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=Elemental Championships 2009= Cellar Arena

 
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7/14/2009 12:55:02   
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.

~~~

It took the enchanters quite a bit of time to get out of the Cellar Arena, as it was quite a ways down into the ground. One could see the granite walls of the main part of the Arena Complex right above the now open heavy metal Cellar gate - the underground arena was placed right under the original, First Arena!

One of the now leaving spellweavers conjured up an opened scroll above the entrance, which would levitate there until the end of the match. Those who would care to read it would have found out that the place they are about to enter had more than just regular protective shield enchantments - rather, the ordinary enough looking mirror walls the fighters would find inside were of magical nature, and not only act as a protective barrier for the spectators behind it, but also make any projectile flung at it - magic or not - simply bounce off, much like simple a ray of light would from a regular mirror. On a more disturbing note, the scroll also stated that no wound would ever heal whilst in the Cellar, not even by ways of magic. If the group of healers and doctors standing about just outside the entrance were to be of any consolation, the shovels lined up against the wall and the priests near them were most definitely not.

As daunting as that may have been, most of those gathered here had never feared death - lest they would not be there at all - so they began descending the spiral stairway, leaving the shrieks and anxieties of a bloodthirsty crowd behind them - or rather, over them.

The upper gate closed with a loud *CLANG*.

The fight was about to begin, but first a quick glance would reveal the interior of the room - it was square in shape, with the mirror walls they knew to expect there... There were four humongous round pillars of plain grey stone, as wide as a man with his arms spread out, in the middle of the room forming a square shape as the room did. Each side of each pillar had a torch on it, and with the mirrors' reflection, the Cellar far from the dark, damp place one would imagine a room of such a name to be.

It was actually very dry, uncomfortably dry, and there was something very unnatural to that dryness.

Could that have been the enchantment of never-ceasing wounds they sensed?

Perhaps.

But for now, it was time to forget such thoughts, and cause some wounds instead.
AQ  Post #: 1
7/15/2009 13:41:42   
Frozt
Member

As he was walking towards the arena he thought back. Back when he was no more than one of the two students of the great mage Kashnyra. Back when he had his body. He remembered the time when the ideas where greater than the persons. The great war, how he was drawn to the site by some greater force. How he had defied the orders of his superior and when his only friend, the same person he had studied with swung the axe that beheaded him. How the last thing he had seen before the fatal strike was the smile of someone who had never been happier. The smile of betrayal. He looked down at his body, the body that was not rightfully his. Oh, how he wished that this body had been more experienced in the art of magic. Now he had to focus on the art of swordmanship. Who was the person he had taken the body from in the first place? A nobody it seemed. None had recognised the body, but that was only natural. He was a mage after all. Oh, how he ached for another home. The thought brought on the last memory he had from his past life, the time when he descended into the madness of betrayal. How he had flickered between the living world and the afterlife. How the sights had hurt his eyes, how the living world had claimed his body while the afterlife rejected his soul. How he had looked far and wide for a suitable body. A body with a mind weak enough for him to take over. He recalled the time when he had seen the body he was looking for, a tall lean warrior experiencing the same thing he had: Betrayal. Though the betrayal the warrior experienced was no where near the one he had experienced, it was great enough to destroy the mind of the warrior. He had focused his being on the warrior, mentally destroying the last parts of him. Taking over his memories had not been his intention, although the warriors fighting skills had come in handy when Farsith realised that the warrior possesed no traces of magic. It had become hard to channel Farsith's own magic into this world through the body of the warrior. He had spent years channeling to even raise his magic to the level it was at now, and even longer to channel the shadows to become his weapons. Now here he where, so many years later descending the stairs into the arena. The cellar awaited.

As he walked into the room, he saw himself staring into his own eyes. The hooded figure of a small man, no longer fitting the image of the warrior who had inhabited this body. The only thing visible was was the cold eyes, eyes that flared with something that was at the same time chaos and unity. The chaos of a body filled with magic not of it's own, a body still rejecting farsith, and the unity of a mind filled with one desire: Revenge. He looked at the long cape folding over his shoulders covering this body that was not his. He flung his arms to the side, not taking notice of anything else around him. He viewed the shadows underneath the cape, appearing as if his body was made of those shadows. He looked down on his arms, the only thing looking a little human. He looked at his weapons, now only a swirling mass of darkness covering his hands. He flung his head back and laughed, a hollow laugh filled with no emotions. The laugh of a madman. A madman ready to fight against the bonds of this now frail body.
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 2
7/15/2009 15:14:10   
Guardian of Nekops
Member

Well over two-thirds of Lore’s surface is covered with water. Not only does it dominate the surface world, but it also reaches deep into the seas, so deep in places that even the greatest efforts of magiscience are insufficient to bring us there safely. Water can be found in the sky as well, in the form of clouds, and deep beneath the Earth. The element is found in all living things of a natural design, and even many creatures born of Fire or Energy are unable to live with at least a pittance of it in their bodies. It is this supposed prominence that leads Water’s supporters to hail this simple, pure liquid as the ultimate Element, the source of life, and even the embodiment of patient, enduring strength, able to erode away solid rock given enough time.

These people are fools. In nature, pure Water is an anomaly, nothing more. The Light of the sun evaporates the liquid from the sea, stealing Water from its rightful place to fall elsewhere. Stealing it from the great mixture of Water and Salt that is the true purpose of the liquid, its true place. To worship pure Water is as foolish as worshiping a bubble of air at the bottom of the sea as the true embodiment of Wind! Water is, in its supposed “pure” form, out of place and out of purpose. It should be pitied, restored to what it once was, rather than worshipped and preserved as the freak of nature that it is.

The real mystery, then, in the quest to understand Water, lies in the origin of Salt. Why is there so much of it? Why can it be found spread all throughout the great seas of Lore, the presence of it so strong as to sicken the drinker? Why is it within the Earth in such great quantities that we go to mine it out, despite all the hazards and dangers of the work? Why is it so prevalent even in our own bodies, as much a part of life as the imposter, Water?

Salt, as every alchemist knows, is the product of a reaction between an acid and a base. I would like to propose that, when Lore was new…


Excerpt from The True Nature of Water, Tel’rion the Outcast.




In the center of mirrored Cellar, afterimages of him spreading out in endless replication, stood a male Drakel. Dozens of torches, both reflected and not, illuminated him from all sides as the great metal door clanged shut, the red light tingeing the pure white of his robes and confusing the deep blues of their trim. A crystal staff glinted dully in his hand, topped by an ornate metal Drakel head that had succumbed to a thin coat of rust.

Tel’rion’s serpentine tongue licked across his teeth to no avail, the unnatural dryness of the place extending even to his own mouth. The taste of this was particularly bad, so he raised the index claw of his free hand to the staff, scraping off a bit of the substance and licking it off with his long tongue. As the salt filled his mouth, he grinned… this was much better.

“Soon now, My Lord,” the Salt Mage whispered to his deity. “Soon all will know of you, and fear your power.”
AQ  Post #: 3
7/15/2009 16:15:19   
AttilaTheHun
Member
 

Karl strode along the cobbled streets, his bootsteps clicking on the hard stones as he sprang forward with abundant energy. The throngs of screaming people along the sides of the street were a suitable motivation to fight to the best of his ability. He spun on his heavy leather soles to glance back down the road he came from, remembering vividly his sleepless dnight last night filled with debauchery. He knew the risks of dying in these championships was great, and thusly he knew he had to spend his, possibly, last night alive with as much pleasure as possible. Especially since he was bound for the Cellar Arena, where he would be very blind, and potentially very dead.

The monstrous granite structure of the arena sat like a jewel at the culmination of the road. His destination was hidden deeper, and soon he reached the heavy steel gate of his arena. He looked down at himself, making sure he had everything. His cloak draped off his left shoulder, hiding most of his arm but his hand in royal purple. His bare right arm reached accross himself to clutch the handle of his rapier, his pale skin revealing the wiry muscle beneath. Everything in order, he reached down, pulling his boots back up to their resting place at just below his knees, smoothed his tight silk chausses, straightened his belt, and pulled his leather vest taut.


A few moments later, and many, many steps, Karl Messer stepped into the subterranean room lit by candles. Another man and some odd reptilian thing were the only inhabitants of the room as of yet, and the duelist drew his rapier. He glanced over at his candlelit mirror image, multiplied many times throughout the mirror laden room.

"Well, I can't say the same for you two, but I'm looking quite good today. So, when do we fight?" he said, leaning on his sword, black hair and goatee standing straight with the electricity coursing through him.
Post #: 4
7/15/2009 20:16:25   
Shadowy Mist
Member

Alirik gave a small yawn as he woke up. He had half gotten up before he remembered: today was the day when he would make himself famous in the name of the Light Lord or be crushed trying. He got up fully, opening the tent flap to let some light and fresh air in. He breathed in and out with his head sticking out of the tent when suddenly he was self-conscious of his horns, which he rubbed with his hands, remembering what would haunt him forever, being driven out of his clan because he was “useless”. Well, he would show them! He shook his head, clearing his mind. It was not time to be thinking of such things. It was time to get a meal and then fight!

After a filling meal, Alirik headed down towards the Arena, which was hard to miss considering it's size, all the while thinking it was incredible that it was actually happening before his eyes, him going to the Elemental Championships, seemed like a dream that he might wake up from at any moment, but he knew that, if not careful, his death would be very real. It was strange to think that it would be humans that would help him to survive in the world and thrive, but that was the way the world worked out to be, he thought. He thought about the kind paladin who saved him from the brink of death and trained him in the arts of the Paladin Order. How sad he had been when he had to attend his funeral 3 years ago, and how strange everyone else must have thought it was for a Vartai to be getting teary over a human's life. However, it only encouraged him to train harder to make that paladin watching from the sky proud, and now he was ready to enter the Arena to fight for everything, his pride, his possessions, and his life. At the arena's entrance, he hesitated for a minute, thinking if it was actually worth it to risk everything. Laughing, he shook that hesitation off and stepped into the Arena and quite possibly his doom, smiling.

From the first barrage of senses, when the door to the Cellar was opened and he descended the steps, Alirik could already tell that this place was exceedingly unpleasant. Maybe it was the smell of dried blood, or maybe the ominous sight of mirror walls and definitely the bloodthristy crowd above them. Quite possibly, also the feeling of dryness against the skin, or maybe that was just the knowledge that nothing would ever heal in here, which rendered one of his paladin skills useless. Sighing, he tried to move his facial muscles into a vaguely happy look, which ultimately failed. He quickly abandoned that attempt once he reached the bottom of the steps. Above him, the crowd yelled delightedly at another contestant to watch being killed.

He scanned the arena for the people he would be fighting. He was the fourth to arrive. There was a small caped man with cold eyes that chilled him just to look at and who was holding a swirling mass of darkness. Another was a Drakel holding a crystal staff topped with a Drakel head that was slightly rusted. The last was a wiry, fast looking man holding a long steel rapier at his side, electricity seeming to blaze through him. As Alirik casually pushed his hair out of his eyes, he fingered his horns momentarily and then returned his grip to the axe he was carrying. He knew it would serve him well in the upcoming battle., but he had his doubts about himself. He looked at his muscled arms and wondered if he had what it takes to win the Championships. He returned his gaze to the three already there and asked “So who else we waiting for?” with a grin.


< Message edited by Shadowy Mist -- 7/15/2009 20:19:10 >
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 5
7/15/2009 20:20:39   
Elnaith
Member

Thinking back, Kysi decided that he really should've just paid the driver, instead of using his little trick to get a free ride. The driver had been good company, and it's not like Kysi needed the money; were he to succeed today, he would get more than enough in return, were he to fail, two pennies were all he needed. A shake of his head got rid of the brooding thoughts, and he opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling. "I really need to get my act together for today, one can not fight with a dazzled mind." He murmured to himself as he got up and performed his morning routine. Funny that I still feel compelled to do this, I am not sure my looks will help me win this tournament, though I guess it can never hurt. With the unconcerned air of the experienced he gave himself a quick shave, only to slight cut himself on his cheek. Oh great, hail Mighty Darkness, Lord of Irony.

As he climbed down the stairs, his breakfast was already waiting for him. 'Ah m'lord, I was just going to waken you, please contend yourself on the breakfast I humbly prepared for you. Fear not m'lord, I shall make sure no one will disturb you.' Kysi smiled at the serving wench, and resisted the impulse to use his trick again, Not the time for that now. He instead dismissed her with a wave of his hand and sat down, though he couldn't resist glaring after her, nor fail to notice the slight wink she gifted him before hurriedly closing the door. Ah, if only. The breakfast was good, though if this was 'the finest Bren has to offer' he feared for what the worst was. Yet it was nourishing, and probably capable of carrying him through the first round, he just hoped dinner was included before the finals.

As Kysi stepped out of the inn, the streets were packed, as was to be expected. His 6ft, wiry, posture, for once didn't stand out in the crowd, even his outfit, well-tailored and fancy, yet allowing as much freedom of movement one can have while still wearing clothes, weren't particularly out of place in the crowd. Hm, they dare to ignore my great presence, that IS outrageous, perhaps I should give them a preview of the storm. Then again, I might hit a sharp rock if I start tumbling, for once I shall hold myself in, today is going to be higher stakes than normal. His nickel grey eyes swivelled as he walked, making sure not to get injured, for a change.

Kysi's hand reached toward the cut on his cheek as he read the scroll, and couldn't help but laugh. Seems like I am getting punished for my vanity already, good sign of things to come. With that thought, he stepped through the gate, towards the light...


< Message edited by Elnaith -- 7/15/2009 20:22:01 >
AQ DF  Post #: 6
7/15/2009 22:12:21   
Frozt
Member

The other contestants were now entering the arena, but Fartish paid no mind to anyone. He flung back his head and laughed his maniacal laugh once again, then turned towards the others. Holding up his right hand, the shadows began swirling faster. After a few seconds they reached a dizzying speed, and began forming some type of weapon. As more of the weapon was formed, it began to resemble a sword. After a few more seconds, Farsith now stood with a brand new longsword made of shadow. He then raised his left hand, and the same scene unfolded once again. This time forming a smaller sword, although it was still identical to the other. He looked at the weapons, and with a blink of his eyes they changed into two scimitars instead. He flung his head back once again, and the laughter filled the cellar once more. He then looked ahead of him, his eyes now gleaming, and charged. While charging towards the the newest arrival, appearently a Vartai. As Farsith closed in on the man, his laughter grew louder and more manical. Suddenly he changed direction and ran towards the drakel instead, going down on one knee and slashing at his feet. This time, his laughter was now only an echo. This time, it was for real.

< Message edited by Frozt -- 7/15/2009 22:15:42 >
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 7
7/15/2009 22:55:44   
Ekiru
Member

Ekiru began walking towards the arena with his head tilted down, hood over his head. He just recently heard of this event, when he asked the people he was eavesdropping on about it, they reacted in a ridiculous manner. He probably never heard of this being raised on an isolated island all his life. This event only happens once per year, and seeing this is Ekiru's first year, he has a clear disadvantage to the more experience participants. However, if the death rate is as high as he heard, then many of his future opponents should be new as well. The thought of this made Ekiru tremble, with excitement. He grinned the whole way to the arena.

Ekiru entered the arena, and noticed there were other participants inside already. The young water manipulator was very interested, as all the walls of this arena, were mirrors. Dozens of possibilities ran through his head, what strategies can he use in this enigmatic battle field? He lifted his head from his blue robe, and gave an open cold stare, as if his glare was piercing everyones' eyes in the room. He ran his fingers through his black hair, it was time for his first impression. Some people have already decided to begin fighting, and others were idle, which was fine by him. He raised his right knee, and stomped the ground heavily. Thousands of water droplets around Ekiru rose from the ground, and formed into knives of water. He decided not to interrupt anybody's fight, instead he walked over to one of the mirrored walls and sat down, the few dozen knives floating around him. Now all Ekiru had to do was wait. Whether until someone attacks him, or until he gets impatient and attacks the first person in sight. Wait. Wait. Wait...
Post #: 8
7/16/2009 10:33:33   
Poetic Melody
Member

Kylie walked to the arena, exhausted. But of course she'd never show it. She wiped off her sweat and crossed her arms. She was now at the gate of the arena, where she read a scroll, just to catch her breath.

After reading the scroll, she had came up with a new strategy. Instead of just random killing, bounce everything off of the mirrors, and keep everyone away from you.

She flung her hair and walked into the arena. She lit her hand on fire to show off to the spectators, and contestants inside. As she showed off, she realized the attack had begun.

She saw a man laughing crazily, and started attacking some people, she could see his scimitars slashing at the Drakel's feet. She could instantly tell this mad was crazy, and of the darkness element. She made a mental note that he could be a challenge, but a good one to get out of the way. Probably a good one to team up on, and then turn on the team. She thought to herself, An alliance might go nice, until I kill them all.

She pulled out her staff and got ready for the fight. She wasn't going to take any chances, everyone, friend or not, they would be shedding blood. It was her time to win. Her time to show her family that they were wrong, because being nice meant nothing. No one could win a Elemental Championship being nice.

She lit her hand on fire one more time, just to show her family that she was right, and she would win.
DF  Post #: 9
7/16/2009 14:39:55   
AttilaTheHun
Member
 

Karl stepped back further away from where the two had engaged, trying to hide himself among the shadows.

All these mages he thought to himself, they'll tear me to ribbons unless I can wait to let them whittle each other away.

He crouched down low, pulling his cloak off his shoulder, clutching the steel chain that was used to keep the cloak around his neck, but also allowed him to channel some of his latent electricity down through the metal threads of his cloak. The air around him started to buzz, a low throbbing noise that sounded like a hive of bees. Hopefully an opponent he could stand toe to toe with would find their way into the arena soon enough.
Post #: 10
7/16/2009 20:48:10   
Shadowy Mist
Member

After the arrival of what Alirik thought were most of the contestants, attacks began. Alirik closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment, then in his mind's eye he could see the world illuminated in a different, eerie light. This eerie light of course were the auras that magic tends to emit. This way, he could see most of the contestants silhouetted in front of him. He opened his eyes to make sure none were making towards him and was surprised to see the small hooded man heading towards him, laughing uncontrollably. Alirik went into a defensive stance, ready to blast him when he came within range. Suddenly, the man swerved and made for the Drakel. Eyes darting around, he made sure nobody was likely to attack him and closed his eyes, paying attention to everyone's magical defenses. When he had observed the most he felt he could safely do, he opened his eyes and looked at the situation at hand. Nobody was really battling except the hooded man. Alirik smirked, and focused on being ready for an opponent's attack. When they attacked, he would be sure to be ready.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 11
7/17/2009 2:51:22   
Guardian of Nekops
Member

Tel’rion turned calmly to look at the unnatural-looking man in black, his scaly eyelids blinking at the shadowy figure’s inexplicable laughter. “And they said I was mad,” he muttered, turning his attention back to the other competitor in the room before he had a chance to attack him, as the maniac was still far enough away to keep him from being an immediate threat.

One human competitor— a warrior who relied on speed and flash rather than power, judging from his garb and light weapon— issued a boastful challenge to Tel’rion and to the maniac, commenting on his own looks of all things. The Salt Mage looked him over critically, noting everything from the fine, flashy silks to the bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, earned by drinking and wild partying, no doubt. This boy was the life of some party, a ladies’ man, perhaps the ornament of some royal court somewhere… and he should go back where he belonged. Tel’rion knew the type, and scoffed. This fool had probably never taken anything seriously in his whole life, and he would have to start if he was going to survive. Well, he will have to get his education elsewhere, the Drakel thought. I’ve no time to take tiresome dandies on as pupils.

Another peal of riotous laughter made Tel’rion turn back to the maniac, who seemed to be forming one sword, and then another, out of shadow. Arming oneself was really something that should be done before entering the arena, and it certainly was no cause for so much celebration… the man was clearly unbalanced, and bore watching. With a blink, the shadowy competitor changed his weapons from straight swords to curved ones and threw his head back again, screaming his merriment as if this were sure to be the fulfillment of his evil plan, the death of them all.

The maniac then snapped his head down towards the others unnaturally, his glowing eyes staring like the open gates of Hell at someone who had just now cleared the steps, most definitely a Vartai judging by the skin color and shape of the horns. Tel’rion felt just a tinge of pity for his draconic cousin as the shadow warrior charged, dark scimitars held high, but he did not move to interfere. After all, kin or no, the Vartai was a competitor; if the Salt mage saved him now, he would only have to kill him later.

Tel’rion raised his staff in both hands in a warding gesture as the madman ran past, keeping an eye on this volatile factor lest he be attacked on the way. Though he prayed with all his might that this maniac would just pass him by, the man turned smoothly towards him on the ball of a foot, still emitting that haunting, mindless laugh…

The Salt Mage raised his staff high to block the inevitable blow, knowing full well that the thin matrix of Dragonsalt would not be enough to hold any assault for long. It was then, though, that his attacker’s madness turned to the Drakel’s advantage, for the man paused in his charge to take a knee right at his clawed feet. Unbelieving, Tel’rion nevertheless slammed his staff down into the packed dirt floor between himself and his kneeling foe, the weapon acting both as a shield against the attack and as support as he leapt back from the twin blades of shadow.

The two blades slammed into the bottom of the crystal staff from both sides, and spider cracks shot through the material. With the weight of its owner fully upon it to facilitate his leap back, the fragile implement shattered, the full bottom half of its length flying apart into razor-sharp pieces that glittered in the torchlight. Suddenly free of its salty container, the water that had been imprisoned within the staff gushed out onto the ground, slowly beginning to soak into the packed earth.

Tel’rion looked down at this destruction the madman had caused; his staff, his reserve of water, and his ability to gather more had all been dashed in one blow. Staring down at his kneeling opponent with barely contained fury, the Drakel lifted up the broken, hollow end of his staff and sneered, “Die, fool!”

All around the shadow warrior, glistening shards of Dragonsalt flew up from the ground and straight for the kneeling body, each poisonous piece urged to dissolve quickly into the next liquid it touched by the Salt Mage’s command. Seeping back up through the soil, the outcast’s lost salt water also joined the fray, darting up at the maniac’s face and seeking any way of getting inside… mouth, nose, eyes, anything.

As all this occurred, Tel’rion stepped forward, trying to trap the scimitars beneath his clawed foot, and brought the jagged end of his staff down towards his foe’s back, roaring, “DIE!”
AQ  Post #: 12
7/17/2009 10:11:01   
Frozt
Member

As the drakel's counter attack hit, Farsith's cold eyes stared at his oponent. How foolish to think that Farsith cared about this body. He could feel the liquid's poisonous nature, and he knew that this could be a hindrance. As the drakel attacked him, Farsith knew he had to do something. He quickly braced himself and rolled to the side, feeling the slight rush of air as the drakel's broken staff soared past his back. The tiny pieces of the drakels staff that he had used to attack Farsith with had hit his left foot, and Farsith could feel the effects of the poison. He staggered, and raised himself up on his elbow. As he did so, his stomach turned and his breakfast landed upon the floor. 'Heh, not bad, but not good enough' he said to the drakel standing fully up. He noted that one of his scimitars were trapped under the drakels foot, and quickly concentrated his entire being on the part of him now lying on the floor. As the shadows swirled around the blade, it changed back into the orb it had been before. Farsith reached a hand out and grabbed the orb, feeling complete again. 'DIE!' he screamed as the cellar was filled with laughter once again. He fired a dark beam towards the drakel and began running. This time, however, his laughter was not just an echo, it was the laugh of a true madman. He could feel the poison burning, but he didn't care. After all, this body was a prison not a tool. He looked for any sign that the drakel would try and dodge the beam, and that would be the time for Farsith to attack.
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 13
7/17/2009 22:07:13   
AttilaTheHun
Member
 

For the first time in his life, Karl felt fear. His legs were shaky, and it wasn't because he was feeling energetic, it was because he was scared for his life. All his other duels had been against nobodies, inexperienced fools who were nothing special. They had all died at the tip of his rapier. And the only way he felt he could cope with the fear was to strike out against another target.

The madman's back was facing the duelist, and after parting with his morning meal, the follower of Darkness fired some horrid beam of coagulated darkness at the dragonesque creature, and started running towards the Salt Mage. Standing tall, Karl shook the heavy weight of fear out of his muscles. Running forward to within his range, he took two leaping steps and threw his cloak up in a swirling motion. He spun the purple cloth twice, flapping loudly in the air, before bringing it up to block his opponents line of sight from both his body and his rapier. The sword was cocked back, coiled like a spring, and with the flourish of his cloak he lunged forward. A loud thunderclap preceded his lunge, and his sword exploded out from behind the cloak, shooting forward to impale the cackling madman.

< Message edited by AttilaTheHun -- 7/18/2009 14:02:54 >
Post #: 14
7/18/2009 15:36:53   
Frozt
Member

As a cloak suddenly blocked Farsith's view and he heard a loud thunderclap, he knew that another attack was in progress. Someone had attacked him out of nowhere, appearently trying to either help the drakel or just take advantage of Farsith's current position. Farsith's first act was to throw himself back as fast as he could, hoping that whatever attack was aimed at him would soar over his head instead. As he did so he could feel his impaled foot's ankle shooting pain up his leg, and his first thought was that his ankle was broken. But before he could think further, he knew that action had to be taken. He extended his arms over his head, flinging himself off the ground and landed heavily on his right foot. He lowered his left foot quickly to the ground, and tried to see if it could still carry his weight. He could feel the horrible pain but the ankle wasn't broken as he had first thought. The pieces of the staff had been affected by his sudden change of footing, and was now rubbing against the bones of his foot. 'Grrr, you foolish creature' he snarled at the attacker, distancing himself from pain center of the body. This would keep the pain at bay, although it would not keep it away indefinately. He extended his arm towards the man, and shadows began forming behind Farsith. Two blobs of darkness began rising from the shadows, each forming the image of a soldier wielding a sword. Farsith's laughter filled the cellar once again, this time emanating from the soldiers. As the soldiers began running towards the cloaked man, Farsith vomited once again. 'Damn poison' he mumbled to himself. He looked at his hands, and his weapons formed into katanas. He looked up again, and fired another dark beam, this time towards the cloaked man.
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 15
7/18/2009 20:30:47   
AttilaTheHun
Member
 

Karl cursed to himself as the madman leaped away from the speeding tip of his rapier. The cloak flapping, which usually served as a suitable distraction, now served as a warning signal and gave the shadowy warrior the chance to dodge. His attack against the drakel disrupted, the insane warrior favored his right leg, as his left had been shredded by the flying shards of salt. The drakel had backed off, probably planning further attacks, Karl surmised, and the duelist again faced his opponent. The man growled something in his direction, but Karl couldn't understand, and the madman threw his arm in the duelists direction. Behind the man, the shadows coagulated, forming two indistinct blobs. Within moments they had transformed, each spinning into the shadowy silhouette of a soldier, swords drawn. They both laughed, the insane cackle of their master sharp in Karl's ears and charged. Their master retched again, and fired another of the beams of pure darkness. Any regular person would have been too distracted by the presence of the charging shadow soldiers to notice much less dodge the beam, but the duelist's senses had been honed by many, many years of practice. He spun on his left foot, electrically enhanced speed allowing him to, barely, just barely, avoid the dark beam. As it passed, he could nearly sense the malevolence it held, and the hairs raised up on the back of his neck from its very presence. At the finale of his spin he threw his left arm out, cloak flapping with the great speed, attempting to wrap the charging soldier on the left in it's electrical grasp, and extended his right arm to keep his sword between him and the other soldier. Hopefully the drakel would have the sense to take advantage of the occupied shadow mage.
Post #: 16
7/18/2009 21:02:56   
Shadowy Mist
Member

Alirik gazed around but only the Drakel and hooded figure were fighting. All others, including himself were watching them battle. The Drakel counter attacked with streams of what appeared to be salt, and what was strange was it seemed to burn the figure. Alirik guessed it was searing hot, or poisoned. He made a mental note to be careful around the Drakel, and as everyone else was still watching them fight, he turned his attention to the other contestants and looked carefully for potential weaknesses.

He hadn't gotten anywhere, when in the corner of his eye, he caught movement. He swiftly turned around, his body getting ready for a fight, muscles tensing when he realized it was only the hooded man disposing of his stomach contents. “Lovely,” he thought to himself, rolling his eyes, but then the wiry man raced towards the two men currently fighting and used his cloak cleverly to block the hooded man from seeing him and thrust his rapier forward to try to impale the hooded man. “Not bad,” Alirik commented to himself, even though he knew the rapier would in likelyhood never reach it's intended target, but he didn't have time to stick around and watch.

Alirik knew he was getting jumpy and that didn't bode well for when he was attacked. With the wiry man joining the fray, the drakel and hooded figure would be indisposed for at least a while, and he could make his move before he got too jumpy. He turned away from the 3-person fight that would surely occur now and turned to the remaining contestants, looking for a target. Perfect. There was a girl, a woman really, about 5 meters away. Then the perfect opportunity came.

All of a sudden, the hooded man had started laughing maniacally again. Alirik stole a quick glance, two blobs of darkness were writhing behind him and the hooded figure shot another beam. Alirik quickly looked back, the girl was fixated on the fight with no signs of seeing anything beyond it, but he knew this could change in an instant. Just to be sure, he discreetly formed a ball of light on his fingers behind his back and quickly shot it at the girl's eyes. Acting quickly lest the blindness wore off, Alirik raced as quickly as he could towards the girl. Focusing on speed, he swung his axe at the girl's legs, aiming to immobilize her.


AQ DF MQ  Post #: 17
7/19/2009 17:16:27   
Mr.Pumpkin
Member

Dozens of identical shadows leapt on the mirrored walls, barely reflecting an ensorcelled warrior. An enormous blade was hefted and swung, once, twice, three times. The duelist and the two shadow-men couldn't have been expected to see a shadow approach in a pitch-black battleground, and neither could they be expected to get up. The sword was one that had left entire kingdoms black and withered.

But of course, this was the Elemental Championship. This was a place where gods clashed and died.

There was a sorcerer up ahead, but he didn't seem to be doing much of anything. No, right now, the real prize, the object, the quarry was directly in front of him, covered in its own fetid filth. It was a bit unfortunate, Lord Madmourner thought, and not very romantic at all that he would gain his greatest victory so early in the game. His nose wrinkled under meticulous black locks. It would be tempting to allow some sort of ice-magician to refrigerate his rancid opponent – but no, this fight had to be his alone. He would have to endure the stench. What one does for one’s Lord, and all that.

A venomous smile was put on. It was pure white, though not dazzling – rather dull, really, sort of hazy. He was a man who drew your eye – through means both magical and physical – but once your eye had arrived, it felt somewhat cheated, as if it wasn’t being given all it had been promised. It seemed that no matter how large and imposing he might be, the void around him was just slightly more so. He took in more light than he gave off.

A lock of hair was lazily swept back by a scaled glove. It glided through the rough mop as easily as it might the dank air. No ventilation, of course. Oh, gods, leave it to Farsith to make an uncomfortable situation a thousand times worse.

Ah, well. He could endure the funk long enough to exchange pleasantries, at least. The salt smell was just as overwhelming, but not quite as unpleasant, so it helped. Anyway, once the duel began, he doubted he would notice. Poisoned words formed on his red lips, their color washed away, perhaps by the acidic quality of his speech.

“Farsith. Always a pleasure. Forgive me for intruding so rudely, but I simply must have this dance. I'm sure you agree."


< Message edited by Mr.Pumpkin -- 7/20/2009 8:22:38 >
Post #: 18
7/19/2009 23:05:25   
Poetic Melody
Member

Kylie was watching the fight between the three men, but then she heard something coming closer to her, she turned to look and saw a man rushing towards her with an axe. He spat this light towards her, it was bright. He then started swinging at her legs, which she then turned on fire and hoped to delay him for a while as she waited for her sight to return. She jabbed her staff at him and it turned to a sword, it would be easier to fight with him that way. She aimed to cut the leather on the axe, if she missed, if she didn't cut it, it still might catch on fire from the burning fire her sword was made of. She took a few more jabs at him and his axe. She was slowly regaining sight, but everything was still a blur. She prepared herself for any attack the man may make. She wasn't giving up, especially not now.

< Message edited by jominomer -- 7/20/2009 16:19:56 >
DF  Post #: 19
7/20/2009 16:34:57   
Ekiru
Member

A second battle began, which began to make Ekiru's blood boil. He stood up, his water knives still compressed and floating around him. He also noticed another man enter the arena, and he gave him a cold stare. This man with the black locks will be Ekiru's opponent, whether he chose to or not. The man appeared to be interfering between the original battle, and Ekiru didn't want that to start.

"Farsith. Always a pleasure. Forgive me for intruding so rudely," he began, and that was all Ekiru needed to begin the fight with him. He didn't want to lose the opportunity to fight with another opponent. Ekiru flicked his index finger, sending a knife flying towards the man. Instead of hitting him however, Ekiru sent the knife down right in front of his feet, giving him the signal to fight him.

"Sorry to say, but nobody likes an interference. Why not fight me? It will give the others a third battle to observe." Ekiru raised his palm, the other knives levitating on the ground in front of him. "Well you only have to choices as of now, to fight me, and well, I don't think I need to explain the other to you."

Ekiru gave this man a strange grin, the excitement before a battle to the death, almost suffocating. Now Ekiru cast forth his arm, sending the dozens of water knives flying towards the competitor with black locks. My my, I hope this doesn't kill him, he thought to himself while the knives were still heading towards his enemy, I hope he can at least keep me entertained for a few more minutes.
Post #: 20
7/21/2009 10:51:42   
Elnaith
Member

Kysi first wanted to get a good image of his adversaries before going in for the fight, and so far no one had shown an interest in him. That is good, the more hits they get before I get to fight, the higher chance I have of survival, but then again, the Elemental Lords do not look kindly upon impassivity. He did draw his Rapier and Kukri, so to be prepared and ready to strike, but then continued to observe for a bit. The mad guy looks like he is Darkness too, but it he's being attacked by two now already, should be sufficient. That guy he started fighting with though, he seems interesting too, a salt mage, if I'm not much mistaken, could prove very dangerous indeed, should watch my sweat. Ah, but who is that? A female in the Arena, interesting, she seems very young indeed, quite the fiery type too. Hm, a fire mage I guess, or she forgot she had her hand soaked in flammable liquid.

His focus was on the girl for quite a while, doubting if he should use his trick on her, when suddenly a ball of light shot into his vision, and her eyes soon after. The ball was followed by what seemed to be some kind of humanoid with horns, bearing quite an axe. Hm, Did not know they let bulls participate, well, I guess I can give the lass a hand. Kysi grinned as he shot out two thoughts to the minds of the combatants. "I could use an ally right now." to the lass, and "No one can get me now." to the bull.

Raising his swords, Kysi saw the two were already engaged in melee so he charged towards the bull, swiping his rapier at the back of the humanoid at the end of it, while already regaining composure with the rest of his body falling into a fighting stance.

< Message edited by Elnaith -- 7/21/2009 11:25:00 >
AQ DF  Post #: 21
7/21/2009 20:07:55   
Shadowy Mist
Member

Alirik swung his axe at the girl's legs, listening to the whistling the axe made as it travelled through the air to it's target. At the last moment, her legs were on fire and she seemed to have no reaction to the axe contact. Hmm, he thought to himself, it seems wounds don't hurt her when her legs on fire. He attempted to strike again, but was blocked by the girl again, trying hard to recover from the blindness.

Suddenly, a strange thought came to him, “No one can get me now,” A very silly thought, he mused, how could he ever be safe in this arena, surrounded with people that wanted to kill him? The thought persisted however. He wondered why he had even thought this and resolved to put unrealistically optimistic thoughts out of his mind. Sure, he might even survive this arena, but then there would be the Finals. He shivered. At that moment, he became aware of the girl's flaming sword coming towards him quick. He reacted instinctively and threw himself out of the way. The sword missed by inches. Alirik looked over at her, obviously she had recovered from blindness when he was thinking about that strange thought, but what was even more interesting was what was behind him for who knows how long.

The man was probably almost behind him when he got out of the way of the sword and was holding a rapier in one hand and a curved knife in his other. His intent was obvious: he wanted to help the girl, but she had done well enough without him, almost killing him while he had been thinking. He cursed, two enemies would be harder than one, obviously, but it would very likely be fatal to him. He set up a defensive shield in an oval 20 cm away from his body, and it seemed invisible. Indeed, they would likely only even know it's there when they hit it. He stood in front of a pillar, waiting for one of them to make the first move.


< Message edited by Shadowy Mist -- 7/21/2009 20:47:42 >
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 22
7/22/2009 0:09:04   
Guardian of Nekops
Member

The madman stared up at Tel’rion from the depths of his murky cowl as the salt water poured into it, presumably finding some way inside his body. The eye contact was extremely unnerving… it seemed to last forever, yet when the shards and staff reached the place where the nightmarish creature should be it was already gone, rolling to the right and out of the target area. The dodge had not come quite soon enough, however. Though the broken staff soared harmlessly through the open air, the crude needles of Dragonsalt struck true, slamming into Farsith’s left foot and piercing through clothing into skin. Every last one struck true, somehow, turning the man’s leg into a pincushion.

Tel’rion grinned wickedly as the madman staggered away, vomiting out what he swallowed of the poison water as well as some of the other contents of his stomach. This purged most of the Dragonsalt from him before it could absorb into his body and affect him, but that was fine… the Drakel mage had never seen someone so susceptible to it.

From the ground, suspended over his own breakfast, the fool dared mock him, saying, “Heh, not bad, but not good enough.” With an endurance that could only be born of insanity, the warrior for Darkness stood up, the crystal shards in his leg grinding against bone and ripping at his flesh as he did so.

The Salt Mage sneered at his opponent, glancing down at the man’s ruined leg. What makes you think I’m done with you?! his mind scoffed. My daggers are still in your flesh, your leg is hardly functional as is. Just a little twist of those shards and you will be crippled, spilling your life’s blood on the arena floor.

He smiled wickedly, adding, And in this arena, wounds do not heal.

While Tel’rion was thus lost in thoughts of his own coming victory, the shadowy warrior managed to regain his scimitar by reverting it into the ball of shadows it had been when first summoned, then coming back to fetch it. A rather clever trick, all told, though it left him right at the feet of the Salt Mage once again. The outcast was just about to take advantage of this fact, wielding the remnant of his staff like a mace now, when the madman shot a beam of darkness into his chest from point blank range and started running, the dissolving knives of salt in his leg slicing deeper into his flesh with every step.

The black beam lanced into the Drakel’s crystal weapon, being refracted much as its opposite would have been. The split Darkness then struck the Salt Mage in three separate places on his torso, leaving a great black blotch on the white robes which covered it in each spot. Though two of the branches were too weak to do more than get through his thick hide, the last was focused enough even after going through the staff to bore a neat hole all the way through his left side and into his tail, which also lost a neat cylinder of flesh about the thickness of a finger.

All four wounds were, surprisingly, pain-free. The punctures, even the deepest one, did not bleed… they were instead surrounded by necrotic flesh, the dead bits of his body acting to seal the wound in much the same way that fire would have cauterized them. A terrible numbness that made him sick at heart spread from these places in lieu of the pain Tel’rion would have expected and he fell to his knees, overcome by the infectious lack of feeling and by horror at what was happening to his body.

The cold emptiness advanced through his body like a wave, and the magichemist feared he would be overcome by it, turned to a foul undead in seconds, all his hopes and ambitions dashed upon the rocks as the accursed madman laughed on, his wild whoops and cackling bouncing off the walls and filling the whole of Cellar, oppressing his soul. Before long, however, this unnatural feeling retreated to its proper places; having made itself known at first to the entire body just as pain would have done, the numbness then focused itself back on the actual injured parts of him and the nausea that it caused him became more manageable. Though it was likely within his power to stand, and perhaps even run if he had to, he found himself in no mood and satisfied himself with just looking up, studying his opponent.

In a turn of events which had probably saved him, the madman was now fighting the posh-looking duelist, his weapons changed from scimitars to twin katanas now. Two black creatures, shaped like their mad master, now seemed to be aiding the man in black, a development that caused the wounded Drakel to hiss. Despite the fact that he found the silk-clad duelist annoying, the maniac for Darkness was the real threat here, the thrice-cursed human who had broken his staff, wasted his water, and caused the unnatural wounds which now plagued his flesh. If he could summon these warriors of shadow as well, then the maniac had to be taken down soon, before he finished off the fool and came back for the wounded Salt Mage. Not to mention the fact that there was just the slightest chance that the dandy would actually prevail, and this kill belonged to Salt.

The madman’s left leg was still pierced all throughout with Dragonsalt, which was soaking into his veins, slowly poisoning him. However, the keen crystals were also blocking the wounds, restricting the process of bleeding out, and right now Tel’rion needed a quick death. Fighting against the numb lethargy that still oozed from his wounds, he forced himself to his feet and raised a clawed hand towards the injured leg of his foe. With a feral grin, he clenched his fist, claws in, twisted it, then pulled it down, causing the shards to follow suit. Plunging deep into the already mutilated flesh from all angles, they then carved their way around the leg, slicing at muscles and tendons as they went. Finally, they tore deep furrows down the leg on their way to crash upon the ground, shattering to harmless pieces.

The staff was useless now, the Drakel machinery inside the metal head diligently pulling water in from the air only to send it trickling down the shaft and out the broken handle. Casting it aside, the Salt Mage dropped his hands to his sea-blue belt, taking a bottle from each side. Both contained clear liquids and were firmly corked, an issue which he solved by piercing the side of each cork with a thumbclaw and popping them free. Spreading his arms wide, he stared at the lunatic and his shadow creations, ready for anything but the empty darkness that was slowly seeping through his body.
AQ  Post #: 23
7/22/2009 8:22:07   
Frozt
Member

Farsith looked at the man who had walked up to him in the middle of his fight. The man had known his name, a name he had never spoken since the day of betrayal. Farsith looked at the man, realizing who was standing before him. It seemed to farsith as though time had stopped, and only two people were able to move. 'You!' was the first thing Farsith's dry mouth was able to say. 'YOU!' was the first thing he could scream. 'Madmourner' he said, his cold eyes piercing the man before him. 'You KILLED me' he screamed. He emptied his lungs in a scream of horror, turning into a scream of pain as the shards of the staff moved through his foot tearing apart his muscles. He stumbled backwards, trying to regain his lost balance. He had trouble standing, and even more trouble walking. He looked at the drakel, planning his revenge. He knew that his fight with Madmourner had to wait, and that his primary target had to be the drakel. His gaze ran over the drakel once more, noticing that his attack had hit. The drakel appeared to be ready for something, but Farsith did not know what. I am going to rip out his heart was the only thing going through Farsith's head, as another shadow appeared on the ground behind him. He sent a command to the newly formed shadow fighter, and another to the ones already engaged in a fight with the man in the cloak. This would allow him to focus on something else, a thing nescessary now. As the third soldier, this one armed with an axe, charged the cloaked man, Farsith's body began melting into a blob of shadow on the ground. When there was nothing left of his body the shadow, nearly invisible on the already dark ground, began moving. It moved along the walls, along the shadows moving towards the drakel. As the shadow reached the back of the drakel, it turned into Farsith once again. As he formed he attacked the drakel, slashing at his head with the longer blade while stabbing at his back with the shorter.
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 24
7/22/2009 10:33:07   
Poetic Melody
Member

Kylie saw the man jump away from her legs, she ran to him, when she thought I could use an ally right now. She didn't know what made her think that, when she was doing good in the battle already, but it did seem like a good idea. Two heads were better then one. But she had to remember the things with allies, watch your back, and when you're done with them, aim at theirs.

She saw a man behind the man she was fighting with, Would he like to be an ally? she thought. She gestured a Come over type of wave and gave him a some-what friendly look using a half smile and a quick little wave, making sure she wasn't losing what was happening in the fight.

DF  Post #: 25
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