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 Posted: Tue Nov 28, 2006 6:01 pm
Omi Barsait vs. Lazenca Miranda
FIGHT!
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Posted: Fri Dec 01, 2006 7:30 pm
Round III match for Omi Barsait in the Barton Branch: Lazenca Miranda. Another fighter that, to Barsait's dismay, he had not witnessed a previous match of.
Heavy, leather boots dark as obsidian, lined either of this young man of perhaps, seventeen years of age' feet. Tied securely, top of each extending over his legs & jeans a bit; treads on the bottom built for long travel, though also for keeping one secure on a surface. His next bit of apparel from the bottom up, would be the common pair of dark jeans. Perhaps, not quite as black - at least, same as his boots - but still rather dark, matching his shirt rather well, though that was yet to come in description. The jeans were more of a comfortable bit of apparel, though they did allow for quite a bit of ease in range of motion. Simple in design, they gave way upward to the cotton shirt; Omi wore a different one this day than his norm. Sleeves coming down to his upper-mid arm, it was a rather sturdy shirt; still allowing quite a level of free motion, though, rather similar to a common T-Shirt.
Following this, was a pair of leather gauntlets coming from the hands, to the mid-arm. Almost a mixture of a knuckle & bracelet, these two gauntlets were rather dark, with white embroidery lining their edges; mixtures of leather and trace metal made them rather durable, no doubt reinforcing a punch or two. Fingertip-less, they did not detract from dexterous actions. However, a small slab of steel, or a hand plate, lined each of these gauntlets; gray, highly compressed steel, and an engraved 'O' in both, dead center both horizontally and vertically. A circle, the Latin character 'O'? Matter of irrelevant debate.
Finally, lining the skin between his gauntlets & the t-shirt - and from his lower neck, to wrists, to just above his feet, twas a chain mesh. Mixtures of highly compressed iron, and trace amount of materials which one could easily consider to be Unobtainium - it was rather heftier than the clothing he wore otherwise. Yet, it helped alleviate blunt force, helped deal with extreme temperatures, helped alleviate pressure against him.. all in all, the quality of a high class, bulkier plate of armor - in a form that still allows considerable movement freedom. And Omi was no stranger to the weight, thus, his movement was not inhibited like one would quickly assume otherwise.
Dark, wild hair strewn about & some of the bangs coming down over his eyes - just vaguely pale skin - amber brown eyes - a bit taller than average, though not considerably - and, rather thin, though he held a hint of muscle. Perhaps, a bit lanky, but irregardless. The mercenary had one final element of apparel to be addressed: a sheathed blade in lacquer leather, hanging quietly upon his right-backside. The handle looked rather interesting, coated in strips of leather & dark-blue cotton.
He was in a peak condition physically & awareness-wise, which by no means was Omi in during either of his last two, official matches. Thus, he had been most eager to battle his new opponent come that day.. had, being the keyword. Gales at forty miles per hour and rising - a lowering windshield - and a thunderstorm brooming in the east, which twas heading every steadily towards the tournament grounds. No doubt, it would be raining with a rather fierce set of winds, right where the two combatants stood.
This, in and of itself, wasn't much of a problem to the mercenary. In fact: he would all but give the rain salutation, if only for the fact the condensation would aid him.. However, as the ever-fiercer winds struck him, sand was being gusted about the arena. This made for poor sight conditions. But, more promptly..
"I despise this damned wind.." The mercenary muttered in a pseudo-lazy tone, placing his right palm over his eyes, as bits of hair blew across his eyes - sand casted about to & fro. Yet, standing upright, he could hear over the gales which no doubt made spectating unfriendly, the announcement of the match's prompt beginning.
"Omi Barsait versus Lazenca Miranda. FIGHT!"
The booming, familiar voice signaled for another bout which would end one of the two fighters' time here in the tournament. So, in an act of respect to the man across the arena which was presumably his opponent, Omi rose a hand and bellowed out, "Well met, and good luck!" A casual, greeting tone, distinguishable despite the howling wind.
Yet, stretches, thinking over how this match would progress, paranoia, fear, analyzation of his opponent.. all were now crushed beneath his overwhelming anticipation of the bout ahead. The mercenary shifted his left foot back along the chaotic sand, arching the right forward in turnplay. His body was lowered just a tad as result; right shoulder coming forward, left coming back. An offensive stance, assumed just in case this would turn immediately into a melee frenzie. His right hand, knuckles facing the sky, had its' fingertips outstretched in a lazy matter; left hand's fingertips facing the ground & further back. And, eyes gazing ahead with a piercing glare, even through the chaotic weather, Omi awaited his opponent, Lazenca Miranda, to make his first move.
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Posted: Sun Dec 03, 2006 3:07 pm
Inna dat cohnda, we have Omi, who had survived his other fights and gained insight into how people are going to be here. Two full fights, think about that! Perhaps the man would go to the top, or perhaps his opponent would stop the progress here and now. Either way, Omi had to be prepared and loose and knowing what kind of thing to suspect.
Inna dis cohnda', we have Lazenca, who'd not been in his matches for more than three minutes before something happened to make him advance. The first time, the guy melded with the ground and healed himself... it was the melding that dq'd him. The second guy was sure to be a good fight but maybe he started feeling sick, scared, worried, left his oven on... because he'd bowed out just before Lazenca landed his first attack of that fight.
The warmed, heavily armor'd blade user against the cold, lightly armor'd hand/feet user. Yeah, this was going to be phire.
"Where is he? He's up!"
"I'm here..."
Lazenca had been in the back, trying to get his muscles a bit loose and making sure his equipment was secure on him, not rusting from lack of use. Hopefully he wasn't going to get creamed in this fight due to not knowing how people would come in this battle. Well... no, he knew. That first guy made a fortress of himself. The second guy had a gun [thank goodness he agreed not to use it] and was just a good fighter. However, those were just demos. It was like a sampling... getting the demo of a game that gives you a few abilities and throws you in front of a midboss fight, but has a timer on it so that you never get to finish. After all the story gleaning and watching the graphics, you get to the fight only to have the game reset on you.
"That crowd again..."
As Lazenca pulled down metallic gauntlets, he lifted his head. Thumb and forefinger continued to grip the beveled gold-colored trim. The less elaborate shinguards beneath the loose black slacks (Dickies brand, y'all) were fine, just fine. His necklace was too... that sucka was strong, able to withstand someone's attempt to steal it not long ago. As his bare feet carried him to the tunnel's exit, he lowered his lids so that the amount of light being thrown at him was limited.
A fade to white, and Lazenca found himself looking up to the roaring crowd. Bets had been placed on him, for he did manage to survive the ziggurat attack... people depending on him to bring home that extra side of bacon cheered. Those who doubted his skill, reasoning that his wins were only due to his opponent's flubs, were making known their wish to see him fail. It was initially hard to see with the wind whipping about them... air in the eyes and all... but Laz's eyes took a moment to readjust to the whisps of sand circling and took a deep breath.Quote: "Well met, and good luck!"
As best as he could, he observed the man. Eyes focused through the winds and to the best of his ability, Lazenca saw and smelled none of the dreaded weapons. However, it would be best to warn him, lest things get out of control. A hand raised to the air and he spoke over the sounds. It was easy for him... he carried four voices speaking simultaneously, with one of them speaking backwards. They all sounded as if they were talking in a grand hall, which had a great, spooky kind of reeverb effect horror movies would be smart to reproduce. However, Lazenca didn't sound fearsome otherwise. Right now, his mood was completely steady and his hair was black-blue.
"The same to you. No firearms, I really don't like 'em. Would that be okay?"
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Posted: Mon Dec 04, 2006 4:15 pm
A sudden shockwave seemed to blast through the crowd. The crowd seemed to be doing the wave except...they were toppling like dominoes. A blast of kinetic force had shattered into the midst of the east side of the arena, breaking a few seats and even crushing a few audiance members who were, to quote Foamy the Squirell, too "********' STUPID" to move when they saw the flash of light traveling toward them.
As several people got up, cursing, a bolt of lighning struck the mostly empty circle where the kinetic force had struck. In the bolt's place stood a rather intimidating figure who hadn't been here in...what, two months?
It was him, Fasumbra Langardo, nOOb killer supreme and Ex-Cruxian Emperor.
He was missing his left arm completely, the left sleeve of his black robe hanging empty by his side. Under it was a blood red tanktop which bared a little of his hearty, sinewy muscles.
The few women who recognized him swooned, but most everyone was pissed off at him for his rather disruptive entrance. Of course, they weren't gonna do s**t to someone like him...
...Except the drunks.
Speaking of which, one of the aforementioned drunks and a few of his equally intoxicated buddies walked up to Fas, who was looking down into the arena, watching his good freind Omi.
"Hey...Who the ******** do you think YOU are?" The "leader" said, with a heavy slur to his words.
Fas stood silent for a moment, looking over Omi's opponent before answering his agressors. "I don't really think that's your buisness..." Fas said, a cool, calm voice flowing from his lips like silk for your ears.
"Oh really..." Replied the drunkard, pulling out a switchblade suddenly and rushing Fas, stabbing toward his chest.
The drunkard was, of course, no match for a Cruxian Angel's reflexes. Fas' right foot shot up, kicking the switchblade out of the intoxicated gentleman's hand. Fas then caught it and threw it full force, which impaled his "opponent's" skull and went out the back of his head.
Needless to say, his buddys escaped quickly after this, before Fas sat down, kicking one ankle up onto his knee.
"Go Omi." He said as enthusiastically as he could muster, which would be enough to reach Omi's ears, but still not overdone.
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Posted: Mon Dec 04, 2006 6:44 pm
The winds died down for a moment. Only to pick back up again in a furor; then, suffering another brief departure. This allowed for some comfortable words to be exchanged by the mercenary, though currently, in a comical fashion no less, he was blinking rapidly at the four voices of sorts heard but all at once. Odd, really; the very nature of the sound reminded Omi of one speaking in an empty hangar. And to dwarf the winds as it did..
Still, he did right soon respond with a nod & voice loud enough to carry, "Surely. Never was much of a fan of getting full of lead myself." Despite the intimidating demeanor of his opponent, Lazenca - the opponent seemed to be rather friendly. Or civil, at the very least; a new one for Barsait in this tourney.
--------------
[Recapture]
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First, he had battled Ki'oshi Renetzu, Round I of the Gaian Tenkaichi Budoukai Barton Branch. A fighter with a physical prowess & speed hard to match, and more ways of nullifying any one given assault from Omi than thought possible. Yet, in the end, Ki'oshi's own abilities proved to be the fighter's downfall..
For by shielding himself with what was, more or less, a sheet of metal enveloping the man's flesh- he had weighed himself down considerably. Prior to rule edits, prior to more recent arena changes; Ki'oshi' was disqualified, which in the end, proved that attention to detail far surpassed pure power. Omi Barsait vs. Ki'oshi Renetzu Finally, the match was over; Ki'oshi' had been disqualified, by being driven ten feet below the ground. A 'ring-out', so to speak. Omi fell to his knees, panting heavily - tired and admittedly exhausted. It was just then, that the realization of there being a crowd around him - people, returned. And so, slowly, his right arm rose into a victorious fist. This day, he had fought and became victory against a great foe. But, he was also moving on. ------------- The crowd clapped and cheered after an astonishing match-up before the announcer chimed in with his familiar tone. " Omi Barsait is victorious! The warrior advances to Round Two!" More cheers and applause, even as the fighters exited arena-left.
---
Next, the mercenary felt his physical prowess, while certainly above ordinary, lacking due to the nature of his prior bout. So, he sought to improve it through both the tried-and-true methods of harder labor, all in the means of bettering himself. And, besides the common methods, what way to improve oneself at battle better, than.. to seek friendly competition?
In entered the fellow-tournament fighter, Raine. Never did quite catch her last name. A quiet, shy woman, clad in dark apparel, whom seemed to be pleasant enough to the mercenary in conversation- though, albeit, with an overwhelming kind of grief accompanying her tone. Perhaps, something else? Never did delve too deep into that, either.
Regardless, the two, Omi & Raine, had what was agreed to be a friendly bout in the Gym facility of Tenkaichi. Unfortunately for Barsait, at one point or another, the concept of their exchange being "friendly" was all but tossed aside. In fact: in the end, rather harsh words were tossed towards the mercenary & his 'foolish' nature, as well as a mid-bout attempt at a rather permanent means of paralysis..
Omi Barsait vs. Raine ... Omi grinned; his arm was released. Good, now he could turn the tables. At least.. so he thought. He loved the flow of battle. He loved the addreniline, the rush, the tenacity.. but, that was not his chief purpose in battle. Not at the least. And if it came down to harming others - mortal wounds, however few he had dealt due to keeping himself in check, made him feel disgusted with himself. Both because he felt true skill would allow defeat without murder, and because of the moral issues lining a death. However, as he rammed forward - the mercenary saw what she was doing ahead of time. Yet, as his teeth gnashed together, he also knew - not a thing could be done. Raine had him. His eyelids began to widen in surprise, as her hands grasped his wrists. With such force, he knew there would be no immediate escape from such a grip; and then, it got worse, as he grunted in pain whilst her right foot dug into his back. A bit of paranoia began to unset upon him. He could feel more and more pressure being applied - the pain splitting across him, as his mouth began to open wide in silent anguish. Now, he was being faced with far more than just the risk of a tournament-ruining injury.. if this attack succeeded, it was entirely possible his spine would crack. He could die. ...
Fortunately, the mercenary managed to narrowly escape this sudden leap from non-lethal melee play, to an outright attempt at death. And from there, obviously, the match was well ended; though, the mercenary did walk away from the match with a little more focus on his time at this lovely tournament. In a competition for money, any well-meaning face may lead to a snake, it seemed..
---
Irregardless, his next, official match came up. The cryptic, mute Number 66. A gunman, with more technology on hand than any average fighter; and by all means, the man with an obscured face fully used them. Personal barrier. Goggles which analyzed the man's surroundings in such an acute manner. Powerful gunshots that could render a man dead in but an instant. Slowly, it was also made apparent: something unnatural lined 66's abilities..
Though, more pressing to Omi, was the fact he could've well froze to death.
Omi Barsait vs. Number 66 This is only employed for a split moment, and then two barbed, Teflon-coated shock rounds are deployed despite the shielding betrayed by the winds. Even with his vision back to normal, Number 66 is able to draw in on the same trajectory, aim of the bandaged hand more composed than a quantum singularity constituted solely of Valium. They zip along towards Omi's center of mass at hypersonic speed in all of their Tungsten-alloyed glory, which means that they'll be heard before they get there. And in one unmelted piece. This is surprisingly conventional technology of an era that some would easily identify with as 'real life.' Within the second pull of the trigger, the miniature extinguisher reached its apex at the dead center of the arena sky, whereupon it whirled 'round faster and faster like the dervishes of old, gouts of pyrotechnics shooting from either end reminiscent of heavy sparklers on Diwali day. It fractured into a few hundred pieces with a smattering of fragmented pale smoke, and in the next instant whizzed out into clusters that daisycuttered into even more clusters, which set off into the equivalent of fireworks composed of liquid nitrogen. Colder than the reaper's sword, a few points above absolute zero, which was far lower than that of the chemical in any conventional setting. This stuff had been tinkered with to rival a rapidly expanding version of the Boomerang Nebula. It was a testament to the quality precision construction of the explosive that it would rapidly expand to all but the outermost few feet of standing space within the fringes of the arena, an oval of relative wintry solitude that included the inspector, now a little under halfway across the distance 'twixt his opponent. Chaos. It was by a hair the mercenary got through the arena, which became reminiscent of Dante's depiction of the lowest level of Hell. Yet, in the end, Barsait reversed the situation something fierce; and Number 66 decided to, calmly, forfeit in face of this matter. Exact reasons were unknown, though there was a distinct possibility, he had little other choice to make.
---
Finally, the mercenary had a practice bout, partly by accident, with the feminine spear man, Arcanine. While no doubt a friendly fellow, the degree of why he was friendly, caused no lack of irritation on the dark-clad mercenary's part. Especially when passes were made upon Omi, before, during, and potentially after their bout.
In fact, despite his playful demeanor, Arc appeared as though he would prove victorious with his last action. Yet, perhaps it was this lack of focus, and insistence on playing around, that caused Arcanine's rather sudden defeat.. Omi Barsait vs. Arcanine His eyes widened sharply - managing just by a bit to force his left hand off course, at the cost of any kind of blow to occur. It shifted along the outer-left edge of his ankle; no pain inflicted, but all the same.. Omi had to commend his opponent, for using his own assault against him. Little time for such an act, however, as the mercenary faced a new problem: Balance. It was bad enough, him being on one leg as it were; now, with a rather dexterous set of motions, Arcanine had freed his weapon from the mercenary's dead-lock. It seemed like this spar would spell an unfortunate end for the dark-clad swordsman, for the staff whirled about against his backside. The mercenary couldn't evade such a motion. And he well knew it, too. So, at the last moment or two before contact, one counter-action was performed. In a motion which inspired the saying "An eye for an eye..", he hopped. Lifting his right foot off the ground, using his opponent's temporary grip of the left leg to keep himself from falling outright- and immediately slammed the booted foot down on a new surface, which kept him from being swept outright. Arcanine's unsifted, unprotected right foot. The thrusted-down boot dug in, feeling the powerful admantium metal clash against him; if it weren't for the mesh Omi wore beneath his cotton clothing, a rather sharp pain would have ensued in the rear-anklet - though, it still stung a tad to feel metal strike metal. Irregardless, the mercenary now moved to end the match. Arcanine was skillful, Omi would readily admit. In fact, in terms of motion & flexibility, perhaps, Arc surpassed the mercenary - though, that would be a matter of opinion. However, there was something the mercenary did have over Arcanine: He never missed an opportunity, however slight. And one, he most certainly had. Perhaps enthralled by the punch heading his way & the seemingly sure-win of sending Omi's legs out from beneath him, the man had forgotten.. this was not a purely melee match. They did, in fact, have weapons - and the staff, powerful in impact and range though it were, did not have a keen edge like the mercenary's own tool. Simply sliding along the shoulder it had been at earlier, with truly nothing to resist it now - Caladbolg, radiating in it's brilliance, moved along Arc's shoulder-blade rather swiftly- before stopping about an inch or so prior to the neckline, now more carefully coming to the neck. Not quite touching, but the edge was just a hair or so off from pressing against Arcanine's throat. Meanwhile, the averted hand from earlier - the left fist of Omi, it's homeward punch dashed to dust - had it's revenge, as it merely came over the foot it had so narrowly avoided striking without intention, and planted it's fingertips - all save the thumb - against Arcanine's opposite shoulder. Suggesting that, if Arcanine were to try and shift away from the blade and continue his assault, he would be pressed against the cutting edge in futility. Exhaling to the side, he gave a casual set of words: "Very good. However, I don't suggest we continue from here; it would seem, I'm victorious in this situation, neh? Trying to persist may cause an accidental injury or so. Care to have another spar, perhaps?" Chuckling jovially but once, the mercenary held the position taut; if Arcanine did try to prolong the current struggle.. well, the situation could, by no intention, prove dire. And he most certainly doubted either of the combatants desired that.
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[Recapture End]
--------------
Now, the mercenary kept his position taut; eyes glancing ahead. Seemed, the swordsman was allowing Lazenca first assault. Out of respect or strategy, or both, was not readily apparent. Yet, hearing the encouraging comment, and loud as Hell noise from the stands- Omi narrowed his eyes in irritation, before allowing his right hand to form a common thumbs-up. Still quite visible, despite the miniature sand storm. But, now, his eyes were busy adjusting to the odd battlefield they were present within.
Out in the Midwest, thunder bellowed, and lightning struck the grounds. Apparently, it wasn't bitter enough out for precipitation to turn to frost, for rain most certainly was brewing. "Alright.. time to see if I can keep my place in this contest of Gods and bastards." He thought with a confident, nonchalant smirk.
The battle was underway, to the chorus of lightning & audience cheers.
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Posted: Mon Dec 04, 2006 7:41 pm
What the hell is that...
His eyes went up to see the commotion being caused in the stands. Hopefully that person gaining unwanted attention would behave during the match. But anyway...
With say... 30 feet between them, Lazenca had enough time to walk relatively calmly. Five feet in, his left hand rose horizontal to chin level; right arm remained down. When there was 8 feet left, Lazenca's stance would widen so he'd be leading with the left foot, and he'd start to carefully shuffle in. If uncontested, he would backfist Omi in the nose with that left hand.
But of course, we know Omi wouldn't let him get in and have his way.
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Posted: Mon Dec 04, 2006 8:17 pm
It wasn't until the mercenary's opponent was just outside of relative arm-distance, than the swordsman began to react. However, he could not help but grin a tad at the shuffling motion.. that was something he tended to do at the start of a melee exchange himself. Still, Omi was never one to let the opponent control the pace. Even if it meant potentially wounding his own body, the mercenary was about to give Lazenca a proper retaliation for the onward charge.
By allowing Miranda to come right on in. One would expect to try and move out of the way, given the choice commonly; especially with the size difference between the two. That factor could not be argued with. Yet, instead of trying to evade, the mercenary shifted his right arm right over the left; performing a simple shoulder roll. Lazenca would not be back fisting Omi's nose, nor face. Rather, his knuckles, protected though they may be, would meet a rather durable chain mesh, covering protruding shoulder blade. Obviously, hitting that would cause more harm than good.
Yet, that was just the beginning of the motion. For, having outstretched his right shoulder, the mercenary spanned back his already drawn left-foot, and used the shoulder roll as a means of delivering an otherwise easily-seen telephone punch, with the gauntlet-encrusted left hand. Still, the motion was fast, despite shifting from analysis, to defense, to offense. A curved punch that arched into a straight shot; hand plate edge flicking forward towards, ironically, Lazenca's own nose. Perhaps, Barsait was currently playing the 'give your opponent what they give you' game, opting not to display his common motions. Or.. perhaps, he was trying to set up something more complexed? Regardless, getting hit by a blow from that trajectory would not be pleasant. And by shuffling in, while good for blow resistance & keeping one's posture while still moving forward quickly- Miranda would have a hard time maneuvering around the leftward punch.
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Posted: Tue Dec 05, 2006 12:07 pm
The backfist, with Lazenca's current amount of caution, didn't require so much dedication that he'd spin around and break walls. No, a simple flicking out of the hand was all it took for it to could as a backfist. This was Lazenca's thing... some people had trouble starting fights, not knowing what to do, what move could bring them close to their opponent who was ready to counter. Doing a quick backfist allowed Lazenca to keep all his balance and still have a little suprise, for he could have done about three or more different things from that position.
So in knowing that his opponent didn't make it this far by taking backfists to the nose when it was coming straight on, Lazenca had it in his mind to pull it back. Immediately after Omi started his shoulder roll and his knuckles grazed the mesh, Lazenca's hand retracted. It was with this that he was able to block the curving punch with a slight lean to the left side accompanied with a left tan sao... the left arm curved and the hand was "clawed" with the knuckles turned up and out.
Immediately twisting his body CCW with the motion so that his lead side changed from left to right, he twisted his wrist around and applied the slightest pressure to push Omi's right hand further to the right. Blocking the way he did had given his body a certan coil which, with the rotation, opened halfway but with as much speed as a full uncoiling... his right leg lifted quickly with it. His right arm lifted with the rotation and was, as it was supposed to be with a kick, over the right leg.
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Posted: Tue Dec 05, 2006 2:53 pm
A blunder the mercenary immediately regretted, grimacing at just how much he had over-reacted. Omi had already realized, in his over-zealous anticipation of the oncoming blow, the mercenary had over-measured the impact of the relatively light strike; thus, giving Lazenca a range of options that would have, otherwise, not been available.
Still, this light error would not throw his momentum off. As expected, the dark-clad swordsman's opponent thwarted the leftward punch without receiving harm. Yet, used to giving a light jabbing motion with his blows- he retracted the punch best he could. After all.. his right shoulder, just now having given the defensive roll, still wasn't completely out of the picture. No doubt, a counter punch could not be delivered from this position. Not with Barsait's fists, at anyrate- both were contended with. Left fist just now returning to his body, right being sent off course entirely by the light push given off by Lazenca. And now, Omi's lead side was no doubt, his left; thus, since Miranda was now forward in a right-position.. the mercenary seemed hapless but to take a blow or two. This was reaffirmed by the right leg lifting upward, no doubt, one of the potential few means of delivering his next assault.
Yet, a punch was not all an arm could deliver.
Repeated himself; that's exactly what Omi did. Except, now, the mercenary was not performing a right shoulder-roll. After all, by trying to land that punch with his left hand earlier- his body alignment shifted to the left. Lazenca's right. Which meant, lined up with the risen leg- what better to do, than perform yet another shoulder roll?
Yet, as the shoulder blade protruded at his flesh- the mercenary did not remain stout. No.. rather, before Lazenca's rapid coil could slam into Omi's body from his own right side, Omi was slamming his own body into Lazenca from the very opposite direction. Left shoulder blade, bone covered by metal, gunning right upon the uncoiling fighter. How could a spiral kick reach it's full momentum, if the spin & counter-clockwise twist is never fully realized? Much less, since his right hand, having been thrown off-course, was now between himself & the right leg of Lazenca- still not quite in the position for a punch, but certainly a nice guard if that kick did manage to find home. Kicking a slab of metal - the hand plate upon the gauntlet which Omi wore - would serve little purpose, one would think.
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Posted: Wed Dec 06, 2006 2:28 pm
That would have been perfectly fine if Lazenca was about to deliver a straight kick... a push, snap or even side kick... something of the sort that has Lazenca's leg going straight out from its position in some way. Also, Lazenca had yet to expose himself and commit to a kick. Note the "half uncoiling..." Lazenca was waiting to see what his opponent's next move was to see what kick, if any, would be used. A side, a hook... the chest or the head.
But when Omi rushed in, he didn't open his leg. He performed another quick CCW turn that had him almost turning his back to his opponent. It would be fine for the knee that was waiting in air would slam into Omi's head. Now Lazenca was no Thai fighter and he was in a position that gave him less than stellar power behind this kick. Also, he was being pushed off balance. The point was to stun Omi enough so that he'd stop whatever he was doing and blink or something as Lazenca fell to the ground, left side bracing for impact while the right knee remained close, just in case.
It was a "you can rush in like that if you'd like, but you're going to end up hurt" kinda message Lazenca was sending with what relatively low-powered attack.
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Posted: Wed Dec 06, 2006 6:37 pm
Perhaps, he did jump the gun, so to speak. Yet, Omi was more than content with the last choice made, even if it did not flow onward as planned. Suspecting something as simple as a sideward-kick, the mercenary was instead rewarded with a knee to the head. Light pain, nothing serious, was the result; even he could not help but wonder, "Was that all?"
Yet, now in much more of a rush.. Barsait did not let the actions transgress without reward. Sure enough, Lazenca had escaped immediate harm, and even managed to give a small bit of damage to boot; nothing grave or dire, but a blow none the less. Yet, there was a fatal flaw in how Miranda pursued that achievement: currently, left side coming to the ground whilst right knee remained closed, there was more than just a few moments where, that very knee used to strike the swordsman was up for grabs. Literally.
Neither of his arms were attended to. And they'd both had plenty enough time to swing back into proper placement- namely, the right arm, still backwards in opposition to the left following the shoulder ram. It didn't take a stellar feat, or expert physical prowess to grasp the knee itself. Care was made, to not shift the leg & allow Lazenca to merely uncoil it and turn the presented situation into a disadvantage. Why try to move past it, or grab at the leg, when the very kneecap was available for a certain mercenary's fingertips to dig into?
If Lazenca was attempting to warn Omi in the previous blow, than perhaps, he would take care to keep his wits more concerned with concentrating on the fighter's own conditions; for the mercenary took advantage of the fact that Lazenca was bracing to land on his left side, and began to drag backwards with as much might as musterable; gritting his teeth whilst dragging Lazenca, in this awkward pose, right back to the mercenary. And granted, the left arm couldn't wind back to meet Miranda with a powerful blow whilst the man was more or less dragged backwards in such accord, but, another telephone blow - or a powerful blow that has an obvious path & is easy to deal with - was not in the mercenary's intentions. Amber eyes flaring, his left hand shot forward just as earlier; except now, in a much more likely case of getting off a strike, and a changed arc of motion, since the shoulder roll-charge left a straight punch as a hard choice of action to make. The metal edge of the left gauntlet's handplate glinted wildly. In this situation, Lazenca couldn't use his left arm to reach over and meet Omi's own; there was just too much distance to span, and it was already preoccupied with meeting the ground. This left, promptly, the right- and in the bizarre direction the two fighters were meeting, who was to say even that could be risen in proper defense?
If uncontested, the sickle jab - or a sharp jab that tries to turn gradually without losing much of it's force - would swing over, and slam most abruptly towards anywhere from Lazenca's right shoulder, to skull. Furthermore, with that metal handplate's edge coming outright like that, to just call this a blunt blow would be an understatement; sickle jab was a rather ironic move to come into play, for Lazenca may as well have had a horizontal blade heralding forward to pierce what it could.
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Posted: Wed Dec 06, 2006 11:39 pm
Positioning is key.
Lazenca was trying to control the fight as much as possible, as any good fighter would do, unless he had a purely reactionary style. Action and reaction was a nice thing Lazenca had knowledge of but he was trying to control the flow. The gamble didn't pay off, and Omi showed his refusal to halt his charge.
The right arm slightly bent, the left arm down... it was a reversed Draw position-- a reverse of the stance Lazenca had started the battle off with. There was a reason he started off in this stance and now would be that time when Omi would see it.
Action, reaction, control. He didn't expect at all to be dragged mind you, but he did know that his attack carried no stopping power. A natural reaction to being grabbed while falling, for many people, is starting with a flailing motion, going "wtf, why am i no longer falling, get me up." Lazenca's reaction was much more controlled, but seemed just as instinctive because dun dun dun, he was waiting for things to go wrong. Lazenca's first reaction was to stop that searching for the ground with the left hand and as fast as he could, lift the left arm so that if an attack came, he wouldn't have his face busted. The second, nearly simultaneous action was swiping his right hand, which had a set of pretty strong claws, across the face of his opponent.
But say Omi saw it coming and moved his head back or to the side, still delivering the punch... a little unlikely considering how close Omi'd have to be to grab Laz's knee? Well, it was called a Draw stance because when his hands moved in swiping motions as it was now, his claws drew white lines into the air. These lines, when contacted, felt like a physical swipe of Lazenca's claws. Omi's handplate would grind and spark as if it hit metal, and there was a chance that the hand could be diverted to either side, like suddenly jumping on a moving treadmill. At the end of the half draw, Lazenca's bicep would be covering his chest with the forearm up over the face, just in case the left arm blocking the incoming punch and early half-Draw was pushed through. Save the face... the shoulder's fine for now.
Oh, and Lazenca's leg tightened when Omi went to grabbing it, refusing to let the man break a joint or anything like that. The left leg was delegated to hopping, attempting almost desperately to keep some kind of balance while he was dragged sideways for the second or so.
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Posted: Fri Dec 08, 2006 3:49 pm
Leaning into the strike, his teeth gnashed together for the impact upon, hopefully, a spot in Lazenca’s body. Yet, to no avail was the smashing blow; for Miranda, while taken by surprise no doubt in the grasp of his knee, managed to find a way through the situation. The ‘draw’ made it’s debut, as the clawing motion struck forward, towards the swordsman’s face. It was a horridly rapid move- and not even aware of the white ‘lines’ which, put simply, would cause some rather devastating damage to the mercenary’s face.
So, what could he do in this instance? Feeling his left handplate mash about as though two blades had truly clashed, it was a bad situation.. sure, his Sickle Punch could, potentially, slide right along into Lazenca’s visage. But not without the mercenary taking some lovely cuts, or worse, in return. So, he took advantage of the one thing possible: Miranda trying to keep a sense of balance, and the lack of attendance to Barsait’s own legs.
It was a gamble, the ways their bodies would motion about; Hell, this could still potentially cause both of them to be damaged. By their own devices, no less. But, it was done without hesitation; right hand letting go of Lazenca’s knee with a light push off the cap to move upward faster, his left withdrawing – though slower. His left fore-arm brushed against his opponent’s right wrist abruptly. As the clawing motion was made- Barsait then followed this up by having his right hand, now a formed fist, stop dead against the claw; handplate tilted just to Omi’s own left, to meet the clawing marks, whilst the swordsman did tilt his head back. Had he just done the latter action, no doubt, the claw of Lazenca – combined with that bizarre after-effect claw that dealt quite real damage.. well, the situation would be poor for the mercenary, no doubt. And as he felt not one, but two rough sets of blows grease across his handplate; if he could afford it, Omi would have looked puzzled.
Yet, this didn’t mean the role of Offensive-to-Defensive had been switched. Once again, Barsait was eying Lazenca’s legs.. the right knee was now ungripped; no doubt, Lazenca would try to straighten this leg out, and bolster his balance. Not something Omi intended to allow, as his own right foot shot out in a very simplistic, straight-thrust motion; a slight raise, then bash forward - the dark, tred-laden boot of the mercenary digging against Miranda’s knee, regardless of whether it’d began to unwind or no by then- followed by, a push.
Whether this would seriously throw Lazenca off balance or no, was not something the mercenary intended to immediately find out; for Omi used that push to gain the momentum in order to shuffle backwards, feet clasping the arena sand again- and with that, he managed to get a little spacing between the two combatants. Surely, Lazenca could follow up on an offensive charge.. but thanks to the issue of he trying to regain his balance, then having it possibly off-settled – the likelihood of him immediately charging after Barsait, was slim. His left hand kept at that lofty position at the side; fist formed, but not rose. His right, however, was open by a bit, and rose horizontally in front of his mid-face. Though, his expression had turned towards one of eagerness, like the exchange that just occurred was, bluntly: entertaining.
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Posted: Fri Dec 08, 2006 6:36 pm
You'd be suprised to know that Lazenca's aim to keep balance was simply so that he wasn't hanging upside-down with this guy tossing him around. From such a horrid positon, he knew that when this was over, he would have to recover himself, step back, and start over.
But first. Lazenca's hand wouldn't linger when the half-draw was made. There was supposed to be more after it, but that was all. Either way, Laz wasn't used to being stationary in the middle of a draw and his hand would retract... this stopped whatever "I'm still here" suprise Omi was hoping for by walling Laz's claws. Though, he was suprised that the man's speed allowed him to not only meet a Draw line, but have the other hand in an attempt to shock him into freezing up and open Laz up to the next attack.
All this really didn't matter because Lazenca was on the way down the moment Omi let go. The boot hit, but the power was decreased by not having a steady target. With collapsing the weight under the left leg, Laz was prepared to fall straight down and appear almost under Omi, who would surely try to advance.
...or not. His opponent backed up a bit and seemed to be allowing Lazenca the time to get up while he himself regrouped from the quick exchange of blows and blocks and reverses. Well, he's certainly quick... there was nothing he could do about that, but try to maintain control of the battle and not lose it to some fool thing like a loss of balance.
Lazenca yawned while quickly bringing his legs under him so he'd come up in a relaxed three-point stance. Fingers of the right hand was on the surface of the sand, and the left was on his thigh. It kinda looked like Lazenca was thinking, trying to figure out what to do now.
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Posted: Sat Dec 09, 2006 12:52 pm
Ever heard the saying, one yawn brings a thousand? Whether you had or not, it wasn't too long before Omi himself gave off a low one, before shaking his head to get nice & conscious; before his eyes regained a frugal focus. "Alright, those encounters got me nowhere.. if it gets down to it, his fist has a certain advantage, due to that claw. At best, I could catch him once with my handplate's edge; that damned thing could hit me twice. Four times in one go, if both hands managed to get at me.." Letting out a slow exhale, which manifested itself into a whisp of the cool air - Barsait flashed another grin.
"Than, I'll give him no alternative but to take damage." A gust of sand fluttered by between the two fighters. No doubt, the wind was starting to get a tad fiercer, as the sand bellowed to & fro; yet, on the next tuff of furious wind, the mercenary advanced before clear eyesight could be regained.
A berserk charge..? It was odd; his arms were crossed at the wrists, hands formed in fists, and handplates barging forward. As though he were trying to ward off something.. The swordsman circulated his arms- as though he were about to throw a rather wide pincher-strike, by having his fists expand outward; left to the wide left, right to the far right, before bashing together upon the lowered stance of Miranda. This would be rather simple to get around; all Lazenca would have to do, is lean forward, and Omi would be at the mercy of the man's attacks. Except, the hands met, clashing of metal causing a spark or two to bellow out, several inches or more before they'd have ever came upon Lazenca's face. Hell, it was a bit too far for either of their arms' reaches to come about... The two 'O'(s) were facing Miranda, before something much more ominous circulated out of the man's fingertips; his feet grounded back, just in case Miranda did decide to charge forward. What did emit from Omi's limbs, one could ask?
Three thin, perhaps five inch diameter, spectral-red lights. The tips in the shape of serpents; obviously, one of the reasons why his gauntlets were fingertipless, for they seemed to emit from his flesh in some manner. Yet, they were in a triangular position- all keeping in place, though the lower-left circulated about whilst gesturing towards Lazenca's legs, the other at Omi's mid-torso's level of height. Just eying forward.
Some of the audience murmured at this odd sight, though some, having seen the display ten fold & more in Barsait's prior matches, merely watched on. Yet, as airborn fire began to circulate along the paths of the serpents rather slowly- the uncoupling hands of Omi now assuming their previous offensive stance - left hand lowered, right hand raised - one could well assume just what was happening.
The melee exchange was about to recommence. Except now, as the mercenary's pupils seemed to relatively guide these odd "lights", his expression tensed- and at that moment, the three, rather slim pillars of fire darted forward, like blades of blaze. They were a good.. foot ahead of his own fists, spiraling about in a triangular pattern whilst his own body shuffled forward; hands lowered. For now, Lazenca would no longer have the luxury of just putting apart Omi's melee barrages- he had three unnatural sources of flame, emanating a red glow upon the sandy ground, swishing towards his body. If Miranda was not weary, in his pursuit of getting around the mercenary's assault or the flaming pikes, he may find the other striking him.
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