A Storm of Iron and Flesh. (Green Vs. Rok)

[Green is the new black.]

The great stone disk floated defiantly in the sky, refusing to budge before the power of the swirling tempest that tormented the sky like the wrath of an angry god. It was about sixty feet in diameter, and it slowly and steadily rotated, indifferent to the intense winds. The edge of the grey disk was lined in vicious, seven-foot metal spikes pointing straight upward. Blinding bolts of lightening lashed these steel thorns, sending surges of electricity through a grid of flat, wide metal strips that were bolted into the surface of the disk with massive screws. The squares of polished stone between the eight-inch lines of metal were a little over two feet; large enough to stand on easily, but tripping or stumbling at a bad moment could be disastrous.

Orun’s leather boots hit the stone disk with the deep, muffled thud of a war drum. An extreme sensation of vertigo overtook him as he felt himself falling for a drawn-out moment. The drop ended with a surprisingly dexterous landing. The green-skin’s knees bent reflexively on impact; it was an instinctive reaction that he’d developed during his childhood in the mountains of Salvar. He grunted slightly from the force of the impact. He could feel the blunt end of a large metal bolt press into the sole of his boot. As he glanced around, Orun saw the silhouette of the massive bird that had served as his transport flying away.

For all the magical power that it must have taken to craft such an arena, it would probably seem odd to have the combatants fly through the storm to reach it on the back of a bird. Certainly, the fighters could have been teleported there, but the storm was more than combat hazard. It was served to test the resolve of the challengers. Only those with the hearts of lions and wills of iron would brave such a storm. That, or anyone with the skill to detect the protective enchantment that kept the bird and rider safe for the trip up. A destructive shard of lightening descended from the dark sky, slicing into the magnificent bird, blasting it apart in an explosion of feathers and gore. Apparently, it was only a one-way trip.

Orun adjusted his footing immediately, placing both feet onto the slick stone. A mere moment later, another jagged dagger of light lashed out against the darkness, striking the spikes surrounding him, charging the wide metal grid covering the floor with deadly electricity. It had certainly been an interesting twist of fate that had placed the half-Orc on the stormy disk. Out of boredom, the green-skin paid a visit to the Dajas Pagoda. He wasn’t even exactly sure of what it was, but that detail didn’t seem important at the time. Then, he won his first fight and was offered a place on the Hierarchy. How could he say no and still cling to his claim of being a warrior, let alone his Orcish pride?

The arena itself was a different story. He’d gotten the idea from a chef on a Coronian Naval Frigate while serving as a mercenary. The chef, Christopher Knighton, if Orun’s memory served him, never shut up about anything; he was always telling stories and being generally annoying. One interesting story that the chef told in passing was about an arena of truly epic proportions that he’d supposedly found himself in during a visit to the legendary Citadel in Radisanth. The half-Orc hadn’t really believed the story, and didn’t pay the tale much attention until one of the Pagoda monks had asked him what he desired for his battlefield. Thinking about it now, at least Orun knew that it was at least possible for the irritating chef to have been telling the truth.

Some distance away, Orun’s keen ears detected the remote squawk of another great eagle. He tried in vain to find it in the swirling gloom. The wind-swept rain might as well have been solid stone, pelting his skin and stinging his eyes like needles so that even his Orcish eyes failed him. Whatever was coming, he wouldn’t be able to see it until it arrived on the disk. Orun gripped his small iron ax in his hand, feeling the muscles in his forearm tighten in anticipation, and readied is round wooden shield. His red eyes flashed as lightening slashed the ominous sky as he waited for the coming of a different kind of storm.

[Rok the Blade]

Renown was important to any man, be it a Virtuous Paladin or a power-hungry Mage. It was something to be proud of, at least good renown was. It boosted your holy visage or struck fear into those you wished to conquer. Either way you put it, renown was a good thing. Rokusho's reasoning to gain such status was the latter. Not necessarily conquer as in dominating and subjugating people, but conquering the Evil that was the life-duty of Rokusho Wulfenbraz. But how to acquire it? The Heavenly Knight spent many a night pondering this, when all of a sudden the Dajas Pagoda donned on him like being punched in the face.

Sure, Scara Brae was home to many beginning Adventurers, but that did not detract from the fame one would get after rising through the Pagoda ranks. He knew that warriors of all shapes and sizes, strong and weak, have come to battle. It was just about that time for Rokusho to test his mettle, his sword-arm, and his morals that he cherished ever so much. Would he leap into the path that had him craving fame and fortune, or would he keep a chivalrous attitude about it all? There was no way to accurately predict it.

Upon arriving at the Dajas Pagoda, the knight felt it easier to place a challenge for any Hierarch that was nice enough, or brave enough, to accept his challenge. Being aware of his current fame, being that of an anonymous warrior, he knew that his challenge would be accepted fairly quickly. He had no history here, no past that the other Hierarchs could look upon. His challenge was accepted by Anonymous, and Rok was taken to the Hierarch's arena of choice via a beautiful, celestial bird whose species he had never heard or seen before.

They flew through a live storm, an idea that Rok saw as preposterous. Would he even get there to fight, or would he be blown off the back of the bird by a surge of lightning? His metal armor was more or less conductible material, after all. But fortunately, something had protected the bird and it's rider all the way up, the knight was only subjected to pelting rain and harsh winds. It was a challenge even holding onto the bird's reigns!

After a quick moment, the challenger had arrived on the arena, casually stepping off the bird like a proper knight would his horse. He patted the giant hawk on the top of its head with a smile and it gave a high-pitched squaw in response, flapping its majestic wings and taking off into the distance. He took a deep breath, permeating his lungs with the rainy air, flooded his nostrils with the clean and fresh smell of rain - strengthened so from being in the source of the rain itself. Sadly, though, that smell came with him being drenched already from the rain, his long once shiny blonde hair now soaked and clustered, draped over the sides of his face. Rok turned to face his opponent on the other side of the disk, and to the amazing spectacle that was the arena.

He reveled at the natural and artificial beauty, the storm raging around them, creating an epic sense. It was as if the arena was meant for a godly clash, he almost felt honored to be here. He noticed that the circular disk was made of stone squares, and seperating them, bolted to the edges of each block, were fairly thick strips of glowing metal - glowing with electricity. No doubt a brush against that would send a nasty shock through your feet. No doubt this place would test his Lancer Ability. The spikes surrounding the place were a nice touch. He presumed that their main purpose was to keep the warriors from falling to a gruesome death, rather than skewer them, for they raised above his head. They also served as lightning rods, bringing the power of the surrounding storm as close to the fray as possible, just adding on to the yet epic feeling.

He noticed his opponents build and attire, that primitive look on his face, though it was only the natural look of a half-orc. Rokusho was aware that it was the Hierarch that chose the duel arena, and after seeing the silver disk, rebellious to gravity being up high in the sky, he would have suspected his opponent to be a mage, or a Geomancer. Someone who could use these elements to their advantage. Yet, rather than the hierarch picking a setting that best suited him, he picked an environment that would not be best suited for the both of them. A clever move. After analyzing the half-orc thoroughly, he would have wished for maybe a cliff's edge or maybe a barren wasteland.

If only it had been so easy.

After his musings, the knight realized that his opponent was all ready for battle; His weapon in hand and at the ready. Rokusho smiled, not so much as for his opponent to see, but just for the sake of it, and bowed gently.

"Sorry to keep you waiting!" He screamed across the arena, hoping that he was loud enough for the half-orc to hear him over the deafening boom and clacking of the storm. Without waiting for an answer the knight reached back and grasped the long hilt of Redeemer with both hands and pulled it slowly from its leather sheath, swinging it over and around in a wide arc, bringing it in front of him. He held it in a low, defensive stance, his hands just in front of his crotch and the blade tip diagonally facing his opponent.

He knew that he would be leaving that stance in a matter of moments.

[Green is the new black.]

Lightening flashed across the sky and flared his crimson eyes like the fire of a demon’s soul. The tortured heavens showered wrath upon the disk, turning it into its own hell. In the dark storm, Orun looked very much like a beast from the Abyss. Lean, powerful muscles bulged from beneath his green skin and pushed against his leather armor. His shield arm was inert at his side and the thick fingers of his right hand wrapped around his battleaxe as though he were wielding the hand of Death.

The half-Orc formed a sinister, toothy grin as he gazed through the storm as his opponent. The man was of impressive stature, Orun had to grant him that. With the bulky tin can that he was wearing, he appeared even larger than the half-Orc. The human’s demeanor just made Orun want to chuckle, though. Was he actually taking his own knight-in-shining-armor routine. And unlike his first opponent, this metal man actually started talking to him. This is a bit different.

“I was beginning to wonder,” Orun shouted back in his deep, guttural voice as he strode forward. His speech betrayed someone very well spoken for an Orc. “Tell me, pretty boy, can you actually fight with that monstrosity, or do you just keep it to compensate for something?”

Orun pondered the situation as he continued purposefully toward his foe. He had seen this man’s type before. More often than not, they were all fancy armor and no skill. By looking at the armored warrior, it would have been easy to assume that he spent more time polishing his shiny armor than actually fighting in it. This foe could have very well be an exception for the simple reason that he’d had the nerve to make it this far. Also, the fact that he was able to hold such a massive sword above the ground meant that he couldn’t have been terribly weak.

The half-Orc’s smile widened upon hearing a second blood-chilling death-squawk filled the turbulent air as a jagged dagger of electricity struck the knight’s bird. He looked to the armored warrior once again. Unlike Orun’s first opponent in the Dajas Pagoda, this giant of a man – at least, by human standards – didn’t charge in right away. He knew enough about humans to realize that this was closer to normal than his previous foe had been.

“Did you have a speech prepared or something?” he asked, stopping within thirty feet of the human. Orun loosened his grip on the shield and pressed his thumb against the blade of his axe. The drop of blood was instantly washed away by the frigid rain.

[Rok the Blade]

"You'll see, soon enough." The knight thought quietly to himself as he stood strong on the stone, keeping his feet wide and weight spread. It was almost a chore to even keep upright on that thing, he saw that the half-orc didn't have much trouble doing the same. So maybe he did have an advantage here. This battle would not only test his prowess, but also test to see how cunning he could be. This battle wouldn't be won with brawn alone.

His opponent had started the advance, slowly closing the distance between them. Quickly Rok looked around the arena... What could he use to his advantage? He looked to his right, stepped forward and hopped to the adjacent square, then jogged forward and jumped to another one, a cautious approach. Until he could fully assess his foe's abilities he would have to do things defensively.

[Green is the new black.]

As it turned out, no speech came. This suited normally silent half-Orc perfectly well. Orun had actually planned to throw the dagger hidden in his boot at the knight if he’d started giving a monologue. Fortunately, this walking suit of armor wasn’t as pretentious as many of his breed. The downside was that it made the blonde man less fun to kill.

Orun still remembered the last armored knight that he’d fought. It was in the cold hills of Salvar after a large skirmish between rival fiefdoms. It had been a young, pompous noble with a xenophobic intolerance toward anyone with green skin. That man had been fun to kill and his death was still satisfying to this day. The blond mountain of a man before him seemed different. He was older and lacked the same air of smugness. The smugness was there – he was a human after all – but it was not so overwhelming.

Orun titled his head warily at his foe. Despite the fact that such a massive sword as what the metal man carried would be far more effective offensively than to protect ones self, the knight was staying on the defensive. It seemed foolish, even though all that armor would help to protect him where his colossal sword couldn’t. Even so, the half-Orc saw no reason to allow the cautious knight any respite.

Snarling like a predatory beast, Orun darted forward in a near-lunge without warning. His green muscles flexed like cables as he lashed out with his heavy axe in a flurry of blows. His weapon struck out like the lightening that surrounded them, instinctively aiming for any open targets. The Pagoda Warrior would find out quickly just how well-chosen his adversary’s weapon was.

[Rok the Blade]

Rokusho had never fought an orc before, or even a half-orc. He had read about how dense they could be, how beastly they were. Naturally they were evil, too, which pretty much made them a racial enemy for the Heavenly Knight. That made this fight all the more purposeful, though not really personal.

This half-orc was definitely smarter than he looked, probably a trait from his human side. It showed from his actions, but there was one fault that Rok could point out: That this half-orc fighter was impatient and rash, like most of it's ilk. He rushed the knight with a series of strong hits after quickly closing the distance between them. It was definitely quick, but Rokusho was easily able to react to the attack. He was easily able to sit, wait, and calculate what to do while his opponent closed the thirty feet approximate distance between them.

Rok jumped backwards slightly, covering only a little distance back but as high as he could. About four feet of air came between his feet and the stone square below, which made him tower over the half-orc. The distance covered was enough to pretty much render his foe's attack useless. The knight rose Redeemer high over his head, let out a roar and came down with the gigantic sword in a vertical cleave. He was glad that the sword was so long, easily allowing him to possibly hit the green brute while he was a substantial distance away - For he knew that if he allowed the half-orc to get too close he'd be done for, Redeemer was practically useless in close-quarters.

[Green is the new black.]

The knight was strong, that much was certain. Only a truly formidable man would have been able to jump in armor like that. Orun’s axe met only rain and wind as his chain of blows struck out fruitlessly. He’d expected the human to have attempted to parry his attacks, but the knight had proven stronger and cleverer than he’d anticipated. If nothing else, though, the half-Orc’s life of violence had made him quick-witted and adaptable.

As jagged bolts of lightening slashed phantom wounds into the sky, Orun’s foe made a counter attack. Such a massive sword would render the half-Orc’s wooden shield all but useless, yet he did not falter. The green-skin’s eyes burned like hot iron against the wrath of the storm and he grinned like a demon in the face of the knight’s attack, not phased by his pathetically human attempt at a battle cry.

Clang!

The great sword hit the stone floor noisily as Orun swiftly side-stepped the blow. His feet were sure on the slick surface; it was no worse than traversing the frozen lakes or icy mountainsides in Salvar during a harsh blizzard. Of whether the human’s move was foolish, part of some complex and devious trap, or just an inconvenient disposition of his weapon, Orun was unsure. He wouldn’t have time to ponder it if he planned to take advantage.

With a quick step, Orun closed some of the gap between him and the human. His shield slammed down just above the hilt on the giant sword a fraction of a second after it hit the stone. It wouldn’t hold the blade in place for very long, but he only required a second. With a strain, his muscles obeyed his command, suddenly striking forth at the knight’s head with his axe, slashing downward in a manner that was more like the hard snap of a sling than a swing.

[Rok the Blade]

"Agh!" Rok grunted as his sword hit polished stone, sending a vibration that jolted both of his arms. Then he felt as his arms were pressed closer to him as the wooden shield pressed forward. The orc was like a green blur of fierce yet useful strategy. Unlike his opponent, Rok never dedicated his life to prevailing over all others but more to protecting them. He wasn't such a devout fighter like the half-orc here, and that was what put him at a disadvantage...

The knight pushed forward with his arms but they wouldn't budge, his feet shuffling over the wet stone - threatening to slip from beneath him, a thick band of metal just behind his heel, he was struggling not to touch it. A blue-white bolt of lightning impaled one of the spikes surrounding the arena and a surge of electricity tore through the grid, he even felt a couple sparks lick his boot and send a subtle shock through his leg. This wasn't one of Rok's more preferred battle arenas, he felt that the green brute actually did have an advantage here, at least at that moment - Rok had foolishly leaped backwards, not realizing where he was - He almost landed on the metal strip. But Rokusho wasn't going to give up yet! The fight had just begun; he wouldn't succumb to his foe's fury so quickly.

Rokusho let go of Redeemer - something that he wouldn't do unless his life depended on it, pushing it aside with the help of the momentum from his opponent's shield rush, and the sword fell to the ground with a clang. The blade was on polished stone while the handle unfortunately slid onto part of the metal grid - Immediately a sense of loss washed over him, he had dumped his cherished blade so quickly in the heat of the fight... There wasn't much time to think while being on the offensive end of a wild halforc.

The armor clad warrior stepped into his opponent, coming face to face after brushing aside the half-orcs shield arm - focused on keeping Rok's sword down - with a shove, and raised his arm high to catch the vertical cleave in mid-swing. His arm was in just the right spot so that his foe would strike his armored wrist with theirs, stopping the swing abruptly. His other hand came up, balled tightly, and sailed towards the green fighter's nose.

[Green is the new black.]

Crunch!

Orun snarled and staggered backwards a little in spite of himself as the knight’s ironclad fist smashed into his jaw in a shower of blood, rain, and teeth. It would suffice to say that it was very painful. Of course, that’s to be expected when the mountain of a man punching you is wearing metal gauntlets. The blow would have surely knocked a lesser man senseless.

The half-Orc clenched his teeth, trying to see clearly through his spinning head and the swirling storm. He felt a familiar anger well up inside of him. It wasn’t the frenzied, controllable, and all-consuming rage of a wildfire, but rather it was the intense, controlled heat of a forge; it was his tool. Without letting himself linger in his daze, Orun sprang forward. His feet slipped several times, but he managed to keep his balance and move forward, as opposed to down or backwards.

Reflexively, the cunning green-skin kicked the human’s massive sword out from between his legs. He felt three things from doing this. First, there was the smug satisfaction that he was hopefully keeping his foe disarmed. Second, there was the sharp steel just barely kissing the flesh on his toe as the blade sliced through his metal boot. The final sensation was from a particularly painful jolt of electricity that surged from the sword through Orun’s leg. The pain was excruciating; it was possibly the worst that he’d ever experienced. The only silver lining was that it went numb after a mere second.

Forcing himself to ignore the newly acquired numbness in his left leg, Orun aimed a stern backhanded bash with his shield at the blonde knight’s face. It was the only unprotected area on the warrior’s body, and also the most vital. Besides, Orun reasoned, if he was going to lose teeth in this fight, he’d be damned if he was going to be the only one.

[Rok the Blade]

His sword had been kicked away, and he needed to get that back if he had any hopes of winning this battle. Unfortunately, it had been kicked behind him, but at the same time the knight was able to deal a strong blow to the half-orc's face. He didn't have the time to turn around, bend down and pick up Redeemer. He would have to fend off his attacker with his brute strength for a moment.

Rokusho smiled wickedly, not really in-line with his personality, but he felt a sense of pride wash over him; He had just decked a hulking half-orc right in his chops. But his smile quickly disappeared as a wooden shield soared up from the side of his head, the silver spike jutting from it gleaming as it soared through drops of rain, hungry for skull. The surprise of the counterattack definitely caught him off guard, but he did manage to pull his head back enough so that the spike sailed past his face. Unfortunately, he hadn't escaped the other half of the wooden shield, which slammed into the side of his face.

Crash! A bolt of lightning impaled one of the spikes behind Rok, sending an echoing thunderclap across the arena which was still loud despite the raging storm. It was in unison with the counterattack, flashing a bright light as he got bashed in the face. It was as if the gods above clapped at the spectacle. It was indeed a good fight, the two fighters were locked in battle, squaring off against eachother face-to-face, neither allowing the other to think of anything but how to attack next. Their feet inches away from surging metal, sparkling on all sides, there was no time to disengage - he feared this battle would be short.

The rain was relentless, pounding down onto the arena, pattering on the stone and metal with a constant beat. The knight was drenched from head to toe, his clothes beneath the iron suit super-saturated with water. No doubt it made him feel pounds heavier. If he had known that he would be fighting in the rain, he would've dressed lighter. It was surprising that the rain didn't stay on the circular arena, but simply streamed off every edge. Luckily for them, or else every shock of lightning would send surges of electricity all over rather than just on the strips.

Blood spat out of the knight's mouth as his face was bashed to the side - his vision immediately blurred, his wet hair slapping against his face from the sudden spin. He winced in pain as he felt his mouth quickly fill up with blood, a tooth was probably knocked out. He thought quickly, he couldn't allow the green brute any respite, so he kept the momentum of the spin going as he began to spin his whole body around, pivoting his feet sharply and making sure not to back them up onto the metal strip. His arm rose up, keeping it angled so his elbow soared around and up towards the side of his opponent's head. If he had to do a little fist fighting to get Redeemer, he wouldn't hold back. His head hurt like hell, and his vision was blurred through blood, sweat, dizziness and tears, yet despite, he knew that his elbow was going for the right spot.