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The Arena: Halvard vs. Eindride


Blueblood

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*Ka-chink, Ka-chink, Ka-chink, Ka-chink.*

 

The Arena proper was far enough down the corridor that the sound of Halvard's armor still drowned out the crowd noises ahead.

 

*Ka-chink, Ka-chink, Ka-chink, Ka-chink.*

 

The Saar was a long way from the roads he normally patrolled as a Vakstyra, and even farther from his clan's homeland in the western fringes of Whitescar, but he was hardly the first of Clan Breen to grace this hallway and appear before this gladitorial crowd.  After all, when your whole circle of friends and family fight as defensively as you do, you have to look for decent practice somewhere.

 

*Ka-chink, Ka-chink, Ka-chink, Ka-chink.*

 

Not that Halvard planned to treat this as a practice fight, oh no!  He'd managed to score a match with one of the up-and-coming celebrities of the Arena, an itinerant clanless caribou by the name of Eindride.  He aimed chiefly to sharpen his own iron in the clash, but there was that purse of gold for the winner... never could have too much, and the journey to Saar and back was trying on one's resources.

 

*Ka-chink, Ka-chink, Ka-chink, Ka-CHUNK!*

 

The caribou bull emerged into the sunlight, which glinted over the beveled surfaces of his plate armor.  Not many caribou possessed a full set; they were expensive, and many preferred mobility in their tactics.  That was fine with Halvard; he fought with the long game in mind.  After all, getting in the first blow didn't matter as much as getting in the last!

 

He surveyed the crowd, who cheered at his arrival.  Though most of his coat was covered, his head bore the blue coloration that marked his clan out from their fellows.  Clan Breen could always be counted on for a good fight, if a rather long one, usually.

He gave the customary wave of his waepon, and the crowd returned its customary laugh.  Halvard didn't grudge them.  Part shovel, part pickaxe, and part warhammer, you had to be a member of Clan Breen to understand why anybou would even forge such a thing, let alone wield it.

 

"Well!"  Halvard normally didn't waste his breath calling out his opponents, but it really would have been rude not to do so here.  "Let's see if you're bringing anything new to the table, besides herbal teas."  His opponent was well known for her concoctions; though he'd yet to have any need for them himself.

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She had been down in the dank, musty, and over all doom laden lower sections of the arena many times. The caribou could taste iron and dust thick in the air as she honed the wicked blade of her scythe. A sharpening block had been long since placed at the edge of the corridor that lead to the surface. The edges of the grey block bore the nicks and furrows of many a warrior's weapon.

 

SHiiiiiiink, SSSSHHHHhhhhhiiiink, shink

 

The long arched blade moved smoothy over the surface of the stone. The bou's eyes were illuminated for but a moment by the sparks that were ignited from the friction of steel on stone. Stepping back she nodded in satisfaction. It was time once again to enter the arena.

 

As Eindride paced up the corridor the sounds of the crowd rang in her ears. Her heart rate increased as she moved forward towards a battle against another caribou. She had fought bou before. Most were proud, cocky even. Baring the marks and ways of their clan with them like so many leaves in a winter wind. She bore no clan given marks, had no ways but her own. Customs and traditions from what had once been from her clan long forgotten since the time of her youth. She had grown into adulthood in clan Barn but left soon after, choosing the life of a wanderer in the icy reaches of Whitescar. It was a free life, wild and unpredictable. As wild and unpredictable as Eindride herself.

 

Now she was out in the open space of the arena. Soil mixed with sweat and blood met her nostrils and steeled her for the coming clash. The light coat of armor she wore flashed in the dying light of day, catching on the edges of her scythe and the singled edged ax she wore across her back. The Arena was nothing new to the caribou but the feeling it brought to her never changed. She steeled herself, bracing her muscles for what was to come. Her eyes quickened their gaze, missing little in the details of her surroundings. There was her opponent.

 

"Let's see if you're bringing anything new to the table, besides herbal teas."

 

Well now, there was an unusual treat... another male caribou intent on "honing his skills". One couldn't blame him really. Was she not here for the same reasons? Pit your skill against another, take a sack of gold should you succeed in besting him. She had made up her mind already that if she was to leave this fight in one piece follow the call of the roads to Heil. She would go, sell her wares, and travel in the open country for a time. However, it seemed the roads always ended up calling her back to this place of combat and blood shed.

 

Eindride lowered her head a touch, pointing her finely sharpened antlers to her opponent as she called out. "Mayhap you'll have need of more than teas when we are through Vakstrya!"

 

It was challenge enough for the time being. No need to over goad the enemy, though it was just what the crowd wanted. The crowd was just an after thought to Eindride, she did not fight to the whims of those to cowardice to face the arena themselves. She fought today like the winds over the Spine of the World Serpant, wild and free!

 

The bou held forth her scythe and cantered forward swiftly. Without hesitation she brought the weapon around for a strike at knee height, then doubled back at neck height. She remained light on her hooves, ready to counter and defend. It was a cursory attack but effective in its own way.

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Eindride's reply brought no rejoinder.  Nine battles out of ten were lost due to wasting energy, time, or attention; and when you entered battle without the initiative, as heavy and defensive fighters like Halvard often did, you had to maintain a margin in all three in order to win a fight.  For all members of Clan Breen, "resource management" was key, in both peacetime and wartime disciplines.

 

In this case, letting Eindride make the first move bought time for him to assess her likely fighting style.  Her weapon choice was familiar enough to him; many of his clan members used scythes, as it was a hallmark of them to save metal by using tools as weapons, and vice versa.  The clanless cow wore lighter armor, however, which allowed her a mobile strike.

 

She came towards Halvard like the winds, but he stood firm like the Mountains of the Spine.  No matter how hard they blew, the mountains would never submit!  In any case, her first strike was not a heavy one; he could have caught the scythe blade on his greaves had she followed the low sweep through.  Instead, however, she doubled back for a high strike at his neck.

 

*Momentum loss; a slight waste of energy on her part.*

 

The inefficient movement gave him room to parry; the pommel of his war-hammer-shovel was still planted in the ground as he brought the head of it to block the blade, hooking the scythe on the curved pick at the end.  He then pulled, the leverage against the ground multiplying the force!  If light hooves corresponded to a light grip, it would tug her weapon right out of her grip, leaving her open for a counter-strike as the flat-end of the hammer swung around.

Keeping her grip, on the other hand, would mean that Eindride's forward momentum would bring her right into an armored body-check by Halvard, positioning his shoulder-plate to smash right into her unprotected temple!

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Eindride was steeled and ready for this match. She had energy to spare! Owing to her life ranging the open spaces in between the settlements of Whitescar and the light protective armor she wore, the caribou found no hardship in delivering her first blow. It had indeed done what she had been hoping it would do. Though she had heard of her opponent before the match, she had never seen him preform a technique with his odd choice of weaponry. She felt the finely ground blade of her scythe sliding easily along the curved pick at the fore end of Halvard's war shovel. It caught somewhere around the middle and the cow hop skipped forward a pace with the momentum of his pull. Her hold on her weapon was strong enough to keep her grip, but just enough to do so.

 

She was pulled into the check, turning slightly to take the blow into her own shoulder plate.  Her armor was not as strong as the foe caribou, but it did offer her some support from the force. It was better than having her head smash into him at any rate. She let out a breath, pushing the air out as she connected to try to keep from having her wind knocked out. He was a solid mountain of a bou, and she in no way wanted this to come down to a play of bodily contact. She would most likely get herself crushed if she ended up too close to him too many times.

 

Eindride moved back quickly after the check. Indeed it hurt, but that could not slow her down. Slowing down would only mean more pain if her caught up with her. She moved in quickly this time, trying to keep her attacks swift, viscous, and many like a swarm of hornets. She rammed the scythe forward at neck height where she hoped his armor would not be as thick. After this the bou twisted to the side, continuing the sweep of the wickedly curved blade. For an untrained foe this might end with a head rolling in the dirt, but it would not be so with Halvard. She knew he was trained better than that. However, she did hope the move would score her a blow of some kind. After the attack she readied herself for the counter she knew would come.

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Hm, clever cow!  She knew how to take a hit without losing her breath or tempo, which in turn would tax her energy reserves less than avoiding a hit, but having to regain her momentum again.  Halvard smiled beneath his helmet as he felt Eindride bounce off his shoulder plate and heard the whistling of her scythe blade.  Speed and endurance!  This would be a challenge indeed.

 

There was no way he could hope to parry the full flurry of blows that the whirling scythe were bringing down on him, so he didn't waste time trying.  Instead, he forced Eindride to keep active on her hooves with wide, smooth swings of his war-hammer.  Given that she would have to dodge not only the flat head, but also the protruding shovel-blade on top of the whole thing, the cow would have to move in and out constantly to keep her target within her swing radius.  Again, more energy expended on her part than his.

 

Unfortunately, while stalling out an opponent worked when defending a crossroad point against a raid, or in buying time for a merchant caravan to ready their own weapons, it would not win a fight in Saarvergerg.  Even Halvard's armor had its chinks, and eventually one of the cow's blows was bound to hit through.  

 

*Whissh...kling...wissshh....kling...chunk!*

 

There it was, right in the hairline join between the shoulder and the back plates.  Not a fatal, or even a debilitating blow, but a bleeding wound sapped strength over time, especially when on muscles that bore under heavy weapons as well as heavy armor.

 

But that blow also opened an opportunity.  For one second, Eindride's weapon wasn't moving, and neither was she.  With a slight grunt of effort and pain, Halvard kept the momentum from his weapon going, first high, then low on the backswing to catch his opponent when she ducked.  

 

*WHOOSH...KRANGCSH!*

 

There it was, the satisfyingly kinetic sound of blunt force hitting home!  One solid, connecting swing would accomplish more than a dozen that just bounced off.  Not that one would finish the fight for Eindride, but she wasn't shrugging it off, and if Halvard could get in just one or two more...

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*WHOOSH...KRANGCSH!*

 

Eindride took the hit hard on her shoulder. If not for the thin layer of plate she wore on the area, the blow would have done even greater damage. That and the fact that she managed to take the hit to the shoulder and not to the side of her head. If she had, it would have been lights out! As it was, the bou turned to see the ground coming up to meet her. In actuality the blow from the awkwardly shaped war shovel had knocked her to the ground. She was glad she was moving in the same direction as the blow, at least to helped to take some of the force. Still she had to will herself into her next move, focusing through the pain that inevitably came from such a blow.

 

She went with the momentum, hitting the ground and going into a quick roll. She had scored a hit on her opponent but with this most recent blow Eindride found herself at a disadvantage. it was an odd spot for her. Usually she would have already bested whoever was up against her. That or she would be taunting them around the arena until it was time to end the fight. She stopped her roll, coming up neatly into a ready stance. Though her body was numbed from the hit she had to play it off. No use showing the other bou that he had managed to injure her. She had to score some more hits. Making him loose blood and suffer wounds from her scythe was her tactic in this match. Once that was accomplished she would use his bulk against him. At least that was the plan. 

 

It did seem that things never went as planned in the area. And the events that followed would prove that. Eindride steeled herself and rushed back towards her opponent. She struck swift and fierce on several occasions, making use of the wound she had scored earlier.  She did not stop the onslaught even if some of her blows connected. She was done with hesitating. The bou kept up a pretense of a slow circle as she continued the attack. For the most part Halvard countered, moving to face the oncoming attacks and deflect them with as little use of energy as possible. It seemed odd to Eindride to fight in such as way. Was the arena not meant to put on a show? Sure it made sense on the open battle field but here? The way to earning more of a sum out of a match was to get the crowd on one's side. Though Eindride cared not at all for the crowds, she did care for their finances. It was the reason she came to the arena in the first place.

 

She swung in for yet another swipe with her scythe and saw the shovel end of Halvard's weapon coming in for a knee level attack. She made a quick leap to avoid the blow and came down, drawing the ax from her back as she did so. Before a return blow from Halvard could be made she swept the ax in and hooked it on the  leg grieve covering his shin. She stood, hauling hard and then rolling back, hoping to pull his footing out from under him. She would likely loose the axe from the move but it was only a secondary weapon. The bou stood, ready to deflect an oncoming attack, her shoulder aching from the earlier blow.

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The roar of the Saar crowd, while it had never stopped in all the recorded history of the caribou, had been ebbing steadily as the duel in the arena went on.  Most of the crowd came to see exchanges of blows, blood, and bets, and fights like these tended to be fairly sparse on two out of three.  However much the majority were losing interest, however, two groups in the stands were focusing hard on the clash of wills and steel between Halvard and Eindride.  These were the bookmakers, who set the prizes for the winners, and for those who backed the winners; and the other fighters, who may have to face either of the combatants in an upcoming match!

 

But, thoughts of the crowd during battle were for those who only fought for show!  Not for a Vakstyra.  Halvard never once spared a glance away from the attacking cow, always focused, always ready with counters.  He knew perfectly well that the hit he'd scored would keep Eindride from fighting at top quality, and if he didn't let his armor soak up hits, well, there was little point to bringing all that metal to weigh him down, now, wasn't there?

 

Trouble was, his normal strategy of wearing down his opponent through sheer refusal to take a hit had two flaws here.  One was that the cow had far more reserves of energy than he initially gave her credit for.  *It must be the tea.  I shall have to buy some from her with my winnings.*  The second was that he had taken a hit, and it was a bleeding wound.  The blunt force of a warhammer was debilitating, but it was an all-at-once sort of deal.  Bleeding wounds could take you down over time.  That was one of the reasons why Halvard's weapon had a blade on top, not that he'd managed to score a good hit on Eindride yet.

 

*That will have to change.  Time to move to the endgame.*  He began to shift focus, blocking less, countering more.  Aggressive, though none too swift, swings kept the scythe blade from being aimed where she liked.  Halvard began moving forward, slowly, but with all that metal, it would take a plate of dragonscale to stop his momentum!

 

His opponent, too, sensed the beginning of the endgame, and sought to swing it to her own pace.  Taking back the scythe, she had jumped back to bring out her axe, and hook it on to one of his greaves!  Had he been standing still, it was likely that Halvard would have slipped in his footing, and the end of the battle would have most likely not have gone his way.

 

As it was, he had to pick up his pace suddenly, straining to move his own steel covering as his blood continued to give the plating a red paint job.  Now or never; time to use his opponents own tactic, and he had a much larger hook at the end of his hammer...  It swung low, sweeping under Eindride's forelegs to strike and dig in her unprotected underbelly.  Halvard felt the bite of metal in flesh, tightened his grip, and kept gathering speed, dragging his opponent off her feet and along with him!

 

The pair approached the arena walls, and as they neared the point of collision, Halvard enacted his finisher.  With one mighty heave, he flung the hooked Eindride in front of him, right between him and the wall, and didn't slow down at all.

 

*KA-BRANGK-CHACKSH!*

 

There was a sudden rise in the crowd noise.  Now that was a blow; you could feel it in the stands!

 

Halvard was certainly going to feel it in the morning; after all, he had effectively just body-checked a stone wall.  It would take days to get his armor back in shape after that!  But, as he marched back toward the center, and planted his shovel-hammer once again in the dirt, he was still standing, which was more than could be said for Eindride...

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  • 2 weeks later...

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She was beginning to tire. Countering, attacking, blocking, moving, all were taking their toll on a body that had been injured during this fight. She had been injured before in the Arena and was no stranger to fighting off of reserves. In fact, it happened fairly often during her fights. That was why she was glad to be a beast of the roads of Whitescar. It built in one a strong sense of resolve. She finished what she started, either that or die in the attempt. This was life for Eindride, on the roads or in the Arena.

 

The cow felt herself be pulled in nearer to the much larger bou. Continuing to keep her blade locked in his grieves was certainly a risky move, though if she knew this bull well enough from the fight so far, it might prove to have results in her favor. Of course there were downsides as well. She saw the hooked and bladed end of his ponderous weapon come into play. Eindride tried her best to move back from the attack though the blade still cut in between her light armor, leaving a hefty gash to her side. She grit her teeth, that wound would not heal easily. She twisted to the side, keeping the blade for taking too deep a hold. If she hadn't been able to move back, he would have already gutted her and the fight would have been finished. 

 

Then he began to rush. She could feel his forward momentum and allowed herself to be swept along with it for the moment. What he felt to be her sweeping off her hooves was really the cow going along for the ride. Closer and closer to the arena edge the pair hurtled, the roar of the crowd drowned out by the wild stamping of hooves. Then he moved her forward, preparing to crush her into the stone wall of the arena! Eindride's lighter form, even with her injuries allowed her to move quickly. She managed to maneuver her body out of the way just enough for Halvard to charge by. At his speed there would be no accounting for her change in position.

 

*KA-BRANGK-CHACKSH!*

 

He hit the wall with a resounding force, knocking him senseless to the ground. Eindride rolled over again and stood shakily to her hooves. They had both survived the round, though both had suffered wounds that would last to remind them of this day for a long while.

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