Malumgula gave a mighty kick and sent his fighter, Turnob the ferret, stumbling into the arena. "Kill the other worthless wretch who's in there with you and you'll make me a fine penny. If ye think that losing 'll make ye live longer, I'll see to it that you're fed to my cooking fire before the day is out!"
Turnob stood up and gave a nervous nod to Malumgula that partly said "Yes, m'lord." and partly said "Okay, okay, jeez ye don't have t' kick me!". He picked his weapon of choice, a bow, off the flat, dusty stadium ground and frowned at it. The string had snapped. Just his luck. Thankfully, the arrows in his quiver were still sharp and could come in handy in close quarters. The bow would have to work as a staff for him. Turnob swung the bow in a figure eight motion to test its grip in his paws. It was awkward at best, but was his best chance at staying alive. A crowd of a few score lined the perimeter of the stadium. Cheering some, booing and hissing more.
must not be big fans o' Malumgula he thought,
can't say I'm not with 'em there...He took a deep breath and dusted his clothes - not much more than a few rags sewn nicely together. He wore no armor, which could present an issue for some, but Turnob was a quick creature and he was confident that victory would be his so long as he kept focused. He shrugged his shoulders in an effort to relax himself as the gate on the opposite end of the arena and
@Peony emerged.
"Jus' another creature, same blood as everybeast else. We'll see how long this chump lasts..."
OOC: Just for fun, not necessarily for the competition, would anyone like to jump into this fight?
OOC: I don't see why not. May as well go up against myself, so to speak. :p Gimme some time to put up a character?
OOC: I offer Bracklew up as tribute to Groddil. :P
If you wanna. ;)
Quote from: LT Sandpaw on October 25, 2016, 01:02:17 AM
OOC: I offer Bracklew up as tribute to Groddil. :P
If you wanna. ;)
OOC: Bracklew as of when? How many paws does he have?
OOC: I don't care, you decide. Currently in the RP it wouldn't make a whole lot of a difference, as his left paw was pretty useless anyway before it got cut off. And he's been at the same level of skill throughout the RP.
Unless your talking about before it was injured, in which case he wasn't even a fighter then. Just a kid with the guts to break his fingers to escape some pirates. :P
OOC:
Hmm, I dunno. I find it hard to RP other people's characters, so I'll probably end up using someone else. Thanks anyway, though.
EDIT:
Decided to go with a canon immigrant. In fact, I might even add this into the story later, just replacing Malumgula with Grubslug.
Character
Name: Duggor
Gender: Male
Species: Mole
Age: Adult
Gear and Stuff: Rough tunic for clothing, rusty arena-issue sword and a sling for weapons.
Awesome! You're up for posting the next part of the duel
From the other side of the shallow, dusty pit that served as the arena came a mole, roughly tossed over the side by two huge weasels. His black fur, once smooth and velvety, had been caked in mud, and stripped away to reveal rough scars. A large bruise over his eye served as a reminder of the tough journey he had been forced to undertake. The journey that would either end here today, or would last many long, hard seasons. His thought was disrupted by a lanky stoat, who jumped into the pit.
"I'll skip th' formalities an' get straight to it! Two beasts enter, one beast leaves! Here, we 'ave Turnob o' Grubslug's band. An' o'er 'ere, we got one of their slaves, Duggor, bein' punished fer disobedience with a quick bout in the 'ole. Two beasts enter..."
The vermin that crowded the outside of the pit roared as the stoat hauled himself out.
"ONE BEAST LEAVES!"
Duggor looked at his blade. Covered in rust, it could snap any moment. Useless. He unwound his sling, in much better condition, and fitted a pebble he picked up into it. Squinting, he whirled the weapon and sent the pebble flying in the direction of his opponent. It probably wouldn't hit, but so long as he could keep the ferret at bay...
The rock hit Turnob straight between the eyes. "Oh no, I am slain!" He cried, and he fell over dead.
OOC: great match, Groddil! Really didn't see that one coming. Well played!
Okay I'll actually write a real response tomorrow, I just need to get my homework done, first! Also, since when are we in the thunder dome?!
Quote from: Capt. Leonardo V Williams on October 25, 2016, 03:19:09 AM
The rock hit Turnob straight between the eyes. "Oh no, I am slain!" He cried, and he fell over dead.
OOC: great match, Groddil! Really didn't see that one coming. Well played!
Okay I'll actually write a real response tomorrow, I just need to get my homework done, first! Cool. Also, since when are we in the thunder dome?!Since when? Since I started feeling like re-watching the Mad Max movies, o' course! :p
Quote from: Capt. Leonardo V Williams on October 25, 2016, 03:19:09 AM
The rock hit Turnob straight between the eyes. "Oh no, I am slain!" He cried, and he fell over dead.
OOC: great match, Groddil! Really didn't see that one coming. Well played!
Okay I'll actually write a real response tomorrow, I just need to get my homework done, first! Also, since when are we in the thunder dome?!
OOC: okay here's the real response!
Turnob saw his opponent send a missile off in his direction and he slowed down, but only for a moment. The projectile was off though not by a lot. It was either a lucky first shot or this mole was a formidable opponent. Turnob had not any long-range weapons on him, but moles were stubby creatures who were only strong if they could get close enough to do their damage with those digging claws of theirs. Turnob grunted and tried to put on an extra burst of speed, coming at Duggor in an arc. The bow with the snapped string was long and stout - it would be able to hold up for a while. Turnob was confident that he would be able to keep Duggor at exactly the distance he needed to.
Then again, if he won this fight, chances were that Malumgula would only turn around to throw him in the next one. As long as he was making money, Turnob was a worthy investment. Already he felt the will to press on slipping away from him - focusing would not be an easy thing to do this battle, especially if the mole was anything better than a lousy fighter.
The ferret grunted and readied himself as it came down to the last fifteen or so paces between himself and Duggor.
Duggor began fitting another stone in his sling when Turnob charged him. He whirled it in a circle in front of him, trying to keep the ferret at bay.
"Stay away from oi, 'ee monster. Oi won't feel bad if'n anythin' 'appens to 'ee!"
The mole began backing away, but his back soon hit the wall. What was the point in running when he was already living on borrowed time? No. No, he had to stay alive. For the young ones, if nothing else.
Despite seeing the mole load another shot and start whirling his sling, Turnob made himself press forward despite every instinct that told him to hold back. If that mole loosed his paw at the right moment, and at the right speed, he could end Turnob's life in a fraction of an instant. The ferret let out a roar as he pushed himself to close the gap between himself and the mole. Raising his bow over his head, Turnob prepared to --
thwack!
"YYYYREAAAAAGH!"
Turnob screamed and let his bow hit the ground. The stone had hit him, though in just the right way for Turnob to miraculously still be alive. He spat out a tooth and let his jaw hang limply. Staggering backward, he looked at the mole as if he were just noticing him for the first time.
Unadulterated rage welled in the ferret's body. If Turnob were able to snarl at the mole, he would have. Instead his whole body shook with anger. Spurred on by his this new rush of rage, Turnob once again picked up his bow and made a haymaker-like swing at his opponent.
OOC: Duggor never actually slung the stone, he's whirling the sling in front of him in a circle. And Turnob's a ferret. :p Imagine you're looking at Duggor (the X) from the front. The stuff around the Xis how the sling's moving.
---
/ \
| X |
\ /
----
OOC: Well that's what I get for writing late at night XD. I'll go ahead and make the edits accordingly, my bad!
Also, I sort of took that liberty on myself with the sling stone. I know you had not thrown it in your last post - just thought this would make things interesting for the both of us: Turnob's now injured pretty bad and Duggor now has to react to a new attack. If you would rather keep things so that we have absolutely no say on anything the other character does, that's fine. I can just rewrite my post and we can move from there. I had been playing with a relatively relaxed play style where we can do smaller things with the other characters as long as nobody plays god.
OOC: All good. I just realised that if Turnover was right in front of Diggor, the sling itself would have hit him. Serves ME right for typing at night. :)
BIC:
Duggor went to raise his sling, in an attempt to use it to catch and stop the broken bow, but to no avail. He was. no warrior. He knew it, the ferret knew it, and the crowd of onlookers knew as well. The bow instead slammed into his paw with a sinister crack. The mole dropped the sling and fell in a heap. Whimpering, he reached for the rusty blade he had sicarded at the beginning of the fight.
Heavy breathing could be seen in Turnob's chest, even from afar. He was not one to normally lose his cool like this in battle, and he had pillaged and killed before. But this occasion was different - he was hurt now and it was doubtful that his jaw would ever heal back fully. Now the ferret turned toward his blind hatred for strength. He raised the bow again and brought it down hard, looking to strike a solid hit on the mole's head.
Duggor's already damaged paw took the brunt of Turnob's second hit. Bones had to have been shattered, thought the mole. He whimpered as his free paw closed around the handle of the rusty blade. He shuffled away from Turnob, staggering to his feet with the sword raised defensively.
Turnob's high was already beginning to wear off and he found his mind returning to himself once again now that he was not able to pummel the mole into submission. The ferret tried to think the situation through but his lack of willpower, and now the pain of his injury, were two key factors that had already been put to work clouding his mind. There were still a couple of factors that, even without thinking straight, Turnob could recognize: his opponent was now armed for close combat, and he could have sworn that he heard a cracking noise come from his weapon in his last strike - which would spell bad news for Turnob if he was not able to end the battle within the next few swipes.
Duggor also had a revelation. He had to use the blade. Had to kill the ferret. For the Dibbuns. He couldn't hold Turnob off forever. Bracing himself for what was to come, the mole swiped the sword at Turnob. It was a weak swing, not likely to do much damage even if it did hit.
Turnob's bow hit its mark on the mole, but there also came spark of pain across Turnob's stomach. His opponent had cut him from one side all the way to the other. While it was a shallow wound, the shock was enough to make Turnob take a step back to recollect himself. As if the wound inflicted by Duggor was opening a pocket of steam in Turnob's body, the injury of being caught off guard a second time was enough to make Turnob both panic and start thinking with his head again. Brute force against the mole will only get myself killed. He thought to himself, never taking his eyes off target. I need a plan...
Looking down at his weapon for only a quick glance, Turnob noticed a fair-sized crack cutting the center in half. Darting his eyes back up at the mole again, he began to think up a plan.
While Turnob was distracted again, the mole once more swung his blade, this time in a heavy swing over his head. But alas, Duggor's aim was not true, and the sword smashed into the ground. Unable to take any more punishment, the blade snapped right off the hilt. The mole cried out in pain as the shocks reverberated up his arms, causing him to drop the sword hilt and fall to the ground, clutching his paws. Tears milled up in his eyes. Why was this happening? Why had the wildcat had to attack his home?
"P-Please, zurr. Give oi mercy."
Had Turnob been able to speak (something he could not do with his broken jaw), he felt that he would have said something along the lines of: "I don't think I would have killed you normally, but it's better you than me. Heh, look at yer life, you scum. See what trouble I go through to do you a favor?"
Gloating at his imminent victory, Turnob did not hesitate. Using his knee, he broke his bow in half and held one piece in each paw. It ain't nothing personal he thought as heavy breaths escaped his gaping mouth, anythin's better than Malumgula's fire pit. It was either gonna be you or me, an' it wasn't gonna be me! Turnob unleashed his anger on the helpless mole and began trying to club him at least into an unconscious state so that he could claim his victory with as little effort as possible. What kind of world was he going back to once he won this fight? Another arena battle tomorrow? It was almost certain that Malumgula would not wait for his injuries to heal before Turnob would be thrown back in the arena. He'd have to try an escape. Grubslug had been talking about a possible exit plan. If Turnob could get to him, maybe they could put enough distance between themselves and this hell hole that they might live normal lives?
He brought his two clubs down hard on the mole. Harder than ever now that he had a will to live again.
Duggor whimpered under the first few blows, but he soon felt himself blacking out. Unfortunately for the Dibbuns, the only creature to keep them safe would not come back to them. Aside from the small amount of young survivors, the horde once headed by Malumgula had managed to do what no other vermin could do. Wipe out Redwall Abbey. And, thanks to Grubslug's takeover, the death of the Abbey creatures was a completely pointless waste of lives. In the coming seasons, Mossflower would devolve even further into chaos, with Redwall being occupied by vermin lord after vermin lord. Woodlanders would either flee to the Fire Mountain, or die.
OOC: Once I get to this part in the story, I'm gonna use this in We Happy Few. :D
OOC: This is so sad D:
It was a pleasure dueling with you, sir Groddil. I hope that I did you character justice!