GBA: Fatty (Alt) vs Krest

[Reverance]

Participants: [member="Fatty"] (Alt)
[member="Krest"]

Location: Tattooine, Boonta Eve Classic, Oval track only
Time: Noon
Rules: No hard armor (thinking heavy metals. You can still use armorweave and things like that). No blasters, slugthrowers only.
Canon: No (for now)

Money has exchanged hands. Lights have been fired and the podracers have began their path around the track. But what's that? The view screen zooms in on the starting line where two mysterious figures seem to be facing off. Must be some sort of movie stunt, who knows. The walls on the track give roughly 100 feet for the expanse of the starting line. The fighters find themselves upon the dusty location with all their equipment, with the exception of any hard armor that they may have. That stuff has vanished, for some reason. In the same way, vultures have picked the combatants clean of any blasters, replacing them with more archaic slugthrowers that would be expected in outer colonies.

The walls on the edges of the track lift up 3o feet before plateauing into the Colosseum, filled to the brim with screaming fans. The walls stream a glistening blue light at 5 foot intervals, electricity spanning the entire length of the wall. Touching that would be quite the jolting experience. The wind is stale, the convection of movement from the podracers slowly dying down, as the duelists would suddenly realize that the podracing event had been given a secondary reason. As the knock-out drugs wear out, they may recall a wager made and a deal struck. Or perhaps they would recall drunkenly agreeing to a fight of the most insane variety. Either way, they better get to the fight real quick like, because those podracers are coming back around.

Special Considerations: Every 3-5 posts, you decide as you write, the podracers make their rounds across the starting line. Duelists have to adequately dodge or they will find themselves clipped or flattened out. If the players stall, guards from the upper colleseum will rain down slugs upon the combatants. Non lethal at first, slowly becoming more lethal as stalling continues. Attempting to climb the wall is an automatic death for the duelist. Any thing else is fair game.

Special theme:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FQNFcYvILJE​

 

[Darth Ferus]

Blue eyes opened slowly as the Zabrak stirred. Only for him to suddenly jump up. Last night to him was being drugged after talk on a duel he had been offered once upon a time.

Pod racers.

Oh god.

The last time Krest had been in one of these types of duels, he left quick as possible, not wanting to deal with this sort of idea. This time would be much of the same, if not for the shot fired in front of him. Stepping back, he'd reach for his saber. At least with the blade he could get ou- It wasn't there. Visibly twitching the Zabrak would scan around to try and find it, patting himself over. What he did have though, was two six shot slug thrower revolvers.

And another person across the way. He would begin to remember the details of the duel, but none of it mentioned pod racing. So ironic to the man. Pulling free the gun he'd point it, calling out once.

"You awake yet? I don't want this to be unfair after all."

 

[Fatty]

Alt - Hutuun'Kyramud

Spoiler

Equipment Reduction - Mandalorian Armor, blaster rifle, one Flechette Pistol, Various Grenades
Added Equipment - N/a
Remaining Equipment - Tusken Rags, Tusken Cycler Rifle on back (15 rounds), Scattergun at side (10 shots), One Flechette Pistols at side (5 shots), Beskar Gaderffii on back, Two Beskads at boots, Wrist Mounted Flamethrowers, Crushgaunts, Two Grenades, Ammunition

Sand.

Ache.

Noise.

A heap of concentrated honed muscle groaned lying face first in the sand. His rags enveloping him like an ancient mummy, the only thing indicating that he was not being the erratic rise and fall of his back in response to the report of blaster fire, scream people, and the hated noises of advanced vehicles.

There had been once a time when he did not mind such noises, but something within him had changed, the war with the Sith Empire had changed him. The Nuke of Keldabe... the cancer... everything about him changed. He swore to his people he would never again leave Tatooine, never again forsake the Traditions to fight for the star people. His spirit was for the sand now, he quenched the dangerous thirst that lay beyond the boundaries of Tusken Culture.

By engaging in his Mandalorian War, and in acquiring a terminal disease as punishment (along with many of his five hundred men, of which only a quarter or so remained). They too had become like him now. They were his Demigods, to his status as a God. His armor was unlike any of them had ever seen, and his Gaderffii unbreakable to any weapon. Even the Demigods weapons and armor, were penetrable, and their skill and thoughts were not of the tactical genius of their glorious War Lord.

In his brief absence, only a few tribes seceded or rebelled, but a vast swath of the tribes he lead kept true to him. The structure of the Tribe shifted however, to accommodate several things. He would share his role as Warlord with another in the specific tribe that united the others, mostly due to his absences in the past, partly due to his disease threatening his life, and his status as a God being beyond a Warlord's.

Though the unity of his army would be dissolved if he died, the tribe that adopted him would live on without great incident beyond the usual morning. It was why they allowed him to wander randomly at night when they were not raiding, as it was almost assure he would always come back to them eventually, usually with some new purpose. It was also allowed because blasters and slugthrowers had little effect on him, and his hands could catch plasma bolts, crush bones, and from beneath his rags fire could spew out like deadly tongues, among many other deadly powers.

All these "powers" of course could easily be explained, but in the eyes of the Tusken Raiders it was simply because Hutuun'Kyramud was borne better than the rest. When really of course, it was because he was adopted by Mandalorians by an earlier age in a chance encounter in the desert.

As such it was little surprise that the night before, in a sugar-drunk stupor the Tusken God-Prince demanded to walk the sands of the night. What was a surprise, is that he demanded the Tribe hold his precious second skin, as a religious rite and test of faith he would emplace now. He left the Elders to interpret what lesson was being taught by the Manic God.

Eventually, the Tusken Mandalorian stumbled into the territory of a notorious gangster. At first, guards shot at the Mandalorian, and amazingly (out of luck), he reacted swatted a blaster shot or two away before burning the two alive. This was the stuff of Myth here on Tatooine. There had been rumours of a savage Tusken Uprising, lead by a Dreadful Raider with inexplicable abilities.

However, before snipers picked the exposed Mandalorian off, the Prince fell to the sand in his drunkenness. It was seen then... that for the first time, a Tusken Raider might be taken alive... and one with such a reputation had endless possibilities to the gangster! After all, he did plan to shake up his pod racing act, and what better way to do so then to pit this savage beast into a duel... during the race. He had heard of a similar thing happening some time ago in some... Rakatan tournament, and it received popular acclaim! Perhaps duels during podracing was the way to attract attention nowadays! Only one way to find out.

Again the body groaned, and it heard muffled noise. His head hurt, and felt wounds on his body. There had been a fight to get him here it seemed, as was to be expected out of a Tusken Warlord/Mandalorian Field Marshal. They could remove almost nothing from him, so it appeared he would have pretty much everything at his disposal.

Slowly, the ragged figure kneeled clutching his head, other hand at his boot where a Beskad awaited to be used. Hutuun'Kyramud didn't hear what the other had to say, but he knew one thing: He was going to kill him, because he woke him up on his worst hangover yet.

Just like on Taris when he bullsided a Rakghoul between the eyes with a blade so many years ago when the Mandalorian Empire was still in it's infancy, the angry Tusken honed in his aim and let sail his blade at his opponent in a split instant. It was a little off given his current disposition, but it was still deadly accurate, and it was on a course for his opponents shoulder (rather than head).

 

[Darth Ferus]

[member="Fatty"]

There was a moment of hesitation with the Zabrak. Truthfully, he had never used a slugthrower before. Holding the gun in his right had he had at least gotten it level, yet it felt.. Alien to him.

And he was far to focused on it. He'd feel the blade suddenly slice through his shoulder, causing the whole arm to drop in an instant. With a resounding growl he'd go to draw the other pistol with his still working left hand, only to hear them. The pod racers.

"Kark."

It was the only thing he could say before he took off in a leap, going backwards away from the track just as one of the massive machines came into the picture, barreling past him. Thankfully he was able to get away from that, but it certainly didn't help that he had successfully dropped the only weapon he had left on him.

Dropping low he would try to use the passing podracers to at least disappear from the site of the very well armed Tuskan across from him. This became one sided to him rather fast.

 

[Fatty]

Luckily for [member="Krest"], it wouldn't really be one sided for long.

The Tusken Raider wobbly stood up with clenched fists at his side, seeing red as dual suns glared down at him and an incessant noise...

A flash of metal raced past him and all sense of anything was lost. His "opponent" wasn't on his mind right now, it was more of a "where the kark am I am, and what the hell is happening?". His senses still dulled from a combination of a hangover and recent drugging, the Tusken stood relatively unphased by the racers speeding towards him. The only indication that the Tusken was even cognitively thinking was that he pulled out his Flechette pistol and fired directly at an oncoming Podracer, with a fragment of the slugthrowers ammunition catching the pilot in the head and causing him to veer off and miss the Mandalorian Field Marshal. Many meters down the track the report of an explosion could be heard as the racer smashed into the side of the track. He looked back at his handy work being so distracted, and then turned to where he saw a low figure and point the weapon at him.

As he fired however an unseen podracer whizzed past him and ran into his gun. The shot successfully went off in the general direction of his target, but the weapon itself was flung many meters in the pod racers direction, who continued to race regardless of the near collision. The impact hurt the Tusken's arm, but did not hamper him in the slightest, his Crushgaunt protected him from any major injury to his hand or wrist. That didn't stop him from showing a little weakness however to hold his shoulder.

The small amount of pain forced him to let out an angry growl as the last of the pod racers zip by. Amazing, the Tusken Raider managed to stand in the midst of an insane race unabashed and survived to tell the tale. Surely, this feat would be mistaken by his opponent as either utter stupidity or Godly fearlessness.

The Raider fumbled with the Cycler on his back, next to his signature Gaderffii. It was really quite unnecessary at this distance, but the Mandalorian hadn't prepared for a close quarters deathmatch duel when he went wandering into the desert. Regardless, he just wanted to shoot the karker. Obviously the scattergun would have been the better choice, but thinking was never the Tusken's strong suit.

His opponent would be able to accomplish something before Hutuun'Kyramud could "aim" his rifle and fire.

 

[Darth Ferus]

Panting due to the near miss he had just experienced, he'd look over to see one of the pod racers crash and burn. After a rather loud gunshot. This was what he didn't want to have to deal with. Exploding vehicles. Fast chunks of metal shooting by. Guns being fired at him. But it was about this moment that the Zabrak remember something rather important to himself.

He still had the Force on his side. Looking over to the Mando Raider, he'd bring up his left hand not to catch a bullet fired at him, but knock it to the side. A burst of the energy would shoot out, causing the bullet to slam into the wall not even an inch from the side of his head. Krest stared wide eyed at that before looking back to the still semi drunk raider.

Seizing an opportunity, he would rush forward, his form blurred as the Force enhanced his speed. He'd raise his left hand to the side, calling forth not his own gun, but the blade that was used on him prior. With that in a reverse grip the Iridonian would plant his left foot right in front of the Tuskan, and bring about his left hand to bash his forearm, and by extension the blade, into the mans face.

 

[Darth Ferus]

Panting due to the near miss he had just experienced, he'd look over to see one of the pod racers crash and burn. After a rather loud gunshot. This was what he didn't want to have to deal with. Exploding vehicles. Fast chunks of metal shooting by. Guns being fired at him. But it was about this moment that the Zabrak remember something rather important to himself.

He still had the Force on his side. Looking over to the Mando Raider, he'd bring up his left hand not to catch a bullet fired at him, but knock it to the side. A burst of the energy would shoot out, causing the bullet to slam into the wall not even an inch from the side of his head. Krest stared wide eyed at that before looking back to the still semi drunk raider.

Seizing an opportunity, he would rush forward, his form blurred as the Force enhanced his speed. He'd raise his left hand to the side, calling forth not his own gun, but the blade that was used on him prior. With that in a reverse grip the Iridonian would plant his left foot right in front of the Tuskan, and bring about his left hand to bash his forearm, and by extension the blade, into the mans face.

 

[Lance of Dreams]

[member="Krest"]

As the raider fumbled with his rifle his opponent took the opportunity jump him, and with the very knife he had sliced his shoulder open with. The man had a great amount of speed, appearing as a blur to Kyr with a flashing knife. There wasn't much a hung over man could do when dealing with speed, however in his experience hitting it really hard usually did the trick. He fired his Cycler but there was no way it was going to hurt his opponent, besides, he was no longer intending to shot him with it.

As the attack commenced, the taller man coming down towards his head the Mandalorian did the only thing that made sense to anyone. As his would be assailant landed on his left foot, coming down with a leftward attack, the Mandalorian took his rifle and rammed it into his target's chest and charged forward to pushing him off. The blade missed the face, but cut through his shoulder. Now both of his shoulders were in some way hurt, but adrenaline did wonders for a man.

As Kyr presumably pushed Krest, the Mandalorian Raider used his muscled built arms to Rifle butt his opponents head with viscous tenacity. Of course, Krest had the advantage of force speed, while the Tusken was hampered by a hang over. Somehow, one got the impression that his dosage of drugs was a lot more powerful than his opponents, and that the gangster was hoping to see him die. This wouldn't stop the Warlord, but it might slow him down for a bit, as it was doing now.

This level of poor fighting in Kyr does not usually see the light of day, but it has happened before in the past, albeit under different circumstances. The Tusken Raider had once knelt to a Sith Lord for reasons even today he cannot explain, but he was glad that he was able to snap out of it and face off with the monster, before he and his vode blew the whole building up with an excessive amount of grenades. Fighting Darth Apparatus and the some-day Empress Varanin had been one of his toughest fights, and closest calls. That had been a looooong time ago. He would not be killed so easily in single combat, he only hoped that his age wasn't catching up to him.

 

[Darth Ferus]

If there is one thing the Zabrak cannot do, it is fly. If there is another, it is stop and change direction in the middle of a force charge. He could do little when he'd find the stock of the rifle plant itself square in the center of his chest. Between the speed of his own and the sudden jab, something cracked. Krest would find himself flailing backwards, only to find the rifle stock aiming for his head.

If it wasn't for the drugs in his foe, it probably would of ended with a cracked Zabrak skull. But the drugs gave Krest enough time to slide under the rifle. Now under the fully extended reach of the Tuskan, he burst forward flipping the metal knife around to thrust it into the presumably exposed armpit.

Close range fighting was not new to Krest. Much of his childhood he was forced to fight under one of the remaining Iridonian warriors, a viscous group of fighters that once rivaled the Echani and the Mandalorians. Now, they were nothing but remnants, having lost their holdings not due to outside forces, but their insatiable thirst to shed blood. They had turned on one another at the first chance, for the thrill of the kill.

Krest was like that once upon a time, but he wasn't as blind as the 'father' who had raised him. Now he had more skills, more powers. Without the force he was still a major threat, and here with it he was far more. Should the dagger connect, a blast of the Force would shoot out from his fist to send [member="Hutuun'Kyramud"] towards the electrified wall. He wouldn't be an easy one either.

 

[Lance of Dreams]

[member="Krest"]

Immediately as the zabrak shifted beneath his rifle, the Raider had the instinct to contract, bring the rifle down on his opponent despite the dodge. Combat was fluid, and didn't have time for stopping, so everything was a constant reaction to your opponent. Unfortunately for most this meant there were many instances of over commitment at bad times, and being unable to reverse your attacks quick enough to counteract your opponents blows.

As the Tusken brought back his weapon, he shifted over the knife as shooting pain ran through his body, and rendered his arm essentially inert. He dropped the rifle in response, as the knife would pass through a major artery. It was an uphill battle from here, as this was a fatal blow, unless promptly treated, which in this situation would be impossible. Though through the pain, the Tusken didn't hesitate to unleash reactionary aggression onto his opponent, as hesitation was a cowards errand. Using his other arm, his opened hand thrusted at his opponents knife arm. He was not worried about the knife embedded into his side, as even if it were released, his hand would be protected by his Crushgaunt... which by the way is what he was using in order to crush and break the forearm of his enemy. If successful, as his enemy released his force push, his enemies arm would release the blade due to broken bones, keeping it embedded into Kyr as a positive consequence.

Then Kyr would fly through the air, knife and all, into the electric wall. Kyr would release his alien tusken cry as his nervous system was lit up. The pain would be brief, but in that span of seconds the knife would be the conductive material required to direct the electric discharge directly into his would-be fatal wound, and cauterizing it to the point where blood loss was minimal if not non-existent.

If Kyr had not been quick enough to be successful and did not retrieve the blade as a positive consequence, then he would hit the electric wall, and his wound would continue to bleed, eventually leading to his death at the conclusion of the duel.

Hitting the ground with a dull thud, the Tusken remained face first in the sand for a solid second, as the rumble of podracers could be heard racing down the track. The Mandalorian made an effort to stand, but it was difficult with one nearly inert arm, and a torn shoulder on the other one. He managed to push through the pain, and as he kneeled, the podracers whizzed past him. His wound was either bleeding profusely, or very little depending on what happened.

 

[Darth Ferus]

[member="Hutuun'Kyramud"]

Crack

A hollow roar escaped the Zabrak as his forearm snapped. His hand was knocked aside, leaving the dagger in his foe, and himself with two useless arms. Krest had never been in this sort of position. Before, his now broken arm was robotic, stronger then normal, and much more durable. This wasn't the case.

Then he coughed. Blood splattered the ground as he stumbled back, his teeth gritted hard. The cracked ribs must of punctured a lung, and he could already feel his breathing getting harder and harder. He didn't have much time left on his feet, especially as he started to sway.

And the podracers came. He looked over to see one of them, a rugged looking pod, flying right at him. The rusted frame was huge, and there was little tile for him to do anything.

So he dropped flat. Without his arms to help cushion the sudden drop back, he landed on the ground roughly, skin scraping. And the pod went over him. His yell was drowned out by the roaring machine.

But as quick as that started, it was over. Using his broken arm, he would push himself to his feet, swaying again. His hearing was gone, replaced by the loud ringing. And then he saw his foe. A grim expression went over his face as he saw the cauterized wound. The Tuskan certainly had the advantage.

He was still kneeling however. Rushing forward, the Zabrak would do the only thing he could. Low to the ground, he would once more plant his left foot, turn on it, and go to bring his knee to his foes head. Then, should he connect, he would bring back his right foot, and with some impressive dexterity, lift the leg high, and drop it down on the hopefully exposed dagger.

This was very likely his last attack, and he put everything he had into moving close and attacking his foe. The force flowed through every part of his body. There wouldn't be anything left.

 

[Fatty]

Ignore

 

[Lance of Dreams]

[member="Krest"]

Holding his side the Tusken softly growled as he made sure he could breathe after his shocking experience. He had a lot of metal on him: Crushgaunts, his Tusken helmet (which doubled as his Mandalorian helmet, albeit wrapped in the customary garb of his people), his Beskar Gaderffii, his Scattergun, two grenades, ammunition belt, extra knife, and the blade in his left armpit. Naturally all that conductive material reminded him once again that electricity - whether it be from a force user or from an electric wall - does not feel good when donning metallic armor and such. Thankfully, he was not in his full suit of armor as he was used to, or his damages would be even greater.

His rags were slightly charred in many places (mostly on the back), and his wound was not as bloody as he had expected, for reasons he didn't even think about. His mind was too preoccupied with killing his enemy then to take inventory of his situation. Retracting his right arm from his side (taking note that he would be unable to use his customary weapon due to his left sides debilitation) the Tusken began to stand as the Zabrak planted and pivoted his left foot in the sand. The knee came and connected with head (though the blow was softened by his helmet/tusken survival apparatus) bringing him back to the ground. The impact still jarred him, but prevented any immediate serious injury (and would most likely not feel that great to his opponent).

With his right arm, the Tusken clenched his fist, swung forward, and dropped his wrist down. Liquefied hell spewed out from his ragged limb like chaos-fire, unleashing a reality unto his enemy filled with charred flesh and brimstone. The Mandalorian had done something similar to a Sith creature in the Defense of Concord Dawn, and it didn't take too well to the heat. It was in his fullest expectations that this Zabrak, being so close and definitively not a legitimate monster, would very much not enjoy being burned alive whilst in the already blazing heat of a Tatooine Pod race track.

Between his guarded helm, and unleashing his flame thrower, there was a split second where things were looking up for the Tusken Raider once again... but he was weakened, and without the armor that had protected him since his adoption into Mandalorian society. For all these years the Resol'nare had protected him from fatality, but as he wandered into the desert as a Tusken Raider, he had lost his way. The single tenet to which he was famous for taking to the logical extreme - to wear armor - was forsaken. In this moment he realized his fear of cowardice and hesitation, had lead to a moment in his life that he would become Dar'manda.

Imperceptible eyes closed behind the helmet of a once great warrior to the Tusken and Mandalorian peoples. He was born into one, adopted by the other, he lived as one, yet lived for the other. But in this moment... armor less... and incapable of lifting his Gaderffii... he would die as neither.

The high kick connected on its return, driving the blade further into his body, resulting in his harrowed and damaged scream.

 

[Darth Ferus]

[member="Hutuun'Kyramud"]


There was a faint smile on the face of the Zabrak. As the fire came at him, his foot came down. Neither of them could stop the other attack at this point. By the time his foot got close, he could feel the heat washing over his form, singing at his skin. But he gritted his teeth, slamming his foot home.

But then there was only fire. And pain. His senses were alight with nothing but overwhelming pain. Flamethrowers were meant to stick and burn, and he was no exception. If he had more strength left, perhaps he could of made a barrier. If he had his arms, perhaps he could of absorbed the heat itself and turned it into energy for himself. But he had neither of those.

The pain in his knee from the hit on the helm was second to the blistering pain he had. His skinn charred black after only a moment, and he flailed backwards. Krest could not think, his mind just overrun with the burning sensation. He would flail until he couldn't anymore, falling to the ground. The fire died out, leaving a now dark red Zabrak in its wake. His breathing was already hard, and it seemed the fire chared his lungs.

He was as good as dead if he didn't get medical attention. But deep down the Zabrak knew it wasn't going to come. Taking in a ragged breath the feeling of being on fire would wash over him again. He was going to die here. In the one situation he had hated the most.

A grin formed over his face. The irony.

 

[Reverance]

[member="Krest"] | [member="Hutuun'Kyramud"]​

​

So before I go on to say who won this fight, I wanted to commend you all on an epic duel that led to what some would consider a stalemate. The story here was very solid, so congrats on that and I look forward to reading more from both of you, and seeing how you all develop. However, I do have some constructive criticisms for you all

@Fatty: My man, detail is a great thing for a fight. It liven things up, it gives great background, and it really puts the reader into the groove and weight of the fight. But too much of a good thing is sometimes, not really a good thing. Try to keep your descriptions, and what not, cemented in the purpose of the fight. After you write a post, take a step back and ask yourself this one question: Does all this detail help in furthering the understanding of the duel? Besides that, I really enjoyed the view I was given of your mando.

[member="Krest"]: Injuries. I think sometimes we write injuries in duels and sort of remove ourselves from the situation, without truly internalizing how these injuries would impact someone. This is really a criticism for both of you, but I found the impact of the wounds you all took on as slightly unrealistic (i.e. lifting yourself with a broken arm, being electrocuted with an open wound and a lightning rod stuck into said wound, etc. etc.)

This wasn't a technically strong duel (hand placement, stuff like that), which is fine, because the nature of the duel didn't require it. But in the future, please try to remain consistently descriptive of whats going on with your hands and your body.

Thank you all for writing here and I hope you all will continue to pursue duels in the sort of practice and improvement that they can afford. So, the winner of this duel, is...

Krest​

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