of copper was heavy on the air, wafting up towards Artanthos as soon as he had stepped into the appropriately-named Charnel House. Appropriate, though a tad predictable. Most training grounds did not produce fatal outcomes, but the scent of blood that assaulted his senses made him ponder the practices of the Force Majure for a moment. A fleeting thought, anyway, as his sole eye turned to the figure that now awaited him in the arena proper below. 

"Hm, he opted for the pollaxe. Smart," Artanthos murmured to himself as he regarded Arthur Uskglass with a practiced gaze, taking in a man that was a colleague outside this match, and was now a foe to size up. Though alchemists weren't known to wear plate, Uskglass had chosen the set provided by their hosts. Another intelligent choice; there was a reason men wore armour when they knew violence was on the horizon. Artanthos' own thoughts on the matter reflected his friend's, and was reflected in the training armour he wore as well. The exiled knight had been pleasantly surprised at how well the harness fitted, fastening to his arming doublet with no less ease and comfort than the personally-fitted set he had worn as a knight-commander of Iltheria. The set he had chosen was forged in the Gothic style, with fluting that was impressive to behold and resilient. Not that he would want to test its efficacy against the hammer portion of Uskglass' weapon.

His own choice would have been predictable for the few who knew him, but why deviate from what you knew worked well? The sword that rested across his right shoulder was nearly as long as his opponent's polearm - 68 inches in length, just a hair under 6ft. A long cruciform hilt topped with a pear-shaped pommel gave it powerful leverage in its cuts, and just above it rested two prongs that protruded out the side of the sword's ricasso: parrying hooks, giving the weapon more options in the bind. The blade itself was fairly wide, emphasizing cuts, but had a tapered point that meant maille would be hard-pressed to stop its powerful thrusts. It was a zweihander, montante, spadone - a two-handed sword. Artanthos knew Arthur would have known he'd have chosen such a weapon, and it was Artanthos' confidence in his own skill with the weapon that he did not regard this knowledge as a weakness. Belted to his left waist were a pair of smaller weapons: an arming sword known as a katzbalger, and a rondel dagger. Proper side weapons for the duels to come.

The crowd's noise began to rise to almost impossible heights as Artanthos reached the arena, coming to stand across from his friend, his foe. He gave Uskglass a hint of a smile.

"I suppose we should try to avoid disappointing them," he commented, projecting his voice enough for Uskglass to hear him. 

With that stated, he moved to salute his opponent; he hefted his montante off of his shoulder before sweeping it up and before him in a fencer's salute. That he controlled the 2.5kg weapon with such finesse would likely portend what was to come. Artanthos shifted after the salute, moving his right leg forward as his lead, leaving a shoulder-length's space between his slightly bent legs. His right hand led with the weapon, resting below the crossguard, his left further down the hilt to steer it. He pulled it down to his left side, the pommel nestling into his hip. It was a Pflug guard - Plow. As simple yet as stable as one could get for an opening move, though as Artanthos began to gather step towards his opponent, it was unlikely that such a position would remain static.

 

@Voldemort @Fierach

Edited by Damnatus

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"Heh beh beh.  Heh beh beh.  Heh beh beh."

The small, squeaky chirping came from aside the arena.  A little leafy greens creature, flapping his fibrous frills to and fro.  Two beady little black eyes sat inside the pale flesh of his stalks.

Cabbage, the cabbage, faithful companion to Arthur.  He had planted himself in a clay pot near the edge of the arena.  He wore a suit of armor himself, though it was actually just painted onto the planter pot.

Cabbage sprouted several spindly appendages that resembled roots, sporting a vibrant bloom of hibiscus flowers at the end of each one which he shook and waved about like pompoms.

"BEHHHH!"

The leshen shouted to encourage his companion.

Edited by Spooky Mittens

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Arthur returned Artanthos’ smile with a grin of his own, displaying his competitive spirit rather than the animosity that often accompanied such duels. By no means did the alchemist want to hurt his opponent, but (though seemingly oxymoronic) Arthur did want to fight the exiled knight. The mutant had never said it out loud, but he had almost decided to tell Artanthos and Tenkai about Heaven or Hell without recruiting them for his own team. That way, there was a chance that Arthur would face skilled combatants, so few of them there seemed to be in this decadent day and age. Arthur, of course, had instead chosen to make them his companions, and he couldn’t say he’d made the wrong choice. He couldn’t fight them on the grand stage... until this moment, but gained them as sparring partners and allies.

”I don’t know about that,” the black mage replied with a hint of amusement, holding his pollaxe across his midsection and leisurely began his approach. His left held the haft near the queue, whilst his right hand gripped nearer to the axehead. “If they riot, they might charge the arena and force us to stand abreast. Fighting all of them together would be way more fun...” 

Arthur shrugged his shoulders and said no more, having uttered his response in a way less than serious manner. He saluted Artanthos with his left hand, releasing the haft of his weapon long enough to do so, and turned his head to offer a similar gesture to his leshen companion. Gripping his pollaxe again, the mage continued his advance, stepping onto his left leg when he reached about ten feet from Artanthos. Swiftly, Arthur swung his pollaxe in front of him, aligning the point of the queue with the exiled knight’s body, and jabbed the weapon towards his opponent’s right quadricep from the extreme end of the alchemist’s measure. However, trickery was afoot, as the initial thrust barely reached the half way point before revealing itself as a low feint. 

Arthur took a passing, lunging step with his right foot and changed the way he gripped the pollaxe, transitioning to just past eight feet away from Artanthos as the mutant lead with an overhead cleaving motion with the opposite end of the pollaxe. The weapon came down thunderously, aiming to connect with the left side of Artanthos’ head/neck/shoulder area with the axe-side of the polearm. 

The mage roared as his attack bore down on the exiled knight, causing the roar of the crowd to deafen suddenly as their titanic battle commenced.

@Damnatus @Fierach @Spooky Mittens

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