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Samuel Morrison vs. Jeral Astor; Merchant of Death vs. Twentyfists
Topic Started: Jul 20 2010, 10:05 AM (285 Views)
Run4
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Iron Crow
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Round 1 Fight

Samuel Morrison (Merchant of Death)

vs.

Jeral Astor (Twentyfists)
[align=center]Posted Image
HenchmenF
 
"Anyway. Then me and CP were like "Lul, wut?" and then Run had to step in and use his e-peen as a riot baton and then Doffa sorta left."

Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory)
Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align]
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Twentyfists
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Five Fingers of Fury
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Jeral Astor Equipment:

Tribal Maul
Tomahawk
Tribal Shortsword
Bracers and Greaves
Heavy Whip

Points Left Over: 0
Posted Image
Marcus Castor Williams Level 2 Mercenary. Dark skin, close cut hair, long face, constant scowl. Rudimentary Revolver, Baseball, Hatchet x2, Tribal Food Pouch, Holiday Can of Amarillo Cola, Tribal Linens with Tribal Battle Helmet, 1 Large Hide.
Current Condition--Normal.
4 kills.
Nash Rhodes Level 2 Raider Bruiser. Long greasy hair, black beard, tall, broad, muscles. Rusted Mounted Machine Gun, Rock Knuckles (GC), Modified Tattered Leather Jacket.
Current Condition--Just fine.
3 kills
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MerchantofDeath
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Greaser
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
(sorry for being late)

Samuel Morrison equipment:

Helmet
Bracers and Greeves
shield
Tribal Shortsword
Bone Spear
:5 points


"I AM THE LAW!!!!"

John Marks

Nancy Walters
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Twentyfists
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Five Fingers of Fury
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Jeral Astor took a deep breath and examined his equipment in front of him. He preferred to enter battle heavily armed and lightly armored, and that's the way he was going to go for this fight. Bracers and greaves, tomahawk, shortsword, whip, maul, and the traditional pit fighter knife. Jeral cracked his neck and threw a few punches in the air, then began to suit up.

Jeral pulled his greaves and bracers on first. Heavy leather, with shaped scrap metal plates over them. They weighed down his legs and hands a bit, but they were worth it, at least in this fight. The guy was a slugger, apparently. Not a juggernaut, but he was bigger than Jeral. And Jeral didn't want to lose his hands fighting a guy like that.

Once his armor was taken care of, Jeral pulled on the leather straps that he wore to hold his weapons, and he began to pick each one up and sheath it. He shoved his shortsword in its sheath first, admiring the weight and feel of the weapon. It was a fine blade, perfect for pit fights, and a weapon that would make any Red Skull proud.

The tomahawk was next. Jeral held a special place in his heart for that weapon. His very first kill was made with a tomahawk, a heavy stone blade that split open the skull of a frenzied Kurgan. Jeral closed his eyes as he held the weapon. He could still see the sun glaring down on the scene, illuminating the Kurgan's blood and causing it to flare a brilliant silvery-white as it sprayed out around the tomahawk's blade, carrying bits of skull fragment and brain matter with it. This weapon was different, a smoother, smaller iron head with a rear-facing hammer, with two large Howler feathers dangling off it, but it was still a tomahawk, and Jeral could still feel the massive surge of adrenaline from his first kill course through him as he held the tomahawk. He shoved the weapon through its belt loop.

Next came the heavy whip, curled up upon itself many times upon the floor. As Jeral matured as a fighter, especially as one in the pits, he realized the value of a "soft" weapon, like the whip. This kind of weapon, while not the deadliest one in and of itself, could do things other weapons could not. He'd seen the vicious trauma it could inflict on a man, how its lashing pain could bring a man to tears, the way it flayed open skin to the bone. He'd seen it strangle lesser fighters by coiling and tightening around their neck and dragging them to the floor of the pit. But Jeral's preferred use for this weapon was something he'd picked up from another older fighter. The weapon could coil around weapons, arms, or legs. With one firm tug, weapons could be whipped out of the fighters' hands, and they could be pulled off-balance or even to the floor. The weapon could change the outcome of a fight in the blink of an eye. If there was any weapon that Jeral needed, for this fight in particular, the whip was it.

Finally, the maul. This was an interesting choice. Ordinarily, Jeral didn't use a heavy weapon like the maul. The way he'd seen fighters used it stressed brute force and heavy, crushing blows, which was the exact opposite of how Jeral fought. But his more recent fights had shown Jeral a different way how to use the weapon. Smaller fighters, using footwork and a curious way of holding the weapon, could trounce larger fighters readily. Of course, Jeral wasn't going into a fight untested. He'd taken the time to learn how to use the weapon, and he had fought and killed with it before. This maul was a little smaller and a little lighter than the normal weapon, but still large and heavy enough to require the use of two hands. Jeral took a practice swing at one of the dummies in the starting gate. He smiled as the dummy's head smashed open when Jeral brought the weapon down on its head. Someone was kind enough to fill the dummy's head with mutfruit. The pieces and juice of the now-rotting fruit flew everywhere. Jeral chuckled. Someone had a sense of humor.

Jeral took his place at the gate. The fight was just about to start.

Jeral squinted across the field at the man across from him. Samuel Morrison. Jeral had heard about the pit fighter, but never seen him. He couldn't seem to see the man.

The gates squealed as they slowly opened, and the fighters stepped out into the arena, to thunderous applause. Maybe not an applause for Morrison, probably not one for Jeral, most likely an applause for the sheer joy of killing, of death, of combat, and of blood. Simple pleasures, but they'd put the Red Skull tribe where they are today.

Jeral blinked rapidly, his eyes only beginning to adjust to the bright light of the sun shining down into the pit. Then he caught sight of Morrison. Christ, that man was huge. Tall. Not so muscular, perhaps, but massive. The man's arms looked like they were as long as Jeral's entire body. That could be problematic. But Jeral would make sure that Morrison's helmet and armor became problematic for him. The man wore a helmet, probably from the gas tank of an old pre-war motorcycle, but with a scrap metal face grill in front. His bracers and greaves were made much the same way Jeral's were, but so much larger. He carried a spiked shield in one hand and a massive bone spear in the other. Jeral didn't want to know what kind of animal that came from.

The crowd grew silent, waiting for the sound of the gong that would signal the beginning of the fight. For a single instant, the only sound that could be heard was the sound of the wind gently blowing into the bit, stirring the dirt floor. Then the gong sounded, and the entire arena exploded.

Morrison immediately began to stride towards Jeral, his long legs eating up the distance between them. Jeral cleared the walls, making his way into the center of the arena, away from anything that might restrict his movement. As Morrison approached, Jeral could see his face contorted into a grimace of rage and hear the man's low guttural growl.

Then Morrison was upon him. Jeral dodged sideways as the massive fighter thrust forward with his spear, using his heavy maul to keep the man at bay. Morrison thrust again, and again, forcing Jeral to move out of the way and use his weapon to prevent Morrison from continuing. He was trying to tire Jeral out! The bastard probably knew that Jeral's fatigue would become his undoing, and he was trying to use that in his favor. Well Jeral wouldn't have any of that.

As the massive man came in for another thrust, Jeral stepped to the outside and struck, using his front hand to aim and steady the weapon and his rear one to swing. The maul leaped forward in Jeral's hand, speeding towards Morrison's chest. There was a heavy clang as the maul collided with Morrison's shield. Jeral pressed his advantage. He stepped forward and struck again, aimed at Morrison's face. Again the shield jerked up. Jeral didn't even slow. He whipped around and struck on the other side, only to be met with Morrison's shield again. This time, however, Jeral couldn't pull away. The rope that held the maul's head in place had become caught on a spike mounted on Morrison's shield. The pit fight had become a deadly match of tug and war, and Jeral couldn't win. Morrison was too large.

As Samuel tensed, preparing to pull, Jeral loosened his grip. Morrison yanked on his shield, hard, trying to pull Jeral off balance. But when he did, Jeral's maul came with it. Jeral had already let go and backed up. His shortsword was in hand, and he was loosening the whip from around his belt. Morrison could only blink in confusion at where Jeral had been. Of course, he knew that the smaller fighter had dodged, and he was already moving to block, but he was too slow. Jeral closed with him and lashed out with his whip. The heavy cord dragged across Morrison's unarmored chest, and he gasped as it tore a wicked gash into him. Jeral lashed out again, this time striking Morrison on the bicep of his spear hand, raising another gash. Samuel came in, but it looked to Jeral that his thrust was less effective. Jeral dodged around the strike and stabbed forward with his sword, aimed right between Morrison's ribs. Morrison stepped aside and blocked clumsily with his shield, just barely escaping death. Morrison's spear dropped from his hand as he retreated, and the large man drew his shortsword, which looked almost puny compared to his height. It was no less deadly, however.

Samuel began to move in towards Jeral, his shield and sword both raised in a guard. Jeral almost chuckled. Guards were worthless against a whip. Jeral lashed out with his heavy whip, then lashed it up in a wave motion. The whip shot over Morrison's shield and lashed at his shoulder, but Morrison shifted back slightly, and the whip cracked harmlessly in the air. Jeral was already moving in. He came in, sword swinging, hoping to disable Morrison's arms. It was not to be. The larger fighter took a massive jump back and retaliated, swinging his sword in a downward strike. When Jeral dodged to the side, Morrison followed through with a sideslash that Jeral just narrowly avoided. Another slash, but this one connected. Jeral gasped as the tip of Morrison's shortsword nicked Jeral's side ribs. Morrison, seeing an advantage, moved in for the kill. Jeral closed with him, hoping to get inside his reach and strike a decisive blow. Morrison was learning, though. He used jabs with his spiked shield to keep Jeral at bay, while he continued his attack with his sword.

Desperately, Jeral lashed out his whip, which connected with the back of Morrison's leg. The heavy cord tore through his unarmored rear and raised another nasty gash. Morrison momentarily dropped his guard, and Jeral moved in. As he came in for the kill, however, Morrison saw him coming and responded. The massive man planted his front foot and kicked with his rear leg. The strike caught Jeral square in the chest, sending the smaller man to the floor. Morrison moved forward, sensing victory, stabbing downward at Jeral's body. Jeral narrowly dodged, feeling the blade nick his side as Morrison stabbed down. Jeral reached out for something...and came up with a handful of sand. That would do.

As Morrison came for another strike, Jeral lashed out suddenly, throwing a handful of sand into Morrison's face. Morrison coughed and howled as the coarse grains tore into his eyes and mouth, and Jeral dodged away as he did so. Both fighters came to their feet, Jeral into a guard, and Morrison with his hands to his face, trying to clear the sand from his helmet. As he did so, Jeral came in towards him. Morrison backed up, trying to get away from his opponent so that he could see. Jeral was tiring. He would not let Morrison see. As Morrison cleared his face, Jeral hurled his whip at Morrison. It coiled around Morrison's neck, disorientating him for just enough time so that Jeral could draw his tomahawk. Suddenly, the fight was over. With one swift movement, Jeral whipped around, striking with both of his weapons in tandem. The butt hammer of Jeral's tomahawk struck first, cracking into Morrison's helmet. Jeral drew his sword across Morrison's chest next, cutting deep into the tall man's ribs. Just to be safe, and to draw some applause, Jeral whipped around again, burying his hawk into Morrison's chest and stabbing his sword deep into Samuel's stomach.

Jeral stepped back, watching Morrison. The giant groaned slightly, then rocked on his feet before crashing to the floor. The arena erupted into cheers. Morrison had been slain, and Jeral was the winner. His limbs felt like iron, his heart was pounding in his chest, he was bleeding and bruised, but Jeral would live to fight one more day.
Posted Image
Marcus Castor Williams Level 2 Mercenary. Dark skin, close cut hair, long face, constant scowl. Rudimentary Revolver, Baseball, Hatchet x2, Tribal Food Pouch, Holiday Can of Amarillo Cola, Tribal Linens with Tribal Battle Helmet, 1 Large Hide.
Current Condition--Normal.
4 kills.
Nash Rhodes Level 2 Raider Bruiser. Long greasy hair, black beard, tall, broad, muscles. Rusted Mounted Machine Gun, Rock Knuckles (GC), Modified Tattered Leather Jacket.
Current Condition--Just fine.
3 kills
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MerchantofDeath
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Greaser
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
[Wait, TIMEOUT!!. I thought this was going to be turned base?]

"I AM THE LAW!!!!"

John Marks

Nancy Walters
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Cewebwalz
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Henshin a go-go baby
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
[Read the descriptions more clearly next time Merc. You post your fight, they post their fight. Then a mod grades the fight. It was in no way turn based, you where supposed to post the fight in it's entirety. Run4, Munk, and everyone else did it the same way as I described. BTW, fights close at midnight. Better post quick.]
Jesse Winters - Penitentiary Pugilist
8(+2).5.7.5.5.8.4, Level: 4 -HC-

Grace Van Vliet - Indie Incinerator
5.7.7.5.5.4.7, Level: 3 -HC-
Quote:
 
Lmgthev:� Like tbh I agree CP is not the golden boy at all
Lmgthev:� You're like John Candy from Cool Runnings
Lmgthev:� Washed up has been who teaches the newcomers the trade� :D

full-sized avatar

"What is Adderal, anyhow?" - Funky Fan
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Run4
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Iron Crow
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Winner: Twentyfists



Win by default, but great writing nonetheless. Good flow and great attention to detail. I liked how you went into how Jeral planned to use each weapon as you listed out your equipment, and I liked how Jeral wasn't above fighting dirty with the sand throw.

And I loved the Kurgan name-drop :P
[align=center]Posted Image
HenchmenF
 
"Anyway. Then me and CP were like "Lul, wut?" and then Run had to step in and use his e-peen as a riot baton and then Doffa sorta left."

Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory)
Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align]
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