EVENT: The Berserker Tournament

[zenderael_mods]

Who: Open
When: Friday, June 3rd to Friday, June 10th
Where: Pakerion
Before/After: --
Warnings: Violence.

[ This is a catch-all post for tourney shenanigans throughout the week. Use the subject line to indicate when a particular scene is taking place.

If you'd like to log your character in a match, please indicate the match, tier, and day in the subject line.

Interview thread!

Friday & Saturday brackets.
Sunday & Monday brackets.
Tuesday & Wednesday brackets.
Additional brackets forthcoming. ]

Comments

[brokencrescendo]

Did Acher not know? Now Rhys wondered who did. He had overheard rumors stating the Ahura didn't speak, but none that specified he was a mute. Subtle difference.

Also irrelevant.

Ranged attacks. Rhys chased toward it before leaping into the air. Berserker that he was, he took to abnormal heights, but misjudged the arc. The golden bolt struck him, flipping his body in the air. He twisted to salvage it and landed with his fist striking the ground-- but the bolt had cut his lunge short. Acher would only feel the edges of the shockwaves that tore through the ground, leaving a dent in the arena around where Rhys had landed.

[fearnoreproach]

Acher knew next to nothing about the Ahura. He had honestly expected a massive, bearded man, fitting with his image of a barbarian. Rhys was something of a surprise, but it still made sense.

His head snapped upward. He saw Rhys coming down and jogged backward at first, but he realized the Ahura would come up short. He cracked a smile, then, and bolted forward again. He still played more defensively, shield raised up in front of him protectively, but when he came in close, he stabbed his sword at Rhys.

[brokencrescendo]

Rhys held his ground until Acher made his thrust, pivoting his body to scarcely avoid being impaled. That shield... The only exposed part of Acher was his sword arm.

Well, it'd have to do. Rhys took hold with both arms and spun his body with his swing, hoping to hurl Acher into the nearest arena wall.

[fearnoreproach]

"Guh!"

Acher was thrown back, towards the arena wall. He slammed into the stones, cracks flying left and right where he struck, before he hit the ground. Blood ran from where he cracked his head on it, between his eyes. He hissed, his head spinning and the world not quite balancing right, but he forced himself up regardless.

"Not bad," he said. He spat blood onto the sand, before he started rushing forward again. Light crackled up his sword again -- and once more a bolt of light whipped out ahead of him, towards Rhys.

[brokencrescendo]

Rhys allowed himself a moment of shock. The force had been enough to crack stone and armor, and Acher was still moving. Possibly with a cracked skull. Moving and fighting, his surprise enough to lock him in place. The bolt struck true and Rhys fell back, remembering to roll into a balanced crouch as his flesh was singed by the holy light.

Moving and fighting. Rhys sucked in a sharp, pained breath and looked up at Acher. How was he even...

He'd done worse to Ezra, maybe. That thought scared him a little, but it wasn't time for that. He needed to get in a clean, solid hit to finish this. Rhys kept one weapon: a bone dagger sheathed at his back. He drew it and spun it into his grip, getting back to his feet to watch for Acher's next move.

[fearnoreproach]

Acher cast a healing spell on himself. He was burning through his mana quickly, now; he healed rarely and it was hardly efficient, but the wound on his head closed up. The paladin let out a low hiss, sword batting around in front of him, as he stalked forward, eyes locked onto the bone dagger.

He bolted forward in another charge. Golden sunlight exploded up around his body as he ran, a flare shooting into the sky, and then a wash of energy erupting from behind him as he ran forward.

Acher, briefly, moved at superhuman speed. He let out a wordless roar, leaping into the air, and dropped his shield into the sand. He grabbed his broad sword with both hands, swung it over his head, and punctuated his charge by chopping the weapon down at Rhys's head.

[brokencrescendo]

Healing. Paladins were nothing if not capable of drawing out a fight, and Rhys wasn't confident he could win a war of attrition. Acher needed to go down, fast, and Rhys needed the strength to do it. He took a deep breath to brace himself, and reminded himself he had a healer waiting for him. Better a controlled injury than letting Acher have a brutal hit.

Rhys brought the blade to his torso and hacked across his chest, jaw clenched from the pain. His muscles went hot, fueled by his primal, instinctual reaction for battle and survival. The more agony, the closer to a potential death, the more his god-organ granted him power.

He waited for Acher to reach him, only seconds-- if even-- but everything slowing with Rhys' pulse thrumming in his ears. His knife swiped up to catch the broadsword on its hilt, just enough to delay the attack as he pushed forward. He struck at Acher's chest with enough force to throw him back into the wall, but more with the hope of winding him into unconsciousness.

[fearnoreproach]

The sword caught the knife's hilt. The impact rattled Acher's arms and senses just the same, sending sparks flying where steel met bone. He was distracted for just a moment, a split second that proved to be his undoing. His eyes caught the fist coming in a moment too late. His mouth moved, lips trying to form the spell to call about a barrier, but he only made it halfway through the incantation when Rhys's fist hit home.

His breastplate crumpled in again around the fist, leaving a second huge dent, and the wind was driven from Acher's lungs. He flew back into the air a second time, but faster than before -- and it would have been longer, too, save for the pesky existence of the arena's wall. Acher slammed into it.

Dust and stone exploded out from where he hit, briefly obscuring him from sight. As it cleared, though, Acher lay there in the sand, crumpled against the wall of the arena. Blood smeared against the cracked stone and his sword lay in the dirt, discarded halfway through his flight. The crowd stayed hushed for a moment, before they erupted into cheers.

Acher did not stand back up, his eyes closed. The healers were already darting onto the field, besides.

[brokencrescendo]

Rhys sucked in a shuddered breath, staring at Acher's fallen form and the blood smeared around him. Only the first of many. They were trying to kill him. Kill him. But...

A healer came to him, and Rhys shooed her toward Acher. He did not acknowledge the crowd around him, turning abruptly to leave the way he came in. Their calls were a dull roar, barely acknowledged in the back of his mind, like the pain throbbing across his chest.

He did need a healer, but he'd get treatment inside. There was no reason to be in the arena longer than he had to be.