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=Elemental Championships 2008= Spike Arena

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7/16/2008 22:27:10   
Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...


 It has been a long year since the last Elemental Championship, but the Championship Arena Complex did not show signs of age, but rather on the contrary - it grew, and along with it, just a hill and a spring with a weary wooden bridge over it away, grew the township...now more of a city...of Bren. The vicinity of the Arena has done it much good - apart from the great crowds -- and thusly business -- it brought it during the Championship itself, just the presence of such a building carried the township's name far over the lands. There came adventurers of many sorts, and the burgeoning four inns of Bren were never short of business, there came priests of the Elemental Lords, building shrines and churches and granting it divine protection not from one, but from all the Lords, and there came many, many artisans to maintain the four offshoot Arenas around the First Arena now used exclusively for Finals, and craft the minor alterations that seemed necessary from year to year.

The would-be combatants, either just arriving, or having taken a night's rest either at an inn or at the small camp of tents at the base of the Arena hill, would get to see the artisans' handiwork soon enough, right after the priests and mages within them finish their last checks on the protective barriers and image transportation enchantments for the gathered crowds.

~~~

The Spike Arena was rightfully so called, and one of the magicians now leaving it chuckled softly on how the protective spells were best cast upon to combatants rather than the crowd, at least to assure the former would live long enough to provide a spectacle for the latter.

The huge metal gate - a trademark of the Arena Complex, no doubt - now open, the contenders could now peer through and see what sort of obstacles lied in wait for them within.

Of the four Arenas, the Spike one was the most gruesome to behold, with an interior, both floor and slightly tilted spike-covered walls made completely out of a cold blue metal, one which, as they've been instructed before, was non-breakable by either magic or force. There were miniature channels at where the floor connected to the spikey walls, with even smaller holes along them, leading to who knows where - a moment's thought would reveal that this was indeed a sewage system for nothing else but blood!

The plentiful spikes which lent the Arena its name were all made of the same metal, and each at five feet in length, attached firmly to the walls they stood perpendicular to - thusly being at an upwards angle to the ground itself. The only four spikes not at the walls lay still at the bottom of a very large - yet again, metal - pillar, to its top they were attached by a lengthy chain. There was an inscription on the pillar, which would reveal to anyone who bothered to circle it and read it all, that there was a featherweight enchantment on all the four spikes, which would make them weigh but a tenth of what they would normally, making them a very much usable, if a tad unwieldy, weapon. But there was more! If the spike's surface was to come in contact with bone of any sort, its reduced weight effect would either be reversed, making the spike ten times as heavy instead of ten times as light, or would be turned into a levitation enchantment, which would then make ten times the spike's weight fly straight up into the sky at an instant. There was no way to know exactly what would happen, and there was even less to know for those who never did bother to read the warning - but for both of these, the massacre that was the Elemental Championship was about to begin.

The sun hovered above the metal pillar, making it look as some sort of an odd... altar? pedestal?

Mausoleum?

Worse yet...an abattoir?

...all would hope that it would not be theirs, but people -- people were known to make mistakes.

< Message edited by Ronin Of Dreams -- 7/17/2008 0:01:55 >
AQ  Post #: 1
7/17/2008 0:30:15   
TormentedDragon
Member

He walked forward, slowly, limping, dressed in rags and bandages, leaning heavily upon his staff. A battered hilt extended from an equally battered sheath, tied to his waist by a fraying rope. His bandages, where visible, were everywhere, on his legs, his arms, and even around his head, with only one bloodshot eye visible. They are soiled, brown in some places, black in others, and obviously stiff with blood. The man was barely able to walk, but yet he headed for the wide open gate, drawing puzzled glances from those who bothered to notice him. He said nothing, but simply kept walking, until he reached the threshold of the gates themselves. There he halted.

His eye swept the arena, with its spikes, and its metal, and its promise of death and dismemberment, and his right hand, which was missing a couple fingers, slipped down to the rather large flask which also hung from his rope of a belt. It did not fit with the rest of him: he presented a picture of a man on his last legs, and the flask was a thing of beauty; a masterpiece in hues of blue, ranging from the ocean depths with their tint of green to the azure of the summer sky, and worked over with a wondrous glaze. There was no mere stopper upon the flask, but a lid as beautiful as the vessel itself, and sealed with a band of gold, etched with arcane symbols. A small, sad smile lifted the corners of his lips, and he carefully, almost lovingly, unhooked it from his belt.

A shout from behind him made him stiffen, and the smile disappeared. Swiftly, but carefully, he lifted the flask with both hands, the staff falling to the ground as he released it. He drew back, and threw, the precious work of art sailing through the air to strike the metal pillar, where it rebounded and fell, clattering and spinning, to the floor of the arena. The gold band, somehow split as it entered the arena, went sailing off in another direction, leaving the lid unsealed, but still in place.

Angry men grasped the battered vagrant, and hauled him away, leaving those who had watched puzzled, and in some cases, amused. It was already getting interesting.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 2
7/17/2008 1:52:06   
Guardian of Nekops
Member

At the outskirts of the City of Bren, where the lawns were still large and lush, a heavy iron boot struck the road. It came seemingly from nowhere, and was soon followed by its owner; a large man wearing a still larger suit of armor. Dark steel of a rough texture covered him from the neck down, great masses of it gathering at the shoulders, chest, and back for seemingly no reason whatsoever. The metal bulged out also around his arms and legs, but thinned to a mere couple of inches before reaching the joints. The armor resembled nothing so much as the muscular body of a rock golem, and its sheer bulk was fearsome to behold. If the armor alone was not enough, the massive battleaxe in its gauntlets should have inspired absolute terror… but the man who bore this frightful equipment could not be feared. His features were honest and open, and the smile on his bearded face was that of a simple craftsman headed to worship his Lord in the temple. For this man’s name was Roch, and he was doing exactly that.

Although he had access to a portal and could have begun his journey much closer to the Arena, Roch had chosen this distance carefully. The armor was no great burden to him, massive as it was, and a good stroll would do wonders to loosen up his muscles before the coming battle. More importantly, though, he wanted to relax; this day might be his last, and he did not wish it to contain nothing more than strife and blood and death. He enjoyed in turn the quiet of the suburb and the bustle of the city, took in the quiet thumping of his great heart against the inside of his breastplate. He smiled to himself as he remembered the design, the thin tracks of Earth-touched metal running through the steel like tiny ley lines, meeting over his beating heart. Though there was little difference between the god-forged steel and the surrounding metal, the private symbol of devotion pleased him.

It was only when he reached the swarms of vendors and crowds of spectators surrounding the Complex that he began to turn his mind to the coming battle. Reaching under his arm, he withdrew the helmet that he had been carrying there and set it solemnly on his head, transforming his friendly visage into a rough, angular skull that completed his armor’s fearsome look. His smile changed, still visible beneath the helm, from a gentle curve into a confident grin. He was the Crusher once more.

As he approached the gate of Spike, Roch came upon a group of men hauling away a defenseless old tramp, jeering at him as they walked. Gripping his weapon in both hands, he placed himself in their path and stood there, towering over them. They stopped suddenly when one of their number ran into the great metal breastplate, ceasing their abuse of the old man to stare up at the warrior in confusion and not a little dread. He sneered at the pathetic little gang and sent them scattering with a feint before entering the arena, stepping carefully around the poor old man on his way. He smiled as he entered, knowing he had done at least one worthwhile thing this day.

Roch scanned the arena he knew so well, seeing no threats that had not been there two years ago. Not that Spike Arena needed more, mind… he knew from experience that the spikes surrounding him were easily capable of piercing his armor, and he planned on staying clear of them this year. At least there was no mist…

Stepping away from the Gate and the spiked walls to either side of it, Roch clapped the hand that carried Impact to his armored heart with a loud clang. Bowing his head slightly and closing his eyes, he whispered, “For you, my Lord.”
AQ  Post #: 3
7/17/2008 2:32:13   
damselindigital
Member

Enya began the morning by treating herself to a rather large breakfast. Settling down in a comfortable chair, wearing only her white shift in which she slept, she tucked in quite happily to a full meal of bacon, eggs, ham, milk and orange juice. Of course, she had very little idea of what it actually was she consumed, but it certainly tasted delicious. A welcome change of pace to a palate that was accustomed to the limited fare of the Arctic Plateau, she was pleased to note. Not only that, but it was a touch of extra strength for the trials that were to come.

After fully devouring the meal, she pushed her chair back from the small wooden table and began a regimented set of stretching exercises. Those that were accustomed to individuals with a little extra bulk would likely be surprised by the range of motion she was capable of, but luckily for her there were none yet to witness this particular trick of hers. It was, in fact, exactly why she spent almost the entirety of her remaining gold from the trip to Bren in order to secure a private room at one of the city’s inns. The large breakfast, too, was no coincidence.

When she felt her body was ready for the events of the day, she began to dress. Several layers of clothing were ultimately donned, including thick hide boots and a fur-lined jacket that reached down to mid-thigh and served to hide the dagger sheathed on the belt encircling her ample waist. Beneath her coat too were secreted a half-dozen bolas in various pouches for ease of retrieval and over it all she slung what appeared to be a cross between a quiver and a sheath, which held inside a score of short spears.

Striding confidently over to the room’s small mirror, she gazed at what the reflection revealed. Dark brown eyes stared into her own as she raked her shoulder-length hair back through her fingers and secured it with a leather thong. She reached up to poke at some of the wrinkles that were around her eyes and mouth, trying to smooth the skin out with her fingers in the vain hope that this treatment would somehow make them vanish. A sigh was the only result, as it had been for every day of more than a decade in which she had tried it. The creases in her skin still remained. Attempting to give herself a confident smile, to her eyes, it still came off as a little shaky.

“Come on, girl. You can do this. You can show them all that no up-start young knave is going to steal your spot as the greatest and most reliable Flamekeeper in the lands. They’ll see you’re still in your prime. And then you’ll finally get some of those fine suitors of hers.”

This last comment, spoken aloud, made her grin and giggle much akin to a young child at play. A rosy blush even colored her cheeks and she nodded to herself much more confidently.

“Here we go.”

Stepping out of her room, which she locked behind her, she greeted the innkeeper before moving to the exit. Her eyes went wide. Never before had she seen so many people. Even the day before, when it seemed the town was bustling with more individuals than she had ever thought to see in her lifetime, was nothing compared to the population gathered for the morning of the event. They milled about in a fashion she could not find the pattern to, some darting through groups she didn’t think there was room to even breathe in. Others walked so closely together, she didn’t understand how they possibly were able to keep bumping into one another with every step. How they could even fathom where they were walking was beyond her.

Enya’s first challenge had come early. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she stepped out of the doorway and into the throng. Unlike those who were used to such situations, Enya proceeded along something like a rock caught in the run-off stream on the few days of summer where it became warm enough for the snow to actually melt. By the time she reached the arena in which she had been assigned, she figured she had collided with, and subsequently made heart-felt apologies to, every person alive in the world. Twice.

Gloved hands on knees, she bent over and caught her breath. When she finally felt composed enough to look up, she noted a heavily armored warrior had already arrived before her, despite her early rising. Perhaps, however, he would allow her some time to take in the arena before making an attack. It was the beginning of the game, after all, and she was certain more challengers would appear. She kept him in mind though, that which her initial glance revealed along with his positioning within what would soon become battlegrounds.

Stepping quietly into the arena, she took in the spikes almost as large as she was, uncertain what they were made of. Running a hand over one told her nothing further and only served to increase her puzzlement. She could not tell if it was a metal of some sort or another substance she had never heard of. Whatever it was, she figured, it likely had to do with the earth that slumbered so far beneath the ice of her own lands. It was something she would have to be wary of.

She preceded further inside and began to circle the central pillar, stepping over a bottle which she attributed to an overly excited spectator and taking in the inscription. Gently she touched the monolith with a gloved hand, and smiled. It was the work of a thought and a slight flicker of her internal flame to mark it as her own. Invisible to the eye, nothing would come of it for now. Yet should she need it, it would serve as a focal point, drawing all magic she wished directly into it. She would wait, here by the pillar with the intriguing inscription, for the time being. More would come and she wanted to witness their arrivals.

Still, she figured, there was no need to be rude. Hands encircling her mouth in order to better focus the sound, she called over to the warrior who looked more monster than man.

“Good luck to you!”

< Message edited by damselindigital -- 7/17/2008 2:38:24 >
AQ  Post #: 4
7/17/2008 3:40:52   
Guardian of Nekops
Member

At the sound of quiet footsteps on the metal behind him, Roch turned with a couple of clanking steps to see just about the last thing he expected... a middle-aged woman, rather plump, and dressed for a blizzard. He watched his competition carefully, wary for any hostile move on her part. To his surprise, she gave him no more than a glance and nearly turned her back to him in order to touch one of the spikes on the wall. A smile formed on his lips despite his efforts to fight it as she wandered away from the arena's edge, passing him on her tour and making her way over to the central pillar, with its dangling spikes and odd inscription. He was amused both by her innocence and by his own, since any two normal gladiators would be at each other's throats by now. She, however, had expected him to be civil, and amazingly he was one of the few who would actually comply.

When the woman looked up at the column and placed her hand on it like Roch had seen tourists do to castles, the Crusher persona gave way completely as he began chuckling to himself. His amusement grew even further as she cupped her hands around her mouth like a child and yelled to him to wish him luck. He bellowed back, "And also to you!" His good humor was evident in his voice, but not in such a way as to give the lie to the lumbering bow he offered her. Odd she may be, but the woman was still a competitor, and no less worthy of respect for all her naiveté.

< Message edited by Guardian of Nekops -- 7/17/2008 3:41:14 >
AQ  Post #: 5
7/17/2008 10:30:40   
TormentedDragon
Member

The flask shuddered, then rocked, and then began to roll, turning in a wide circle as it moved in haphazard fashion. Its motion brought it nowhere, but it grew more steady, until finally it no longer turned, and sped straight for a wall. It struck the metal and rebounded with a clang, bouncing once, twice, and then rolling to a stop, though it continued to spin. The spin grew faster, and faster, until the flask was nearly upright, and then it began to slow, reversing the process, until finally the long neck came back to rest upon the ground.

It lay still for a moment, and then the lid burst off, unleashing a gushing torrent of water, which began to spread across the floor as water was wont to do. As time passed, the current did not ebb, but simply continued to gush from the mouth of the flask, and the water began to contract, which was decidedly odd behavior for the substance. It built itself up, layer piling on top of layer, until began to take on shape. The last of the water exited the flask, sucked into the rest of it, and the entire thing took on color.

The color resolved its shape, giving definition to it, and 'it' became 'her.' She lay curled upon the metal, face down, with long, flowing tresses of iridescent hair lying across her like a blanket. She rose, slowly, hair falling across half her face but nevertheless revealing soft, delicate features and eyes of purest blue. She wore just barely enough, a wrap of green around her breasts and over her pelvis, which only served to increase the overall effect. She was, it seemed, designed to entice the male mind, and did so very well.

Now sitting, she looked about her, a confused expression on her face, and fear evident in her eyes. Any onlooker could tell that she knew nothing of where she was or why she was here, and at that moment, she appeared eminently vulnerable. Her lips formed a word, but the sound did not come, not at first. And then it was as if she had spoken in their ears, as both combatants and audience heard her quavering plea. "Faradh?"
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 6
7/17/2008 11:35:16   
The Dragon Knight
Member

On first glance, Torrelle did not seem like the kind of man who spent his mornings at the temple, spending that time in quiet contemplation. He also did not seem like the kind of man who would donate generously to such a place. To the casual observer, the man seemed greatly out of place, kneeling at the altar, head bowed, his palms resting flat against the floor. The action itself was not out of place, of course, what with this place being the Temple of Water, but rather the man himself. This was not his home temple, after all, and his reputation had yet to carry this far.

The quiet mutterings of a prayer could barely be heard, the words uncatchable by mortal ears. That was fine, however, for it was not the ears of a mortal that they were intended to reach. The prayer ended, and a moment later Torrelle, the Maelstrom of the Western Seas, lifted his head from his chest.

Half-hidden as he was in this early morning gloom, the temple filled with stretching shadows, he seemed more like a thief to the random passerby. The silver studs on his leather armor caught the golden strands of light as they came through a window, reflecting them in a twinkling fashion. Of his face, only his eyes could be seen at this point, draped as he was in shadow. Piercing orbs of grey, the color seemed to swirl and collide with itself, like a raging storm at sea.

The man gathered himself up and slowly stood, his frame cracking and snapping as if he had been kneeling for hours. Only the temple Priests knew that this was, actually, the case. As he stood, he turned and stepped away from the altar, into the light itself. The face that was revealed was scarred, one long, jagged gash running horizontally across his brow, while another intersected it above his left eye, and ran vertically down, over the eyelid, to his chin. His short-cropped platinum hair seemed almost to glow in the sunlight, as if absorbing the very essence of power. The countless silver studs on his armor reflected the rays in a dazzling display, making him look like he was covered in precious diamonds, light set against the blackness of his leather.

Completely ignorant of this visual display, Torrelle inhaled deeply, a broad grin cracking his scarred visage as he turned and gave a parting wave to the head priest. His step full of light-hearted confidence, he made his way unhurriedly towards the temple doors.

Outside of the temple, the city had shaken off its slumber. She was dressed in her best finery, colorful streamers and banners strung above the streets, paper balloons rising slowly into the air, the sound of children laughing and playing mingling with the heavy buzz of thousands of tourists, merchants, thieves, warriors and residents as they moved about the crowded streets. Over the course of only a few short years the small town had swelled to a bustling city, attracting all manner of, well, attractions. Torrelle couldn't help but feel that the atmosphere resembled a festival more than a busy marketplace.

As he paced casually through the streets, he closed his eyes, a smile on his lips as he took in the scent of freshly baked cinnamon buns from a nearby stall. The mouth watering scent was almost enough to cause him to stop, but he knew that he had already had his meal, and too much in his belly would only weigh him down where he was headed.

He took his time examining the various wares of the merchants, perusing them with a keen eye for forgeries and fakes, as well as quality. There was a lot of good merchandise on display here, he thought. Pirate though he was, he was a pirate mostly to those who preyed on merchants such as these, the mostly honest, hard working people of the city, who risk their lives with their cargo in an attempt to earn a modest living. Torrelle took great pride in his reputation as a gentleman pirate, hunting down the ruthless fleets that infested the western seas like a plague of bilge rats.

Giving a final nod to an emerald merchant whose craftsmanship he had been admiring, the young Pirate Lord turned on his heel and began to move with a greater sense of purpose towards the distant arenas. It was time, he had decided, to face the task he had come here to fulfill. His mind went over the conversation with head Priest back home, on distant shores. He pondered the meaning of the cryptic message, and wondered if winning this tournament would really grant him the power he needed to put an end to the threat that stalked his shores.

Shrugging to himself, a wry grin on his lips, Torrelle pushed the thoughts from his mind as he wound his way towards the Spike arena. Once he entered those gates, it would no longer matter. He was Torrelle, The Maelstrom of the Western Seas, Pirate Lord and devoted follower of the Lord of Water. This was his chance to show his Lord just how grateful he was for the generosity and kindness that had been bestowed upon him over years at sea. If he died doing so, well..... he would be satisfied.

His pulse quickening, his feet increasing their pace, he began to feel the grip of excitement coursing through his veins, his hot blood pounding its way into his very core. The thrill of battle, the thrust and parry of combat, the lure of danger and excitement; it all called to him, had drawn him here, more than the promise of power or glory or reward.

His step was sure, his gait confident, as he made his way swiftly through the entrance to Spike, looking up to the spectators along the rim of the bowl-like arena with a bright, eager smile, waving his hand to them as if they were all there to cheer him on. His gaze swept the floor of the bowl, taking in the long, fearsome spike along the walls, the pillar and its inscription, and the competitors that had already arrived.

A man in massive armor, wielding a great war-axe, the glint of his eyes visible through the gap in his helmet, stood off to one side. A middle-aged woman with a little more flesh at her middle than one would expect, dressed as if to ward off the icy chill of arctic seas, stood near the pillar, but he was not fooled by her appearance. As a pirate, he knew full well that so many layers of clothing were a protection in themselves from more than just cold, and could easily hide any number of weapons. Still, she had to be sweltering in those furs, he thought, considering how warm the day was getting in the bright sunlight.

His glance finally strayed to the spinning flask, watching in fascination as it rolled, twisted and bounced in a chaotic dance, before finally spilling its contents upon the floor of the arena. A man that appreciates beauty, it was difficult for Torrelle to tear his gaze away from the graceful creature before him. What was she, he wondered. A creature formed of magic, perhaps? Or was she, rather, a being from another realm, torn from her home by some unscrupulous spell caster for selfish purpose? In his mind, he playfully indulged the idea of an heroic rescue of the beautiful water maiden, but was swift to put it out of mind. Even though her voice shook, and the sound of it in his mind was obviously confused, perhaps a trifle frightened, he knew that a cornered animal, be it human or otherwise, is the most dangerous.

Moving to take a spot as far removed from the other competitors as he could, Torrelle faced them all, giving a sweeping bow to them and saluting them as fellow gladiators. After all, despite all of the bloodshed and pain that was sure to follow, there was no reason why he couldn't be civil.
AQ  Post #: 7
7/17/2008 12:39:59   
Geddesmck
Member
 

 Jon smiled faintly. He was at peace with the world and with himself. Of course this was only temporary. The moment he entered the Spike arena there was a considerable chance fear and panic would be his dominant emotions. But for now, he was at peace.

He sat outside of Bren, not too far outside, but enough that the sounds and stench of the city did not bother him. He had been there all night, sleeping under the great oak tree that stood proudly on the top of a small mound a few hundred feet from the main road into Bren.

There were of course temples for the Earth Lord throughout Bren, some of them big and others small, but Jon now sat in the greatest of these temples. For outside, in the country, that was the true temple of his lord. The soil he sat on, the tree that provided shade from the ever brightening sun and the grass that stretched along all the way to the horizon. All had been created by the Earth Lord and all held part of his spirit.

And so Jon Gabriel prayed. He prayed not for victory or even for protection, he prayed he would honour his lord and himself. By the time Jon’s prayers were completed the shadow of the tree had become considerably shorter and still Jon was not ready.

He stripped down to his underclothes, not worrying about being seen, for his body was something to be proud of. He then pulled on his leather trousers, these were quite loose as Jon had lost weight on his journey, but they fit. The leather was not very thick, but around his shins and knees chain mail was collected. Next he pulled on his leather vest. This was much thicker than the trouser, but it would not protect him from much, it was the expensive looking chain mail shirt he pulled over it that would give him real protection (although not enough to give Jon any real confidence). His final piece of clothing was a navy jumper that went over the vest and chain mail. This seemed out of place, but it was in some ways the most effective piece of armour Jon wore.

Next Jon got his weaponry ready. He put on his belt and then attached the sheath with a long sword in it, leaving it swaying slightly on the left side of his hip. He then pulled on a sheath for his back with a short sword already in place and finally he secured a small dagger to his left thigh.

After attaching various accessories and trinkets to his person, Jon finally moved into the city. He had come here before, two years prior, as a spectator. The city had changed dramatically; it was much larger and much busier. He’d changed in that time also.

Then he had been a student of magic, one of the people who had studied in all the elements but was devoted to none. Now he was a devote follower of the Earth Lord. Then he had looked like the noble he was with short hair and expensive clothing. Now he had messy and slightly too long hair, a scraggly beard and was absolutely covered in dirt.

He soon found himself at the arena. Some people looked him over and found him uninteresting (except some of the women who noticed how handsome he was). This is it, Jon thought. He had been right earlier; the peace was gone, replaced with a feeling of anxiety rising in his chest.

He stepped into the Spike arena, the arena of death, the arena of flowing blood. He was not the first there, but only two people really caught his eye. One was wearing large armour and wielding a battleaxe. Jon smiled nervously, that was Roch, he’d seen him fight in the finals two years ago. The other was a beautiful woman standing near a flask. She caught his attention for various reasons and she held it for the same ones. He shook his head, there was no way he should fall for her charms, it was likely her primary defence.

Jon moved as far away from the gate as possible, but did not rush. He looked around himself eagerly and once he had taken in the entire arena, the earring that hung loosely from his right ear glowed blue for a few moment before it dimmed.

Jon sat down and took a book out of a pouch attached to his belt. He began to read much to the bewilderment of the audience and anyone who was watching him. He looked up regularly, but he did seem rather defenceless.


< Message edited by Geddesmck -- 7/17/2008 16:20:22 >
AQ DF  Post #: 8
7/17/2008 18:51:34   
Nightly
Member

~Earlier~


Opening his eyes and groaning, Nightly groped around until he found his water flask. Slowly tilting it towards his mouth, he took a small tentative sip before replacing the stopper, and the flask, on the ground. Yawning he stood up and looked around the small private clearing he had slept in. Although he wasn’t used to the area, his small bed of pine needles and the protection of the tree from any unwelcome elements had served him well. Walking to the base of the trunk, he slowly examined the curves and cracks, the nooks and crannies that marked the tree. And by its height alone Nightly could tell it was old, yet proud. Glancing out of the clearing he shook his head; nothing was visible outside the light of his fire, now reduced to glowing embers now that most of the night had passed. Glancing up at the sky, Nightly was rewarded with a few streaks of red and orange as the sun slowly began its ascent into the sky, and towards his lord.

Crouching down, Nightly slowly pulled out his armor and laid it out in front of him. All of it was there, the plate legs, his small set of leather armor that would fit underneath his outer armor, his shield, his chain mail, and his shield. “Wait a minute! Where’s my helmet!” He thought in a quick moment of panic. Turning to his right he saw that it was down off of the path a bit. Curious, he got up and walked over to the helmet. Bending down, he picked it up and examined it curiously. Shrugging, he shifted his gaze to the area in front of him. Dropping his helmet with a clang, he walked forward dumbfounded as he saw a large chasm in front of him. Looking to his right and then to his left, he noticed a small ledge poking out from the side of the chasm. Understanding what it meant, Nightly walked over and stood on the ledge. Shaking his head in amazement, he felt the wind run over his body. Soothing the aches and pains he had suffered recently. Falling to his knees abruptly, he started praying feverishly, mouth moving in a silent incantation.

Standing back up, Nightly noticed that a couple of hours had passed since he had came here. Sighing to himself, he turned and headed back the path he had used on his way to what seemed like a perfect place for any follower of the Lord of the Wind. Grabbing his equipment he hastily put it on, grasping his sword he took a couple of strokes and slid it silently into his scabbard. Then, he calmly walked back out to the chasm. Looking down at the seemingly endless void below him. He took one step and fell right of the edge. Smiling in pure delight, he felt the wind whip around his face, and that made his smile widen even more. Seeing the ground rush up towards him he said, “Oh mighty Wind Lord! I ask you to aid me, your humble servant, with transportation to the location that I desire! The location that will help me show others how strong you are!” Closing his mouth, Nightly prayed that his devotion would pay off. Seemingly out of nowhere, a large gust of wind pushed him upwards and held him in place. He smiled, knowing his wish had been granted. Closing his eyes, he felt himself being pushed upwards and towards the Spike Arena.

~Spike Arena- Bren~

“Look up there!”
“What is that!?”
“What the heck is going on!?”
“Ahhh!” The frightened spectators said as they watched a large object move through the sky. Shaking their heads in wonderment or hiding in fear, no one knew what to make of the shape flying in the sky. The more experienced members of the group shook their heads and said that it wasn’t flying, more like floating. As the object neared the arena, the spectators gasped, it wasn’t an object. It was a man. A heavily armed man at that. Opening his eyes, Nightly smiled as his entrance caused extreme amounts of confusion and fear in the spectators. Gently, he landed on the ground as the wind slowly dissipated. Although he was outside of the arena, it still looked impressive. Shaking his head, Nightly made the winds pick up again and sped into the arena.

For someone watching the ground, it would have looked like a small miniature tornado had picked up. Swirling the sand around so that the shape inside of it couldn’t be seen. Letting the winds stop, Nightly slowly viewed his competitors. A woman, something that of a nymph or water elf was standing near the entrance, seemingly bewildered of her situation. Her appearance was striking, but Nightly’s training made him look away at the other competitors. One man caught his attention next; towering over the other members of the room, Nightly could easily tell that he was a rock golem. An impressive looking one at that. The armor that the golem wore made Nightly shake his head in bewilderment. “I wonder who made that and how?” He thought. Glancing at another competitor, Nightly noticed that she was garbed in many furs and coats, and had a small quiver on her back. Sending out a small breeze, Nightly found out that it was full of many short spears. Raising an eyebrow, he turned towards the last competitor, Eyes widening a bit when he took in his appearance. “Jon?!” he thought in surprise. “Of course we might have met. It just seems odd that we are in the same group.” Turning his gaze back to the nymph, Nightly walked across warily to her.

“Excuse me ma’am, is there something wrong?” He asked as he warily flicked his gaze over to the other competition. A blow from the nymph he most likely could dodge, but from someone else, would most likely strike him. Glancing across the room as he waited for an answer, he noticed a small group a pikes and an object by them. Using the wind as his eyes, he found out that it gave some interesting advice about the spikes. Tucking that information away for later, he patiently waited for the nymph.
Post #: 9
7/17/2008 21:11:28   
Geddesmck
Member
 

 Jon looked up from his book again. This time he caught sight of movement; a miniature whirlwind sped into the arena and came to a sudden halt. The winds died down and a figure in armour was revealed.

Jon raised an eyebrow. “Nightly?” he said quietly. Fate certainly liked to play games. Nearly a month prior Jon and Nightly had encountered each other in a rather famous Inn, where each had discovered the element of the other. “So I have a master of the winds to contend with,” muttered the young noble man, before scanning the arena once more. Again it was to Roch his eyes were immediately drawn, the man who looked like a golem or walking mountain. That meant there was another vying for the Earth Lord’s favour. Next he looked at the enchantingly beautiful maiden who was wearing far less than was advisable, he could not guess her element, but he ruled out both ice and fire on gut instinct. The next person he noticed was a man with a scarred face and short hair. He wore leather armour with countless silver studs embedded in it. Light shined of this studs quite spectacularly, suggesting to Jon that light was his element, but he was very wary of this guess.The only other person in the arena was almost the direct opposite of the underdressed siren. A rather large woman with more than her fair share of wrinkles, Jon decided that her clothing suggested she was an ice mage of some sort. Although, he reasoned, I can’t rule out fire.

That meant there were six people in the arena, which was usually enough for the games to begin. Not today though, it seemed a rather civil affair so far, people had been wishing each other good luck even.

Well, it’s not going to stay that way for long, Jon thought. He was covered in dirt, mostly soil and dried mud collected over the past week of travelling. He had more than enough money to afford a bath of some sort, but that would have left him at a disadvantage. Jon had hoped to be assigned the Fountain or Cellar arena, where earth was plentiful, but he had known that the chances of this were slim. How can the Earth Lord expect me to honour him if he makes it easy for me, Jon smiled slightly at the thought.

The dirt began to break away from his skin and clothing to fall at the floor. It left a surprising large pile at his feet. With a flick of his wrist (which was purely for the benefit of the crowd) Jon made the collected earth rise from the ground and break up. Soon millions of tiny particles of earth surrounded him, combining with the small amounts already present in the air. To those who looked at him it would appear as if he was caught in an extremely small sandstorm, although it was still quite easy to see him.

Jon looked up to the sky, praising the Earth Lord for giving him the foresight to prepare in this way. Before going back to his book he patted the other two pouches at his belt, to make sure he could find them quickly in a pinch. He would need them if things got to hectic.

He went back to his book, this time turning to a page closer to the front. This book was both a journal and a spell book, one that Jon had been using for nearly four years. He was now reading a small passage that was exactly two years old:

’The one known as Roch seems to have a fascinating enchantment on his armour. It seems far too large for a man to wear, yet he carries it with relative ease. However, upon further examination, I have concluded that the enchantment lies not on the armour, but on the axe. For when the axe leaves his hands he is suddenly overcome by the weight. I shall look into this intriguing example of a feather weight enchantment.’


Jon had never discovered exactly how the enchantment worked, he wasn’t even certain he was correct. However, this piece of information could give him some sort of advantage should the man in the form of a golem choose him as a target.

So now Jon stood at the far end of the arena, reading his book and appearing out of place. However, the earth that gently revolved around him hinted at his magical power and gave up the secret of his element. It was only a matter of time before someone tested him now.




< Message edited by Geddesmck -- 7/17/2008 21:50:35 >
AQ DF  Post #: 10
7/17/2008 22:16:51   
TormentedDragon
Member

She looked up at him, her visible eye examining him, all of him, from helmet to boots. It glistened with moisture, as if she was on the verge of tears. Once more, her lips moved, forming words but no sound, until a moment after, when all who could see her heard them. "You are not Faradh." She brought one hand up to her neck, and stroked it, as if feeling for something that was not there. With sudden urgency, she looked around once more, this time focusing on the others present. She barely spared a glance for the woman, and all but ignored the hulking suit of armor. Her gaze came to rest, instead, upon the scarred man, distracted, perhaps, by his strangely colored hair. And then he, too, was discarded, and she looked upon the last in the arena, who had cloaked himself in a miniature storm of sand.

"Faradh... is not here." Her attention snapped back to the man in front of her, a grin crossing her face. "And I..." she rose to her feet, the movement one swift, fluid motion, accomplished in the blink of an eye, "am free!" In an instant, her color was gone, and she was nothing but clear, flowing water in the shape of a woman. And then, even that was gone, as she flooded forward, attempting to envelope the man in front of her, and all was accomplished with astounding speed.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 11
7/17/2008 23:00:45   
The Dragon Knight
Member

As more competitors entered the arena, Torrelle felt his heart slow down to a reasonable rate. With this many competitors already in the ring, and more seemingly on the way, it would not be long before the rising tension in the air broke, sending the, for now, civil warriors into an utter frenzy of madness and mayhem. The closer he got to this point, the more relaxed he felt, his own tension leaving his body to meld with the tension of the air.

The morning sun was rising above the edge of the arena walls now, bathing the spikes on the western side in a golden yellow light. The effect was rather startling, as the metal spikes assumed a rust-colored hue as of dried blood under the sun's golden rays. The eastern side of the bowl remained in partial shadow, the metal showing a more familiar dull-grey color that was no less intimidating. This awesome effect may have been intended by the designers, but then again, it was possible that the arena itself had assumed a personality of its own, savoring the blood of its victims and trying to show these new combatants just what it was; a pit of death, a place where flesh is flayed from bone, armor ruined and blood flowing freely into the greedy blood sluices that passed down each spike, into small metal grates in the arena floor.

This vision of a field of death only served to fill Torrelle with excitement. He grinned, his white teeth gleaming in the sunrise, as he carefully checked his equipment. His silver longsword was strapped firmly to his left hip, and his short sword to his right. He checked to make sure that the clasps holding the blades in place had been loosened, so that he wouldn't waste valuable moment trying to free the blades. He went through his checklist carefully, mentally inspecting every item: his knife hung from a belt loop behind him, the magical crossbow on his left forearm, the ring on his left index finger, the medallion of the Water Lord hung about his neck, and last, but not least, his lucky silver coin.

His check complete, Torrelle cast his gaze across the assembled competitors once more, assessing their strengths and weaknesses as best he could without prior knowledge. The only one that he recognized was the armor-clad behemoth wielding the great axe. Roch, his name was, and apparently a fearsome foe in combat. The pirate Lord knew that he would have to be wary of that enchanted axe, having heard of Roch's exploits from two years prior, but he also knew that the axe was still a secondary concern. It was the man's mysterious ability to manipulate the composition of matter that he would need to watch out for. Alchemy, it was called. He had never encountered it himself, but had again heard stories of how Roch had used it in his previous attempt at the Championship. Undoubtedly, the man would have improved. Torrelle knew he would have to be careful.

The fur-clad woman continued to confound him. In this place, a giant, metal solar reflector, more or less, he was already beginning to feel the effects of the increase in ambient temperature. He was used to sea breezes and torrential downpours cooling his skin, but here was a woman who was seemingly unaffected by the...... or was that it, perhaps? With all of those furs, Torrelle, like so many others, had naturally assumed she was an Ice user. What if, however, the reason for all those furs weren't to protect her from her own element, but because the temperatures here were actually too cold for her? That could mean a fire user instead. He would have to be careful there too.

The medallion at his neck, a beautiful work of art in the shape of a sapphire teardrop held in the claw of a silver serpent, began to glow slightly as Torrelle began to focus the natural magic within. Considering the arena he was assigned, his abilities may not be nearly as useful as he had hoped, but it was still better to be prepared. There was no visible effect yet, nothing to give away his element, unless somebody happened to have heard of his exploits in the distant west. However, the latent magic within himself and the medallion began to feed off of one another, slowly focusing within his body to allow the manipulation of his chosen element.

As he prepared himself, staying on his guard against a sudden attack, the Maelstrom of the Western Seas observed the remaining entrants that were currently in the arena. The dirt plastered man was reading a book, amidst a small cloud of dirt, or sand, or something similar. Considering the lack of earth in the arena itself, and the fact that he was covered in it, Torrelle assumed that the man was an Earth element user. However, the way that the dirt drifted about before him could also be an indication of wind. He would wait and see.

Finally, the piercing gaze of the pirate came to rest on the armored one that had so recently entered the arena amidst a howling whirlwind. Not too bloody difficult to tell the element of this arrogant upstart, he though. He watched as the man approached the scantily clad woman, hiding his own amusement as he realized that this man would have no idea that the woman he was attempting to impress was more than she seemed. An ethereal beauty, yes, but a creature of water. Chivalry is one thing, but there is a time and a place. The man could not be overly experienced, or else he was incredibly naive, if he thought that he could safely avoid an attack simply because she was female. Torrelle knew from personal experience that women can sometimes be far deadlier foes than their male counterparts.

As he was completing his examination of the man, Torrelle's suspicions were proven correct as the woman turned into what he could only assume was pure water. He watched with baited breath as the living fluid reached out with its deathly embrace, attempting to engulf her would-be 'knight in shining armor.' At the same time, he tensed, his hands hanging low beside the hilts of his blades, his back to the spikes and his face towards his competitors.

So it begins.....
AQ  Post #: 12
7/17/2008 23:01:08   
Nightly
Member

Eyes widening in a moment of surprise, Nightly raised his hand quickly. To those looking onwards it would have looked like he was trying to block the nymph with just his arm. “Boreas!” Nightly called out, a silver trickle of air flew out of his hand colliding with the oncoming water. Arching his other hand forward, Nightly pushed more wind out and flung himself backward. Ever wary of the attacking nymph. The blats of wind would do nothing but delay it for a moment. Glancing quickly behind him Nightly saw the distance between him and the four spikes that had special properties than the other ones. Quickly, before his spell wore off, Nightly tapped each of his boots twice and readied his magic. “My sword won’t work, hopefully, my magic will dissuade it to attacking something else,” he thought.

A quick thought passed through his mind. His mouth suddenly opened up into a grin again as he opened his palms and faced them towards the ground. “Even if the nymph manages to get close to me, it won’t be able to do enough damage to stop me from setting this off.” Placing his palms right above the ground, he closed his eyes and concentrated. A quick wind started building up around him, whipping his hair and cloak around him at an alarming rate along with the loose sand. Soon he was nothing but a massive tornado but one that was invisible. The only way that one could tell there was wind was Nightly's hair and cloak, and the noise. Knowing that if the nymph attacked it would risk having the water molecules bieng seperated. It would likely reform quickly, but Nightly was confident in his ability to keep the tornado going for days without having to sleep, eat or drink.

< Message edited by Nightly -- 7/17/2008 23:14:48 >
Post #: 13
7/17/2008 23:01:23   
N3344
Member

The day had finally come. It was a day of excitement, no wait, a glorious day of murder, as Cale would properly call it. Many months had passed since the last EC. Cale had heard only rumors of the last; him being "just born" and all. Slowly, his feet slitthered against the ground, much like that of a snake. Not once did he pick up his feet and yet, on this dry dirt road, he could feel and see the dust fly up in the air. Much of it was getting into his boots, which irritated him greatly, though, with a determined and oddly shaped smile on his face, Cale continued to drag what seemed to be his limp body towards the towering arena.

It wasnt but a bit earlier that he came across what they called "The Shrine to the Earth Lord". It wasnt that Cale didnt believe in the Earth Lord, but it was just that he didnt understand why he had been born so late and at such a weird time, age, and of course, element. The element that enveloped Cale was none other than Earth. It was a "young" age, or maybe it was "old", that Cale had discovered his "unique" abilities as some call them.

But to be able to drag earth unto ones body and form them into weapons of their choosing was just odd. But regardless, Cale continued to sit there and "pray". He saw many people who seemed to worship the Earth Lord, but all just seemed to be doing it out of the sheer wanting to live through this bloody tournament. No, Cale would not conform to their monotonous chanting of protection, instead he simply asked this Earth Lord to provide him with nothing else, but to kill. Sure, it was an odd thing to ask from a Lord of the mighty element of Earth, but he wanted it so bad he could feel the growing anticipation gnaw at his very insides.

Finally though, Cale had reached the very entrance to the massive arena. He could feel his "heart" beating like a war drum. He could smell the... metal? No, this he could not approve of. Not one bit. Slowly, frustration began to build inside of him. He could feel anger burn in his chest like hot broth sliding down his throat. Then, without even realizing it, he seemed to drag his foot inside of the arena. Spikes filled the walls, and of course, there was metal gallore. He hated metal so much. It was false earth to him and everytime he encountered it, he could always feel himself slowly falling apart. As he continued to slide his feet on the ground and observe his odd surroundings, Cale suddenly realized that there was still sand in his boots.

Yet again, the macabre smile drug across his face. Cale quickly stopped dead in his so called "tracks" and dumped his boots out. A small pile of sand not more than a couple of inches high sat in front of him. Then he called out to it. He brought his "children" to his body. Slowly, the sand began to slither against his clothes and then, ultimaetly, against his skin. He could feel the euphoria effect begin to take place as the sand finally reached their designated target place of his arms and hands. He could feel his skin and the earth fusing with his body, slowly becoming one, but then, out of nowhere, his moment of peace came to a literal crashing halt when he heard the high shriek of a womans voice. With the voice came a massive wall of water towards a man, but since they were so far away, Cale just ignored them.

This sudden realization of the whole battle thing suddenly sank in. Looking around, Cale could see many different warriors. One massive man with large armor, the two who already seemed to be in combat, and a lanky, wrinkly, looking man who seemed to catch Cale's attention, but only for a brief moment. And thats when Cale saw it, a man with spiraling sand around him. This was the jackpot of Cales future "weapons", and there was only one way that he could take it. By brute, heavy, deadly force. Slowly, in a jerking like excited motion, he dragged his feet yet again towards the man. With his "blood and adrenaline" pumping, Cale seemed at like a good distance, which seemed to be maybe 10 to 15 feet, and thats when he sent out his call to his "children". Surely Cale had hoped that this man wouldnt keep his "children" away from him and he had hoped that the man wouldnt notice that his children were crawling towards Cale either...
AQ DF  Post #: 14
7/17/2008 23:45:50   
damselindigital
Member

A girlish giggle escaped her lips as the man who she had called out to made his reply. Well, this was a welcome change indeed. It had been a long time since she last received any type of focused positive attention from a man, regardless of whatever species this one would turn out to be. And so polite he was too! It was a pity they were both on a battlefield. Otherwise she may well…

Oh no! The tournament!

She had completely allowed it to slip her mind in that brief moment and by the time she had turned to view what was occurring, a loud clang had resounded from the flask she had initially assumed was a piece of litter. Cursing herself to the ever-frozen planes, she realized that had whatever caused the motion of the bottle actually attempted to strike her, she may well have failed to react entirely and simply absorbed the full force of the blow. Her state of distraction would last no longer. She would learn the lesson and focus instead upon what she came here to do, regardless of the possibility that the one who had been distracting her might have an attractive behind.

No! No! Head in the game, girl. There’ll be time to pursue that kind of thing later, after you’ve proven yourself.

With a full attempt at concentration upon her surroundings, she folded her arms over her chest in an attempt to appear serious and imposing. It was difficult not to reveal her astonishment as a young woman, half-starved by Enya’s standards, and nearly nude poured forth from the bottle. The girl must be half frozen to be about like that, yet she dared not approach and help the young lass, even despite the pleading tone that somehow reached her mind without taking all the trouble of having to go through her ears. Something was wrong about this one.

Frowning, the seriousness she had tried to impose upon herself grew and she turned to watch as others arrived one at a time. The man who sparkled almost as brightly as the sun glaring off a smooth piece of ice appeared reasonable enough to her eyes. Certainly with such a bow of good will, he would fight fairly, or at least so she assumed. Perhaps he would make a good opponent.

She considered this as she weighed the next two arrivals. The man with the book: now he was an odd one. Though he seemed oblivious to what was occurring around him, the stories she had been told of those who came to risk their lives in this place indicated it could well be illusion. She had to assume that he was hiding something in such apparent defenselessness, at least if she hoped to survive and prevent her earlier mistake of ignoring her surroundings. Later, when her eyes strayed back to him, he was encircled by... She hesitated. Yes, it was certainly dirt which likely meant he was an earth user, definitely not her choice for her first opponent.

Before the dirt mage, as she was beginning to think of him, summoned his element, there had arrived another contestant. She could only believe him to be aligned with the wind due to the method of arrival he employed. It was a flashy entrance, to be certain, but also extremely wasteful. The thought of all the better uses for such energy brought a soft noise of displeasure to her lips. He stepped towards the naked water girl and Enya could only think that was that. At the very least, she figured, they would likely keep each other occupied. Nevertheless, she would endeavor to keep them and their location in mind should things not follow her expectations.

She had decided. Another arrival entered the arena, but he too seemed to have a target in mind. They would be kept in her passing thoughts, new arrival and dirt mage, but for now she had chosen her opponent. Striding confidently over to the man who shone with the reflected light of the sun, she drew one of her short spears and tried to echo his bow from earlier, then took up a stance of readiness.

“Sir, I would be honored if you would be my opponent on this day.”
AQ  Post #: 15
7/18/2008 0:28:54   
The Dragon Knight
Member

Considering the choices presented in the arena at this point, it was not too much of a surprise when the fur-clad woman chose to challenge him. After all, her other choices involved two armor-clad men, a water-morphing Nymph of some sort, an earth-using book-worm, and also, now, a rather strange, sand covered, shuffling individual who seemed intent on the book-worm. What WAS surprising, he thought, was the manner in which she did so. Her bow, perhaps not quite as graceful or with as much flourish as his own had been, was sincere, and she had done him the courtesy of requesting combat instead of aiming for a surprise attack.

A grin, nearly as wide as his face, appeared on Torrelles lips, and he laughed. The laugh was jovial, a short bark of excitement and pleasant surprise, without a trace of scorn or mockery in it. He was pleased, very pleased, in the manner in which this woman had approached him. It was so rare to encounter an honorable warrior in this age, and yet here was one right in front of him, in the unlikeliest of battlefields.

His hands moving with the practiced speed of a swordsman, he plucked his blades from their scabbards, carving a glittering arc in front of him as the silver blades spun easily into readiness at his sides. He lowered his stance, hands splayed out to either side, and bowed low to the ground, his eyes never once leaving his opponent, his focus never leaving the arena. His smile was sincere, a look of intense excitement and joy upon his weathered features as he responded with due courtesy.

"My dear Lady, it would be a pleasure!" he replied, a chuckle escaping his lips at the thought of all this courtesy and civility within the blood-stained confines of the Spike Arena. He knew better than to think that it would last, however, and never let his focus waver, always mindful of the combatants that filled the arena floor. The arrival of the newest competitor, and his command of the earth, had not gone unnoticed. He was not, however, Torrelle's primary concern, at the moment.

Coming up from his bow, the Pirate Lord brought himself into a ready stance, his long sword held in his right hand, raised horizontally above his own head in preparation for a quick strike, and his short sword held low in his left, ready to parry and defend. The short spear in the woman's hand was reminiscent of a harpoon, he thought, a weapon he was quite familiar with from his time on the ocean. He should be able to apply similar tactics to countering this weapon.

As the wind picked up, tossing his short pale hair about, Torrelle's eyes narrowed slightly. The flashy wind warrior had decided to start things off with a bang, it seemed. The Maelstrom was unimpressed by the tornado-like winds that swirled about the man, however, the man's considerable distance from himself and the furred warrior woman allowed him to ignore the threat for the present. While an inconvenience, the slight winds that made it this far were no hindrance, yet. Besides, he had expected something like this from the moment the man had entered the arena, and Torrelle had laid his plans for defense well.

In the meantime, his thoughts turned back to the woman before him, her stance solid, her spear ready to strike. The woman's eyes were crisp, clear, unwavering. They spoke of experience. That was good, he reflected. An experienced foe would be a much better opponent, and offer more fun. He was leading with the left foot, the short sword held out in front of him, the long up and to the rear, as he shifted forward slightly, every muscle in his body tensed.

"It would be remiss of me to attack without an introduction, but, given the circumstances, I believe you'll forgive me if I must forgo ceremony this morning. En guarde!" with a cry, the Maelstrom of the Western Seas sprang forward, his right arm swinging in a downward arc, bringing the deadly blade to bear on the woman from the side, while his left hand kept the short sword firmly at the level, a horizontal bar before him, waiting to see how his opponent would counter; with weapon, with magic, or with speed.
AQ  Post #: 16
7/18/2008 8:15:05   
Geddesmck
Member
 

 His right hand tingled slightly. Odd, he thought as he looked up, no one seems to be targeting me. Jon looked around again. The woman who had seem so attractive before was now basically a rushing wall of water attacking Nightly. Jon had promised to help the wind warrior, but only in a life threatening situation. He should be capable of dodging this attack and indeed as Jon watched he did.

So what about Roch? No, he had seemingly not made a move yet. Perhaps the shining man or the fur clad woman? No, they were apparently preparing to battle each other.

But that was everyone was it not?

Then he noticed the new man. Oops, should have noticed him coming in, Jon inwardly scolded himself. However, the man, who was wearing barely any armour, in fact apart from a small amount on his chest and legs he was relatively defenceless. Jon looked at his right hand and sure enough the enchanted ring on his finger was glowing blue. So he was in immediate danger of some sort.

Calmly, Jon closed his book and placed it slowly into it's pouch. Upon further inspection Jon realised the man seemed to have sand of some sort stuck to the flesh of his arms. Well, I think assuming he is using earth is a safe bet, but how, there is no earth in this whole arena... Jon cursed himself. There was earth in the arena; it was floating lazily about him. There may not be much, but it would not be good for him if his opponent could take it.

In fact a good amount of the earth had already made its way towards the odd mage. Jon grabbed hold of the remaining dirt mentally. It was surprisingly difficult to get a grip of the earth, despite its proximity to Jon. This guy is more in tune with the earth than me, thought Jon angrily. However, he was not more devoted to the Earth Lord, Jon knew that, for Jon knew he was the Earth Lord's most loyal disciple.

He drew his long sword in a grand gesture and pointed it at the man who had picked him to fight. "It is dishonourable to attack without first issuing a formal challenge. This arena seemed to be made up of people who would keep to the rules of engagement, but now you've gone and changed all that. Barbarian. So be it, draw your weapon and prepare for battle!"

The dirt, what was left of it, encircling Jon span wildly, reacting to his heightened emotion. It had been meant as a defence, but it seemed for now he would simply have to focus on keeping it under control until he could think of a use for it.

Jon began to cautiously step toward his enemy's right side, hoping to put the other earth user between a sharp sword and sharper spikes.
AQ DF  Post #: 17
7/18/2008 10:48:06   
TormentedDragon
Member

Each successive blast of wind thumped into the rush of water, and it slowed, and slowed, allowing the armored man to escape, and set up his shielding tornado. As the water slumped back to the floor, her shape recovered, and slowly, so did color, her hair now blue, once more falling across one eye. She turned her head to look at the man, her expression puzzled. She poke once more, in her curious fashion. "You reject me? Attack me?" Words from the book-reader drifted towards her, and caught her attention. She looked at him, and saw the sword; looked in another direction, and saw the older woman facing off against the shiny man; in yet another, scrutinizing the suit of armor and its massive axe. "A place... of combat?"

Her entire frame rippled, her eyes narrowing. "So be it." She raised her arms, coloring draining from them as they narrowed, then extended, spearing into the wind user's tornado. The rushing winds tugged at the water, then pulled it away, yet an unbroken stream it remained. More and more of her form poured into the twin streams, shoulders, neck, head, and finally, her entire self flowed into the rushing winds. And now she was in the tornado, an unbroken, whirling wall of water. The barest hint of a face formed itself from the rushing flow, the lips moving once more. "Your blood shall be mine."
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 18
7/18/2008 10:53:53   
Lord Memphis
Member

A rhythmic, crisp sound began to stem forth from twin focal points in the distance. It began unaccompanied by a visual corroboration. One could almost mistake the pianissimo timbre and tone as the rustling of the trees beneath the mild breeze that had recently materialised, or the sonance that acts as consort to the scene of a bird as it begins to storm the outer protections of some unlucky seed or nut on the ground.

However, as the sound neared, it became less indistinct, and persisted in the rhythm it had established. Relentless, indefatigable, it slowly drew from the depths of the silent, building into an understated crescendo relative to the origin of this onomatopoeic symphony. That is to say, even as the noise drew closer, and grew in volume, it still remained rather quiet. Their foci became more apparent with proximity also, and slowly, and surely, the source of this as-yet taciturn consonance emerged from the horizon it had taken shelter within.

Now similar to waves crashing on the beach, or the vociferousness of a small pebble or stone shattering, it becomes clear to any observers that it is, in fact, the crushing of the gravelled path beneath two thickly soled boots, their freshly polished steel toecaps glinting in the light of the sun.

These items of footwear belonged to Salvador Rattigan, who had just emerged from behind a nearby hill after having followed a footpath that leads to the town of Bren. His clothing was odd, to say the least. It resembled that of a stereotypical villain, almost parodying such ridiculous attire with a pinch of humour. The shoulder cape seemed hardly to sway as he strode along, briskly, towards his ever-nearing destination. His Epsom coat, stretching to just below the knees, however, was far more susceptible to motion, and the tail of the jacket seemed to flick slightly with every step. It is only the lack of a top hat that halted his descent into the farcical. Gloves a shade of white much akin to that produced by snow adorned the man's hands, and particles of dust gushed from the fibres as he stretched them from their creased position down his arm, and released them, the elastic flicking back into shape, yet devoid of the aforementioned dirt. The suit itself was, well, a charcoal colour. Any who threw a glance to the man would have been forgiven for thinking he was an undertaker, bearing in mind the uncanny resemblance between the two uniforms of the trade.

He grinned slightly as he stroked a neat moustache, and reached the perimeters to the township. Even as he entered, walking through cobbled streets on the other side of town to his destination, there was a sense of electricity in the air. That frizz. That spark. That panache. These next few days would be ones to remember. Of that, Rattigan was sure. Few men even threw a second glance to his rather bashful outfit. It was not due to a sudden change in vogue and fashion preferences that made him the norm. Nor was it an instantaneous flash of thirty iridescent lights that temporarily blinded the nearby populace.

It was, very simply put, that he was by far not the most unusual figure to pass through Bren that day. In fact, he was one of many curiously attired figures to enter the town. For that day signalled the official beginning of the annual Elemental Championship. This one appeared to be attracting more publicity, more fanatical audiences, more bystanders and more contestants (or victims, delete as applicable) than many of the previous years. This would be something for the raconteurs to sing about.

Arriving at the entrance to the Arena Complex itself, Rattigan smiled. A distinct atmosphere of rage seemed to exude from the very brickwork. It was almost as though the bloodsport and hatred had become engrained in the pathways of time. In fact, the ambience in it's entirety was most unpleasant, and yet seemed to attempt to work it's way into the figures who milled about the main cloisters and foyers. This was a fearsome resonance. One that endeavoured in it's mindless state to evoke the deeper, more primal instincts of man's inner workings. To unfold the fabric of civility.

Salvador already knew in which arena he would be participating, and headed quickly down the hallways to the entrance, not wishing to be too late in his arriving. As he strode, the tension began to build to a vertigo. Everyone around held their breath as they looked down upon the different arenas. This show had already begun, and he began to speed to more of a canter as he went, with his hands quickly feeling each of the black leather belt pouches in turn, and sighing slightly as he refastened the one at the back, which had seemingly come undone somehow. The metal-lined pouch attached to his side was most definitely secure, and he double checked each of the three straps as he neared the gateway. One last check of any aces he had up his sleeves confirmed that he was, in fact, ready for battle. Placing his hand securely on the top of his walking cane, he surreptitiously turned the headpiece, grinning to himself as he did so.

And on that note, he entered the arena. Scanning these new surroundings, he saw obstacles that didn't quite seem to tip the balance to his favour. There were no supplies of water, which he had hoped for. The floor in its entirety seemed composed of some metal – almost undoubtedly fireproof. The walls housed plenty of large spikes, which posed no apparent use to him at that moment. Several of the other contestants had already arrived, and it appeared that it had, indeed, begun. Oddly, there was a nuance of civility between them all, and Rattigan felt almost pleased to partake in such ironic pleasantries. He called out, invoking the slightly iconic and arrogant tones of a man who most likely adored his own voice, and engaged in vocal narcissism on a regular basis. Whether this was actually a part of his personality, though, was unknown.

“Good morning, all. Mr Rattigan has arrived, and I feel sure we'll get along just dandy with each other.”

As he did so, he bought himself at least some modicum of extra time in which to study his opponents, yet did so at the cost of any subtlety he may have possessed. He focused, possessing a keen eye, and felt ready for any obstacles that came his way. He fell backwards into something of a nonchalant stance for balance, should any rascals try and trip him from behind.

“Now... Are we all feeling comfortable? I do hope so...”
Post #: 19
7/18/2008 11:38:46   
N3344
Member

Luckily for Cale, there wasnt much of a struggle to recover his children. He watched as some crawled on the ground towards him and he watched as the others floated in the air like an army of little brown bugs. Slowly but surely, the earth crawled up his body and hit his arms and hands. Yet again, the euphoria effect took place and the feeling of unity was prevalent. This time though, his arms and hands were completely covered and Cale could tell that he no longer had "bones" in his arms and hands. He could feel the limpness, yet he could also tell that it was time for his weapons to come out and drink the crimson blood of his opponents.

This was just in time too seeing as the man Cale stole the earth from had "challenged" him. This threat from this man peeked Cales interest and, without hesitation, Cale slowly began to observe his opponenet. He watched as the man placed Cale between him and the pointed false earth. This was unacceptable in Cales opinion, and with the threat of being impaled both by the false earth and the man, Cale soon unveiled his first choice of weapons. Slowly, his arms began to stretch out and Cale was sure that his opponent could hear the sand grinding against each other. Then, finally, the "arms" turned into two mighty swords made of very durable earth. Sure, they were very hard and all, but they could still be broken with enough force.

As Cales "transformation" was finally complete, he looked at his opponent once more. Yet again the man made Cales children spin around him in such a disrespectful manner. And with the first words spoken, and quite possibly the last, Cale spoke to the man. "You will pay for that...", Cale said in such disturbing and odd voice.

After the threat towards his opponent, Cale knew he only had one option, and that was to attack first and to hope that some of the earth that was floating around the man would land on him and that way, he could fuse with it. With this decision, Cale charged at the man, both arms in what seemed to be an X position, and with a heavy downward thrust of hate, Cale had only hoped that the man wouldnt block his attack or prevent him from reuniting with his children.
AQ DF  Post #: 20
7/18/2008 11:55:26   
RATIONALPARANOIA
Member

His face was expressionless as he walked into the arena, his cold dead eyes surveying everything in front of him. He watched as most of the combatants exchanged witty banter with each other, kind gentleman and madam's talk. This infuriated him, but what infuriated him even more was the creature of water that entered the arena. She (for, in so far as it had a sex, he believed it was female) seemed to be confused, but her confusion quickly turned to anger, and he realized that she was ready to attack.

That woman who had made her introduction with that 'Good luck!' statement was being attacked as well, he saw. This was good... Very good. It meant that the battle had, in truth, started, and that now the time had come to join it. Delivering a quick prayer to the Lord of Light, wishing for good luck (and that if he did die today, that he should have the honor of dying a death worthy of Light's champion), he stepped forward.

He knew they hadn't seen him before that- He had ways of sneaking around. Before, while all of them had been talking, he had spent his time planting a few choice items around the arena. They were there simply to emit noises at his command- Most of them would simply emit very loud sounds, like hundreds of drums pounding at the same time, or the dying screams of a group of people, but a few of them would have a high pitched noise that would prove near unbearable for anyone with better hearing than a human being.

But yes, he had now made his entrance. And, sending a mental message to the items around the room, he started the cacophony of noise. His voice would still be heard, he knew, but only because it was very loud, and booming.

"All of you gathered here today, I would like to announce that you have been chosen for the honor of becoming the Lord of Light's sacrifices." As he said this, a symbol appeared on each of them. "Defend yourself from what I'm about to do, and you will, at least for a time, be able to survive, as long as you do not challenge me."

As he spoke, knives appeared in the air, each one of them bearing the same symbol as the one that marked his opponents. They glowed incredibly bright, and looking at them for even a few seconds was an almost Herculean task. There was one blade for each of the fighters, and with a swift and fluid grace that the even some of the most skilled assassins only wished they could achieve, launched themselves towards their targets, locking on to the symbol he had placed.

Pulling out his two swords, he merely stood where he was, watching for how they would react to his attack. He was almost certain that he had intimidated them- Looking like a massive muscular giant was one thing, looking like a massive muscular giant who knew magic was another one entirely. Because of this, he was uncertain that even one of them would go for a direct attack against him. But who knows- One of them might even prove themselves to be a worthy adversary.

< Message edited by RATIONALPARANOIA -- 7/18/2008 12:17:27 >
AQ  Post #: 21
7/18/2008 13:41:55   
Geddesmck
Member
 

 “You will pay for that...”

The man charged directly at Jon. He now had weapons, two swords in place of hands. What were they made of? Is this what he was using the earth he stole for? It seemed so.

Allowing him to take that much earth was a mistake indeed, Jon thought as he prepared himself. He had roughly two seconds before the man was in striking distance. What should he do? Jon’s blade and the other man’s blades were roughly the same length, so Jon did not have the advantage of reach. He could block the attack. However, he had two swords and could launch a secondary attack before Jon would be able to react. Which left only one viable option.

Jon leapt to the side, just in time. Actually, he realised, he was a little slow. One of the blades had clipped his left arm and cut through the jumper, but glanced off the chain mail below. Lucky, Jon frowned while he quickly pivoted on the spot to be facing his opponent. Now he should have used this opportunity to attack. The earth morpher would still be recovering from his attack. He would have used the opportunity, honour is no excuse for stupidity, but that was when a series of events occurred that prevented him doing anything.

A new competitor had shouted something about the Light Lord and sacrifices at the same time that the cacophony caused by the same man struck Jon’s ears. The knife destined to pierce Jon’s heart would have struck true; Jon was concentrating on blocking out the sounds too much. However, he had one defensive spells active.

The dirt gathered around him was drawn together in front of the symbol on Jon’s chest, instantly forming into a rock around the size of a fist. The knife collided with this rock and fell harmlessly to the ground. Jon himself looked at it in amazement. That defensive spell had been based on the same one enchanting his ring, but it hadn’t been tested before. Jon reminded himself to jot down in his journal that it worked.

However, he had not expected the rock then break apart into sand. Had he expected this he might have been able to prevent the now sand flying eagerly towards the sand man. Unfortunately he hadn’t.

So Jon was left without access to his element and holding just a sword, with two opponents apparently gunning for him. Now it seemed that the arena was full, and that combat was the order of the day. Even the confused and beautiful woman seemed to realise that she was supposed to attack, judging by her words (the way they seemed to be said directly in Jon’s ear freaked him out, but he ignored it like the other sounds).

Jon shook his head and looked back at his primary opponent. “I would have your name, so I may have a tombstone made for you. If you are curious, the name of your executioner is Jon Gabriel.” These words were said quietly, barely audible over the horrible sounds around them. And so once more Jon invited attack, but knew he was now at a great disadvantage. He couldn’t die yet though, he hadn’t done anything clever.
AQ DF  Post #: 22
7/18/2008 13:41:55   
Nightly
Member

“Nay that will not happen today!” Nightly said with a frenzied gleam in his eye. “A simple misunderstanding is the cause of this. If you choose to have an opponent, let it be your opposite element. Let it be fire! Wind cannot harm water! And neither can water harm wind! If nothing else we will be at a stalemate until something else happens! Wind and water are brother and sister elements! We both can do the same things! If you continue to fight me, you will tire, soon your water shall run out, yet wind is ever prevalent here! I wish not to fight you, merely to aid you. Had I known your intentions I would have not chosen my course of action! Together we can be a force nigh impossible to beat!” Pulling the wind, and the water as it was in the wind, apart a tiny bit to see into the arena he saw a man throw two knives, both seemingly aimed here. Not bothering to think, he pushed the two elements up and out, away from the knives and what possibly could be a new attack.

Grasping, a new air current, he twisted it towards the knives and slowed them down so that they couldn't reach their destination. Letting the winds drop that held the nymph at bay and the knives, he glanced warily towards the man that entered. “If I am attacked by both of them, then it might be time,” he thought his mouth set into a grim line. Pulling his sword out of his scabbard he turned to the nymph and said, “Aid me if you wish, or attack me. Just know, either way I will not harm you.” Glancing back at the man, Nightly reached out with his free hand and grasped a thin strand of air. Twisting it around him, he made a small space that was free of the noise from the loud devices the man had set and from the other combatants. The only people he could hear was the nymph, the strange man that entered, and Jon. Setting his feet apart he waited for an attack that would surely come. “But from where is the true question,” he thought.

< Message edited by Nightly -- 7/18/2008 14:12:49 >
Post #: 23
7/18/2008 15:08:46   
N3344
Member

Cales attack, or the co called attempt at one, seemed to just nick the earth mage. It didnt seem to cause any majorly body harm. Throughly dissappointed in the lack of blood on his "arms" and ground, Cale quickly began to charge again until a redicuously loud voice rang over the arena like a might god talking to its people. The man who seemed to be speaking defintely was a little too overconfident in his abilities. This really drove Cale to the edge of anger and defintely began to fuel his blood thirst. Though, it wasnt long until this new competitor had another move up his sleeve.

As Cale quickly disregarded the man, he soon realized he was under attack, but not by the earth mage. No, this time it seemed to be from the new warrior. With an odd symbol on his chest, Cale quickly watched as large knife jetted towards him. "Huh, a puny knife will do NO damage to me.", thought Cale confidently.

With the raising of one of his "arms", Cales weapons quickly greeted the knife, but to his terrible and painful surprise, the knife shattered his arm. It was unbelievable. Both the pain AND the fact that the man could break his arm. No, it wasnt that man that did it. It was all in Cales head. Yea, thats it. As Cale began to fumble around ideas as to what caused his "arm" to break, he didnt even realize that his children were being blown away by this annoying spontaneous tornado. Worst yet, the large pile of sand was moving towards the earth mage.

As he stared at the earth mage, the man spoke to Cales surprise. Apparently the mans name was Jon. A rather plain and boring name in Cales opinion, but whos to judge. As a large pile of Cales children flew towards Jon, a very small pile, seemingly from Jon, seemed to float past him. With his shattered "arm", Cale quickly called out to it, which rightfully filled a few cracks in this puzzle piece of a limb. His arm was no longer a sword, but now it just seemed to be a club of sorts.

"I want my children!!", Cale cryed out in both physical and emotional pain towards Jon. "Oh, and to enlighten you, my name is Cale Mercer and I am here to take back my children!!", Cale replied again in a repetetive speech.

After the little tantrum, Cale yet again ran towards Jon, hoping to outrun the earth that seemed to be flying towards him. This time though, Cale had two different weapons to attack with. His right arm, the club, which was about to swing into the side of Jon so that he would be knocked into the left arm, the sword, so that he would be hopefully cut into two.
AQ DF  Post #: 24
7/18/2008 15:37:44   
damselindigital
Member

If her opponent was indeed waiting to see if Enya would reply to his initial strike with her spear, her agility, or some as of yet unseen magic, the answer was simple: all three. She was ready for his attack, knowing that the pleasantries had to end, and caught his downward blow at the midpoint of her short spear. The metal of his weapon cleaved deeply into the bone of her own, causing small fragments to spin off and bounce harmlessly wherever they landed. Because it was a strike to her side, she had been forced to pivot slightly so that her right shoulder was pointing towards his left. A grin flashed across her lips.

Like the pillar before, his sword was now hers.

Even as their weapons impacted, a cacophony of sound began ringing throughout the arena. Had she not chastised herself so recently for becoming easily distracted, she may have hesitated at this point in time. She now knew better, however, than to let her attention be caught by every small event. The voice that somehow echoed above the din warned of an incoming attack, which she thought was quite sporting of its owner.

Luckily her plan already called for movement, for the one she stood locked with still had one unimpeded weapon that could easily score deeply into her side. So as soon as the contact was made, she pushed against her own spear to gain extra momentum, causing the point of impact to splinter further and quickly broke the weapon in two. She discarded the now useless pieces, already in motion. Tucking into an agile roll directly to her right, she neatly placed her body below her opponent’s short sword as she moved. When her revolution was complete, she stood, spinning to face him before she was even fully off the ground.

In this position, roughly forty-five degrees behind his left side, she was able to see the attack that the bellower had summoned forth. However, now Enya had a shield of sorts between her and the flying daggers. Of course, if she was going to use him with the hope of blocking the attack on herself as well, it was only fair that she allowed him the use of both weapons; for the time being, anyway. After all, she certainly didn’t want to cause a mortal wound to befall someone who fought so nobly. Not, at least, if she could help it.

With her right hand she reached inside her coat and drew her dagger. If this was to be a close-quarters fight, it would serve her better than the spears. She was interested to see now what would happen. Especially because the instant her opponent had finished serving her purpose, she planned fully on using her claim upon his sword to heat it to unbearable temperatures which, she figured, would make this fight much more fun.

This was beginning to get exciting!
AQ  Post #: 25
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