---

Match Start: June 6th, 2011 @ 9:00PM
Match End: July 5th, 2011 @ 9:00PM

Post Response Limit: 4 days
First Post: Khayyam

Stage Description:
Three miles east of the edge of the Great Kyrvktz bog lies a massive bowl-shaped depression which is at least seventy feet below "sea level". The dust-like composition of the soil indicates that no vegetation has grown in the location for hundreds of years. Clearly visible at the bottom of the bowl is the skeletal remains of perhaps the biggest creature that resided on the planet; a wurm whose spine extends into the depths of the soil. The creature is at least three hundred feet long and thirty feet tall (when resting on the ground), and the head is clearly visible, if not slightly buried. Visibility is fair. The entire bowl is half a mile by half a mile, although each pair of combatants will have one quarter of that, with hard-defined boundaries. (If you hit the edge you will encounter a barrier, powered by the main facilities).

---

May the strongest grass blade emerge tallest.

Upon his arrival at the “Kryvktz Dunes” Khayyam surveyed the landscape taking in the vast spectacle that unfolded before his caramel brown eyes. The venue seemed almost fitting triggering a soft chuckle at his fortunes. The dry barrenness of the surroundings almost instantly began to calm the Arab warrior’s previously unsettled nerves. If it were not for the skeletal remains of the gargantuan wurm jettisoning from the dust-like soil he would almost swear he was home.

The wiry 5 foot contestant was perched comfortably upon the magical carpet floating several feet above the dunes as the veteran tent-maker instituted a controlled turn of the rug bringing him closer towards the menacing landmark. The fabric of the lightweight cloth headpiece that covered his medium length black hair flapped gently in the light breeze caused by the slow flight, held in place by a thin strip of red cloth tied tightly around his scalp. Likewise the floor length tail of his lightweight black and white striped overcoat fluttered casually in the wake of his travels exposing the lengthy red sash wrapped around his slim waist. Next to his body, tucked behind the folds of the brilliant red cloth gleamed the steel handgrip of his 8 inch fabric shears stationed near his left hip.

The diminutive combatant stood sideways towards the rear of the 3’7”x9’4” ornate chunk of fabric with his left foot roughly two feet from the rear of the runner. For Khayyam the positioning was more for show as opposed to any real need for balance with the limber fighter as much at home upon the floating platform as he was upon solid ground. The stance was very similar to a batting stance, feet spread slightly wider than shoulder width, and knees bent enough to lower the body for balance and the ability to adjust his weight. Instead of holding a bat his right hand a 6’ length of fresh cut bamboo dangled passively at his side.

The veteran warrior took position resting the fabric transport atop the partially buried skull of the ancient Kryvktz wurm. It was a clear day and visibility was fair. From here,Khayyam possessed a good vantage point which should afford him plenty of time to react in regards to his opponent’s approach Unfortunately, due to his late arrival, he knew little about the man he was about to face. Cupping the soft leather glove of his left hand above his furrowed brow the Arabian warrior keenly continued to scan the barren dust bowl in all directions for the arrival of Aves Oamuys.

Silence was the first thing to greet Aves as he appeared upon the killing field. A stillness seemed to persist all about the crater in which the man stood, making the contents all the more ominous. Grey optics gazed over the remains of what was, without doubt, the largest dragon the warrior had ever seen. Its enormous spine stretched along the dusty soil, rising from the next to the man, and continuing forward as though in flight. The ribs imitated pillars, ancient and faded, lining the most foreboding of halls with their morose existence. Aves found himself adjacent to the massive beast, just a foot away from the inner cavity, and about halfway along the thing's opulent length. The entire grave was granted an even more fabled look by its solitary location. No other cover, nor other thing, even, appeared within the confines of the depression, save one.

The dragon warrior brushed his left arm lightly against a vertebrae, gazing up towards the head of the beast, piercing eyes making out what appeared to be the figure of a man. Aves, clad in hardened leather, and armed with sword, shield, and spear, gazed up towards his quarry. Hefting his spear into the sky, so as to increase his profile, the relatively tall man bellowed a single word.

"Khayyam!"

The words rang out around the depression, echoing eerily in the cavity of the fallen beast. The word, while strange to Aves tongue, was spoken with a sort of familiar pronunciation, as the man had many years ago visited the far southern kingdoms of his land. He recalled the great dunes and infinite wastes of the southern folk, and the strange customs they held, as he examined the man from from the separating distance of 150 feet. All he could make out was that the man was wearing some form of concealing clothing, with far too much cloth for his liking, and that the man appeared to be relatively unarmed. Not without weapons of course, for the dragon hunter was not foolish, but without any large visible ones. A small hint of light gave away that the man was equipped with some metallic object; its definite shape was still yet to be seen. The armament was of no concern, as Aves was prepared to crush him regardless of weaponry.

The muscled warrior tensed himself, shield swaying, as though constantly hinting at a sudden movement. Once locked, his eyes had not and would never leave his opponent, and he felt ready for whatever the man might bring.

Once a wyrm of immense power had fallen here; soon he would have company.

(edited with the approval of prygus)

"Khayyam!"

The barbaric effort to attract attention worked, immediately directing the Arab’s focus upon a tall warrior stationed adjacent to the fallen wyrm. Roughly half a footy pitch away Khayyam carefully studied the rough details of his opponent lowering the cupped visor above his brow to rest upon his hip near the shears. There was no audible response returned from his lips regarding the proclamation of his name. Instead the humble tent maker was prepared to offer a more personalized greeting to the guest with spear raised to the sky. Khayyam’s rich brown eyes stared intently at his opponent. His brow deepened its furrow as his thoughts converged.

To Aves, the subtle preparatory handling would initially feel as though a cool gentle breeze had passed him by. With it, the sensation of long nimble fingers rummaging through the shaggy brown locks as they flapped in the imaginary puff of air. As the impression progressed the experience would emulate the long thick tresses being scoured with the methodical passing of a fine toothed lice-comb; separating and embracing each piece of hair as it made its way gently through the entire mane of the unkempt hair. The psychic’s delicate manipulation functioned to statically enrich the filamentous biomaterial capturing more and more of the individual strands with viral expediency causing them to arise from the scalp equipped towards autonomous animation.

It was high upon the wyrm’s partially buried skull the Arabian warrior remained, unmoved except for the simple shifting of his hand to his hip. His visual inventory of his opponent had led him to believe that Aves possessed no long range weapons with which to strike. It would be a skilled shot to cause him serious harm given the distance should his observations prove wrong. Time would tell.

In his experience no ordinary man could cover the expanse quickly enough on foot to gain the upper hand. Not to threaten his current position anyways. With that in mind Khayyam was perfectly content to remain in his perch for the moment. “No need to be hasty this early in the conflict.” He mused to himself. “The journey was just beginning.” Should his refuge be pressed however he was more than willing to engage.

And so it began. The warrior eased from his position as a cool breeze swept the battlefield, lifting his mangled hair in its embrace. Yet, something appeared wrong; the breeze was strange in some way not immediately apparent to Aves. Stepping forward with increased pace, the seasoned veteran suddenly came to a realization: the breeze was only occurring in his hair. Not knowing and not caring what devilry caused such an effect, the dragon hunter simply countered it with swift precision.

A clattering sound marked the departure of the warrior's spear, breaking the silence of the arena, as the spear fell onto the vertebrae beside the man. Quickening his pace, Aves drew his sword with a subtle rasp, shield hand flying to his scalp with haste. Drawing his hair up, the man gathered it into a single bundle, perpendicular to the scalp, as the sensation of nimble fingers materialized therein. There was a reason the dragon warrior's hair was unkempt; he simply didn't concern himself with it; it mattered little to him. In this spirit, his sword flashed up once, separating the animating mess from his scalp, even as it seemed to be brushed with an illusive comb. Naught but scraps remained upon the warrior's head, a general thin coating with the occasion clump. The removed matter fell lazily behind the warrior as his pace increased from a swift stride to a full out sprint.

All the while, Aves was conscious of a mounting dull ache in his chest, growing and developing throughout the region, as well as in the throat and mouth. A pressure was forming there, caused by the warrior's own doing. The spirits of the slain were powerful things, and the spirits of dragons were even more so. Gathering the very strength of the wyrms he had slain, the warrior prepared for an unstoppable verbal assault.

Rapidly approaching the strangely dressed man, the dragon slayer braced his shield against himself, locking his arm, and prepared to attack with an insatiable rage.

Courting ritual well in progress it was time for Khayyam to test his influence. The mystical Arabian rapidly wiggled the elongated fingers stationed at his hip in a flowing wavelength pattern. Even as the opponent’s spear clattered harmlessly against a partially petrified vertebra only a few feet away the proximity of the attack served only as a momentary distraction to his task. Almost immediately the long thick tresses he had mentally embraced responded to the moments dancing to mimic the flitting digits with a life of their own. If it were not for the foresight initiated by his opponent to remove the mangy mane the consequences of the attack may have been more substantial.

Steadily the filamentous biomaterial that formed Aves’ mane fashioned into thin worm-like clusters that began writhing frenziedly across Aves' skin. The mystical Arabian had been well into the process to turn his opponent’s own hair against him when the blade of the rival’s short sword began its hasty work. Even as the middle-aged victim began to hurriedly shear the long brown locks the powerful magic continued to do its work. What would have initially been hundreds of potential participants had been reduce to mere dozens scrawny tendrils scattered among the occasional clumps of hair that remained after the intervention.

While the attacking numbers dwindled considerably the remaining animated hair constructs squirmed harmlessly; their efforts concentrating at probing unceasingly at the eyes and ears. Much of the initial weight behind the attack now lay in scattered clumps behind the dragon warrior miminalizing their efforts. The enduring strands lengthy enough to continue the weak assault sought to dig deep into Aves’ eyes to pluck the spherical ocular devices from their socket. This action would prove to be more of a distraction than any real threat disguising the true intent of the tent maker’s assault. It was time to put the fear of the devil in Aves if it wasn’t there already.

“Fool!” The indignant voice of the Arabian boomed for the first time. “You truly believed you were free from my influence? I do not need your tresses atop your head to do my bidding.”

It would in all probability be too late by the time Aves put it all together. Unbeknownst to the recklessly advancing adversary the braided garrote had already been formed from the discarded remnants of hair he had left behind. Silently the psychically crafted weapon shot through the air stalking its victim. With clenched fist and a twist of the wrist with a sharp upright tug in the form of a ‘J’ the pursuant twine sought to lash out and would tighten around the adversary’s throat at Khayyam’s command. The sudden restraint from the upward pull of the constricting collar would have enough impact to halt the raging advance with the same effect as the master had over his canine companions tightening the choke chain about their necks by yanking on his leather leash for obedience. Only in this instance the leash he used was invisible.

“No need to answer my friend. I can see you may be a little choked up at the moment.”

Aves' mouth flitted into a smirk for a moment as the physical assault began. With his foresight, the man had reduced what was likely a disabling attack into a few stray strands. Even as the scant tendrils sought to interfere with his vision, the man approached the Arab warrior. Feeling a bloodlust as his opponent's face came clearly into view, the warrior ignored the tingling pain in his ears as his left hand flew across his brow, weeding out any strand that neared his optics. With quick and agile pulls, he plucked the offending strands with small grunts. The attack, it seemed, was only meant for a distraction, and only few strands remained within range of their targets, so the warrior was fully capable of pushing on relatively unhindered.

“Fool! You truly believed you were free from my influence? I do not need your tresses atop your head to do my bidding.” The voice of his insolent opponent boomed over the waning distance between the two men. Such arrogance from an opponent was surprising to Aves, for this seemed like a honorable tournament, but the warrior was quick to return the insult. Stepping sideways up onto the last vertebrae, a guttural roar would burst from the man, at a distance of fifteen feet, even as his foe's outstretched arm jerked upright and twisted.

A shockwave emanated from the dragon warrior, immense force compressed within an expanding bubble. At his current range, the Arabic psychic would no doubt be blasted from his feet, and thrown bodily off the ancient skull. Dust was kicked up all around the blast's source, though not high or thick enough to limit visibility. The very skull across which the warrior now sprinted cracked and heaved with the mighty disruption. Unbeknownst to the dragon hunter, the impromptu garrote that even then was moving in for the kill was struck bodily with the shockwave. No doubt the attack there would be disrupted; the shockwave possessed the necessary oomph to halt the hairy construct, possibly rending it apart. Furthermore, the inevitable blow from the shock wave to the attack's source would likely break the concentration required for such a subtle manipulation of matter.

With such a clearing force propelled from the warrior, the way to strike was now likely clear. Assuming that his opponent was struck head on, Aves would sprint after his opponent, planning to leap off of the former wyrm and onto the man. In such a manner, a simple sword strike would be delivered, and the twin forces of man and gravity would likely do the man in. Likely was not enough for the dragon warrior however, as even as he crossed the skull, an unreal power would regather in his legs, preparing him to take to the air and finish the fight.

His adversary had closed with uncanny speed and agility navigating the differential rise in elevation with adept ease. Khayyam barely had a chance to register the nimble feat when the guttural roar burst from the acrobatic man. The Arab once again found himself flying through the air but this time not by his choosing, the. Such was the intensity of the vocal discharge it swept the diminutive warrior, the carpet beneath his feet, and anything else in its wake away from the source of the concussive blast.

Khayyam initially felt as though he had been manhandled by a blitzing American footballer identified as a linebacker. Rather, what he believed it would feel like if he was ever to physically experience such an event. A large gasp expelled from the Arabian warrior as the initial discharge struck him center mass compressing his chest and rapidly forcing the air from his lungs. His head snapped vehemently forward and backward in a whiplash-like motion from the impact forcefully jarring his brain against the inside of his skull breaking his concentration and the invisible hold he had on the locks of Aves’ hair.

A single-minded thought took center stage now focused solely upon survival. Khayyam’s arms and legs instinctively flung out from his body, his loose fitting clothes flapped in an almost parachute-like fashion carrying him on the disruptive wave that threw him from his perch. On their own the garment’s meager contribution would do little to hold at bay the upcoming effects of gravity as his momentum ceased. He realized his frame would soon come crashing to the ground.

His mind ached as he narrow his focus; with it an increasing pain manifested behind his right eye as he tried to weave his waning energies into one last ditch effort to endure the current crisis. For a moment his body seemed to float as if it somehow defied the effects of gravity. Levitation was one of the effects that Khayyam had mastered many years ago and could perform with relative ease. Only in this instance, he failed to have the mental energies and focus to keep him aloft. Instead, his body sank softly to the floor of the dustbowl like a fallen feather.

There was little doubt in his mind his opponent would be closing in to finish him off. Temporarily dazed by the effects that had ravished his body the disoriented Arab blinked rapidly trying to focus through the grey haze that blurred his vision. Sensing the soft fibers of the 6’ silhouette of the bamboo shaft only a few feet away from his outstretched hand Khayyam willed the lightweight wooden weapon closer to mount some sort of a defense. The bō stick simply vibrated mockingly remaining unresponsive to his desires; the drawing psychokinetic powers rendered ineffectual by the sudden head trauma suffered during the blast. In that moment of helplessness, an exasperated sigh whistled through his lips.

It was with several great bounds that the dragon warrior dashed 'cross the fallen wyrm's head. His stride was quick; a finishing blow was ripe for the taking. Nearing the edge of the beast's skull, the Arab combatant came into view. A curious effect appeared to have hold over the man, as he fell with some sort of strange, gentle ease, replicating the descent of a leaf. Such a landing was unfortunate for Aves, as it brought about several unexpected circumstances. First, with the slowed sinking, the psychic had now landed at a greater distance than he should have. This would mean that any approach to the man, be it by land or air, would grant greater time for preparation.

Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, the feathered landing had saved the man from the second disorienting blow. Instead of being unconscious, maybe with a broken spine, the man was likely fully cognitive, and relatively unharmed. Any defense he might make would be far more potent in the current situation. Twin grey optics flicked upwards, studying the sun for inspiration.

Reaching the precipice, Aves crouched, leg bent like those of a bird preparing to take flight; a subtle mimicry of the beast whose strength he now channeled. Thinking fast, the dragon slayer drew upon a logical plan of action. Springing from his perch, the mans legs appeared suddenly to be vested with an inhuman power. Lifting into the sky, the man would rise with uncanny speed, reaching a critical point nearly twenty feet above the skull, doubling his total height. Silently, the warrior began his descent upon the his fallen foe, left arm leading.

Two elements formed the plan that the warrior now possessed. Leading with his shield, much of the danger of a counterattack was reduced, and a fatal blow was still easily possible. Were it to strike, the momentum of flesh and metal would crush the man below to a paste. Yet, even with this stronghold of an attack, the path to the Arab was unprotected. The second element of Aves plan saw to that.

As though he were a planetary body, spiraling throughout the heavens, the dragon hunter would eclipse the sun above the psychic. The small oasis of shade created would fall directly upon the fallen soul, and shade his eyes; yet all eclipses must end. A mere second before impact, the warrior's shadow would finally move past the Arab, and his undoing would be at hand. The sudden reappearance of the sun, visible in his no doubt upturned eyes, would likely blind the man, ensuring that Aves crushing blow would arrive with full force.

Upon the precipice, the dragon warrior crouched; legs bent like those of a bird preparing to take flight springing from the skeletal uprising. The man’s legs lifted him into the sky with uncanny speed, reaching a critical point nearly forty feet above Khayyam before the ominous silhouette began his descent upon Khayyam. The exasperated sigh that had whistled through the Arab’s lips suddenly changed pitch alternating between a pair of high pitched frequencies resembling a two syllable bird song in a steady, even tempo melody of “churry, churry, churry churry.” The simple call carried with it an obscure message to the one charged with safeguarding the king. Shahisma was up to the assignment springing quickly into action to protect Khayyam at any cost.

Within fractions of a second into Aves’ decent the loyal carpet raced forward from its position near the base of the wyrm’s skull with speed rivaling that of a major league fastball (100mph) to intercept the approaching threat to its master. Even as the thirty pound fabric avenger sped closer, it rolled itself into a tight coil as easily as one would clench a fist focusing its destructive force upon a one and a half foot diameter area of contact. The incoming missile-like attack would come from behind travelling slightly from Khayyam’s left to right aimed to strike at the free falling warrior’s small of the back like a sledgehammer. The impact from such a blow, should it connect, would most likely shatter Aves’s spine as it propelled him off his proposed course of attack.

The likelihood of the preemptive countermeasure succeeding was on his side. The target was in a position where his speed, destination and angle of attack could be easily predicted with great accuracy. There would be little opportunity to alter such variables significantly in such a brief moment of time unless he too had similar attributes to Khayyam’s knack for flight. Even then, there was the king’s loyal guardian’s innate awareness to overcome which enabled it to instantaneously adjust its course having been charged with a sacred duty.

The attacker’s choice to defend hidden behind his metal disc as he descended upon his prey also played in favor of the carpet’s defensive intervention. Curled in such a manner to lead with the shield, would aid in protection against any counter attack delivered from the fallen man. It would also lessen the likelihood to bring the shield to bear against the incoming projectile with his focus upon the Arab expecting retaliation Arab as he descended. The wily combatant sought use this untamed aggression to his advantage demanding Aves’ attention by barrel rolling swiftly to his right four feet. The motion would cause his opponent to adjust; perhaps twisting to account for the bamboo bo now being raised in the warrior’s left hand and jammed into the ground in defense.

The simple action was designed to keep the kamikaze projectile’s focus away from the true danger while placing Khayyam out of the impact area should Shahisma somehow be thwarted.

Descending like a hawk upon its prey, the dragon warrior's plan began to fall apart. As began his downward fall, his attack was countered thoroughly by rapid movement. Twin grey optics gave all of there focus to the now rolling Arab on the dusty earth, not analyzing nor intuiting, but instead simply keeping track. The man's body would twist to the side, shield now flailing out to the left, while the warrior attempted what appeared to be a pirouette in mid-air. The maneuver seemed to be working, as Aves found himself once again on course.

His reassurance was shattered with his spine. The balled carpet struck without warning, and without mercy. Back bending inwards, the warrior was thrown from his flight with an audible crack, passing right over the now defensive Arab. The man somersaulted though the sky in a spectacular fashion, lower body limply whipping about. The man would soon find rest in the earth, however, as he came crashing down, headfirst, into the soil. His head embedded itself into the soil a small amount, such was the force of impact, and inertia carried the rest of his body forward in a skid. With his head locked in place, and body so mobile, his neck soon found itself bent in an awkward angle. With a further cracking sound, the dragon warrior's body hit the ground, sufficiently dead.

The middle-aged Arab fought against the glare of the sun straining to reacquire his opposition amid this brilliant light that flooded his vision. He was well accustomed to the visually impairing effects of the sun combating its effects on several occasions. It took a few moments for the tent-maker’s eyes to adjust managing to catch a glimpse to the tail end of the dragon warrior’s mid-air pirouette. The eloquent maneuver had brought the airborne predator far closer to Khayyam’s vulnerable position than predicted.

The silence of the warrior’s decent was broken by a forceful “Crack” released as a result of Shahisma’s intervention throwing the victim through the air like a rag doll over Khayyam’s prone position The helpless man somersaulted though the sky in a spectacular fashion, lower body limply whipping about. The Arab twisted, following the altered trajectory of the human cannonball and scrambled to his feet. What he witnessed all but assured victory as the force of impact, and inertia carried the body forward in a skid, his neck bent in an awkward angle ending with a final snapping sound.

“Nobody could have survived a landing such as that” Khayyam reflected solemnly strolling toward the lifeless mass heaped upon the loose dirt. Still, he was somewhat guarded as he knelt near the tangled contorted body left hand wrapped around the grip of the metal shears. He set the bamboo bo checking the pulse of the dragon warrior before rolling him over to get a closer look at his adversary. “A worthy opponent.” the Arab voiced inwardly, his reflection interrupted by a soft nudge at his elbow.

“Stand down Shahisma," patting the coiled fabric guardian as one would console an aggravated pet, “It’s over now. Let us pay our respect.” Quietly folding the dead man’s hands across the still chest, while the protector unfurled to rest upon the ground, Khayyam offered a closing prayer to guide the fallen warrior’s soul to find rest. Taking position upon the mat facing east, hands held palms together, the Arab warrior bowed his head giving thanks to the gods for safe victory. This he did until the sun set deep into the horizon behind him.