2848/WMAT BQ2 Moonfin vs Masked Knight

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WMAT BQ2 Moonfin vs Masked Knight
Date of Scene: 19 August 2015
Location: Papaya Island - Stadium
Synopsis: Moonfin of the Starbound Flotilla and the mysterious Masked Knight duke it out for the WMAT's second round of the B Bracket Qualifier!
Cast of Characters: 66, Starbound Flotilla
Tinyplot: WMAT 2015


Starbound Flotilla has posed:
    "Cameras."
    "Shipshape, cap'n."
    "Lights."
    "This is still ridiculous. Lights active."
    "Sound system."
    "Checkity check."
    "Holosystems."
    "Affirming. No errors detected."
    "Pyrotechnics."
    "Floran kinda feel uncomfortable about be around fire? But isss fine."
    "Let's give them a show."

    The five other Core Fleet captains are here, but they won't be fighting the Masked Knight. No, they're at the sidelines, operating an array of futuristic stage equipment. It hums and warms up as the entries are set to go...

Starbound Flotilla has posed:
    Moonfin approaches with grandeur. His walk is meant to be humble, and in fact he is as theatrically humble as possible, taking the steps with a regal sort of calmness and disregard for what's going on around him. Of course, he's arranged for showiness, he's still a Hylotl. Swarms of camera drones flock around him, focusing on him dramatically. Pyrotechnics go off, framing his approach in arcing light. Dramatic eastern-=style music plays stinging chords with each step, accentuated with a harshly modern beat. Tremendous spotlights give him striking shadows. Massive, ornate, holographically-projected gates form ahead and behind every step, flickering into and out of visibility as he walks.

Starbound Flotilla has posed:
    Once he reaches the center, he rests his webbed, amphibious hand on the hilt of the katana he has sheathed in the matter manipulator strapped to his belt. It's the cue for his armor; shining azure light subsumes him, and in a moment, he's armored. Light durasteel plate, styled after archaic diving equipment with heavy samurai influences to the armor's construction. The faceplate slowly fills with cyan light as each part of his HUD activates, obfuscating his face, all except for three red eyes. The holosystems now begin showing all manner of intimidating statistics about his armor in floating panes around him, as well as advertisements for the Murasame Zaibatsu businesses. And, for now, he awaits his foe's arrival, silently and dramatically.

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
It looks like Moonfin's opponent today is to be the Masked Knight, a competitor who had been here last year, and of which comparatively little is known. Footage from the previous year suggests that they're an agile fencer of some sort, although capable of wielding a very large cavalry greatsword, too.

No face or features to speak of -- just a mask of bronze, in the guise of an unsmiling, neatly-moustached and bearded man. A broad-brimmed leather hat, adorned with white feathers and one magnificent, tall black plume, shades the knight's face. The armour they wear is almost Mediterranean in its styling; a silk shirt, complemented by dark leather with gold embelleshment, and a ragged navy blue cloth at the belt that might have once been part of a tabard.

There is a long braid of blonde hair trailing from beneath the back of the hat, but whether the figure is man or woman, it's hard to say; some men also have long hair, and the armour does no favours.

He or she is just... there, inexplicably, striding out from one wall of the arena with arms folded and head slightly tilted, watching all the to-do with what might be an air of amusement, or exasperation. It's hard to say. How long has she been waiting in the shadows? That's also hard to say.

The head is tilted such to see Moonfin, though, watching the Hylotl combatant carefully; watching, perhaps, the colourful display of HUD systems.

One hand reaches back and unsheathes the fine-pointed estoc. Still over the figure's back is a broad-bladed greatsword; and the round metal shield is shrugged down onto the figure's left arm.

With a flick of the wrist the estoc is pointed straight at Moonfin, flicked once in time-honoured gesture: /Let's go./

Starbound Flotilla has posed:
    The countdown begins. Those holopanes flit and flicker around Moonfin, showing the countdown with each visual flutter. "You will be the second knight I face. One of even few words. I presume your artistry remains exclusive to the blade." Moonfin says, dryly. As ever, his tone is saturated with smug superiority, just enough to edge towards obnoxious without being overbearing or conspicuous. "Then we shall honor our combat with the most meaningful exchange there can be." He draws his blade dramatically in one fluid motion at the five second mark and takes a preparing sort of stance, an eastern-style wide position with his softly glowing, humming POWER KATANA held in both hands. "Let us see what lies beneath your mask, in the only way such meaning truly matters."

Starbound Flotilla has posed:
    Three, two, one... As one would expect, he adds a little extra drama. In those last seconds, his semi-powered armor charges fully, gushing cyan fire and brilliant crackling arcs of electricity as he takes a few steps closer to Lucatiel, right up until the starting countdown hits zero and Moonfin ever-so-gently taps the tip of his foe's estoc with the end of his own katana. Then, he steps forward in a sudden rush, lashing out experimentally. It's a cautious but offensive tactic; his focus is on thrusts with intermittent slashes for now, attempting to feel out the Masked Knight's style. He always keeps the blade ready to defend with a quick parry, but compensates with footwork, attempting to press the range closer and step inside that shield's practical range. Each motion comes with a flourish, a deft and stylish accentuation to it that makes sure to emphasize each strike.

Starbound Flotilla has posed:
    His shifts of tactic are deliberate. This won't be a fight dealt with in the span of seconds, he wants to draw it out theatrically, and so he'll sustain this approach for as long as he can, until Lucatiel's response renders it impractical or until she attempts something particularly noteworthy to break it!

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
There comes no reaction for the Hylotl's dramatics and showmanship. Where some combatants thrive under the attention of the camera, others do not. This Masked Knight would appear to be counted squarely among the latter breed, given how they had spent their time in the shadows, rather than in the proverbial limelight.

The Masked Knight's draw is simple and matter-of-fact; a motion of utility rather than one of showmanship. The figure holds the blade steady at their side, though the posture doesn't quite shift, and waits.

That broad-brimmed hat tips ever so slightly down as the tip of the estoc is touched, as though in disapproval.

And so it begins.

Strike for strike, the Masked Knight suddenly bursts into movement, quick as a wheeling falcon. That blonde braid trails behind, a brief glimpse of burnished blonde in the light, overtaken then by the flash of the estoc in the stage lights. Moonfin's attempts to get closer are met with a neat pivot to keep him outside the range of that metal shield. It looks solid, heavy; good protection with practical weight and reinforcement behind it.

Several of those flurries manage to slip past the knight's guard, but their deliberate way of moving suggests those landed blows are calculated risks. Moonfin is let to come closer; closer--

--and then the knight twists their estoc to try and catch or tangle Moonfin's sword. At the same time, their shield arm is flung straight for Moonfin's head, shield-edge first, in a vicious punch with all the momentum of the shield behind it.

Starbound Flotilla has posed:
    Moonfin's advance is sustained, despite Lucatiel's pivoting. He flows around her, and while he can't stay inside that shield's range, he can at least keep up the pressure. He makes note of her strengths: Footwork, and two-handed tactics. Moonfin expects a sudden comeuppance on some basic level, even if his conscious mind would never expect anything less than absolute perfection from himself. It's enough to prompt him to mutter, under his breath... "Second Sea Hylotl Style..." The tangle of the sword comes with a practiced, direct response. As his foe's sword moves to pin his, he moves to pin theirs, focusing on just that one hand. The other rises from the blade, taking the position of a practiced martial artist!

    The strike impacts his cheek, but he's rolling with it, blunting the impact. He intends to respond in kind, though. In boxing, the gesture's known as a CROSS-COUNTER, and he moves to strike with an armored palm square on Lucatiel's masked cheek right as they strike! He's hoping to get them stumbling back a little, and to disengage his own blade from their disarming tangle. He's got no shield, so the Masked Knight has the advantage when it comes to two-handed combat, and Moonfin needs to get his one blade back quickly. "Claw of the Molting Cruscacean." He finishes his statement dramatically as the heel of the palm, with Moonfin's enhanced strength, lashes out.

    And then, hopefully untangled, he leaps back, rapidly backstepping and taking another ready stance, taking a quick breather before resuming it seems, this time intending to feel out the Masked Knight's offense instead of defense.

Starbound Flotilla has posed:
    Once the two strikes make their simultaneous impact -- Moonfin's on the Masked Knight, and vise-versa -- it's accentuated with a striking spotlight on them, and a small rush of fireworks, and a dramatic sting on the eastern strings playing over the sound system, to frame the dramatic moment. Despite Lucatiel's more humble approach to this, Moonfin's theatricality is, at the very least, getting the crowd fairly excited.

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
Through the battle, there's been not a word from the figure. Man or woman, it's hard to say; human, or something else, the Masked Knight is hidden behind that dour visage in silvered bronze. Now the figure finally speaks in a voice that, while hard and low, is nonetheless a woman's voice.

"Fond of your showmanship, aren't you?" She pauses to punctuate her statement with a quick parry, sparks spitting from the crossed blades; and issues a small laugh. It might be pleasant if not for its eerily detached quality. Something about that laugh just Isn't Right. "No matter, to me. A battle is a battle regardless of how one might dress it up."

Then there is a fist impacting the mask, and Moonfin may be reassured to know that it's reassuringly solid; there is a crunch of bronze staving in under the force of his blow, and the sound and sensation of impact hard enough to snap her head to the side.

She staggers, recovering her balance, and gives her head a quick shake to clear the dancing spots.

"Impressive." Shifting her weight, she circles Moonfin, giving him little in the way of time to collect his own bearings.

The Masked Knight closes the distance like a hound after a fox, striking and thrusting in a relentless onslaught of blows. They're not particularly strong by themselves, any of them, but there are many to contend with, and she seems to manage being everywhere at once with that thrusting-sword of hers. Every once in a while, she mixes it up with another throw of that shield-arm, trying to clout Moonfin wherever she has the opportunity.

Starbound Flotilla has posed:
    "There is no show like a Hylotl show, Masked Knight." Moonfin says. In this case, he doesn't seem to react to the fact that the Masked Knight is a woman; all humans sound the same to him, one expects. "A battle remains a battle, but the show it provides should be seen and admired, and thought of." As Lucatiel circles and strikes from all sides, he skids to a stop from his backstep, letting her come in for her rapid strikes. "First Sea Hylotl Style: Still Waters." He says, softly.

    He does not turn to face her when she strikes out at his side with a thrust. Closing two eyes and leaving the third open, he simply moves his blade to parry it without turning. As she moves to his back, the blade is one-handed behind him, knocking it aside again, and he dodges around a thrown punch meant to deck him to the ground. Light grazing damage to his armor, of course, but he is the picture of smug invulnerability. A keen eye might tell that he's working harder than he should be on this defense to make it look completely effortless, but all eyes but Lucatiel's aren't keen. The crowd is /loving/ it, going insane. "Truth is merely the story all agree upon. And for so long as my artistry dominates the show that millions see, the truth battle becomes my story. Such is the victory of the Hylotl." He says, in a tranquil tone, before catching one of those punches in one hand.

    "You see, you seek to defeat me, but not to gain a victory. That is why I am so fond of showmanship." And, whipping around, he attacks her with the sword hand not occupied with her strike... And goes to jab at her gut with the hilt of his blade with a back-strike! He hasn't turned to face her, though, he's striking at her with his back to her!

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
"I had wondered what you were. Hylotl. I have never seen one of those before." The Masked Knight tips her head in acknowledgement, studying Moonfin for a brief instant more. Three eyes? How strange. Perhaps not unusual, though. Drangleic had called up some strange, horrifying creatures, and Hylotl are on the tame end of the spectrum of weirdness she's seen. In fact, there's something charming about them.

Not their words, though. Part of her wishes he'd shut up already.

As though in contrast to his unceasing stream of words, she says comparatively little, merely raising her shield. "So you put on a pretty show. What care have I for that? I did not come here to participate in a show; I came here for other reasons. To fight. And you fight well; I grant you that. Hm. Perhaps you would even prove a challenge for my brother."

"And if I should happen to defeat you? Your 'truth-story' would not win your battle for you," Lucatiel offers, watching warily. Any further response is forestalled by the sudden need to not be sucker-punched in the gut with a pommel. Although she isn't quick enough to leap away, she does turn the blow from an incapacitating affair into a moderate annoyance. It hurts like the dickens, but it doesn't lay her out flat on the sand. She hisses in pain but refuses to go down. "Not bad, but--"

Her own blade whips around, trying to carve a line into Moonfin's side; its narrow point thrusting to find the gaps in the fine Hylotl armour.

Starbound Flotilla has posed:
    Moonfin's armor has no 'gaps', per se; it's environmentally sealed, functioning as an EVA suit even. But there are weak points, places where the plates give way to a thinner undersuit, and Lucatiel carves right between those plates and through the powered under-armor, evoking a light spray of blood. To avoid suffering more, the Hylotl has to leap away in a panic, only just barely managing to make it look stylish by handspringing as he does.

    He skids to a stop, kicking up dust as he does and putting pressure on his wound while his armor administers automatic first aid to the bleeding gash, clotting it with biofoam. "Yes, Hylotl. The greatest of all races, as I seek to demonstrate." He says, flicking his blade back and forth to loosen up his arm. "Not here for a show? You will find this irrelevant. Art is the ultimate expression of these things. You see, if you win, the stories told of my combat will be spoken for quite a long time. When you eventually find your defeat, I will be a part of that narrative: A lesson you failed to learn, a foreshadowing of a flaw, or perhaps merely the climax of the first act. And if I win, I do so in style; I achieve a victory spoken of for quite some time. Fourth Sea Hylotl Style: The Darting Eel"

    He takes a ready stance; the holoprojectors begin displaying an array of falling petals, accentuating his upcoming strike. "You would do well to enbrace legend, Masked Knight. There is no way to escape from the embrace it makes of you." With the petals swirling around him, Moonfin takes a quick step forward. He's felt out offense and defense enough for now, he thinks. Her strengths are footwork, multiple angles of attack, keeping in a range where she can use that shield properly, and generally outmaneuvering. Moonfin seeks to take advantage of gaps in the strength that demonstrates. He moves forward in a flash-step, with a heavy thrust... And coiled legs, ready for some strange maneuver.

    He expects her defense to be as powerful as it was before. So when she maintains her range and parries, he lets the blade fly to the side, swiftly transitioning into a spinning mid-air strike. Letting his momentum carry him, he rapidly rotates once, perhaps even twice before going for a HEAVY blow, right on Lucatiel's shield! He's actually going for the shield this time, precisely where the connections with the bands around Lucatiel's arms are. He's trying to create an impact so jarring that it will weaken Lucatiel's defenses, stagger her, or perhaps even knock her a fair ways if it's particularly successful!

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
The greatest of all races? That's an arrogant claim to make, although the swordswoman seems disinclined to argue with or agree with the point. It would be better to meet more of these Hylotl before making that kind of judgement, although her instincts are telling her they're probably all just as insufferably arrogant. And verbose. Because boy, that's a lot of words.

"No," she says, very slowly and pointedly, as though explaining something to an especially thick-witted child. "I am here for other purposes. As I find the need to remind you, my place in this is irrelevant to me, and I care not for fame or fortune. I am not here to be spoken of or sung the praises of because of some pretty showmanship. Have your theatrical victory; I care not. You speak in nothings, and furthermore, in nothings that neither concern nor interest me. To be honest, I am not even here to win or to lose, but for other purposes."

As she speaks, her sword weaves slowly back and forth, the narrow blade gleaming every time it catches the light. It weaves like a serpent preparing to strike. She watches him as she does, as though patiently biding her time to strike; seeking the opening, as a serpent waits with coils tensed.

He's quick, that much is certain, and agile. Maybe he plays up his own abilities for the crowd a little, but there's real skill behind it all. She's got to admire that, even while she wishes he would shut up.

Instead he keeps talking, and she finds herself rolling her eyes and sighing a long, drawn-out sigh of exasperation behind her mask.

No sooner has she exhaled than the blow hammers down on her shield, not quite staggering her. She takes the blow with a grunt, head tipping down slightly as she struggles to maintain her grip on it. It does stagger her, and by the way she exhales again behind the mask, it also hurts a fair deal; an opening he's likely going to remember and take advantage of going forward -- bruises can be as much a vulnerability as an open cut.

And then, in the same breath, she whirls on one heel and reaches her sword arm up, attempting to slam her elbow directly into the Hylotl's face.

"Shut. /Up/."

Starbound Flotilla has posed:
    There's a vicious crack as the elbow slams up into the clear plate at the front of the helm, already weakened by the previous punch. The entire helm actually shatters there, crumpling up. Moonfin is knocked backwards so hard he can't do a fancy handspring or twirling leap to make it look cool. Half of the helm is busted now, as are critical parts of the torso. He nearly falls down from the sudden impact and exhaustion, but it looks like this durable suit still has a few hits left in it. "Ghhhhk!" He grunts in pain as the impact. The hud flickers over the shattered faceplate of his helmet until it finally dies, and Moonfin autibly spits blood from the wound Lucatiel inflicted on his mouth.

    "I should have expected as much from the tasteless philistine races." He mutters bitterly, before standing. He then rises fully, speaking now to the crowd. "Well, it would seem our masked friend has nearly obligated me to bring out the Spellsword!" The crowd responds eagerly, seeking the show that will ensue from that, based on the fight with the Black Knightmare. "Ohhhoho, you'll have your show. But first, why not see what remains in this stage of things? Let's close this part of the chapter properly!" And now facing Lucatiel aggressively, he takes a far more offense-oriented stance, and answers her demand that he shut up. "No. Make me." SPOTLIGHTS. DRAMATIC FIREWORKS. It's still annoyingly theatrical.

    And that's what prefaces his rush forward, his speed clearly enhanced. His armor, damaged already, blasts brilliant blue fire out of the gaps in its plates, and he leaves vivid afterimages. What comes next is a brutal tactic: He will charge Lucatiel down, and if he can't get inside that shield's range, he's going to brutally SMASH it with his elbow, making it more and more exhausting to use that arm to hold that shield, jarring it over and over... And once he's charged in, striking with rapid slashes, no more jabs. It's intended, not to strike Lucatiel directly, but to drain endurance, to exhaust and make it impossible to keep a consistent guard up. And every time she goes for a punch, Moonfin himself moves for a lashing kick, a punishing strike intended to snap the knee. Then, once she's out of range or gets behind him, a quick step back, and then another charge, repeating the brutal cycle... His armor's defense seems to have reduced, though, to enable this powered rush! If she strikes at it, it'll likely suffer more damage than usual, and perhaps dampen his high-energy assault!

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
Arrogant fool. Lucatiel snorts, but she doesn't speak as the fish-man goes sprawling. She doesn't dare drop her guard, though, stepping lightly and keeping her weight focused forward on the Hylotl. She merely watches him and his fancy equipment, trusting instead in good Mirrah steel. It hasn't failed her; at least not yet.

The blow against the shield earlier had already weakened her arm, and having it hammered repeatedly is not pleasant, to say the least. She's forced to drop her shield, if only because it's easier to manoeuvre without that weight dragging against her arm; and less painful.

She snorts, shaking her head as though to clear it, shifting her grip on her sword as she staggers back; coughing at the repeated blows raining down on her. In spite of the damage accruing, she can't help but notice that Moonfin's armour is failing. It doesn't look quite as bad as she does -- she's starting to look pretty bad, with one part of her mask staved in from Moonfin's fist, and bleeding from a number of wounds -- but it's noticeable enough for her to take advantage of.

Well, as long as she's able to, anyway. Taking a calculated risk, she lets the rush hit home, grunting at the impact; and whips her estoc around to try and jam it into the joint of one knee. A half-dodge manages to spare her the worst of a knee-breaking impact, resulting instead in a vicious, crunching impact; twisting so she takes it instead in the lower ribs. That's going to leave a mark, and going by the grunt she makes on impact, it /hurt/. But it gives her the opportunity to try and cut the Hylotl off at the knees... so to speak.

Starbound Flotilla has posed:
    Going for a mobility-impeding strike does wonders. Stabbing along the knee causes a wave of sparks to burst out of the armor and a large portion of the left leg's armor shears away in a brilliant cyan wave. Lopsided, with his mobility, he stomps the shattered leg away dramatically. "Well." He says. "I see we're taking this to the next stage then." He keeps distant, giving her a moment to recover, but it won't last long. He has a crowd to work. Shedding the rest of his armor, he gives the crowd his rousing shouts.

    He raises a hand, pointing dramatically at the sky. "I believe we've had enough of the /games/!" He plants his katana in the dusty stadium surface. And far above, in orbit, the SFS Connoisseur beams something down. A tremendous impact strikes the earth, creating a brilliant red shockwave of light! When it clears... Moonfin in Spellsword armor. Unlike the Durasteel armor, which was styled more after an anachronistic diving outfit, this one is fully styled after a high-ranking feudal soldier's armor. The sleek, dark cyan armor is clearly powered, as it has amped up his size to a full seven, perhaps eight feet, and steaming mists of depleted Erchius scream out of ports in its back. The japanese stylings to it are enhanced by the presence of holographic-looking panes of light that resolve into reality over it, giving it a luminescent suit of additional armor layering.

    From his back, he draws a MUCH larger blade. It's a HEAVY POWER KATANA, with an array of ELEMENTAL ENHANCEMENTS. It's meant for someone his size, meaning nobody outside of the sort of eight-foot melee monsters that this armor turns him into would be able to wield it. The plates clank and hiss heavily, but he flicks the tremendous blade around several times in flourishing motions that indicate that this size has no downside to dexterity or speed. It also features a quick holoprojection showing that the Spellsword Armor is a Murasame Zaibatsu product, and giving some advertising information. Is he SPONSORED? "Second Sea Hylotl Style:" He says, through a dramatically, harshly amplified voice. "Approaching Tide."

    He begins to approach in a heavy, juggernaut-esque sort of way, stomping swiftly at Lucatiel and slamming the blade into the ground rapidly, emitting tremendous shockwaves of earth energy from that heavy katana's elemental enhancements, intending to make for a quite intimidating approach, and hoping to destabilize the Masked Knight even more in preparation for direct strikes!

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
The Masked Knight draws back as the fish-man does another round of theatrics, conjuring up the... what the hell is that, anyway? Apparently it's some kind of armour. Mecha. Thing. She's not quite sure, as neither Drangleic nor Mirrah have that kind of nonsense.

Lucatiel endures his theatrics with an exasperated sigh, because clearly he's not going to actually shut up or stop with the theatrics. So she simply waits, assuming as much of a defensive stance as she can maintain, occasionally shaking out her arm to see if anything important might have been snapped like a cheap toothpick. So far, so good, but it feels like it /should/ be snapped like a cheap toothpick.

Oh, good, she decides. That's good to know; something that monstrously large absolutely doesn't affect him like it really ought to. Wonderful. Well, at least she knows, and that can help her plan a strategy.

She shifts a few paces, narrowing her eyes behind her dented mask, even as she struggles to maintain her balance against the shockwaves. "I have to w-wonder--" she stammers, as another shockwave shakes her like a hound shaking a fox, "--if you might be compensating for something with all of that."

It's getting really hard to talk or think straight with all this earthquaking, to say nothing of keeping her balance; the strikes come down and she's too unstable to block them effectively. The heavy katana bites deep into her shield arm, drawing a snarl of pain from behind the mask; it bites again, this time into her side, making a bloody ruin of woven silk and flesh alike. That's going to hurt in the morn--never mind, that hurts /now/.

Rather than give up, though, Lucatiel judges the distance -- and kicks off from the ground with a grunt of pain, trying to flip herself up and onto the power armour's shoulder, with every intent of driving the estoc straight down into the join of neck and shoulder, if she can; with as much force and momentum as she can muster.

Starbound Flotilla has posed:
    Several shields shatter on the body of the armor, turning to beautiful flickering shards in the air and overloading local shield subsystems, and the estoc drives into the shoulder, evoking a brilliant spray of sparks. "Hah." He states, with a grim, pained tone, heavily warped through the sound systems of the helmet. "You say that as if this armor weren't a profound expression of Hylotl superiority! All art imitates life. And I, /I am no exception/!"

    And then, with a heavy sweeping motion, Moonfin's sword swaps from EARTH to AIR alignment. There's another brilliant series of fireworks and upturned spotlights, because while Lucatiel remains on Moonfin's armor, he intends to show off its graceful agility. He LEAPS up several feet, maybe several dozen feet, framed on all sides by a swirling mass of fireworks, lit by the dramatic spotlights, and spinning elegantly. He intends to dislodge Lucatiel with the movement, and launch her into the air with him.

    "Sixth Sea Hylotl Style: Lightning Striking Seas." And with a powerful mid-air jet, he intends to perform a heavy overhand slash that will slam Lucatiel back to the Earth brutally, before attempting to land on her from above with another heavy overhand strike, this one hard enough to crater that area of the arena! It's a POWER SLAM! Now that he's exhausted some of that endurance, he intends to push a full, dramatic offense!

    Following that dramatic slam, he'll start his more direct assault. Lashing, thrusting charges, intending to make excessive use of his energy dash and the superior length of that HEAVY POWER KATANA, followed by wide, sweeping slashes, striking horizontally for maximum area coverage and maximum opportunity to add deft, elegant flourishes, twirls, and stylish flicks to every strike!

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
For the time being, the fencer ignores all the nonsense about artistry and theatrics. Clearly, they've come from different circumstances; where she comes from a world where combat is never made light of, he obviously has come from just that sort of place. So long as she can continue to tune out the nonsense, she can concentrate on tracking his agile movements. That, at least, is a chore. His endless commentary on the artistry of battle and all that rot is wearisome, but at least he has real skill to back it up.

She might be inclined to violate the non-lethality rules if he were just a wordy fool with no skill. This is enjoyable, though, in its own way (so long as she doesn't listen to him); she hasn't needed to pay such attention for quite some time now.

Digging the estoc into the join of the shoulder, Lucatiel hangs on for dear life, bracing a boot against the shoulder even as Moonfin launches the whole mess into the air. "I--don't--think so--!" she grates out between ground teeth, snarling as she wrenches the blade in deeper, driving it into the gap she'd forced open.

Oh look he's trying to crater with her. Not this time; that would be the end of her, crushed under so much machinery. Lucatiel hangs on for as long as she can, and then, just when it seems she might be smashed under the power armour, she throws herself clear, wrenching the estoc free and flinging herself away from Moonfin. Coming down in a tumbling roll that makes her see stars for the pain, losing her shield in the process, she pulls herself to her feet with a groan. Ouch. Well, the shield can't be helped. It wasn't much help anyway with her arm so battered and bruised.

Circling, she waits for some of the dust to clear, before darting in and attempting to vault atop the power armour once more. Somehow, she manages to avoid the worst of the whistling katana, grunting as she pulls herself bodily out of its path; frowning behind her mask when it clips a few feathers from her hat.

Lucatiel waits, content to dodge for a few moments, though the effort clearly costs her. She bides her time, though, and once he's extended himself in one of those graceful and completely unnecessary flourishes, she darts in with the estoc, and this time... she whips it around in a lightning-fast change, attempting to slam the pommel directly down on the top of Moonfin's head, helmet, or whatever else she can get close to in that general vicinity. Ouch.

Starbound Flotilla has posed:
    The impact of pommel against helm stumbles the titanic man back, eight feet of heavy armor tumbling back. Automatic balance jets are all that keep the man and his flickering, sparking helm from hitting the dusty surface of arena. The man speaks next through gritted teeth as he regains his footing. "Well. Well well well, well done my terse knight, it would seem you have reached the final page of this chapter." He says, his voice heavy with pain. It sounds like he's suffered a bit of a heavy wound under that helmet. He pops his neck with a heavy, creaking mechanical clank and takes several steps back.

    The swirling spotlights suddenly focus on his discarded sword. "So what do you say? Shall we end the chapter with the /storm/!?" He calls out to the crowds, raising his arms dramatically. "Shall we make the quiet knight shout behind her mask!? Come on!" The crowd, of course, loves this; it's going berserk with cheering. "Louder! Louder!Is that all the noise you can make? Louder!" He riles the crowd up into a frenzy; fireworks at the border of the arena go off in circular patterns, gushing brilliant columns of sparks into the air, coming to a sudden head when he yanks his smaller LIGHT POWER KATANA out of the ground. Now with one heavier one in his right hand and one lighter one in his left, they're a proper Daisho pair.

    "It is time to face the /storm/!" He calls out, and then there's a sudden shockwave! The spotlights fix on the blade, making it cast dramatic shadows around, and the camera-drones go in for close-ups. It is, suddenly, saturated in a high volume of what looks like some form of fluid energy, almost water-like. He's activated the blade's ELEMENTAL ENHANCEMENTS, picking WATER affinities! Holographic tides gush around the pair dramatically. "Sixth Sea Hylotl Style: Typhoon Devastating Shores!" He declares, theatrically.

    Moonfin takes a ready stance, for only a moment, before those holographic tides rush in. His motions are fluid, watery. Every motion comes from a motion that occurred before, and his heavy katana's strikes, if blocked full-on, still let the blade of water pass over what blocks them, slicing with brutal efficiency. Gushes of purple mist scream out of ports in his back, as depleted erchius is emitted in every strike, while the suit itself is subsumed in brilliant cyan fire. His assault this time comes like a river; his forward movement is unstoppable, and the best that most swordsmen would be able to do is simply go with the flow and retreat. He tries to take command of the tides of the battle itself, as well as abusing Lucatiel's fresh lack of a shield! His heavy blade screams out, trying to force ineffectual estoc blocks, while his lighter, shorter blade goes for dramatic stabs and jabs, difficult to see before they're suddenly lashing out.

    Of course, he's not thought about the greatsword on Lucatiel's back, but perhaps he won't have to deal with that critical misjudgement. Who knows! Maybe Lucatiel's not invested quite enough souls in strength for that.

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
Although she can do no more than grunt at the Hylotl's staggering, Lucatiel is in truth surprised she had managed to score such a blow. That armour is incredibly tough and dense; going for the head had been something of a last-ditch effort born of desperation. With so much standing between her and the Hylotl it was unlikely to her that she might have had that much success.

She drops once he steps back to crack his neck, landing hard in a clumsy three-point crouch, estoc gripped firmly in her free hand. Going by how unbalanced she is when she lands, taking the weight against her empty shield-hand isn't exactly fun times right now. That's going to be bothering her for days to come, having those particular points on her arm repeatedly targetted and exacerbated.

Rising to her feet and flicking dust from her bloodied and torn sleeve, Lucatiel cocks her head slightly toward the crowd, eyeing the thunderous reaction from Moonfin's provocations... and she sighs in exasperation behind the mask, although it's lost in the roar of the crowd.

She does take a step backward at the sudden energy that suffuses the fish-man's blade, immediately suspicious; her sword flicks uncertainly at the holographic enhancements, unfamiliar with such technology. She circles quickly, one direction, then another, and finally turns back to Moonfin when it becomes clear that he's Up To Something.

Eyes mismatched beneath the mask flip right and left, trying to figure out where the water is going to come crashing over her; she even braces herself, digging her boots into the arena's dust.

It doesn't take long for her to wear under his onslaught, bloodied beneath the weight of so many strikes she has not the speed or power to evade. Although she blocks many, many more of them slip past her guard. She's flagging, tiring; her blood spatters the sand below, bright red against the pale. On the last strike, the estoc is sent spinning end over end from her hand, only to lodge itself, quivering, into the wall of the arena floor.

Lucatiel's head whips around to look after it, and the urgency with which she does suggests that if she were in any shape to speak, she'd be cursing.

Finally, she manages to kick off from the ground in a backward lunge, buying herself some space -- and takes down the greatsword from her back, before kicking forward again in a full-tilt charge. She leads with the cavalry greatsword as she approaches, planting a boot into the sand at the last moment, and taking a huge, horizontal swipe at the nearest leg of Moonfin's power armour.

Starbound Flotilla has posed:
    Lucatiel crashes that tremendous, heavy blade into Moonfin's leg, shearing through to the flesh below. There's a spray of blood, but it's quickly injected with heavy biofoam treatment. It's deep. He has a few precious rounds of violent exchange before the leg will give out under the stress of battle, but for now, it's working at one hundred percent. Good lord, that armor is tough as nails, even when it's crashed through by that greatsword.

    "Ghhhh... Third Sea Hylotl Style!" He calls out, planting the light power katana in the arena floor, intending to pin Lucatiel's blade to the Hylotl's own armored leg. "Waterspout Striking Vessels." He grips his tremendous blade in one hand and thrusts heavily, and the water enhancement turns into the 'technique' namesake. A tremendous water spout thrusts out, intending to force Lucatiel back, followed by a swift series of lunges surrounded by the disorienting but dispersing storm of rushing water -- and this kind's not holographic! -- intending to launch Lucatiel back and away, to keep her at a distance and make sure she can't get in too close again.

    The lessened fireworks, the wandering spotlights, and the gentle noise of eastern-style drums building up a more and more intense beat give away that Moonfin is trying to set up for a DRAMATIC FINISHING MOVE! His armor seems to be building energy in its capacitors, brilliant lights and arcing electricity being the intentional display and the dramatic sparking of those heavy wounds Lucatiel's inflicted at the head, the shoulder, and the leg being an unintentional display.

    It looks like he's going to rush down his intended DRAMATIC FINALE here and now! She can probably already see him working out the speech he's about to give to the crowd as he flicks the sword around both hands, and a wide variety of cliche samurai stage-setting is already appearing in holographic, flickering light throughout the arena...

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
That the greatsword manages to find any purchase at all seems to come as a surprise to the fencer; she staggers back as she puts her weight into following through with the blow, but it seems she's lost a little bit of the momentum she might otherwise have had. Whatever that armour's made of, it's delicious, and part of her might be tempted to inquire about it... but then she'd get some kind of tangent about art and poetry and her eyes are glazing over just thinking about it. Or maybe they're just glazing over because of the pain. That sure is a thing, too.

Lucatiel's head tilts immediately once he plants his own weapon, giving an unsuccessful wrench and trying to remove her own blade by main force. She's not strong enough to contend with the weight and strength of Moonfin's power armour, though, and only once he's advanced does she finally wrench it free, costing her a faceful of water in the process. Well, more like a torso-ful, anyway; it sends her sprawling, though she maintains an iron grip on that greatsword as she's sent tumbling across the arena, streaming water.

Well, at least it's nice and cool. Could be worse; could be salt water.

Spitting water and struggling to her feet, she seems to be alerted by the shift in background nonsense that he's up to something, giving her sword an experimental swing to test her arm, closing both gauntleted hands around the hilt and gripping it tightly.

Behind the mask, she remains silent; knowing, perhaps, she has only a few seconds at best to calculate what to do with this opening.

She runs.

Kicking off from the now-saturated dust of the arena, she lunges forward with all the strength she has left to her, attempting to spring and whirl that greatsword around like a child's toy, using its excellent reach to try and swing a blow, baseball bat-style, straight for the Hylotl's already-damaged helmet. She snarls with pain and exertion as she does, powering straight through the pain of all the wounds she's accrued throughout the battle; hoping, perhaps, that this will be the end of things, because all she /really/ wants to do is go curl up in a corner with several full Estus flasks and not be conscious for a little while.

Starbound Flotilla has posed:
    The strike grazes effectively, in a way. The helmet's surface ablates, sheets of material exploding off of the armor. And yet, despite the tremendous bulk of that armor, it remains agile and swift. While drawing a spray of blood from the man's face, and wrecking half of the armor, he still seems quite mobile; rolling with the heavy swipe, he winds up in an acrobatic cartwheel and then a series of handsprings to maintain his distance.

    When he finally doers come to a stop, he's moving so fast that he has to skid. He points his blade dramatically at Lucatiel. "I congratulate you." He says, panting. That leg's going to give out after one or two more attacks, from the look of it. "You've done quite well tonight. But this will be as far as you go. It's time for... The FINISHING BLOW!" He says, making a dramatic sweeping gesture at the arena. As if on cue, the theatrics reach a fever pitch, peaking their density and hype. Fireworks are going off in brilliant spirals of light, spotlights are near blinding, and the drone cameras are swarming around Moonfin.

    The music becomes outrageously intense, and he begins to rile the crowd's cheering. "More! More! I want heaven itself to hear the celebrations of this battle, I want the echoes to fade only after the ends of all dynasties! /More/!" The holo-systems go nuts; lanterns, trees with elegant petals, headstones, and a striking series of ornate eastern-style wooden gates flicker into existence between himself and Lucatiel.

    He takes a heavy grip on his blade, bringing it to his side, parallel with the ground, arcing behind him menacingly. His armor begins to scream with the strain of containing all the power it's charging, gushing purple steam and cyan fire. "FIRST SEA HYLOTL STYLE!" He says, taking a stance like a runner about to start off a dash. "RIVER MEETING SEAS!" Like the Black Knightmare before her, Lucatiel will experience Moonfin's attempt at a single, dramatic finishing move. He means to use the archetypal samurai strike; a rapid flash-step intended to carve a tremendous gash along Lucatiel's torso and take her out of the fight in one attack.

    Of course, this means Lucatiel, if she can move swiftly enough, can strike Moonfin as he steps by. Yet another archetypal element of this attack.

    The ending should put them back to back; whatever strike that his foe performs, this specific attack was designed to ensure he can maintain maximum stability and stylishness, and make sure that, no matter what wound he's suffered, he'll have the opportunity to dramatically flip his blade around once, elegantly graze the sheath with one side, and slip it in with a soft click timed perfectly with either the sensation of pain in his foe or the overwhelming of his own stability. Whatever the results, he has made sure that the holography program is designed to slice all the fake props in half as he does, leading to a flickering, bisected stage, dramatically frozen in its halved state.

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
The longer the duel stretches, the more wounds Lucatiel accumulates. It's impossible to ignore them at this point, and even her movements are beginning to reflect this, stiff and slowing in spite of her best efforts. She's only mortal, and handicapped mortal at that; already she can feel the Hollowing stirring in her blood, dragging her down against her will.

Lucatiel doesn't answer Moonfin, because Lucatiel is too busy concentrating on various and sundry things, like 'breathing' and 'keeping herself from bleeding out.' Sure, this tournament isn't lethal, but that doesn't make it any easier or less painful to function under the handicap of being cut almost to pieces.

Ignoring the crowd, she squints behind her mask at the torrents of violet steam and cyan fire. A pretty light show, it is, but chances are it bodes ill.

The flash-step succeeds, if only because while she sees it coming, she can no longer coax her body into moving quickly enough to avoid it. She's forced to endure a ragged, white-hot line up her side, but at the same time, she whirls the cavalry greatsword with alarming speed, twisting to try and rip a line into Moonfin in passing. She's capable of artistry and beauty; it shows in this last desperate gambit, even as she strains against the agony of her wounds -- graceful as a dancer, light on her feet, whirling like the flow of water he so relies on for his aesthetic.

And then artistry goes out the window, as she attempts to finish off with a sharp kick from one booted foot to try and knock Moonfin off-balance.

She's exhausted, though, strength all but gone; but since he's not in much better shape, maybe they're about even in that regard.

"Well... well fought," she huffs, in passing, for that brief instant where they're side by side. "An enjoyable... test of skill."

Starbound Flotilla has posed:
    The spray of sparks and blood that come from Moonfin's side, the delayed result of dragging that cavalry greatsword through Moonfin, is perfectly timed with the soft "clink" of his sword into its sheathe. His leg is just about to give out now; he will be unable to withstand any additional combat. That wound at his side has drained the remaining internal integrity of his armor. It looks like Moonfin can't get enough power to that side of his Spellsword equipment to continue. The loud, intense whir of machinery dies. When Lucatiel comes on over and kicks him, he winds up falling to one knee, unable to stay up.

    He holds himself upright with hand on his knee, and with the opposite hand, removes the scarred mass of metal that makes up what remains of his helm. He seems a bit embarrassed to have put on all that show for two losses in a row! There's a lot more humility in the way he addresses Lucatiel. "Indeed, well-fought. You have earned your right to advance, and given a show besides. I congratulate you on your victory." He says, in a tone quiet enough that nobody else can probably hear it. The suit of armor, of course, shifts to medical modes as the music fades, the fireworks cease, and the drones flit away to shut down elsewhere, administering some first aid on him while he kneels there in a very slightly humbled sort of way.

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
The Knight of Mirrah is still standing, at the end of things, but that isn't saying it's by much. She wavers on her feet, unsteady, and tips her head to Moonfin; one warrior's respect to another.

"Perhaps we shall meet again, away from this arena, and I will show you how a knight of my homeland is trained to duel. You would enjoy that... I think." Behind her mask, Lucatiel smiles; however taut her voice is from pain, that smile still carries through. "But this is not the place for it. Too many years I have fought just to survive."

She grunts, staggering again, as Moonfin remains in his kneel; she herself adopts a similar posture, if only because the arena is slowly starting to spin around her. "I thank you for your congratulations, and salute your skill."

...But her voice is distracted, and her tone distant; leaning forward to plant a hand with fingers splayed against the bloodstained dust of the arena. There she'll remain, waiting for the medics to help her stumble back to the tournament hospital... but behind the mask, she's wearing a faint little smile, however twisted in pain. Now /that/ was an enjoyable test of skill. One slight misstep, one sword stroke just a hair out of line, and she would be the one on the dust. Those are the duels she lives for -- the ones so evenly matched that the most minute variable could change the direction of the entire battle.