Hiro vs Scotrull Ordo

The not-so-distant thunder stirred in Scotrull's head. Nobody would call the grizzled Mandalorian poetic or theatric, but neither would anybody - Trull included - deny that the sounds of a storm seemed appropriate for battle. Warriors clashing beneath were echoed in the clash of the elements overhead, and that was right and good, somehow. The thought brought a smirk to Trull's face, hidden by his helmet; the idea that killing was right and good. Some balked at that, and they were fools. Battle, competition, killing - these were the pruning shears of life, the things which pared away the dead weight and let the course of the world move onward. Even if organized like this tournament, it was necessary and good.

Trull came to the fight dressed for war. He wore his armor: beskar cuirass protecting his chest, back and shoulders, vambraces, elbow guards and crushgaunts for his arms, greaves and sabots for his shins and feet, a helmet, and a curious scale-armored skirt, split at the back and front to form two flaps, one over either leg. A shorter flap of similar armor guarded his groin at front and back. This armored skirt and the cuirass were the only parts of his armor which bore any adornment. They were painted crimson, with a clenched fist wrapped in chains thrusting upwards on the cuirass' chest, painted in black. This same design of a chained black fist on a red field was painted on the studded round shield Trull carried on his left arm.

The Priest looked across the field towards his opponent, spear in hand. Besides that weapon, he carried only his two knives: the dirk sheathed on the inside of his shield, and the seax on his back. He waited, muttering a prayer for the other man's sake. If the enemy listened, he might be able to hear Trull speaking in Mandalorian: "For what we are about to do, I give thanks to Kad, and ask that he grant you a swift end to his glory."

Inside his helmet, Trull frowned as his opponent came closer, and the Mandalorian could better discern his features. An old man? So be it, Kad's will be done.

The enemy was hobbling, leaning on a staff, but Kad did not ask his servants to cleanse those who were bound to leave on their own. Trull could not assume that this man was merely what he seemed, and indeed, he must assume the exact opposite. The man had to be dangerous, and it was Trull's mission to kill him. As this resolution manifested, the Mandalorian saw his enemy... waving? Saluting? Signaling? It looked like a friendly wave. It was confusing.

Trull gripped his spear mid-haft, lifted his shield to guard his chest, and began to trot forward.

5

Trull jogged onward, now flipping his spear into a throwing posture as he closed the distance. The man kept waving. What was he thinking? Didn't he know the situation, the circumstances? Odd.

When he was about ten yards away, Trull slowed and stopped. His HUD calculated a trajectory for a spear throw, even as the Mandalorian's voice hissed out of his helmet, this time in Basic. "Old man, don't you think this might be a bad time for a walk?" His fingers curled and uncurled around the spear-haft. "I'm here to kill you, you know."

The man didn't know? Some part of Trull's heart ached for him, but this was Kad's will. It had to be. He would die, or Trull would die, and the world would go on without them. The excess stripped away and the flow of existence continuing, free of deadweight, to the glory of Kad. He would not waste more time and breath with words. The moment was upon him to strike. The Mandalorian's arm drew back, even as the old man was speaking, and hurled his spear towards the man's chest.

"May your gods have mercy on you, for mine- " he grunted as the spear left his hand, "will not." Drawing the dirk from behind his shield even as the weapon was still airborne, the Mandalorian advanced at a quick lope.

Kad's will, Kad's will, Kad's will be done.

The old man was retreating, trying to bargain for his life, but Trull was advancing more quickly than Hiro was backpedaling - and the Mandalorian was accelerating. He covered the thirty feet between them as Hiro was speaking, bearing down quickly on the other man. He slung his shield onto his back as he ran, powering into a sprint with his dirk held low, ready to stab at Hiro's gut. The Mandalorian aimed to catch the old man about his middle and tackle him to the ground, hopefully putting more holes into him than a cheese grater.

His tackle missed? Trull caught a glimpse of the man vanishing upwards with surprising agility and speed - of course. A jetii. Trull staggered through his botched tackle - thank goodness he hadn't attempted to dive, or he would have gone face-first into the ground. Rather, he braked his speed as quickly as possible, sinking his feet into the ground and pivoting to make a complete about-face, right about the time that Hiro was landing and turning to face him. The two men were now roughly five feet away. His left hand touched down for balance as Trull leaned in to his brake, earth churning under his boots and providing the backstop for his feet. He burst forward again, the dirk in his right hand flying out towards Hiro's chest as the old man turned, and Trull came charging in, reaching low to grab the man by his right leg. 

Again, the hutuun'la jetii danced away, refusing to face Kad's justice. Trull halted his shot on one knee and twisted to face Hiro, mentally rejoicing that he didn't wear heavy armor like some of his brothers. Granted, all the vode trained until their armor was as little of an encumbrance as their clothing, but somebody like his friend and distant cousin Corvo would never have been able to maneuver as nimbly as Trull did.

The Mandalorian's twist came on instinct, heavily seasoned with a lifetime of experience. As the stick came whistling towards his head, that same blend of instinct and experience (aided in no small part by that glorious Mandalorian innovation the 360º HUD) raised Trull's right arm to cover and defend, letting the blow land against the beskar plate on his forearm as his hand snaked forward, attempting to grab the weapon's shaft. If it did not splinter on impact, then Trull would have a firm grasp on the rod, and would jerk it down and away, hopefully disarming his opponent.

The storm was coming, and this was becoming absurd. The coward would not even stand and fight with his magics, but only used them to dance away and escape pain. Typical.

Hiro's walking stick clacked against his right arm, then, spinning from Hiro's flick and falling as it lost momentum, rattled weakly against his hip and fell to the grass. Was that supposed to be an attack? Inside his helmet, Trull raised a disbelieving eyebrow at Hiro as the older man picked up Trull's spear and 'taunted' him - at least, Trull was pretty sure it was supposed to be a taunt. Hooking his left foot under the stick, Trull kicked it up to his hands, posing it as a quarterstaff in his hands: held diagonally across his torso with both hands, right hand holding the upper grip.

"Old man, you know nothing of war," Trull rumbled as he began to advance. "Advance, and be instructed before your death." 

"You speak of Death. I speak of War."

The Mandalorian sniffed inside his helmet as the magician offered to return his spear. It had been a good weapon, yes, but Trull did not need it for victory. Either he would slay, and reclaim it easily, or be slain, and have no more need of it. He took two steps forward as he said, "You want your stick back?" He clenched and unclenched his fingers around Hiro's rod, walking forward briskly. "Come and take it." He attacked as he came in range. The butt of the staff swung towards the spear, aiming to knock it out and away to Trull's left as he charged in and delivered a blow from the upper end of the staff, smashing in towards Hiro's neck.