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Description

The fighters are taken by plane to a place called Estella, a tourist spot where people are taken on explorations of the ancient city whose ruins are scattered across the forest that rests around them. The old civilization of Estella is known for being a city that was once ran by the magic of a water spirit. However, it was theorized that through some unknown event, the magic disappeared, making all of the city’s technology obsolete, and thus ending the legacy of a place ahead of its time. The old city may have lost its superiority, but Estella is still a beauty that others enjoy; from the lush greens of the forest trees to the sparkling crisp of the running waters around Estella, it is a living testament of nature’s splendor. The other thing that Estella is known for is the secret ruins found to the east by archeologists years ago in the forest of Everlive (live as in “alive”).

The next round’s fight takes place in a side venue located next to a series of running waterfalls, the sound of rushing streams creating a relaxing ambience to an already serene scene. The running waters move down among over-cropping rocks that outline the exterior of this flat rocky floor, creating a layer of water that is constantly moving across the ground. Not enough water to hinder movement, but every movement is likely to create a splash here and there. Unless the fighter wants their shoes filled with cold water, they are better off removing their footwear if it isn’t insulated. The rocks differ in sizes from small to large, with the northern edge of this area pointing toward the mass of waterfalls that populate this part of the forest.

Spectators are able to watch from a balcony, which is essentially a cliff with guard rails around it. A referee sits aside on jutted rock in the normal black stripped uniform, keeping watch over the proceedings, ready to leap in at any needed moment. And two cameramen are positioned around the area: one on higher ground, and another also on a rock platform closer to the fighting arena to watch from a closer view. Despite this, neither of these officials will be in the way for the duration of the match.

Field Measurements

The fighting area is the flat ground, which has a span of thirty feet in diameter. This is big enough to allow for more agile people the space to move around, and yet still gives a smaller space to let melee fighters have an easier time to corner their opponents.

Ten Count Boundary

Because of the nature of this arena, it is easy for someone to make use of the rock boundary that runs around the arena. Because of that, anytime someone gets on top of it to use it as an additional moving ground, it begins the ten count. In addition, running water is moving over them, so it makes any kind of travel along them harder, if not giving a good chance of slipping and hitting your head due to the water and uneven rock. Sustaining flight at least five feet above ground also starts the ten count.

Bonus

There seems to be a hint of magic flowing through these waters, and seems to be flowing passively into your body every post. For those who can make use of it, after you have made at least four posts in the fight, you are free to make use of this magical enhancement to increase an ability by one charge, or the equivalent of this, anytime after. In general terms, it gives your ability a significant boost in potency. Or, for physical fighters, you feel a slight pick up in physical performance, so it allows you one physical maneuver that is increased in power/ speed. This bonus only applies after you have done the normal preparation procedures your ability requires. It does not reduce concentration or effort.

You can only use this bonus one time in the entire fight.

Njora Brynjolf was angry. Imagine for a moment that you just overcame one of your greatest challenges. A round 1 against a Night Stalker out of his element; valiant, but ultimately so soundly defeated that there was no glory for the young Shield Maiden to claim. Then a round 2 against a potent Shaman whose age and disposition could easily sully her song, win or lose (and it was very nearly the latter). Then came round 3. A gorgeous locale whose peace and beauty rivaled even that of her homeland. A tad warmer than she preferred, perhaps, but the clear, flowing blue below reflecting the proud azure above met with sturdy columns of rock between... it was a truly magnificent sight. Combine that with her opponent. Finally a true test of skill. A man with a reputation; the opportunity for a battle worthy of the Great Hearth, upon which she could at long last begin building her Legend. This was supposed to be a glorious day. Imagine, then, her feelings upon discovering that her perfect moment of glory was to be muddied by foul play.

Oh, there was still a story to be sung here, but it was one of drama and high stakes. Like everything else in the human lands, this was not the great contest for glory and fame she had been led to believe. She could hear the bards even now... 'Our hero watched the scene unfold with the keen glint of Wolf in her steady gaze. Like a statue carved from the very rock upon which she stood, cross-armed and unamused, she watched. The mighty Shield Maiden knew well the corrupt ways of humankin and would not take this display at face value. When the touching scene was concluded, however, she did indeed have a message of her own. Heavy footfalls splashed deep into the arena floor as the chained man's opponent made herself known. She walked unconcerned straight through the middle of the surrounding guards, her mere presence intimidating to any with even the smallest sense of self-preservation. Steel grey eyes shimmered menacingly at the tiny man who appeared to be the leader as she passed by mere inches from him; not a threat, but perhaps a promise. Rough raven curls flowed delicately in the cool breeze as she came to a stop on the opposite end of the battleground, her majestic 7-foot frame etched perfectly by the backdrop of waterfalls. Ignoring the people she had so clearly been trying to provoke, she instead turned to address the man who would dare put the glory of her song on the line for the sake of his ridiculous personal issues.'

"Christopher Hume."

Every tale was better with a bit of dramatic pause.

"I know your song well. The bards of this land sing it fondly. The tale of a true Warrior whose presence on the battlefield is as feared as it is frequent. You were a man worthy of my legend. A contest that was sure to be sung at the Great Hearth for ages to come."

She hung her head and sighed. "All-Father grant me mercy, I pray you are not the man of these legends."

At long last her frustration simmered to the surface. Steel eyes turned ice cold as she raised an accusing finger at the chained man, voice deathly even as her cruel words rang not as an insult, but as simple fact, "You are weak."

For the first time since entering these lands, the mighty giantess faltered. Eyes wide and anger abated, it was more than clear she was having trouble processing what she had just witnessed. Deception, perhaps, but with just a few words she was beginning to see him in a new light. The warrior of these legends... it explained a great deal. No longer did the shriveled form of a defeated man stand before her, but the sturdy frame of a self-contained force of nature. No longer was she looking down at a half-kin, but staring straight into the eyes of a full-blooded clansman.

And yet... nothing had changed. She could easily perceive him as more dangerous now, but he was still chained and bound to the service of weak, pathetic men. The contrast was distinct. As old and wizened as he seemed was about how young and naive she was; barely an adult by her race's standards and still brimming with pride and ambition. She would not stand for this.

"Bölvat er okkr, bróðir." her glare was gone, but the cold steel in her tone remained, "You have no right to ask this of me, Christopher Hume. You wish to save your daughter? There she stands. You wish to regain your honor? I can see your enemies as plainly as you. You have allowed yourself and your blood to be captured and exploited by half-kin trash. You. Are. Weak."

A loud splash rang out as she unlatched her first shield, a 3-foot bronze hoplon. Her left hand reached out and rested atop it as the heavy implement rolled to a stop at her side. With the crowd already in suspense at the sheer density of tension between the two clansmen, her declaration rang out as clearly as the roar of water behind her, "I am Njora Brynjolf, daughter of Olgeir the Trollslayer and Frostfang Shield Maiden to Wolf himself! If fate decrees your song is to end here as a result of my actions, you have my word I will ensure your daughter is returned safely to your Hall. That much I owe you and no more."

She held a casual stance, strong and centered. Half of her was ready to spring on him right there, but the other half so very much wanted to see him turn upon his captors here and now. She knew he wouldn't, but it would make for such a glorious tale, and as such it was only right for her to grant him the opportunity. Any other requests for her and he would have to claim them by Right of Arms, as was their way.

The young shield maiden quirked an eyebrow at his prediction. She couldn't completely discount it... as a very long-lived race, no Norn reached a ripe old age without earning some significant merits. If this man was as attuned to the spirits and ancestors as he claimed she would only be disgracing herself by ignoring his wisdom, regardless of the circumstances. Some of which she was quite displeased with. Most especially that look of pity in his eyes. If she hadn't know any better she might have taken that as an insult. Perhaps he had simply spent too much time among the half-kin. The next thing she expected to hear was that he no longer had a Hall and that his daughter was half-kin as well (three-quarter-kin?). As of now, however, those thoughts were irrelevant. Despite her harsh accusations he was still treating her with respect, and that was humiliating enough alone.

"When that day comes let them sing proudly of this glorious battle." Her stern gaze remained, but there was a subtle smile on her lips. Selfish? Perhaps, but battle ran though her blood as deeply as his. She couldn't deny her nature any more than he could abandon his offspring. If there was glory here to claim, by the Great Spirits she was going to claim it.

Her movements were fluid and assured. Another heavy splash rang out as her second implement, a lighter but larger 5' x 2.5' tower shield, landed where once was behind her, but with a simple right-foot step backward became beside her in easy range to be caught by her free hand before it fell. In the same motion her other hand rose to perform the hostile action her opponent was anticipating. Wielding the 30lb hoplon like some bizarre war-disc, she aimed to wide-chop the implement straight into his center of mass. The edge of the shield was not sharpened, but much like with a dull axe he would be a fool to assume it could not still cleave through flesh from the amount of force she put into the swing. If his time in human lands had made him forget the raw strength of his bloodkin he was in for a rude awakening.

She could see it in his stride. That subtle raise in pace, rough tensing of muscles, nodding of deadly intent; all preceding a deliberate counter-attack. Of course, knowing it was coming and stopping it were two entirely different matters. In fact, know it was coming was the only thing that stopped her from losing the match right there. The ancient warrior may have been weak in spirit, but clearly that did not extend to body. To completely dodge around her strike enough that he could still counter-attack even with corrected trajectory... he was far faster than she first calculated. There was no time to plan any fancy defense; she just had to let momentum do what it did best. She did, however, have time for a simple mental command to activate the enchantment on her shield.

Shing~

Onlookers gasped as they saw a spray of water and a bronze shield soaring away from it like it had been launched from a mortar. Within the delicate mist the two fighters squared, but not face-to-face. No, the clever shield maiden had let the momentum of her strike follow through and spun a hard right at the last second, electing to abandon her shield and fall (mostly) to her knees for lack of fancy footwork. She could feel the unfriendly gash score through her hardened leather corset, but her third shield (still mounted to her back) was able to deflect the blade in time to avoid the stabbing of anything too terribly important.

And just like that the first volley was over. Two narrow misses to bring an already excited crowd to the edge of their (metaphorical) seats. But things would not slow down from there. Njora planted her left hand into the water as a brace while she adjusted her footing and gripped her shield's handle firmly with her right, then immediately sprang back up and forward. A few long strides brought her on a path of interception to the snake-warrior's circle and splashing to an impromptu stop seemingly at random. Now closer to the rocky edge than ever, she could feel the cool spray against her face, a refreshing contrast to the heat spreading through from the adrenaline of their first exchange.

Except... her stopping point wasn't random at all, but unless he was paying as much attention to her calculations as she, the sudden loud splash behind him would be a terribly poor warning as far as reaction times went. As soon as her shield hit the ground the boomerang enchantment caught it, sending it bounding hard off the rocks and magically soaring straight to its owner. It just so happened that Mr. Hume's back was positioned perfectly between the two. From there she took a hard step forward, her right arm-borne tower shield (already gripped upside-down) soon finding its heavy way towards the man's chest in a full-length thrust as if it were some impromptu, extremely blunt spear ((held slightly diagonally, but mostly horizontal, with the attack coming from what would normally be the "bottom" of the shield)). The attack was meant to be a combo; hoplon striking first and tower shortly thereafter to account for tricky dodges. The enchanted device didn't have nearly as much power on its return trips, but it was still enough to hurt quite nicely (as her previous encounter with it showed during the last round when she was knocked clean off her feet). Meanwhile her left hand stayed loosely up by her chest in a fencer's stance, ready to either parry a bold thrust from that mean-looking sword or catch her returning shield in the event he evaded it.

A subtle grin danced upon the young warrior's lips as she watched her opponent's eyes twitch in careful calculation. It was clear there was something going on beyond mere battle instinct. He was the type to think and analyze. But if he was not weak in mind either, just what course had he taken to put himself in this predicament? It was absurd. The whole human race was absurd.

The sound of metal on flesh and wood rang out with a resounding clang as another small spray lit the field. She had to reach out to retrieve the shield, set off course by its brief clip against the man's shoulder, but a miss enough that the enchantment could still pull it back on a relatively close path. It splashed to the ground at her side once more as she re-centered her stance and flipped the tower shield back to a more proper position, even taking the time he granted her to slip her arm into the strap (a signal that her improvisation with that particular implement was done... for now).

The second exchange was over, with Njora coming out about as marginally "on top" as the old warrior had during the first. All in all she had to admit things were going much better than she had expected. Playing to their attributes, if she could turn this into a battle of attrition she might be able to claim a reliable victory... but he was clever, and his weapon looked a bit unnatural, which was always a cause for concern. With a few heavy steps she aimed to re-position the field of encounter, placing his back slightly more to the rocky boundary where she could harry him into the corner and take away some of that mobility swordsmen tended to adore.

Her smile faded slightly as his blank expression persisted. What manner of Norn would not enjoy a good battle? Raising the stakes only meant greater thrill in the heart of a true warrior. Though judging by his previous words there was plenty of evidence to suggest he had gone soft.

"What is their true purpose?" she gruffed, the irritation still clearly evident in her low voice.

In the meantime she spun the bronze shield up and deftly caught its handle, securing her grip so that she could step forward to confront him before he had much chance to do any repositioning of his own. If he let her enter his guard unchallenged he would find the large round implement being thrust firmly at him in a powerful back-handed shield bash. Sure, she was curious about his situation, but that didn't mean she was going to stop the fight for it.

((Still talking via PM filler post))