Cleric Occam gazed upward at Mister Lawrence with a strange look in his eyes... as if he was deciding whether or not to antagonize the larger human.
Likely unaware that he was the target of hostility, Lawrence dragged Lone out of the rock-circle... leaving Occam, the fallen Shatterspike... and the armored form of Seldin Korr who had stepped into the ring to examine it.
Shadow-black armor with silver trim. Asymtrical helt that covered her non-working eye. Dark green breechcloth. Similar to the Heavy Gunner, Seldin Korr also wore a full-tal set of armor-- though her set was far more intricate and elegant than the others.
Diamantia Krakhamr had likely figured that that particular set was to be made for a woman. Won seem to have so sort of... psychic link that made them do nice things for each other without asking.
It was yet another reason that Tycondrius was so wary when dealing with females.
With Lawrence away, however, the Stormbrands surrounding the ring began to shout, mocking Korr, and imploring Cleric Occam to defeat her quickly. They likely thought that the black-armored Knight was the next challenger.
Emboldened by their cheers, Occam stepped forward, posturing aggressively.
Seldin Korr was far shorter than Lawrence, though her boots were lifted, making her appear long-legged. Still, her overall size was far more condensed... which was probably the reason the Stormbrands had the confidence to court death.
...The fools they were.
"[THIS. BLADE. IS MINE,]" Korr declared in her echoey, tallic voice. She seed wholly unbothered by the crowd's taunts.
Korr wore a magical respirator attached to her helt. Tycon had requested the adjustnt, fearing that, in low-oxygen close-quarters, Korr would pass out if she were to use her fire-based attacks. In such a situation, the enchantnt would activate, providing magical air for her to breathe and granting her a few additional breaths of consciousness.
It also had a few unintended, overall positive effects. It masked her voice and made her sound like sothing out of a nightmare. Also, she remarked that it helped her with her allergies.
Cleric Occam crossed his arms, glaring at Korr, "And who the hells are you supposed to be?"
Korr turned her body to face Cleric Occam... quietly piercing the Shatterspike longsword back into the dirt. With slow, asured steps, she approached him... the shifting sound of tal on tal clear as the crowd grew quiet.
Tycon found his throat drying from a subconscious level of fear, his heart palpitating in nervousness... The woman's gaze was directed nowhere near him. He could only imagine how the Stormbrands felt.
"Aha... haha..." Occam laughed, "I ain't scared of you. What'cha got? A magical fear aura? That ain't sh*t!! Co on, LET'S FOIGHT!!!"
The suit of armor tilted its head, painfully slow... "[YOU WISH... TO FIGHT?]"
"Ohhhh," Occam raised an eyebrow, "Having second thoughts, huh? I should have known the mbers of Guild Letalis were cowards... Why don't you--"
Korr moved far faster than the Iron-Rank Cleric could comprehend. She lowered her center of gravity and took a leading step forward. She launched her right fist straight, rotating her body with the full gods-damned force of her Gold-Rank physique.
The lethal kinetic energy traveled up from her grounded legs... through her rotating waist... to her arms... and into her oppressive fist.
Cleric Occam was going to be killed.
"⌈ONE PUNCH.⌋"
Her closed fist struck Cleric Occam's face with a deafening boom-- practically identical to that of an exploding keg of Orcish Sugar.
Propelled by the force, the Cleric soared through the air, past the tents, into the nearby treeline. He broke a few saplings before his upper body bounced off of an aged tree, cracking the bark. He tumbled, then skidded upon the rocky ground... but was able to dig at the dirt with his hands... shortly after, losing his balance and sorsaulting backward until finally, he crashed into a rock formation.
When the dust began to clear... Occam stood shakily... bruised, bleeding from the nose and mouth, and in absolutely no condition to continue fighting... "Damn... that was a good--"
Korr crossed the distance almost instantaneously, sheathed in flas that turned the surrounding grass and leaves to dust. She forced the Cleric against the rock wall, holding him by the throat and relentlessly punching at his face and abdon. Each strike that landed deepened the cracks forming in the hard stone behind him.
In an amazing display of endurance, Occam woke from unconsciousness after a dozen punches and launched a single, solid counter-punch, "GOT'CHA, MOTHERF*CKER!!"
The Cleric's fist struck Korr in the face, forcing her helted head to tilt backward.
"AHA HAHARR!!" Occam cackled, "NOT SO TOUGH NOW, ARE--"
Korr interrupted him, her barrage of fists resuming with no less fervor than before.
She grasped his wrist and smashed the Cleric into a nearby tree, twice the fellow's width. The tree cracked in half, toppling to the side. Korr then broke a second tree. Then, a third.
Swinging the surely dead Cleric around in a circle, she flung him skyward.
"⌈WEIRD FIRE SPHERE.⌋"
The woman's hands lit ablaze in fla. Pointing them upwards, a misshapen fireball materialized in front of her before speeding towards Cleric Occam.
Another violent, leaf-dusting, ground-shaking explosion occurred where Occam once was... leaving behind a thick cloud of dark smoke.
Karodin of Emberhold rubbed the back of his dented helt with concern, "Is... is he dead?"
Ptolema whistled, "I hope so. It seems like a lot of effort went into that."
Tycon crossed his arms, choosing not to comnt. He was familiar with most of Korr's skills... and they were all nad reasonably. The two she had used just now, however... were not.
He surmised that training with her weapon spirit, Shahram, was the cause. The weapon spirit that inhabited his Sword of Venom, Garock, also had a similar, just-as-stupid naming sense.
...He squinted his eyes to peer in the distance as the smoke began to clear and the dust and dirt settled.
Cleric Occam had fallen back to the charred forest ground... He lifted a trembling forearm up, revealing an upraised thumb... clearly broken.
So he lived.
Tycon wasn't even upset. With how much punishnt the Iron-Rank Cleric received without dying, he could only be impressed.
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