View source for 3038/WMAT B2 Geralt of Rivia vs Mortimer Balman

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2015/09/17
|Location=WMAT Arena - Spinach Wastes
|Synopsis=Geralt faces down Mortimer Balman in an evenly-matched battle!
|Thanks=
|Cast of Characters=454, 828
|Tinyplot=WMAT 2015
|Tinyplot2=
|pretty=yes
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{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:454|Mortimer Balman (454)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Honestly, it kinda puzzled Mortimer that the humans of this world called these lush rolling plains 'wastes'. There was greenery as far as the eye could see. Wastes are something barren of life or close to it. These are the things he thinks about while waiting for his opponent to show up so the match can begin. One of the local media people told him it was time, Geralt would be there presently. Up on his feet, knife clasped to his hip, Mortimer began walking out onto the field.. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Wearing the same camouflaged uniform he had worn during his bout with the Bloody Crow. Various shades of blue patchwork, with a worn and tattered mantle that was hung and clasped loosely to the shoulders and collar of the shirt. Pant legs tucked and tethered into his steel-banded boots. Gym badges signifying fourteen of the eighteen Pokemon elements can be seen stitched onto the legs, seven for each leg. A knife hangs from one hip- two feet long, almost a shortsword more than a knife- bearing finely, cruelly shaped barbs, and on the other is a Fenrisian-style combat knife. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The wind makes his fiery mane flicker like a torch. His ears flatten to the sides of his head to blot out the noise of the crowds. Geralt should be coming out about now, too..<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:828|Geralt of Rivia (828)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And here he comes. The wind whips at Geralt's long white hair, held back in a loose pony tail, his face dusted with grey stubble. His golden eyes, like those of a cat, seem to glow even in the light of the midday sun. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; His Kaer Morhen armor - leather, chain, all finely made - might not be as impressive as Mortimer's gym bages or camoflauge, but it gives off the impression of an understated fighter. Where Mortimer has two knives, though, Geralt has two long blades slung over his back. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; He doesn't appear to have any supporters in the crowds over on the stands. No Triss, no Dandelion, and certainly no Yennefer. But Geralt doesn't seem to mind. He strides over to Mortimer, looking him up and down, and adopts a loose but ready stance. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "Balman."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:454|Mortimer Balman (454)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Mortimer flashes a sharp toothed grin. "I hear tell yer called the White Wolf, Geralt. I look forward t'seein' how yah got such a moniker.. Never seen a human with Liepard eyes afore." He falls back into a stance of his own. Leather, chainmail.. Good for turning blades, and arrows. Mort has no such armor, only his own flesh between himself and the Witcher's swords. And whatever fancy magics he has in mind. "Let's give the audience a good showin', aye?"<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:828|Geralt of Rivia (828)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "And I've never seen anything like you before," Geralt replies, voice gravelly, like he's older than the man of middle-age that he appears to be. He reaches behind him, drawing his steel blade, and turns it in a loose circle before settling into a stance. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; He nods. "Aye. May the best man win."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:454|Mortimer Balman (454)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; That voice. Geralt might be older than he looks, kinda like Mort himself. Two old bastards going at it eh? That makes this all the more interesting.. The announcer cries out for the fight to begin. Mortimer's feet dig into the ground and launch him forward, getting the initiative over Geralt this time. He bobs to the left, the opposite side of where Geralt is holding his sword, and puts all of his weight on his leg, bouncing up off the ground and spinning in the air. If the Witcher isn't quick on his feet too, he's going to be tasting the high-quality stainless steel wrapped over Mort's booted feet!<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:828|Geralt of Rivia (828)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Geralt is quick. Decades of fighting experience in a body that was made beyond human by potions and magic gives him enough agility to deflect arrows, effortlessly dodge thrown objects, and go toe-to-toe with viscious beats armed with only a blade. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; So, Mortimer's boot catches him on the side of the chin, whipping his head around, but it's not the worst it could have been. Geralt spits blood and ducks away from Mortimer. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; His fingers dance and Geralt shoves that palm towards Mortimer - and a wave of telekinetic force blasts out from his palm!<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:454|Mortimer Balman (454)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Just before he can finish sticking the landing, Mortimer is unceremoniously lifted off the ground and flung across it. His back hits the dirt pretty hard, making him grunt and growl quite loudly. "Psychic/Fighting type.. Shoulda guessed.." Throwing his legs around, he spins back up onto his feet with a wince. Humans are the worst thing to fight. Well if the strange Liepard-eyed man has psychic tricks, no reason for Mortimer not to use his own. He puffs out a large ball of flame as he runs back in Geralt's direction, which flies just ahead of him, drawing the Fenrisian blade as he runs. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The flames are a feint, though. The ball itself is hot and bright but not long-lasting, something to distract the Witcher for a precious moment while Mortimer himself bursts through it, swinging the sword in a powerful downward-cleaving strike<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:828|Geralt of Rivia (828)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Ah, a fireball. That's going to be a problem. Geralt makes another strange display with his fingers and points to the ground he stands on - and a great golden hemisphere comes to life around him. The Quen sign, a magical shield. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; It absorbs the worst of the fireball, although Geralt's hair might get a touch singed, his skin a touch reddened. As Mortimer comes bursting through the flame, the shield dissipates and Geralt rises, leading with his foot - and goes to kick Mortimer square in the abdomen! <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "You'll have to try better than that," Geralt taunts.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:454|Mortimer Balman (454)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Wait, what. Mortimer has only enough time to realize the fireball has hit some kind of SHIELD before he catches a foot in his gut, stopping his charge before it can go anywhere. He coughs hard and stumbles backward, wincing as he puts a hand protectively over his stomach, leaning on the sword a bit. "Urgh.. Well I guess it's back t'basics then.." Sucking in a half-choked breath of air he rears his head back and, very simply, starts exhaling a wide gout of flames over Geralt's position. Let's see how well the shield handles being bathed in flames<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:828|Geralt of Rivia (828)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; What's worse than a fireball? Fire breath. With the shield already fading away, Geralt has barely a second to duck aside - but he still gets clipped by the scorching flames, heating some of the chain of his armor red hot. Might even scar some of the flesh it catches. Geralt takes a second to bat at his hair with his gloved hands. That caught on fire too. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Rolling, Geralt takes up the sword that he had dropped, and then leaps toward Mortimer, whirling the gleaming blade around his head, before he lets it fly for a horizontal blow!<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:454|Mortimer Balman (454)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The blue uniform turns red, blood welling up quickly as a sharp gash is torn across Mortimer's chest. A deep cut but nothing vital struck too hard. Of course, getting so close to Mortimer means that, well.. Geralt is CLOSE to Mortimer. Even as he cries out in pain he's drawing in more oxygen, and this time when he expels boiling hot flames, the Witcher is much, /much/ closer to the source.. Ideally that means it will hurt more.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:828|Geralt of Rivia (828)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Geralt ignites. The Witcher vanishes behind the conflageration of Mortimer's flame. When the flames die down, if only for a moment, Geralt is still standing, although he's clearly badly burnt. He grunts, hand shaking as he pulls a vial from his belt. He uncorks it and drains it down in one long gulp. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And, just like that, Geralt's flesh reknits. It's not going to be perfect and, really, given how his face twists and how his lips press into a grimace, it's clear that the cure might be just as bad as the affliction - but it means that, even if it is only a temporary relief, a magical elixir that'll reknit his wounds and keep him in the fight, he'll survive until he can get to a proper healer. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And so Geralt turns, staggering and wounded, and makes the sign of Aard again. That telekinetic wave blasts out, flattening the grass as it goes.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:454|Mortimer Balman (454)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "Oh no yah don't! Mortimer is wise to the Witcher's wily tricks this time, and he flings his body out of the way of the Aard sign's blast. The grass and weeds alone feel the brunt of the unseen hand shoving across the air, this time. Spinning through the air, Mortimer puffs out more balls of flame to keep Geralt on the defensive, landing upon the ground on his toes and one hand, scrambling to get over to the White Wolf and push his brief advantage. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The Fenrisian blade lashes out in what seem to be a series of wild and uncoordinated strikes, while the grass around Geralt catches fire and burns. A sudden twist of Mortimer's body and both of his booted feet fly past Geralt's face, trying to kick him off balance so he can't do more of those blasted fancy tricks of his!<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:828|Geralt of Rivia (828)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Geralt's blade whirls and sings through the air, intercepting some of those puffs of flame. Most of them add to his discomfort, sure, but don't set him alight. As the grass around him catches and burns, Geralt leaps over the flames, holding his blade between him and Mortimer - and then both of Mortimer's feet find Geralt's face, breaking his nose, and driving him backwards. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Geralt staggers, brushing his bracer against his nose, wiping away some of the blood. With his free hand, he sets his nose back to how it should be. That's going to need a healing spell, though. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And then Geralt charges, taking his sword up in both hands, unleashing a flurry of strikes! And when he swings, they are big, heavy blows, sweeping wide and long - and yet they are perfectly controlled. It's not the maddened swings of a berserker or an untrained soldier, Geralt is wielding the blade precisely as he intends to.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:454|Mortimer Balman (454)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; If he wasn't in the middle of such a fierce duel, Mort would commend Geralt for his tenacity and ability to handle pain. As it stands he's busy trying to hold back the blows of that powerful steel blade. Unfortunately for Mortimer, this Fenrisian knife was only meant as a replica. Strong steel for certain but it's still only a subpar version of the real thing. The blade snaps and Mortimer's eyes go wide, suddenly left with little more than his own flesh and bone to block the Witcher's cold steel. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Which as it turns out, doesn't block steel very well. In fact, it doesn't really protect at all! <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; But just before the Witcher can land a final blow, Mortimer's hands clap together around the blade. His uniform and mantle now shredded thoroughly by the White Wolf's blows, blood spilling from all over- including where he is holding the blade, the old Typhlosionmorph forces it to stay still.. And, presuming Geralt wants to keep his blade, forces him to stay put as well. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The temperature suddenly skyrockets as Mortimer lets out long growl, which increases until it is a howl. The very air around them becomes oppressive, choking, and volatile. Small wisps of flame pop at random as bits of ozone explode into tiny firelights, and the field around them for quite some distance is reduced to little more than wafting cinders in a matter of seconds.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:828|Geralt of Rivia (828)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Geralt sucks in a breath as everything around them ignites. Some part of him would really appreciate some assistance from Triss right about now, given her affinity for fire magic, and a situation like this is really why Witchers shouldn't fight wizards - at least, not without fair distance and a crossbow. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; He tries to keep hold of his sword, but it eventually gets too hot to hold. Freshly scorched and smoking, Geralt ducks away from it, evidently letting Mortimer keep hold of his blade. And he leaves something else behind, too. A small bomb. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; It detonates like a flashbang, throwing out shrapnel and hopefully giving Geralt a moment to catch his breath!<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:454|Mortimer Balman (454)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Now Mortimer has a NEW sword. He'd thank Geralt for that, except suddenly his face was full of SHRAPNEL. "RRAGGGH?!" Holding his newly acquired chunk of red hot steel, he stumbles backward, flailing it wildly for a few moments.. He's starting to run hard out of steam here. And now he can't see. The pain.. Push it down. Pain is telling you important things, Mortimer, but don't scream about it. Must be.. Cautious now. Geralt is nearby. He can hear the man breathing in the heated atmosphere. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Pointed ears flicker around until the hollows tilt themselves in Geralt's direction. There he is. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Two steps forward, and Mortimer appears to.. Vanish. It's an optical illusion- a sudden burst of intense speed that makes it look like he's going ridiculously fast. Which he is, but not to some insane degree like those Z fighter people do. He is however, behind Geralt in the space of a second, and spinning hard on his heel with the burning blade to slash the human across his back!<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:828|Geralt of Rivia (828)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Geralt notes the flit of those ears. "Oh," he begins, sounding /incredibly/ frustrated, "'course you've got supernatural hearing." He draws himself up to his full height, not stooping over despite the pain, and he goes to draw his other blade - the silver blade, suitable for killing monsters. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; He's fought invisible monsters before - vampires, mainly. And so he turns, maybe anticipating Mortimer's strike from behind, and intercepts the burning blade with his silver one. The shock of intercepting the blow sends pain ringing down his arms and Geralt bites down a curse. With their blades locked, he can't swing without opening himself up for another strike. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; So, there's only one thing to do. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Geralt headbutts him.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:454|Mortimer Balman (454)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Geralt does however, slightly misjudge his distance- his head slams into Mortimer's bloody chest with a loud THUMP. Which hurts! But not enough to really stop the Typhlosion. "Not really.." Without their blades being locked, Mortimer is free to use his free hand to quickly reach out and grab the Witcher by the hair, and drag him up. Mort's seven feet tall, remember. "Yer just loud." <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And then he rears his own head back, and starts banging it /repeatedly/, attempting to demonstrate how proper headbutting is done.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:828|Geralt of Rivia (828)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Geralt grunts in pain as Mortimer takes him by the hair, drags him high, and headbutts him. Once, twice - and then Geralt is so disorientated that he's not sure how many times that Mortimer keeps hitting him, only that he does, and only that it hurts a whole lot. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Even disorientated, his vision blurry, Geralt wills his fingers to /move/, to empower them with the movement that might summon up one of the signs. He's pretty sure he's done it right and so Geralt raises his hand, putting his palm as close to Mortimer's face as he can. "Eat this," Geralt murmurs. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; This time, the telekinetic wave of Aard is practically a point-blank cannon ball!<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:454|Mortimer Balman (454)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "Eat wh-" Oh. Oh yeah! The human has fancy psychic magic tricks! Forgot about that. Well too late to remember it now, what with Mortimer flying across the battlefield again. At least he drops Geralt's sword, so hey he can get that back. Mortimer falls to the ground in a crumpled heap. Exhausted. Not done yet, though. Gotta keep going.. C'mon old man. Get up. Get UP. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Slowly, Mortimer drags himself up onto his feet. Baked dirt and blood and chunks of metal wiped from his eyes as he does so. There.. There he is. There's three of him in fact. None of those Geralts look much better than Mortimer feels. Okay.. C'mon old man. Summon up just a bit more strength and finish this fight.. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Mort's mane bursts out suddenly as he dredges up what strength remains in him. Flames trail in his wake as he rushes past, and indeed around, Geralt, once, twice, and three times. A blazing inferno is created around the Witcher, and from within that blaze a fist wreathed in that inferno flies out to punch straight /through/ him.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:828|Geralt of Rivia (828)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; C'mon, old man, all you need is just a little bit more. Geralt might get dropped, but it takes him some time to pick himself up. He staggers, drops to his knees, and then manages to rise again. He finds the sword that Mortimer dropped, although the steel blade seems a bit worn given all the heat, and he holds it in one hand - his silver blade in the other. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; But, with a sword in each hand, he can't make any sign to protect him from the inferno. Geralt burns and he shouts out, roaring in pain. His armor ignites, his hair ignites, the air reeks of burnt flesh, scorched leather and burning hair. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; But then Geralt comes roaring from the flames, practically naked and burnt down to the muscle in places, swinging both of those blades like a whirling cyclone! All of his remaining strength has gone into this last burst of adrenaline - will it be enough?!<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:454|Mortimer Balman (454)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Yeah, yeah that's about enough. The two swords lacerate Mortimer quite ferociously, enough to cause him to bleed quite profusely! The boiling blood hisses as it lands upon the ground, melting the dirt a little bit and cooling rapidly. The temperature drops.. And so does ol' Mortimer. <br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; He doesn't get back up.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:828|Geralt of Rivia (828)}} has posed:'''<br><span></span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And Geralt goes down pretty much immediately afterwards, collapsing onto the smouldering dirt without a sound. Scorched and burnt, delirious and probably concussed, the old wolf appears to have won this fight. But only just.<br> <br>


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