Dueling Roulette (Round 2) jetthebinturong(Makintab) vs. Osu(Buckley)

[BrookSkimmer]

You may begin your duel here whenever you are ready! Before you start make sure you have read the rules for dueling here and the rules and basics for the roulette here.

You will have until Dec 31st to complete this duel.

[Osu]

Far beyond the territory of Salamandastron, farther even than the final sprawling reaches of Mossflower, there lay a portion of forest as ancient and wild as the sea.

There was a different sort of life there, not in the hustle and bustle of insects and animals living their lives, but of life itself, thrumming silently from beneath the dark soil to the stillness of the strange leaves. Although the sun had rolled silently under the western side of that wild forest, the sky remained sanguine-red in the west, reaching bleeding fingers slowly across the cavern of the sky into the dark indigo, then blackness, of night. The moon hovered throughout the birth of twilight. It watched those wild trees, somehow caustic in the way it spilled its sharp light over the Old Wood and rose to take its preordained place as the eternal master of night.

In the center of that barbarian wood was a clearing, created partially by crumbling hills that had once been low mountains, and partially by the hands of living creatures -- some ancient civilization of yore that had mastered the wild earth there, now lost to it, their names and history forfeit in the endless shift of time. Although the clearing was no longer completely clear of plant life and general overgrowth, there remained tell-tale signs that it had once been rounded, a perfect circle. From one edge to another it would have been over a half-day's walk to cross the circle. There were stones, broken, what must have been bricks at one point in time, scattered throughout the clearing; once, that rubble had conquered the clearing. Now, as the forest reclaimed itself, vines and shrubbery rose from the earth and wound themselves around the shattered rocks in a stranglehold. The only place the stones had not been completely overrun was at the direct center of the clearing.

In the center of the clearing was the tower.

It rose, a mighty obelisk made of night-black stone, overlooking the Old Wood with regal indifference. It was once flawless, the walls smooth, the countless windows narrow and tall, the four mighty spires at the top tapering to wicked, pointed tips that might have raked the clouds from the sky. Now it was little more than a shadow of what it once was, a crumbling building that was finally, as all things, succumbing to the relentless turn of ages. Nevertheless the tower was magnificent, possibly an old military fortress. There was only one entrance, at the base of the tower: twin doors as tall as the first floor, situated at the top of a short, but lengthy, flight of stairs. The tower's innards were not as much of a mystery as they once were, for the walls had crumbled or fallen away in some places, mostly near the bottom. Looking at it from the edge of the clearing, one could discern multiple floors of varying depths, stairways, and countless rooms. Though it was hard to see from the forest floor, the top of the obelisk was not pointed, but perfectly flat, left open on the four sides where four pointed spires bordered the roof-space, rising higher than even a squirrel might dare to climb.

It is hard to see much in the shifting shadows of twilight. A skilled animal might look for outlines, shapes of out-of-place movement against the waning light. There was one such movement flitting from tree to tree, skillfully keeping itself to the shadows, only becoming apparent as it left the shelter of the wood. When the shape ventured into the clearing it became apparent it was a hare, tall, a natural scout by first glance. He walked with a straightforward, yet jaunty gait, ears up and whiskers waxed in the manner of many officer hares.

Captain Buckley Midland-Woodscut of the Long Patrol paused when he was about halfway through the clearing, surveying his surroundings in what was left of the light. He had been sent searching for this place, and who was -- hopefully... most likely -- in it, almost a full season back; it had been a quiet mission, assassination not being in the Patrol's usual repertoire of military strategies. This was a special case, though. A very special case. Although he was not by nature a homebody, Buckley felt for a moment an overwhelming sense of homesickness as he surveyed the wild trees around him -- and how relieved he was to be out of them! -- and the approaching tower ahead. The feeling passed, and the hare pressed on.

Being rarely given to surprise, it is notable that Buckley had been near-speechless when Urthfang, Lord of Salamandastron, and General Clarriscut, the highest-ranked hare on the Mountain, called Buckley to the forge-room for a private conversation, a conversation that had concluded with the details of this assignment: find the enemy, and kill him. Buckley, like most hares, preferred open, honest warfare. It was a strange assignment, but it was a strange situation. It had to be done. It was best this way -- there would be no unneeded loss of life. And Buckley had no intention of stabbing the beast in the back; Buckley was one of the best swordsbeasts to come out of Salamandastron, and was confident he could defeat his enemy in any form of fight, fair or foul.

Presently, the young hare found himself at the foot of the stairs of the tower. The first few steps had fallen and crumbled away in places, and Buckley found himself having to scout out a safe path up the stairway that would not end in his falling to the rubble-strewn earth. It was slow going even with a plan. One of the great doors had tipped open, falling partially inward, leaving no clue as to what lurked in the darkness within, and the openness made Buckley tense. When he was halfway up the stairs he froze suddenly. Crouching in the gloom, Buckley strained his eyes and ears toward the great doors, slowly drawing his sabre out of his sword belt. Had something moved ahead?

[Jetthebinturong]

OOC: Your first post makes me want to turn this into a fic with this duel as the first chapter in fact, with your permission, I'll do just that

Makintab Lustrosa mounted the steps to the first floor of the tower. Makintab was what you might call a mercenary or a bounty hunter, Makintab preferred not to use the term assassin but an assassin he was. He was hunting a dangerous warlord, who's army had been defeated not two days ago. The warlord had fled from the battlefield and Makintab had been hired to find him and kill him.

Makintab was large for a cat, even a Maine coon, he was tall and well-muscled with dark, silky fur the colour of chocolate. He wore a dark red tunic, shoulder plates of burnished silver and a thick brown belt fastened around the waist of his tunic.

Makintab heard a noise in the entrance behind him and drew his sword. It was a rapier, long and thin with an elegantly carved hand guard, the blade was as sharp and keen as a mid-winter wind. Giving no indication he had noticed anything he continued to climb the stairs.

[Osu]

Buckley held perfectly still, ear tips poised upward despite the advent of a strong breeze that had begun to pick at the forest and his whiskers. There was another living creature above him, in the tower, he was sure of it. It did not bother him unduly that he might be running into his enemy so early on in his search, but then, it took quite a bit more than that to bother Captain Midland-Woodscut.

Buckley's enemy was more than just an evil warlord. He did not possess the fame of Ungatt Trunn, who had conquered Salamandastron, nor of Cluny the Scourge, who had overrun Redwall, but he had more than enough cruelty and cunning to send the mighty hordes of both Ungatt and Cluny running for their mothers' skirts. He had built his mighty army over the space of nine seasons, quietly enough that the warriors of the Long Patrol were scarce aware of his existence when he wrought his fury upon Mossflower.

Nor did he stop there: his army swept up through the Northlands, across to the mysterious Eastern Sea, and down through Southsward, and beyond. The battles goodbeasts had fought against him had been many, with crippling losses. In that time, the warlord had attacked Salamandastron three times. On his third and final attempt he had met face to face with Lord Urthfang, resplendent in all the deadly glory of a bloodwrath-stricken badgerlord, and lost one of his eyes. That had been the first of many defeats for the warlord as goodbeasts everywhere refused to give up and began driving him out of their lands. It seemed so much longer than one season ago when Mossflower celebrated the defeat of the Evil One; even more recently in these faraway lands, it had hardly been a matter of days since the warlord had been driven into hiding, the remnants of his horde scattered like ashes to dust.

It was a substantial time in history. The crimes of that warlord were beyond anything committed by even the darkest of hearts in the past; that he should still be alive and planning his comeback was unthinkable for countless animals the country over. Even among the Long Patrol, the Evil One's whereabouts had been on a strict need-to-know basis. Salamandastron's leaders had labored for almost a season scouting out the exiled warlord's present activities, what to do about it, and who to send to do it. Buckley counted himself privileged to be given that assignment.

Now the young hare captain steeled himself, creeping up the remaining stairs with little more than the barest whisper of fur on stone, sabre held ready at his side. He slipped just inside the great double doors, watching his shadow as it blended seamlessly into the darkness, and pressed his back to the cold stone. He listened, staring into the gloom of the tower as he waited for his eyes to adjust.

Doubtlessly his enemy knew Buckley was there; he may as well have blew a trumpet to announce himself with the way he had strolled across the circle-plain -- not that much could have been done to prevent that. Whatever the case, he had lost the element of surprise, something that, though it didn't outright hinder him, could not be considered a fortuitous turn of events. The Evil One or one of his remaining loyal minions was standing less than ten paces from where Buckley held his breath, he was sure of it.

Not being able to see well in the gloom of an unlit chamber at twilight, Buckley had to assume his enemy had lain a trap of some sort. He relaxed but remained alert as he slowly -- slowly -- began to slip inside the obelisk of the Evil One. If his enemy gained nothing else from this rapidly approaching encounter, it would be that he had severely underestimated the Long Patrol.

Buckley would prove that if it was the last thing he did.

[Jetthebinturong]

Makintab advanced up the stairs slowly, cautiously, he could already tell that his suspicions about a beast behind him had been confirmed, his keen hearing could pick up the sound of the creatures feet upon the floor.

The cat reached the top of the stairs and stepped out onto the first floor. Through a gaping hole in the wall he could see that the previously cloudless sky had begun to grow dark the first drops of rain spattered against his paw.

Makintab surveyed the room, in the centre a half rotted table and six chairs were lying broken, one of the legs of the table was lying about half a meter away. The chairs were in no better state one of them was just a pile f matchwood, you could barely tell of its previous usage. The furniture did not look as if it had been destroyed naturally, Makintab was almost positive that nothing that was not living could do that to a chair. Makintab's musings were interrupted by sounds below and he remembered the creature behind him.

[Osu]

The barest ghost of a sound reached Buckley's ears, and he judged instantly how far away it was and which direction it might be moving, in the manner of all Long Patrol scouts. Feeling safe enough to step inside the immediate doorway, Buckley did so, glancing around himself quickly. He was standing in a large -- though not nearly as large as most other rooms in the tower must be -- foyer of sorts. Immediately before him spread a level floor, then it rose once more into a short stairway leading toward the first floor of the tower.

That's where his enemy was, Buckley thought. Just up there, in that room, and we both know we're here. It is begun.

He crossed the floor in three swift strides and mounted the short stairway above him, staying close to the curving wall of the tower as he found his way to the landing. The only light came from the shrinking tendrils of twilight and the moon above, shining through a large, gaping hole in the side of the obelisk; and even these lights were shuttered by clouds, mounting silently in the growing darkness.

As Buckley came to the final stair and brought his sabre to the ready, the wind began a low, but forceful, howl, circling around the tower and shrieking past its windows and pitted sides; he could smell the barest hint of rain; the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. The room contained little more than shattered furniture, nothing that could be used against him as an effective weapon, but dangerous enough if one were to trip over it. Ahead of Buckley stood a figure, taller than he, its species impossible to tell from its immediate silhouette. Its back was to him, though, so the Long Patrol captain decided to take advantage of his good fortune.

The rest happened faster than the blink of an eye. Buckley inhaled slowly as he leaned forward into a running crouch, eyes fixed on his enemy. He leaped smoothly into a silent, grim run, crossing the room fast enough to blow his ears flat behind his head. Raising the sabre and turning slightly to the side as he took aim at the figure, Buckley shattered the silence of the tower with violent suddenness, roaring as he leapt at his enemy.

"EULALIAAAAA!"

[Jetthebinturong]

Makintab whirled around and whipped his rapier upwards, catching the hare's blow, the violence of the sudden attack drove the Maine coon back a couple of steps and sent vibrations running through his paw. Makintab howled his own warcry as he pulled back his sword and made a downward slash at his opponent "LUSTROSAAAAAAAAAA!"

[Osu]

The rapid counterattack staggered Buckley, partly from the unexpected strength behind it, and partly because the hare realized, now that he was closer, he had engaged a cat. The Evil One was definitely not a cat. Was this one of his remaining officers, then?

But there was no time to think about that. Buckley felt the jarring blow as the cat whirled and parried, and, gripping his sabre hilt tightly, allowed himself to move with the blow, rather than outright resisting it. There was a deafening clang! and a shower of sparks as their blades met.

Buckley landed on both paws and immediately moved to the side as the cat raised his rapier again. Twisting with all the agility and speed of a snake, Buckley stepped out of the way of the attack with little more than a hairsbreadth between himself and the blade. Then, once the cat's sword was at what the hare judged to be its lowest trajectory, Buckley darted forward again, answering his adversary's war cry with a snarl as he swung his sabre once more at his enemy's head.

"Yours days of doing evil are over, vermin!"

[Jetthebinturong]

Makintab jumped back, the blade severing a few hairs from under his chin. The cat's voice was deep "Evil is a point of view and as for vermin, have you never heard of Gingivere and Sandingom?" Makintab made a stab at his opponents chest

[Osu]

Buckley recovered from his narrow miss and mimicked the cat by jumping back a short pace. He swung his sabre around in a flash-quick figure-eight, holding it ready in front of him. He narrowed his eyes just slightly when his foebeast spoke with a surprisingly deep voice.

"Evil is a point of view and as for vermin, have you never heard of Gingivere and Sandingom?"

As a point of fact, Buckley had not heard of Gingivere and Sandingom, but he wasn't about to bandy words with his enemy. When the cat stabbed forward at him, Buckley went on the offensive again, hitting his enemy's rapier away from his chest with his sabre -- he was prepared for the feel of the blow this time -- and feinting a thrust to the cat's side. The feint was a quick move, done almost at the same time as the hare jumped back and up onto the first few stairs of another flight. Above him, he was only just aware that the stairs circled higher, possibly to the top of the obelisk.

Buckley turned side-on and leveled his blade at the cat. His eyes were as ice-blue as the moon (shredded by angry, mounting storm clouds outside, of which Buckley was only aware in that strange sense that animals have when it comes to the weather) as he silently challenged his opponent.