++ Dark Angel Duel to the Death ++

[Gillyfish]

“Brothers.”

 

The booming voice of Supreme Grandmaster Azrael broke the silence of the chamber as he strode into the centre of the dimly-lit cavern.

 

“Today we and our representatives from our successors gather to enact a ritual dating back to the earliest centuries after the Fall; the Blood Duel.

 

“Our predecessors did not know the fate of the Fallen until a group of them were encountered on Oscurus XVII. A feral world populated by a tribal people, they had been enslaved by a group of Fallen led by the traitorous captain of the Legion’s 10th Company – Heziah.

 

“The revelation of their identity horrified the Astartes who discovered it. Incensed, every Master who was present offered to lead the assault and capture or take the head of Heziah.

 

“The Masters agreed to duel for the honour and duel they did.

 

“We now stand before another such challenge. The traitors are gathering in force and, in time honoured tradition, we need a Champion of our own to capture their leaders.

 

Let the Blood Duel commence!”

 

 

Okay, I have randomly selected the opponents for the first round of DttD battles. They are as follows:

 

Cyrian Firenze vs. Grandmaster Arariel

Brother Captain Sergio vs. Interrogator Chaplain Asmodeus Blackcrow

Brother Librarian Alvan vs. Interrogator Chaplain Jason McAdoo

 

If any of the combatants’ owners want to give special instructions to me for the fight, they need to do so before 9th September 2010 (because I’m going to start running the battles then!).

[BoonKin]

I just realised that everyone here is fearless ;)

 

@ Gillyfish: I have just PMed you my instructions.

[Firenze]

Should be fun. Good luck everyone!

[pueriexdeus]

Absolutely it'll be fun. I look forward to taking on some of those lesser Chapters.

 

*edit* punctuation

[Gillyfish]

Okay, I've completed the first three matches, with some 'interesting' results. I'll write them up as soon as I can (probably aiming to finish them off next week) and then we will be into the next round of matches.

[pueriexdeus]

ARRRGGGGGG!!! The suspense...

[JeffJedi]

"Interesting' results" What can that mean???

 

Must ... have... answers....

[WarSpirit]

everyone died, killed at the same time because of same init :jaw:

[Lord_Hail]

"So did you hear the one about the orbital strike", .............

Interesting times is a curse, but agree need results...... suspense is murder.

[BoonKin]

everyone died, killed at the same time because of same init :)

 

and because everyone refuses to give in (stubborn nature).

 

and yes the suspense !!!

[Gillyfish]

Firenze vs. Arariel

 

 

The first two warriors strode into the dusty circle, their bulky forms moving with surprising ease. Guttering torchlight cast an auburn glow across Cyrian Firenze’s pauldrons and helmet, islands of light amidst the darkness of his armour. He activated the power blades on the wrists of his ancient armour and crossed them in front of him in a mark of respect towards his opponent. He moved his hands to his side and drew Infernus, his plasma pistol. With a well-practiced move, Firenze activated the weapon, bathing himself in blue light from the volatile power cell.

 

Opposite from Firenze stood Master Arariel, a veteran of many battles. He stood, shrouded in darkness, the cloak he wore absorbing all light. He nodded his head towards Firenze and activated his own weapons; his lightning claw crackling with eager electricity. He turned sideward toward his opponent, bringing his favoured storm bolter up to his chest. At this range, he would certainly get a few shots off at his opponent before Firenze could even use his plasma pistol, an advantage Arariel intended to use fully.

 

The other figures in the cavern moved back, giving the combatants some room. With a crackle and a strong smell of ozone, a power field was activated, creating a dome around the two fighters. Although both were using minimal power and low velocity rounds, to minimise injury, the weapons could still be deadly.

 

Finally, Azrael’s voice carried across the chamber, rising above the hum and crackle of weapons and shields.

 

‘Commence.’

 

With a silent snarl, Firenze pushed himself forward, eager to close the distance and bring Infernus into range. Arariel calmly move backward, keeping his storm bolter trained on his opponent, waiting for him to come into range. The chamber seemed to shrink as Arariel took careful aim. The chattering cough of the storm bolter sounded unnaturally loud as the sound reverberated form the chamber’s walls. A stream of shells spat at Firenze, hitting him multiple times, denting his armour but failing to slow him.

 

Firenze knew he had to respond, the constant fire was slowing his advance, despite his attempts to evade it, and the longer he endured the punding, the more likely his armour would fail. He fired a speculative shot from his plasma pistol, but it splashed harmlessly against the power field to Arariel’s right. By contrast, Arariel’s steady staccato fusillade continued to find it’s mark. Firenze muttered a silent prayer of thanks to the Chapter armourers for their good work and prepared to fire again, this time taking careful aim himself. He fired Infernus, sending a blue burst of energy fizzing towards Arariel. Too late Arariel tried to dodge, but the plasma bolt hit true cutting through Arariel’s armour. Finally, the fusillade ceased as Arariel staggered backwards. Firenze launched himself forward, hoping to take advantage of the situation, raising his power blades to pierce Arariel’s already weakened armour.

 

Arariel felt pain. The plasma bolt had found a weak point in his armour and pushed him backward. Gritting his teeth in pain, he could see Firenze charging forward, blades raised. Arariel swept his lightning claw towards the power blades, blocking one thrust and then another, but Firenze proved to be relentless and finally one blade slipped through. It pierced Arariel’s side, spilling blood and cracking armour. He readied himself to strike back, although he knew, in truth, that the duel was lost.

 

‘Hold!’

 

Azrael’s voice sounded clearly. ‘Master Arariel, you have fought well, but you must yield. Master Firenze has won this bout.’

 

Arariel nodded curtly, closing his mind to the pain and putting it to one side. He held his hand out to Firenze.

 

‘I yield’.

 

Firenze nodded and grasped the outstretched gauntlet. ‘You fought with honour, brother.’

 

Result:

Firenze wins.

 

[Krieghammer]

Congratulasions to Firenze! nice work

[pueriexdeus]

Congratulasions to Firenze! nice work

Ditto on the congrats.

[JeffJedi]

Well you can't win them all. ^_^ Great write up and congrats to the victor. I'm eager to see who will be the Dark Angels Champion.

[Hashshashin]

Awesome!

 

Great Job

[Lord_Hail]

Thanx for your well written report, can't wait for the rest.

[Firenze]

Awesome! I expected to lose actually. Comiserations to Jeffjedi. I feel a little bad my Griffons captain won ;).

 

Good Luck everyone with their fights!

[BoonKin]

Good win :thanks:

 

But I wonder when are the other 2 coming out? The suspense is just unbearable ;)

[Gillyfish]

Sorry, about the wait Boonkin. I have been busy at work and much of my board time has been taken up with the projects. I will see what I can do to get these out soon and I apologise (profusely!) for the delay.

[Gillyfish]

Blackcrow vs. Sergio:

 

 

Firenze strode form the circle, his arm supporting Arariel as the brothers made their way to the Apothecary at the back of the Chamber. Quiet murmurs of congratulation were uttered by the normally taciturn members of the conclave. Gradually they faded away, like tide on shoreline.

 

Azrael spoke once more, his voice carrying in the still air of the chamber.

 

‘Asmodeus Blackcrow and Brother-sergeant Sergio.’

 

The two new combatants nodded to each other and strode forward into the arena. With a hiss and crackle, the power field descended again, leaving an unpleasant smell of ozone and burnt machinery in the chamber.

 

This was Sergio’s first such conclave and it spoke well of his experience and the trust that Master Belial held him in that he should be invited here. He moved forward in his bulky armour. He wondered why he had been drawn against such a high-ranking member of the Unforgiven. Both were clad in terminator armour and in terms of protection, should be well matched, but Blackcrow’s reputation as an unparalleled warrior preceded him. Blackcrow carried his storm bolter and crozius Arcanum with practiced ease. Sergio studied him closely, looking for any hint of weakness that could be exploited, but Blackcrow simply adopted a still, stoic pose, not a hint of movement in his form.

 

Blackcrow gazed back at the sergeant standing across from him. Sergio had a growing reputation within the Chapter – Belial spoke well of him and it seemed that he was marked for greater things. This would be a test of his mettle and his resilience, both physical and mental. Blackcrow analysed the coming conflict, planning his moves. Clearly, Sergio would seek to close the range as swiftly as possible so that he could use his lightning claws, denying Blackcrow his ranged advantage, not that Blackcrow expected his storm bolter to penetrate the thick white armour. No, this fight would be decided at close range – the two would be well matched, but Blackcrow could trust in his greater experience and his faith in the Emperor.

 

Azrael’s voice cut across his thoughts, ‘Commence.’

 

As expected, Sergio charged forward, seeking to close the gap as best he could in his armour. Blackcrow also advanced, calmly aiming his storm bolter and letting off a tight burst of fire. Sparks cascaded from Sergio’s armour as the rounds found their mark, detonating with loud, low thuds, but Sergio’s armour lived up to its formidable reputation and the only effect of the fusillade was to scratch the paint and scorch the armour.

 

Blackcrow began chanting the litanies of hate as he accelerated, matching Sergio’s breakneck pace. He surged forward , raining blows at Sergio, seeking to use his additional feedom of movement to get round Sergio’s guard. Stunned by the ferocity of the attacks, Sergio nearly faltered, just managing to catch and deflect one of the blows, but Blackcrow came at him again and again, Sergio’s thick ceramite suit the only thing saving him from harm as blows clanged from it, buckling and blackening the metal.

 

With gritted teeth, Sergio pushed himself forward, launching his own attack and breaking Blackcrow’s momentum. He aimed a jab with his lightning claws at Blackcrow’s midriff, but Blackcrow twisted at the last moment, causing the claws to skitter off. Blackcrow now seemed more wary, sending careful thrusts at Sergio, looking for an opening. Sergio did likewise, aiming to open up Blackcrow’s guard by feinting at the arm bearing the Crozius. Finally, Blackcrow committed to the attack, his crozius fizzing in towards Sergio’s head, only to find it caught by Sergio’s claw. The sergeant saw his opening and struck, tearing at the black armour of the Chaplain. Blackrow ignored Sergio’s strike and instead brought his storm bolter up to fire at point-blank range at the cabling exposed by Sergio’s thrust.

 

With a thunderous boom, the shells detonated, splitting and cracking armour. Sergio, reeled back, his other lightning claw brought up to guard himself against the inevitable follow up. Sergio could feel blood pour from the wound Blackcrow had given him. The chaplain attacked with renewed fervour, pushing Sergio into a frantic defensive routine, blocking and dodging thrust after thrust. The terminator armour fed information directly into Sergio’s mind; he had lost 40% of his rotational ability in his right arm, and the claw was reporting intermittent power failure. Sergio re-focused himself, chanting a litany of endurance under his breath.

 

Blackcrow could feel his frustration growing, Sergio had been wounded, and by rights should be finished by now, but his defensive abilities had so far confounded the Chaplain’s attempts to finish him off. Despite himself, Blackcrow was pleased; Sergio was clearly a fighter with great potential. His pleasure turned to shock as Sergio suddenly launched an attack. Caught off guard, the sergeant’s left claw slid under Blackcrow’s crozius and drove onward, punching through the Chaplain’s chest-eagle and into the flesh of his torso. Blackcrow gasped in pain and surprise, cursing himself for letting his attention wander. He brought his crozius round in a vicious strike, forcing Sergio to block desperately, but even then the blow caught the sergeant in the side, opening another rent in his armour.

 

Sergio staggered to the side, and then continued the mover forward into another attack, claws ringing off armour. The two combatants traded blows, each looking for an opening. Sergio could feel his strength ebbing and knew he would not be able to last much longer. Blackcrow seemed to sense it too and renewed his attacks, with increased speed and fervour. Sergio blocked strike after strike until finally, he knew he had nothing more to give. Still he refused to be pushed back or to yield. He locked his faltering right lightning claw into a solid position and then simply threw himself forward at Blackcrow. He knew he had left himself open, but if the Chaplain hoped to defend himself, he would have to break off his attack, giving Sergio vital moments of relief.

 

Blackcrow could sense victory; Sergio was tiring and, whilst wounded, the Chaplain knew he simply had more left to give. He brought his crozius round again, aiming to wear Sergio down still further, but then Sergio launched himself forward. Blackcrow saw an opening and struck Sergio’s helmet, but the sergeant’s aim had been true and both his claws pierced Blackcrow’s armour. Astonished, the Chaplain let out a cry of pain as Sergio forced him to his knees. Blackcrow had been defeated! But... no, Sergio too had been hurt badly. The sergeant’s helmet had been crushed on one side.

 

‘Enough!’ Azrael’s voice sounded in the chamber. An apothecary hurried over to the two prone warriors. They quickly removed Sergio’s fractured helmet and helped Blackcrow to stand.

 

Sergio nodded to the Chaplain, his face bloody, but unbeaten. Blackcrow nodded back, ‘You fought valiantly, brother. You took victory from me at the moment, I sought to take it from you.’ He gazed at Azrael. ‘This is a draw, is it not?’

 

Azrael’s voice was firm, ‘It is.’

 

 

Result:

Draw.

 

[pueriexdeus]

Usually we would give some congratulations about now. :P but no.

 

I will have to say that Gilly's writing skills are the real winner on this one.

 

Since we knew it was going to come down to three, we now know who they are. Two bouts left till the DA Blood Duel winner is declared.

 

ARRRRGGGG more anticipation.

[BoonKin]

It was a good fight. Clearly Blackcrow is also a formiable opponent *salutes*

 

And yes, Gilly's writting skills is the biggest winner here. My hats off to you sir, for giving my character such a colourful background. It made me think (for a second) that my character (Sergio) might see an appearance in future Unforgiven novels (together with the many others here).

 

Worth the wait :D

[Lord_Hail]

Whoot more great fluff, sir. And your writting skills definetly the winner.

[Firenze]

That was cool! Brilliant writing once again!

[Gillyfish]

And here's the last one - sorry it's taken a while. One more fight remains to find the Champion of the forum. If the victors (once they've read this!) want to send me any new instructions they want me to use for the final fight then I will run it on Wednesday evening. In the meantime, enjoy and thank you for all the nice comments so far!

 

 

 

There was a lengthy pause as Sergio and Blackcrow were tended to. The normally taciturn members of the Unforgiven spoke softly to one another, whilst others quietly commended Sergio and Blackcrow on their valour; the pride was evident on both the marines’ faces as their metabolisms fought to combat the pain that seared through them.

 

Eventually, the reverent hush returned to the chamber. Azrael called to the final combatants.

 

‘Interrogator Chaplain McAdoo, Codicier Alvan. Step forward.’

 

The two marines moved into the circle. Both were clad in bulky terminator armour, the dim light reflecting from its smooth surfaces. Whilst Alvan’s was the midnight blue that denoted a Librarian, McAdoo’s was the abyssal black of an Interrogator Chaplain.

 

Alvan considered what he knew about McAdoo, searching for a psychological clue that would allow him to unbalance his fierce opponent. McAdoo was renowned as something of a maverick. He had retained his original name, something that was virtually unheard of amongst the Unforgiven. After all, the gift of a new name was considered to be a key step along the way to becoming a full member of the Chapter. Yet McAdoo’s loyalty and ability could not be doubted. He led from the front, fervent prayers upon his lips as he destroyed the enemies of the Imperium. It was perhaps fitting that his suit of terminator armour was non-standard, with extremely large pauldrons that offered excellent protection from incoming fire and made the already fearsome Chaplain a far more imposing presence.

 

McAdoo was unpredictable; whilst Alvan could usually see echoes of his opponent’s intentions in their aura, McAdoo was harder to read. Alvan could see the shadows of thoughts gather around his opponent in a roilling mass of smoky images, each clear for an instant before drifting away like smoke on the wind, as McAdoo planned possible attacks, parries and counter-thrusts.

 

Alvan had much to prove; his Chapter was younger than most of those present and did not yet have the rich heritage and traditions of the other Successors. Still, they had an excellent combat record and his inclusion today, whether he won or lost, marked the increasing esteem within which his Chapter was held in the ranks of the Unforgiven. Alvan focused his mind, determined not to let his Chapter down. As he tightened his grip on his force axe he could feel his mind clearing, the weapon providing a focal point for his energies.

 

McAdoo stood across from Alvan, outwardly still. Inwardly, his mind boiled with thoughts and plans. It was always like this for him before a fight; his mind calculating the likely outcomes of possible moves, always seeking to surprise an opponent, to push them off balance and the find the chink in their armour that would be their downfall. Too many fighters got into bad habits, following the pattern of familiar defensive routines. That made them predictable.

 

McAdoo sensed this one would be different though. He did not know much about Alvan, but psykers made for difficult opponents; they could attack not just in the physical realm, but directly at your mind, slowing you, sowing doubt and confusion. There were even rumours that some of them could see your decisions before you had made them, lending them a supernatural speed.

 

This would not be an easy fight.

 

Finally, Azreal’s voice sounded.

 

‘Commence!’

 

Alvan immediately moved forward, bringing his storm bolter to bear. If he could get close enough to McAdoo he could bring his psychic abilities to bear and he might be able to get a clearer reading of his opponent. Evidently, McAdoo had had the same thought and strode forward, slowly closing the gap between them, his measured pace at odds with the churning waves of his thoughts.

 

Alvan fired short, controlled bursts of storm bolter fire, seeking to drive McAdoo backward. He doubted the explosive projectiles would have much effect, but it would allow him to see his opponent’s reaction. The storm bolter rounds cracked and sparked off the armour, causing McAdoo to slightly twist his body so the rounds impacted on his heavily armoured pauldron. He returned fire, a hail of rounds hurtling at Alvan, thumping against the ceramite of his chest armour. Alvan’s armour easily dealt with the bolts, just as he had expected.

 

Alvan increased his pace, firing again. McAdoo responded with fire of his own, continuing his slow advance. Suddenly Alvan slowed, pointing his force axe at McAdoo. Alvan’s eyes glowed and ethereal lightning crackled around his head in a halo of warp-energy. White flame leapt from the blade of the axe, bathing McAdoo in baleful flames as Alvan poured moiré energy into the attack. Paint hissed and ran as the fierce flames sought out a weak point. McAdoo growled and leapt at Alvan, swinging his crozius in a pattern of fast attacks. The flames flickered out, as Alvan’s attention wavered and he was forced to parry attack after attack, the weapons crackling and clanging as they met again and again.

 

With a sudden flick of his crozius, McAdoo reversed the direction of his attack, dipping underneath Alvan’s guard. Alvan’s gasped as he sensed the danger he was in – he had only seen McAdoo’s intentions just before he had attacked. Alvan desperately willed the attack to slow, creating a barrier of psychic inertia that slowed the thrust and robbed it of its hitting power.

 

Alvan could read the surprise in McAdoo’s aura. Swiftly moving onto the offensive, Alvan thrust his force axe forward, seeking to take advantage of the opening he had been presented with. With a terrible screeching sound, the axe bit deeply into McAdoo’s armour, but the Chaplain pulled backward before it could enter his flesh. In return McAdoo feinted forward before swinging his crozius in sideways at Alvan’s unprotected flank. Again, Alvan was able to slow the blow before it landed, allowing it to do no more than dent his armour.

 

McAdoo’s mind raced, looking for gaps in Alvan’s guard. Alvan had proven to be a worthy, even frustrating, opponent, able to match his every move through martial or psychic skill. McAdoo could get through his guard but couldn’t land the blows he needed.

 

McAdoo’s moment of uncertainty was nearly his undoing; Alvan launched an attack of his own, seeking to draw McAdoo’s crozius far enough away from his body to land a blow. The force axe skittered off his armour as McAdoo was forced onto the defensive. He needed to change his tactics and regain the initiative.

 

McAdoo slowly gave ground then halted abruptly causing Alvan to come closer than he had intended. McAdoo swiftly followed up Alvan’s imbalance with two swift blows to the Librarian’s pauldrons that did little damage but pushed Alvan backward. In response, Alvan launched an attack of his own, thrusting his axe wildly at McAdoo’s face. The force axe clanged into McAdoo’s chest armour and was deflected sideways as the Chaplain rolled with the blow, causing the crackling blade to score his armour, but little more.

 

Alvan knew this couldn’t continue, neither of them was able to get the upper hand; they were clearly wary of one-another’s abilities and that meant they were putting more into defence than attack. If he were to be able to land a telling blow, he would need to commit himself fully, accepting the risk that he might leave himself open. Alvan pulled backward, parrying blow after blow, searching for an opportunity to commit himself to an attack. All the time he used his mind to slow the attacks that McAdoo made, gradually increasing the resistance, until McAdoo had to fully commit himself. With a roar, McAdoo lashed out again at Alvan, his blows cracking armour and scorching paint as the crozius’ field sparked against the blue metal. But this time there was no psychic attempt to slow the blows. McAdoo stumbled forward, straight into the outthrust blade of the Librarian. The force weapon bit deeply into the armour and carried on. Alvan had been waiting for just this moment and channelled his abilities through the force weapon and into McAdoo. The Interrogator Chaplain cried out in pain as the energy rippled through him, but somehow he maintained enough presence of mind to throw himself backward, breaking the connection.

 

Tendrils of foul smelling smoke drifted off of the wounded Chaplain. Dazed, he still somehow managed to parry Alvan’s blows enough for them to slide off his armour. The clangs and clanks of metal on metal sounded like they were coming from deep underwater. Slowly, painfully, the fog in McAdoo’s mind slowly began to clear and he was able to parry Alvan’s blows with more force. Somehow, pure instinct and the thickness of his armour had allowed him to survive Alvan’s blows, but unless he did something drastic, this fight would be Alvan’s.

 

Alvan advanced. Somehow the Chaplain had still managed to block his attacks. He could sense McAdoo’s dazed mind, wounded and hurting. How was it possible that he still resisted? Lesser foes would have been destroyed by the blow he had given McAdoo and yet still the Chaplain carried on. There was still an inner steel there – Alvan could sense it – a cold, hard core of determination and resolve bound tightly around the Chaplain’s soul, like an additional layer of armour.

 

McAdoo could taste blood on his tongue, the metallic fluid bringing him back to the here and now. The Librarian continued his attack, but McAdoo could almost sense Alvan’s frustration as the attacks failed to get through, blocked at every turn by McAdoo’s crozius. Yet he was painfully aware that all he was doing was parrying, blocking the thrusts – he wasn’t attacking and without an attack he could not win.

 

That would not be. It could not be.

 

With a snarl, McAdoo took a blow on his crozius, lent inside the attack and hooked the axe towards him, pulling Alvan off balance, and gouging a deep score into the black armour of his pauldron. McAdoo threw himself forward, deliberately leaving himself open, pushing Alvan’s axe deeper, biting through servos and cables and into unyielding flesh, as he brought up his crozius and smashed it across Alvan’s face. The impact was concussive, throwing the Librarian back. Unconscious. There could be no question: McAdoo was the victor.