Chapter 459: The Staging grounds.
Finally ready, Ulfric and Torygg step onto the stage, both armoured in full Nordic steel plate armour. The former held an axe and shield, while the other was using a two-handed sword.
"So you do know how to wield a weapon? Or maybe you're just striking a pose?" Ulfric says as he steps forward.
Torygg frowns behind his helmet, "I have been bloodied Ulfric, I'm not some green boy you can play with."
Ulfric shakes his head, "I give you one last chance, Torygg. Surrender, and we can put this all behind us. You can continue to lead Solitude while I take care of the Province... Do you really want to make Elisif a widow? End your family line without an heir to continue it?"
"I could say the same for you." Torygg retorts, Ulfric was over fifty years old at this point, yet still had no children. "Perhaps if you pleaded to the Arch-Mage of Winterhold he could help you with that." he says, satisfied with this mild slight against the man that'd probably kill him.
Ulfric lets out a sigh, "Let's begin, before your wife can scheme a way to stop this and or kill me in the process." he says, approaching into melee range of the King.
Torygg gives a sudden yell as he steps forward and chops down with his two-handed sword. The attack misses however as Ulfric steps to the side and slams his axe into the King's armoured arm, causing sparks to spring off of the metal. The attack does little to no damage though since their steel plate prevents anything from getting through, not to mention the duel's rules against enchanted items.
Before the King is able to raise his weapon again Ulfric slams his shield into his body, causing him to stumble backwards and almost lose his sword in the process.
*Clank!*
"Huarrgh!" Torygg growls while slamming his helmeted head into Ulfric's, causing them both to back off. "Not bad, old man."
Ulfric huffs in annoyance, "You say after a cheap shot. Shall we just continue to slam our heads into each other until we find the victor? Would that suit you more, my 'King?'"
"If you're offering..." Torygg jokes as he attempts another attack, swinging his large blade horizontally, hoping to catch Ulfric with it. While the heavy blade wouldn't price his armour, the weight alone was enough to crush bone or knock him unconscious.
Ulfric blocks with his shield and trails the sword with it as he rushes forward, keeping it at bay as he makes his attack, this time at the younger man's head.
Torygg leans backwards, causing the axe to be barely out of range, skimming over the top of his helmet. He then lunges forwards, slamming his shoulder into Ulfric before grabbing the blade of his own sword, half-swording it in an attempt to pierce a joint or weak point of his enemy's armour.
*Clink!*
No dice, the tip of his blade draws a long scratch into Ulfric's breastplate before falling aside, doing no harm at all.
"You're overconfident," Ulfric states as he slams his shield into Torygg's visor, cracking his head backwards but not managing to end the fight yet.
"Says the man who waltzes into my city and demanded a duel!"
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The two continue to clash in an exhausting melee, their armour making them all but invulnerable to any damage they could deal, but the real challenge is their stamina... How long could they fight like this while wearing steel plate, how long would their will carry them?
Elisif and Sybille watch on with trepidation, the former cupping a hand over her mouth as each strike to her husband sends a phantom-like pain through her. She'd attempted to have someone, anyone intervene in this, but no one was willing to lift a finger.
Torygg was stupidly set on this, most of the guards and all of the Jarls were traditional Nords, so they absolutely refused to breach protocol. This left her unable to do anything but watch as her husband tempts fate time and time again.
Still, from the corner of her eye, she could see the Thalmor Ambassador Elenwen, the elf had a crooked look that all but spelt out that she had designs on this already... Hopefully it would be in her husband's favour, because if not... The Thalmor wouldn't leave this city alive, both due to her wrath, as well as Ulfric's.
Most of the other Jarls were watching this with both pride and apprehension, curious to see who'd prevail. Ulfric was the favoured man, but Torygg was holding his own, albeit, quickly exhausting his strength as he does so.
"Anyone willing to place bets?" Bryjolf offers with a sly grin, causing the others to turn to him with a mixture of expressions.
"How dare you, at a time like this?" Igrod seethes, only for Dengeir to interrupt her rant.
"Sure, ten thousand gold on Ulfric." the large bald Nord states.
Bryjolf's brow twitches at this, knowing well that Ulfric was likely to win this. After all, you couldn't make profit if everyone bet on the victor.
"Hmm, ten thousand on Torygg... Might as well support the current King, if that even counts as loyalty?" Igmund mutters.
Brynjolf nods, "Joy, anyone else want to bet!? The approaching end of the war must be met with celebration and debauchery! Besides, those two are going to be at it for a while longer."
"Fifty thousand on High King Torygg." Elenwen says as she walks over, drawing a few ill looks.
"So confident! We like confidence over in Riften... Maybe you should come to visit, when you have time." Bynjolf offers with a smile that belied his true intentions for her.
Elenwen sniffs disdainfully at him, "I'd rather now visit a slum city of beggars and thieves. Just focus on paying what I'm owed and we'll be friendly enough."
Brynjolf shrugs, "As you will, Lady..."
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