a call to arms [Whist]

[King Cel]

It was rare for the king to do battle, but the mad sidhe had annoyed him. There were few times his reign where Cel fought for any reason other than to prove another’s worth, this was one of those rare occasions. He would take pleasure in dismantling Whist and though his opponent feared “death”, Cel was annoyed simply because he knew neither man would ever know death.

Thus, Cel waited for his opponent to arrive, where he could begin his lesson in spilling fae blood.

Weapons: Sickle, 2 feet in length attached to a chain with a spiked ball at the end, similar to a flail.

Armor: Armor

[Whist]

A massive rook circled the air above the Altar cawing loudly, its voice the laughter of the mad, before plummeting like a stone to land in the form of the Sidhe Whist. He wore naught but his drainpipe trousers, and a thick leather belt, from which hung, on the left, a long, thin blade, like the offspring of a rapier and a Celtic broadsword. On the right, a wickedly curved bone hunting knife was in a sheath sewn directly into the leather. Smiling he bowed with a flourish of his right wrist.

"My liege." Offered Whist with a sharp toothed grin. "Do we duel to death? The first blood? Loss of limb? Name your terms, and I as you humble servant do accept them."


Weapons: Long rapier, short curved hunting knife

Armor: None

[King Cel]

”No more words, Whist. We will fight until the Fates deem the battle done.” Cel offered Whist little time to prepare himself the king was not keen on wasting time in battle. His armor, the silver plates and black leather held together by red cotton weighed on his body but it was not so heavy that it hampered movement. The king had grown up, training under the watchful eye of his mother, a Goblin Blade and a former queen. She had taught him that the cumbersome steel armor of a medieval knight was worthless in the battles that took place at the Altar of Fate. But the armor that Cel wore was functional, light weight but durable. The cotton sleeves were breathable so he would not over heat during battle and though the armor did little to protect his legs, the cotton trousers he wore and the knee high boots would lend to his speed.

He held in his right hand his sickle and in his left, the spiked ball and chain, a flail attached to his main weapon. He moved forward, his movements direct and forthright. Cel was a very deliberate fighter; he used his power and strength over speed and deception. Speed was meant for evading attacks, Cel thought, not attacking.

Cel’s first attack was vicious. He swung the chain upwards at Whist, aiming to bury the heavy steel ball in his stomach. The blow would not only knock the wind out of him, but the blades on the ball would puncture his stomach and quite possibly disembowel him. Following at attack, Cel lunged forward at Whist. He stayed low, but lifted his hands so he was able to defend against any attacks.

Springing at Whist, he stayed low, hoping to catch Whist off balance if he had tried to evade Cel’s first attack. He aimed to knock Whist to the ground, extending the chain towards his throat to try and choke him to the ground.

[Whist]

Whist caught the spiked ball in his bare palm as it flew towards his exposed stomach, grinning as the spikes bit deep into his flesh, and blood oozed around the ball. "Blood." Whist grinned. Yet, he did not let go, instead he pulled on the chain, wrapping it round his wrist and jerking with a might one would not expect from a slender figure as he. Yet his muscles rippled as he pulled, and any watcher could see he was far stronger than a glance would let on.

While he jerked on the chain, attempting to pull Cel towards him, he drew his sword with his right and swung it upwards, in a savage diagonal arc, if Cel continued in towards him, he would be sliced across the chest with a long savage blow, severing muscles and tendons from his hip all the way to his opposite shoulder. The blade was ancient and sharp and would not catch in the internal organs of the King as it sliced through them.

[King Cel]

Whist catching the head of the flail with his bare hand would be a questionable maneuver, not only would the force of the ball hitting his hand cause some bone damage, the spikes themselves would do damage that was not only flesh deep. Cel was surprised that the man did not incur more damage but was even more surprised when Whist wrapped the chain around his wrist, the king immediately feeling the tautness of the chain and the pull of the sidhe on the other end.

Cel’s momentum was already moving forward so he had little choice but to try and throw his body to the leg as Whist swung his sword at him. The King was fast but gravity was not in his favor, and the sword bit into his armor. The tip of the blade cut through the leather and Cel felt the searing pain that accompanied when one’s flesh was sliced. He made no noise but continued to move to the left. Though Whist had landed his attack, Cel had been moving sideways and thus the sidhe struck the side of his abdomen. The blow was not powerful enough to render his armor asunder for it was not a stab, but rather a slash and as it hit the steel plates of the tunic it glanced away. Blood welled forth, but it was not was serious cut.

However, the king now knelt to Whist’s side and with the chain wrapped around his arm; the king was more like a puppeteer. He was sitting on the ground so his body was dead weight and Whist would not be able to pull him, he gave the chain a yank. If the chain unraveled it would be painful and the chain would undoubtedly cut into his wrist, if it did not Whist would be pulled towards Cel who would meet him with a slash to the forearm with his sickle and a kick to the knee, a snake-like jab with his boot from the knelt down position that would not be extremely powerful but hard enough to dislocate the knee by bending it backwards.

[Whist]

Whist spun on the ball of his foot as the King circled past him, laughing wildly, as blood continued to poor from his hand, and wrist, rubbed raw from the chain pulling against it. When the King pulled him from his crouched position, he went with it, not only not resisting, but pulling himself along, kicking off his feet, and tucking his left arm into his chest, pulling himself further along the chain and swiping madly back and forth with his right arm. In this manner, he fell rapidly through the air towards his enemy, blade swiping erratically from past his curled arm and lowered shoulder, and blindly presenting his left shoulder as the only true target for damage, with the rest of his weight behind it, like a battering ram falling heedlessly from the sky.

Whist's style was less refined than King Cel's, he dove into his enemies attacks, uncaring of the damage he incurred in the process. No matter how badly he walked off from an encounter, he only cared about the blood, seeking recklessly to draw his enemy's, and laughing wildly as his own spilled. His sharp handsome features were transformed by bloodlust into a hideously ferocious, feral mask, and he seemed more like a rabid beast than a man. Yet his skills, speed, and instincts in the heat of combat were undeniable, even if his sanity was not.

[King Cel]

Just about the only thing Whist possessed that Cel could say was undeniable was, in fact, his insanity. The man threw himself at Cel with the care of a berserker but lacked the armor and the body type for such a style. The fact was this kamikaze act with Cel was far more hazardous to Whist than it was to his opponent. Cel’s style was refined, yes, but that made it all the more difficult for a radical style such a Whist’s to do any real damage to the king without incurring any damage of his own. Sure, Cel looked like he was expending energy, taking on damage when he was rolling around with Whist, but truly Cel was on the defensive only briefly and he had yet to take any severe punishment from the sidhe. Whist might have been a warrior at one time, but now his days were behind him, insanity had taken away his skill. Or perhaps he never had skill…As Whist was on top of Cel, the king choked out some words between breathes, ”Perhaps the reason your son died was because his Captain of the Guard was too incompetent to protect him,”

When Whist had dove onto of Cel their bodies touched and Cel’s bare hand moved to where Whist’s flesh was bare. He called to his magic, unbridled power ran through his finger tips. Flesh, the hand of power that when activated by a sidhe, could be used to turn a creature inside out, flowed towards Whist.

Using his other hand, the hand grip the sickle, he drove the back toward Whist’s side, aiming to perforate the kidneys.

[Skylla]

Cel’s hand pressed against Whist acting as a pipeline for the magic of the sidhe to flow through. The Hand of Flesh moved into Whist, his bones popped and his flesh tore like a wet rag. Whist roared out in pain as blood spilled onto the marble floor in the thickest concentration. The King of the Unseelie covered in the carnage. Whist had gotten what he desired, blood, and the blood that had been spilled had been his own and much of it had spilled. Whist was a bloody horror, a skeleton stuffed with guts and organs that hung from a crudely formed man. Occasionally entrails would come loose and fall to the ground and blood continually dripped from the creature.

Cel heaved the monstrosity off of him and stood. He looked up catching a glimpse of the Fate Skylla hovered in a translucent form. “I will take care of him.” She said and Cel bowed, making his exit.

Skylla hovered over Whist and placed a hand on the magic. As if she worked an even greater brand of magic than Cel wielded, Whist returned back to normal form, still covered in blood and in tremendous pain but now a recognizable man. Skylla faded, disappearing, leaving Whist lying in a pool of his own life force. His chest heaved up and down as he recovered from the ordeal.

OOC:
The winner is Cel