[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/lW4Q3DF.png[/img]

[hr][b]Interacting with:[/b] Olaf the Aged[@Force and Fury] & Hildr the Red[@Jasbraq]
[b]Opportunity:[/b] Arnaud is now on the beach, having a small heart-attack after killing Olaf. He is completely beat down. [hr]
[b]Event:[/b] Defense of Relouse [b]Location:[/b] Near La Plage [hr][/center]

Arnaud and Maerec, two soldiers that didn’t shy away from the most gruesome ordeal war could offer, parted ways once the situation was thoroughly established. A retreat was announced, but the decisive battle of kings wasn’t over. And until his Lord was safe or killed, the Royal Executioner had a job to do.

The Parrench King was facing off with the Invader, and the finest of his army were repulsing the wicked beast that sought to aid Hrothgar in his endeavour to win the young Arcel's head. Rodric and Asier were evident to the executioner, both facing off with the beast. The former had dealt a powerful blow and had his guard down long enough to warrant the attention of a certain, inconspicuous female warrior. She didn't look like much from afar, but as Arnaud reached out with the Gift, he could sense something was very, VERY different about this woman. How she moved, how she breathed, how she oozed of a power he could maybe compare to the ways of Dame de la Saumure. He had to intervene.

Just ten meters in front of Hildr, an axe would fall from the heavens and plant itself onto the war-tarnished soil. A warning to not move any closer, as the wielder of the weapon impacted with the ground a mere half-second after, causing sand and dust to rise around both figures. He drew his axe from the ground, and from the simple removal of his axe, he'd send a blast of wind toward Hildr, aiming to repulse her and  potentially break her guard.

The mighty gust of wind successfully stopped and propelled Hildr away, although she was ready and easily tanked the hit. Nonetheless, Arnaud's might and use of the Gift was strong enough to send her off and give Rodric a brief moment of respite from a potential flank. Arnaud was ready to keep her at bay, if only to let the Knight have some peace when handling the monster, but the Executioner soon noticed a familiar face. An old- literally- friend of the battlefield: Olaf the Aged. If that man was allowed to run around unchecked, that Nashorn monstrosity would be unstoppable. Arnaud had to act.

Unlike with Hildr, the Aheri didn't immediately open with an attack, but instead slammed the pommel of his weapon, causing a quake he was sure a master of the battlefield like Olaf could recognize. The featureless mask Arnaud wore stared right at the elder. He had retrieved his axe and was back for more. Although this time Arnaud didn't start with mere bullrushing, he reached out with the gift once more and instead manipulated the chemicals in his being to recreate the effects of 'Majini', a drug commonly used by his people. With the right dosage, it endowed one with great strength in the battlefield, although missing the mark would often lead to weaker performance and even potential frenzying.

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[youtube]https://youtu.be/b8aec3GH2Bw[/youtube][/center]

It was a simple matter to sense so flamboyant an opponent: one who thundered across the battlefield bellowing and slamming like a man twenty years younger. If Olaf still had his youth, he'd have fought Arnaud differently. As it was, he reached out with his magics, seeking the man's muscles, and decided to make some changes. However, upon noticing the perfect and quite foreign cocktail that coursed through the Aheri’s being, Olaf figured a new plan of action: Co-opting the enemy’s strength. The shaman felt the same drug-induced power the executioner experienced.

Both of them knew, as their gazes met, that this would be nothing like they had experienced before. A battle of titans that would rival the destruction brought in by Sweyn, the Nashorn or even Hrothgar himself!

Again, this large man came at him, roaring and thrashing, and again, Olaf made, of him, a toy. Reaching out not into the world but into Arnaud's body, the old shaman sapped the very vitality from his muscles. The brute staggered and dropped: unhurt, but rendered practically helpless. Olaf dashed forward, feeling twenty years younger himself, and began gathering energy for an attack that would down the former king once and for all.

Arnaud, in very much a different state of being- a state he hadn't felt in at least ten years himself- thought first to only attack and rush forward. But, with the Majini coursing through him, he felt as though his reach could go far beyond just his strikes. For now, he was chained down by the very chemicals he manipulated, as his foe was even more talented than he was in that regard. But it didn't mean he couldn't retaliate. Olaf may have replicated the Majini, but he did not understand it, for it was very much foreign to the Eskandr as a whole. Arnaud's goal was to prompt an overdose of sorts, or at the very least strain the elder's body to chain him down too.

Rushing towards his foe, drawing his sword like some young fool, Olaf was nearly caught. He could feel the adrenaline flowing through his veins, overloading them, making his heart work harder than it needed to. It was the big man! He was capable of some subtlety and magic after all, and Olaf had to work hard to counter his efforts. The elder shaman's heart rate slowed. His body returned to equilibrium, and he thought twice about charging in. Instead, he called upon the land itself to swallow Arnaud and bury him.

With the Majini fueling them both, the scale of this battle was massive. The earth that came to swallow the Aheri resembled Sand Wyrm's maw, chomping down everything indiscriminately. Arnaud, kept pinned by Olaf's drugging, could only go on the defensive, enveloping himself with the very same kinetic energy that the bite of this vile earth south to lock onto his being. Stones, sand and other minerals grinded against the Aheri's armour, destroying quite a bit of it, including half of the executioner's helmet. But it wasn't enough to kill him. Arnaud emerged with a grand explosion out of his tomb, axe still in hand and half his dark body exposed for the world to see. Many holes punctured his chest, even his left bicep was pierced by a powerful branch conjured by the shaman, but it did not stop him. Not yet. 

[color=7F4C20]"You fight well, old warrior."[/color]

He compliments Olaf, light bleeding coming from his chest, and far more would come out of his arm should he remove the branch. He merely broke off a piece to keep the piece of wood small enough to not be a nuisance. Then, with his enhanced physical might, he dashed toward his enemy, eager to give him a worthy rematch. With only one arm, he was for a horizontal slash with his axe!

Olaf is ready when his opponent bursts from the ground, but the speed and ferocity of his charge are nearly too much. Reaching out with the Gift, he takes from the speed of the axe swing and puts that into his own body, leaping aside with the grace of a fox. From his belt, he draws two flasks full of stun spores, and launches them in Arnaud's direction, aiming to blow them up in the enormous man's face. [b]"It is time to sleep, young man,"[/b] he says simply, as they fly through the air. Arnaud recognized the chemicals involved, by sight and by drawing via essence. He goes for the simplest approach: A second swing, helped by his injured arm. He unleashes a gust of wind to not only repel the light  flasks, but blow away the contents too by unleashing a gust of air similar to what he had sent Hildr away with.

Olaf's vials flew truly, propelled by all of the Force Magic that he could muster so that, when Arnaud reached out with the power of the wind to stop them, it momentarily became a contest of magical might. What the elderly shaman could not do with muscle, he could do with the Gift, and he overpowered the winds. He overpowered them and the bottle sailed, not into Arnaud, but past him. They exploded behind his head, their contents caught in the unnatural wind, and Olaf was just good enough to add a swirl to it so that the spores would stick and begin their work. [b]"Soon, you shall sleep!"[/b] the Eskandr crowed, [b]"once more, though we shall leave it up to Sister how merciful I will be this time."[/b]

Outplayed, and now forced into déjà vu. The hurting Arnaud was not having a good day. Well, maybe better than the majority of the brass. And, in the end, he was facing the greatest foe he could remember. A shame he was in such a sad state from years of inactivity. He felt the familiar fatigue creep in, and he could hold it at bay for a time, given he had been exposed to it before and mastered essence himself, but it wasn't going to stop it.

[color=7F4C20]”Do not speak of Mercy, ”[/color]he bellowed, an immense amount of force emitted from his being as he remained standing, [color=7F4C20]”until you've claimed victory, old warrior!”[/color]

He literally attempts to force pull the lanky man before he could touch the ground, forcing the veteran to come to him, rather than Arnaud doing so!

Were his opponent not so fond of talking (a fault that he was occasionally guilty of as well), Olaf would've had no warning. As if it was, he felt himself pulled with incredible force towards the giant. Drawing from the wind, the rain, and the fires that now raged in many of the fields, the master shaman was able to stop himself. He remained just outside of his opponent's reach, staring him in the eyes. They were over the grass now, and Olaf filled it with energies: blood, essence, and kinetic. It sprouted like snakes: each sharp as a blade. He hurled them at Arnaud.

The executioner, staying true to an old namesake of his- The Earthquake- caused the very earth around him to shake and fissure. The enhanced flora was crushed and repulsed, leaving Arnaud safe. They were at a standstill, which ultimately was in Olaf's favour as the poison was going to take its toll, even with Aheri's previous exposure (Could arguably extend his natural resistance by a marginal level, don't wanna push it since he's injured) to the stuff. But now he had a window to give the elder a fight he couldn't give beforehand. Arnaud raises his axe in the air, the earth around him already devastated and fissured, and ushered in a lion's roar. One far louder than the one he had done before- enough to cause the bedrock near him to sprout out of the earth, making for a particularly hazardous situation to be in for Olaf. And then, after this brief but telegraphed moment of buffing up, Arnaud slammed the pommel of his axe to the ground, prompting a massive, near region-wide earthquake (it loses a lot of power beyond the epicentre, but people feel it alright!)

Olaf is glad that age has made him slightly hard of hearing, for this large, tiresome man will not stop roaring, stomping, and generally making the battlefield even louder. It is quite the threatening display, but it still strikes him as that of a cornered animal, lashing out. For a moment, the old shaman simply lifts himself into the air by drawing some of that excessive force magic and redirecting out the bottoms of his feet. He settles back down once the bothersome display is quite finished. He has so much more grass, and it coms splitting and spitting out of the newfound fissures easily enough. Sometimes, you can just try the same attack again.

Arnaud repulsed a great deal, but the Shaman was smart- he has seen this before. He can work around it and thrive while the Aheri is fighting an uphill battle. For all the power the Majini conferred to this man, it was nothing when the enemy could still match you. Arnaud ended up enduring more slashes to his already scarred and punctured body. Did it hurt? Not really, not at this point with adrenaline flowing in borderline excess. But it weighed on the muscles and caused him to bleed more than he already did.

He did not falter. Olaf wasn't too far from him still, so he had a chance. The moving earth and crumbling hills provided copious amounts of nearby energy to draw from, and he focused it on a single lunge forward with the pointed end of his war axe. The length of the massive weapon could likely reach the shaman, but the real danger was the concentrated blast of force that shot out like a beam capable of razing rows of houses!

[b]WHY. WON'T. YOU. DIE!!!?[/b] Something inside of Olaf screamed. The sheer amount of damage he had done to this man would otherwise have felled armies! It had felled armies, in fact. Then, with deceptive speed, a poleaxe came for his head, and a slicing ribbon of Force magic. 

[center][youtube]https://youtu.be/iYZIUtDAFIw[/youtube][/center]

Olaf drew from it as liberally as he could, slowing its impact and infusing himself with energy enough to burst out of the way. [b]"I call upon thee, oh wind, rain, and thunder, grant me your power that I may strike this behemoth down in your service and that of my people!"[/b]

He thrust his arms into the sky and shaped the very rain into a great mass that surrounded and entrapped Arnaud, suffocating him. He held it as the giant moved, as he pushed back. Olaf strained to hold it until his opponent hopefully, finally collapsed.

Olaf was getting frustrated and went out of his way to try and lock away Arnaud in a water prison of sorts. The Aheri, feeling like he's always on the defensive, angrily attempts to usurp the conjured encasement, but subsequently ends up submerged and borderline crushed by the pressure. But he doesn't let up. No, this was the Aheri. A Zuyr. A KING. He looked down at his opponent for just a moment, and then he stopped. Most never lived as old as this man. Most that didn't see battle didn't live as long as Olaf the Aged. In his rage, Arnaud was ready to simply bash his head in some more. But for once, he learned. He learned from the man who lived a lifetime in a profession where most died young.

He didn't immediately repulse the bubble. No, he stayed in it, and drew. He was taking the very force Olaf was using to preserve it, and even more. He drew, and expelled, without completely perforating his prison. He was going to make it his. He drew and asphyxiated himself longer.

His nose started to bleed, the few teeth in his mouth were begging to grate dangerously.

What Arnaud was conjuring up, it was big, big enough to prevent Olaf from stopping his spell, as Arnaud had laid claim on it. Now his ears were ringing, water started to fill his lungs.

It wasn't enough, the Aheri needed to make this count. The mass of water was his, and melded with the shape of his axe to form an absurdly large weapon. A hammer of epic proportions. It was heavy, far too heavy of an oxygen deprived being like Arnaud, but he pushed on, at the bring of overdrawing on mana too.

A grand shadow arose before the old Eskandr. One far too big to be held together by a normal man, and it was growing by the water syphoned from the nearby ocean.

[center][color=7F4C20]Judge[/color][/center]

A mighty hammer reigned supreme and above all those near la Plage. A tool of justice used by prestigious magistrates to render their sentence. It almost looked as though Arnaud had gone out of his way for it to take this shape. Some Eskandr could see it as an insult- an imitation of one of their Gods- but it was anything but. The weapon was readied by the Aheri’s strength alone at this point, with all of his magic energy dedicated to keeping this massive weapon together.

[center][color=7F4C20]Jury[/color][/center]

Arnaud’s body was not only exposed for the world to see, but it was badly beaten by Olaf the Aged. Every single wound, every single open gash that started bleeding again after wetting the scabs, every single bruise … They all drove the Aheri, in a way. The pain, and even worse, the shame of falling so short to such a great warrior, was unacceptable. Every single strike he had failed to prevent on his being was another count he’d use to fuel his fury and give him the divine strength only the ‘Strongest Man in the World’ could ever hope to deliver.

[center][color=7F4C20]Executioner

…[/color][/center]

[center][hr] Years Ago - Parrence [hr]

[img]https://i.imgur.com/E1PdPkO.png[/img][/center]

He was like an exotic beast, covered in chains and held by at least six men, two of which were somewhat capable mages. And of course, Asier Arslan himself. All these men held a single, half-naked man from the North to be presented to the King. Many in the court wondered if this was a new form of entertainment. Others scoffed at the sight of a Tourrare bringing in such a thing- uncivilised as always. None of them knew what the King thought, however. And none of them knew of the value Arun The Aheri could hold to a country teetering so close to a way.

[color=7F4C20]”Toi. Roi. Mort. Oui?”[/color]*

The grinning Northerner glared at the king who loyally sat by his wife and merely watched the beast react, [color=7F4C20]”Bien.”[/color] he crudely chuckled before spitting before the king himself. His guard grew furious and readied their weapons, but no order was given to attack. The hall remained quiet.

[color=7F4C20]”Petit Roi. Force Roi, avoir toi?”[/color]** he asked in an expectedly boken parrench. Still, the king said nothing. More and more, the Aheri struggled in his chains, and with what seemed to be very little effort, he broke free! Most panicked, but the King, along with his queen, remained unmoved. Arun didn’t go on any sort of rampage, and instead stared down the ruler of this land, keen on asserting his dominance even when made a mere prisoner to a Tourrare.

[center][b][color=00aeef]”Très bien.”[/color][/b]***[/center]

The King Stood. The Fallen King nearly faltered. He had already begun to understand what most close to the King hadn’t already. There would be no casualties that day, despite everything Arnaud was known for.

[center][hr] Present Time [hr][/center]

Arnaud remembered that special day. Not the day Asier proved himself better at war. No, it was inevitable that he would know defeat at some point. Arnaud, at the time called Arun, recalled perfectly the day he met a God. His honour bound him to Arslan as a prisoner, but it took nothing shorter than what he saw as a divine revelation to reform such a man. King Arcel. The one many old fools scoff at. And yet, one of the most brutal Warlords of the North loyally bow and fight for him.

Sentence Rendered. The hammer swung down as Arnaud descended his axe in the same manner he would when performing an execution under his King’s Justice. He grimaced while he attempted to scream, but he couldn’t. No air got into his water-filled lungs. 

Too late, Olaf realized what was happening. Too late, he tried to boil the water away, but it was a poor choice. He was poor with Arcane. Perhaps his mind was slipping. He would've scolded a student who'd made such a sophomoric mistake. He'd have whipped their hands with a yew branch. In truth, though, it was a matter beyond him. By rights, he should have finished the roaring man off earlier. It was strange, how little effect the dozens of wounds and his normally-potent magic had taken, almost as if the human spirit or the will of this man's Gods was somehow greater than what the old shaman could throw against them.

The axe bore down and Olaf found himself stilled. He had lived so long that all of his old friends were seated at the Visitor's table in Gronhalle now. When people asked him why he continued to fight, he'd always told them that it was because he was still alive. The truth, however, was that he was still searching for the one to give him the death he would need: one that would send him to the green hall, where his lifetime of deeds great and small would earn him a place of honour. 

[i]I come to you, brothers and sisters.[/i]

Then, the blow hit and there was nothing left. Faintly, Olaf could hear the flap of winged horses and distant sounds of drinking and merriment. For a moment, he thought he felt warmth. 

A massive cloud of water and vapour erupted from the middle of the battlefield. The shockwave could be felt way back into the Witchwood, and the mushroom could be seen many miles away. There wasn’t much of a crater, but many areas near the Beach were flooded and turned particularly muddy from the impact. Olaf was dead- his body devoid of any deformation of mutilations as the pressure mostly destroyed him internally, leaving only large bruises.

Arnaud was seventy metres away from the fallen shaman. His upper body fully exposed and still bleeding from the main sustained wounds. His chest was heaving heavily, his axe a few feet away from him. He was on his back, looking into the darkened sky while droplets of water ceaselessly befell his unmoving body. He only briefly turned his head to see the corpse of his foe. There was no smile or even a twitch in his expression. He had beaten Olaf the Aged, but clearly at a cost. And in the end, he felt nothing but respect for what was a man who devoted his whole life to the cause of his people. If only Arnaud could part this world with such an accomplishment.

His heart was racing, even as he remained rested. It was unnaturally fast and painful. So much so that he began to get a blurred vision. And slowly, his breathing became more painful. Until eventually his eyes closed and he lost consciousness. The Royal Executioner had pushed himself far too much, and now his fate was no longer in his own hands.

[hider=Translations]
*You. King. Dead. Yes?
**Little King. Strength King, have you?
***Very well.
[/hider]

[hider=tl;dr]
Arnaud kicks Hildr away from Rodric for a moment.
Olaf and Arnaud have at it again.
Arnaud uses a dangerous drug to push him to his full potential, but Olaf co-opts it, making for a battle that matches the epic levels brought by the top bosses.
Olaf mostly dominates and has an almost repeat of the last fight.
When all seems lost, a battered Arnaud musters up EVERYTHING to at least stop Olaf in his tracks, even if he has to die for it.
Flash back of Arnaud when he is first presented to Arcel years back. A crown is warranted with Strength- Arcel knew this, and the Aheri understood why this man stood at the top.
Olaf is killed by a massive water hammer used by the very water he tried to kill Arnaud with.
Arnaud is now heaving a mild heart-attack on the beach, fully exposed and vulnerable.[/hider]