[Duel] Lyra vs Axis Sunsoar

[Scottish King]

Image courtesy of Radboud

Axis Sunsoar vs. Lyra

Gentlemen's Duel!

Duellist 1

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

“Merde! With this damned fog we can’t see a thing.” Emile cursed in his native tongue as he covered himself behind a rather large tree. It had great big gnarly roots at the bottom that clutched at the earth with a firm and millennial. The undulations they produced along the ground were not ideal as cover but for the two soldiers who now lay prone behind the, it was the little protection they had.

“They can not see us as well. But they also cannot aim, so it could be much worse.” Emile’s squad mate, a rather practical German, replied in a nonchalant manner.

“Oh, yes! Say that! Go on like that Pablo, or Juan who kept being all positive. ‘Shell no landing here.’ he said! ‘It land everywhere but no here.’ he said! Well, he is not saying much now, no?” the Frenchman said heatedly as more bullets whizzed over their heads, hitting the trunks and branches of the trees around them. Some overripe olives and silvery leaves fell idly on top of the two; these passed unnoticed.

“Superstition is best kept in another place. It is not the age and also not the time for such things.” he replied as if quoting some unknown person.

“Superstitions? Moi?” Emile was offended, “Do you think I am a supporter of such primitive ideas? Here, as I am shot at by those catholic primates across the fog?”

The German paused, “That does not deny the fact that what you said is superstitious…” Emile glared at him and was about to release another cacophony of angry words when some rifile fire drew up dust and earth right in front of their position.

“I do not believe this is the place to be having such a stupid debate!” the Frenchman declared as he proceeded to brave the lead onslaught and raise his head above the root, rifle aimed, taking a couple of shots against the aggressive fog. He quickly hid again behind the olive tree’s protection. Johan looked at him bemused,

“I do not believe firing like that was of any use and, on the debate, I still hold the right.”

Emile pressed his lips tightly, suppressing another unneeded retort, as another volley of fire ripped at the tree. Shouts were heard through the mist.

“They seem to be readying to advance, mein Freund, this conversation will have to wait.” the German mentioned un-worried as he took aim down the olive tree grove.

“Yes, I never would have thought to die here, like this; for such a cause.” he joined the german in the stance. Emile grinned “But very well, it seems to be so, ‘Viva la República’, mon ami!” he half joked and yet there was a glimmer of honesty in his words.

“Que viva!” Johan reciprocated the chant.

The two now lay in silence, in wait for a coming charge. They knew that the advancing enemy would silhouette against the white fog, thus giving them a chance to take a few with them in their fall. Such close fighting was rare and neither of the duo had ever been in such a situation before. But now that they were facing such a wall, they had little else to focus on.

More shouts were heard and rifle shots burst in another direction. Machine gun fire erupted to the left of the two brigadists. An errant ‘Tanques!’ was heard. And a great scuttling was heard. With a deafening roar, a squad of little Russian tanquettes rumbled on across the fog. Sent by the loyalists’ soviet allies, these small machine gun platforms pushed back the rebels that had been holding down the two soldiers under the olive tree.

One of the T-26s passed by the two, a soldier riding on the back of the tank spotted his friendly troops. Rising a fist in the air he shouted exuberantly, “Viva la República, camaradas!”

Emile and Johan, pale and still confused, simply raised their fists in a weak response, both uttering some inaudible ‘que viva!’ that got lost in the thunder of machines and guns.

Duellist 2

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Tap. Tap. Tap. Sherriff Thomas’s pen struck his clipboard at a regular interval as he peered at the distraught woman in front of him.
“Let me get this straight, you thought it would be a good idea to move a body from what, by your own admission, you knew was a crime scene, because it was scary where you found him?”
Normally Jeremy Thomas was not a hostile person. He was however, a man who needed a tall cup of coffee if he wanted to be fully functional any time before eleven o’clock. That being said, it was understandable that he would not be in the best of moods after being dragged out of bed at six that morning, and having had nothing that even slightly resembled caffeine since then. The phone call had come in from his best deputy, a transfer from New York, who began his shift at four. He had been passing along a report of a murder in the countryside.
“No, you can’t possibly understand! You didn’t see it!” the unfortunate target of his ire and daughter of the victim insisted, tears pouring down her face.
Feeling some pity at last for the young woman in front of him, the sheriff’s voice was softer when he spoke again. “Well ma’am, as it turns out, I am going to have to see it, it’s a very important part of the investigation, and I’ll have to have a look at the body too.”
Words catching, the young woman only nodded, reaching for a tissue with one hand while the other stifled her sobs. Sherriff Thomas whistled, and the crime scene squad fell in behind him. Their sobbing guide led them to a half-closed barn door. When Jeremy gestured for her to enter first, she violently shook her head in protest. He sighed heavily and pushed the door in.
When he beheld what was inside, Sheriff Thomas was drawn up short. From behind him, he could hear gagging and sputtering. He quite understood the sentiment. The room was torn apart, with furniture thrown around by the hand of some giant. And the blood… the blood was untolerable. It was spread like paint all over the walls and ceiling. As his eyes adjusted to the light, Sheriff Thomas saw that that wasn’t even the worst part. A crow was pinned to the back wall, nailed by its wings. The sheriff turned away and gestured toward the room.
“Do your jobs as quickly as you can and get out.”

Back at the station the next morning, the sheriff was surprised by Deputy Barnes swinging into his office. He looked excited as he set a cup of coffee down.
“They’ve already got a suspect, you know.”
“No ? I didn’t think we’d see one for a few days yet.”
“Yeah, some old man, lives on the edge of town, and get this… he raises crows of all things.”
“Right then, I’ll go check it out right now. Almost seems too perfect, doesn’t it?”
The deputy shuffled his feet a little, before clearing his throat and speaking. “Still worth checking out though, isn’t it?”
“Oh of course, of course.”
The sheriff returned to his breakfast sandwich, which he finished before picking up the folder the deputy had dropped on his desk.


Sheriff Thomas followed the last turn on the directions, and found himself facing a long stretch of foggy road. He took a deep breath and, hand on his revolver, marched down the paved road, dress shoes clicking ominously off the asphalt. Pushing the door open, he raised his pistol and flashlight together. The beam of his light fell upon the back of a chair, with a shiny bald head visible over the back.
“Calhoun County sheriff’s department! Put your hands where I can see them, stand up, and turn around.”
The chair slowly started to turn around.
“No, dammit, I need to see your hands. Sir, please raise your hands!”
Suddenly the figure in the chair was thrown into the light. It was an old man indeed, at least seventy years of age, with wisps of beard across his chin. Underneath the beard though, his neck was slashed open, and a crow was stretched by the wings and nailed to the arms of the chair so that it was stretched across the old man’s chest. In the second it took him to process what he was looking at, he lost his chance to respond to the footfalls that landed behind him.
His head whipped around a moment too late, for even as he looked toward the door, deputy Barnes was training a gun on his chest. On his other arm a crow perched.
“Good morning Sheriff, I wondered when you’d make it out here.”
Jeremy had no response.
“Now Sheriff, if you would drop your gun, this would go so much easier.” He flashed a startlingly boyish smile. “I do have a flight out of the country in a few hours to make you know.” He stepped closer as the gun fell from the Sheriff's nerveless fingers.

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

Do my eyes deceive me? We actually have a duel.

Best of luck everyone, and I will be reading the entries as soon as.

[Ybbon]

A duel indeed, and voted, worthy tales both.

[Dude with the Food]

Image courtesy of who? Check that.

Nice writings though.

[Scottish King]

Image courtesy of who? Check that.

That was only for the first graphic. I actually didnt cite the image used in the duel because I dont know who the original is from unless you made it?

[General Retreat]

The Spanish Civil War and a gruesome murder... interesting.

And those T-26s were truly awful machines.

Voted.

[Tigellinus]

Voted, good luck everyone.

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

Voted.

Best of luck!

[Cohors_Evocata]

Voted.

[Scottish King]

Voted

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

Tie...

[Scottish King]

First time this has happened and provision was not made for it in the rules. So either we declare this a draw and that be that. Or we can call it a draw and have rematch. I'll let the duelist decide.