05-19-2015, 07:49 PM
Two days had passed since the death of the dragon, and the acquirement of that great rock of cobalt ore. A full eight days, a full week since he had first set out on this task after rescuing those dwarves from the grasp of the trolls. Eight days, and at last, he was in Dwarfholm! It was a place that had a rugged, fine beauty all its own. It was a massive subterranean fortress, a great stronghold carved out of multiple mountains, that had been expanded, altered, and shaped in a beautiful way. Safe works and beautiful but sturdy craftsmanship characterized the whole of the place. The dwarves here, they were also relaxed, happy, and truly the Chosen Undead felt lucky to have even been allowed in this city, even if he did not yet have permission to the great palatial Mithril Hall, where King Bruenor himself lived and gave audience to his peoples. However, that would be fixed shortly.
Eight long days of travel for this, and it felt well worth the reward. His description had been passed to the gate guards after he had signed up for the quest. So when he had emerged from the blizzards, wandered in with his armor set back straight, they had questioned him, made him remove his helmet for sure..but ultimately let the Chosen Undead in. Some had seemed very suspicious of his title, but the fact was, what an undead was in whatever universe they had been from was likely not the same as an Undead from Lordran or Astora. He had been brought back just past the gates, to a small guard post, where those just off duty or about to go on relaxed, drank or gambled. The officer in charge had met with him, and the Chosen had handed over all the items he had acquired. The tusk of a troll slain in a hard won battle, a great rolled up wampa hide, dried and scraped and ready to be used for clothing or rugs, and then a great chunk of cobalt, bigger than the Chosen's own head! All items had proven sufficient, and thus a guard had been sent with Chosen, to lead him to dwarfholm to the place where he would meet his final challenge...a duel with a dwarven champion.
As he was led through the straight, narrow streets, the city arranged like a grid, buildings of great stone on all sides. He could not help but wonder how this duel would go. He rather doubted that it was going to be like the duels back in Lordran, of summoning up someone from a completely different version of Lordran through a red sign placed upon the ground. Odds were, his opponent would be waiting without a summoning and, would it be to the death or not? Well if it was another Prime it might well be...if not, then the dwarves might not take kindly to their champion dying. Hopefully he would get an explanation upon arrival at wherever they would be fighting, but for now, the armored undead simply followed, getting some looks from the dwarves wandering the streets, going about business or leisure. It was good that he had been to that smaller village earlier, or the presence of so many people who weren't hostile in the slightest might have left the Chosen awestruck after his months long journey through the lethal landscapes of the ancient lords. Then, his escort stopped, in front of a large building, built roughly circular and very close to Mithril Hall itself. "Welcome to tha battle hall, whar warriors of Dwarfholm and dwarfkind, an' honored guests like yerself, frequently fight an' spar for entertainment, glory an' fun!" The burly dwarf spoke up as way of explanation. Then he strode forward, nodding to the guards at the two double doors, tall enough for the Chosen to walk through in fact, and carved from good, solid granite! "Word's been sent ahead of us Chosen, so I'll hand ya over to the fine folks here. Good luck in yer battle, an' may Moridin shine on yer hammer." It had the feeling of a religious phrase, much like Praise the Sun, and Chosen nodded back.
"Thank you for your guidance, and may the Sun ever guide your way." He replied in kind as the two guards hauled the doors open. On the other side was another dwarf, with a beard separated into two braids going down his chest and broad belly. He gestured the knight forward, and thus he did, walking up the steps and through the open doors.
"Welcome traveler, ye may call me Thorin, how are ye likin' Dwarfholm?" He asked, turning to walk along a stone corridor, torches providing a bright, warm light to it, showcasing tapestries and great examples of dwarven weapons hanging upon the walls.
"It's beautiful, there was never anything like this in my own world, at least not that I ever saw." He replies, his sword hand clenching, in anticipation of what was to come.
"Hoho, yer world sounds dreary then if it don' have no great works of dwarfkind. Ah well, ye haven' even seen the best of it. In Mithril Hall is where some of the true beauty and works lie, an' iffen ye can defeat Reunoc Lightningforge, ye'll even have a proper item of dwarvish make of yer own."
"Ah, yes about that." The chosen spoke up quickly. "In...my own world duels were...generally quite lethal, I take it that's not the case here?"
"Hahaha, a dreary and dangerous world then. No, this isn' to tha death. This is a spar, if ye knock out yer opponent, or they give up, that makes ye the victor. However, if they knock yerself out, or you surrender, that's yer own loss." The dwarf says, chuckling.
The knight just nods, and then they stop, the dwarf turning towards him. "Now, do ye want some time to rest? I heard ye've only just arrived after all."
"No, thank you. Rest is...not something that does much for me, and I was able to recuperate from my last encounter on the journey here."
The dwarf nodded, not too put out. Primes could be strange, and well this armored swordsman was described as an undead. "Alright then, this here is a kind o' waiting room. It's connected right to the arena through that door. Iffen ya like, you can jes' wait here and prepare yerself for yer duel." He said, opening up a door for the Chosen to head through, it led into a decently sized room, there was a bench, a table, simple really.
"Ah thank you, I would like that actually. There will be plenty of time to explore your wonderful city afterwards right?" The Chosen says stepping through.
"Heh, fair enough. Well, don' worry we'll let ya know when it's time ta start, fer now relax and prepare Chosen, an' good luck to ya!"
With that, Thorin left the Chosen to his own devices, which was basically sitting on the bench. His Sunlight Straight Sword was drawn, and laid across his metal clad knees, laid simply as he simply let the minutes tick on by. A good solid hour was more than enough time for him to rest and recover, and he could only grow more eager about the duel. Ruenoc Lightningforge, the name of the dwarf he would be fighting. What weapons would he use, how difficult would he be? Just how would the duel go? In the end, he could only wait to find out, and he was resolved to win this, and well he had a great track record for accomplishing the things he set his mind to. Eventually the hour passed, and his door opened again, and there was Thorin. “Alright Chosen, ye ready fer yer duel?”
The knight looked up at the dwarf, and then nodded, standing up, “I’m ready.” He says, his blade hanging from his right hand, picking up his shield in his left.
“Excellent, then, jes’ right through here.” He walks across the room and to the door on the opposite side, unlocking it and opening it. “The arena’s right through here, an’ good luck to yeh!”
The Chosen Undead simply nodded before striding through the door, ducking slightly, to find himself in a wide, circular stone arena. The walls were about five feet taller than his head, and the footing was good and stable, and up on the walls on stone benches, several dozen dwarves had gathered to watch the fight. Not a large crowd, not as much as it could fit, but a great amount for certain! On the other side of the arena, which was maybe...twenty five meters across? He wasn’t so good at eyeballing distances, but it seemed like an okay guess, another door had opened. Through it strode a dwarf, maybe just below Chosen’s chest, who was covered head to toe in heavy metal armour. Helmet, greaves, gauntlets, breastplate, he looked more metal than flesh! He also had a massive axe in his hands, double sided, with a thick haft that his fingers were wrapped around. Thorin himself reappeared in a booth to the left, higher up than the other dwarves, and announced in a great booming voice, the contestants. “Welcome dwarves of Dwarfholm! Today we our here to observe a battle for entrance into Mithril Hall. The challenger, The Chosen Undead! Defending, and forcing him to prove his worth and will, Ruenoc Lightningforge! May both fight well!”
Then, Thorin sounded a great gong, and Ruenoc began striding forward, covering the ground with a surprising speed as he moved towards the swordsman. The Chosen Undead began moving as well, his shield coming up as he started moving forward, but to the left, circling around as he so often did when fighting the other Undead in Lordran. Ruenoc though just kept up his forward advance, adjusting to ensure he was still coming straight on for the Astoran Knight. His axe came around as he finally got close enough, sweeping low to go towards the warrior’s feet, well below the protective range of his shield. Fortunately, that great axe was a heavier weapon, and gave the Chosen Undead time to leap back, narrowly avoiding the sweep, and then stepping forward again, one knee going low as his straight sword went back, and then came around. Normally one would thrust with such a weapon...but well a successful thrust here might do more harm than it was supposed to in a match like this! Thus it came around, and slammed into the helmet of the dwarf, hitting it with an audible clang, and rocking the dwarf...slightly. Unfortunately it also left the Chosen Undead exposed as the axe came around and hit him from, fortunately his left side. The shield absorbed some of the blow, but the force of it still sent him sprawling onto the ground! He rolled right quickly, narrowly missing an armored boot that would have landed on his back, and sprang to his feet, shield coming up, the knight on one knee.
This proved to be wise as the axe slammed into his shield with a great clang, the force of it nearly sent him flying back, and he could feel his arm bruising behind the grooved metal device. Yet, he had learned something important as he got to his feet and sprang back, avoiding a repeated slam from the axe. Ruenoc Lightningforge was very strong, very sturdy...but he didn’t have the Chosen’s speed, and possibly not his skill either. He would need to use those to his advantage, and avoid repeating the heavy blow he had opened with. So he once again began circling again, while the dwarf watched, hands flexing around the haft of that great axe he wielded. The problem here was the Chosen’s weapon, he wasn’t sure he could trust himself not to seriously hurt Ruenoc if he actually went all out. His hand flexed on the hilt of his straight sword as he thought this over, he could keep going for quick swipes along the sides of the body...or, he could sheathe his sword. That was an idea, and he did so, sliding it into his sheathe, and leaving him with shield and fist? It took Ruenoc by surprise that was for certain, but the Chosen was confident in his decision. If what he had learned of the Omniverse was true, his fist strikes would not be nearly as weak as they had been in Lordran, but still faster than the straightsword, and safer.
Then, the Chosen rushed forward again, moving towards the dwarf once more, only instead of a punch, as the dwarf lifted his axe, the Chosen’s knee came up. It slammed up into the helmet, the heavy blow had most of the Chosen’s weight behind it, and made him stagger backwards, almost losing his balance. It did though, give the Chosen an opportunity to leap behind him, spin on one heel, and while Ruenoc was just trying to go around, go for the Backstab. The term was sort of a misnomer here, a move in Lordran that simply referred to getting an attack on one from behind, but its effects in the Omniverse were much the same. A critical blow due to how hard it usually was to land, but in this case, the Chosen lucked out. His fist slammed into the back of the Dwarf, shoving and nearly toppling him. Ruenoc took a step forward, trying to keep from toppling, and then the Chosen jumped, and brought his steel covered fist down on the back of his helmet! It floored Ruenoc, sending him sprawling, a terrible scraping ringing out as he slid a few inches on the floor. That was the thing back in Lordran, the heavier and slower you were, the easier you were to parry, to backstab, but the more painful you were if your opponents missed those opportunities. Of course, the fact that it could take four to five backstabs or parries against such tough opponents was...something he was well aware of. However he did not have to kill Ruenoc, merely make him give up.
Thus, he did not wait for Reunoc to stand up, but rather reached down to grab him by his helmet and hoist him back up, just so that the edge of his shield could slam into his face, and send him staggering backwards again. Then he stepped back, shield coming up patiently as Reunoc shook his head and recovered, bringing his axe up to try and cleave right through that shield! After all, no shield was indestructible, and he had a great deal of strength on his side. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a matter of strength, but of skill. The axe came down, it made brief contact with the shield, before the Chosen shifted his arm to the side, pushing hard...and making it swing outwards! Ruenoc was left wide open as his body rocked to the side unexpectedly, before the Chosen came in again, and smashed his fist into the dwarf’s perfectly positioned face! Once again the dwarf stumbled back, just for the Chosen to leap forward and slam that heavy metal fist into the helmeted dwarf’s head and slam him back down onto the ground! Then, the Chosen got up onto him, resting a knee on the dwarf’s chest and slamming his fist into his helmet again, and again, and again! Repeated heavy clangs and thumps rang out as he pounded at the dwarf...but even that was not quite enough. Ruenoc threw Chosen off, managing to get his arms up and heaving, the act throwing the knight onto his back with a heavy crash of metal. He rolled to his feet and backed off, watching as Ruenoc got up himself, bringing his axe up and to the ready.
It was clear to see that while the Chosen Undead had gotten several hard, solid hits in, Ruenoc was tough enough to take it, at least for now. The battle resumed again as Reunoc began advancing, at a slower, more steady pace, his axe raised a bit higher. He was watching, waiting for the Chosen Undead to try something, and playing more defensive..not the most ideal situation for the Chosen. Ruenoc would be watching for parries, might even try faking him out, and would be more watchful and ready for attempted backstabs. The two circled around each other, both more wary now, waiting for the slightest opening, the slightest give. Eventually, after half a minute, the Chosen made a risk. He rushed forward, dashing towards the dwarf, who stepped back. Rather than attack, Ruenoc was going to defend, which was the Chosen’s hope, that he would not attack someone charging for fear of another parry and riposte! Instead, the Chosen’s free right hand moved forward...and grabbed the haft of the axe, going for the gap between Ruenoc’s hands. He gave a hard, terrible heave, and Ruenoc was unbalanced. He was not prepared for that action, and he stumbled forwards again, and the Chosen stepped forward and spun around once again.
Once more his fist smashed into the dwarf’s helmet as the first unbalancing blow before the more brutal blow of the backstab...but the second blow did not come. Instead he brought both hands around and ripped the helmet off, exposing Ruenoc’s bright yellow hair, matted from the helmet! He tossed it away, and then slammed his fist into the dwarf’s head as hard as he could! Ruenoc staggered from it, nearly falling over, but the Chosen had wasted the Backstab opportunity. It did not have the damage of one of those critical blows. Still he now had a weak spot to capitalize on and boy did he, with Ruenoc staggered he hit him again, and again...and the dwarf backed up, throwing up a hand. “Uncle! Uncle! yeh got me, haha...urgh…” The Chosen stopped as he heard those words, the dwarf had...submitted right? Yes he clearly had, and thorin clarified.
“There it is! Ruenoc submits, and the Chosen Undead has won!”
Now...this was a feeling of satisfaction, the feeling of a task accomplished, of a goal met. The Chosen had completed all four tasks. It was time for his reward, which would hopefully lead to more duties. These dwarves were fine and honorable folk...speaking of which. He walked over, picking up Ruenoc’s fallen helmet, before handing it to the dwarf. “Thank you for the match Lightningforge, it was a most entertaining bout.”
“Ah? Heh...hahahaha. Well thank ye.” He said, taking the helmet back. “It sure was, even if I do feel like I spent tha night soakin’ in a mead barrel. Now, we can’ talk later, yeh should go claim yer rewards. We’ll meet after fer a drink. Anyone who can fight tha’ well deserves one!”
“Ah, I look forward to it. I’ve sampled your ale and it was very refreshing. Until then Lightningforge.” The Chosen said cheerfully. Yes, these people were definitely the type that anyone would be proud to count as a friend!
Eight long days of travel for this, and it felt well worth the reward. His description had been passed to the gate guards after he had signed up for the quest. So when he had emerged from the blizzards, wandered in with his armor set back straight, they had questioned him, made him remove his helmet for sure..but ultimately let the Chosen Undead in. Some had seemed very suspicious of his title, but the fact was, what an undead was in whatever universe they had been from was likely not the same as an Undead from Lordran or Astora. He had been brought back just past the gates, to a small guard post, where those just off duty or about to go on relaxed, drank or gambled. The officer in charge had met with him, and the Chosen had handed over all the items he had acquired. The tusk of a troll slain in a hard won battle, a great rolled up wampa hide, dried and scraped and ready to be used for clothing or rugs, and then a great chunk of cobalt, bigger than the Chosen's own head! All items had proven sufficient, and thus a guard had been sent with Chosen, to lead him to dwarfholm to the place where he would meet his final challenge...a duel with a dwarven champion.
As he was led through the straight, narrow streets, the city arranged like a grid, buildings of great stone on all sides. He could not help but wonder how this duel would go. He rather doubted that it was going to be like the duels back in Lordran, of summoning up someone from a completely different version of Lordran through a red sign placed upon the ground. Odds were, his opponent would be waiting without a summoning and, would it be to the death or not? Well if it was another Prime it might well be...if not, then the dwarves might not take kindly to their champion dying. Hopefully he would get an explanation upon arrival at wherever they would be fighting, but for now, the armored undead simply followed, getting some looks from the dwarves wandering the streets, going about business or leisure. It was good that he had been to that smaller village earlier, or the presence of so many people who weren't hostile in the slightest might have left the Chosen awestruck after his months long journey through the lethal landscapes of the ancient lords. Then, his escort stopped, in front of a large building, built roughly circular and very close to Mithril Hall itself. "Welcome to tha battle hall, whar warriors of Dwarfholm and dwarfkind, an' honored guests like yerself, frequently fight an' spar for entertainment, glory an' fun!" The burly dwarf spoke up as way of explanation. Then he strode forward, nodding to the guards at the two double doors, tall enough for the Chosen to walk through in fact, and carved from good, solid granite! "Word's been sent ahead of us Chosen, so I'll hand ya over to the fine folks here. Good luck in yer battle, an' may Moridin shine on yer hammer." It had the feeling of a religious phrase, much like Praise the Sun, and Chosen nodded back.
"Thank you for your guidance, and may the Sun ever guide your way." He replied in kind as the two guards hauled the doors open. On the other side was another dwarf, with a beard separated into two braids going down his chest and broad belly. He gestured the knight forward, and thus he did, walking up the steps and through the open doors.
"Welcome traveler, ye may call me Thorin, how are ye likin' Dwarfholm?" He asked, turning to walk along a stone corridor, torches providing a bright, warm light to it, showcasing tapestries and great examples of dwarven weapons hanging upon the walls.
"It's beautiful, there was never anything like this in my own world, at least not that I ever saw." He replies, his sword hand clenching, in anticipation of what was to come.
"Hoho, yer world sounds dreary then if it don' have no great works of dwarfkind. Ah well, ye haven' even seen the best of it. In Mithril Hall is where some of the true beauty and works lie, an' iffen ye can defeat Reunoc Lightningforge, ye'll even have a proper item of dwarvish make of yer own."
"Ah, yes about that." The chosen spoke up quickly. "In...my own world duels were...generally quite lethal, I take it that's not the case here?"
"Hahaha, a dreary and dangerous world then. No, this isn' to tha death. This is a spar, if ye knock out yer opponent, or they give up, that makes ye the victor. However, if they knock yerself out, or you surrender, that's yer own loss." The dwarf says, chuckling.
The knight just nods, and then they stop, the dwarf turning towards him. "Now, do ye want some time to rest? I heard ye've only just arrived after all."
"No, thank you. Rest is...not something that does much for me, and I was able to recuperate from my last encounter on the journey here."
The dwarf nodded, not too put out. Primes could be strange, and well this armored swordsman was described as an undead. "Alright then, this here is a kind o' waiting room. It's connected right to the arena through that door. Iffen ya like, you can jes' wait here and prepare yerself for yer duel." He said, opening up a door for the Chosen to head through, it led into a decently sized room, there was a bench, a table, simple really.
"Ah thank you, I would like that actually. There will be plenty of time to explore your wonderful city afterwards right?" The Chosen says stepping through.
"Heh, fair enough. Well, don' worry we'll let ya know when it's time ta start, fer now relax and prepare Chosen, an' good luck to ya!"
With that, Thorin left the Chosen to his own devices, which was basically sitting on the bench. His Sunlight Straight Sword was drawn, and laid across his metal clad knees, laid simply as he simply let the minutes tick on by. A good solid hour was more than enough time for him to rest and recover, and he could only grow more eager about the duel. Ruenoc Lightningforge, the name of the dwarf he would be fighting. What weapons would he use, how difficult would he be? Just how would the duel go? In the end, he could only wait to find out, and he was resolved to win this, and well he had a great track record for accomplishing the things he set his mind to. Eventually the hour passed, and his door opened again, and there was Thorin. “Alright Chosen, ye ready fer yer duel?”
The knight looked up at the dwarf, and then nodded, standing up, “I’m ready.” He says, his blade hanging from his right hand, picking up his shield in his left.
“Excellent, then, jes’ right through here.” He walks across the room and to the door on the opposite side, unlocking it and opening it. “The arena’s right through here, an’ good luck to yeh!”
The Chosen Undead simply nodded before striding through the door, ducking slightly, to find himself in a wide, circular stone arena. The walls were about five feet taller than his head, and the footing was good and stable, and up on the walls on stone benches, several dozen dwarves had gathered to watch the fight. Not a large crowd, not as much as it could fit, but a great amount for certain! On the other side of the arena, which was maybe...twenty five meters across? He wasn’t so good at eyeballing distances, but it seemed like an okay guess, another door had opened. Through it strode a dwarf, maybe just below Chosen’s chest, who was covered head to toe in heavy metal armour. Helmet, greaves, gauntlets, breastplate, he looked more metal than flesh! He also had a massive axe in his hands, double sided, with a thick haft that his fingers were wrapped around. Thorin himself reappeared in a booth to the left, higher up than the other dwarves, and announced in a great booming voice, the contestants. “Welcome dwarves of Dwarfholm! Today we our here to observe a battle for entrance into Mithril Hall. The challenger, The Chosen Undead! Defending, and forcing him to prove his worth and will, Ruenoc Lightningforge! May both fight well!”
Then, Thorin sounded a great gong, and Ruenoc began striding forward, covering the ground with a surprising speed as he moved towards the swordsman. The Chosen Undead began moving as well, his shield coming up as he started moving forward, but to the left, circling around as he so often did when fighting the other Undead in Lordran. Ruenoc though just kept up his forward advance, adjusting to ensure he was still coming straight on for the Astoran Knight. His axe came around as he finally got close enough, sweeping low to go towards the warrior’s feet, well below the protective range of his shield. Fortunately, that great axe was a heavier weapon, and gave the Chosen Undead time to leap back, narrowly avoiding the sweep, and then stepping forward again, one knee going low as his straight sword went back, and then came around. Normally one would thrust with such a weapon...but well a successful thrust here might do more harm than it was supposed to in a match like this! Thus it came around, and slammed into the helmet of the dwarf, hitting it with an audible clang, and rocking the dwarf...slightly. Unfortunately it also left the Chosen Undead exposed as the axe came around and hit him from, fortunately his left side. The shield absorbed some of the blow, but the force of it still sent him sprawling onto the ground! He rolled right quickly, narrowly missing an armored boot that would have landed on his back, and sprang to his feet, shield coming up, the knight on one knee.
This proved to be wise as the axe slammed into his shield with a great clang, the force of it nearly sent him flying back, and he could feel his arm bruising behind the grooved metal device. Yet, he had learned something important as he got to his feet and sprang back, avoiding a repeated slam from the axe. Ruenoc Lightningforge was very strong, very sturdy...but he didn’t have the Chosen’s speed, and possibly not his skill either. He would need to use those to his advantage, and avoid repeating the heavy blow he had opened with. So he once again began circling again, while the dwarf watched, hands flexing around the haft of that great axe he wielded. The problem here was the Chosen’s weapon, he wasn’t sure he could trust himself not to seriously hurt Ruenoc if he actually went all out. His hand flexed on the hilt of his straight sword as he thought this over, he could keep going for quick swipes along the sides of the body...or, he could sheathe his sword. That was an idea, and he did so, sliding it into his sheathe, and leaving him with shield and fist? It took Ruenoc by surprise that was for certain, but the Chosen was confident in his decision. If what he had learned of the Omniverse was true, his fist strikes would not be nearly as weak as they had been in Lordran, but still faster than the straightsword, and safer.
Then, the Chosen rushed forward again, moving towards the dwarf once more, only instead of a punch, as the dwarf lifted his axe, the Chosen’s knee came up. It slammed up into the helmet, the heavy blow had most of the Chosen’s weight behind it, and made him stagger backwards, almost losing his balance. It did though, give the Chosen an opportunity to leap behind him, spin on one heel, and while Ruenoc was just trying to go around, go for the Backstab. The term was sort of a misnomer here, a move in Lordran that simply referred to getting an attack on one from behind, but its effects in the Omniverse were much the same. A critical blow due to how hard it usually was to land, but in this case, the Chosen lucked out. His fist slammed into the back of the Dwarf, shoving and nearly toppling him. Ruenoc took a step forward, trying to keep from toppling, and then the Chosen jumped, and brought his steel covered fist down on the back of his helmet! It floored Ruenoc, sending him sprawling, a terrible scraping ringing out as he slid a few inches on the floor. That was the thing back in Lordran, the heavier and slower you were, the easier you were to parry, to backstab, but the more painful you were if your opponents missed those opportunities. Of course, the fact that it could take four to five backstabs or parries against such tough opponents was...something he was well aware of. However he did not have to kill Ruenoc, merely make him give up.
Thus, he did not wait for Reunoc to stand up, but rather reached down to grab him by his helmet and hoist him back up, just so that the edge of his shield could slam into his face, and send him staggering backwards again. Then he stepped back, shield coming up patiently as Reunoc shook his head and recovered, bringing his axe up to try and cleave right through that shield! After all, no shield was indestructible, and he had a great deal of strength on his side. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a matter of strength, but of skill. The axe came down, it made brief contact with the shield, before the Chosen shifted his arm to the side, pushing hard...and making it swing outwards! Ruenoc was left wide open as his body rocked to the side unexpectedly, before the Chosen came in again, and smashed his fist into the dwarf’s perfectly positioned face! Once again the dwarf stumbled back, just for the Chosen to leap forward and slam that heavy metal fist into the helmeted dwarf’s head and slam him back down onto the ground! Then, the Chosen got up onto him, resting a knee on the dwarf’s chest and slamming his fist into his helmet again, and again, and again! Repeated heavy clangs and thumps rang out as he pounded at the dwarf...but even that was not quite enough. Ruenoc threw Chosen off, managing to get his arms up and heaving, the act throwing the knight onto his back with a heavy crash of metal. He rolled to his feet and backed off, watching as Ruenoc got up himself, bringing his axe up and to the ready.
It was clear to see that while the Chosen Undead had gotten several hard, solid hits in, Ruenoc was tough enough to take it, at least for now. The battle resumed again as Reunoc began advancing, at a slower, more steady pace, his axe raised a bit higher. He was watching, waiting for the Chosen Undead to try something, and playing more defensive..not the most ideal situation for the Chosen. Ruenoc would be watching for parries, might even try faking him out, and would be more watchful and ready for attempted backstabs. The two circled around each other, both more wary now, waiting for the slightest opening, the slightest give. Eventually, after half a minute, the Chosen made a risk. He rushed forward, dashing towards the dwarf, who stepped back. Rather than attack, Ruenoc was going to defend, which was the Chosen’s hope, that he would not attack someone charging for fear of another parry and riposte! Instead, the Chosen’s free right hand moved forward...and grabbed the haft of the axe, going for the gap between Ruenoc’s hands. He gave a hard, terrible heave, and Ruenoc was unbalanced. He was not prepared for that action, and he stumbled forwards again, and the Chosen stepped forward and spun around once again.
Once more his fist smashed into the dwarf’s helmet as the first unbalancing blow before the more brutal blow of the backstab...but the second blow did not come. Instead he brought both hands around and ripped the helmet off, exposing Ruenoc’s bright yellow hair, matted from the helmet! He tossed it away, and then slammed his fist into the dwarf’s head as hard as he could! Ruenoc staggered from it, nearly falling over, but the Chosen had wasted the Backstab opportunity. It did not have the damage of one of those critical blows. Still he now had a weak spot to capitalize on and boy did he, with Ruenoc staggered he hit him again, and again...and the dwarf backed up, throwing up a hand. “Uncle! Uncle! yeh got me, haha...urgh…” The Chosen stopped as he heard those words, the dwarf had...submitted right? Yes he clearly had, and thorin clarified.
“There it is! Ruenoc submits, and the Chosen Undead has won!”
Now...this was a feeling of satisfaction, the feeling of a task accomplished, of a goal met. The Chosen had completed all four tasks. It was time for his reward, which would hopefully lead to more duties. These dwarves were fine and honorable folk...speaking of which. He walked over, picking up Ruenoc’s fallen helmet, before handing it to the dwarf. “Thank you for the match Lightningforge, it was a most entertaining bout.”
“Ah? Heh...hahahaha. Well thank ye.” He said, taking the helmet back. “It sure was, even if I do feel like I spent tha night soakin’ in a mead barrel. Now, we can’ talk later, yeh should go claim yer rewards. We’ll meet after fer a drink. Anyone who can fight tha’ well deserves one!”
“Ah, I look forward to it. I’ve sampled your ale and it was very refreshing. Until then Lightningforge.” The Chosen said cheerfully. Yes, these people were definitely the type that anyone would be proud to count as a friend!