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Rubi-Kan Vagrants <B-anter> Bercilak says, conversationally, to Kale, "Dost thou lest ifighte?"
<B-anter> Kale Hearthward says, "Sorry?"
<B-anter> Bercilak says, "I trow swich is whi thou maken thy proclaiminge. Thou'rt ifelinge forstifled. Old-horded, verily, and insekinge outlese."
<B-anter> Kale Hearthward says, "... hmmph. If it's a fight you're offering..."
<B-anter> Bercilak says, "Sikerli!"
<B-anter> Bercilak says, "'Tis bet for the Wacche and the Paladins unk bothe to yeve thee outlesen which thou inseke, thanne to aloue thee to remein unsatisfied."
<B-anter> Kale Hearthward says, "Fine then. Name a time and place."
<B-anter> Lilian Rook says, "Are you rushing off to get your tailfeathers thoroughly combed over again?"
<B-anter> Bercilak says, "Bahaha. Swich might so als be forn-cast."
<B-anter> Bercilak says, "Vespertine, this same dai a seven-night dai, withinne Belial Forest upon the planete Rubi-Ka. Is swich sufficiaunt?"

     Evening, one week later, on the desert planet of Rubi-Ka, the Green Knight awaits Kale Hearthward in the most thickly forested region of the terraformed portions of the planet. No one is quite sure how it got its name; certainly there's nothing particularly deceptive about the swampy forest. At best, there is some element of mystery, given the strange lights that dance in the most thickly forested regions at the southwest, or in the origins and intended use-cases of those most powerful mutants dwelling throughout the glades. Bercilak has picked out a place, a dense grove situated on the banks of a narrow tributary of the river Stret.

     Every few feet, a venerable alien tree dimly recognizable as 'earth-like' has planted roots, making for a fighting space with plenty of obstructed sight lines. As the second of the planet's suns disappears below the horizon, and the cries of native birds gradually die down, Bercilak has lit a signal fire.

     He awaits, there, with a locked steel strongbox visible in the dancing light of the flames, hung from the bough of one such tree by a leather carrying strap. "Gretinges, Hearthward," intones the knight from behind his t-visored helmet. "I profren thee an eschaunge, whanne-so oure batail is done--which thou may receive whider-sum thou biwinnen oth forlose. A swaringe, thou shalt yeve me, win oth lose, and reward withinne thou shalt receiven." The cheek of his axe reflects the dancing flames, as a gust of wind sets his cloak of reedgrass and peonies to billowing.
Kale Hearthward Kale arrives, at the appointed time and the appointed place.

Has there been some things that have caused him to get old-horded? Maybe. He's not saying. But a fight's been offered, and he's here to take Bercilak up on it.

"An answer... for a reward. Whatever's in the box."

The hawkman crosses his arms, as he looks from Bercilak to the strongbox. "... Sure. Talk's cheap. Little curious as to why it's an exchange and not a bet, but... sure. Means you'll get it even after I leave you face down in the dirt here, I guess."

Kale picks a spot near the tributary, and does some quick warmup stretches. "Alright. Ready. How are we starting this off?"
Rubi-Kan Vagrants >You'll get it even after I leave you face down in the dirt here, I guess.

     This elicits an uproarious laugh from Bercilak--though it seems anything but derisive. "BAHAHAHA! Speke that spekinge, Hearthward," he says, gauntleted fingers resting over his thickly armored stomach. His tone, if anything, seems approving. "Usualli I wouldst ilathe thee ifirst to smite--but thou journeied hither *redi* to run theim honds," says the Green Knight, giving his axe a few testing swings.

     "And swich my herte doth verily thurghfire." The stroke of his axe is swift and utterly, unfairly without warning for a man of his size, armored as he is. It isn't aimed at Kale, but at the fire, a deft stroke, one fluid shifting of his hips and shoulders snuffing the flame wholly with so much disturbed air. Moonlight filters through the leaves, glinting from his armor in dappled spots, his machined plate clanking audibly as he crosses the distance between them.

     Feathered thrusters push him forwards, firing in reverse as heavy boots dig furrows into earthen everglade, a dime-stop to funnel momentum into a great hewing motion of his shoulders that brings the blunt heel of the massive weapon surging towards Kale's stomach.

     "RUN THEIM HONDS, HEARTHWARD! BAHAHAHA!" The haft of the weapon snaps furiously upwards but a moment later, aimed at the small of Kale's back to forcefully shove him towards a sturdy tree.
Kale Hearthward "Ready to run them hands..." repeats Kale to himself.

He misses Bercilak's first motion - fortunately aimed at the fire, not at him, though the green knight is clearly rocketing at *him*. "Whoa!"

The heels of his boots click together in a motion that's so ingrained it's become an instinctual response to any threat, and he leaps upwards - up being the only way that's going to get clear of Bercilak's range, at that speed. The boots fire off a half second after he leaps, picking up his momentum and carrying him further.

It's not *quite* enough to totally clear Berilak's backhilt strike. The haft slams into the back of his boots, sending him veering wildly off of his planned course, and spinning in the air from the imparted momentum.

He doesn't have time to draw his weapon, not with Bercilak having the upper hand, he has to put some distance between them before the next attack comes... and then in a flash of inspiration, he sees the solution. There.

As he spins around again, he stretches his legs out, and goes to try to land them on Berilak's back- and kick off from there towards the treeline, using the time to get his course under control, and from there to bounce from a tree back towards Bercilak, this time on the attack!

It is, very much, like trying to bounce off the ropes on a wrestling ring.

Now parallel to the ground, Kale goes to draw a sword, and hold it ready to try running Bercilak through as he flies by at high speed - opting to not stop to attack, but to keep going afterward to stay harder to hit.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      Kale's legs press into the armored fighter's back, hardly a small target. The knight dips forward and chokes up on the hilt of his axe, chortling as he whirls around to raise the massive weapon's cheek. Employed as a target shield, the flat of the blade slides Kale's sword away from Bercilak's vitals and into the tough, synthetic fiber weave of the bodysuit beneath his armor. In the moonlight, a dull scarlet ribbon splashes upon the blade, a clean and solid blow delivered despite the knight's defense.

     "Frisk and craftuous," he calls, before charging after. His boots thud heavily against the damp earth, carrying him past Kale but not above. No, that he solves by hurling his axe out and above, leaping after it to run up the tree. "'Tis god, toleven feinednes! To aloue thy herte bisaien what thy voice cannst not!" Just when it seems gravity has had enough of his abuse, he reaches a thick gauntlet out and grasps the haft, his weight and momentum making for a bone-cracking surprise elbow drop.

     "SPEKE to me, Hearthward! BAHAHAHA!" All of that bulk hitting the ground sends up a plume of dirt and wet leaves, but he's back on his feet with a deceptively nimble roll, to swing the axe out, grip slid all the way down in an attempted hard read, beard primed to snatch a retreating limb and convert into a dizzying ground-bound throw, both shoulders and hips working overtime to bring it home.
Kale Hearthward And there goes Bercilak charging after him. Kale figured he'd be fast on the next attack, but at the moment he's still only reacting one attack at a time, still basically on the back foot from Bercilak's surprise assault - even if the 'back foot' is in a jet boot.

Bercilak's axe manages to hook into the crook of Kale's knee, and he gets sent tumbling down into the ground - his momentum carrying him a ways. He loses the grip on his sword - it goes flying off somewhere, he doesn't seem to bothered by its loss.

Kale twists around, managing to get up onto his back on the ground, and - nothing. He doesn't do anything, for a moment. If Bercilak's still moving, he's likely going to be closing in...

... And Kale speaks. Sort of. There's a move that doesn't require any telegraphing, and he waits till nearly the last moment to use it.

He opens his beak, and a massive blast of wind issues forth, like being at the business end of a wind tunnel. It's enough to make the trees on the far end of the forest shiver, and the ones nearby at risk of being uprooted - and enough to send Bercilak flying off!
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      The Green Knight is lifted from his feet with a grunt of surprise that's ultimately washed out by the howl of wind. Towering trees topple, forming an obstacle course not easily navigated by one with less fine control. Thrusters on his armor control pitch and yaw, setting him upright just in time to plow straight through a falling tree.

     Splinters explode outwards in every direction as thunderous impacts strike the earth, followed by him. When Bercilak stands up, his head is bent unnaturally down--only for his dented helm to snap abruptly upright with a wet, gruesome pop. The helm disappears in a wave of blue light, revealing his grinning green face and wild, blood-red eyes, teeth stained over with blood he quickly spits out.

     He speaks, too--in exactly the way Kale had. His axe becomes a lever, the blade wedged beneath one half of a fallen tree to hurl it, dirt-riddled roots and all, at Kale. One hand halfway up the haft, he charges straight on, before juking suddenly right and leaping into the air, to spring from a dangerously leaning tree that quickly falls thereafter, powering on his thrusters to pitch his body.

     It isn't something so artless as a tackle, though he's certainly fond of them--but rather, making use of the thrusters to give himself the force and momentum he'd usually lack in the air, to swing that axe as deftly as if his feet were planted solidly on the ground. While the two-handed strike is made from his hips upwards, the threat vector of the swing is much more than that single plane--the thrusters add additional dimension, and his hands, ever shifting along the haft, arms ever pushing and pulling with inhuman strength, make it into a vortex of potential angles.

     Touchdown brings the flurry to a close, with a sharp, quick thrust of the weapon's blunt eye, aimed upwards to try and call out another escape, yet half-commited that he might yank the beard backwards for a punishing reprisal against impatience. Wild glee burns in his eyes, shines in the moon-reflected crimson stain on his teeth.
Kale Hearthward There. Kale has time to get up to his feet, and get his senses back about him. The last few moments have been a blur of motion, attacks, movements and counter-movements, and acting mostly on instincts.

So first, he needs to -

First he needs to get out of the way of that tree! Once again he's on the back foot, diving to the side. He has half a moment as he's moving, enough to quickly cast and fire off a spell - it creates an air cushion that he bounces off of, getting back into motion instead of being stuck on the ground from his dive again.

And this is the point where Bercilak collides with him. The advantage, though, is Kale's - in the air, and with his direction and orientation under his control, he's a much more dangerous opponent. This time, as the axe swings at him, he brings his own out to parry it, trying to knock Bercilak's half-committed swing off balance before slicing out with his own, trying to create and then make an opening all in the same moment!

"Consider this... spoken!"
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      The weapon--every bit as tall as Bercilak himself--is no easy thing to turn aside, but through patience and observation under pressure, Kale manages exactly that, knocking the blade upwards to the tune of a startled snarl from the Green Knight. His smile twists further upwards, and he barks a laugh of feral contentment.

     This is Clan 'territory.' Or, depending on who one asks, 'unlawfully occupied company property.' But either case is only true in the academic sense--in the same way that the darkest, forgotten, unthought of wilderness of Kale's own world is the 'territory' of the Gale Empire. Here, the most stringent civil servant, most petty bureaucrat or stalwart enforcer is humbled, rendered flesh and blood as anything else is. The fallen trees could not know and would not care what transgressions they might commit, were they in their descent to crush a mortal being--nor would the owners of myriad eyes prowling in their shadows, were their fangs to strike true. Law, culture, and other such tidal forces are made lesser here, that survival is only the product of those forces within.

     For a moment, all the wild, quiet, hostile weight of a forest at night, and all the meaning it carries, seems fixed on the two of them. Then, Kale's sword pierces--through the massive harness atop Bercilak's already bulky armor. It warps, like clay, then water, strange technology doing its best to halt the passage of the weapon. it fails, in a shower of sparks that gives way to an eruption of red. There can be no doubt, as a pregnant moment of silence passes, that Kale's 'words' have delivered something of substance, struck true. "Wel bisaien," grins Bercilak. His grip slides deftly up the axe, hinting at a close-quarters use of the weapon. But it's his head that surges forward, an exultant growl escaping him following the headbutt, strong enough to rip Kale's weapon free of its bloody, thickly armored snare. The axe twirls swiftly in his hand, rotated around the haft to make it a bludgeon. One, two, three advancing pummels with the heel, before his hips pivot and he makes what looks like a retreat--not so. One foot back for extra force as his capable hands find new spots on the haft, shoulders heaving suddenly to bring a broad, sweeping low swing across Kale's legs, rendered with a full-bellied laugh despite the slowly mending gouge in his armor. "Al ful of merveille and spirit fre, art thou! Over-sportful!"
Kale Hearthward WHAM
WHAM, WHAM
The pummels land, one after the other - Kale disengages, focusing on falling back as he brings his free hand up to rub at the spot where they landed - and that saves him from the low sweep, the birdman moving out of range in the air to where it misses him by just inches.

And then there's a moment... where everything falls into place.

Not with the fight. With his life. Or at least this small, localized part of it. This is something he's been missing. The fight, the duel - two combatants going at each other like this. And in this moment, it's a small pedastal of stability in Kale's worldview - admidst a whirlpool of things changing, things in flux, this right here is a stable place to stand.

Someone once said, give me a lever and a place to stand, and I will move the world.

... That... comes later. Right now, Kale needs to finish this. Bercilak's too tough to let this drag on. He has to wrap this up, quickly, before he has another chance to charge at him with that axe.

Kale moves in. The jet boots flare - he feints left, slicing, then *up* - taking advantage of the 3D space, twisting as he sails above Bercilak to attack again, and then twists again, this time almost like a somersault -

- striking towards Bercilak again, though this time, upside down in orientation to the green knight and the ground both, fighting inverted as he slices again and again, trying to get past Bercilak's guard and land as many hits as he can from the unusual position!
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      Bercilak jukes right, buying the feint, haft snapping up pre-emptively to parry empty air. He bought it--but the knight is unnaturally quick to make adjustments, as if drawing on some great, deep well of experience, or perhaps just boundless fighting spirit. Perhaps it's a little of both.

     As his eyes follow Kale upwards, Bercilak guns the thrusters on his armor, pushed backwards by the force, leaned back to grant himself a better view of 'above.' Clouds of leaves, wet with swampy humidity and shed blood alike, flick up in his path, haft up and ready to form a blocking plane.

     Time seems to crawl to a standstill, as their next exchange draws near. Already leaned back in his retreat--it is Kale's turn to 'speak,' after all--he dips into a fluid backwards leap, his imposing armored bulk defying itself to carry him into a backflip. Axe-overhead for a brief moment, he comes rightside up just as Kale's upside down attack comes close, with a precious hair-split second to get his guard up. The haft is vertical, his fist choked all the way up to slap the blows aside with the cheek of the blade.

     The heart beats inside the throat, and time seems to have overcorrected, one spark-striking parry after another after another, legs moving side to side to keep the knight from being backed into a tree. One slips under the beard of the axe, digs deep--hews the still-mending harness from his body despite the strange armor's fluctuating forms of resistance.

     His thrusters buy him some extra space, rocketing him up and back-right to spring off the tree he'd warily kept clear of a moment before, sailing on a downwards trajectory as his hands change grips once again. This time, he rains down a battering left-right from the weapon's haft and heel. His feet land with a bone-shaking impact, hands and arms working to bring it haft-over-head for a third overhead strike, before he jukes in place and goes for the center of mass with a thrust. "THOU IFELE HIT ANAU, YEA?! BAHAHAHA! WHANNE-SO HATH THOU E'ER TASTEN FRENESSE AS THIS, HEARTHWARD?!"

     Circle-strafing around, he twirls the axe overhead in a broad and oppressive arc meant to discourage more airborne arcs, before making a sudden, surprise rocket charge with a rising, armored knee.
Kale Hearthward Kale goes to follow through - and Bercilak gets the drop on him.

"I've never..."

And then Kale gets the hard read. He's moving even before Bercilak starts moving - and he goes to parry the blow, dropping down and bringing his arm up to block the knee with the padded gauntlets on his forearms.

It is... an exquisitely executed parry.
It also nearly breaks his arm.

He swings now - not in finesse, but in desperation. Bercilak's in close range, Kale doesn't have a plan, and one of his arms is numb to the point of being useless. At this point, he's practically lost - all he can hope for now is a lucky hit to a vital point...!
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      "Yea, thou ifele hit," snarls the Green Knight, ecstatic, through gritted teeth, drunk on the thrill of watching Kale venture into undiscovered parts of himself in this most simple and wild of contests. The parry, despite the cost to Kale, gives the soldier what he needs to drive through another visceral blow. It'd be a mortal wound, were he fighting a mortal.

     The sword is caught, skillfully deflected from his broad chest to a relatively smaller target in his thick, exposed green neck. He is quick, for his size, attempting to simultaneously weave away from the strike. Despite it all, Kale still lands on 'a vital point,' in that he gouges Bercilak's thickly corded neck and spills his blood. The Green Knight takes it as a heavy trade, gladly, eyes agleam with wild delight.

     Sensing Kale's exhaustion, yet still very much energized himself, he ends the fight with every bit of skillful brutality he'd displayed thus far--a whirlwind offensive that somehow always seems to spare Kale the lethality of the weapon's monomolecular edge, yet makes the weapon's blunt eye, heel and haft into implements of pain all the same. Hip to shoulder, across the head, the stomach, to keep him winded, the feet, to keep him off balance, all ending in a lateral overhead aimed at his shoulder, meant at once to knock the last vestiges of fight from him, and bodily force him to the damp, cool earth.
Kale Hearthward WHAM

"Yield-" gasps out Kale, dropping down to the ground. "Y-yield."

He takes a rasping breath. He'll be fine - eventually, anyway. Even using nonlethal means, Bercilak is really good at knocking people around!

"I think..."

"... I needed that."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      The moment Kale asks to yield, Bercilak acquiesces--though it does take some winding down on his part, pacing around and giving the fallen trees testing hews with his axe. A bloodied gauntlet beats into his breastplate as he wills himself out of it, spitting a mouthful of blood before his armor and the axe finally dissolve. Whatever slogan might have been on his strained t-shirt is soaked throgh and torn, signs of Kale's prowess that persist despite the unmarred green skin below, shining in the moonlight.

     After a calming breath, he strides over to Kale with a smile. "Verily," he says, towering over him to offer a hand up--large enough to cover most of Kale's face. "Thou didst." Kale's wounds begin to mend, in his presence, bruises fading, stressed bones easing their complaints. After helping him up, the Green Knight places a hand on his shoulder. "Doth thou smell hit? The air, fre of ani stench but oure blod, and blod of tres, and watere. Hark, and thou shalt ofhere no arguen but the crien of bestes." His free hand gestures, broadly, to the backdrop of their fight. "Al that which pressen upon thee, pressen lasse hither. And that which is withinne thee, may presse oute the mo. Rememor, what loten withinne thee, for theim that loten thither," he says, gesturing to the stars--to the broader Multiverse, to 'Civilization'--"Shalt not al-wais knoue, in lasse thei art treuli ilerned. Al the world is not Lilians, yea?" He gently nudges Kale on the cheek with a closed fist, before caressing it fondly.

     "Anau," he says, turning, gesturing to a fallen tree that once bore the lockbox. "Oure eschaunge. Harken to mine questioun, Kale Hearthward. What loten withinne that, shalt not chaunge bi thy swaringe. Hit is what hit shalt be. But--if hit were not..." He looks over his shoulder, eyes intensely peering into Kale's. "If hit could take ani shape, sensual or corpsi or wholli materles, if hit might be ani-wight withinne al of Creatioun, what shape wouldst thou will hit bitaken?"