Welcome to Gaia! ::

(Figured I'd play along with the guild owner.)

Kellindel took stock of his situation. He was still angry, sure, that is why he had opted to wait out in the rainfall for his opponent. The piercing cold shower helped to mollify his annoyance. How many rounds had it been? He wasn't sure. The tournament seemed to drag on forever from his sullen perspective. Lets see...

Fight #1: He hadn't even been entirely sure what was happening for the majority of it. Near the beginning he was utterly convinced that the whole event had been some practical joke on Mooo's part. His opponent didn't seem so much concerned with fighting him as amusing himself. While the half-hearted attacks were easy enough to deal with in and of themselves he had been wondering just how long he planned to screw around when very suddenly his opponent was disqualified.

Fight #2: A single exchange and his opponent seemed satisfied to relent victory. He hadn't a clue as to how his opponent could have realized such a large gap in capability so quickly but he'd been glad for the reprieve until...

Fight #3: A no show.

This had become a fantastic waste of his time. The only thing that kept him coming back was the singular scenario that kept playing out in his mind. Eventually if he kept winning he would fight Mooo. He took no small amount of pleasure in knowing that the tournament had been treating the oaf much more harshly but he wanted to personally show Mooo what he thought of the tournament. Knowing Mooo he'd want to keep things even for a more interesting fight and in that his chance.

He let out a slow, measured breath that he had been holding within him during his ruminations. The sight of the steamy cloud being perforated by downpour was an excellent distraction away from what was to come. His grip on the pommels of his twin swords tightened.

Kellindel regarded the hazy image of his opponent through the quickly dispersing cloud of his own breath. His eyes were first drawn to the man's more obvious features, the wings extending out of his back. Unusual yes, but certainly not the strangest thing he had seen in this tournament. So he moved on. A staff, a large sword, and two short swords. A strange assortment of weaponry to be sure and needlessly diverse in his own opinion. If one couldn't make one style work for them then picking up two or three more wasn't very likely to improve your chances. This made him suspicious.

His gloved hands emerged from the concealment of his cloak. The first traveling up to pull the hood away from his head. The rain had all but soaked through it at this point and now it would only serve to block his peripheral vision. The other drew the right side of the cloak away from his body to reveal his small frame, certainly nothing so intimidating as a large pair of mismatched wings. The same hand drew one of his twins sword away from his waist and across his chest, revealing the slender but sturdy small sword blade. His other hand fell once again to hold the left side of his cloak open. He nodded once to his opponent and moved.

It almost seemed as if he had tripped, or more likely slipped in the muddy floor. His upper body fell forward until it was almost parallel to the ground and his legs caught up under him, sending him into a startlingly sudden sprint forward while mitigating the danger of committing just the mistake that it appeared that he had made. In a split second he was at a slightly more believable posture while maintaining his sudden forward movement and closing the distance between them in mere seconds.

His right sword would lead in for the attack. Coming in for an appreciable thrust at his opponents heart. Basic stuff, the type of technique one might use to take measure of their opponent, or so it would seem. Even as the attack homed in, his legs jerked under him, kicking off to the side of their original course and sending him to the right. His blade would follow suit, sent even faster to side in a flicking slash directed by a snap of his wrist. At that moment his true target might become clear.

His opponents left wing. A bulky adornment when not allowing him to sail through the air, and a dangerous weakness at that. In addition to its awkward placement leaving it completely out of any perceivable line of attack and it tendency to lag behind the torso's movement it's base was surely the location of several large arteries which would prove very difficult to staunch the bleeding of, especially if he took to the air. Perhaps, if Kellindel was lucky, he would even ground his opponent with this very attack. Perhaps the elf didn't enjoy the idea of fighting in three dimensions.

(Just a note. They're small swords, not daggers. Small swords where the military predecessor to the better known dueling rapier. Similar in design but built for actual prolonged combat conditions.)

Well that wasn't entirely unexpected, the wing buffet that is. Kellindel knew enough about biology to know that the guys huge chest wasn't just for show. All that muscle was specifically built for pumping his wings hard enough to keep him aloft, no short order. The same reason most birds have disproportionately large breasts.

The scale thing was a bit disconcerting, but nothing Kellindel couldn't work around. While not the exact reaction he was hoping for, the wing attack wasn't exactly dangerous. Though very possibly stronger than his legs, his opponent was trying to strike him with a massive surface area which not only encountered a large amount of wind resistance but also served to disperse the kinetic energy over Kellindel's side. Sufficient energy to shove him over yes, but not hurt him.

That is how things stood.

Kellindel had other plans, however. Upon encountering an unexpected amount of resistance on his opponent's wing, the elf reacted quickly and extended his right arm, sliding his blade froward along the scales in a thrust that aimed itself almost perfectly toward the air roughly a foot behind his opponent's head. Why? Well at just about that time he was completing his wing buffet, the strong muscles that controlled his wing movement would drive the razor-sharp base of his blade right into the meaty area at the base of his neck. Though the pommel of his claymore prevented him from simply severing his vertebrae Kellindel would be more than satisfied with a deep gash in his opponent's Trapezius. It would serve to both cause a lot of pain with every flap of his wing and, again, draw precious blood.

Meanwhile Kellindel set about seeing how strong his opponents legs were. His free hand latched onto the wing as it slapped him, barely maintaining its hold on the top of the appendage as his lower body swung out from under him with the force of its momentum. Force he was more than willing to use, swinging his left leg around to send it snapping toward his face. Kellindel fully expected this to be blocked by that large staff of his, but that was alright. If he lifted his arm to try it he would send his right foot into the area under his opponents arms using his rigid toes like a knife to drive the kinetic force of his attack deep into his muscle tissue.

So he had invincible wings. Kell could work around that.

(Uhhh, smallswords. Not daggers.)

Kellindel wasn't so stupid as to kick hard enough to break his own foot. He'd fully expected for his first kick to be parried so the effect it had on his foot was negligible. A round object connecting with the top of his foot? His body naturally let his foot rotate back upward and he was none the worse for wear. On the second kick when he basically struck a solid surface it was more uncomfortable then he was used to when he kicked but again nothing serious. This guy was built so he had thought kicking was going to be something similar to kicking a solid wall. His toes were out though, so he had only so much room to absorb the impact as he could pull them in toward his foot. More than enough to avoid getting them broken, but he admitted it did smart some.

Three swords, a staff, scales, and adamantine clothes. Kellindel was beginning to wonder if this guy could fly at all. That was a hell of a lot of extra weight to carry around, adamantine not exactly being the lightest metal around. But his concern over the fact that so far his attacks had simply been deflected was a more pressing concern.

It looked like he was going for a grapple now. Kell didn't want that. The muscles of his chest pulled inward, his left legs pushed, and his lower torso rotated as he half pushed off, half hauled himself upward. The fact that this guy didn't seem concerned enough with his presence to justify moving made it easier to kick off the with both legs as he pulled his upper-body right over the wing and brought himself behind his enemy, his right leg lifting right over the attempted grapple.

His wedged sword actually served as a lever now, letting him pull his body right over the pommel over the weapon and allow him to drop toward his opponent's center-back. Now he would again hang one-handed from his opponent's wing and attempt to stabilize himself by planting a foot in the small of his enemies back but not before he used all of that weight to attempt to drive his sword right into the back of his opponent's neck even as he freed it from its position by pulling it upward.

((I got permission from Tacitus to post Dreslin's post. He can't post right now due to circumstances being screwy with him. This is his post that he sent me to send for you Kellindel. Also, he apologizes if there is inconsistances (sp?) all over the place.))

Now the switching of wings and getting off wasn't nice. In regards to the fall, he quickly brought his freehand above his shoulder and had it meet the ground before his body, his staff would have to be used as his other make shift hand. His feet got into position of doing the lower half of a sit-up. The result being most of the force being absorbed while his head hits the ground a bit while the wings take practically none. More of a anime-comical-bonking-of-the-head than anything else. From this, he would quickly do the martial artsy kick flip to propel his body back to standing and ready (can't remember what it is called. See it in movies lots of times) as kellindel begins his charge. This post stops here in the assumption that Kellindel's author wants to do something than charge. If not, the charge will be dealt with in the next post.

(Once again, I will apologize for inconsistencies. This was a bit of a hasty post. Gotta dash for the time being.)

The kick struck and sent Ichigo backwards a bit. Kellindel would be busy recovering from the drop kick maneuver while Ichigo would be deal with the new direction he was heading in. He used his staff to push off the ground and keep his body flipping away from the ground. Sort of like a upside-down pole vault. It would look similar like a backflip that had the hands land first and then the feet. His staff was in place of 'the hands' while he continued flipping till eventually landing right side up on his feet away from Kellindel. His body sliding back a bit as the rest of the force of the blow met friction and weight. He returned to the standing position he took before his wing met Kellindel earlier in the match.

(Another hasty post. Sorry. Gotta dash for now. Will reply as soon as I can. )