Winter Warriors: Teric vs Torgrim

[Bloodrose]

"Why am I even here?" Teric asked the empty, silent cold of the courtyard. His words, like his breath, frosted quickly in the Salvarian-esque chill. Heavy clouds trailed from his lips and nostrils to float effortlessly on the brisk air until they dissipated several feet above. I squandered my opportunity for this. I lost to Lorenor in our battle. I was almost killed! So why am I here?...

Normally Teric wouldn't have argued if a man approached him and offered him a position amongst the Pagoda's famed Hierarchy. Normally the opportunistic veteran would have eagerly accepted the chance at fame. To be a Hierarch in the Pagoda was to be known and envied by the countless warriors of Althanas. It was to be given a chance to test your mettle against the most courageous of them. Yet, when the messenger bearing such a grand invitation had tracked down Teric in one of the dockside's numerous watering holes, the old warrior had not been eager...

He had been confused, angry, and a little bit insulted.

Teric had come to the Pagoda to earn his place amongst their Warriors. If you didn't count his childhood, the veteran had spent a good thirty-five or forty years training, fighting, dueling, and preparing himself for a moment like that. Countless visits to the Citadel, where he suffered many losses by also many victories. Countless odd jobs as a mercenary that sharpened both his mind and his skills as a warrior. A lifetime of preparation for such a grand opportunity, and I lost. Bitter was not strong enough a word to express Teric's emotion at that moment, and the thought alone brought a scowl to his face.

It was that same thought, and that same emotion, that had swamped over Teric when handed his invitation to join the Pagoda. In that moment in the tavern he had been overwhelmed by the sudden image of Lorenor growing bored with dispatching lesser, weaker warriors and resigning. The idea that he could have 'won' while at the same time losing was beyond Teric, and the invitation had felt like he was being given a charitable second chance. Lorenor didn't want it anymore, so Teric was the lucky bastard who got to fill his shoes...

"I'll show them." Teric muttered under his breath as he aimlessly scooped up a handful of the heavy snow around his feet. He waited patiently in the courtyard, his arena, packing the snow into a hard little ball as the cold of it bit like so many pins and needles on his bare hands. The arena, sixty paces across from corner to corner and surrounded on all sides by tall gothic-inspired walls with arrow-slit windows, was covered in a generous six or seven inches of the heavy white powder. It clumped together and clung to everything, including the large oak tree and its wrought-iron fence enclosure in the middle of the yard. "I'll take their charity and show them that I deserve to be here."

I won't squander my second opportunity... His thoughts added, as Teric eyed the double doors on the opposite side of the courtyard. His first challenger would be arriving soon, and the veteran was keen to prove that he belonged here. Not only for the shadowy masterminds of the Pagoda, but also for his own satisfaction…

[Torgrim]

The sun was yet a golden dome over the sea, casting its light between the tall buildings just beyond the docks of Scara Brae. The sea breathed low and rhythmic as if still asleep, threatening already to cloy the early-rising merchants with the scent of salt water and fish. Somewhere a ways off a man suffered a coughing fit, and others called in voices indistinguishable from the waking gulls.

Torgrim the giantkin emerged from the mouth of an alley, having just risen from his dank cobblestone bed. It wasn’t something he’d recommend, but it was a vast improvement upon the sodden wooden bench that had been his home and bed and prison for four years. He was made a free man again only last night, cast into a world alien to him with nothing to his name but a few scraps of clothing. There was no time to rue those years lost to him – he needed to secure food, shelter, and a blade.

There was a small market square ensconced between the docks and the port city proper, where the shore fishermen were setting up their shops and other, smaller stalls were also being manned. The sun had hardly begun to vault its light across the sky to brush the tall rooftops, and the streets were deep with dewy shadow, but Torgrim felt that the square was already overfull. He knew, logically, that the day would bring far greater crowds, and it wasn’t something he wanted to be in the middle of. Already he felt eyes upon him. Some honestly hadn’t noticed him, but more stared at him openly, and still more pointedly did not look at him though he knew they were aware of him.

At seven feet tall, and being as broad as some of them were tall, the Northman drew attention simply by existing – a frustrating truth, as Torgrim needed anonymity now. He certainly wasn’t about to pay for what he could take, but picking a fight with twenty men or more – despite their laughable size – was not desirable.

What one is not given, however, one can sometimes find.

With a pointed but casual lurch, Torgrim stepped unpredictably out of his path and into that of another man. The smaller body bounced off the larger, and in the process bumped into a stall of exotic fruits and vegetables, a crate of which tumbled to the ground. Torgrim reacted swiftly, apologizing in heavily accented Tradespeak as he bent down to help his victim to his feet, and then together they helped gather the spilled produce. It was, in the end, easy to appear bumbling and stupid to these shrewd and jealous creatures – and a bumbling, stupid man was beyond suspicion.

Before the vendor could inventory his goods Torgrim was well on his way, peeling the skin from what he later came to understand was called an onion. He was halfway through his prize, pleasantly surprised at the spice, when one of his victims - the man he’d knocked into the stall - intercepted him. The Northman’s shoulders tensed and for a brief moment he stopped chewing, fully expecting an accusation that ultimately didn’t come.

Instead, the smaller man said, “My, you’re a big one. Say, do you fight?”

Torgrim didn’t intend to seem bumbling and stupid anymore but seemed it anyway, holding half an onion in his hand and the other half partially chewed in his mouth, eyes wide and shoulders tense. It wasn’t that he was all that frightened – it was the surreal nature of the man’s question. Asking a giantkin if he fights is akin to asking any other kind of man if he breathes, and asking a man if he breathes when he’s halfway through a stolen vegetable is a curious thing.

After a moment Torgrim swallowed and replied warily. “Yes,” he said, “I fight.”

“I think this will be of interest to you,” the smaller man said, and thrust a crisp sheet of paper into the giantkin’s hands.

Torgrim glanced over the sheet, and then up at the man, and now each was thoroughly convinced that the other was an idiot. It was after a long moment that Torgrim ventured to speak again.

“You asked if I could fight, you said nothing about reading.”

“Oh! Oh, yes, I’m sorry,” the man said. “I should have guessed, with the accent. It’s an advertisement for the Dajas Pagoda. You do know what that is, don’t you? No? No. It’s an arena, where men and women fight for money. Money? Gold pieces, for buying things, yes?”

“I know what money is.”

“Of course. I’m a finder, you see, I look for talent. I could bring you there.”

“Fine,” Torgrim said. “Vodinn delivers, yeah? I won’t have it said that I was too coward to take what was put in front of me. I’ll follow you, but if this is a trick I’ll rip you in half. I think that’s fair.”

The finder wasn’t so sure that was fair at all, but led Torgrim out of the market all the same.

----

Torgrim walked between two men sometime later, and felt uncomfortable for it. It wasn’t that he felt guarded or trapped as most men might, but more he worried that he might sneeze or trip and somehow involuntarily break both of them. He was just about ready to ask them to follow a little less closely when they came upon a set of double doors. Torgrim’s escort pushed these doors open to allow a burst of frigid air to rush into the spacious stone hallway. They shivered, Torgrim did not.

In he went, and the doors were sealed behind him. He hadn’t expected his first match to begin so abruptly, but it was too late to issue complaints now. He went forward because he had to, toward the single armored figure standing amidst the snow. He glanced about his surroundings, noting the distance of each wall, the depth of the snow, the height of the foreign windows – but always the man opposite him remained in his peripheral vision.

Almost imperceptibly the Northman puffed himself up. It was unconscious but effective: his broad shoulders seemed broader, his deep chest deeper, his arms tighter. He was observably unarmed and lacked armor of any real sort, this was true, but Torgrim comforted himself that his foe was notably smaller and older than himself. Still, an older warrior was a wiser warrior, even if smaller, and knowledge was a threat.

The giantkin felt the slightest twinge of adrenaline, the nervous flutter closing in on his lungs and speeding the beat of his tremendous heart. This he fought down with a deep but silent breath, a refocusing of the wits.

Vodinn will call when he does.

Torgrim rolled his shoulders forward and tossed his head bestially, shaking loose a long and wild mane of sand-blonde hair, and was the very image of a natural juggernaut not unlike a bear or a lion: there would be no question that it was in his nature to crush.

“I respect you already, old man,” the Northman said. “But the only way I’m losing is if you make it impossible for me to win.”

[Bloodrose]

My first opponent as a Warrior of the Dajas Pagoda. Teric contemplated patiently. The sound of the heavy bolts sliding open from the outside echoed dully around the mostly empty courtyard. My first challenger. Teric thought he was prepared for anything when the double doors swung open and the figure of a man stepped through. The veteran's mind was already at work, preemptively recalling past strategies he'd used in fights against elves, other humans, dwarves, orcs, and goblins. Already different scenarios, some involving heavily armored swordsmen while others contained robed magi, were firing up in the back of his mind. A battle-hardened and thoroughly experienced Teric was confident that he was prepared for anything that strode through that door...

You've got to be joking!

It was only practiced discipline that prevented his surprise from registering across Teric's face. In through the doorway (and it was miraculous that the man need not duck) came an opponent Teric hadn't expected to face. Indeed, having lived in Salvar for years and ventured closer to the northern reaches of Berevar than most care to, and having seen Giantkin in action, Teric had hoped to never face one...ever...

"And I respect you, Giantkin." Teric replied to the Northman cordially, once the big man had made his initial greeting. Three things gave away the man's race, but few outside of the North of Salvar knew what to look for. First were the man's proportions, which were normal for a man, despite his size. Giantkin, unlike abnormally tall humans, were not overly long of leg with oversized skulls. Any human the size of this Northman would have appeared lanky and uncoordinated in the least, but there was none of that here. Second and third, to a lesser extent than his size, was the man's features and attitude. The sandy long locks and unusually deep-green eyes, paired with the square jaw and heavy brow, gave him a countenance typical of his people. The polite greeting, paired with a confidence not normally found in unarmed, unarmored fighters, was simply generic, ego-stroking icing on the cake...

"I can't say I expected to see one of your kind in Scara Brae." Teric added with a raised brow. He started moving, turning slightly to lower his profile as he strode in a wide, lazy circle around to the Northman's right side. Giantkin were renowned for a level of speed and agility unnatural for something their size, and Teric wanted to be moving already in case the Northman decided to lunge forward. While he was unarmed in the normal sense, to be caught in those tree-trunks that he called arms would be a death-knell in and of itself. "In fact, I can't say I expected to ever see one of your kind outside of the frozen north."

The heavy snow clung to his boots, and stiffened into hard pack beneath his feet as he strode through it. Walking through snow such as this was akin to mucking through wet sand, and Teric had hoped to gain an advantage over opponents not used to the snow by covering his arena in. Now, however, he was beginning to regret the decision, as the Giantkin would be far more comfortable in the snow than even Teric.

Orc. Teric's calculating mind settled on the closest scenario he had prepared for this battle. Big, focusing on physical strength and not magic. Close, melee combat. Still circling towards the Northman's right side, Teric dropped the snowball. The shield hanging over his shoulder he readied on his arm, and he drew Thorn out of his belt in preparation.

"My name is Teric Bloodrose." The veteran introduced himself formally.

[Torgrim]

Torgrim was perturbed because his opponent made no attempt to perturb him.

If this Teric Bloodrose had introduced himself with a string of accomplishments attached to his name – Teric Orcslayer, Teric Giantseeker – Torgrim would be significantly more comfortable. Overconfidence, even false overconfidence, was something he understood. It didn’t help that Teric was stoic, but surely not possessed with the inhuman focus of a soldier with nothing left but the fight. He evaded the easy stereotypes of fighters.

It was a strong name, though. “Teric,” Torgrim admitted aloud, “is a strong name. And believe me, I never expected to find myself this far south either.”

When Bloodrose began circling to the right, Torgrim had made a point of not engaging in the dance. He continued walking straight on, though his eye continued to follow the old human. Only when the mercenary began to approach the corner of his vision did Torgrim finally turn and, abruptly, stop beneath the high branches of the oak. Still, his movements were casual – tense, prepared to be sure – but as non-threatening as a seven-foot, three-hundred pound creature can be.

When Torgrim leapt straight up into the air it came as a bit of a shock. His goal hadn’t been to attack Bloodrose straight out, but to first procure something he could attack the old man with . The oak tree provided that, it seemed: Torgrim leapt an impressive height for his weight and grasped a sturdy branch. Amidst a glittering cloud of snow loosened from the tree’s extremities, Torgrim hoisted himself up by the limb and then dropped again. Bringing his weight, the force of his short fall, and all of his might down on the branch, Torgrim fell to the earth – armed, this time, with a makeshift club.

The sharp crack of splintering wood still rang on the courtyard walls, and Torgrim smiled amicably at Teric while snapping the thin excess length of the branch on his knee. What was left was messy but formidable: a club, perhaps four and a half to five feet in length, narrow at the near end and four inches thick at the far. The business end was a jagged explosion of splinters, wood chips, and twisted white fibers, and pointy bits of twig stuck out everywhere along it.

Thus armed, Torgrim advanced directly toward Teric and his smile rapidly faded. The Northman raised his club and, holding it in both hands, lunged forward with attention to the depth of the snow, swinging his club viciously from left to right with the intent to crush the mercenary’s sword arm.

[Bloodrose]

As if he wasn't dangerous enough before. Teric thought sourly as his still unnamed opponent crashed back to earth carrying a new weapon. The size of the weapon itself was enough to make Teric ignore the fact that the giant had rudely neglected to offer up his name, and in fact Teric wasn't even sure he could have lifted such an armament. A giant armed with a tree branch. His mind was already racing to account for the change in his situation as the Northman lunged with a tremendous swing.

Backpedalling reactively, Teric danced back a few paces to avoid being struck. The blunt end of the Northman's club hummed through the air as it whooshed by, and something in the back of the veteran's mind could only shudder to think what a blow like that could have done to him. That would have snapped your arm, broken your shoulders and ribs, and likely have killed you in one go. A voice was whispering darkly as Teric tried to focus less on what the giant could do to him, and more on what he could do to the giant.

"Nice try." Teric commented off-handedly, his mind simultaneously working on a revised strategy. From what little he had witnessed of Giantkin fighting, the massive raiders tended to favor quick and ferocious brawls. Prolonged battles were not their forte, although it was hard to imagine why not given their extraordinary strength and endurance. He may not like a long battle, but I can't wear him down by dragging this out into one. Teric was thinking. What I need to do is limit his mobility. What I need to do is take out one or both of his legs...

Teric rushed back into the Northman's range behind the club swing, his shield raised in front of him. Aim for the legs... running through his mind like a mantra as he angled the shield towards his left shoulder to protect against a return swing. At the same time he was angling the shield, Teric's right arm came around in a low right-to-left horizontal hack at the Giantkin's left knee...

[Torgrim]

Torgrim exhaled sharply, producing a burst of steam from between his teeth. Teric was suddenly too close for comfort, and he invaded the giantkin’s dead-zone with purpose. Hesitation would have been preferable, too much thinking, doubting, but no – this Bloodrose seemed well aware that he had to push the offensive. Torgrim wondered, in some distant and serene portion of his mind, if the old man knew that the Northman had no experience with fighting such small, wiry creatures.

Chilled steel rent old leather and scored hot flesh, and sipped blood. Torgrim growled, a primal sound hardly attributable to anything even partially human, but the pain was slight compared to what the mercenary had hoped for. At the moment Teric slashed toward his intended target, the Northman had purposely shoved his endangered left leg back into the snow until his foot slipped and brought him suddenly to one knee. It hadn’t been much of a defense – the blade met his thigh instead of his knee and opened a wide wound.

The gash relinquished blood in a silent, spreading wave, the way water spreads through paper when absorbed, but the damage was acceptable: the cut wasn’t particularly deep. This was due to no fault of the blade’s wielder; Teric was simply too far from his goal at the crucial moment to wound more effectively.

When Torgrim had forced himself to slip, he simultaneously released his weapon, knowing almost instinctively that he would never be able to swing it fast enough to save himself, and perhaps not fast enough to brutalize his foe before he slipped out of range again. Without it, though, he had a chance. As he fell to one knee he twisted and brought his left arm in, reaching beneath the old warrior’s shield to find his chest. At the moment cold blade met warm flesh, Torgrim pushed forward and up with his right leg with the intent to shove Bloodrose back.

[Bloodrose]

Uh-oh... The intangible thought was almost as real and as audible to Teric as if he had uttered the words aloud. Indeed, he might have, but his tongue wasn't quick enough to formulate the sounds before Torgrim's mighty palm hit him in the chest with the force of a stampeding ox. There was no defense or counter designed to handle such a blow; almost as if the Giantkin had allowed himself to be hit with the purpose of drawing Teric within range in mind. The usual satisfaction that accompanied scoring first blood was an afterthought now, second to more urgent issues the veteran faced as his feet left the ground...

The Northman's arm strength alone, coupled with his lunging momentum and the angle of his shoving blow, lifted Teric bodily from the frozen tundra of his arena and sent him sailing backwards several feet. Arms flailing and feet kicking to try and land gracefully, the old warrior landed on his heels in the thick snow and immediately fell to his back, striking the back of his head off the hard, snow covered soil.

"By the Goddess..." Teric exclaimed slowly, almost reflexively shifting himself in the snow to try and get back to his feet. The frozen powder was cold on his hands and on the back of his neck, and flecks of the stuff clung to the short hair on the back of his head. Rolling first onto his stomach, Teric got his hands beneath him and pushed himself up to one knee, almost immediately swiveling around to face the wounded giant. Aside from a little shortness of breath and a rapidly developing headache, the veteran was mostly unharmed. I'm certainly glad I decided to wear my breastplate today. He joked silently, forcing himself to his feet. Seasoned fighter or not, everyone knew the ground to be the worst place to be in a fight...

"Throwing your weight around already?" Teric flashed the big man a disarming smile. It was a friendly, unthreatening goad designed to show the Northman that his size didn't intimidate the Pagoda Warrior. Confidence was just as important in a fight as skill or strength, and having it could force an opponent to overanalyze a situation or second guess themselves. Show a man you're not afraid, and he'll spend just as much time worrying about what you've got hidden up your sleeve as he will thinking about what to do next.

Teric could only hope that Torgrim did not possess the ability to see into the back of his mind, where the veteran was subconsciously trying not to think about the exaggerated distance between them now. Experience and confidence were desperately trying to subdue the obvious troubling thoughts of what the Northman could do to a man with that strength of his...

"What's your name, Northman?" Teric asked, bidding for time with which to formulate a strategy...

[Torgrim]

Torgrim bowed his head and a blonde waterfall fell across his features, veiling his troubled brow. He leaned upon his good leg - having fallen back to it after sending his foe skyward - with his heavy arms crossed over one mighty thigh. For a brief moment he looked more tired than he felt, eyes upon the snow but ears squarely on the shifting mercenary, shoulders heavy but not slumped. The man-giant was uneasy.

You shouldn’t have forced him away, he told himself. You should have kept him near, crushed his sword-arm or broken his shield.

Teric may have caught a glimpse of this contemplative moment upon whipping around to face his opponent again: the briefest suggestion of thought or doubt or fatigue before the giantkin composed himself. Torgrim tossed his head, sending his hair from front to back in a long arc, and reached for his club in its bed of snow while pushing himself to his feet on his good leg. Once standing – appearing oblivious to the wound on his left thigh – the Northman met Teric’s smile with an utterly blank expression. It certainly wasn’t unfriendly, but nor did Torgrim reciprocate.

Wolves, he thought. The only thing like this is fighting wolves, and they have the decency to come at you in half-starved packs. Yes, this one is like a wolf, a wily grey wolf, nipping at your heels and burning your nerves.

The Northman’s reflection was broken by Teric’s request, which clearly struck him as a surprising thing to ask. Surprise was followed closely by caginess, which cooled before the mercenary’s eyes. Torgrim’s mouth made a dour line of concession, and then he said, “I suppose if you were a witch this wound would have killed me twice over by now.”

As he spoke, the Northman began walking toward Teric with a leisurely sense of purpose, hoisting his club up and resting it against a fleshy shoulder. While it would be a stretch to say that he limped upon his left leg, he did make some notable effort to spend as little time on it as possible – it wasn’t pain that interrupted his gait, but attention to the source of the grey-red blood that freshly soaked the leather of his trousers.

“My father called me Torgrim,” he said. “If I were home it would be a good name. Here, I don’t think Tor sees me, despite the snow. The sun isn’t pale enough, and there’s no wind to bite us.”

Still, he said to himself. If I die I’m happy it’ll be in the snow, with a weapon in my hand and my blood on a sword.

And that, in the end, was the crux of it: Teric’s shows of skill and confidence had left their impression upon the young giantkin, who had little experience in fighting things so much smaller than himself, but the troubling nature of his opponent did not soften the Northman’s grim resolve. He came on, bringing his makeshift club down from his shoulder and holding it at the ready.

Torgrim’s immediate hope as he approached the elder warrior was that he would begin to back away to buy more time. Torgrim hoped that the steadfast old man would show some apprehension and, perhaps, fail to notice that the giantkin was attempting to herd him back into a corner of the courtyard.

[Bloodrose]

Torgrim, huh? Teric pondered as he slowly and carefully took a step backwards away from the approaching giant. He's certainly got the 'grim' part down.

The fact that his opponent was making a conscious effort to keep his hefty bodyweight off his wounded leg was a definite confidence booster, even if a visible limp would have been more so. You've got to take what you can get. That voice Teric liked to call Experience chided as the warrior continued to back away, thinking. No one is going to give you anything in a battle. You have to take it by force...

The snow around his ankles was getting a little deeper, the cold biting a little higher through his boots that it had been. On the edge of his peripheral vision Teric noticed something peculiar and all together frightening: the gray of the enclosing walls was infinitely too close on both sides of him. A hasty, split-second glance over his shoulder confirmed the Hierarch's worst fear.

You stupid, blundering old man! Teric wanted to shout at himself. In his eagerness to buy more time to ponder his strategy, and in part out of fear of the Giantkin's long reach, he had allowed Torgrim to back him into the southeast corner of the arena. Here I am acting like he shouldn't be underestimating me, and I've gone and underestimated him! The truth in that thought stung more than a little bit. Torgrim might be a lumbering behemoth of thick bone and muscle, but he was a Giantkin. They thrived on battle, and only thrive because they are exceedingly good at it. Why wouldn't the Challenger pick up on his foe's aversion to getting close and use that to herd him around the battleground?

"Clever." Teric immediately halted his backing up, planting both feet deep in the snow and readying his sword. "I probably should have seen that coming."

Through Torgrim's leisurely advance and his inverse of backing up, the two warriors had managed to maintain a decent gap between them. It was sizeable enough that a little more advancing was necessary to make ready for a lunging attack, but Teric wasn't planning on getting awfully close. Time to stop wasting time and dancing around. His gaze visible narrowed as the lines on his forehead deepened. His muscles grew taut and his breathing steadied forcibly. Just give the man everything you've got and get this over with - one way or another.

With that Teric started forward, his strides brisk and full of purpose. The gap between the two warriors closed in a calculated manner, and when there were only ten or so feet left between them Teric lunged forward and swung his arm around in a right hip to left shoulder diagonal strike. Slash, one of his favorite techniques, cut an almost invisible arc through the air, reaching out like an extension of his blade to perhaps cut the giant down to size.

Or at least I hope it does...


Since I started this battle at LVL 2, and not at LVL 3, I'm sticking to my LVL 2 character sheet for the duration of this battle. If you want to refer to the limitations of my skills as they pertain to this thread, please refer to the LVL 2 update. There is a link to it in my LVL 3 profile if you click the link under my avatar.

[Torgrim]

Clever.

Though Torgrim had met Teric’s smile with stoicism moments before, he mirrored it now. The Northman would have preferred to get his opponent into tighter quarters before the ruse was uncovered, but he considered the ploy successful anyway. Not only was the mercenary forced to stand his ground and act, but he had – perhaps unwittingly – given the larger fighter the scraps of possible victory he’d been seeking.

In admitting that he should have seen the gambit sooner, Teric admitted also to some modicum of mortality and fallibility – the faintest crack in his show of confidence and experience. Now, Torgrim thought, now we can fight.

It was at that fitting moment that the old man struck with speed Torgrim couldn’t quite comprehend – that he reacted at all was a testament to his finely honed instincts more than any learned or conscious skill. At the first tensing of Teric’s body, Torgrim cursed in some hard alien tongue and took hold of his club with hands widely spaced, one near each end. At the very moment he made these adjustments, the giantkin braced himself and angled the branch diagonally, sure that the mercenary intended to throw his weapon.

The celerity of the adrenaline-soaked mind far outstripped that of the physical world, taking in details and processing them at a furious rate, to which no timely and sensible reaction could be made. In this timeless space Torgrim sensed much: the cold bite of the air, the blood clinging to ever-more of his leg with sticky embrace, and that the atmosphere suddenly took on a manner of the preternatural. There was something wrong about Teric’s attack, something that went beyond the mere use of a weapon to deadly end. But, and Torgrim knew this best of all, he was helpless to react to anything more than he had already.

Though the blade never left Teric’s hand, Torgrim weathered a blow all the same. It was, to him, as if some ephemeral being armed similarly to the giantkin and composed of the wind had attacked in the mercenary’s stead. The features of this attack, that it was so unexpected, so swift, and the force behind it, were enough to nearly rip the club from Torgrim’s grip altogether. Involuntary sounds of protest were drawn from weapon and wielder: the muffled crack of failing wood and the primal grunt of great effort, each strained but neither snapping.

The moment following Teric’s attack had the quality of a pause or lull, but in truth was merely the calm before the storm or the moment of realization before an explosion. The force of the blow had ripped the club from Torgrim’s right hand and sent the weapon up and back into the air, but the giantkin held it fast, overhead, with his left hand. Straining against the lingering force of the attack, and at last overcoming it, the Northman charged forward with long and furious stride without heed to his wound, and brought the branch down upon his enemy with all of the force he could summon from his iron thews.

But Torgrim had little faith in his strength alone to overcome this foe, even before this unforeseen display of power. It was time for a show of speed and cunning now. As the heavy club crashed downward toward Teric’s head, Torgrim reached around and retrieved the knife hidden against the small of his back. With a burst of speed equal to that of a striking serpent the Northman brought the hidden blade to bear, swinging it out wide at arm’s considerable length. If all went according to plan, the chipped, rusty blade would find a place deep in Teric’s side above the left hip (Torgrim hoped the old mercenary’s breastplate offered no protection there) at the very moment the club crushed him from above.

[Bloodrose]

There would be no more backpedalling, no more waiting and biding time for favorable opportunities. The testing and baiting was behind the two of them now, swept up into the furious maelstrom of battle. A fight once joined in earnest is a kill or be killed affair, and a man's confidence in his abilities is paramount. Figuratively it was a deadly dance to the beat of an adrenaline fueled heart, and one wrong step could potentially send either dancer to an early grave.

He took that rather well. Teric's dismay was masked beneath the stoic look of determination chiseled onto his features. His eyes absorbed each movement Torgrim made as he recovered and countered, assaulting the Warrior's brain with an excess of information even as the mind tried to process what Teric's own body was doing. Don't even think about it! A voice warned as the reflexive instinct to raise his shield raced down his spine towards his arms. It took less experience, and more common sense, to realize that a little buckler would do nothing to protect him from the tree branch Torgrim swung downwards. The Northman's strength, the weight of the weapon itself, and ever present gravity would team up to smash Teric's shield (as well as the arm connected to it) to bits. After that the bludgeoning instrument would find his skull and the soft brain matter inside...

Teric sidestepped to his right with practiced ease. He barely had to think to react at all; muscle memory and experience directed his feet and legs through the proper motions and into the proper places. For a veteran like Teric it was the most logical thing to do, as it not only removed him from harm's way, but also allowed him to flank his larger foe. Coincidentally, stepping away from Torgrim's other arm had the additional benefit of taking the old Warrior away from the questing knife. The Giant's secondary armament, duly noted by Teric's inquisitive eyes as he struck from Torgrim's exposed left side, would have to come across the large man's body to reach him. He's got a long reach, but it's not that long...

Said reach is a problem though. Teric's sword jabbed forward, aiming for the spleen, hoping to pierce Torgrim through what little protection his shirt afforded him. Advantage Torgrim in close quarters, Teric liked to remind himself for motivation, because my speed won't do me much good if he gets a hold of me.

The Giantkin's big hands spelled 'Endgame' in Teric's mind, and he was determined not to allow them to settle their grip on him...

[Torgrim]

Though the blood of giants flowed in Torgrim’s veins, so too did the blood of men. Like all giantkin, he was made strong and bestial and titanic by the blood of the former, yet suffered the passions of the latter. In the bleak lands north of the known world, life is short and brutal and carries little hope – to live in such a place requires incredible resolve, or ample opportunity for escape. The giantkin with a long tale is one who finds both: he has a grim determination and unquenchable will to live, and loses himself as completely and often as possible. There are two methods available to a giantkin seeking this loss of self: drink and battle.

Torgrim had suffered a drought of both for nigh on five years and though alcohol was still beyond his reach, the heady drink of war was in good supply now. Hardly was the Northman aware that his club was buried in snow, and not the ruin of a man, before he was aware that he was under attack. He reacted in a split second, but the great bulk of his body could not be moved as quickly as his mind commanded it.

The sword came on, and it was all Torgrim could do but throw himself forward, going down on his right knee in the process. Teric’s sword easily rent cloth and drew a broad red gash beneath Torgrim’s left shoulder. It was a good cut, but met more flesh than muscle. It was only due to the deep drink of battle that these events did not spell the end for the Northman: he expressed no pain at the cut, and would allow himself no time to so much as consider how close he came to serious injury.

Instead, Torgrim pushed himself back with his left leg in a show of single-minded and cyclopean effort, his considerable muscles not only lifting him from his knee with some speed but causing blood to gush from his wound anew as well. To this he gave no heed, there was no time to. As he rose from the snow toward a standing position, he twisted his torso and fired the muscles of his left arm, swinging his club from the ground diagonally upward toward Teric’s middle.

The giantkin had no more room for hope, only the will to crush and maim and win. If he had planned his attack out, he would have seen its merits. Torgrim’s reach was long, but the branch extended it more still, and if Teric overextended himself with the stab only slightly…

[Bloodrose]

Hitting your opponent in the first place was challenge enough, but Teric was finding it especially difficult to strike Torgrim well. The Northman seemed unable to fully remove himself from harm's way, but he could evade enough to render Teric's light weapon fairly ineffective. If I had an axe, or a halberd, I might actually do some real damage, the veteran contemplated as he moved to regain his stance and attempt the next blow, rather than just annoy him with flesh wounds...

For all the blood soaking into Torgrim's clothes and dripping into the snow, flesh wounds were really all Teric had inflicted. The thin, light blade of the cane sword was excellent at slicing open gashes, but it did not possess nearly the weight or the power to bite deep and do serious harm to the Giant; not if he could continue to evade direct thrusts.

As Teric turned to strike again, Torgrim rose back up, and the massive club he wielded came with him. The two were close enough that everything transpired at rapid speed, and one's opportunity to react was limited. This particular opportunity barely granted the veteran enough time to turn his body into the blow...

The heavy thump of oak on steel echoed through the quiet clearing as Torgrim's club caught the older warrior in the midsection and sent him sprawling like a sack of potatoes. If the Giant's hand earlier had been like getting hit by an ox, then the club was comparable to Aleran cannonball to the gut. The breastplate that covered Teric's front was likely the only thing that saved his life, but that he was alive was not to say that he was uninjured. The force of the blow was enough to dent the light armor, and with no back piece to enclose him safely the breastplate was slammed against his body as it absorbed the blow.

"Ngh!" Teric grunted as he hit the ground in his side, heavy snow around his face and shoulder's obstructing his vision. His legs kicked spasmodically, pushing at the snow for the leverage to try and get up. Somewhere in his mind he was assessing the damage, and his lower ribs were screaming. The insides around his belly felt hot, like he was on fire beneath the banged up chest piece, and his lungs were gasping for air. Dammit, dammit, dammit! Teric was cursing to himself as he managed to roll and rise to one knee. His shield arm hugged the lower portion of his armor over his abdomen protectively, and he reworked his grip on his sword while spitting out a mouthful of blood that he desperately didn't want to think about.

You're not crippled. Encouraging words. You're just injured. You've been injured before, you can work through it. Just get up and keep moving...

The veteran rose shakily to his feet, his head turning to find Torgrim. Once his feet were under him they stopped shaking quite so badly, but Teric was awfully afraid that he was going to have to use them almost immediately.

[Torgrim]

Torgrim sighed and slipped his knife back into his belt, and he reached around with his freed hand to tenderly finger the new wound. His fingers came back with blood, which was no surprise – he could feel it soaking into his shirt already, making it cling hot to his skin. The signs of pain were subtle across his features: scarcely more than a tensed jaw, really, easily missed yet available to the keen eye.

The Northman turned and watched his opponent scramble to his feet, but made no move to strike. If Bloodrose had been a frothy-mouthed orc or giant Torgrim would have pressed the attack, but a being with a sense of honor deserved better. He’d never truly fought a human before and had a hard time assessing how much damage he could actually inflict – he wondered briefly if the old veteran weren’t exaggerating his afflictions as a sort of ploy, but then Teric spat blood and some of those doubts were assuaged.

The giantkin lowered his club and rested the end in the snow, and gave his sandy mane a good shake, as if to churn the roiling bottle of adrenaline collecting in his brain. He breathed a heavy sigh, and then tossed his hair back over his shoulders again. A burst of steam issued from his lips first, and then words.

“It seems we’re down to a question, dja?” he said. “Will I bleed out before I land another one on you? Maybe I get lucky and catch you in the head next time, maybe just your arm.”

The Northman flexed his left leg, wriggling his toes within his boots. His thigh was stiffening and some of the feeling was draining from the extremities – not enough for alarm yet, but time was not on his side.

“This will end well,” the Northman decided. “It was a good fight, but we’re both of us on last legs. When you’re ready for the last skirmish, so am I.”

And with that Torgrim turned to face Teric, but stood his ground with head held high, his grip strong upon the branch and ready, at a moment’s notice, to bring it to bear.

[Bloodrose]

"Yes, it has been quite the contest." Teric agreed, using the brief lull that Torgrim was allowing to steady his legs beneath him and cease the wobbling in his knees. His muscles felt like jelly, struggling to hold him upright as the ugly sensation in his gut continued to grow. You're bleeding on the inside, old man. The veteran thought wearily, all too aware of what that meant. This fight is going to end soon, and he knows it. Teric's eyes found Torgrim's, matching the large man's proud gaze. So if it's one last hurrah he wants, then it's one last hurrah he'll get...

The running clock patiently counting to the ominously apparent beat of his heart gave Teric the confidence he needed to throw caution to the wind. This 'last skirmish' of theirs was a fancy was of saying 'all or nothing.' Now was the time to empty one's bag of tricks into the snow and hope that they could pull a victory from the wreckage...

"Look out behind you!" Teric joked knowingly, confident in the fact that Torgrim's eyes would not leave his person. A pale, shaking left hand extended out in front of Teric at chest height, and the old man's eyes clenched shut just as the roiling air gathering between his fingers burst in brilliant white flash of light...

The sharp banging noise of his Flashbang technique jerked Teric's legs into motion like the starting shot of a leg-race. Eyes momentarily shut against the flash of light burst open with purpose as the smaller warrior rushed forward with the speed of reckless abandon. Should Torgrim's massive club find him again it would spell the end of the battle for the Hierarch, but it would only be a quicker death than the slow and painful bleeding in his abdomen.

Lurching forward with every last ounce of strength in his flagging body, Teric willed another Slash from his sword towards Torgrim's thick neck.

This will end well for one of us. The veteran decided with grim determination. It will end rather messily for the other...

[Torgrim]

“Look out behind you!”

It had none of the ancient connotations for Torgrim – the normal jokes of giantkin being the lewder sort even amongst the young – but he knew mischief when he saw it. His instinct was to express his confusion, and then to panic – a trick? A social foible among these small people yet unwitnessed? This instinct he suppressed immediately and replaced with a sizable dose of suspicion.

The words were nearly on his lips – What are you up to, Teric Bloodrose?

And then something exploded.

The sudden blindness did not faze him as one might hope: in the northlands, blizzards can arise suddenly, and night falls faster than eyelids. One is put off, but does not fear. The loss of hearing had far more profound an effect. Panic, at last, flooded through the Northman in electric waves, but his screaming nerves would allow him no expression of it. He froze, the whip-crack speed of his mind wondering all too much at once – am I alive or dead, where am I, will I fall, what lurks here and how will I fight it?

But three things saved Torgrim from a grisly fate. First came that familiar buzz of wrongness in the situation, that something happened that shouldn’t have, and it was fast becoming a sensation he would always subconsciously equate to Teric and this day. Second was that he could still smell, and the cold air still settled heavy in his chest when he inhaled. Third, and most importantly, Torgrim flinched.

The giantkin raised his right arm far too late to shield his failing eyes from the flash of light, clenching his teeth in icy dread as deafness overtook his sensitive hearing. It was this act that saved his neck, however – the ethereal slash of air met Torgrim’s fleshy forearm and tore into it viciously, rending to the bone where it stopped only by virtue of a giant’s heavy, thick skeleton. Even so, that the bone shattered in places and rendered the limb useless was undeniable. Blood sprayed steaming into the chilled air of the courtyard.

Roaring in pain and rage and desperation, Torgrim lifted his club and swung it directly from the ground, tossing a tremendous mass of snow into the air to trail. It came faster than ever before, fueled by the very limits left to its wielder’s body, an expulsion of everything he had if only to say he went out having nothing else to give. It came only at the slightest angle, from the ground to Teric’s hip or slightly above, and either way it would be the last time that branch sought to crush the old man.

[Bloodrose]

There was an audible snapping noise as Torgrim's rage-fueled club stuck Teric in the thigh. For a moment there was no pain, only the sensation of having the lower half of his body swept out from underneath, and suddenly the impression that he was flying upside down through the air. It all happened so fast that Teric's mind couldn't accurately process what was going on; even before the scorching anguish lanced up his leg and throughout his body...

The old veteran landed heavily in the snow like a tossed sack of potatoes. His shoulder and shield arm took the brunt of the fall, with the rest of his body and limbs collapsing around the impact zone. Gotta get up! A voice was warning him, urging him to move. As loudly as that voice called out though, none of Teric's limbs would respond. The fiery oozing in his gut was getting worse, and the unnatural bend in his left femur felt like a million needles scoring the flesh of his leg at once. Just thinking about moving was physically painful...

"Ahh..." Came the strained and painful noise as Teric's arm attempted to push the warrior into a sitting position. Failing that, the veteran rolled abjectly onto his back and grimaced against the pain as his broken leg shifted with his weight. You're done. He convinced himself even before glancing over to where Torgrim stood a few feet away. The Giantkin's last ditch swing hadn't tossed the Hierarch very far, but it had been successful in ending the fight. It didn't really matter who you were, a broken thigh bone put you down for the count...

I suppose he'll probably come over here and smash my skull into the frozen dirt. Teric thought, staring up at the sky with resignation written all over his face. The clouds, if they even existed at all in this fictional place, drifted lazily overhead and painted the brilliant blue sky with swirls and blots of white.

"Good fight." Teric congratulated the Northman off-handedly, not really paying attention to anything as the pain and blood loss from his internal injuries mingled to darken the corners of his vision. "An honorable fight..."

[Torgrim]

The mythical god Tor was said to have a preordained death among the giantkin: he would vanquish his foe, drop his weapon, walk nine steps and collapse, and then succumb to his wounds. Torgrim did his best to mirror this heroic story and honor the name, dropping his club unceremoniously and taking one faltering step, and then half another before falling resoundingly to his knees.

A low, rolling rumble issued from deep within the Northman, and then he twisted and fell from his knees to his back not so very far from where Teric landed, and he huffed a final sigh of surrender as the snow settled beneath him and began accepting his blood. He clutched his half-shorn arm to his stomach with but a minor grimace and that low rumbling sound came again.

“A good fight,” the Northman agreed, and between his weakness and the persistent ringing in his ears his voice seemed far away even to him. “I believe that whether we live or die today I will meet you again, Teric Bloodrose. This is a strong compliment among my people. I only hope, strongly, that next time I’m not on this end of your sword.”

He made that low rumbling sound again, settling comfortably back into the snow, and even he only now recognized it as a chuckle.

[Witchblade]

Bloodrose

Storyline

Continuity: - 7 I liked the added bit of storyline that was thrown into the beginning of this battle, telling of Teric’s other fight with Lorenor and how he had lost only to be asked to become a warrior in the Pagoda anyway. It gave the reader more insight into the character and just how he became a warrior, a very nice touch for his first battle in the Pagoda.

Setting: - 6 The setting was very well described and given life easily enough to the eyes of the reader, but sadly you did not take very good use of it. There was snow all over the ground and though Teric was an experience fighter in the lands of Salvar, even someone experienced with snow could very easily lose their step upon it. Just to describe setting isn’t enough, there needs to be more interaction with it.

Pacing: - 5 The pacing wasn’t bad, but I thought all the talking took away from it a little bit. It was like for three quarters of the battle the two warriors were baiting each other, then in about the last four or five posts, the shit just hit the fan and everything went down, then slowed once more for the ending. It wasn’t exactly bad, but there wasn’t very much tension, which you want to have a fair amount of in a fight to keep the reader interested, otherwise it’s just pointless attacking, blocking and the occasional strike.

Character

Dialogue: - 7 Teric’s internal dialogue is very well done. I find it gives the reader a direct insight right into how his mind works, more so than just throwing out words to make things seem interesting. I especially like how he constantly repeats things to himself like a mantra, it’s almost cute.

Action: - 7 Actions taken by Teric throughout the story seemed well written and well within character to me. The battle sadly had the two warriors dancing around each other and their words then locked deep within a brawl, though I suspect had that happened it may have ended much sooner.

Persona: - 8 Teric came across well as an analytical and strategic character that really likes to think his way through a battle rather than blindly attack and parry the blows of his opponent. Perhaps sometimes he thinks a little too much for it being the midst of a fight, but I’ve removed no points for that.

Writing Style

Mechanics: - 8 Very few spelling mistakes throughout the thread, though I did some from time to time. I doubt I can tell you anything new about catching them you don’t already know.

Technique: - 8 Your writing technique is rather good and things flow rather seamlessly from sentence to sentence and paragraph to paragraph.

Clarity: - 9 Things were clear and precise, what else can I say?

Wild Card: - 7 This was an overall good battle and an enjoyable read, I thought the pacing could have been a little better though. There was just a little too much of a dance between the two warriors.

Total: 72


Torgrim

Storyline

Continuity: - 6 I was a little unsure about the whole scene were some kind of talent recruiter came up to Torgrim asking him to fight in the Pagoda. It just didn’t seem like something that would normally happen in a Pagoda match since for the most past challengers are there willingly and for some kind of reason. I can’t really penalize you for it though, because you can of course make the thread as you wish, but some more information of Torgrim’s background and how he got to Scara Brae would have been nice.

Setting: - 7 The description of the settings were all right, however I found that you used the setting more so than Bloodrose did. I liked how he used the oak tree to get himself a quick weapon, very nice.

Pacing: - 5 Like Bloodrose, a lot of the talking in the thread kind of took away from the pacing a little bit, constantly breaking up the fighting and making the tension and action bits a little jumpy, when there was even tension. I found little of it in this thread, sadly for a battle thread.

Character

Dialogue: - 5 There were some things mentioned by Torgrim in his internal dialogue that would send me for a small loop, Vodinn and Tor for starters. By the end of the thread I understood them as Gods, well at least Tor is, and I still have no idea what the reference to Vodinn is about. But other than that, Torgrim’s dialogue was good enough, not exactly dynamic though, but still good.

Action: - 7 For being such a big guy, damn can Torgrim move really well. I liked the brute force that he tended to exhibit during the match, I found it rather true to his character but I also loved the way he thought through his actions. He wasn’t just some bumbling idiot with a stick trying to break Teric in half.

Persona: - 7 Torgrim came across rather strongly as a character and much better than I thought he would. His personality is truly quite interesting and I would definitely enjoy reading more about him, especially in a different environment.

Writing Style

Mechanics: - 7 I noticed more mistakes in your writing than I did in Bloodrose’s, but it was still not an extreme amount of them. Just try to keep your eye out and reread your posts, you know the drill I’m sure.

Technique: - 6 Your writing technique is interesting and quite good but I found that sometimes the way things were worded during the fight would sometimes get confusing. There was a lot of ‘he did this and then this and finally that all at the same time’ and it was kind of hard to keep it all straight.

Clarity: - 6 Sadly there were a few times where I got kind of turned around with your writing, I never ended up reading it more than twice but it was still a little annoying, especially in a battle.

Wild Card: - 7 It was an overall good battle and I did enjoy the read and look forward to reading more of your work in the future.

Total: 63

The Winner is Bloodrose!

Reward:

Teric receives 1,600 experience and 150 GP!
Torgrim receives 450 experience!

[Witchblade]

EXP and GP added!