LeeRoy vs. The Charred Satyr

The Charred Satyr Wrote:

[[A lone boarsman rode into town (or in this case, silo).]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m6BQKFs3-VM)

The boarsman was situated on the spine of an inelegant beast, festooned with all the trappings that a creature of war ought to. His titanic steed grunted and wheezed loudly, puffs of white fog exhaled from its searching nostrils in a sporadic fashion. The wind brow beat the two of them unrelentingly as flecks of frost began to collect on their attire. Saddlebags flanked either side of the boar, patchworks of leather and fabric barely capable of keeping their bulging treasures from spilling forth. A close inspection would show a variety of baubles intermixed with true tools took up most of the space, save for one bag that was in considerably better shape than the others. In this, it was stuffed to the brim with teeth of varying size and questionable origin. The buckle had been left open, and so its flap fluttered in the breeze like everything else in this frost bitten picture.

The creature himself, no, not the boar. The rider was equally massive. Though his bulk was much like a mountains, shapeless and undefined due to the ill-fitting poncho he was wearing. Blood spatter has frozen in place on the front, the pattern taking after a pair of giant hands. Obviously the boardsman had wiped his hands on the cut of fabric in order to rid himself of the blood. Those very same gauntleted paws now found themselves wrapped around the reins connected to the boar's bit. Atop his head was an even odder, but somehow not totally anachronistic affection, a sombrero. The brim of which was bent to one side as the weather continued to press on against them in the duo's journey. Between the lips of his tusked maw was an odd, and to be honest disgusting, stogie. The leaves were of green velum, and the glowing pucker at the tip was bright pink. From the heated ash came a stream of deep purple smoke. Yet the sombrero was tipped just slightly forwards so as to obscure his beady, yellow eyes from view so there was no way to know if he was truly enjoying the smoke. Or if he was even awake for that matter.

Either way, the monotonous patter of the cloven hooves from his partner in crime eventually brought them into view of their destination. The suitably wide roundel that would serve as their battleground was now upon them. Before the pair stood the boarsman's opponent, he was ivory in hue and... lithe, not anything like a brick. Instead of getting off his pig-stallion, the cocksure rider performed a slow and deliberate encirclement around the entire silo, taking in every little detail of the matte grey surface. He didn't seem to move, but that wasn't precisely out of the ordinary since he was controlling the boar, Gitsnit, with his thighs. Eventually he finished his tour and came to a halt a mere ten feet from the lizardman.

Silently, and still puffing on the strange cigar, the boarsman slid off Gitsnit, who was built like a brick, and not lithe at all. The rider let out a jingle jangle of metal sounds as he stepped upon the metallic surface. His steel shoes rang out loudly, indicating both his weight and the firmness with which he was placing each step. This was to be the lizardman's opponent: Loppa da 'eadchoppa. He lifted his head slightly so that his eyes now came into view, and moved the cigar from one side of his lips to the other, as he took-in the other strangely attired beast.

The Black Orc breathed out a final puff of purple smoke, this time from his nostrils, and hocked the cigar butt from his mouth, letting it roll softly across the arena. Attached to it was a great gob of brown spittle. Loppa had begun searching his mind for whatever this thing that Gork and Mork had set before him might be. The closest approximation was a lizardman, specifically a Skink. Though he preferred to call them Stinkz, given their rank meat and tricksy ways. Even when roasted to the point of char, a Skink's flesh was barely good enough for a Squig to eat. Although he did like their teeth quite a bit. A further oddity immediately made the Black Orc wary, and that was the continuous cloud of ash raining down upon the lizardman's head. Magicks. Why was it always magicks? The Black Orc's flaxen sclera narrowed further, if that was even possible. He could not recall a time as of late in which he had the proper opportunity to whet his blades on the bones of someone who didn't rely on the infernal powers.

"Roight, Stinkz."

Loppa's voice was a deep, cutting tone. Curiously, the Black Orc didn't seem in the least preoccupied by the upcoming fight between the two. Rather, his arms shuffled underneath his poncho, before they came out from under and grasped at the rim of his illicitly acquired fashion statement. A thick, mottled tongue fell from his mouth as he focused deeply on his next action. Which was to take the sombrero and throw it with a concerted effort at the Stinkz' head. He was really trying to get it to land atop the albino's crown, no funnin'. Either he missed or he didn't, it wouldn't deter him from growing a wide and cruel grin upon his face before his hands slid back under the warm confines of the poncho.

"Le'z starr den."

Loppa was no fool, though his appearance belied that of an utter brute incapable of stringing more than a few words together. This was altogether not wrong, his speech was rather stunted but he knew just enough to insult many a creature in many a tongue. He was currently working under the assumption that this lizardman was a mage, or perhaps warlock of some kind. As a result he batted the idea of how best to begin to this sorte back and forth between the opposite sides of his green sheathed skull. Most adherents of the infernal powers required only one thing: time. Range was rarely an issue. Yet at the same time, it was just as dangerous (if not more so) to approach the unknown when you had the luxury of observing it from afar.

Quietly he wished he had a Snotling to kick in the white lizard's way. However... his secondary eyelid blinked opaque. This being had taken up a very specific stance. The Black Orc's mind dipped into the various pools of experience he had arduously poured over in his many seasons of battle and reconnoitering under his bandoleer. New information was quickly added to his hypothesis. His opponent, like all others and mentioned before, required time and likely also needed to move through series of physical forms in order to properly express his magic. As opposed to using a conduit like a staff or totemic circle. This was important. While it was merely a hunch, if he could keep his opponent from following through with the proper maneuvers or stance he might either be able to nullify or greatly weaken the conjured magicks. All the same there was the singular matter of taking stock of just what sort of fiendish tact that might be utilized against his great, green bulk.

After all this thinking there was only one thing to do, at least for now. The 'eadchoppa snorted out a gob, and flicked his broad chin forward viciously. This forced the hitherto then unseen hinged helm he wore to flip up and over his bald cranium, only to close with a metal on metal clank. All at once the Stinkz would be confronted with the contorted, baleful visage of the Black Orc. Bronze, and resplendent in its hostility. A pair of giant, yellowed tusks tinged with red viscera at each end were positioned on either side. Beneath his pilfered poncho, Loppa's giant paws each reached for individual targets. His Deff Klaw wrapped about the jagged, and likely tetanus riddled grip of the Choppa that was hooked onto the limb via a series of linked chains. The other, still organic, slithered up to an acorn strapped to the bandoleer. Although it could not be seen, the Black Orc was studiously taking in every sound and smell of the arena. That was when a curiousness of the ash blown gust began to truly materialize before his eyes. Something, or someone, was attempting to lash themselves to his opponent. A toothy grin filled the Orc's face as pride entered his chest. He had learned something. This being utilized souls in some manner, like all matter of Chaos spawn he had encountered in the past. Perhaps this creature's technique wouldn't be so elusive after all.

For now, he would wait, and follow through his conceived counter-attack and ambush stratagem.

"Addag!"

The Black Orc mockingly rumbled before guffawing loudly over the sound of the arena's aperture beginning to open, and his prey beginning the battle for him. Although it could possibly be argued that Loppa attempting to land the hat upon the Stinkz' head was sort of the opening move. He watched as the incorporeal form took shape and began to launch itself almost spasmodically at the much larger target. What an odd ability. Loppa had been correct, this Stink was a conjurer of spirits. Stupid ones, it seemed. The apparition given form leaped over the small hole for whatever reason (when in all honesty it probably could have just stepped across), and sallied forth at the Cunnin' Git.

Loppa answered the attack bluntly, and efficiently. His arms sprang forth from the poncho, the Big Choppa in his Klaw neatly shredded the piece of fabric down the middle (letting the Mexican accouterments fall to his sides), and brushed the sword aside with relative ease. Churning the strike in a counter-clockwise motion, and flicking his arm up into the air. Pushing both of their blades up and away from one another. Loppa was a trained swordsman, and a rather good one at that when compared with most of his kind. Against such an odd technique, he was rather confident in his abilities. It reminded the Black Orc of a child who had taken hold of his father's sword, vastly out of his depth. This was followed up by a neat right step forward, followed by a hideously powerful punch of his right fist. The gauntlet and tremendous strength behind the swing crushed two things. One. The black acorn in his hand. Two. The minion's head. It oddly felt like brick. It was also in this same moment that he realized that the henchman's sword had shattered like glass. Huh.

All at once, the magic essence stored within the acorn spewed forth him his hand and filled the area. Given how close they were from one another, the black cloud would envelop both Loppa and the Stinkz. Lest he move quickly away from the dark fumes, the Stinkz would find himself inside of Loppa's domain. The Black Orc finished off the stepping forward with his left foot, and shoulder checking the now (presumably) headless creature in the pit that had just formed a few feet ahead of the bulging mass of Loppa's form. Now hidden within his home of bleak fog, Loppa took a second to regard both his opponent and this new development. Tossing humans down wells, or making them fall into traps he had dug was something of a fun pastime. Particularly if there was gob covered spikes at the bottom. Yet he had been instructed under no uncertain terms was he to kill anyone during this... tournament. He then could only assume that falling down there wasn't lethal. A shame. The monster did know though that if he fell out of the arena, he'd lose. This seemed absurd, and he had certainly been upfront with his misgivings about this rule, but they had agreed that any teef he knocked out were his for the taking. So there was that.

He put aside the idle thought and peered through the darkness. His night vision pierced through the smog almost as if it didn't exist. Plus he could smell the wretched Stink as clear as if someone had painted him a picture. He was standing much the same as before, except this time with his left hand pulled back. If his apparitions were this fragile, Loppa felt he had literally nothing to worry about and so voluntarily crossed the still rather small hole (by his comparison), and finished by hefting up the other Big Choppa into his hand. He was going to let the Stink wonder just what the Grog had happened before he moved in to start the process of maiming.

LeeRoy Brightmane Wrote:

The Black Orc stood still. To his left was his opponent, he could see him clear as day (but nonetheless) could make little sense of the exactly what in Zog's name the Stinkz was doing. It was funny, at least to Loppa. He could literally reach out and touch the lithe lizardman, but there seemed to be nothing indicating that his opponent was even aware of his closeness. The odd little dance he was performing could have been any number of things. A habit, a necessary part of his power, or even just an attempt to make Loppa think he was moving around in the darkness. If it was the last one, then Loppa knew whatever this Stinkz was, it was not one of the Lizardmen he was used to butchering. They at least were acutely aware of an Orc's physiological strengths. Great hearing, an unrivaled sense of smell, and their well developed night vision. And still, this one made no move to actually leave the cloud. Loppa could only toss this up to ignorance. This was the sort of thing he'd expect from a 'umie, their own woefully underdeveloped senses always left them fumbling in the dark, much like what was happening now. Perhaps it was a better idea to think of this creature as a human, wearing the guise of a lizardman. He certainly had the build. The difference in size was more than marked, it was staggering. Not only was the greenskin several heads taller, but he was a boulder where the lizard was a twig.

The sound of the battleground opening wider still filled his ears, and Loppa was about to use that as cover to attack when the Stinkz did something rather odd. He jumped. And then... jumped again? The Black Orc blinked, that was different. While he was taken in with the strange maneuver that seemed to defy order, he idly became aware of a hush of wind pushing by his left-hand side. Another one of those constructs had appeared, this one armed with a spear. He watched it leap over the growing pit and rush on ahead, thrusting impotently at nothing. Now that was useful to know. These conjured beings were nothing like the demon spawn of his world. Those beasts were often smarter, and almost always more powerful than the summoner; however these ones seemed to be capable of only acting out the will of their master. Possessing no intelligence or initiative of their own. Otherwise, Loppa imagined it would have done something different after it stabbed into nothingness the first time. Perhaps flourishing the spear side to side, attempting to locate him in the murk. No such thing occurred though, and then it crumbled into ash.

Clatter.

Loppa turned his head back and noticed that the lizardman had fallen from his precipice in the air. The greenskin almost reached up to scratch at his bald head, but then remembered he was wearing his tusked helmet. This was all so... weird. Weirdness or not, he had to do something, or else he was really going to risk losing any chance at taking the initiative out from under the feet of the Stinkz. He raised the Klaw. The appendage's many sharp fingers were open (like a literal claw game), and he aimed for the left side of the abdomen of the skinny creature. There was a hiss, and the chain linked fist shot forward from his arm. The two individual fighters were right next to each other, and the Klaw was quite the quick projectile. Loppa knew that unless this thing was literally made of stone or steel, the Klaw's steel digits would pierce deep into its flesh before closing shut with a vice-like grip and do even more damage as a result. This was but an appetizer however, for his Klaw would start retracting back towards its owner as the spooled chain was reeled in. Presumably along with its catch. Lest something Loppa had failed to anticipate put the torch to this rather simple, but effective plan.

The sensation of the blow spearing into his prey shook up his arm and the chain attached to it, this was a rather pleasant vibration. From within the bleakness, Loppa laughed. He saw his target fall away from the attack, and then the Klaw wrench itself free. Against the metal floor, which was continuously and noisily retracting them both closer to the outer edges, the Klaw's fingers screeched as they were quickly reeled back into place. It would take some time before Loppa could do that again, but it was doubtful that he would need to do it again. The Klaw was always a weapon of subterfuge and tactical planning, and soon the cloud that he had created was to disperse. Loppa quickly considered the myriad of options available to him. The Stinkz was about two or so strides away, but was already quickly trying to increase that distance and would be outside of the bubble of his cloud soon enough. Though that didn't matter since Loppa had already dismissed its continued use from his mind, he was adept at keeping an active counter at the back of his head for long it took each of his acorns to wear off. And the Gobbo magicks inside this one was about to run out.

Three strides now, soon to be four. Gudz.(he thought to himself) The Klaw clinked back into place, and Loppa reached up with his hand to grab at his bandoleer. His bronze toned butcher blades wrapped around a red acorn, and twisted it. A short countdown started. Onez. The crimson cap remained attached to the odd leather that made up his bandoleer, but the rest of the acorn came loose. From behind the darkness, Loppa tossed the acorn underhanded, over-and-under. Tooz. Letting it go free. For the majority of its ride, the weapon would remain hidden behind the black camouflage of his first acorn. Assuming though the Stinkz had backpedaled enough to finally leave the cloud, he might have been able to catch a tiny glimmer of red just before it detonated.

"Tree."

His voice rumbled just as a cacophony of sound and flame would spread forth from the air burst. The Red Meanie had come to say, "Ow'z u'ze doin' git?" in its own special, explode-y way. Loppa had ensured he would be well away from the flame, but given the fifteen foot diameter of this conflagration, it was his intent (and very likely the outcome) that the Stinkz was caught in the center of it. The detonation of his Red Meanie wasn't strictly speaking an explosion, it was more like a wildfire. Not capable of blowing anything up (unless whatever it was touching did the blowing up for the acorn), but still able to swarm over bodies and objects like a river. An incredibly painful river. Reflected in the red glint of Loppa's eyeholes, it certainly did appear about the most beautiful thing in the world to him.

LeeRoy Brightmane Wrote:

Once again Loppa laughed when he heard the sound of the Stinkz cry out, and once again the hole grew larger. The smell of burning Stinkz filled his nostrils. All at once, the black cover that Loppa had been inhabiting evaporated. His monstrous form came back into view against the white background of the arena's scenery. Loppa turned with the smell and found himself staring at the Stinkz, who was now a good twenty or so feet away. The creature was bent over the most odd of postures. Loppa silently wondered if this was another position he was required to move his body into in order to manipulate his magicks, but even if it was... so far they hadn't really been helping out the poor Stinkz in any real way, not as far as Loppa could tell. Still... he couldn't help but wonder how the Stinkz had made it over to the opposite end of the hole so quickly.

Ah, well, it wasn't like that detail was particularly pertinent. The fact remained that he was there now, and Loppa was over here. Despite the mysterious how, the why was answered. Loppa had all but confirmed that the Stinkz had no real means of standing up to him. And if those primitive warriors were the extent of what he could retaliate with, well... it didn't really matter what happened from this point on. The Stinkz was still losing a not inconsiderable amount of blood from the wounds that his Klaw had imparted, and it was plenty obvious to Loppa that the lizardman was covered in burns from the Red Meanie. Unless the Stinkz had a couple of tricks up his sleeve, this battle was already over. From what Loppa could see, the creature wasn't exactly hiding anything. He seemed to just have his rather puny sword, and the odd ocher colored armor in places, and that was about it. Loppa somehow possessed more in the way of equipment, it was all so baffling. The only explanation that the Black Orc could surmise was that his opponent had woefully underestimated the sort of fight he might be getting himself into.

Loppa's mind considered what he ought to do next, and the answer seemed pretty obvious all thanks to the Stinkz. With the creature in such a small form, all four of his limbs touching the ever growing aperture, his mind was reminded of the horses of men caught in the bogs of his homeland. Their limbs flailing to unstick themselves from the muck and mire, only to end up exhausting themselves further before giving in to the bleak depths. Abandoning their armored riders to a similar fate. The same paw that had thrown the Red Meanie reached up and plucked the green acorn from his bandoleer, and then in one swift motion threw mightily at the metal... floor(?) directly in front of the Stinkz. Experience would show that Loppa was almost certainly correct about the assumed outcome of this move. He assumed that the Stinkz would find himself coated in the powder from the shattered Green Meanie, before floundering in the glue it turned into, and then promptly burning as it superheated and solidified into an almost rock hard form. Whatever secondary effects this might cause were unknown to Loppa.

LeeRoy Brightmane Wrote:

Although it could not be registered from behind his exhaustively crafted helmet, Loppa's crude face smacked of surprise. The little Stinkz had quite frankly launched himself forward from the other side of the hole and began to run across the zoggin' air. The ash forming crude plateaus for him to step upon each quick stride, coming together before his feet ever needed them in the first place. So that was how the lizardman had got across in the first place. Loppa barely even registered the cracking of his acorn, and the prompt distribution of dust that virtually hardened in the span of a blink of the eye. Although it had been unintentional, the Green Meanie's plaster would hold the aperture in place. This was evident enough by the sound of the grinding mechanisms that were all so foreign to Loppa's primitive mind, the various pneumatics straining to continue their operation only to be interrupted by the crude collection of ritual alchemy and snotling mucus membranes. To someone smarter than Loppa, if they knew exactly what the Green Meanie was made up of, perhaps this would have been perceived as funny. For such polar opposites in technology to come to a head.

The Black Orc though never tore his eyes off the Stinkz. He couldn't. Stinkin' magicks. Loppa suddenly wished he could run across the air, that seemed like a rather handy trick. Then he noticed the sword, and the neurons that formed the connections of his tiny brain suddenly tickled themselves to life. Loppa didn't really have any time to form a plan, which was never a good thing. He needed time to make those after all. The shock left his face, and twinges of rage wrapped themselves about his beady eyes, a deep, guttural roar began to erupt from his abdomen. His Big Choppa was close at hand, but probably not close enough to pull it up, grab it, and then swing a useful counterblow. There was only one thing for it then. If you just so happened to be blessed (or cursed) with a steel fist with daggers for fingers, you may as well use it or lose it. Loppa swung his hand outwards, away from his body, towards Ratana and specifically his sword and swordarm in a backhand that essentially acted with the same force as Loppa might swing a skull cracking mace. Not the most elegant of defenses, but all the Orc really was aiming to do was bat the lizardman aside from sheer force alone, and if he came off with a cut for it... the better. It wasn't exactly right that he leave the battle without a scar. Loppa would turn with the blow, and step with one foot outwards in order to lend further strength and make himself a smaller target via positioning.

And that was the thing, the swing he had performed was merely the first step in every movement of Loppa's arms. His Big Choppas were attached via manacles, and when he wasn't holding onto them, they dangled by the ends of his arms. In a pinch, these were rather effective tools even when Loppa wasn't wielding them. For there were very few individuals who could take a blow from a weapon that almost weighed twenty five pounds while it was being swung around by an overly zealous Orc. But that wasn't why he had them attached to his body in the first place, it was so that Loppa could easily retrieve them when necessary and gravity was a great friend when combined with momentum. He could practically juggle the damn things into his grasp when it suited him.

By the time Ratana had started to eject himself back towards Loppa, the great Orc already had his Klaw wrapped around the haft of its accompanying Big Choppa. In both the length of his blade, and his reach, he vastly outstripped his opponent. To say nothing for strength. With the mere sidestep completed, he witnessed the small lizardman swing at him with his blade and met the blow with his Big Choppa. Allowing the sleek, curved weapon to dance with his own crudely toof'd, curved blade. The tremendous head and its accompanying teeth grinding metal against metal in a terrible sound. Loppa though, did not press the attack, or even try to overwhelm his foe with his physicality. Rather, he only applied just enough strength to meet one strike and then shifted the tempo to meet the other while moving his back (right) foot aside and pivoted away before flourishing backwards in order to put distance between himself and the lizard, his left foot and left hand leading. Loppa knew precisely how dangerous a good sword was, even if the wielder was considerably weaker. That being said, he also didn't have very many chances to truly humble an enemy. His gauntlet'd hand reached up and plucked a purple and red acorn from his belt while he had fended off the blows single-handedly. Loppa had to admit, this Stinkz knew how to use a blade. But then again, so he did he. Then... then Loppa did something surprising,

"Won momentz, Stinkz."

The aperture was still frozen place and because of his movement it was now several steps to his left. Loppa tilted his head to the side, but with his helmet on the effect was dimmed. He turned the blade in his hand to the side to match it though. He wasn't about to let his guard down for a moment, and should his opponent act uncouthly; which Loppa was 50/50 on being the case -- he was ready to continue dancing for a while longer.

"Who iz u'ze? Iz only right dats u'ze tell me if we'z gonna fite wiff blades 'n all dats."

A low, dim-witted chuckle echoed within the maelstrom of sound that once again emerged as the residue from Loppa's acorn (Green Meanie) was finally shattered under the continuous pressure being applied by the silo's lid. Once again it began to open, and they moved nearer to the edge of the arena with it. Loppa stepped forward with his right leg and swung the Big Choppa up and over his shoulder, wielding it with both hands. The acorn mushed tightly between his black grip and the leather wrapped haft. His snickering continued for a moment longer after being asked the obvious question in return, it was one that Loppa quite enjoyed answering it. It always stroked his ego.

"O' I'z Loppa... Loppa da 'eadchoppa, I'z a Dedd Cunnin' Git of Clan Broken Toof, and I'z iz no'wn fo' me'z big brainz."

Underneath the helmet he was smiling self-satisfactorily, and as he spoke the words "big brain" he lightly tapped against the side of his mottled brown heaume with the index finger of his good hand. Oh yes, Loppa did have a rather high opinion of himself. Although his opponent seemed to have a bigger one of himself, though his self-deprecating words didn't say it. Loppa knew all about kings and their ilk, but the same could probably not be said for Ratana knowing much about Loppa and his ilk. There was a key character flaw that he enjoyed exploiting in these sorts. That would be the high and mighty royals, their agents of the ecclesiarchy, and the witch hunters who always held themselves in such high regard. It almost made sense in a way, depending on their station they could kill without warrant and had the beck and call of entire armies at their disposal. Yet in these same societies, every man, woman, and child was a slave to the few who possessed little strength of their own.

But it was in this that the rub lied. To Loppa, every Orc strong enough was a potential army, every one possessing enough cunning, a possible Warboss. Each was allowed to take without prompting, so long as they were willing to live with the consequences or bent the consequences around them. Loppa in his own right had strength of mind and body to be a Warboss, but it wasn't for him. He lived for destruction and plunder, not power. He'd let the Bosses play their little games and each in turn die so that he might be able to continue on carving out his own way in the world. So long as he stayed within the boundaries allotted to him, none would dare cross the Black Orc for else they risked bringing upon themselves a reckoning. It certainly was an odd precipice that Loppa walked along. This lizardman standing before him had no concept of this, he couldn't possibly know of what it was to be of the greentide.

Loppa could see, and very nearly smell, the loathing he held for the Orc. To him, despite by all right, Loppa was his superior, Ratana could not help but hold himself as someone who belonged to a higher station. With Orcs, it was different. A Warboss could not be a Warboss in name alone. He needed to have power, force of will, and numbers. Numbers that he had grown by fightin' and lootin'. And if he couldn't do that, or he was toppled by a stronger Orc, then his position in the social ladder reflected this. An Orc didn't need to necessarily accept that, most didn't, most fought until the bitter end in order to improve their lot but that was the Orc way. If you didn't possess the strength of body to protect yourself, you were nothing; which was why Snotlings would always be the lowest of the low in Orc culture.

Loppa's right hand fell to his side, the Big Choppa attached to that wrist clattering to the ground along with it.

"Dis place iz too loud... Why'z u'ze here?"

"U'ze stronk? U'ze tuff? U'ze not s'pose ta killz me?"

Loppa let the words hang in the air, even with the shifting arena's machinery his rough and guff tone sounded akin to someone shouting deeply into a pot or pan. All thanks to his odd helmet. He let the questions hang in the air for a moment before starting to laugh up a storm, his entire body shook with each thunderous holler, his right arm crossed his belly as he leaned inwards with the chortling. Oh, yes, the Black Orc was enjoying himself thoroughly. Now more than ever was it apparent that Loppa held zero respect for the opponent had he been saddled with. A moment or so later he breathed a heavy sigh of relief, and exhaled a great, "Woo!" Before he drew himself back up and pointed the flat head of his Big Choppa back at the Not-Stinkz. Loppa's arrogance and braggadocio had earned him much respect among other Orcs, even if it had cost him plenty of wounds for his trouble. It was when you could be an overbearing braggart, and then give as good as you got that earned the respect of an Orc. While gesticulating with the mighty fanged blade he swung his arm ever so slightly to the left, and aimed it at the continuously expanding hole.

"I kan smellz u'ze blud from 'ere git, u'ze not gonna last. Mite az well trow u'zeself offa da edge now."

A low, appreciable rumble echoed out from his chest. Loppa dropped his blade slightly and stepped forward with his right foot, and began to march towards the albino Not-Stinkz. Loppa had given up next to nothin' so far, and his opponent was in bad shape already. Loppa decided right then and there that he might do something a bit rash, just to truly show off how little reverence he held for Kings, ex or not. All he needed to do was get the Not-Stinkz to attack him, or at least let Loppa get close enough. And unless he started backing up now, that was going to happen one way or another.

LeeRoy Brightmane Wrote:

The Not-Stinkz had been right, Loppa hadn't been ready for such a blow but that didn't mean his body wasn't. Ashen warrior pressed forward with its manifested spear and dug a small wound into the belly of Loppa before it met firm resistance, and could press on no further. His skin was as tough as a pachyderm's, but Loppa wouldn't know what one of those was if it was mentioned to him. He just knew that his hide was "tuff" and the thickset muscles underneath his black skin were just as tuff. An interesting idea, but with no momentum behind the stab it was considerably less effective than it might have been against Loppa.

Still, this trick split Loppa's mind in half. Part of him was wrenched in one way, glad that he was finally feeling something real. That sliver of a cut on his arm was more of a scratch than a wound. Yet the other half was thoroughly put out. The veins about his eyes slithered in closer to his irises as it dawned on him what had really just happened. Infernal Magicks. Loppa's mind roared the words and clearly made itself up about how he felt about the whole predicament. The thrill of battle would have to play second fiddle to Loppa's unrelenting hatred for anything and all things magickal in nature.

He made no delay. And although the soldier was wielding a spear, Loppa's tremendous reach coupled with the half as long Big Choppa in his Klaw easily outstripped the distance between him and the ashen warrior. Having already dealt with one, he swung his arm to the side, bisecting the facsimile at the waist before quickly dissolving into a pile of ash. Loppa was pissed, although only one smart enough to determine that his silence was telling. The Black Orc, swung his left arm to the right side of the body and charged on ahead as the Not-Stinkz serpentine'd away. Loppa's right arm was firmly behind his back, bent at the elbow and pressing against his musculature. The fist, palm up and shut tight. The Not-Stinkz was almost certainly going to summon another creature for Loppa to eliminate judging by the way he held his arm, and the creatures tearing at his limb. Loppa cared little though, as he suddenly surged forward into a charge directly at the Not-Stinkz. If the lizardman had any other tricks up his sleeve, he had approximately a few moments to wrench them free, lest he be overrun by a four hundred pound titan's rage.

One of Loppa's many advantages during a fight was his ability to read an opponent's body and facial language. Because of his helmet, anyone pitted against him in a duel had little to no way of sensing (besides Zoggin' Magicks!) whether or not Loppa was in a good way. His body betrayed little other than what it demonstrably appeared; which was a tediously honed physical machine of green biomass and steel. However, his opponent was not so lucky. The Black Orc had learned that no matter the race, glee was glee, and rage was rage. In his opponent he saw a reversal of fortune, or at least what he believed to be a reversal just as he slid against the ice-slick arena receding floor that they fought upon. Before his black eyes, he began to witness the Not-Stinkz summon forth a weapon, and lurch back in almost slow motion to emphasize the amount of power he was putting into the thrust.

Der!

(There!)

He would not get a second chance, nor could he simply ask for one. The trap was sprung, and it was to be as cruel as it was effective. With the Not-Stinkz literally lining himself up perfectly for Loppa, the Black Orc did what he did best: be Dedd Cunnin'. His arm bent out from under itself like a spring, and extended outwards ahead of the rest of his body before thrusting his hand open and delivering the payload that he had meticulously been holding onto. The Shaman Acorn. So intent on this was the Orc, that he had stopped his charge and slid against the metal aperture with a screech before coming to a rest. The other thing that Loppa could not stop immediately was the Not-Stinkz throwing his hatchet, but then again... neither could the pre-occupied Not-Stinkz exactly stop Loppa from throwing his acorn. The multi-hued missile was a literal blur in comparison to the spinning hatchet, and it was aimed directly at the feet of the lizardman. In perfect symmetry though, the flying weapon thrown by his opponent sailed directly at the Black Orc's now outstretched arm. He reflexively tried to pull away, creating a fist as he did so but it was too little, too late. The ghostly weapon smashed directly into Loppa's hand, forcing his arm backwards in an all too natural movement. His fist was covered in a steel gauntlet, but a hatchet was a hatchet. Especially when it collided with the most vulnerable part of the piece of armor, the (bottom) side of the hand.

The steel was rent open, and the wedged blade of the hatchet was dug deep into the outside of his hand. Loppa could not feet his pinkie or ring finger, and they hung limply. Before Loppa even had a moment to collect himself and wrench the weapon free from his partially-paralyzed limb, the thing had already lost all weight and was beginning to dematerialize. Meanwhile! Opposite of Loppa... Regardless of what the acorn impacted with, Loppa had been close enough to catch the lizardman within the ring of the floating, sparkling powder released by the Shaman Acorn. And against the maelstrom of falling snow, and flakes of ash it was practically in-perceivable. Loppa couldn't have asked for a better setting, or a better opponent to use the Shaman Acorn on. Not least of all because he was terribly interested in seeing what horrors this Not-Stinkz might act out before the Black Orc. Loppa flicked his somewhat disabled hand away from himself, and sprayed a generous gout of blood as he did so. The cold would do its work soon and congeal the bizarre green platelets into a neat, if unsturdy patch. Loppa wasn't exactly stunned by the wound, more confused. He had already completely lost a hand before (obviously), but the lack of pain was a new one. Perhaps it just hadn't set in yet.

Loppa shook himself back to attention to the Not-Stinkz and quickly reminded himself that time was a wasting. He needed to get over to his opponent as soon he could and begin the humbling.

[[The Tedious Grind of Metal and the Gaping Pit.]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cMi9NIzdfFk)

While the lizardman began to deal with his own demons, a switch seemed to flip inside of Loppa. He lifted his maimed hands to the freezing air above and let out a roar. No longer holding onto either Big Choppa. He allowed their not inconsiderable weight to swing impotent at either forearm. The morbid arena seemed to grow that much darker, with Loppa at its apex. Then he lowered his arms, and stared on ahead at his prey. All was prepared.

The Black Orc stumbled on ahead, the first two steps bipedal steps quickly turning into the pounding and bounding of an animal as he strode across the metal surface of the silo on all fours. The Black Orc was submitting to his much more primitive and savage ways. These were the urges that plucked and pulled at every Orc, some would lose themselves forever in the savageness. It was not quite the frenzy of a Berserker, but it was similar. The Not-Stinkz could do his best to fight off whatever ghosts plagued him, and it did sound like they were plaguing him.

Loppa was an apex predator, chasing after fleeing and confused prey. Against the cold steel his four limbs slapped loudly, signalling the shrinking distance between the two. And now that he was beginning to fumble along in the delirium that Loppa had concocted for him, this was to be a death flag. The incoherent yelling of the lizardman was aimed at everyone except Loppa, and when he was a mere ten feet from the albino the Black Orc lunged with all the strength and speed of a pouncing lion. His four hundred pounds of bulk and sharp appendages led the way. The Klaw outstretched, the tusks upon his helmet not far behind. Anyone looking into this sight would have been drawn to the crimson lens of Loppa's helmet and how they seemed to burn with the intensity of his carnal soul. Should the Black Orc's leap find it's mark, the smaller of the two fighters would himself in a terrible way.

Good, the Not-Stinkz had been able to avoid imminent impalement but he would not be able to stop the inevitability of what was to occur. As Loppa's momentum continued pressing them forward, the Black Orc suddenly breathed out hard from his nostrils, a large puff of white frost exuded from the slits of his helmet. He had been hunched over considerably in order to pull off the running on all fours, and the pounce but now there was no need to. Especially with his smaller opponent doing everything he could just to keep Loppa's trophy tusks at bay. With the Not-Stinkz grabbing at those tusks, Loppa grabbed back.

He rose... Ratana might have been strong amongst his kind, but compared to Loppa he was a tiny thing. With momentum, stature, and overwhelming power on his side, he began to straighten out. But that wasn't all. No, not at all in the least. Loppa's hands had initially missed their mark during the jump, but now that Ratana was literally holding on for dear life, he had made himself into a concrete target. The beast's titanic paws wrapped around Ratana's forearms, almost covering them entirely. Even his freshly injured, and still bleeding right hand did its best with the three working fingers available to him. Loppa stopped moving forward and began to squeeze. This would present a significant number of new problems for the Not-Stinkz. For not only could Loppa now hold him in place, but he could assert some of his primal strength unabated. And with the terribly sharp, terribly long fingers of his Klaw... there was much shredding of skin and flesh to be had as it created a virtual bear trap on the smaller creature's right arm.

Loppa was silent once again, as he stood with all the weight of a statue, he began to press down. Applying as much strength as he could to the Not-Stinkz arms, and start to force him to his knees. With no real friction being generated by his opponent's feet, his sandals lost to him, what little hope that remained to stick up for himself would soon disintegrate. Loppa wanted to beggar the ex-King, to make him see that true power lied in strength of arms and not petty magicks. And as he plied ever greater force to his grip, causing more blood to spill forth from his hand (and very probably Ratana's forearm), an immense sense of pleasure began to settle in on the Black Orc's belly. Over the sounds of the whirling winds, and cries of the Not-Stinkz phasmatic echoes, Loppa smiled and spoke the words,

"D'own makez me'z diss-troy u'ze."

Loppa nearly choked on laughter as the Not-Stinkz in one single strike had bumped up against the blunt, and unmerciful wall of shame and desperation. The Black Orc was used to seeing this happen to all of his helpless prey. Either when he strung them up, tossed them in a boiling pot, or watched them plunge down into the traps he had dug. Or in this case, had come to realize he was simply outmatched... or perhaps mismatched. Loppa was certain that against other squishier foes the Not-Stinkz would have been able to rise up as a rather formidable foe. Like with like, after all but not in the case of the four-hundred-pound beast that he'd been saddled with fighting. In the Not-Stinkz act of self-mutilation, Loppa heard the tasty sound of bone cracking, the exposure of marrow to the air, the tearing of flesh, and the dripping of blood: even if it was blue. Although he had once heard that all the royals in his land were blue blooded, so perhaps this only made sense.

Then Loppa was struck with a blow he had not at all been expecting. He felt the Not-Stinkz press himself closer, up into Loppa's grip and then... The jagged bones sticking out from the stump that Loppa had left the Not-Stinkz with had flung up and mashed itself right into the tiny strip of land that passed for a neck among Orcs. Had Loppa been allowed to wear his armor all proper and right, this spot would never been uncovered but in this moment and with the clear height advantage a clear disadvantage for the Black Orc had been spotted by the astute lizardman. He felt the twisted and mangled shards of bone push against his hide and puncture into his throat. As the Not-Stinkz reared back to stab again, flecks of the useless limb were left behind. Taken by surprise Loppa reacted automatically, his primordial instinct to fight had overwhelmed him. There was no grand posing anymore, the Not-Stinkz was refusing to be humbled below Loppa. So he did the thing that Orcs were best known for -- krumpin'. The savage Klaw, with bloody dismembered arm still in hand, flung forward and directly for the albino lizard's protruding face.

Green ooze started to bubble at the twin puncture wounds that the Not-Stinkz had rendered unto Loppa. There was a biological confusion as wires were crossed in Loppa's grey matter. Should he breathe? Shouldn't he? How bad was the wound really? He wasn't sure. Loppa almost retracted his right hand to clutch at the injury but realized how stupid that would be. With the automatic response out of his system, Loppa focused his twin flaxen eyes down on the horribly injured lizard. He felt that with the sudden rush of near death sweeping past him, he could see clearly. The lizardman was in terrible shape. The initial injury from the Klaw still bled and stained the side of his abdomen, the back of his clothes leading up to the front in certain areas had been badly charred from his Red Meanie -- Loppa could still remember the initial smell of burning flesh from that one, and now sans one arm and bleeding even faster from that wound shock would soon envelop the lizardman. Loppa wanted to speak, but didn't, concerned for what might happen instead he decided to help the process of unconsciousness to set in and swung his mean, steel fist again. The blow, with each impact (that he suspected would occur given that Loppa was still holding on the delirious Not-Stinkz, and their close proximity in general), would further crush the lifeless limb held between the sickle like digits. Given he had nixed speaking and as a result any further verbal banter, he thought to himself,

*Stopz ittin' u'zeself ya git!*

And then he punched a third time for good measure.

The suction of Loppa's sealed helmet pulled at his face as the Not-Stinkz tried in vain to injure the Black Orc one last time. The attack was practically unfelt, but his helmet's lid still lifted and flipped over his head. Loppa's face was revealed to the cool night's air. It was the first time since the battle had started that his face skull was revealed. Loppa smirked in wonderment. What was the Not-Stinkz hoping to do? As he prepared to follow through with his next punch, Loppa found out what. A sticky speckle of bloodied, blue gobs flecked across Loppa's face.

"Hur-hur-hur!"

Loppa knew a beaten man when he saw one, tail or not. The Black Orc had left the Not-Stinkz in such a state that he'd be passing on into shock momentarily, but first Loppa wanted to deliver a parting gift. He looked down at the albino creature, his face still split into a cruel, primitive smirk. It was a hideous dash. Loppa's sharp, yellowed fangs revealed themselves to Ratana. A loud, disgusting snort left Loppa's flattened nostrils as he sucked in a loogie, his head even turned slightly for added emphasis. Blood from his neck wound rippled back towards the holes that the Not-Stinkz had created, obviously a reaction to the suction of him breathing in so hard. Then he stopped, feeling content with the creation of this payload. No longer punching, Loppa's Klaw opened and grabbed onto Ratana by the bicep, pushing the arm against the smaller creature's abdomen, pinning it in place Pure delight danced along Loppa's eyes.

Ptoo!

A wad of putrid, rank spit flew forward from Loppa's mouth and into the Not-Stinkz face. It had all the consistency of a glob of pudding, and the weight of it too. But that wasn't all. This was merely the wax of the Black Orc's personal insignia. Now he needed to stamp it into place. Loppa pulled his head back, cranking it like a gear, and opened his mouth into a wide grin, hissing. Given the circumstances, the pinning, and the leaning back on Loppa's part, to any Orc it was apparent what was about to happen next. And perhaps even in his rapidly fading haze, the Not-Stinkz could recognize it too. Like a shot, his head slammed forward with all the force of his upper-body, his green domed skull flying directly into the split and bleeding, spade shaped skull of the Not-Stinkz. Orc headbutts known far and wide among his lands for being an act of pure dominance, one that determined the pecking order among his kind. And by performing one on the Not-Stinkz he was solidifying his cultural domination over a weaker being.

With the strength of the blow transferred, Loppa would release his hold onto Ratana and let the beaten and mangled lizardman collapse to the silo's lid. His eye now stung a tad because of the Not-Stinkz turning head at the last moment, but Loppa had suffered far worse from headbutts. Eye gouging came with the territory. Loppa looked upon his foe, there was no chance that he had any fight left him, not unless he could somehow heal himself... The Black Orc stared at the lizardman for a moment to make sure he wasn't getting back up, and prodded him with a boot. Nope. That was it then.

Loppa idly considered the day and the wounds he had gained from this being for a moment. He raised his hands up, looking at the limp fingers on his right hand and then at his Klaw... The lizard's dismembered forearm and hand were still clutched within its bindings. Lopp's pressed the Not-Stinkz hand close to his face, giving it a sniff, and then bit down on the fingers with a sickening crunch. He pulled the limb away, and with it a good portion of the lizard's hand. The Black Orc sighed to himself as he chewed, squinting while considering the flavor before stopping. Loppa returned his stare at the unconscious Not-Stinkz and then spit forth the chewed upon flesh and bone from his mouth, scattering ruined digits to and fro across the silo.

Blah.

"Stinkz like uh Stinkz."