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=EC 2014= Finals Arena

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9/11/2014 20:00:04   
Ryu Viranesh
Member

Hidden away from view of the crowd, the tournament’s administrative center is abuzz with activity, people running this way and that with orders and missives, conversation shifting back and forth from logistical problems such as crowd traffic, waste management, news dispersal, and enchantment costs to speculation regarding who would be chosen this year. As the time passes, the attention gradually drifts towards the upper tier of the room, to where the Director sits.

The man-in-question is on the edge of his seat, a few stray locks of his jet black hair sweeping down over his face as he peers at the table in front of him; the coloured orbs that lie upon it remain dim, despite his considerable attentions. Letting out an exaggerated sigh, Marcos returns his gaze to the monitors across the way, taking note of how the engagements had shifted. He was just being impatient; his first year as full EC Administrator was going swimmingly, so there was no reason for him to be so on edge. And yet… he scowls, shaking his head and forcing himself to focus on the interplay of the combat displayed on the screens.

The Handyman appears much as he had the prior year: same clothes, a white shirt and yellow vest set against the black of his pants and his coat, and same expression, a stern, yet vulnerable look that emphasized just how conflicted he could be on the inside. This gaze is now directed squarely at the screens, analyzing the continuing carnage and waiting for the moment which they all knew was soon to come.

Suddenly, a familiar multi-coloured glare dominates the monitors, Marcos’ eyes squinting shut as he feels his excitement begin to rise. He cracks them open moments later, glancing down at the table to find the eight orbs alight and faintly humming. It’s time. The Architect practically leaps out of his seat, his voice already audible as he strides down from the dais above. “Look alive everyone, the Lords have made their selections. Put all Finals-related systems on standby - remember, everything gets set in motion the moment I step out onto the sands.”

Marcos quickly makes for the doorway, only to find his way blocked by a familiar head of red hair, the figure interposing her body between him and the exit. Not now Clara, he grumbled inwardly, but instead chooses to take a more diplomatic route with the girl, hoping that she might listen for once. She was a sedulous worker, but was perhaps a bit too passionate about being friendly, particularly at inopportune moments. “Clara, whatever it is, can it wait until after I announce the Finalists? Since I really don’t have time right now.”

The girl grins at him, her teasing expression only succeeding in coaxing yet another scowl out of Marcos, the look eliciting a few tinkles of laughter from her lips. “It could, yes,” she began, still giggling, “but I thought that you might like to know that you have a message. You’re to meet the sender under the sky, and it’s signed ‘T’.” She smirks.

The Architect opens his mouth to retort, but just as quickly clamps it shut as those last words leave Clara’s lips, all of his worries about the Finals momentarily gone from his mind. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, sound itself blurring together as a singular thought fights to the forefront and rises from the chaos. It couldn’t be her… could it?

Suddenly he was back in reality, Clara waving a hand in front of his face; he stumbles backward, shaking his head slightly. “S-sorry about that. Must have just… spaced out.”

The girl puts her hands on her hips and raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think most people blush when they space out, lover boy.”

Only then did Marcos realize just how hot his cheeks felt, averting his gaze back to the screens across the room, thankful that no one was looking his way. He started to chew on his lower lip, considering his options. He couldn’t just abandon the Finals, even though the thought was growing more and more tempting by the minute. Someone needed to announce the Chosen… his gaze snaps back to Clara, meeting the attendant's smirk with a wicked grin of his own.

“You know, you’re right, Clara. I shouldn’t keep the sender waiting, since I know how painful it is to wait for a reply that you think might not come. To do that though, I’ll need someone to take my place as announcer.” The Architect saunters smoothly over to the girl, placing a hand on her shoulder as he grins down into her eyes. “As of this moment, that person is going to be you.”

Before she could possibly voice any objections, Marcos turns to face the rest of the room, his loud voice echoing to its every corner. “There’s been a change in plans - due to some unforeseen difficulties, I’ll be unable to introduce the Finalists. However, Clara has been kind enough to offer to do so in my place, so plans will proceed the moment her feet touch the sand. Understood?”

“Yes!” the room responds in chorus, Marcos turning around just in time for him to catch sight of the glare Clara was shooting him. Still grinning, Marcos yells out a “Good luck” and a “You’ll do fine!” before he dashes down the corridor, taking the turn that would lead him to the outside world. The outside world and the beautiful sky that he was to meet her under.

The arena is large, with rows upon rows of seats for spectators above a perfect circular field of red sand. The crowd slowly gathers to watch the incredible displays of sorcery and swordsmanship. The wealthier viewers sit in front-row seats, surrounded by armed bodyguards and personal mages, while the commoners are forced to watch the bloodshed from a more considerable distance.

The air is filled with anticipation, excitement, and the buzz from the invisible protection fields the guardian mages produce to keep wayward projectiles, metal, magic, or otherwise away from the crowd.

Such petty protective magics are not the source of the persistent buzz of voices, however; rather, the murmur on everyone’s lips concerns the eight pillars - or rather, their absence. The incredible manifestations of the Elemental Lords' power, and incarnations of the Lords themselves, no longer grace the arena sands, and likewise missing are the gates. Indeed, the arena looks distressingly empty, consisting of naught but the rolling red sands and the bare arena walls.

As the muttering reaches a fever pitch, a single figure seems to step through the very wall of the arena, her sandaled feet touching down lightly on the scarlet sands. The young woman can only be described as beautiful, her form wrapped in a simple white gown that perfectly accentuates her every aspect. Her red hair has been exquisitely done up, a long braid running most of the way down her back, fluttering ever so slightly in the breeze. Yet her most enchanting aspect is her eyes, the pair of luminous turquoise orbs capable of charming the audience all on their own.

She stares up at the crowd, many leaning forward as her strong soprano voice suddenly fills the air, carrying clearly to every ear in the arena. “Ladies and Gentleman, I’m proud to welcome you to this year’s Grand Melee - the final round of the vaunted Elemental Championships!” A cheer sweeps through the gathered masses, all of them eager for the bloodshed to begin. “It would be my pleasure to introduce you to those whom the Elemental Lords have chosen as their own Hands this year. Those warriors who will struggle to earn the title of Elemental Champion.”

The girl slowly draws her right arm upward, an index finger pointed to the northernmost quarter of the arena. Screens all around come to life, making sure that none would miss the majesty of the spectacle that was to come.


A faint tremor unsettles the sands as they part to reveal the tips of branches, the rest of the tree soon to follow. Yet, this is no normal plant, the massive monument in fact made of solid stone. As though in defiance of this fact, a series of vibrant purple flowers suddenly bloom along the tree’s skyward pointing limbs, the simple beauty a welcome change from the Pillar of yesteryear.

A second, smaller quake soon follows the first, a silver statue rising from the crimson clods to take its rightful place beside the tree. The Quicksilver Guardian’s triumphant return was met with roars from the crowd, the defender’s spear held ready should it need to protect its charge.

As the Pillar appears, so too does a gate right before it, a freestanding archway composed of twin helixes of soil, a single geode at its apex. The space within warps, and the Chosen’s way is opened.

“For the honor of Earth’s Lord, the master manipulator of all it purveys, Zenz Nightwalker!”

A wave of warmth washes over the audience as a molten hand breaks the surface of the sand, the lava-formed extremity warping the nearby air into a heated haze. The nearby sand is, strangely, untouched by the phenomenon, lava continuing to flow upward as the hand grows all the hotter.

As the Pillar appears, so too does a gate right before it, a freestanding archway composed of sinuous scales, a crown of gold at its apex. The space within warps, and the Chosen’s way is opened

“Fighting for the fury of Fire’s flames, welcome the honorable Prince Makelyth, the dragon-touched juggernaut.”

A geyser erupts from beneath the arena’s surface, the rapidly rushing water climbing high into the sky before droplets begin to return to the world below. Strangely, the pleasantly warm rain leaves no mark on the scarlet sands. Were one to look closely, they might catch sight of a massive shadow passing behind the water’s veil, sometimes joined by the faint glow of a pair of large yellow eyes .

As the Pillar appears, so too does a gate right before it, a freestanding archway composed of twirling ribbons of water, bisected by a cutlass at their apex. The space within warps, and the Chosen’s way is opened.

“Chosen to represent Water’s twisting, churning tides, the Ocean’s Daughter herself, Captain Ranlae Evensong!”

Though nothing seems to appear where the Pillar of Darkness was supposed to stand, the space is suddenly cast into blackness. The sounds of a twisting, roiling… something emanating from within. Most quickly avert their eyes, the thought of staring into the blackness less than enjoyable.. Those who do continue to stare might catch sight of a stray tentacle before they’re struck by a splitting headache, the pain vanishing as soon as they look away.

As the Pillar appears, so too does a gate right before it, a freestanding archway composed of roiling tendrils of pure blackness, a skull at its apex. The space within warps, and the Chosen’s way is opened.

“Representing the depths of Darkness, the returning revenant, Sir Rowan Moonstone!”

Though the Pillar of Wind likewise cannot be seen, it can certainly be heard, gale force winds whipping around to form a miniature hurricane. The very center of the cyclone appears to be totally calm, the air within strangely fragrant, calling to mind a breezy summer day.

As the Pillar appears, so too does a gate right before it, a freestanding archway composed of barely contained tornados, topped with a faintly glowing blue rune in the shape of an eye. The space within warps, and the Chosen’s way is opened.

“Representing Wind’s fine, biting edge, the battle-mad blademaster, Julianna!”

As though from nowhere, the Pillar of Ice suddenly freezes into existence, a close-knit cluster of icy spikes jutting out from a bed of solid frost. Not even a penguin would want to touch this ice, the possibility of frostbite nearly 100% were one to touch it. The temperatures nearby drop to levels colder than the Northern tundra, more than a few audience members shivering in their seats.

As the Pillar appears, so too does a gate right before it, a freestanding archway composed of frost-touched bones and armor, a gigantic tooth at its apex. The space within warps, and the Chosen’s way is opened.

“Fighting for Ice’s wintery grasp, the massive mauler that is Kriege Thalarctos!”

A frenetic hum emanates from Energy’s corner as electricity sparks and twirls, a shaft of pure power crackling into being. The spire is surrounded by dancing orbs of ball lightning, the wisps occasionally discharging a few stray arcs of electricity, the sand below strangely unaffected.

As the Pillar appears, so too does a gate right before it, a freestanding archway composed of interlinking, sparking filaments, a single bullet at their apex. The space within warps, and the Chosen’s way is opened

“Fighting for the dynamo that is Energy, the incongruous gunslinger, Connor ‘Crackshot’ McCoy!”

The Pillar of Light slowly fades into being, its many layers shifting and flashing as the spectators get their first look at it. Light’s monument this year is composed of a multitude of constantly moving veils, all composed of a different frequency and wavelength of light. The effect is both eye-catching and yet strangely soothing, depending on exactly where one looks.

As the Pillar appears, so too does a gate right before it, a freestanding archway composed of carefully constructed tubes, light visibly passing through them, a glimmer of pure white light at its apex. The space within warps, and the Chosen’s way is opened.

“Last but certainly not least, fighting for the might of Light, the covert construct extraordinaire, Project F.E.R.R.E.T.!”

The young woman falls to silence and takes her bow, her form fading away as though it had never been there in the first place. A faint ringing then echoes above the roar of the crowd, signaling the start of this year’s Grand Finals.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 1
9/12/2014 20:31:51   
Kellehendros
Eternal Wanderer


 His improvised ranged assault yielded little in the way of success. At least, it had did no appreciable damage to his targets. Nonetheless, Kriege was not overly disappointed by the results of his attack. The Vastaa had made his presence known, and with any luck it would draw Zenz and Makelyth back to him. It was good to visit some vengeance, however minor, on the pair for their earlier snubbing of his challenge.

The ice bear’s satisfaction was short lived, however, for even as he began to move towards the pair, intent on the battle to come, he was suddenly overborne by a writhing swarm of… things. Kriege bellowed, staggering backwards more from surprise than anything else. The undulating coat of sprites had no appreciable weight, despite coating every inch of his not inconsiderable frame. Spirits in a riotous cacophony of hues surged over him, and the Vastaa’s stagger turned into a fall as a heavy paw came down askew on a protruding pipe. The seething swarm, taking advantage of his roar, surged into the ice bear’s maw, and the armored goliath began, paradoxically, to fall up rather than down.

Kriege tumbled artlessly in the air for a moment, and then, following a wrenching dislocation, was once more subjected to the whims of gravity. He impacted a bare, honest stone floor with a raucous crash, the sound of metal grating on stone echoing off the unadorned walls about him. Grunting, the Vastaa thrashed for a moment, rolling back back to his feet and rising to all fours, shaking himself like a dog that had just emerged from the water. There was another prolonged, echoing clattering and clashing, as the ice bear’s shaking settled his armor back into more or less proper position. Huffing out a breath in annoyance, he stood.

The room was, so far as the Vastaa could tell, entirely sealed, a dome of rock that was large enough for him to stand in comfortably, but not much wider across than his outstretched paws. It was a simple, quiet space, and it never occurred to the ice bear to wonder what the source of the dim but pervasive illumination was, for such an enclosed space should have been unremittingly dark. Kriege grunted, turning his head back and forth with a quiet, cascading scree of metal links, searching for some sign of anything beyond the odd room in which he found himself. And yet…

There was a sudden, sharp tug at his right side. The ice bear snorted, pivoting towards the pull, hearing metal clatter to the stone. His dark eyes flicked to the ground, seeing the blade of Kai’s naginata settling there. On the air was the faintest hint of perfume, and a sound so soft that it was more suggestion than impression. It was a laugh, low, throaty, and heart-rendingly familiar.

“Shen Lan?” The ice bear turned, his remaining ear swivelling vainly after the echo, even as he made a slow circle in search of the source of the fleeting sound and evanescent smell. Shen Lan, his second wife, had been a Vastaa of the middle kingdom, and Kriege’s opposite in so many ways. She was slender where he was hulking, short where he was tall, quick-thinking where he was slow and pondering. He had loved her fiercely, though his clan had thought him odd for marrying her. The northern tundras were no place for the graceful red panda, though Shen Lan, so fearless in life, had returned home with Kriege after their brief, fiery courtship.

The ice bear ceased his turning after the second revolution, when it was clear that Shen Lan was not here. He growled, furious at the lack of a physical presence of any kind. His wife had been dead for many winters, and yet, to hear her again, to smell her scent, and be denied the sight of her… His metal-sheathed right paw curled into an enraged fist, one he almost drove into the nearest sloping stone wall. And yet, the fist relaxed a moment later, as a feeling of peace settled over him, a gentle mantle that calmed the Vastaa’s fulminating thoughts. Kriege exhaled slowly, almost able to feel his beloved’s touch, as if her spirit was reaching across the gulf between this world and the next to soothe his rage as she had so often done while still alive. He sighed, letting the anger slip away, and found that his thoughts turned almost naturally from Shen Lan to Ojen.

Like his first marriage, his union to Shen Lan had produced but a single child; Ojen, who would ever be simply “the boy” to Kriege. The Vastaa wondered again how his son was faring, so far away to the east. For a second, the ice bear felt a stab of homesickness so piercing it almost drove him to all fours. It would be good to see the tundras again, to hear the wind that whispered through the sere grasses, and to watch the snows sift down from the moonlit sky like a thousand, thousand falling stars. Kriege was not, by nature, an introspective man, and yet, in that moment he found himself wondering, seriously wondering, if it might not be time for him to go home. The Elemental Championship had, heretofore, proven to be less than he had hoped and heard when travelling to Bren, but was that because the competitors he had met had been, in the main, unworthy, or because his heart was not so set upon the course as he had previously assumed?

It was a question that the ice bear would not have time to ponder, for a new sight presented itself to him at that moment. A swirling disk of scintillating light burst into being before the Vastaa, expanding and growing until it reached from the floor to the ceiling of the sealed space. Kriege eyed the thing dubiously, stooping for a moment and lifting the deceased shopkeeper’s naginata by its broken haft. Straightening to face the unusual light squarely, his eyes widened in surprise as the barrier of light hissed and snapped, becoming suddenly transparent as still water.

Through the oddly transparent light the Vastaa could not see the other end of the domed room, but rather a new sight: a plane of red sand stretching out to another wall, and ranks of people sitting or milling in anticipation. It was the Finals then, advancement. The ice bear had heard stories concerning the unusual method of transporting the Chosen from their respective Arenas to the Finals. He had suspected such was what had happened to him when he found himself in this strange place. It was that, or his mind had snapped like rotten ice. That particular thought had never crossed Kriege’s mind, however, perhaps due to his personal lack of imagination. Still, it was good to have his suspicions confirmed.

Striding forward, the ice bear walked through the portal, which was easily large enough to accommodate his tall frame, and looked about the Finals Arena. His singular ear flicked, hearing the slender announcer call his name, upon the heels of which followed a roar from the crowd. The Vastaa’s dark eyes flitted from Pillar to Pillar, taking in those who had advanced. Lips twitched over fangs as his gaze alighted for a moment upon both Zenz and Makelyth, and his paw tightened around the shortened haft of the naginata. Perhaps he might yet have his chance to enjoy killing the pair.

Whatever doubts the Vastaa may have had were set aside in short order. In battle there was no place for second thoughts, and the bear who doubted himself found shame instead of honor. Honor…

Kriege snorted, trekking forward, towards the center of the Arena. Perhaps these five would know more of honor than Zenz and Makelyth; perhaps that pair would discover honor in the honor they had been awarded. Those questions would be answered soon, very soon. As before, the armored ice bear loosed a mighty roar, clashing fist to chest three times, the ruined naginata clenched in his paw.

“My name is Kriege Marns Thalarctos, and on this day I slew a nameless coward, and a pink warrior known as Kai. Who shall be next?”
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 2
9/13/2014 12:54:48   
Tdub
Member

Makelyth drew closer to his foe even as the chaos of the Factory reached its prime. As his sword reached forward, eager to pierce Zenz's flesh, the miner moved quickly to create a wall of Earth between them, interrupting the momentum of the prince's lunge. Just as his sword made contact with the stone, scraping upwards, a large projectile of lifeless flesh impacted the wall, nearly knocking the sword from Makelyth's hands and causing his shoulder to slam into the rock. The prince lowered his height, stooping down to avoid losing his balance.

Without warning, a flash of pain erupted through his leg as, unbeknownst to Makelyth at the time, Zenz's hand erupted from the wall with a weapon, succeeding in his attempt to harm the prince's leg. The three knives launched by the wind competitor, yet another crucial detail the reptilian royal was unaware of, then arrived at their target. The highest two missed, due to Makelyth's bent figure, but the third found its mark, and the prince cried out as pain engulfed his back.

Before his mind had time to register half of the unfortunate events surrounding him, another unexpected phenomenon shook the world as the Arena erupted in a swarm of multicolored lights, and Makelyth assured himself that this was what death was like. His vision grew hazy, and the prince closed his eyes and prepared for the end that, for better or for worse, never came.

A single dagger, clattering to the floor with a tip covered in blood, was all the evidence that remained of Prince Makelyth in the Factory Arena.


As the lights permeated every portion of his being, images began to form in the prince's mind. Small portions of his past raced to replay themselves, while Makelyth watched as an agonized bystander.


Flames burned bright on the battlefield, catapults and tents reduced to ash, while human soldiers littered the ground. Although there were corpses of dragons every so often, it was quite clear who had won the day. Suddenly, Makelyth saw himself, as a full human, battle-worn, staring at a floating ball of flame amidst the carnage. "You are to be punished," was all that was heard before his younger self collapsed in a screaming heap.


"I am terribly sorry to have to talk with you about this." This time, Makelyth watched as a conversation he was all too familiar with played out. "People are beginning to talk.... son." The last word was barely audible, as if the regal figure speaking was afraid people might hear it. "I have no choice but to do this."


Finally, Makelyth found himself in an empty room, free of the lights and the painful memories. The prince turned to face a mirror, staring back at his own reflection. It had been many months since he had brought himself before a mirror, preferring to not see the gruesome sight that awaited him. This time, however, he did not flinch at his own features. Instead, he felt glad that he was not looking at a dusty, bloody mess. He was clean, and his wounds appeared to have healed completely. Even the knife he had thrown at the beginning of the tournament was returned, strapped next to his bag of sand, which had not seen any use in the previous round. Still, his facial scar, the result of an attack from one of his subjects, remained.

Makelyth frowned as he realized what all this meant. He had been Chosen. But that meant....

"Why have you shown these things to me?"

The prince hurled his question at no one in particular. However, to his surprise, his reflection broke form to answer, in an almost condescending tone, "It does you well to remember why you are here."

Without warning, the reflection shifted, morphing into an image of a ball of flame, emanating a powerful heat. Makelyth glared at the mirror, falling into rage. "You! You did this to me! YOU ARE WHY I AM HERE!"

He drew his sword, and struck out at the reflection, intending to break the mirror. Instead, his attack rebounded with more force than should have been possible, knocking the prince to the floor, his blade smoldering.

"I allow you to hate me. What I will not allow is disrespect. You have been Chosen. You are here. You will fight."

At the last word, Makelyth was suddenly standing again, the effects of his attacks gone. He found himself in a different room, staring at a gate, although what was seen through the strange device was not what surrounded him. Still, he could hear the female voice, apparently an announcer, calling for the Chosen to arrive.

The first to be called was none other than Zenz Nightwalker, his opponent from the Factory. Although Makelyth could not yet seen the filthy man due to the gate, he had no doubt that the roars of approval were in response to the miner's entrance.

“Fighting for the fury of Fire’s flames, welcome the honorable Prince Makelyth, the dragon-touched juggernaut.”

Makelyth took this as his cue to walk through the gate, and he found himself on red sand, almost matching the color of the sand in his bag. He was pleasantly surprised by the cheers of the crowd, and remembered the crowds in his kingdom that would roar as he stepped forward to give speeches. Dragon-touched, am I? We will see how dragon-touched my opponents will be.

The announcer continued listing names, and Makelyth took careful note at any names he recognized and any abilities hinted at. Ranlae for Water, Moonstone is Darkness. Where have I heard that name before? Julianna... Kriege. The beast is back, and fighting for Ice. Crackshot? Worrisome. Project Ferret... must be the rodent from earlier.

Nothing was too surprising, with the exception of learning the beast of the Factory was a servant of his elemental opposite. The Arena itself was round, with the monuments of pride and vanity that were the Pillars circling the red sand. His own Pillar was a large hand of molten lava, and Makelyth scoffed at the ridiculous show of power. The audience, however, seemed to love the display, and the prince had no doubt that fat, rich men were sitting in their seats, happy to bring their children to watch the bloodshed while bragging of their great "service" to the Lords. Still, there were more important things to focus on at the moment.

Kriege had started to walk toward the center of the Arena, which, as the Pillars were positioned, meant he was striding directly toward Makelyth. Bellowing out yet another challenge, the great beast held a strange weapon that the prince had seen only briefly, when it had been in the possession of the now-deceased woman in the Factory. Makelyth was actually tempted by Kriege's challenge, but reached the conclusion that he would prefer to fight the "massive mauler" only if necessary. It would be best to wait for the beast to be injured or tired. Fire versus Ice is perhaps a bit too cliché, anyway. Still, it would not hurt for him to prepare should Kriege decide to charge.

Honorable Prince Makelyth, the dragon-touched juggernaut, drew his sword, and prepared for the Melee to come. He had stepped clearly out of the battle, only to find himself in a war. And I will make this entire Arena my frying pan.
Post #: 3
9/14/2014 14:17:27   
Necro-Knight
Member

He saw the vial come hurtling in his direction and cursed himself that he hadn’t planned on how agile the green-haired girl could be. He growled and tapped into his mana pool again, drawing on what he’d stored up throughout the last few minutes of simple conversation. Throwing his sword had only taken a minimal amount of energy to throw and he was glad he’d waited until now. As the Vial tumbled towards his feet, his form again disappeared in a flash of black and sapphire smoke. As he travelled from the explosion that followed the smashing of the vial, he thought with the few seconds he had before he’d reform.

He was now missing his RuneSword, at least for the moment, and had just expended a lot of mana to avoid an untimely demise. He still had his Wind Sword from last year, but it lacked the runic enhancement of his other tool. Either way, he still had his shield and was still in one piece. He would make it work, one way or the other. His form coalesced from the shadows and he reached for the sword that hung at his belt…just as the lights invaded his form, through every opening possible. Rowan went through this uncomfortable sensation once before, but it made it no less awkward to feel yourself invaded without warning and picked apart at such a basic level. With a flash, the Death Knight was taken from the Arena, leaving no trace behind… not even the RuneSword that had laid near the girl and gunslinger only moments before.

So once again, Lord VoidStar had chosen him as his Champion. Rowan did not know why the Lord had lost favor in him the year past, but he did not plan to repeat that mistake. There was the solid sound of stone against metal as his armored feet set down into a room of darkness. Understanding the Lord that he represented, Rowan took a moment to show respect to the being who had given him this chance at redemption.

“I know not what I did were to lose your favor in years past, My Lord, but I promise you… -!”

A second voice that seemed to come from every direction at once, yet had no visible source, responded to him, much to the Death Knight’s surprise.

“You make a promise for an outcome you can’t keep. I am not looking for words, Champion, I am looking for actions. Do not tell me what you are going to do for me. Show me!”

The Lord of Darkness’ voice made a chill run through the Death Knight’s spine, even with his many years experience with the darker side of Lore. The cold, empty maw of shadows was what VoidStar commanded, and in comparison, Rowan was nothing. Not even needing to make his thoughts vocal now, VoidStar again spoke.

“You have the honor of fighting in my name once again, Champion…Show me that you are deserving of this second chance!”

His Lord was right. Twice now he’d been chosen, no one else, to represent the very element of Darkness and everything it stood for. Only now noticing the added weight to his back, Rowan reached back and drew his weapon, it’s silver edge illuminated by the blue runes that flared brightly at his touch, rich with replenished power. Even after the shadow step only minutes earlier, Rowan felt his mana pool also swimming again and the ache in his shield-arm gone from the shock the Gunslinger had given it. Like last year, the Knight had been rejuvenated for this final Melee.

Show me that you are deserving of this second chance… VoidStar’s words echoed in Rowan’s mind and he gripped his RuneSword tightly.

“Yes, my lord!”

Looking forward now, he saw a rectangular shape of light, with colors of gold and red beyond it. Already the sounds of the crowd drifted towards him and grinned. This being his second year in the Finals, Rowan guessed he must have developed some fans by now, and he would not aim to disappoint them anymore then Lord VoidStar.

“Representing the depths of Darkness, the returning revenant, Sir Rowan Moonstone!”

He stepped from the room and out into the Arena, glad to see that it hadn't changed from the previous year. He was a creature of habit and this would make things slightly easier. Looking from his right and panning his vision across, he saw each Pillar with its own unique, impressive design. Some Contestants he remembered from Fountain, others seemed to be from elsewhere. As he finally completed the panning of the Arena, he saw the beautiful Julianna standing outside the Wind Gate. So, she had proven strong enough to be moved forward after all. While he kept his face serious and focused,he felt a surge of excitement shoot through him. If she was powerful enough to impress the Lord of Wind, then she’d make a proper “ally”, if they both survived this anyway.

A loud clang of force against metal drew Rowan’s attention to the general center of the Arena. The beast that had exited from the Ice Gate had come forward now, banging his large paw against his chest, like a warrior would slam his sword against his shield to draw attention.

“My name is Kriege Marns Thalarctos, and on this day I slew a nameless coward, and a pink warrior known as Kai. Who shall be next?”

Rowan raised a brow at the claim. Whether the claim was true or not, the plausibility certainly had weight to it, given the appearance of the Bear. The Death Knight just grinned at the creature, gripping his blade tightly in one hand, shield in the other.

Did you ever think that the next contestant to perish…might be yourself, Beast?
DF MQ AQW  Post #: 4
9/14/2014 16:43:12   
Apocalypse
Member

Connor caught sight of a small something leaving moss hair's hand before it landed where the dead knight had been standing. The following explosion did not conform with the size of the small something, and the resulting shockwave blew the gunslinger off his feet. He hit the ground hard, though the impact went almost unnoticed due to the church bell ringing inside his skull. Connor gritted his teeth and swore under his breath. He had hoped for moss hair to have a way to deal with the dead knight, but he had not expected her to be dealing with him at the same time. Serves him right for placing any amount of trust with someone who had stabbed him.

The gunslinger opened his eyes only to find himself blinded with radiant light. Had a combatant of light jumped into the fray as well? He reached for his gun even as the light consumed him. Too little too late, Connor thought as a soothing sensation spread throughout his limbs. He had died, but dying was nowhere near as unpleasant as he had assumed.

He was standing now, in a darkness only lit up by blue jolts of energy that crackled and sprung from one point to another a great distance away. As far as Connor could tell, there were no walls or other obstacles in sight - only a a vast sea of lightning.

"Now, Connor, listen here."

He snapped his head around to follow the voice. That familiar voice! It belonged to a woman, but the origin of it only took the shape of a woman. Rather than flesh and blood, a continuous loop of electricity traveled in intertwining arcs to form the outline of a woman. In her hands were a pot and a spoon, both also constructed from blue energy. She was mixing something, almost as if she was preparing a meal despite the lack of cooking ingredients.

"Your uncle will be in town, so I need you on your best behavior. No tricks, no playing around, none of your little games." Connor tried to speak but his mouth had gone dry. Even though it was a crude representation, the likeness was uncanny. He took a tentative step forward and raised a hand towards the blue figure. "Mama..."

With a resounding boom the electricity dispersed in all directions, dissolving the blue woman. As quick as it left it came together farther off and to the left, this time a green hue in color. This one was also familiar, though it resembled a hybrid of a human and a lizard. Even before he (it?) spoke, the gunslinger recognized it as the form of Dr. Lee-kan.

"I know that at times you feel like merely a subject - a fault of my scientific mind. But you should know that I do not truly think of you as that. You...are the closest to family I've had these past years. And...and, I want to thank you."

Another snap, another burst of energy, and Dr. Lee-kan was gone. Now in front of him stood a figure composed of pink electricity. She reached a hand forward and stroked his face, the lightning tingling his skin but not hurting. "Remember, your promise. I gave you my gift, you must uphold your promise."

"I will." One last crack of light and she was gone. The outlaw was alone, surrounded by stone. For a moment he was silent and did nothing, not even listening to the muffled words of the announcer outside. At last he allowed himself one last shuddering breath before steeling himself for what was to come. He had been chosen, and he had to fight.

Connor did a quick check on himself and his equipment. His Bowie knife had been replaced, as had his poncho. His Peace Makers were also reloaded with Storm Shots, and the gunslinger could feel the perfectness of the rounds. He allowed himself a small grin. The Elemental Lord of Energy was no slouch, at least as far as electricity was concerned. His bang bulbs had also been replaced, though instead of yellow-white electricity filling them, they were blue, green, and pink. One for Mama, one for Dr. Lee-kan, and one for Isra. He would be sure to make them count.

“Fighting for the dynamo that is Energy, the incongruous gunslinger, Connor ‘Crackshot’ McCoy!”

That was his cue. Everything else was in good order, meaning there was no reason to keep the crowd waiting. Pulling his bandana up over his face, Connor stepped out into the arena to join the other seven champions and the eight elemental pillars. A shirtless man, some sort of cross between a dragon and a man, a leather-clad woman, the dead knight, another leather-clad yet much more beautiful woman, a bear, and a...ferret. No matter their looks, each had been chosen by an Elemental Lord, and the Lords did not pick unfit champions. Dr. Lee-kan had warned him that strange champions were perhaps the deadliest.

The bear was the first to move, lumbering to the center of the arena with some sort of strange spear in his paw. Then he spoke. “My name is Kriege Marns Thalarctos, and on this day I slew a nameless coward, and a pink warrior known as Kai. Who shall be next?”

Funny to think that out of all of his competitors this day, the bear was the only one to reveal his name to the gunslinger. He did not doubt Kriege's words or the fact that the bear would be a powerful opponent. However, bears were big and burly and relied on strength and brute force. If Kriege was at least similar to other bears, then maybe Connor had an advantage. Besides, if he was to win he would either after to kill Kriege or kill the competitor who had killed Kriege. No sense in delaying the inevitable; it was do or die.

The outlaw took a few steps forward from his pillar but kept plenty of distance between himself and Kriege. His right hand held his hatchet while his left was free; Connor needed to keep his options open for when the bear made his move. "Haven't killed anyone today yet," he said with a shrug. "But I've had a tussle with a mad man, a dead knight, and an assassin." The last one may not have necessarily been true, but he did not have a better description for moss hair. "And I'm still here. Think you can do what they couldn't?"
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 5
9/14/2014 19:59:24   
Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...


 Onyx eyes blinked slowly. The melee was becoming more cluttered as another of Factory’s combatants moved into the mix with flying knives and mischief aplenty. Cold logic checked the fires of vengeance, banking them low and cooling them. Did humans not have a penchant for the line “Revenge is a dish best served cold?” The construct twitched its whiskers in amusement as its thoughts almost approved of that notion. Slowly, and with a fair amount of warning signals emanating from its wounds which a biologic might call ‘pain’, the F.E.R.R.E.T. crept cautiously towards the fight as knives flew through the air.

Sparks of light bursting into the air brought the construct to a halt rather swiftly. It had thought itself alone in the command of light, and it focused its gaze upon one such twinkling speck as it flew around with purpose. That light streaked towards Kriege, and the F.E.R.R.E.T. blinked in confusion as it assessed the potential of an attack. Other lights darted around its peripheral vision, jinking around towards Zenz and Makelyth, and its estimation of an attack from an unseen vector grew from idle curiosity straight to wary unease. Then another sprite danced along a decorative whisker, landing upon its snout. It felt a sudden urge to sneeze…

Whiskers flopped as its body shuddered with the sneeze, an open-mouthed squeak that tore out of its tiny vocal chords. The convulsion rippled the shimmer along its chassis, and unable to keep its eyes open, the F.E.R.R.E.T. lost track of the sprite. In fact, it lost track of everything, as the shimmer enveloped its form entirely. The construct vanished, and for a time, it knew no more.



Onyx eyes blinked slowly. Awareness seeped into the clockwork mind at the speed of molasses in frigid climes. Something was wrong… It was bounding through shadows, into the pools of dappled light that indicated open space within a forest of boots, heels, hooves, and paws. Prancing as it weaved through the moving obstacles...no, that was wrong. One could not prance with a forelimb hobbled, its leaps were half-limps and its fur was constantly being buffeted by the breeze of near misses by swinging legs. Unfamiliar cobblestones scraped beneath its claws with every landing. Loud, unintelligible bits of conversation assaulted its hearing in dozens of languages.

Eventually the F.E.R.R.E.T. was able to piece together enough clues from its surroundings to place itself. It was walking towards an arena, the central-most of the entire complex. The construct knew it had been Chosen, with the same unerring certainty of knowing its Calling in function, but why was it on foot? Was this normal? Cogs whirred and flywheels raced as it reflexively struggled to avoid being trampled on its route to the Finals Arena. Then a flash of understandable words broke through the crowd. “Oh THERE you are!”

A shadow loomed suddenly overhead, but before the ferretine construct could react, a pair of fingers took hold at the scruff of its furred neck. A pulse of anxiety rocked its frame, then a feeling of profound lethargy as mechanical triggers that mirrored biological ones took hold. Its eyelids narrowed into sleepy slits, even as its onyx eyes struggled to record while its chassis was lifted high in the air. “I had thought I had missed my chance. Fancy that, I managed to catch you much like my daughter had earlier.”

Its captor was a blond-haired female human, and by the woman’s own admission must be the same cautious mother as it had encountered earlier. Curious, however, was the way the woman affected the F.E.R.R.E.T. while holding it up high. “Mmm. You aren’t nearly as mangy as I had thought, either.” Her grip was gentle, and her touch as oddly soothing as a Den Mother’s. “Destructive, but so soft and adorable, even while injured.” That voice was reassuring, soft with a hidden core, like silk wrapped about steel. “Such inquisitive eyes, it’s like you are staring me down even while I hold you.” The underlying tone, playful mixed with concern, like a Jester amusing its littermates. “Oh, but look at me, getting distracted!”

Even as the ferret was tossed into the air and juggled, it felt as safe as if it were in the presence of a Warden. Who was this woman, to portray such aspects from its brethren constructs so thoroughly? “I wanted to thank you for your gift to my daughter. She’s been going on and on about how that little robe will look upon her favorite dolly, when we return home of course. Wouldn't bring it to this ghastly affair, but that’s the men in the family for you.” The construct found itself held in one arm, as the woman brought out something cloth from a pocket that it could not see. “But I felt horrible the more I thought on it. Even with your acrobatics keeping my little Sonya entertained - and even distracted from that absolute brute of a killer - it looked like you were lacking something. Someone so terribly small, its hard to make a statement like that. We knew to watch for you, but the others? So many had eyes for Kriege, or Zenz, or that beastly dragonkin that they never thought to look at the source of the bright streaks of light.”

Slowly the ferret’s eyes widened back to wakefulness, and it yawed wide as energy coursed back through its frame. The woman noticed, and playfully rubbed at the fur along its tummy for a moment before continuing her verbal tirade as a mother often is wont to do. “So I was thinking, maybe I could return something to you. Oh, I know, its not like I could closely look at your robe, but Sonya would give me a good look from time to time. With a passel of children, a mother learns to be prepared to stitch quite fast, too! So I took one of my kerchiefs, a nice one mind you, and made you a little something.” She stretched out a silver and gold piece of fabric, roughly wrapping the Lightsplitter up in it as she checked its fit, manipulating it this way and that, tugging at little paws with expert skill to avoid tiny claws.

After a time, she tsked and shook her head. “Nonono, that won’t do. I’m sorry, I must have the sleeves wrong after all.” Not that the F.E.R.R.E.T. had noticed, instead focusing on a growing apprehension deep within its own mind. Every time it blinked, that notion grew, though it just as swiftly departed when its eyes opened once more. It lost the memory of her face with every blink. “How are you to make a statement in the Finals Arena if it won’t stay on? This will never do...but perhaps…” The woman looked at the charm bracelet she wore on one wrist, then jostled the construct as she removed a charm with a snap of her dexterous fingers. “A cog for clockwork, that would be fitting, wouldn't it?” Though she mused aloud, she took the small length of chain with its cogwheel charm and somehow fastened it to a pair of corners on the fabric. “There, a cloak to make a statement. Metallic dyed silk with the shimmer of satin.”

Gently placed back upon the cobbles, the ferret watched as the woman stood back and eyed her work with a smile. “There. Now that should make a statement. Now go off with you, and give my little Sonya a show that will keep nightmares at bay. Please?” The construct tilted its head and blinked its eyes, and in that time, the woman vanished. Blinking again, suddenly the F.E.R.R.E.T. did as well.



Onyx eyes blinked slowly. For the second time that day, awareness seeped into its mind as surroundings came into stark contrast around it. A room, dull of rock and smoothed either by hands or extreme age surrounded the flatness on which the construct stood with a pure curve. Domed, geometric perfection marred only by a gateway that struck back at the shadow with the suffused glow of sunlight and more. Beyond that gate a great pillar stood, ephemeral as emotion, but far more radiant than even the lighted archway. The Pillar of Light stood, a shining example of brilliance in soft motion, a cascade of color and hue. One could get lost, gazing into that pillar. Were it not for the feel of silk rustling against its fur and the preeminent motivation of its Calling, even the F.E.R.R.E.T. may have succumbed to such a simple desire.

Beyond the covering of precious silk, the construct felt much different from when its eyes had last opened. The sights could inspire, but it felt fully functional. Whole. In both body and mind to a degree not achieved since its first activation under the caring, calloused hands of the Creator, Hadin. With clarity of eye it scanned the sands, once tan but long since ruddied scarlet by blood. A Sandstrider beholding such a wealth of its own element would be overjoyed and downright devious with a mastery of such terrain. A Lightsplitter, however? Lightsplitters could be no less pleased as the sun overhead baked the sand into small pools of shimmering heat-haze. Its whiskers tweaked as it trundled along, adjusting its gait for the slick, fluid nature of sand under a small body.

It would take getting used to, the give of sand, compared to the strong and unforgiving metal flooring of the Factory Arena. Traction would be an issue, as the sand would suck away the edge of movement and slow the initial bound of any sprint. But crystal could carve through the sand with ease and be undamaged, making its pawclaw blades less cumbersome for speedy movement. As it padded past the Pillar it drew onto its hind legs, rising to stand like the mess of bipedal opposition it faced, and patted its sides. All of its blades were present, and that felt...wrong. In a single fluid motion, without even thinking about the ramifications, it drew the short blade of the emerald wavelength and tossed it into the Pillar. An offering in thanks, and whose motion caused its cape to flutter and snap in the air.

This would be the final stage. Its Calling, its underlying purpose unknown to even Hadin the Creator, would either be satisfied here or its operations ceased in the efforts. As such, there was no reason to hold back and parcel out its armaments piecemeal. First, however, it would have to make a statement. In much the same manner as its offering, the construct drew and tossed its ruby attuned pawclaw and tossed it forward into the sand. It stuck, crystal digging down point first and mostly upright, which pleased the F.E.R.R.E.T. greatly. Sliding its forepaws through hilts as it waddled forward on its hindpaws alone, it drew its long blades, its trench knives, and felt a further change. The long blade of the amethyst hue had changed...it now matched the wavelength of its paired twin, that of pure white. The diamond hue, fullness of all colors as one. Curious

With a stutter step, it leapt forward and latched the toes of one paw around the sand-embedded blade. As it did so, it drew the last of its unused armament, juggling them into its forepaws. A pair of pawclaws to pose a forward threat to the crystal blades projected to its sides. Light flittered amidst the crystals as they filled with photonic energy. It had paired the hues of Citrine with Garnet on its left, and had paired Sapphire with Tanzanite on its right, bringing forward the colors of split light which it had neglected in the prior combat affair.

A challenge rang through the arena, and once more Kriege was proving a point of personal honor by bellowing to the other combatants. Fine. Two could play at that game. The Lightsplitter brandished its blades, drawing itself into a martial poise with its left forepaw cocked back for the stab and its right off to the side for the slash. Let others come to it through the difficult terrain of the sands, it thought as it raised its hackles and opened its mouth. Though the roar would reverberate with echoes from the crowd, the challenge was met and affirmed to Kriege and every other competitor with a deep and lethal hiss.
AQ  Post #: 6
9/14/2014 19:59:53   
jerenda
Member

This… didn’t look like Hell. Given her ancestry, she supposed it made sense that a trip to Hell could be seen as a reward, not a punishment, but this didn’t look like any interpretation of Purgatory or – Lords forbid – Heaven she had ever heard of.

Julianna stood, whole and unarmed, in the center of a whirlwind. Gales thundered around her on every side, a deafening roar that promised to destroy anything that dared to move one inch from the spot where she stood. The end of her braid whipped back and forth, somehow not becoming undone despite the wind. It could, in some worlds, be interpreted as a Hell.

But the sand she stood on was stained red like the color of blood, and the air smelled like flowers. She couldn’t see beyond the wind, nothing but a field of grey, but she suspected that far away the thunder of the wind turned to an entirely different thunder, the crash and roar of a million voices shouting all at once. It looked suspiciously like… the Finals Arena. But... I’m dead. I died. … Didn’t I?

The howling winds had no answer. A voice spoke to her nonetheless, a voice without body, a voice without sound, or possibly with more sound than she could comprehend. You have been very wasteful, my daughter. It could have been male or female or neither or both.

Julianna scowled. “Shut up,” she told the empty air. The syllables were immediately swallowed by the deafening howl, leaving an emptiness in the air as if she had not spoken at all.

The voice kept speaking as if it hasn’t heard. I have taken that which you have chosen to throw away. You should count yourself lucky that I am willing to give you something of Mine in return.

“What are you talking about?” Julianna demanded.

I give you a life, the voice thundered, on the condition that you care for it, that you do My Will with it, and that you return it to Me when I ask. You should have known this already, it added, it’s tone rebuking. I will not be so merciful again.

“But I don’t want it!” Julianna cried. “Take it back.” She was being childish, she knew, but she couldn’t think what else to do. She didn’t want to go out there, onto the red sands, to fight, to live.

She felt as if the air was laughing at her, although she wasn’t sure how that was possible. You have much to do, Julianna Degalion. Go and do it.

Julianna gasped, shocked out of her despair for a moment. “I do not own that name!” she shouted uselessly at the vortex. She was answered only by the laughter of the wind. A gate opened in front of her, miniature tornadoes swirling around an opening that cut through the howling winds and led out to a bright, sunlit space.

Slowly, unwillingly, the Chosen of Wind stepped into the swirling tunnel. With each step, the grey expanse of nothing faded. In its place the brilliant blue sky, the vast expanses of blood-red sand, and the seven majestic pillars of the other Lords faded into view, first as if in a painting, and then becoming more and more real. With each step, the burst of anger faded, and something cold and clammy wrapped itself around Julianna’s throat.

Her steps faltered. On the border between life and death, between World and Wind, she hesitated. I don’t want to go! Out there anything could happen. The cycle of pain she had spent her entire life trying to escape would just continue. At least in the center of the whirlwind, she wouldn’t hurt anyone.

The tunnel shook, and the end of it vanished, swallowed by darkness. A more immediate, visceral fear took hold of her, and she hurriedly stepped out of the tunnel before it collapsed on her. The crowd roared in delight, no doubt wondering what had taken the Chosen of Wind so long to appear.

Julianna took a deep breath, pushing the fear down into the black depths of her soul where it wouldn’t trouble anyone, and looked around. Much to her surprise, she didn’t recognize anyone from the Cellar. She had entered at roughly the same time as Rowan Moonstone. Where had he been?

A bear - yes, a bear - in the center was roaring out a challenge. Beyond the bear, there was some kind of caped rodent. Presumably that was also a competitor. Where had all these beings come from? The conclusion was obvious, once she thought of it. There were other Arenas! There had to be, and these… creatures were all from different Arenas. Ugh. Of course there are. I’m a fool.

Julianna sighed. Well, she had come here to win or die. Since death seemed to be denied her, she supposed she should make an effort to do the other. She knelt down and picked up the leather scabbard lying at her feet and hooked it into the belt binding the torso of her chainmail. The hilt gleamed silver, perfectly undamaged, and she knew when she drew it the blade would have been cleaned and sharpened, just like her left arm had been repaired.

Then she glanced right and caught the eye of the Death Knight, tipping her head toward the bear in the center of the Arena. She had fought bears before, but none so clearly intelligent or so well defended, and she would appreciate having some backup.

A slight smile graced her drawn features as a thought occurred to her. In some worlds, this too could be seen as Hell.
AQ DF  Post #: 7
9/14/2014 21:59:11   
Ryu Viranesh
Member

The Pillars of Earth and Water stood solitary in their corners, a feeling of truest disgust exuding from the pair of monuments. Their Chosen had, to all apparent effect, ignored or declined the call of the Lords to serve in the Finals. Such was not an option. Those Chosen would live forever marked, forced to bear their shame to the world around them. For Zenz, a swathe of poison ivy that crawled all the way down his left forearm to his wrist, never to vanish, and for Ranlae, the denial of life-giving water to her right cheek for the remainder of her time on this world. They still breathed, true, but were destined to live in far greater humiliation than any of the Purged. None spurned Those who did the Choosing, whether they indeed be the Lords or some form of Avatar in their name.

In but an instant, the feelings of deep disappointment had vanished, instead replaced by the sound of screams, followed by a crash. Nestled between the boughs of the Earth Pillar, caught in just the right way so as to avoid any further harm, was a strange menagerie of a creature that on closer examination was revealed to be a Female of some kind. Before the Water Pillar, spat out from the geyser and still soaked, lay a cloaked man, several cerulean runes poking out from beneath the garment's sleeves. They were marked, true, but they were here, drawn forth to fight for the honor that had been besmirched.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 8
9/14/2014 22:50:42   
Kellehendros
Eternal Wanderer


 They all had names. Kriege may have had only one ear left, but that did not leave him completely deaf to what transpired around him. He heard the Announcer, as she called off the name of each Finalist in turn. It meant little to him, however. One’s name could not be given by another. Only Kotka and fools found honor in the sound of trumpets and the cries of heralds. True warriors declared themselves, standing paw-to-paw and tooth-to-fang.

For the greater part, the Finalists ignored him. The “honorable” Prince Makelyth glanced at the Vastaa for a moment, and then apparently deemed him undesirable as a target. Perhaps the odd, Kaarme-human thing was intent on resuming his battle with Zenz, though the filthy man was not in evidence at the present time. A human in black armor stood by his umbral Pillar. Apparently this Rowan was of the same mindset as Makelyth, for he looked at the armored bear, but made no move to approach, and held his silence.

And then, thank Xyv, Kriege heard the reply that he had been waiting for. He turned, his dark gaze sweeping over a slender, sword-bearing woman. Just at the edge of his vision, the Vastaa saw the woman incline her head towards the dark swordsman. The information was filed away for later, as he turned the main of his attention to the man who addressed him. The ice bear’s lips curled into a smile, the ruined, rent flesh of his upper lip splitting over wicked fangs.

Kriege huffed, tilting his head slightly to one side and sniffing at the air, looking for a moment rather like an inquisitive dog as he peered at the man. It was not a comparison one would likely survive pointing out to the armored giant. The man before him was honorable enough to answer Kriege’s challenge, and yet could not give the ice bear his own name. The Announcer had provided it for the Vastaa, however, and he gave Connor a considering glance.

His initial assessment was that the human, if a human he was, beneath the odd, obscuring robe and face covering, was dressed like a woman. The voice was obviously male, and yet, he wore some draping style of tunic that no male in his right mind would ever wear. Still, as the Vastaa had once heard a Hiiri say, when that ancient rodent had wandered through Kriege’s lands: clothes did not make the man. To have advanced to the Finals, there must be more to this man than his odd dress would indicate.

The Vastaa’s dark eyes flicked away from Connor for a second, spotting the final Entrant in the Arena. His smile grew, recognizing the odd creature he had so briefly glimpsed when in the Factory Arena. While the strange rodent had never given Kriege a name, again the Announcer provided. Of all the entrants, this was the one that Kriege held nothing against for snubbing his challenge. The little creature had heart enough to be Vastaa, fighting against so many larger foes.

He looked back to Connor, hefting the broken naginata in his grasp. Dimly, the Vastaa heard some disturbance behind him, as well as another distantly to his right. The noises were ignored, however, in favor of focusing on the Chosen of Energy. The ice bear snorted his derision and started forward, the fang-baring grin as mocking as his tone. “If you fight as ridiculously as you dress, it should not be much of a challenge, ‘Crackshot.’”
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 9
9/15/2014 11:04:26   
tommy2468
Member

Nod sensed the sprites before she saw them. Her eyes attempted to remain focused on the fight in front of her, but the niggling sensation of being in two places replaced her intent staring. She turned around to see the other warriors in the Cellar but could only see the elvish woman lying on the ground. In the air before the presumably dead woman shimmered sparkling lights.

"The rapier-wielding lady has been chosen... I guess that means that I was not worthy of the Earth Lord." Nod thought with despair.

Looking back to the fight in front of her, Nod could see small orbs of light around the cowardly Water Mage. Before she could even blink the man had disappeared. She looked around her, but the Cellar was already fading as multi-coloured lights surrounded her body: touching her skin, lifting her up and transporting her from the Cellar.

A resonant voice softly reached her from the darkness that she was in, "My Chosen must be loyal and unbreakable. My Chosen has failed me. You will be my true Chosen, it is better to say yes, than to say no..."

The words of the Earth Lord seemed to create a mountain of pressure above her, crushing her soul and making her insignificant. For several more moments, Nod was in darkness. Then light flashed into existence, burning her eyes. Screams and cheers attacked her ears.

Nod thought in confusion, "Has my time in the Cellar finished? Have they stopped the fight," she looked around her, taking in the area before, "No... I'm in the finals..."



"It is better to say yes, than to say no..."

Nod thought hurriedly, "No... The elderly man... He was the Lord of Earth?"

Memories rushed through the disfigured head of Nod's. Of a man who had treated her with respect and kindness. Of a man who had given her a name. Of a man who had given her a reason to live.

Nod's turquoise eyes blinked furiously, "My Lord, I have failed you again and again. I shall never doubt you again and I will show you the honour that your first Chosen has sullied!"

Nod had not been the Earth Lord's first choice, but this may have come to her advantage. The other combatants had begun fighting before she had arrived and she could survey the techniques that they were using. Nod glanced around the arena, drinking in the sights and trying to understand as much as she can. With a small gasp of surprise, Nod whipped out Stag and placed it against her damaged left hand. In seconds the broken fingers had mended, but the bleeding remained.

"No need to stem a wound that is already closing on its own. It seems that the Cellar's rules no longer apply." Nod thought with a slashed smile on her face.

Plans of action ran through Nod's head. Her previous thoughts of unimportance, uselessness and ugliness disappeared; replaced by understanding of how her Lord had guided her. It was her humility that enabled her to understand the nature of Earth and to utilise it to her advantage.

And if her Lord wanted a grand battle from her, she would provide it. No matter how contradictory to her nature it seemed. Her life now belonged to her Lord.

Nod stopped her train of thoughts to assess the Chosen around her, "A dragon creature, a massive bear, a black armoured man, the rapier-wielding woman, the spineless Water mage, a sun-darkened young man, and a rat... A rat?" Nod almost laughed but remembered that each of the Chosen were here for a reason.

Nod had previously waited to be attacked and that rewarded her with her greatest injury in the Cellar. A wound that had been mostly healed, but the memory of it stung her newly found pride.

"Offence is the best defence. I wonder everyone feels about the beach..." Nod thought with a smirk.

In defiance of her previous injury, Nod pulled Unicorn from her quiver with her left hand. The burns on her arms irritated her as she reached across, but they were almost nothing to what they were before; the stinging sensation being cooled by the light breeze of the arena.

Nod raised Unicorn in front of her body and stamped her foot on the ground... Hard.

Cracks shot out on the ground below and Nod span around and twisted Unicorn up into the air. Through the cracks sand poured and hung in the air. Thicker and thicker until it hung like a cloud around her body. Nod felt the cloud with her mind and spread it out so it covered a larger area and forced it to glide in the direction of the Water Pillar.

Spurred on by her adrenaline, Nod had forgotten that her mana had been so low before. The time she spent helping Ineria had enabled her to mould some, but she would need to be careful not to exhaust herself. But she would ensure to take down the Water Mage for the honour of Ineria and Sorcia...
AQ  Post #: 10
9/15/2014 21:02:40   
Tdub
Member

In the cursed prince's opinion, events in the Finals were not progressing nearly as quickly as they should, considering the supposed skill of all of the Chosen. On both sides of him, the Chosen of Water and Earth were not yet present in the Arena. Makelyth was particularly disappointed with Zenz's absence, as he had been looking forward to continuing their battle. Kriege and the human known as "Crackshot" seemed to be engaged in a battle of wits rather than strength. The Pillar of Light was so far (and its inhabitant so small) that Makelyth could barely see the strange flashes of light caused by the competitor. An armored human representing Darkness stood two Pillars away, and a woman stood for Wind across the Arena. And still, for whatever reason, the Pillars of Earth and Water remained empty.

Suddenly, a strange feeling spread across the Arena. It was not an attack, yet Makelyth could feel the power radiating from both of his adjacent Pillars. This feeling soon gave way to the appearance of two new competitors, arriving so quickly that the prince barely had time to see their entrances. He did, however, get a good view of the cloaked Water competitor rocket out of the Pillar like a discarded fish to land with a quite comical squelch. Looking back at the Earth Pillar, Makelyth saw a strangely disfigured woman had appeared, apparently having arrived in an equally unglamorous manner. Then, without warning, the woman began summoning clouds of sand using a baton of sorts.

What? Where is Zenz? How can these be "Chosen?" Unless.... Unless these two are replacements for those that failed to arrive....

That was the answer. The man to his left was probably not Captain Ranlae Evensong, and the distorted woman to his right was most certainly not Zenz Nightwalker. The true Chosen had been replaced for some reason, leaving Makelyth with these unworthy opponents. The "substitutes" were simply dragged in by chance, and so it was up to the prince to purge the Arena of these pathetic excuses for Chosen.

The first target of Makelyth's crusade was the strange female creature. Without waiting for her to use the sands, he focused the flames within his body to his hands, preparing for the second magical attack he had used during the competition. Like the first, this fireball would be of the explosive type, and he hoped to discourage the deformed woman early with the show of power. Raising his left hand, he released the fireball, and it flew toward her chest just as the woman began to move her sands. Fortunately for Makelyth, the Earth magic seemed to be aimed at the Water embarrassment instead of at the Chosen of Fire.

Without waiting to see the results of the attack, the draconic warrior turned and began to sprint toward the man who had been dumped at the Water Pillar, who was still lying on the sands. Switching his sword to his left hand, Makelyth drew his far left knife and prepared to throw it, snarling out a warning. "On your feet, Water!"

Bringing his arm up, the prince sent the blade spinning toward the man's throat, intent on spurring the replacement into action. With luck, his attack would serve multiple purposes. If either of them were to hit their respective targets, it would be one less foe to worry about. Still, even if they were to miss, they would serve him well enough. Hopefully, he could draw both of the pretenders into close range, where they would be caught up in a grudge with each other and easily dispatched.

The attacks still did not solve the question of why the two Chosen had denied themselves the right of entry. The prince himself had outright attacked his patron, so what could Zenz and Ranlae possibly have done to invoke the wrath of their respective elements? These questions raced through Makelyth's head as he launched his assault, and he assured himself that the Arena would be cleansed of the unworthy.
Post #: 11
9/16/2014 0:29:41   
Apocalypse
Member

Kriege turned towards Connor, and the gunslinger had to admit that a wave of fear washed over him. Something about an armored bear rearing its ugly, scarred face towards you caused you to rethink your recent choices. But like a wave it receded as quickly as it had appeared. All men could be taken by fear in the midst of a shootout; what mattered was which men could take themselves back from it. The outlaw let out a slow breath as he prepared himself for the bear's reaction.

As Kriege stole a glance towards the Pillar of Light, Connor noticed odd movement around the Earth and Water Pillars. Those two champions had been delayed in their entrance and did not at all look prepared for it. Both had appeared out of the blue rather than from the gates behind them, and both had fallen onto the red sand without a shred of grace. As much as Connor wanted to scrutinize the new competitors, he had bigger things on his plate. One big, bulky, hairy thing in particular.

“If you fight as ridiculously as you dress, it should not be much of a challenge, ‘Crackshot.’”

Funny words coming from a furball wearing a tin can, he thought as the bear began his advance. Granted, Kriege did have a point: Connor was not exactly dressed in a manner common to the people of Lore. But he was positioned next to a ferret. If a ferret was capable of being the Champion of Light and did not draw more than a sideways glance from the bear, then surely Kriege could overlook his less-than-traditional garb. But alas, the bear had some pent-up anger that he had unleashed upon the gunslinger in the form of demeaning words. Which meant the bear was angry. Connor could work with that.

As Kriege approached the outlaw pulled one of his bang bulbs from its resting place. He tossed it up in the air with a hint of playfulness. If Connor could get the bear angry and cloud his mind, then the gunslinger's chances would improve significantly. "Depends. Do you consider pink energy ridiculous?" On the last word, Connor caught the bulb by the handle before throwing it full force at the bear. Connor reached for his Peace Maker but did not draw it yet. Maybe he would need his revolver, and maybe he would his Bowie. It depended on if he had succeeded in causing the bear serious harm...or if he only succeeded in making it angrier.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 12
9/16/2014 11:35:00   
Necro-Knight
Member

When Julianna flicked her eyes towards the bear, Rowan nodded, softly. Only together would they be able to bring down the beast. He may even appreciate the help of Connor, albeit not directly, as Julianna's would be. He moved towards her, to both get in close to his ally and close the distance between himself and the beast. As he walked, his blue eyes flicked over to the Earth and Water Gates… The woman from Fountain had not arrived, nor had the Earth Competitor. Instead, less than honorable replacements seemed to have been thrown in as fodder, to simply say that Water and Earth had someone in the Arena at all. Rowan stood by his statement earlier that no one had honor in this Tournament as he neared Julianna. From the sounds of it, the other Competitors had engaged each other or the replacements, but his focus was on the Bear and his ally.

He didn't speak, not knowing how sharp the bear’s ears were, but instead motioned towards its side with his blade. He did not know what Julianna could do, but whatever arsenal of skills she possessed must have gotten her this far, so he’d trust her to make her own offensive decision. Then, letting his sword arm slip to his side and stepping away from Juli by a foot or two, he tapped into his mana pool and rose his shield arm, fingers starting to glow a vivid blue and crackle as both Will and Shadow came together. Spinal pieces formed from his palm, as if they were connected to his arm as their base, and extended out horizontally. One by one, each vertebrae came into existence before finally, a rib-cage spread from the conjoining darkness. His fingers remained spread open as he focused, brow furrowed with concentration. He’d been forbidden summoning in the championship, but a short-term construct was a totally different matter. By now, the skele-struct had gained it’s arms and skull, two long fangs protruding from its top jaw and equally dangerous claws ending its bony fingers.

Satisfied with the state of his construct, Rowan quickly withdrew his palm from the base of the spine and launched the creation at the bear with decent speed. The sudden detachment caused the creature to release an unholy sound, somewhere between a cry of pain and screech for freedom. Even separated from his hand, a thin bolt of shadow still connected the Knights palm to his grim creation and as he rose his shield arm as if to strike at something in front of him, the construct followed it's masters action. It appeared the creation mimicked the movements of its creator through the link, and now, it rose its claws and opened its fanged jaws to tear at flesh, fur or armor, whichever came first. Rowan then saw that a glass projectile was now heading in the bear’s direction as well…A electrical tool from Connor, like the one he’d used against the competitors of Fountain Arena. How convenient.

I wonder if I can add your fur to my armor when this is over, Beast. It would make quite the tale.
DF MQ AQW  Post #: 13
9/16/2014 18:04:57   
blankmaskara
Member


In a single moment, the cold, ominous, hollow place that was the Cellar Arena was replaced by a raging storm of wind and rain, waves crashing onto a shore with only one body. The relic hunter's.

Rudely awakened by one of the crashing tides, Ross pulled himself up, clothes sopping wet. His body shook from the cold.

Where am I?

Eyes flitted from left to right, desperate to gain a bearing on the surroundings. Something told him he knew this place before. This time, even. There was a shore that stretched as far as the eye could see, gusts of wind that screamed in unison with the roar of the rain, both making known the presence of a massive typhoon. Then, far off in the distance, there it was. The burning city.

Frightened, Ross could only stare off into the distant fire, his mind starting to recall certain memories. It was all coming back to him now. As he ran down those cobblestone streets and out into the waters of the pier, all he could see was fear. People shouted, yelled, and wailed in fear as steel cut into flesh, eliciting gurgled cries as the bodies of the victims fell onto the ground, unresponsive. Maniacs and battle-frenzied soldiers set fire to the buildings, to the shops, to the homes, and to the castle. All they wanted to see was the damned city burn and fall filled with blood and flames.

"My, that's quite the spectacle," uttered a womanly voice, distorted and disconcerting, as if underwater.

Confused, Ross looked out towards the sea, hoping to find the source of the voice, then a being of pure water, shaped into the body of a lithe female, burst out.

"Who are you?!" Ross then yelled, attempting but failing to create an orb of pressurized water.

"Do not even think about creating that little bomb toy of yours, Mage. You already know who I am, do you not?" she replied, sitting down into a more regal stance as spiraling jets formed and combined to create a throne for her.

Recognizing the woman, Ross's face twisted into a face of shame and apology. "I apologize, my Lord," he said, settling down to kneel before her.

"Good. Now, understand this. You were not the first choice."

Confused, but not too surprised, he could only nod.

"You lack several of the qualities that I desire, and I need not mention them, nor do I need to touch upon the..ah...delusions you may have had regarding the violet-haired warrior," she continued, seemingly not paying attention to her substitute Champion's grimace. Admittedly, it was an unneeded thought, but, it had to be said. Or spoken in his mind, anyways.

She added, "However, you do have some interesting things about you. And so, with those, I only hope that you put on a great show for Water. If you don't and act like the fool you were back in your younger years when you escaped from this wretched place, well, I just might take it all away. Now, go."

Then, with a wave of her hand, everything went to black.

-----------

Pulling himself up into a prone position, Ross coughed out the sand in his mouth and dusted off the grains that got onto his cloak. And, yet again, his clothes were sopping wet.

Dammit.

His vision gave way to a large arena filled with sand stained with the color of blood, Pillars for each of the Elements jutting out. The other champions were already assembled. There was a large, intimidating armored bear standing at the center conversing with an oddly dressed gunslinger, the formerly deceased blonde motioning to a man clad in black armor, and a ferret(?!) adopting some sort of pose. There were two others as well, namely a dragon-human hybrid and another of the honor-obsessed fools back in the Arena. Suddenly a fireball burst out of the hybrid's palms, aimed towards the Earth spellcaster, who just so happened to send a cloud of sand straight for him.

And here I was, hoping they wouldn't be here. Just one more person going after my throat.

Just then, a dagger spun through the air, heading towards him, accompanied by an "On your feet, Water!" Ross swore solemnly to himself. Now there were two people he had to fight. Just like in the accursed Cellar.

Scrambling to get onto his feet, the relic hunter swatted away the dagger, making a shallow cut on the forearm, although he didn't mind it for now. There were more pressing concerns, he thought, already moving away from his former spot and slightly towards the center, hoping to avoid the cloud of sand. Along the way, an orb of water formed beside him once more. It seemed the mana he had spent on attacking the giantess before he had disappeared had returned, which was interesting.

Let's see how you handle this then, Champion of Fire.

The orb then made a straight beeline for the dragon-human hybrid, although like before it wasn't going to detonate. It was just to test their reflexes, and if they were slow enough (which he doubted they were), then BOOM.

Otherwise, the real attack would wait for later.

Post #: 14
9/16/2014 19:39:44   
Kellehendros
Eternal Wanderer


 Kriege’s eyes narrowed, watching as Connor reached under his nonsensical torso covering, producing what appeared to be some manner of glass vial. The ice bear snorted as he continued forward at a lumbering, two legged walk. His masked opponent flipped the bulb idly, returning the Vastaa’s mocking words with his own verbal riposte. Connor’s hand rose, catching the bulb on its descending arc by the thinner, metal-capped end. His arm tilted back, cocking to throw.

Which was precisely what Kriege had been waiting for. Leaning forward, the Vastaa dropped his not inconsiderable weight onto all fours, and launched himself into a forward charge, his maw opening and unleashing a deep, ursine bellow of challenge. The broken naginata, still clenched in his right paw, made his gait somewhat uneven, but so far as the ice bear was aware, there were no points given for style in the tournament. Connor’s presence in the Finals alone backed that up.

Whether or not the ice bear considered pink energy, whatever that was, to be ridiculous, he charged his adversary, and the odd glass construct sailed in. Luck had been with the Vastaa so far when it came to the ranged assaults of his opponents.

Connor, as with those who had previously attempted to strike the Vastaa from a range, similarly failed to take into account the fact that the ice bear could effectively halve his profile by dropping to all fours, as he did when charging. The tube flipped end over end, sailing harmlessly over Kriege’s back, and crunched into the soft and giving sand. The sand, however, proved to be not quite yielding enough, for the thin glass gave way with a fragile, tinkling pop. That pop, faint and easily swallowed by the cheering audience, was followed by a tremendous thunderclap and a veritable storm of rose-hued lightning. The bolts writhed and lashed, the tentacles of some pink, pelagic monstrosity seeking prey.

The charging Vastaa, paws churning up gouts of rust-colored sand, was closest. A tendril of energy brushed a trailing edge of his chainmail skirts, and then latched on hungrily, feeding itself up and into Kriege’s armor. Electricity surged through the conductive material, leaping and arcing from metal to padding to flesh, causing muscles to seize and jitter. The armored goliath’s charged faltered, his jaws slamming closed with a crack lost in the roar of the crowd. Blood filled his mouth as Kriege bit into his tongue hard, and a chip was driven from one of his fangs as teeth clashed together like the lines of opposing armies meeting.

Kriege blinked several times, assembling scattered thoughts into a coherent order. He had stumbled, crashing to the sand and sliding several feet from sheer momentum, grounding the remaining charge, both electrical and physical, out in the sand. His nose could detect the scent of charred flesh, and unless Makelyth had roasted one of the other competitors, the Vastaa could only assume the smell was his own. In his chest his heart raced unsteadily, but it was calming, and Kriege ignored the slight pain, as well as the reports of tenderness from patches of his charred and inflamed skin.

The ice bear was distantly aware of something scraping and wrenching at his armor. Blinking his dark eyes rapidly, the Vastaa lurched up to all fours and noted the source of the racket. It was some sort of… well, it must have been a human skeleton, though the elongated, clawed digits did not match any human Kriege had previously seen. It had succeeded in little but applying surface scratches to his heavy armor. There was a reason that bone had fallen out of favor as both weapon and armor. Metal was both more enduring, and held a far superior edge to any bone available.

Rearing up, the ice bear swept his left arm at the thing, and then straight through it, his expression contemptuous. The blade mounted to Kriege’s left arm sliced through the skeleton from left hip to right shoulder, moving through the spine along the way, and eliciting a satisfying series of splintering snaps and cracks as individual shadow-bones gave way. The thing flailed for a moment, and then toppled to the sand in two distinct pieces, dissipating into the shadow stuff from which it was constructed. Standing straight once again, the Vastaa drew in a deep, studdering breath, ignoring for a moment the swiftly dissipating line of darkness that he could only assume led from the skeleton back to its umbral master.

Further combat at range augured poorly for Kriege. Thus, rather than remain where he was and continue bandying words with Connor, who obviously held the advantage at a distance, the Vastaa hurled the broken naginata at the masked man’s left leg, and then lurched into another rolling charge, this one angled slightly to the left. The whirling blade was hardly an ideal ranged weapon, but considering the power the ice bear could put behind the throw, it hardly mattered if the blade hit with the cutting edge or not. If Kriege could force Connor, who still stood with his back towards the Pillar of Energy, to his right, the Vastaa would be able to simply overrun and trample the man, much as he had done the odd, blue-skinned man in the Factory Arena.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 15
9/17/2014 18:16:30   
Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...


 Onyx eyes blinked….and the Lightsplitter quivered with suppressed outrage at being ignored. No matter that it had stood tall, hissed as loudly as its vocal emitters could sustain, and had emulated a regal and lethal figure. No matter that it had given all present an opportunity to assault it on the fairest grounds it could cede in spite of its nature - an exposed target abusable at range. Then the outrage bled away as only a mechanical sentience could manage, leaving the F.E.R.R.E.T.’s onyx eyes to rove over those present and contemplate its next moves. Ignoring it would prove a folly for the rest, it only needed to decide how.

Evaluation of the present targets and their analysis as potential threats took brief moments. The construct disengaged from its perch, leaping to its left towards the arena sands. Earth’s entrance had made crevasses within the ground, and the tiny ferret had no desire to play in burrows given this level of competition and threat. Makelyth, that same dragonkin full of arrogance and flame, could play with both of the laggards as he will as far as the Lightsplitter could care. Later, perhaps, it would need strike there.

The first few bounds were awkward, small plumes of sand being kicked up by wasted efforts of its hindpaws before it managed to adjust to the insecure grounds. Then it became more steady in stages, first by landing its hindpaws in the depressions tamped down by its forepaws. Speed picked up, but this was balanced by the Lightsplitter beginning to slalom its strides and present an erratic target for any of the threats present. Even so, the ferret would by no means be all that fast in moving across this arena.

Even as it moved, its considerations continued. Kriege served as a centerpiece for the melee brewing on this half of the arena, and already he and Connor had sprang into action after their earlier staredown moments of banter. It served to give the F.E.R.R.E.T. inspiration. On the one hand, it could approach in the favored tactics of a Waveglider model, and make the Vastaa’s armor its own. The Vastaa’s sheer bulk both cover and shield, while slashing out as opportunities presented themselves by the decisions of the chosen of Energy, Darkness, or even Wind if it judged correctly. Playing a remora to the shark which Kriege would represent, but the Lightsplitter did not enjoy the idea of that plan.

Especially as Connor’s bangbulb erupted into coruscating tendrils of pink-tinged energy. Where Kriege stumbled and ached from the blast’s effects, the ferret would have suffered fused components and compromised systems for such sheer voltage present on the field. A dangerous ranged attack affecting a wide area. The ferret’s eyes narrowed into black slits beneath silver brows.

No, being a remora was neither a Lightsplitter’s style, nor a wise idea. Instead it would have to treat Kriege much as the cavalcade of F.E.R.R.E.T.s would treat an elder wyrm dragon that encroached on the Menagerie’s grounds. Such magnificent and massive threats often attracted the attention of other territorial creatures for sectors around, which would swarm the elder wyrm in vain attempts to bring it down. The F.E.R.R.E.T.s would work with the wyrm for a time, taking down the swarm one by one when opportunities presented themselves all while watching the wyrm for signs of weakness. Scales shorn away near the heart, limps born of torn ligaments or broken bones, or even the onset of sufficient fatigue to give the overlooked constructs their opening. Something larger beasts couldn't utilize or often wouldn't even recognize.

The F.E.R.R.E.T.’s stride quickened, bringing its wide arc of movement up to its full sprinting speed as it continued to flank around the spat between Connor and Kriege. Its shimmer continued to be suppressed as photonic energy continued to be shunted into the crystalline matrices of its blades, and the silk of its robe fluttered gently in the rush of air around it. Already Kriege had recovered, even smashing apart a summoned insult of a construct by the heavily armored Chosen of Darkness. Optimal. Though the ursine terror resumed its charge at Connor, the Lightsplitter had no inclination to be behind the grenade wielder. By the time those two met, the F.E.R.R.E.T. would be ready to pounce upon either...and barring calamity, it would strike the priority target. It would not stand for such a threat as Connor to remain.

Ignore me at your peril, for though small, we F.E.R.R.E.T.s bring death as surely as any living combatant.
AQ  Post #: 16
9/17/2014 22:15:20   
jerenda
Member

Julianna suppressed a grimace when Rowan started heading toward her. That man did not know when to shut up. Pre-battle banter was one thing, but the last thing Julianna wanted was a lengthy debate on tactics. Talk did not mix with battle. Thankfully, Rowan didn’t speak, simply gesturing toward the bear’s side with his weapon. Julianna nodded once and began to move, drawing her blade.

The bear’s armor was very strong. Heavy metal plates covered the majority of his body, with chain and smaller plates covering the joints so he could move. Julianna’s slender blade had no chance of getting past it unless she first attempted to break off the armor itself – a feat that would be easier for Rowan Moonstone’s broadsword and sheer strength than it would be for the Chosen of Wind. The bear’s head was covered by a helmet, but Julianna had no intention of attacking there. Attacking the skull of a bear with a blade was worse than useless, and the chest was too protected to allow access to the heart. No, that was not the way to go.

Instead, Julianna circled around to the back of the bear, moving calmly but purposefully. Her path brought her past the weird shifting something that was the Darkness pillar and toward the space where the Water contestant was dodging a cloud of sand and slinging water orbs toward the scaled monstrosity that apparently represented Fire. Hey… isn’t that…? It was! The water fighter from the Cellar was here. But… when had he arrived? Julianna didn’t know his name, but he didn’t look like a “Captain Ranlae Evensong.” Dripping wet as he was, he didn’t look like much of anything. Julianna shook her head, brushing the mystery aside for later. For now, she simply kept a safe distance from the man, watching him out of the corner of her eye but making it clear that her target was the bear.

As the bear dropped to all fours and began to charge, Julianna stepped up her speed, moving from a walk to a run almost imperceptibly. The motion in the larger Arena started to fade from her consciousness as her battle-focus kicked in. Rowan was doing something creepy with bones to her left, and ahead of her to the right the caped rodent had started to move, but all that wasn’t really as important as the enemy in front of her and the… glass vial… flipping over its back. Wait, what?

The oddly-shaped vial smashed into the sand directly between her and Kriege. Julianna started to slide to a stop, sand spraying up in front of her feet. Pink lightning blossomed from the center of the impact site, and Julianna’s eyes grew wide. She forgot about trying to stop and began frantically backpedaling, kicking sand everywhere. Power poured through her, blurring her movements as her exceptional speed was doubled by magic. She never would have made it without her magic, but as the pink lightning reached the limits of its explosion, Julianna skidded clear.

She landed with a thump on her rear as her magic dissolved, leaving skid marks in the dust. A stray spark bounced up the length of her rapier and stung her hand. She winced, jerking her weapon away from the explosion and transferring it to the other hand so she could flex her hand to prevent it from cramping. It was perhaps the most insignificant injury she’d sustained today, but it stung anyway. It annoyed her. She had taught herself to ignore pain, hunger, exhaustion – anything and everything that might slow her down – but still her body insisted on sending back panicked nerve signals whenever she got the slightest injury. It was ridiculous.

The bear was much worse off, crashing to the ground and sliding a significant distance. Julianna got to her feet warily, watching the electrical explosion collapse into the ground. She didn’t bother dusting herself off, but her bum ached where it had hit the dirt. She ignored it, shifting her rapier back into her dominant hand, just like she ignored the voice whispering “on the condition that you care for it…” in the back of her mind.

An unholy screech echoed somewhere to the right, and a semi-human skeleton came bounding across the sands to throw itself at Kriege. Unfortunately, it attacked him where his armor covered, serving only to prove Julianna’s earlier assumptions about the futility of doing such. The bear rose to a crouch, then onto his hind legs, and struck out at the bone monstrosity with his bladed left arm. His powerful strike cut right through the creature’s exposed rib cage, shattering it like it was nothing. The bear turned disdainfully away from the downed creature, hurling the silver blade it had been carrying at his former opponent and shifting down to all fours again to charge.

Julianna spared a glance for the creature, watching it dissolve into nothingness. That won’t be me, she told herself. Fear wasn’t the right word, for Julianna happily threw herself into combat no matter the danger, but she knew she would need to be careful. It looked like her life might be longer than she had previously anticipated, and she had no intention of living it out with a shattered ribcage. For one thing, she wouldn’t be able to fight.

The thought brought a measure of her old battle-joy back to her, and she smiled, a touch of lunacy entering her eyes. Then she began to run, sword at the ready, directly for Kriege. She couldn’t get through his armor, but his legs were largely unprotected. The best way to bring a bear down was to make him bleed as much as possible, as quickly as possible. If she could get through all that mass to his hamstrings, perhaps she could even hamper his movement. And, hopefully, he would have too much momentum to turn and fight her immediately.

Julianna raised her rapier and went for Kriege’s left knee, which looked partially damaged already. Adrenaline sang in her blood, pushing her body to the limits it had developed over a lifetime of war. And if she lived for a very long time, that meant she could fight for a very long time. She would live, but she didn’t need to live in peace.
AQ DF  Post #: 17
9/18/2014 18:44:04   
Necro-Knight
Member

Rowan cursed himself as the construct was easily cut down without leaving so much as a scratch on the beast. The only luck he had with the mistake was that the beast chose to continue his pursuit of the Gunslinger over the Death Knight. As he lowered his shield arm and shook the rest of the shadow link’s darkness from his fingers, he could do nothing to help Julianna from the Bang Bulb as its power was released. The beast seemed to take the most of the damage from the glass tool and Rowan’s mind started reeling with options as the beast fell for a moment from the electricity.

Julianna was already moving on the beast again, having recovered significantly quickly, which forced a smile onto his face. She was strong, a valuable ally and an even more valuable tool once this was over. Once she agreed to cooperate with him, assuming she did, a little poking and prodding is all it would hopefully take. She seemed to enjoy this combat thing, and he would take full advantage of that. Once he wove the correct web of lies, he hoped he could unleash her upon his enemies outside the Elemental Championship. Though, if she proved to be weaker than the others at any time during this final melee, she’d make a useful sacrifice or decoy...

For now, though, he kept himself from getting too ahead of himself. The battle was gradually moving its way towards the Energy Pillar and if he continued to use his magical abilities without following, he’d be left. As he worked into a step that moved him a little more to the bear’s left side, he drew a much smaller fist-full of mana and the exploding skull formed in his shield-arm’s grip. The dark explosion wouldn't travel through the beast’s armor, but the sudden release of pressure and the chill of the shadow itself just might slow the beast down enough to Julianna to get a follow up strike, if her first was successful.

He rose his shield-arm and let the skull fly, its jaws wide, seeming to grin with a joy for destruction. His pace was not fast enough to keep up with the skull, but as he neared Kriege himself, Rowan whipped his sword arm, the runes flashing a bright violet and the blade suddenly erupting with a black glow that trailed behind the Death Knight. He had yet to use the swords special enchantment this year, and since he couldn’t use the sword's edge, he intended to simply smash the rune-fueled weapon into the bear’s armored neck.

His lips curled and eyes widened as he neared Kriege. So far, he had not wounded, killed or defeated anyone in this melee yet, excluding his indirect move with the Bang Bulb in Fountain. As far as Darkness Champion’s went, he wasn’t doing much for his audience, or VoidStar for that matter. He would show them all how dangerous he was.

I fear no one in this Competition, Kriege. Not you, not Julianna, not Connor…I will show my Lord why I deserve this second chance!
DF MQ AQW  Post #: 18
9/18/2014 20:26:26   
Tdub
Member

Now that is a question: Why is Water not considered Fire's elemental opposite?

The answer was simple, or so it seemed. Lacking a separate opposite for Ice, whoever was in command of such things paired the chilly element against Fire, and placed Water with Energy. However, Makelyth had never had any problems with the cold. Unlike the battles of Earth and Wind or of Light and Darkness, Fire has a relatively easy time plowing through the cold advances of Ice. Yet Fire and Water, two elements whose battles would surely rage on as intensely as a hurricane, were kept apart and "set" against different rivals.

These thoughts were obviously not thoughts to be pondered in this particular circumstance, and yet ponder them he did. For it was with great pleasure that he saw his cerulean-garbed foe was unable to move his body out of the path of the knife in time. Whatever satisfaction he might have felt melted away when the man simply batted away the knife as though it had been a particularly irritating insect. Makelyth could not see the full extent of the damage done to his opponent's forearm, but the knife should have all but severed the limb, and it certainly should have caused more pain than the man was showing. There is obviously more to this foe than meets the eye.

The thought was proven true when the man formed a seemingly liquid orb and launched it toward the prince. The projectile was actually quite similar to Makelyth's own fireballs, and so the logical conclusion was that it would behave in essentially the same way. Not pausing to consider what might happen if he was wrong, the reptilian royal dove into the sands, rolling himself into a position that he could easily rise from. Before getting up, he discreetly reached into the bag at his hip, and grasped at a handful of red sand. The sand's harmful effects had no influence on his scaled hands, and hopefully the Water replacement would simply think he had grabbed some of the Arena sands on a whim.

Briefly, Makelyth glanced at the rest of the Arena, having only a moment to examine the events taking place. Most of the contestants seemed to be converging around Kriege, including the "returning revenant" Rowan, "Crackshot," and Wind competitor Julianna. Still, nothing could be seen of the Light rodent, and the prince could only hope that he did not have a "weasel in his pants," as the rightful Earth Chosen had so aptly stated in the Factory, a fight that seemed as though it had occurred ages ago.

It was then that Makelyth heard the explosion behind him, yet the prince had no time to turn and see if it had resulted due to impact with the Earth substitute or some other object. Without time to consider the outcome of his attack, he continued on his course, rising from the Arena ground to charge at the Water replacement. Once he was in range, he scattered his sands across the man's face, particles flying the short distance between his hand and his target. A moment later, he brought his sword around to slice at the man's midsection. No matter what the being was made of, he could not possibly appreciate a large cut spilling out his innards, and given the man's apparent magical nature, Makelyth doubted his opponent's ability to fight back at close range. After all, mages were often considered to be rather flimsy when it came to hand-to-hand combat.

Water may not be the intended target for Fire. Whether it was the Lords that made such a decision, or simply a tournament official struggling for fitting opposites, the two elements were not "destined" to clash. But the circumstances that had led to this particular battle dictated that, regardless of elemental opposites, Water would surely concede the honor of "rival" onto Fire.

Yes... Kill.
Post #: 19
9/19/2014 0:16:19   
Apocalypse
Member

Idiot idiot idiot IDIOT!

Why would a bear charge on two legs? Seeing one standing upright like a person was an oddity, but Kriege's walk to the center of the arena with the damaged spear in his paw had caused Connor to forget that. The outlaw had thrown the bang bulb at Kriege's chest expecting the massive beast to be unable to dodge to either side in time, but the bear had dropped to all fours, making the target vanish. Connor swore under his breath as he scrambled back. Every inch between the bear and himself would give the gunslinger another moment to counter the bear's assault. Kriege's rumbling roar filled the arena as the bang bulb passed over his large figure in perhaps what was Connor's most pathetic display since his duel with that deep-pocketed landowner, though Connor doubted Kriege would only give him a grazing wound in response. The gunslinger drew his revolver and aimed at Kriege. His Storm Shots had only been able to stun the dead knight for a short period of time; he had no false hope that they would be able to stop a bear in its tracks.

An array of pink light erupted from behind Kriege as the bang bulb unleashed its contents. Lightning flashed and the sound of thunder resonated throughout the battleground. Pink tendrils snaked through the air, striking out at any within their reach. Lady Luck seemed to have changed her tune about the outlaw as one of these managed to latch onto the bear. The flush electricity danced on his armor like a brilliant constellation of twinkling stars. Kriege's charge broke as the beast came crashing down into the sand, his massive bulk pushing sand out of its way for some distance before coming to a halt.

Connor had never before seen such a beautiful storm. Isra had not let him down after all.

The bear, while down, was not even close to being out, but the outlaw had bought himself some time. Time he needed to mark the other combatants. Connor had learned from the Fountain Arena that the tournament was not a duel so much as it was a barroom brawl where at any moment another foe could come swinging. Even as he thought this, the dead knight was creating or summoning some sort of skeletal being. Scratch that, it was a skeleton, and it was heading straight for the downed bear. Good, we kill the bear, then we try to kill each other. Everyone wins. Connor had no trust for the dead knight, but he had hope that they both wanted the bear out of the picture first.

Off to his right, the beautiful woman was getting back to her feet. What had knocked her over? The bang bulb, probably. The outlaw gritted his teeth. Pity it didn't kill her. Just one more to worry about. But Lady Luck continued to smile on Connor as she seemed focused on attacking the armored bear. On the other side of the arena, the other combatants were involved in a fray of their own. Tall neck had unleashed a sandstorm that was heading towards leather coat, dragon-man had launched a meteor at tall neck but was charging leather coat, and leather coat had sent a sphere of water towards dragon-man. With their own rumble well on its way, Connor did not have to worry...

Wait.

Where's the ferret?

A quick glance revealed that the little rodent was no longer by the Pillar of Light. The gunslinger's grasp on the hatchet tightened as energy poured into the weapon, giving it a soft white glow. Each competitor must have their own ace in the hole, but at least Connor had a glimpse into the rest of the cards in their hands from their appearances. The outlaw had no idea what made the ferret dangerous, which made him more of a threat than the other competitors. Another look informed Connor that the ferret was not on its way towards the Champion of Earth. Meaning...

The outlaw swiveled his head to look at the spot behind him and to the left. Sure enough, the ferret in its ridiculous cloth was bounding towards him. Bounding towards with all of the speed a rodent could muster across sand, that is. It was almost a little endearing to see the little guy scampering in little jumps across the arena. Almost. After all, he was still the Champion of Light and therefore, an enemy.

"No you don't," said Connor as he raised his Peace Maker and fired. A few gasps from the crowd followed the bang of the gun, but the gunslinger did not care. He had other things to keep him occupied. Like the bear that had gotten up again.

Whatever thing the dead knight had summoned, it was nowhere to be seen now. Connor pulled back the hammer on his revolver even as he cocked his hatchet hand back. Kriege seemed to have a similar idea with his strange spear, and the two opponents hurled their weapons at each other. Connor had aimed for the bear's head, hoping to catch him in the mouth but not relying on it. So long as the hatchet hit Kriege, it would deliver a shock. The bear was not as finessed in his throw as the twirling blade was aimed for the gunslinger's left leg. Connor jumped to his right to avoid it, but the red sand was less than optimal for fancy footwork. It still took him out of the spear's path, but it was more of a flop to the right than anything else.

As he fell, Connor caught sight of the dead knight rushing to attack Kriege. These two armored behemoths would have quite the tumble if the dead knight crashed into the bear instead of striking him. The corners of the gunslinger's mouth curved upwards into an unseen grin as he shot his next electric bullet towards the black knight before hitting the sand.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 20
9/19/2014 13:03:18   
blankmaskara
Member

Ross could hear the roar of the crowd as his orb sailed straight for its target. They yelled, screamed, and roared for violence. They desired blood, entrails, and flesh strewn across the bloody sands of the Arena for the sake of mindless entertainment. Whether it be from the brawl between the bear and the strangely-dressed gunman with two others joining in, or the fight that was only starting to erupt between the Chosen of Fire, Earth, and Water, their souls yearned for one thing only: carnage.

However, the relic hunter would have none of it, choosing to keep his mind alert. He would not spill his guts for the sake of entertainment. He would never give them that satisfaction. Instead, he would watch and wait for as long as he needed, if that was what it took to survive this living hell that left so many eager, foolish contestants lying dead before any dream could be fulfilled.

As his eyes tracked the dragon-man, it appeared he had quickly rolled off to the side as the bomb barreled towards him, leaving behind a cloud of blood-red sand. He easily dodged the lure that Ross had thrown out at him, confirming his suspicions. The opponent was a quick thinker. However, despite this, the hybrid did not even seem to spare a thought towards the lack of an explosion behind him, pausing for only a few short moments before charging towards Ross.

At the very least, he has no idea about the nature of the orbs yet.

Fingers splayed out, gathering mana for yet another spell. If the half-man half-dragon (I should probably ask him his name.) was running towards him for another strike, then the simple answer would be a burst of water straight at him, with the orb trailing the opponent from behind, detonating at just the right time to make sure he would get hit by the blast.

However, of course, it wouldn't be that easy. It was the Finals, after all.

A scaled hand then threw out a handful of red sand, presumably to blind his opponent. It seemed simple enough to counter in Ross's mind at least, and so he raised his arm in defense, keeping his eyes and face from being enveloped by the tiny grains. But, instead of the sensation of dry specks of sedimentary rock landing on skin, all that was felt was a madly burning pain, urging him to scream in pure torment as the deceptively dangerous particles melted through flesh.

"Damnthi--"

Recoiling from the agony inflicted upon him, Ross's eyes saw a flash of iron descend upon him, as if it were the scythe of the reaper itself.

I'm not going down like this.

The mage forcibly shot his arm out, grasping the incoming blade by the palm. The burning sensation from the sand still lingered, and he could already feel blood start to trickle out. Everything hurt terribly. His flesh was being eaten away, hand on the receiving end of a slash that should've cut it cleanly in half were it not for the experiments conducted on him. All the pain he experienced, he simply brushed aside through through gnashed teeth, then pulled his foe by the sword wedged into his hand, thrusting his fist towards his foe with all his strength, aiming for a gut shot.

You want to fight in close combat? Fine, but I'll make sure to beat you into a bloody lifeless sack of scales and pulverized flesh, even if it means getting myself cut all over along the way.

< Message edited by blankmaskara -- 9/21/2014 19:11:00 >
Post #: 21
9/19/2014 20:29:26   
Kellehendros
Eternal Wanderer


 Kriege was somewhat surprised when Connor made the same mistake a second time in so short a span. The strangely dressed man had produced what appeared to Kriege to be some manner of throwing axe, whipping the glowing blade at the Vastaa even as the armored ice bear hurled the naginata. The charge that Kriege fell into caused the hissing, snapping weapon to pinwheel uselessly over his head, cartwheeling off into the Arena at large.

To make matters better, the man threw himself in an ungainly sideways motion, taking himself away from the improvised projectile. He landed hard on the sand after his rightward jump, taking himself directly into the charging Vastaa’s path. That would prove unfortunate for Connor. Kriege’s heavy tread, combined with the extra weight of his armor, would mean definite injury to the Chosen of Energy, should one of those paws come down on him as his prone position was overrun by a half-ton of ursine momentum.

It was about that time that other matters transpired, pressing themselves rudely upon Kriege’s focus. He snarled as a line of fire traced across his left shin, and then something hammered into his armored side. The armored goliath could feel a chill emanating from the point of impact, though the force of the blow only made him stutter-step to keep from losing his footing. Kriege was born of the cold lands, and had spent most his life on the glaciers and tundras. It would take more than a little cold and a flesh wound to slow him down.

The Vastaa dug his claws into the sand, killing his forward momentum in a short, turning skid, twisting his hips and bearing down. Connor would be getting a reprieve, for a moment, as there were others vying for Kriege’s attention. Those others were the black-clad knight and the slender swordswoman, whose flimsy blade was slicked with the ice bear’s blood.

Rowan’s sword coruscated with eldritch light as the man swung the weapon flat-on at Kriege’s thick neck. In reply, the Vastaa hunched his broad shoulders. Enchanted metal met chain and plate with an clashing series of pings and pops, individual links shattering under the force of the blow, while others were hammered into fur and flesh. Kriege was distantly aware of the pain, but it was an annoying and minor input, easily ignored; Kriege had spent a lifetime enduring discomfort.

There was a sharp, heavy concussion from somewhere nearby, but Kriege ignored it. Taking the offensive, the Vastaa hunched his left shoulder further, angling the spikes of his pauldron inwards to trap the Chosen of Dark’s blade in the joint between his shoulder and neck. While Rowan had demonstrated commendable strength in his blow, he was as much a victim of physics as any other competitor might be. The pressure against the blade would make it next to impossible for the knight to pull the blade out. From there, leverage would see to the matter.

Arching his body, the Vastaa applied pressure, forcing his body against the trapped blade, up and to the left, intending to force Rowan to release the weapon. Rather than roar or bellow in anger at the intrusion, Kriege simply laughed, his blood singing. If the Chosen of Dark refused to relinquish his blade… Well, that would leave him well within grabbing-range of the ice bear, who had already demonstrated how poorly that could end on Kai back in the Factory Arena.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 22
9/21/2014 12:56:00   
Ryu Viranesh
Member

Its approach was noticed, this much was immediately apparent to the construct's baleful, onyx eyes. The Chosen of Energy's motions were far too smooth and practiced to be the reactions of someone caught in the mix of shock and anxiety that most beings would call surprised. Unawares would be the truth, but such an opportunity had not arisen for the cautious F.E.R.R.E.T. Instead it faced a rising metal barrel with attached cylinders, whose purpose was clear even if the technology was not one which it could reference by memory. Lethality would be unleashed, and the construct would not want to be in the line of fire.

​Even having adjusted for the sand, however, the ferret's reaction speed would exceed what the terrain would allow. Knowing this, relays snapped and crackled as a backup plan was derived from the available information. The snap of recoil taking hold of the gun, seen fractions of a fraction of a second before the shot boomed into the arena, signaled the race against time even as the F.E.R.R.E.T. landed its last bound. Moving in the high gear achievable even faster by machinery than adrenaline, its forepaw lashed out upwards to release the clasp of its new robe turned cloak. Momentum caused it to part from the metallic fur it had shielded, and the passage of air flung it wide as it fluttered ahead and in the way of both sight and the shot itself.

​Recoil was something that the F.E.R.R.E.T. also commanded, not just a province and side-effect that the "Crackshot" alone had in his arsenal of issues and tricks. Knowing that the cap alone would do nothing, should do nothing, the construct arched it's back and sprang just off of contact with the ground before firing off a Scatter blast from one of the blades held tight in the fingers of its right paw. Unlike its stunt back in Factory Arena, the F.E.R.R.E.T. did not absorb the recoil in full directly with its body, but instead bled some of the recoil via an angle, causing it to twist with the rapid yet controlled nature. The resultant combination threw it upwards and slightly back, long ferretine body twirling with the grace of an ice skater launched into a multiple axle spin. As it cleared the ground, it finally saw the actual shot that had been fired.

​Though the view the construct had was a series of spinning snapshots, the ferret was capable of extrapolating at least a moderate understanding of what had occurred. The shot itself, unsurprisingly, was made almost purely of elemental Energy, but it was far from a simple projectile. Scorched patches of sand formed spider leg strands of glass where arcs of energy must have leapt off along unseen guides or, perhaps, feelers. With sand being such a variable conductor, even so heavily impregnated with iron from centuries of spilled blood, the feelers must have scrabbled without finding enough purchase to ground out the full charge. An interesting potential benefit for the F.E.R.R.E.T. The metallic clasp of the cape still took the brunt of the electric fury, the charm heating and fusing into an unrecognizable lump of metal that scorched itself free of the silken material, which smouldered slowly into ash and cinders.

​As metallic fur rustled in the breeze of its passage through the air, the F.E.R.R.E.T. came to the realization that it was not content to continue to dart in and be shooed away by the advantage of range and reach being displayed by both Connor and Sir Moonstone. It was time, it felt, to up the ante and prove that this ferret had more than just longer claws. It too could reach out and leave a mark. As it spun, the long blades of its trench knives redoubled their glow and shine. Throwing its forepaws wide, those harsh white blades became a blur of afterimages burning into the retinas of the least conscious, a buzz saw of light around the axis of the rodent. Then it reached its apex, a manageable six feet and change in the air, before the F.E.R.R.E.T. unleashed the last ability in its arsenal.

​Unlike the smaller blades, the longer trench knives had a different crystalline structure as emitters of scattered bursts. Rather than droplets of liquid light that burst forth from the pawclaws, prismatic lances formed into coherent beams. The lasers slashed through the air, banded strands with every hue of color borne of splitting light. The entire melee surrounding Kriege would find itself under threat from such beams, though their capability of damage would be minimal...but the construct was in an extremely good descending arc for striking at eyes. The threat was not to skin, which at best might turn red and irritated like a light sunburn, nor to any gear. Sight. So important for any competitor present, and the beams threatened to take it away. The cohesion as likely as not would fade before reaching out further towards Makelyth and the others, but all the F.E.R.R.E.T. needed was one crucial moment and the melee could well be placed under its tempo.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 23
9/21/2014 14:20:00   
Necro-Knight
Member

The Death Knight had seen Connor turn to attack at the small Light Competitor before turning his attention to Rowan and his frustration gave way to anger. The Gunslinger had been the one to draw the bear towards them and now he turned his attention to Rowan, of all people? He would have easily worked with the man to defeat Kriege, and now he was trying to kill his own potential allies. Despite this, Rowan still knew he couldn't forsake the option of Connor’s possible usefulness. Everyone could be a useful tool, he had learned over the years, even enemies. As the shot rang out, Rowan repeated the same defensive move he had used in the fountain. Raising his shield, he formed his shadow-claws once again to diffuse the shot the best he could, the only difference from Fountain Arena was that he only formed the claws on his shield arm, as to conserve what little mana he had. The energy coursed through the metal of his shield and bit at his arm again, even through the second layer of solidified darkness. The arm didn’t go limp, but he knew using his shield arm was going to be sorely difficult following this.

It was now that he had come within striking distance of the beast and swung, ignoring the pain in his left side the best he could. He’d heard his throwing Skull impact and detonate, as a snarl that must've been from Julianna's blade finding flesh, given his skull had not warranted such a reaction. Even with the solid impact of his RuneSword, with its enchantment behind it, failed to truly injure the beast.

What on Lore is it going to take to kill you!?

The son of Swordhaven didn't have time to truly think of something before the beast moved its body and gripped his sword tightly within its pauldron and body armor. He didn't need to tug on the sword to know it was lodged tight. Kriege then moved to lurch the blade free of Rowan’s grip. If he released it, he was giving up one of his best weapons, but also avoiding being pulled into the beast’s reach. If the bear wished to keep Rowan’s blade from him, he would need to keep his body in the odd position it was in, making attacking difficult.

Rowan released the blade and took a step back before he realized…Connor was still nearby, with at least a few shots left in his firearm. One or two should be enough to wound the bear enough for any of them to finish the task of killing it. Rowan was going to take a very large risk here, but he spoke anyway, voice sharp and direct. If Connor chose to attack him instead of the bear again, Rowan would very much be in a tight situation, but the Gunslingers wisest move would be to attack Kriege and drop one of the most dangerous Competitors of the Melee.

“Connor, shoot the beast now while I have it’s attention! We can settle our score once it’s dead!”

To add to the attack that he hoped would come, Rowan rose his shield arm, where he still had the claw of darkness surrounding his fingers, despite the pain still echoing through his muscles. The darkness quickly coalesced in his palm, glowing a bright violet and deep onyx as Rowan clawed his fingers over and forced the shadows into a volatile state. Spreading his fingers out now, he released the shadows and with a snap-hiss that echoed through the Arena, the Death Knight let the darkness stream towards the bear’s head. When condensed into such a state, Darkness’ chilling properties became far more dangerous and the energy itself became far more powerful upon impact. Even with the armor, Rowan hoped it would be enough to stun the beast.

Something bright and small then caught his eye as he channeled the darkness towards Kriege. The Light was brilliant, extremely so, and he wished to simply turn away so his sensitive eyes didn't develop a spot from the light. Unfortunately, he dared not take his eyes from the beast in front of him, and he was actually glad he'd relinquished his sword to the Bear. He brought his free hand up, doing his best to curve it over the side of his head facing the tiny Light Competitor. When the beams lept free from it, one swept across his hand and just narrowly caught the side of his chin, causing the Knight to wince from the soft sting, but he was otherwise unharmed for the moment.

I already hate you for using Light as an element... The Light is a foul, lying element...Making promises more empty then the Void!

< Message edited by Necro-Knight -- 9/21/2014 16:35:52 >
DF MQ AQW  Post #: 24
9/21/2014 18:35:12   
Tdub
Member

No.... No, not now! Anywhere, anytime but now!

As the heat of combat gradually dragged his inner demons from whatever hole they lived in, Makelyth realized how dangerous the voices could be. He needed all of his wits, and he could not afford to be blinded by hatred or rage. Still, the echoes of antagonistic snarls rebounded through his skull, demanding that he slaughter the Water mage and feast on the remains. It was still faint, and not at all close to his lapse of reason in the Factory, yet the prince put all of his focus into holding the murmurs at bay.

That focus disappeared when his blade suddenly stopped its swing. As predicted, the mage had not bothered with avoiding the sand, and the scream that came as a result was satisfying, to say the least. However, his blade coming to a screeching halt was somewhat less so, and Makelyth once again marveled at how a strike that should have been damaging was simply shrugged off by the man as though it were a scratch.

Somehow, the situation became worse as Makelyth realized the man still had a grip on the sword, and the prince felt himself being pulled forward. There was no time to react, no time to fight back, and barely enough time to twist slightly to the right. That gut instinct is what saved what could be considered his gut. It was too late to avoid the punch aimed at his midsection, but by shifting his position, the strike hit off-center. Still, Makelyth stumbled backwards, jerking his blade from his opponent's hand.

The first thing he truly felt was an overwhelming urge to vomit. His head still spinning, the prince forced the bile back down his throat, and assessed the damage. His scales had absorbed a good bit of the blow, and his reaction had probably saved his internal organs. Still, the punch had caused a great deal of pain, far more than should have been possible. At best, he would wake up tomorrow with an enormous bruise and major aches and pains. At worst, there was internal bleeding and ruptured organs. Even though his reptilian curse allowed for a higher tolerance of pain, it would be difficult to move quickly in the near future. But that will NOT stop me from trying! Kill him, burn him, slash, blast, stab, bite, scratch, hit, maim, KILL!

No. Not all. Just enough.

The voice of clarity echoed through the darkness, forcing the voices back. But they were not gone, as they had been before. Instead of allowing them to encompass him, Makelyth let the rage trickle through, providing fuel for his fires and drowning out the pain at his midsection. The voices, however evil they may be in nature, had somewhat of a point. This human obviously had an abnormally high pain tolerance, not to mention incredibly strong skin or bones. Normal means of killing likely would fail, and that left only one thing to do.

Push him to his breaking point.

How much pain could he handle? At what point does a blade go from an irritating cut to unbearable agony? Makelyth was going to find out, one way or another, what made this man absorb the blows.

And then he was going to break him.

He had obviously been wrong about the man's melee capabilities, so Makelyth kept his distance this time. Just as he had done twice before, Makelyth forced the heat to surge through his body, once again culminating at his hand. This time, however, the fireball would be different. This one would not explode as much as the previous two had, but would be more focused on damaging a specific target, in this case the chest of the mage. Makelyth brought his hand forward, and the fireball sailed, a bit smaller than his previous projectile conflagrations. If the man did not dodge, the prince would see how if would affect the man, especially if his clothes caught fire. If he did dodge, Makelyth would be waiting with his blade.

The question was whether or not his mental war would hinder his ability to fight the mage. It seemed that the man was quite capable of holding his own, up close and at a distance, so Makelyth would have a hard time getting an advantage anywhere. That meant that keeping every ounce of mental strength he had was not optional.

And that mental strength was in great danger of failing.
Post #: 25
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