Eiksalt War Round 3: Zack Blaze Vs Ozoric

[Silence Sei]

Cydney, Iw ill allow you to decide the format of the battle. Fight starts tonight at Midnight, CST.

[Ozoric]

Dying of the Light (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Gj7Fq42AE0&index=25&list=PL591EF2E227454986)


http://i200.photobucket.com/albums/aa149/Nolo_photo/115925formofthedragondr1.jpg


Events elluded to in the Eiskalt War (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?27393-Eiksalt-War-Round-2-Multi-Battle-Chapel).

[Ozoric]

The capital city of Eiskalt was in chaos. Bedlam was the theme of backstreets and alleyways. Carnivals sprung up in fleeting celebration in squares, ramrodded aside by roaming bands of separatists and the deranged cultists of the Order moments later. Ozoric Newalla sat at the foot of a baroque fountain, sweat his armour, and fear his shield. He did not engage with anyone. He did not try to help. He stared down at the sodden flagstones and drowned in his own thoughts.

“He has been like this for a few hours.”

Twenty feet away to the east, Captain Aelfric whispered disapprovingly to an officer of the city guard. In the heat of the early morning sun, the men were feverish and disgruntled in their iron bulwark. Aelfric’s armour alone outweighed all of Ozoric and his leather hauberk. His brother at arms wore less robust plate, but all the same carried weight on his shoulders to match.

“What do you intend to do with him?” the guard enquired. He looked up at Aelfric, who stood a foot taller, with curiosity and loss glinting in his singular eye. The other, a bloody hole, merely oozed inquisition.

Aelfric folded his arms across his chest and stared at the rising sun. Resistance in the city had dwindled of late. Skirmishes in the courtyards of the beleaguered city few in number by the hour. All that remained was to regroup and force the last agents of the invasion back out onto the plains. Then, and only then, could they flee or be rounded up like sheep. The Drakengard could not operate as they had until now without their ‘brilliant strategist’ at the helm. Ozoric Newalla as the dragon’s mantle, its mind and its mettle.

“Leave the boy to me.” Aelfric checked his sword, put on his helm, and took two steps forwards. “See to it the guards at the gates know of our plan.”

The captain of the city guard nodded, recognising his dismissal, and departed. His heavy sabatons and steel-toed boots rattled against the stonework long after he vanished into the crowds. Aelfric waited a minute before he approached the boy.

“Ozoric,” he softly said. His voice was rough and ready, tiredness and thirst beleaguering his stamina. “It’s time.” No answer. “Ozoric?”

Through a dank fringe, the Lancer looked up at his mentor. His skin, despite the kiss of the rising sun, was all but grey. With the appearance of a dead man, Aelfric’s thoughts strayed into questioning the ability of the boy to lead at all. He frowned.

“I know.”

Aelfric baulked. He returned his arms into a folded position across his breastplate and glared. The cocky arrogance of his ‘prince’ was the final straw in a hardship week that had stretched the guard to his veteran limits of control and comfort.

“Oh you do, do you?” He spat. “Perhaps you could enlighten me?” He jabbed a gauntleted finger at the youth’s forehead. “Given I have done nought but lend you my sword as a shield whilst you send men to their deaths, it is the least you owe me.” The severity in the man’s voice was blistering.

Ozoric, contrary to his clandestine nature, could only chuckle. His voice wheezed, as though a plague onset to corrupt him. He dropped his gaze again. The conversation with the red head haunted him, consuming his thoughts and his usual erudite diction. What she said tore at his mind. What she said tempted him, like all the other wicked deeds that lead criminals to the Drakengard had done.

“We’re expecting guests, so you’ll have to lend me your sword one more time I am afraid. Sir Aelfric, Lord of the Draken Watch, be patient with me.” Whilst not intended as command, Ozoric spoke in a flat, sullen tone and made it so.

Aelfric roared atop his lungs. “You fucking ingrate!” He stepped forwards and did something no other man dared. He struck Ozoric across the cheek with the back of his hand. Covered in folded steel plate, it cut deep and knocked the youth from the edge of the fountain.

Silence purveyed the courtyard. Onlookers froze, half confused, half expecting yet another attack from bloodthirsty zealots and plague-ridden desperados. When they saw the colours of the Drakengard, allies and relatives, they continued about their business.

“Without you to lead them the Drakengard will lose more Valakut.” Aelfric’s voice returned to its grated, but calm tone. “You are going to lead this final push and you will rise above whatever maudlin assails you.” He paused, for dramatic effect. “You understand that, do you not?” Rhetoric stole the question’s poignancy. Ozoric understood all too well. He cursed with understanding, pressed down beneath its weight of knowing.

“I will lead,” he said in reply. “All the same, someone is coming for us.” He corrected himself. “For me.” He pushed himself up, cheek bruised and mouth bloodied, and returned to his hobbled perch.

Aelfric stepped back. He examined the lines on the boy’s face and the intricate symbology of his facial tattoos. Heat rose from the boy’s body in waves. Thermals of aspiration carrying hot air and condescension skyward.

“How do you know?” He raised an eyebrow. Something was amiss, and or once, Ozoric held the cards.

“The red head. She saw it.” Ozoric corrected himself. “She sang of it.” He frowned. The encounter with Ruby Winchester, though enlightening, had left the boy with more questions than answers. “An agent will come for me; try his hand at the life of an assassin, and fail.”

“So…,” Aelfric trailed off. His attempt to remain lucid and not confused failed. “Why are you worried?”

The sun broke through the muggy cloud cover. Grey sheets of late night sessions and squalls broke apart. Red and gold danced over cobbles and flagstones, dredging away the dew and damnation from Eiskalt’s streets. New hope. New dawn. New possibilities.

“I am worried because our place here is to defend. It is to procure freedom for the people.” Ozoric stood. He wiped the trail of blood from his cheek. “I did not intend to get into a duel with a man as mad as the half-moon rising and as bent on destruction, chaos, and disorder as Zack Blaze.” Ozoric stared wisent ahead. He looked through Aelfric, not around, as though he knew something was coming from the unknown.

Aelfric drew his sword with a calamitous ring. “Then now I am worried also,” he snarled. “Keep something like that from me again, boy, and I’ll forget your place as the ‘king of dragons’ and put a real dent in your face.” He glared one last time, to reinforce his point, and then returned to his subservient role as guardian and mentor and council.

Ozoric was in no position to argue. The bearded behemoth, after all, was the sole reason he remained alive and able to lead the Drakengard’s dwindled forces to this day. Much of Eiskalt still stood because dragon flame and wyvern wing beat remained cohesive to save it. He drew his short sword and held it loosely in his right hand. Its warm hilt kinship in lonely time.

“Understood.” He gave the man no further answer other than a stoic nod, and waited for their adversary to appear. Ruby Winchester had promised him a chance to prove himself, and in the heart of the Grand Square, the Lancer would be the end to a futile war.

[Zack Blaze]

He could feel the steel of the handcuffs as they bit into his wrists. The guards made sure the shackles between his ankles were extra tight. His face was covered with a brown mask typically used for cannibals. Under normal circumstances, such extreme measures would not be neccessary, but prisoner in question proved time and time again that there was no length he would not stoop to. The idea of people as a meal actually caused his stomach to churn, a nausea not helped by the way the carriage rode down the street.

He opened his mouth only to shut it again. The guard across from him caught this, and pointed his blade to the throat of the person Eiksalt proclaimed a 'madman'. The weapon seemed as though it was never used in the war; he could still feel the heat from the weapon as if it just left the smithy. He stared at the man who dared threaten him, a child in his early twenties. He would have probably lived to see his thirties, had he not made such a foolish transgression against his prisoner. "You were about to say something, cur. I demand to know what it was."

His voice was filled with rage. Probably a youth whose family suffered during the initial strike, or maybe a noble upset that the alliance with Corone fell through because of the mad man's actions. In merely six weeks time, Eiksalt fell into disarray, and the mastermind behind it all was none other than a platinum haired street fighter by the name of Zack Blaze. He was on every wanted poster in the town, a crude drawing hobbled together by some dock artist no doubt. His green eyes settled on the blade for a moment, then back to the guard. He smiled so wide the corners of his mouth seemed to escape its mask.

"I was gonna ask the driver if he could watch the road, but then I remembered we pretty much destroyed the roads here. So you know, that's a thing," He shrugged his shoulders and admired how much more sinister his voice was beneath the leather confines of his mask. The guard's arm trembled with rage, and the blade pulled back as though it would soon find a home in the street fighter's throat. "Ah, so that's it. A patriot. You think doing me in will do some sort of service to your country? Let me tell you something guy, your country is kroomed."

The dialect was lost on the young guard, who paused and blinked for a moment in confusion. When he regained his bearings, he prepared once more to thrust the weapon into the mastermind of Eiksalt's demise. A larger, ungloved hand grabbed the shaky arm of the boy, however. The driver stopped the ride for just a moment and turned his head towards the two. His eye bared a horizontal scar across it, which only highlighted the tan skin of his face.

"He's playing you for a fool, Evans," the superior officer's voice was deep, a true tone fit for a commander of an army, "You try to strike him with that sword and he's going to break those bonds and escape, and then we'll be right back at step one."

Zack snickered. This man obviously saw his share of trickery before, and was no fool to simple tactics. He would make a great general, if only the street fighter could convince him that his side already lost. "I do believe I gave myself up willingly, Captain Tremel."

"Shut it Blaze. You try and goad one of my rookies into granting you freedom again, and it will be my weapon smashing your brains in." He stepped off of the open carriage and took careful steps across the destroyed bricks of what was once Eiksalt road. He grabbed Zack by the chain of his handcuffs and tugged. The warrior's body flew out of the cart and nearly slammed into his captor, only to be caught in his tree trunk like arms. It was a message from Captain Tremel that he could squash the street fighter with brute strength alone.

"Duly noted," Zack nodded as the guard set him back on his feet. He could not only see, but hear the celebrations in the distance. People lined what was left of the ground to see the now infamous Zack Blaze captured. Destroyed homes still hinted at signs of fire, but the owners were more occupied with issues that did not directly effect them. Zack sighed at this; just another example of cutting the nose despite the face. "So, where are we going?"

"I think it's only fair the Drakengard get first shot at you," Tremel said as he pulled his hostage along. He could hear Evans walk behind them, his steel boots a clatter against the destroyed cobblestone. Zack knew of these Dragon Knights and what they stood for. Furthermore, he heard rumors that one of their youngest members was not only an Ixian Knight Captain, but the heir to one of Corone's head of state. It was the perfect opportunity.

And Zack Blaze was nothing if not an opportunist.

[Ozoric]

“That is not quite how I imagined he would arrive,” Aelfric admitted. He stepped to Ozoric’s side, the left, as usual. His wizened eyes examined the wagon as it turned the last corner over the broken thoroughfare and came upon the square.

The lancer raised an eyebrow. He put the pieces of a half-formed puzzle together, and then Ruby Winchester’s warning repeated in his mind, completion. A gasp told Aelfric the captain was not alone in his surprise. A reach for the sword revealing the Lancer’s alarm to the world.

“That is not how he was supposed to arrive, that’s why!” A raised voice, elevated through fear and concern uncalculated tore through Aelfric’s calm. “Zack Blaze does not get captured.” The stories recounted by the spell singer spoke of a man hell-bent not just on destruction, but one-upmanship unlike any other.

“What do you wish to do?”

Sun beating down, humidity rising, the Drakengard’s strategist turned to strategizing. There were many options but only one stood out. Only one was appropriate given all that had transpired and all the responsibility and trust his commanders and the people of Eiskalt placed on the boy’s shoulders. The sword rang harmoniously as it was unsheathed.

“You’ve been badgering me to prove my worth on the battlefield with more than words and reasoning.” Ozoric snarled. Heat rose around his feeble form, warming cold pallid skin to the touch. “I can’t think of a better time, or opportunity, to do just that.”

Aelfric picked apart the boy’s concealed message and he too unsheathed his weapon. The bastard sword strapped to his back called Stonehewer, and when its tip dropped to the stone, it lived up to its name. The paving cracked, sending shards eschew and an echo across the courtyard.

“Halt!” Ozoric roared. The roar was literal, as the latent dragon within channelled its rage and carried the command over the three hundred feet distance between blade’s tip and high tempered troubadour. “Step away from the prisoner!”

At first, confusion reigned amongst the escort. When the captain, eagle eyed and an eddy of efficiency, saw who the speaker was he relented. They shuffled away lie cornered rats, suddenly aware their so-called chained dog was in fact the one pulling the sled.

Ozoric leapt. Aelfric broke into a tumultuous charge after the lithe lancer, cursing the boy’s penchant for speed over brawn for the thirtieth time since the outbreak of war on Eiskalt’s beleaguered shores. His armour scraped as he trundled, and his footsteps, like giant’s stomps, broke the tense silence.

“What is the meaning of this?” the captain asked meekly when Ozoric landed squarely in front of the wagon. The horses whinnied, but remained uninterested by developments. “We were told to bring the prisoner to you at this location. Were you…,” Ozoric raised a palm to silence the man.

“I was given information about Zack Blaze. He was to appear here unchained, unfettered, and unbound. He was supposed to fall for that woman’s words and ‘take up the opportunity for debauchery’ like a good little…” He stopped. He walked clockwise around the wagon so that he could see the mentioned man through the open bars. “Errand boy. What are you plotting?”

Locking eyes with his adversary at last, Ozoric found power where none had existed before. His limbs, though weak and untrained swelled with power. His eyes, hollow and tired burnt with flame. His shoulder blades tensed. His fingers balled into fists. Had anyone stood near him, a tropical day swarmed around him like a mirage. Anger began to claw at the boy’s sanity and skill long before Zack Blaze opened his mouth.

[Silence Sei]

Ozoric wins!

Zack Blaze is eliminated!