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The Arena: Craven Vs Sigrun


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The great arena of Saarvarberg was once again ablaze with the fiery anticipation of it's crowd and those they cheered for. It was once again time for the chieftain of the great clan to the east to provide  a fight that would show not only her clan's strength and resolve that shone brightest in their current leader. The rafters and stone of the great arena shook with the fierce hoofstamps of the audience. A roar of excitement that could make the earth tremble came from the ocean of horns and thrilled grins making up the crowds behind as the large doors behind her parted wide...

Two silvery white lights came into view of the assembled races at the other end of the ring. A cloven hoof stepped out onto the earthen floor below and soon came the visage of cow attached. Tall antlers then emerged behind her, their points having been sharpened prior to the battle. Unlike the wild slightly messy mane she bore in her earlier fights, Sigrun's manestyle was changed into that of a great braid partly visible on the back of her head. The fighting of dragons usually required a caribou to keep flowing manes secured or risk them getting burned up and reaching their skull. 

Instead of the chieftain's usual armor ensemble (a mixture of plate, mail, but mostly leather for free movement), Sigrun seemed to have switched to an entirely leather armor. A trained eye for armor crafting and leather working might have noticed though that the gear she wore was treated with a fireproofing for the hunting of the Lindwurm variants across Whitescar that breathed fire. This brought back memories. Back when she was still making a name for herself as a teenager among her clan she'd lead a group of warriors to fight a scaly menace causing her clan grief and ordered them to wear similar treated garb. Given the nature of her preparation it should be obvious who she was facing today...

Once her opponent a great red dragon whose name made her have to stifle laughter due to how... "unexpected" it was. She'd realized that this one was a teenager, just a large one... By Hvarder's beard she managed to bring a fully fledged adult dragon when she young after the High-king had managed to himself; it was that dragon's treasure that built the foundation of the Askr Clan's success in recent memory that brought them out of just a small army of "Woodcutters who learned how to fight" to a powerhouse clan that held most of the eastern lands of Whitescar in an iron hoof. 

Speaking of Woodcutters though, Today Sigrun had brought a surprise for the audience. She was hardly the first chieftain to bring their clan's relic weapon into the fray in an arena or a battlefield, but it was still a relatively rare occurence. Sigrun's clan was however the first to make changes to the weapon in someway that didn't disastrously effect the magic behind it and render it useless. At the cow's side there was a crude, and rather painful looking axe. It seemed to be made of an unidentifiable material with several runes etched into the blade, but somehow simultaneously blunt edge. The handle seemed to have a mechanism similar to the weapon she'd brought in to her battle with swift squall previously but only on the handle of the weapon.

The cow looked up to the dragon from her side of the ring, "Good luck, Big red." she said in an almost affectionate tone, her eyes narrowing slightly in an almost predatory fashion. 

 

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Another day, another bout in the Sinkhole for Saarvagerg’s most reviled combatant; Craven the Wicked. That’s what they called the beastly fire drake these days, after a string of victories against opponents who stood no chance. After that initial Sinkhole battle against the griffon named Deadeye, Craven had been given nothing but mere ‘sacrificial lambs’ to prove his worth. Fight organizers seemed more interesting in crafting the dragon’s reputation as an unstoppable monster than an actual fighter.

For his part, Craven was more than happy to oblige. He preferred being able to mercilessly lay waste to his foes without punishment instead of actually having to fight to win. If Craven were to face an actual challenge, it could potentially jeopardize his claim as the most ferocious of all dragons should a fight go the wrong way. That was something the drake could never allow.

Regrettably, misconduct on Craven’s part put a serious damper to his grand dastardly plans. A caribou jarl and her ward had traveled to the Saar on clan business, and by chance the two stumbled upon the black-hearted dragon. Harsh words were exchanged. Craven boasted he could swallow that runt of the Jarl’s ward in one second; the Jarl in turn challenged the greedy monster to a duel where he wasn’t assured a curbstomp victory. Craven accused the Jarl of questioning his boldness; the caribou countered by denying its very existence.

That enraged the fire drake to such an extent that a battle could have broken out right then and there, but guards managed to break it up by warning Craven to take it to the Arena. The reptilian fiend obliged begrudgingly; otherwise he would have been barred from future Arena matches... and the sweet payoff that inevitably came from each win. And thus was the story of how to restore his honor, Craven the Wicked saw no choice but to face Jarl Sigrun of Clan Askr..... a proven dragon slayer.

Craven forbade himself from feeling any fear as he stepped onto the Arena floor. Sigrun would be unlike anyone the dragon has ever fought before. A warrior since virtually her birth; accustomed to the harshest weather, monsters, and traitorous clans Whitescar could throw at her; possessing access to the best weapons and armor possible; and not to mention a prior winner of hard-fought Arena bouts. Unlike his past fights, Craven worried that he stood a real chance of getting defeated by the Jarl of Askr; his head to be mounted on the wall of the caribou’s Great Hall along with her other trophies... and the dragon’s name forever tarnished by disgrace.

Yet Craven forced himself to believe that if he fought in his usual conservative manner, there was the likelihood of coming out on top. The dragon still possessed the advantages of wings and firebreath, and it appeared Sigrun had no means by which to hit a dragon reasonably high in the air. Craven’s tough scaling would also ensure than glancing hits caused only minimal damage, although he assumed the Jarl would have some conniving trick up her sleeve. As for Sigrun’s armor, it may very well have been made to prevent instant incineration, but no armor made by hoof could negate temperature increases. Slowly but surely, the Jarl would roast in her own gear, or maybe she’d pass out first from inhaling too much smoke. Either way, the key for Craven was to stay far enough from Sigrun to avoid her short-ranged attacks.

With a battle plan in place, the dragon was free to flaunt his typical image of arrogance. “I NEED NO LUCK!” Craven shouted over the boos and jeers of the hostile audience; “YOUR GODS WILL FORSAKE YOU, AND I SHALL GIVE YOU...  A MOST WORTHY PYRE!” With a mighty roar, the dragon stood up, spread out his wings, and let loose a stream of fire into the air to project his utter dominance. Time to put on a good show, least the drake’s reputation be ruined forever.

The announcer’s voice cried out; “LET THE BATTLE BEGIN!!!!!”

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At the sight of the Dragon's great gout of flame being rustled around the Arena, the excited grin spread over Sigrun's face; not so much a grin of good cheer but one that implied sheer joy from the coming battle. A kind of smile that made even the most well worn and trained Caribou would take pause upon witnessing. The Jarl's hindleg's parted slightly and her her forleg reached for her side for the short axe she had at her side. "You know..." From the angle most of the audience could see only that intimidating smile on her face as her bangs obscured her eyes from view, "You really shouldn't make promises you can't keep." The cow's face motioned upwards , revealing eyes that betrayed an almost berserker like ferocity, with her irises shrunken to the point it looked as if her eyes had gone completely white.

 she raised up the short handled axe behind her. Oddly enough she didn't enter a charge but raised it up behind her, one of the sides of her hoof pushed a button on the side and the weapon extended into a halberd. Once it went as far as it could go behind her, runes on the bladed edge glowed ever so faintly before slamming it forward while still standing in place. The second the axe's dull edge hit the floor of the arena...
 

CRASH!

The sound practically filled that air as an earsplitting sound make the arena shake, but it wasn't the sound making the arena shake as a great Crevice tore through the arena while shaking the entire building to it's rafters and making several of the audience members scream in fear. The tear in the floor of the arena snaked in between Craven's legs, the earth around him cracking and keeoing him from gaining his bearings so he could take off properly. Once eyes were on the wielder of the weapon that caused this, she was already halfway towards her opponent, the weapon shortened so it wouldn't slow her done as she charged with incredible speed. Just as Craven tried to take flight she leapt up, extended the great axe and swung the weapon upward towards the joint on the dragon's shoulder area where the rudimentary wings met his body. While it wasn't a perfect hit as she merely clipped that area... Craven then felt just the barest power of the weapon as a massive concussive vibration shook through his bones as it became clear that halberd was in fact not solely for cutting... but more for crushing, that combined with the relic magic it had it Craven's wing gained a noticeable fracture and bruising. The red dragon could still fly in theory... but if he did he would be subjected to the internal pain from the strike.

When Craven fell he was met by the grinning Jarl's visage behind him. Inspired from a previous opponent's effect, yet demeaning strategy she galloped around to the dragon's backside.She turned the halberd on it's side, wound up, And then swung. Since the relic weapon wouldn't give its full power unless it was swung properly it only gave a smaller portion as Craven's backside was hit with an immense amount of kinetic energy that left a bruised image on axe emblazoned on  his backside as he slid a few feet away from her. 

"Before I take this fully seriously... I'll share something with you." The silver eyed cow stepped back a bit before she spoke, keeping wary of movements from her opponent while she spoke, "I didn't have this weapon when I slayed that adult dragon."
 



 

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TREACHERY! CALAMITY! RAAAAAAAAAAAGE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

All of those things were undoubtedly experienced by Craven during the succession of embarrassments defining the start of the match. Losing his footing, receiving damage to his wing, and then for the final humiliation, being spanked around like a mother chastised its hatchling. The dragon had never felt such misery since his failed hostage-taking endeavor many moons ago. This rear-whooping on Jarl Sigrun’s part was exactly the reason why Craven didn’t want to face a dragonslayer.

The fire drake made a show of withering in agony as he attempted to skulk away from the caribou. Whenever Craven dared look back at Sigrun, his eyes displayed fear and cowardice; it was the look of an arrogant bully who realized he’d bitten off more than he could chew. “Wait…” seemingly begged the creature; “Please..... Show me… No...NO!!!!!"

Sigrun judged that now was the perfect time to get another good hit on the Wicked Wyrm, and she moved in swiftly punish Craven- *SWIPE!!!* The Jarl, who anticipated dodging the embers of a dragon’s last desperate stand, failed to see Craven’s long tail bearing down on her until it was far too late. With great force, Sigrun was sent flying halfway across the Arena like a ragdoll until striking the side of the fighting pit, whereupon the cow limply fell to the floor. Sigrun paid for her overconfidence with a couple of broken ribs from blunt impacts with the wall and Craven’s tail, and an injured left foreleg from her awkward, ungraceful fall.

“HA HA HA HA HA... YOU FOOOOOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Craven’s expression had changed to vengeful malice, having successfully lulled his opponent into a false sense of security (an act which earned him deafening boos from the crowd). And now the reeling caribou would pay for her insolence most painfully and slowly. Wasting no time, Craven let loose his firebreath, but he aimed not at Sigrun directly. Rather, his flames formed a barrier encircling Sigrun, generating heat to make the Jarl gradually roast in her armor, and smoke to suffocate her lungs and eyes.

“I SHALL ENJOY WATCHING YOU SUFFER!!!” Despite Craven’s gloating, he knew to maintain a very close eye on Sigrun. She may not be able to run as fast as she could earlier thanks to the injured leg, and her sides will keep aching in immense pain, but there was no telling what sort of cheat the Queen of the East would pull off next. In lieu of pressing a potentially disastrous attack, Craven kept randomly spewing flames everywhere between he and Sigrun, intending on creating an unstoppable inferno between the two combatants.....

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The sudden trip to other end of the Arena (preceded by a powerful slap and immense pain by the dragon's tail) had given Sigrun a fair bit of time to think. How could she be so careless? Perhaps it was the anger at having not only her clan but her ward insulted and belittled that have focused her too much on the pain and humiliation of the red drake. Not anymore however... For a moment as she fell limply, Craven would have gotten a look at the look on her face; that menacing grin hadn't faded, if anything it grew a bit as she fell to the floor.

Sigrun was already getting up to her hooves again when her opponent began his fiery counterattack. She took note of her injuries; two broken ribs, A wounded foreleg. It felt like a fracture on the foreleg...nothing too bad but debilitating. Her dodging would be slower now. There was something that Craven apparently didn't know about Caribou. They weren't fragile, especially not sigrun; no matter what the armor they wore. Their strength lied in many traits in their kind, but one of the most prominent traits of theirs was not the ability to avoid getting hurt... but their willpower to charge on through it. Sigrun while preferring speed over defense was no exception. 

As the flame circle was erected around her, she took a deep breath; filling her lung with all the clean air that she could. She took the axe in it's shortened form in her teeth and lowered her head. Her injured hoof scraping at the dirt a few times. there was a silence in the arena. The only sound that could be heard was the crackling of Craven's flames. Then came the rush. Flame were pushed out of the way as the Jarl Surged forward, the thunderous pounding of her hooves on the stadium floor almost like the sound of drums in battle. Some of the flames that plowed through clung desperately to her body, making her look like something that had just broken out of fiery pits in tartarus. Her grin didn't leave her lips as she finally closed the gap between her and craven, her charge following through with a leap aimed at the dragon's knee. 

The Jarl used the kinetic energy that had built up in the axe's head to try and land a blow on the dragon's kneecap. The hit did more damage to the drake's bones within and another bruise... but considerably worse than his wing as this was a full on impact that made his flesh beneath the scales scream in agony as bone's were fracturing rapidly while tremors rang through his skeletone, the hypo-center of this quake being right on his patella. Sigrun already  had jumped backwards, pausing a moment as she caught herself on four leg and wound to unleash a flurry of blows at the dragon's stomach. The attempted blows that followed weren't as powerful as the one that may have hit his leg, but at this point it was beginning to feel like another dragon larger than him's disembodied fist was repeatedly pounding at his gut by the blunt edged halberd.

The dragon was given momentary relief to catch his breath by his opponent before she chopped forward hard at his stomach... maybe that was the reason she'd done that repeated thrashing at his stomach... to tenderize it as the last blow managed to pierce his thick scales for a moment and brought some traces of blood out as the attacker removed the axe. It was a minor knick for a dragon of craven's size but this was to wound his pride over his scales... The Jarl hopped backward before circling around her opponent, this time minding his tail and other appendages as the axe's head began to glow once more, the embers on her mane flickering weakly.

 

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This caribou... she was a DEMON! Craven’s flame obstacles appeared to have no effect on Jarl Sigrun; caught off-guard; the dragon suffered another series of critical, agonizing blows. Over the course of a couple minutes or so, Craven had been bloodied and tenderized like he was a diamond dog’s oversized chew toy, despite all his best efforts to blast off or swipe at his foe. Feeling massive twinges of fear for his reputation, the contemptible drake swore that his opponent was one of those accursed berserkers; legendary warriors renowned for the insatiable urge to destroy anything in sight and the inability to feel no pain. But berserkers haven’t been seen for generations, so surely Sigrun couldn’t have been one of them?

For Craven’s sake, it had better be true that the old berserker stories were gross exaggerations of caribou exploits. If the dragon didn’t turn things around now, no one would ever respect him as a warrior crusher ever again, and he’d be reduced to snatching pony hostages for the rest of his long, miserable life. And Craven needed to do something immediately; Sigrun’s weapon was starting to glow once more, which spelled ill news should it finish charging up.

Getting down on all four legs and turning broadside on, Craven extended his long tail upwards into the air, brandishing it about for a couple seconds like it was about to swoop down at the caribou. Of course, that gave Sigrun ample time to notice the tail and dodge the attack when it inevitably came. Yet by backjumping out of the way, the Jarl had unwittingly placed herself within easy striking distance of Craven’s ferocious maw. Where fire failed to bring pain to Sigrun... Craven’s sharp teeth would succeed.

Thanks to prior injuries, Sigrun was a moment too slow in getting out of the way of Craven’s lunge. With the way she backjumped seconds ago, it left Sigrun’s backside facing Craven fangs instead of her defensive antlers, leaving her an especially easy target. To her credit, the caribou didn’t scream TOO loudly in pain as the dragon’s teeth bit into her, but it DID induce enough agony to loosen the grip on her axe, which fell to the ground. So much for Sigrun’s trump card.

Minding the pain to his own wing, Craven sluggishly lumbered his way skyward as he still clutched the caribou warrior in his mouth. Sigrun’s leather armor might provide a measure of protection against flame, but it would do no good blocking the huge teeth of a dragon. Craven’s fangs sank into Sigrun’s flesh without much contest, although he was careful not to sink TOO deeply, least the cow fainted before experiencing the torture Craven was cooking up... literally. While the dragon’s teeth did their job holding Sigrun in place, a blast of flame shot out from Craven’s throat to roast the caribou. The fireproofed leather prevented Sigrun from outright incinerating, but it still got so hot that every inch of caribou flesh trapped in the drake’s mouth would be scaled.

Even so, Sigrun wasn’t out of the fight by a long shot. Somehow, despite all the excruciating torment of Craven’s teeth and fire, the cow managed to roll around so that one of her free legs, dangling out in the open, managed to give a fierce superstrength kick to the dragon’s mouth. Reeling from the unexpected attack, Craven reflexively roared, freeing the roasting morsel from his mouth. However, the dragon had been hovering a couple dozen feet off the floor... meaning a longer drop from Sigrun.

The inevitable impact wasn’t too kind on the Jarl; she fell on her rear, fracturing her pelvis and rendering her incapable of using her two rear legs. The only silver lining was that Sigrun’s plummet left her within arm’s reach of the enchanted ax she dropped not too long ago. If only she had enough strength left from her mauling to reach out with her foreleg and power it up.

Seeing Sigrun in a near-crippled state left Craven in a fit of ecstasy. Eager to prolong his moment of ultimate glory over the Silver-Eyed Queen, the dragon landed back on the ground (his injured wing needed extensive rest) to gloat at his fallen prey with his cocky resonant voice. “BAH!!! YOU’RE WEAK... JUST LIKE THAT RUNT WHO COWWWWERS IN YOUR SHADOW. WEAK CARIBOU LIKE THE TWO OF YOU DO NOT DESERVE TO LIVE IN THIS WORLD... IN MY WORLD.”

Craven methodically closed the distance on the fallen caribou warrior, his snout mere inches away from Sigrun. From where she laid on the ground, the Jarl could bare witness to the dragon’s throat glowing with red light, his stomach preparing the finishing blow to end this match.

“IF YOU WILL NOT YIELD, THEN YOU WILL MEET YOUR... DESTINY!!!!!!!!!

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The rise and the fall was part of all good stories in Caribou culture. Both short songs and long ballads of heroes long passed had featured a part in a battle when all things looked hopeless for the protagonist and then they would find the strength within themselves to overpower a foe who was managing to overpower the great warriors. Sigrun had one as well... or at least that's how she saw it as she saw the stadium floor growing farther and farther away. She had to admire this young dragon's craftiness and will to use diversions in order to distract his opponent: Seemed he did in fact possess a brain in that large skull. 

The cry the Jarl let out was almost deafening even to the great red drake's strong ears, although at some point that cry of pain turned into another audacious but somehow eerie laugh as if she was enjoying this predicament. She watched the axe plummet to the ground, her grin fading a moment as she watched her ancestral weapon fall to the ground with a *thunk!*, she let out a sigh of relief once it landed safely, no damage having been done to the blade. Now the coming event was sure to be... Overwhelmingly painful to a lesser caribou, to Sigrun it was merely excruciating. A massive gout of flame engulfing her body, her long mane rising up with the heat and a great deal of it being singed away. The sight of the silver eyed queen of the east being roasted by a large dragon's flames brought a awestruck quiet to the crowd... would the Jarl truly be the next stepping stone on Craven's display of his power?

No. 

No she would not. The Jarl began to thrash about until one of her legs broke free and Delivered a strong kick to the Corner of the dragon's jaw. forcing him to drop her with a deafning roar going on overhead before he landed back on the Arena... Sigrun doing the same but not nearly as gracefully. Her rump was plenty cushiony for her to survive a high fall but not this high, as the crack that she heard within herself and intense, grinding pain in her bones seemed to explain to her. There was no way she could stand now... She could feel her strength running out. The combination of the bleeding and the fall and the injuries to her ribs were taking their toll. Blacking out seemed almost inevitable, but then she heard something the undisciplined dragon said.

"RUNT." She knew of whom he spoke. She felt a fire burning inside her. A fire fueled by the rage building within her at this addition of disrespect to her Foster-son. If only she could get up to show him the Flames of rage that would turn the entire arena to ash if she had such magic to express it. She tried to push herself up pointlessly on her forelegs but something gave her pause just before the dragon stood before her and reached. She'd almost forgotten she'd brought this last ditch tactic into the battle, the object hidden inside her leatherclad sleeve with the metal buckles on it melted onto her. She couldn't get it naturally and she wasn't close enough to make it really count... well she wasn't until she was lifted up by the proud drake, his maw opening and his throat betraying a growing flame within. Strangely though, Sigrun simply stared at him, not in his eyes however... but at his nose. Once it was close enough and Craven began to draw breath. The jarl brought her head down bit onto one of the melted buckles. With a swift pull of her neck she ripped the metal from her arm. A few red sparkles danced in the air a moment, but just as she wound up a punch... some of the more knowledgeable members of the audience would see a flowerbloom of somekind peaking from under the leather as it fell and hung from her foreleg...

Spoiler

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The more intelligent and progressive clans in Whitescar had been using and growing some of these trees and ordering them and importing them from equestria and the badlands to help with the occasional rampaging dragon. Sigrun's clan was no exception to the use of these plants, but they were a double edged sword; too close and the enevitable reaction that it was to cause was sure to be explosive and usually the only was to get it to truly unbalance a large dragon was to either douse the area around the dragon with them... or...

There were a few loud signs of disgust as sigrun's punch was proven not to be aimed at the center of Craven's snout but one of his large nostrils. A caribou could fit their whole foreleg inside, and while sigrun didn't go that far, she made sure the large bloom was jammed deep into the base of Craven's snout and pushed and shook it about inside, the pollenous bloom seemed to take instant effect as the Dragon's eyes teared up, streams of salty agony falling from his eyes before Sigrun yanked her hoof out and grimaced at what it took with her; that being what naturally occured in noses and not the flower. The flower was now lodged in the base of Craven's snout and the reaction the dragon's body gave was just as one would expect. Craven's whole body tensed up and his grip loosened , dropping the cow to the ground again. 

She was right next to the axe she'd dropped. Despite the pain echoing through her form she grabbed a hold of it, while craven's loud windy gasps made some of the spectators panic and move to the other end of the ring so as not to be caught in what was to come.

Having experienced the look Craven had on his face she wound up her axe for a great swing and landed it just as the Dragon let out a sneeze that shook the rafters of the stadium. It turned out though he had some help as The axe hit hard into the dragon's diaphragm, the powerful blow forcing his body to expel the biggest gout of flame and air he'd ever witnessed himself create that turned the other end of the arena jet black. The force of his sternutation forced him to double over on his hands and knees, gasping for breath as the allergy began to weaken his respiratory system. Just below his Jaw rested the Jarl with the Demonic smile, her axe shortened. 

Sigrun thrust up the axe on it's flat side and extended it. The massively powerful impact then hitting his jaw and making his head shake until his was Knocked out. The Dragon fell forward on top of her. The strength still in her forelegs gave her enough power to push him off and to the side as she pulled herself a bit away from the unconscious dragon. Her clan's halberd now propping her up as she smiled almost deviously, "This may sound hypocritical...but you should really cover your mouth, Red."

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This was it; the moment of Craven’s ultimate triumph. With Jarl Sigrun at the mercy of his claws, the dragon was prepared to end it all with one fire blast; one especially heated enough to perhaps burn off that leather armor of the caribou. But Craven needed several more seconds to charge his attack to maximum temperature, and he caught Sigrun fumbling around with something in her hoof. Even though Craven assumed the match was all but his, a part of him feared that this was some last trick on the caribou’s part. Twice already, the Jarl had used dirty-hoofed methods to obtain an unfair advantage over a vastly superior opponent like the Equestrian fire drake. Was it wise to tempt providence for a third time this day?

As Sigrun’s foreleg started to feebly swing towards Craven, the cowardly dragon instantly made up his mind. Without hesitation, Craven aborted his fiery assault to instead use his griphold to slam Sigrun into the ground. Whatever strange plant the cow had planned on using, it unceremoniously fell out of her grip as Craven dangled Sigrun up again, only to bash the Jarl again... and again... and again.

When Craven finally grew bored of his little game of Whack-a-Bou, Sigrun had been reduced to a whimpering heap lying on the Arena floor. But Craven wasn’t finished yet; he still had one final card to play to ensure his opponent’s total defeat and subjugation. With the Jarl incapable of retreating, the fire drake performed the most basic dragonic attack possible; to simply let his humongous bulk fall upon the so-called “warrior”. The crowd could hear the sound of antlers snapping as Craven’s enormity smothered Sigrun utterly. And then..... silence. Not one peep could be heard, nor were there any signs of struggle from around Craven’s belly. Several uncomfortable seconds passed.

Once the tension became unbearable, the announcer finally cried out; “SIGRUN IS UNABLE TO BATTLE! CRAVEN IS THE WINNER!!!!”

Fighting against the pain inflicted by his adversary, Craven slowly crawled back onto his two hind legs, finding that the Jarl of Clan Askr had fainted from the dragon’s crushing blow. In triumph, he proclaimed to the hatred-filled audience; “LET NO ONE DOUBT MY POWER NOW! I HAVE LAID LOW YOUR PRECIOUS QUEEN OF THE EAST! IN TIME, I WILL VANQUISH ALL HEROES EVERYWHERE, AND PILLAGE WHEREVER I PLEASE! BOW NOW TO MY MIGHT, OR MEET THAT COW’S FATE!!! RAAAAAAUGHHHH!!!!!! Craven ended his “motivational” speech by sending flames towards the heavens, showing all who were watching that the opportunist plunderer was NOT a dragon to be trifled with.

It was only a matter of time now. Once news spread of Craven's victory against the dragon-slayer, more of his kind will rally behind him. Before long, he would have enough clout to challenge the weakling Dragon Lord, take the Bloodstone Scepter for himself, and lead the dragon lands on a Great Looting of Equestria. And Craven will go down in ALL the histories as a mighty and powerful dragon; the greatest terror of his age.....



*END MATCH*

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Very close call here, both combatants had their strengths working overtime for them. After some deliberation, Craven has been declared the winner of this Arena bout. Congratulations!

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