GT2008 Round 1: #13 Skallagrim versus #26 Ryan Michels

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First post: Ryan Michels
Restrictions: None.

Please remember to be mindful of the Official Tournament Rules.

• There will be a 30 day time limit on all matches.
• There will be a 3 day response time limit on all matches.
• If an opponent does not show within the first 7 days, they will be replaced.
• Actions will be voided if the poster can not accurately explain them within the post.
• All participants will display sportsmanlike conduct.

All matches will take place in a nondescript (and mostly destructible) ring 30 meters in diameter, made of the same flat white marble as the rest of the GT Dimension's buildings. An additional 10 meters of grass extends outward from the edge of the raised ring, finally meeting a 10 meter wall which rises into the stands surrounding the ring. The descent to the ground from the ring is a mere meter, and serves as a clearly defined boundary between the out-of-bounds area and the actual combat arena.

At no point in time are the competitors permitted to touch the ground at any point outside of the ring, or the match will end in a ring-out, declaring the remaining party the winner. Transversal outside of normal four-dimensional timespace (or, at least as normal as the GT Dimension can be) as well as backwards transit on the plane of time will result in the offending party being disqualified.

The stands surrounding the ring are filled with spectators that will have arrived just prior to the start of the tournament (by just a few days). At no point during a match should harm come to the audience, else the immediate disqualification and forceful removal of the offending party will become the primary focus of the GT League staff.

Replacement: Onatah
Fight Completion Deadline: August 7th

Ryan Michels did not show up, and as a result his position in the Grand Tournament is to be filled by the above.

(OOC: Hope it's good enough for ya. )

And they throw me on like I'm some sort of second fiddle. An auxiliary, replacement fighter. Pathetic.

Realizing that he should have been called from his room quite a time before, Onatah had made his way back to the entry hallway to ask for assistance. He had found himself almost entirely alone, and then infuriated. They hadn't even told him the slots were full, and being lucky enough to be the replacement gave him no solace.

Oh well, he thought. I'll just have to take it out on my opponent. My opponent named... Skaaaaaaawluhgrime? Skahlahgream? Skullahgerim? Heh, I'll have to ask before we start. Always been bad with names...

Onatah kept himself cheery using the dumb mental jokes, trying to clear his head for the combat that was about to take place – which was good. With a simple jaunt outside, he reached his destination: a myriad of enclosures, surrounded by raised stands filled with spectators. At least, mostly. A few of the arenas were nearly vacant; either the matches hadn't started yet, like Onatah's own match, or they had already concluded, had none of the other fighters been replaced.

And thank God the match listings had told him how to get to Arena 11. He would've been woefully lost otherwise.

His opponent was already there, too, calmly waiting for his arrival. At least, the Native guessed that the creature was his opponent. Considering the majority of the bystanders appeared to be quite natural, and sitting in the stands... well, Onatah took the opportunity to size up the thing before making his presence known. He didn't particularly like what he saw; some sort of undead creature?

Geez, I don't like where this is going. Not really used to creepy magical things... hope it knows how to talk.

“Good luck with the match,” the Indian said proudly, laying on his Native accent thickly and striding calmly past his skeletal friend. He wore a fabricated smile across his face, and the thoughts that paraded about his mind were frightening.

Don't talk back, don't talk back, don't talk back... wait! His name!

Even from his place on the large arena floor, the skeleton was creepy. It sent a chill down Onatah's spine. All he could do was take a wide-footed, shoulder-forward stance across from the tunnel entrance and hope to his Native ancestors that he could keep up with whatever powers the thing was going to throw.

Feathers that adorned the Indian's khaki shorts and white headband fluttered about, like the birds that he had already become many times before. The animals, too.

So many possibilities... hmm. Actually, this might be fun.

The test of arms would begin now, the warriors through out the myriad holons of existence had gathered to compete; now the experiences the sleeping queen sought would be laid bare, new understandings of reality, of existence, would be opened to the eternal dreamer. Slowly as Skallagrim took the field, the amethyst energies that fueled him flared in his eye sockets. Translucent wisps of that energy floating around his face, rising as a purple mist then floating off into nothingness with every step he took. The boots padded softly along the marbled tiles, creating muted taps with each footfall.

The subtle breeze that flowed around the arena, flowed over the marble battle ground, and rustled the short shorn grass. All of it sublime, tranquil, but shortly the peace would be shattered by the blood curdling cheers of the crowd, the violent actions of the contestants, the savagery that both would surely display to emerge the victor.

Skallagrim reached out with the resonating darshan to feel, to understand this battlefield, seeking to frame his and his opponents place in this reality. Each subtle reverberation of the darshan brought understanding, brought experiences held deep in the memory of the holon. Allowing the resonate darshan to surround him; Skallagrim began comprehend the reality that is the now, the present, this place, this existence. The grass, the marble arena, the underlying earth the arena sat upon, the walls, everything resonated and thrummed their place in this moment, this now.

The soft rustle of the metal links of his armor against the hooded cloak carried in the arena as Skallagrim padded towards his opponent. Ahead would be the man he would face, having read the name on the list, Onatah, even as his opponent passed him in the tunnel, he offered a…what? He offered luck? Skallagrim processed the phrase and its inherent meaning. Every step brought him closer to understanding. And with another step a dusky metal clad arm reached across the metal shrouded body and drew the war sword which susurrated from the blackened sheath that housed it. As the gauntleted hand gripped the handle, a slight tingling coursed through Skallagrim. The runes on the guard thrummed and resonated with darshan.

A subtle shift of his body, and Skallagrim drew forth the seax that rested on his right hip, the pulsating miasma of black dream stuff that surrounded the blade seemed to rise and fall, a tendril reached forward towards his opponent then snapped back, coiled around the metal blade and thrummed with a fury barely restrained.

With a whispered voice, long forgotten on any world, Skallagrim uttered, “Patience my children, the fight is upon us and once again the Xindhi shall ride forth from the shadowed dreams and guarded gates of slumber to experience life, to perceive that which exists.”

Walking forward a few more steps, as the darshan flowed and swirled around the seax, weaving itself in the pulsating miasma of dream stuff, the energies in the eye sockets of Skallagrim also pulsated, flared and glowed brightly for a moment as Skallagrim focused on his opponent.

With an ease that came from untold millennia of existence, Skallagrim assumed his stance with his back straight yet inclined slightly forward, the shoulders straight and not slouched, his eye sockets focusing on the opponent. His left leg forward and slightly bent at the knee the foot facing the opponent. His right leg back and also bent slightly at the knee, the foot at a forty-five degree angle, the bending of the knees allowed for sudden movement. The majority of the weight of his body on the balls of his feet, the heel of the right foot rose slightly off the ground.

The war sword in a deft move flowed around Skallagrim, the weapon held low and behind his body the tip of the blade faced backward. The hand that held the sword was palm up, the edges of the sword at an obtuse angle. The war sword hidden by his body from his opponent, while the left arm gripped the seax in front of him, the left arm bent slightly, loosely as the roiling miasma that enveloped the blade angled over his right shoulder.

The darshan that flowed from Skallagrim wrapped itself around the swords, placing them in this reality, framing them in this time, this place, this existence. Skallagrim was prepared to share the new experiences with the sleeping queen. The whisper of the grass as it bent to the will of the wind, the soft sigh of the earth under the marble tiles, the subtle unified expectation of the audience as they waited with bated breath for the fight to begin. All registered and noted.

The voice echoed in the silenced arena, “Good luck to you as well.”

Onatah was never particularly adept as sensing the power of others. Perhaps it was the way he tended to rush things, never quite taking the time to pick out the little details. It could have been that he usually didn't bother with assessments before fighting, because he typically grew up with, or was given information about, his opponent. Maybe he was getting interference from his own power. It didn't really matter, though.

This time, he was feeling it.

It was probably the eyes that did it: they were glowing green, and seemed to exude some sort of aura. Then again, the dagger that the skele-man had drawn had an aura too, so maybe it was more to do with creature's visual preference than it was the thing's actual strength. The weapons themselves, though, presented a problem, especially considering that the Indian had no weapons. Unless he wanted to stick a feather in the thing's eye, which seemed wholly useless considering the 'eyes' were actually just energy-filled sockets.

At least he was a polite skeleton-thing.

Well then... I guess I'll have to go a bit overboard. If he's going to use swords, the only thing I can turn to is... Martial Arts.

"So, Mister Skallagrim..." the Native began, destroying his initial stance by crouching into an all-fours posture, like some sort of freak cat-man. "I must ask: are you familiar with the Crouching Tiger?"

As the last two words left the man's mouth, a whirl of energy surrounded him briefly. It shifted his form near-instantaneously. After the short fraction of a second, the dark-skinned man had been replaced by a magnificent orange-and-black coloured animal - the tiger. It was a sleek 650-pound monster, thirteen feet from head to anus. But the natural appearance actually served to hide the even more enormously powered creature within. Thanks to the incredible might of the Supreme Spirit, enigmatic as always, the tiger's natural strength, agility and speed were enhanced far beyond what one might assume from simply seeing the beast.

And hopefully this thing isn't too suspicious.

The powerful legs of the black-striped orange feline were shot full of energy as they launched Cat-natah at the skeletal figure in a ferocious pounce. Choosing not to brave a direct assault at the miasma-laden dagger, the shapeshifting Indian instead directed his assault towards the bent kneecaps of the glowy-eyed creep, with his head - and sturdy jaw - aimed directly at the thing's pelvic bone. Luckily, he had already braved far more repulsive dangers than a bony crotch.

Onatah wasn't simply giving his back for the enemy to slice, however. His body was already filling with energy, preparing for the possibility of another light-speed transformation should the situation call for it. A few choice shapes floated through his brain, but, really, he had to wait to be able to react.

And he damned well hoped he could pull off something useful, too.

“So, Mister Skallagrim…I must ask: are you familiar with the Crouching Tiger?”

With those words spoken the man in the shorts transformed in a blink of an eye into a massive feline being. Orange and black fur rippled with barely contained fury, a fury unleashed upon Skallagrim as the beast leaped forward.

Resonance echoed and roared around the arena, each moment framed in time, from the words spoken to the leaping of the once hominid now feline predator. The sudden metamorphoses created a ripple in the shared experience of the arena, even as Skallagrim digested the event via the resonance the crowd gasped at the visual display before them.

The energies that swirled in the eye sockets flared brilliantly, as Skallagrim framed the large black and orange beast, the coiled muscles, and the gaping maw. If the Xindhi could smile he would have, as he passed his lead foot back, shifting his position so that the right leg became the lead. The position of the swords shifted visibly, the war sword with the glowing runes flashed forward and into a high guard position, the sleek blade held in a nearly forty-five degree position. The sharp edges vertical and the hilt aimed at the face of the springing feline. With elbow bent and loose, the shoulders unfettered with strain, the blade merely waited for the sudden and swift use it was intended for. From here Skallagrim could with but a supple move make a shearing cut on the beast with the sharp blade.

As the left boot came back and touched the polished marble tile, the hips opened up as the body shifted with the positioning of the weapons. The seax pulled in tight against Skallagrim’s abdomen, the shadowy energy roiled and reached forward seeking the large beast, yet it was contained by the position it was in, facing the beast point forward.

With a subtle, almost imperceptible manipulation of the darshan, the energy that had been flowing around the Xindhi since he touched the marble platform, was now being drawn forth, the energy that traced every imperfection in that marble. Touching every depression under the marble which rested upon the hard packed earth, every unsettled imperfect stamp where the tile was laid upon this mound of soil. Marble being a metamorphic rock, laid the foundation of the darshan manipulation that Skallagrim was now employing. He was using the marble surface as the basis of knowledge for the sudden and complete recrystallization of the original rock and dirt that lay under the polished overlay, into an interlocking mosaic of Orthoclase.

That recyrstalized formation was a much denser, Orthoclase rock, which as with most igneous and metamorphic rocks contains much feldspar, quartz, pyroxenes and amphiboles. Their aggregate hardness is thus between 6 and 7 on the Moh’s scale of hardness. This now incredibly hard stone was being propelled upward as a spear cracking through the marble surface sending a shower of marble splinters into the soft underbelly of the leaping cat.

The roughly six-inch diameter blunt rock spear lanced into the belly of the leaping and stretched cat, it would strike the beast just below the rib cage hammering the stomach and pylorus as well as the small intestine, which also has outlet through bile duct and pancreatic duct. The small intestine would be followed by the large intestine. The hydrostatic shock wave from the impact would be created when fluid (blood) in these tissues is rapidly displaced as the incredibly heavy projectile struck the softer belly region of the large, muscular cat. Since tissue behaves similarly enough to water that a sonic pressure wave can be created by a blunt impact, generating pressures in excess of 100 atmospheres (1500 PSI).

In addition to the local effects on the soft tissue caused by direct impact, through a hydraulic effect in liquid (blood) filled tissues, the “hydrostatic shock" would also produce remotely some possible neural damage and even incapacitation more quickly than blood loss effects from the blunt force rupturing of the small and large intestine. The explosion of bile from the possibly ruptured intestines would create immense pain as the acids would burn and infect other soft tissue in the body cavity.

Even as the immense weight of the cat carried it forward, the sudden impact from behind and under the cat would surely cause its projected trajectory to be altered to some degree, and depending on how effective the sledgehammer like spear pummeling its soft underside was, it would determine how effective it would be in continuing to fight, if it could even rise from such tremendous force on the taut and exposed under section of its lithe, muscled body.

Skallagrim remained ready, his weapons continued to hold in the position they had assumed prior to the effects of darshan on the marble and earth. The rustle of wind as it carried and swirled around the stage, the utter silence by the shocked crowd at the display of violence before them. Already the formation of a possible second attack and defense was tracing its way in his mind as he waited to see how effective his initial attack had been. Each moment had been framed in resonance, memorized and prepared for the great sleeping queen to experience the events as they happened.

He had always suspected that the emerald-eyed being was powerful. As the marble morphed itself into a new substance, however, Onatah was completely assured of the creature's strength. Unfortunately, the creature seemed to doubt the Native's strength.

That was uncalled for.

The first thing that the being appeared to underestimate was Onatah's senses, especially their strength. The second thing that was miscalculated, or so it seemed, was the speed at which the Indian could react - especially in terms of his transformations. With the extremely heightened feelings that his specific feline creation held, Onatah could sense the air displacement of the spear, even as it jolted out from the ground. Having already felt the miniature splinters of stone pierce into his skin, he knew where the spike would be coming from. As if in slow motion, he located the rising attack, and activated his form-shifting power.

The spear had just barely begun to stab the tiger's stomach before it was stopped in its track by the incredible energy that the reformation created. Where once there had flown a tiger, a massive 16-foot-long serpent instead appeared: a boa constrictor. It wrapped itself quickly around the powerful marble shaft. The splinters that had before been stuck into his belly were now located in the most helpful of places - the animal's well-refined teeth. With help from both the Supreme Spirit and these stone pieces, the hardness of the teeth was enhanced well beyond the hardness of the marble, nearly rivalling the Mohs scale measurement of diamond.

And, with further help from the Spirit, the creature's muscles were enhanced too. Before the crowd even noticed the change in shape that Onatah had performed, his serpentine jaw was already wrapped around the top of the spear, while the majority of its body was wrapped even tighter around the base. With a loud crack, the spear was dislodged from the ground and, making effective use of his impressively muscular body, the snake threw its head forward and launched the weapon as a counter projectile, directly towards the bony, super-powered freak.

Taking the opportunity, the Native coiled his scaly body up, pushing back against it to launch himself after the projectile. There was a stinging sensation, though; despite displacing the damage that the lancing spear had caused, the scratches it had translated into were still an annoyance. As the tingling ran down the thing's ruddy brown body and subsided, Onatah launched his spring but became slightly worried. Even the smallest amount of damage had the threat of accumulating and culminating in a problem.

The best he could do at the moment, however, was to pay the creature back with a good, strong bite on the neck.

The punishing orthoclase piston had slammed home into the cat, striking the underbelly, but before it could cause massive internal damage and knocking the cat’s trajectory off enough for it to land and skitter across the marble, sprawling out in pain it transformed into a…snake. The long sinewy body wrapped around the truncheon, the large maw gripping one end.

Even as the events transpired, each instance was framed and focused upon, by the Xindhi. The being had been nicked; he was sure by the fragments of the exploding marble. The nearly twenty feet of muscled serpentine body had wrapped and snapped the extended column of rock from the ground with a shifting of the coiled muscles. Then tossed the pillar of rock towards him, yet for all that, for all the muscles it held the stone with it still used its mouth to toss the rock.

Skallagrim watched the large formation of orthoclase tumble towards him, for tumble would be the best term to describe the hurled mass of rock. The snake, for all it’s strength was hurling the mass with its jaw, not an appendage; the precise control would not be present in its toss. From his positioning, the Xindhi scout merely slid his left foot behind his right, and then transferred the momentum of movement to his right foot raising it and crossing it past the left. Even as the lead foot once again plant firmly on the marble tile, it was a transitory moment as the entire procedure was executed once again. The entire move placed the Xindhi a total of six-feet from his previous position, even as his right food assumed the lead position once again the large spinning column of rock sailed past him. The gust of wind generated by the spiraling clump of mass ruffled and billowed the dusky cloak briefly then dissipated as the rock crashed heavily on the tiles behind and to the left of Skallagrim.

The positioning of the swords never wavered, the brilliantly flaring energies that whorled about the eye sockets never increased or decreased in intensity. The snake had followed up the hurled rock by launching itself forward. Snakes by their nature must extend themselves be it an attack or for movement. It was that curse of nature that left it open to the events that followed it leaving base and hurling it self at the swordsman.

Even as the slight breeze that swirled the arena, even as the crowd gasped in shock and some might say awe at the exquisite nature of transmutation the one known as Onatah displayed, the sudden and daunting rumble as the war sword held above the skeletal being flared and flashed with energy. Intense blue-silver light rippled along the blade and exploded in a muted sonic boom as the runes ignited and focused the darshan into electricity.

Passing his guard, the left leg swinging forward, the left arm pushing away from the abdomen, the seax with the roiling miasma of dark energies rose in conjunction of the step. As the booted foot slammed heavily on the undamaged marble floor, the seax was chest high, the edge facing the flying snake.

The moment of impact, the muted clack of shod boot on the marble, drowned out by the explosive sound of the thunder, even muted only those of with the most impressive auditory powers would hear the sound. Yet it was a sound that echoed in the darshan, the resonance of this shared moment was recorded and memorized. Every moment was framed; second by second so the sleeping queen would dream it, feel it, understand the fight as it transpired.

The flurry of movement continued as the left foot had planted, the right leg was already in motion, the foot swinging forward to plant itself, the body of the warrior torquing as the hips opened up for the move, the arms and shoulders already flowing forward, the blade leaving a blue-silver arc trail of light as it swung in an arc for the extended form of the leaping snake, the sword edge, at an angle for the uncoiled and unguarded neck.

Even as the blade swirled and flowed from its position over his head, Skallagrims other weapon was drawing back with the edge facing skyward, perpendicular to the left foot, held ready for a counter strike. The elbow of the left arm lay snug against the armored ribs of the Xindhi. The slashing downward motion of the war sword flared and filled the air between both opponents with highly charged particles. The blade was aimed to strike the extended neck of the snake just behind the massively wide skull, hopefully to cleave the head from the body.

((Three days an no word from Veste, I am closing my attack))

Even now as the snake lunged forward, the audience held their collective breaths, they knew, could feel something was about to happen. The mass of coiled muscle that comprised the massive boa constrictor, sixteen feet in length, stretched for a rapid attack upon the eerie Xindhi.

The momentum of combat was in effect, movement and counter-movement, an intricate dance that only the most skilled could appreciate on a level beyond the mere visual displays that the general audience witnessed. The thick body of the snake hovered momentarily in the air, confident in its attack, an attack that even the most neophyte of spectators to such test of arms could grasp as simply elegant in its potential to cause damage.

Time seemed to slow down, as it always did when events transpired that would be locked in the memory of the observer, memories that would always be recalled as people shared stories of great sporting events, events termed “I was there when!” This was one of those moments, and the audience could feel it.

Skallagrim had swung the electrified sword at the head of beast, having avoided the mass of rock that it had hurled, the brilliant blue-white light that illuminated off the sword cast elongated and twisted shadows from both contestants that stretched and crossed over the undamaged marble. The great scales on the snake shimmered and reflected the light, appearing wet and metallic at the same time.

The end of the dance was near, the crescendo of a spectacular give and take, of fluidity and ingenuity was framed now as the electrified blade slammed into the thick body of the snake just aft of the wide, triangular head. Even as the momentum of the swing forced the blade to scrape and bite, finally sinking in a half of an inch into the meat of the beast, the crowd inhaled as one, eager to see the events that would occur next.

As the booted foot contacted the marble, Skallagrim unleashed the electricity that coursed along the blade into the snake. The soft and exposed tissue, wet with blood and the nerves that ran along the length of the great serpent would conduct the energy. The low amperage, high voltage discharge would wreck havoc with the metamorphosed body.

During the fraction of a second in which the electrical discharge occurred, the surging energy ran along the body and nervous system of the snake, causing a lot of electrical confusion along the length of the beast. The initial shock would wash over the body and register as immense pain in the brain of the Onatah. But that pain would give way to muscle spasms along the entire sixteen feet of length, contorting and compressing the thick muscles that had ripped a pillar of stone from the very ground and hurled it. Rapidly as the surge of electrical energy raced along the nerve tract of the snake, spasms and shuddering would overcome the body. An imperceptible fraction of a second later as the energy hammered into the brain of Onatah, the overload of electrical impulses would make it virtually impossible for him to interpret the massive burst of nerve impulses he was receiving, simply because the electrical impulses that raced along his body carried no information at all.

Thus as the energy flowed and danced along the entire length of the serpent causing a debilitating influx of energy along the nerves, it would also have the benefit of keeping Onatah from sending any meaningful instructions to his body. The overwhelming electrical surge would play havoc with him as it was applied, whatever metal capacity he had was in a great deal of disarray as he would struggle to cope with the conflicting and immense electrical impulses that was shutting down any control he held over his form.

Above the static discharge and resulting hum as the energy arced and flowed, above the collective gasps of the crowd who were witnessing the moment, a single voice carried in its hoary antiquity, “Yield Onatah!” Skallagrim exclaimed.