Cataclysm Tournament: Aman (Aman) vs Garzok (Lazzamore)

As you step into the arena the viewing screens overhead offer you a glimpse of the playing field you will soon be engaged in. The rocky beach appears devoid of activity save for the lapping of the salty waves against the nearby shoreline. About fifty yards inland, a rocky precipice overlooks the beach. The beach itself is mostly barren and open, but clusters of rocky formations dot the sands, making for dangerous traversing of the shore. Fortunately the sun is high and visibility clear.

Once you take your place in the designated circles you will become fully synced into the virtual playing field.

After syncing herself into the stadium, Aman took a moment to recover from the woozy feeling of teleportation out of the real world. Even though this was a virtual reality, she didn't look or feel any different than before. Everything seemed completely natural. After she had stood, waiting in the circle, the arena itself disappeared and instead brought with its absence a new domain. The first thing that she noticed was the feeling of sunshine on her face, and the initial thought that she couldn't have been warped into a better environment. Well, aside from the water, which she didn't particularly like - but the heat was nice and warm, and this was the sort of thing she was used to. Over her shoulder rested the grand blade Dragon's Scale: a beautifully crafted red greatsword. When placed against level ground, the blade extended almost as far as her chest. The hilt was manufactured from the scales of a red lava dragon, and could probably be used as a weapon of its own just to give someone a bruise. The blade was clear and made of a translucent, almost diamond-like substance that seemed to sparkle when hit with direct sunlight. It could also be turned into a gun; but for now, it was a sword.

Presently she spent a moment to just take in the scenery around her with as passive an expression as ever. The sands beneath her feet were slippery, but not impossible to traverse with the right momentum. What was more worrisome were the rocks sticking out of the shoreline and promising a face full of sand if one were to trip over them, or worse. Her eyes fell on the extremely tall, steep escarpment that loomed over her head some tens of yards away. On one side they were surrounded by ocean, and on the other an impassible rock wall. One might feel rather like a caged animal in these circumstances, but she paid it no mind. There were miles of land along the beach for their brawl, and that was more than enough for her. This environment would prove an ample battlefield.

The screaming and cheering of the crowd caught her ears, and the Dragon Priestess lifted her head to look around her. Luckily it was far-off, and the noise was minimal; not too much of a distraction. Merely to humor them, though, she lifted her fist into the air and listened as the shouts grew ever louder and more excited. Better put on a good show for the people. Aman was prepared to lose, if that was what it came down to, and she would accept it with little conflict. If it happened that she could no longer fight and was taken out of the match, then so be it. It would only drive her to work harder next time. Now all she had to do was wait for her opponent, the large brute of an ork berserker. Her hair blew gently in the mild breeze, bringing with it the scent of salt and seaweed. "I am prepared."

Garzok smiled at the sun on his face. It seemed a little twisted. He was excited; It had been too long. Far too long since he felt the rush of the kill. For an Ork, this is as necessary as food and water. Garzok looked around him. Their was a lot of water here; That is rare where he comes from. Most of the time such planets are held with an iron fist.

He was mildly concerned about the rocks, though. And wetness filled the air; Garzok was used to much dryer conditions. It made it harder to breath. Garzok was fully prepared to win; but now he was overwhelmed with what he did not anticipate, and the Battle had yet to even start. Garzok metaphorically kicked himself. Garzok WOULD win. Gork and Mork WOULD be spread to ALL universes. And greatness would be Garzok's!

Garzok steeled himself. Win or lose, this would be glorious, and he would come out ahead simply for fighting. He armed himself with all four weapons; Sawblade, two shotguns (with chainsaw blades attached) and his own invention, a heat-based Mega-slugga; it's barrel seered to black, it's coils warming up already as they glowed a sickly green. Nothing on Garzok was made for stealth or hiding. Why would an Ork avoid conflict?

And so the Ork was in, and he was taking his time to visually adjust to the environment as well. Aman was an honorable fighter, and she would play no dirty tricks. What fun was a battle if it the opponent proved no challenge? As soon as they both seemed to settle in, the woman approached him with slow and steady strides, closing the distance between the two. "I have no time for idle conversation, and you don't look rather like the chatty type yourself. So, why don't we do what we came here to do?" With those finishing words and a polite bow, she stood up straight and crossed glances with him. 'Let your enemy choose who strikes first' - that was something Aman had lived by after hearing it from her old friend Seraphina. Wherever the woman was now, she hadn't forgotten her.

Gripping the hilt of her greatsword firmly with both hands, as if prepared for an attack at any moment, the Dragon Priestess shot a quick glance to the crowd who had fallen tense and silent in the suspense. She looked back to Garzok and spread her legs wider in a fighting stance. "If you would like to make the first move, then come now. Otherwise, I will be charging." As she said this she never once took her eyes off of him, watching his body language carefully to see what he would do. In her experience, Orks were very unpredictable.