=EC 2010= Spike Arena (Full Version)

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Kellehendros -> =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/20/2010 19:28:12)

Spike Arena OOC

A curious trio inspected the quietly menacing Spike Arena in the predawn light. A blue-haired man, Alex, holding a small grey cat in his arms as his eyes traced over the rusted metal of the Arena. A small, dwarfish fellow stood next to him, hunched over in a strangely defensive posture, a red cap on his head. Alex didn't need to see the Arenas before the tournament started, and even if he had to, it would have been a simple matter to attend to one while sending Slash to another; having a familiar was useful when one could essentially be in two places at once. Still, he had always preferred a more personal touch, and so he contemplated the Arena quietly while holding the purring Slash in his arms. At length he was apparently satisfied, for he turned and began to walk out the gate. "Come along Gorse, we've much to do." The small creature remained stubbornly in one place for a moment, then muttered something dark as he turned and followed Alex out and towards the next Arena.

~~~

It had been a long year since the last Elemental Championship, but the Championship Arena Complex did not show signs of age, rather the contrary - it grew, and along with it, just a hill and a spring with a new stone bridge away, grew the city of Bren. The proximity of the Arena had done it much good - apart from the great crowds -- and thusly business -- it brought in during the Championship itself, just the presence of such a complex carried the township's name far over the lands. There came adventurers of many sorts, and the burgeoning six 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 peer through and see what sort of obstacles lay in wait for them within.

Of the four Arenas, Spike was the most gruesome to behold, with an interior, both floor and slightly tilted spike-covered walls made completely out of a once cold blue metal, now pitted and rusted, coated over in layer upon layer of old bloodstains. The metal, as they've been instructed before, was non-breakable by either magic or force. There were miniature channels where the floor connected to the spiky 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 hazards not at the walls were grafted to the sides of a very large - yet again, metal - pillar. Wickedly sharp, the four blades ran the height of the pillar, sharp edges pointing out into the four cardinal directions. But there was little time for sightseeing or inspection now, 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.



Postmaster General -> RE: =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/20/2010 21:26:11)

The sun was bright and beat down through the storm clouds. It's piercing rays ventured to stab in and out of the ominous tufts. One such ray caught Hellsbane Hawthorne and brought him to reality. The long, unhydrated journey from the deserted island to here had exhausted the scurvied sailor.

Sounds of waves crashing on the rocky bluffs told him that he had been beached. Sitting up, Elias took a look around and saw that, above the few feet of rocks extended a fair patch of green grass, a perfect place to take refuge from the dangerous ocean's crests. The pirate sat up and groaned in agony. Apparently some time during the long voyage, a colony sea crawlers had taken up residence in the boat and through Hawthorne's belongings.

"Why I nev'r!" the pirate cursed at the skies, "great wat'r bein's, I come her' to fight fer yer hon'r, an' ya gi' me this?" In anger, the groggy seadog spouted off until he began to float at the mouth. Then it struck him, ya gi' me this.., "Interestin'," Elias said in a calmer tone, "forgive me wat'r spirits, I mistook yer intentions." With a smirk, Hawthorne turned to gather his things and strapping them to his body. Fully armoured, the corsair began to scale the rocks and, with much difficulty, ascended the face of the surface.

As his fingers coursed through the soft, smooth grass above him, a surge of inspiration caused him to nearly fly over the cliff and onto the platform above. Never had he longed for such a soothing surface as he did right that instant. His momentum carried him over the cliff face and landed on that soft patch. As his head cleared the jutting surface, he realized it was not a patch of grass, but rather a sun-bathing tiger seal.

With a growl the gigantic hulking mass of fur and blubber awoke and craned its head to see what had disturbed its slumber. Upon seeing Elias, it lurched its body forward and bared its rows of razor-sharp teeth.

A recently converted pacifist, Elias had no reason, nor desire, to attack the wild creature. Instead, Hawthorne took the most unprovoking position he could think of; the fetal position.

As he crouched over and halted motion, the tiger seal lowered its growl to a grumble. It approached cautiously, teeth still bared, and came within arms reach of the vulnerable adventurer.

A few sniffs to test the water and the seal felt comfortable enough to expose its unprotected side. It turned and dove graciously into the water below, destroying the raft as it did. With the crash of the impact reaching the sailor's ears, he decided to give up his defensive position and rise to his feet.

Elias looked over the cliff and saw the remnants of his boat, nothing was salvageable, but there was no worry there. He had made it. He had reached Bren, the fabled town, fed by the Arenas and the Elemental Championship.

A few steps away was a wall of trees, and the sound of a bustiling city could barely be percieved through them.

A lump arose in Hawthorne's throat as the heat stroke and dehydration shook off of him. After a quick scan to make sure he had his equipment, Elias raced through the trees to the main road of the town.

A quick stop at the Inn to wash the salty taste of the sea and replace it with the sweet amber ale, and he raced off towards the Arenas.

There was a vast array of contestants making their way around. Passing from vendor's stall to vendor's stall. The community here seemed to prosper from the tournament. The contestants would not be the only ones overtaken with excitement.

As he surveyed the immediate area, Elias saw a few select fighters making their way to various Arenas. He paced towards a man who bore the insignia of the water elements.

"Excuse me, sir," he began, a burp escaping his lips, "Oh, excuse me. I'm Elias, Elias Hawth'rne," at this, the man began to shutter. Apparently, he recognized the name for his former, evil reputation. "Don't fear me. I'm not here ta cause no problems. I jist need to fig're ot w'er I need ta rep'rt fer the competishin."

"O-of c-course, mister H-Hawthorne," the priest consulted a scroll which he produced from his robe. "A-according to the roster, you are to compete in the Spike arena. Which is staight that way," he said gesturing off towards one of the many large buildings surrounding the area.

"Thank ye, landlubber." Elias said as he marched off in the direction the priest had instructed. As he walked towards the Spike arena, he wrapped his whip around his left shoulder and pinned the handle to his bicep. A quick shake of his sword's hilt told him that it was securely sheathed at his side. Some slight adjusting to his greaves, gloves, and breastplates caused some disruption and forced a wince from Elias. A quick scratch relieved the annoying sensation as Hawthorne arrived to the Arena.

As he peered through the gates, he saw the blue, blood-stained metal which met at points of the spikes which gave the arena its specific element. How very interestin'...

The crazy corsair let out a maniacal laugh as the heat of battle reignited a flame inside of him. The pacifist nature would be set aside during this competition, and a clean conscience came with that understanding.

Hellsbane Hawthorne, a nickname earned after time-tested battle proficiency. True to that name, Elias scanned the area and immediately began formulating battle strategies to compliment the surroundings. As his mind began to fume, the outlaw assumed a perch atop one of the spikes, careful to use his saber-wielding grace to keep from leaving too much weight on one spot.



superjars -> RE: =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/21/2010 1:31:39)

“Cassivo, your fighting years are all but complete. Soon your energy will fizzle away and someone else will take your place,” the voice had spoken from behind the creature, coming from his best friend and pupil. “Have you made your choice about going to the Elemental Championships and representing the Energy Lord, who has granted you the powers you control?” The man's words had cut like daggers in his flesh, reminding him of the hard battles and painful memories of the last couple years.

“I have decided,” he had spoken quietly, pulling his massive body to his feet, energy sparking throughout the interlocking protrusions as it ran to bring the energy to the muscles in his legs. “In the end, the decision was easier than I expected. I have lived a full and long life, bringing glory to the Brazzik people. And I owe all of that to the Energy Lord. With my last bits of energy, I will bring glory to his name!”

His pupil had clapped him on the back and embraced his friend, energy flowing freely between the two of them. In their own strange way, the energy that flowed between them evoked to each other the smiles that both felt. They had ended the embrace after a few moments, energy still sparking between them as they parted. There was no one better than Kedrik for Cassivo to leave their people in the hands of, and both of them knew it. In some ways, this was to be the last time they would ever stand as equals, as in a few days, the master would be passing down the mantle to his young pupil and leaving to fight in the tournaments. One last hurrah for the old warrior, giving the last of his life force back to the Lord who had granted it to him in the first place.

***

Looking back on the events of those last few days spent at home, Cassivo felt a shock of electricity around his eye, which was his people's equivalent of tears. The passing-down ceremony was a beautiful event, giving the spark from master to student, placing the dreams and hopes of their people on someone who had shown himself worthy of being given the role. He had felt the energy rush out of him, the sparks of command which had been given to him by the previous leader flowing into this new young man. Kedrik would do fine at the job, but there was still the bittersweet feelings about the loss of energy and guidance which the leadership energy provided. In the coming battles, the massive creature would now have to rely on his own individual strength and wit to compete in this tournament.

And his plans began even now; there was no need for anyone to know anything about his capabilities or skills. Siphoning energy out of his legs, arms and torso and into his mind was the first order of this new day. Doing this would sharpen his mind and senses, allowing him to observe his opponents, but at the same time attempting to fool them by his own appearance. His back hunched slightly, his arms and legs dragging lazily beneath him, only the occasional spark crackling around his body. The imagery should cause many to underestimate his abilities, which was exactly what he intended to start things off. Prepared for his inglorious entrance, Cassivo stepped out into the street, his body grinding slowly through its motions, churning forward and out into the street. A brilliant sun beat down on the creature's gray back, his feet sliding over the dirty street and kicking up dust as he shuffled forward. His head moved only slightly, but he widened his gaze to take in the surroundings.

He lumbered past busy shops, excited spectators, potential opponents and local people on his slow transit up the crowded street. People moved out of his way as he walked, keeping himself on the path leading straight towards his intended destination: the Spike Arena, where he would be pitted against several other fighters. As he neared the entrance, he got his first glimpse of the space in which he would bring honor to his Lord. The pillar in the center of the room intrigued him the most, as it gave him a focus for his electricity; one which could channel energy in multiple directions. If there was even some way to get it to spin, it could become even more dangerous. He would have to test its potential, if given the opportunity.

As he reached the entrance, he stopped, appearing to anyone who was watching to be tired and out of breath. He swept his gaze around the arena slowly, taking in the rest of the space, looking for advantages and disadvantages there in terms of his fighting style. There were spikes all over the walls, several feet away from each other, but with no apparent pattern or reason behind them. He trudged into the room, for the first time noticing the man perched in amongst the spikes: his only opponent thus far. The man was poised and balanced, squatting atop a spike that protruded from the wall, weapons at the ready. Cassivo left his own weapon attached to his back, not yet prepared to give up his guise of helplessness. Preparing to release the energy back into his body, he lumbered his way towards the pillar in the middle of the arena, keeping his gaze locked both on the man who was already in the room and the door through which all other opponents would enter. He was prepared.



Silver Lion -> RE: =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/21/2010 16:30:20)

~Two years ago - The beach~


"Your body is your weapon. Your mind -- power source. Connect the two and you'll become a destructive machine, rampaging through your foes. Remember the old sayings of the wise, young Anfur? Wind carries thou, wind gives thou speed -- everlasting wind blesses thou soul... Are you even listening to me?!"

"Oh," he produced a sudden, cold sound awakening from his usual daydreaming. "Yes, yes. I have heard everything you have said, mentor."

"You heard me, but you weren't listening, young Anfur. I am not saying this because you won't need it. Soon, very soon..." Janu stopped, his fairly old body crunching, lungs tired and worn out from decades of service. His will to train the lazy, nonobservant student withstood the test of time. Many would have failed trying to show Anfur how assassins see the world they live in. No -- it was different. Obviously Janu and Anfur had something similar, something which made them bound to each other.

Another deep breath followed Janu's explainable periods of silence during talking. A cough passed by, once again very loud and clear. The determined look in the wise one's eyes was that of an eagle while screeching down on vulnerable prey. Janu continued, rising his head above just to vision another clash of the gray clouds.

"You must understand... I am destined to leave this world. As all human are, after all. But during my life I have done deeds which made my papa, mama and other family proud. That is what I want you to do. Make me proud, young Anfur Appalachi. Show me that you have heeded my sayings. Prove that everything I taught you was not done in vein. I know you can do it. I trust you."

Not a single blink during the words spoken. Anfur was, so said, careful this time. His legs didn't tremble, he didn't feel the urge to flee back to his cottage and tackle another book on the seemingly kilometer-long shelve. He gazed at the veteran, thinking about everything the old man said. Trying to remember the bits he heard from Janu.

"Now, I leave you."

Janu walked away into the sunset, waves of the sea stampeding at his legs hastily, colliding with them in a sharp bang. Anfur never saw him after. The only sparks besides the surrounding ash were memories.


~Present Day - Entrance to the Spike Arena~

This is it, big guy. Oh, come on -- Get a hold of yourself, Anfur Tarkin-Appalachi. That's the name! Just do what you always do and fight. Remember, Janu will be proud of you. Yeah? Yeah!

The colossal gate was in front of him. Anfur stared at the inside, trying to get a peek of whatever was in there before he entered. As might as he /thought he/ was, he still wanted to scout something just to know what to expect. He felt a bit dizzy, the Arena slowly blackened out and reappeared, flowers looked like sharp, tiny needles. The grass was of an icky yellowish color in his confused, shivering eyes. Contestants bursting around him and heading off to their Arenas didn't bother him at all, nor did it disturb Anfur's statuary stance. He knew the one he was going in, it was all which mattered to him.

Mind overwhelmed with thoughts, but there was nothing the lad could do to evade this mental trap. Left with no other option but to enter the Arena, Anfur quickly turned around. Instead of seeing the paths leading to Bren, he saw his family house, surrounded by an ellipse of visible air. A tear poured down his dry cheek, reflecting the colors of the sun rays. Couple of claps shook him, and he started walking towards the gate, pretending never happened.

"Woah, this is even more awesome than what I have expected," Anfur boasted as the huge Arena suddenly appeared in front of his wide-open pupils. His right hand trembled, claws clinging and creating a melodic tune which echoed in his ears. Both his hands grabbed the shoulder pads of his jacket and lightly waved. Nervously his eyeballs rotated, his head following with small delay. Two figures appeared in the distant entrances.

"Oh, goodie. People. Wait, isn't that the..." Anfur immediately recognized the shocking resemblance of an Energy Elemental which he had seen when he was near the Arena. Even back then he feared and prayed that he would not meet that creature in the Spike Arena, let alone fight it. Second by second, Anfur became less confident in himself.

I can't believe this. But what if I beat that thing? Yes, yes! I will beat it. I just have to get... Myself together... But I won't try to start a fight with this guy.

He kept gazing at the energy entrant. He was amazed with what he saw, and knew it was just the beginning. First time in Anfur's life to see such a magnificent creation of life such as an elemental. He had heard stories about those, yet he had never experienced the beauty to see one... If this is an elemental, he thought.



Ultrapowerpie -> RE: =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/21/2010 17:32:17)

"Master, must you partake in such a dangerous tournament?" a pink moglin asked her master as the pair of moglins walked towards the entrance to the Spike Arena.

"Worried you are, for my saftey, hmmmmmmmmmmmm?" Radnav asked his apprentice, a mischevious smile on his face.

"Master, please don't make light of this situation! You could easily die in there!" the apprentice protested.

"Free pie, avaliable to winner" the old moglin nodded sagely as he hobbled along the road.

"What... pie? There's no pie involved in this contest! It's about..."

"Patience, young apprentice. To those who wait, good things come."

"That doesn't make any sense to the situation! Are you sure you haven't lost your mind??!!" the apprentice screamed in disbelief.

"Delicious they are, tacos"

"Ok... regardless, you're in the Spike Arena! That place is practically a death trap to geomancers!" the apprentice whispered to her master.

"A point, you have... yessss..." Radnav replied softly. "Geomancer, I am not only"

"You mean the F..."

"Shhh!!" Radnav whacked his young apprentice with his staff. "Everywhere, Omnifictional Lawyers lurk"

"Sorry, the MF... But even with the MF on your side, you don't have much...."

"Use the terrain, a true master will" Radnav explained. "Leave, I must."

"Goodbye grandfather" the pink moglin said quietly as she hugged her aging grandfather.

"Good master one day, you will be" Radnav replied, returning the hug. And with that the aging moglin entered the great metal gate.

The moglin slowly entered the arena, pounding his walking stick extra loudly to test the floor. From what he had heard from others about the Spike Arena, he knew that the metal was charmed so that he could not manipulate it at all through normal means. However, the fact that the entire arena was metal allowed him to use other skills that he had learned throughout his long life.

He saw two competitors near the entrance, one staring at the other competitors and one perched on top of a of one the protruding spikes with weapons drawn ready to strike. Radnav never liked attacking first, so he kept his walking stick close to him as he hobbled across the spike arena.

He noticed a third competitor lumbering across the arena heading towards the center where there was some sort of alter. Curious about the center and without any real other motive, Radnav decided to follow the lumbering contestant towards the middle, keeping a good deal of distance between the opponent and himself.

Radnav thought as he walked along at a slow pace about his family back in the town of MogNet, where he came from. The once mighty moglin town was now just a peaceful settlement located in scenic Paxia, where most of the moglins and moglo-hobils on the island live in peace. Radnav had learned most of his geomancy from Geotal himself, but his use of the MF was more of a family tradition then anything he had learned from the Clan of the Earth. Radnav's family had always been atuned to the earth, born with an unusual affinity to the Magnetic Force, or MF for short. Unlike other creatures who used the EMF, Radnav's family mostly used "telekensis" style MF, but they had been known to use the MF to boost their own agility in combat before. Others in his family had used the MF to achieve levitation or scale mountains that had unusual magnetic properties.

Radnav was one of the few members of his family that was capable of achieveing all these stunts with the MF, but as he tried sensing the metal with his staff, he could tell that the metal was enchanted to ward off any form of mass magnetization or electrical surges. Still, the fact that small areas could be magentized would still allow him to perform various feats of acrobatics that was also a part of his family's heritage. But such thoughts were best saved for another time, as more competitors were entering the arena.



Alexandria Serthes -> RE: =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/21/2010 17:49:28)

Simonaque got up, her black hair falling over her shoulders in a tangled mess. Quickly she whispered a prayer to the fire gods, asking for the strength and heat of the flames when she entered the arena.

Then she stood, slipping her quiver of arrows onto her back. She tested the bow's string, making sure it was waxed well and strong, without any fraying. Satisfied with her range weapon's condition she next checked her dagger's pommel, making sure it was at it's normal power level. Finally she inspected her sword, running one of her hands just above the blade's smooth surface. A light wave of heat hit her hand, slightly distorting the air around the blade.

Done with her weapons' inspection she slipped her blades back into their sheathes, slipped on her belt, and walked out of the room, quickly pushing her head band up to hold back her hair as she went.

Downstairs was havoc as the inhabitants of the inn got ready for the tournament as well. A few made way for the green-eyed girl as they saw her weapons, but for the most part people ignored her. She was alright with that, since she preferred being ignored whenever possible. Unfortunately, the bartender ignored her as well.

"Excuse--" she started, then stopped as the bartender went over to the other end of the inn.

"Hello--" she tried again, only to be stopped by another contestant catching the man's attention farther down the counter.

"Can you--" the girl said again, holding out her hand, only for the man to wander into the back room.

"Oh forget it!" she muttered angrily, standing up and walking out the door, narrowly avoiding a moglin on her way outside.

Outside there was a whirl of activity as contestants and spectators headed toward the arenas, some looking scared, others confident, and all incredibly excited. There were hundreds of them, many different species, some familiar to the quiet girl, and others unrecognizable. As strong as the sight was, the sounds and smells were stronger. Faint smells of smoke wafted through the air, born on breezes that also carried the scent of water, good earth, food, a bit of garbage, and a thousand other things. The sounds seemed to blend and mix, turning into a steady wave of life as people bartered, bought, sold, and advertised goods, as they met old friends, or made new ones, as a few small fights erupted between slightly tipsy men and combatants relieved some stress in their own ways.

Simonaque let the tide carry her, nicking a small loaf of bread as she passed a stand and eating it as she walked. It tasted mildly of honey and freshly ground wheat in her mouth, but she wasn't paying attention to that. Instead, she was looking around herself, searching for a priest. Finding one she broke through the crowd, slipping in and out with the simple ease of one accustomed to large crowds.

"Excuse me," she said, tapping the priest's shoulder. "I'm Simonaque, one of the contestants. Which arena am I competing in?" she asked him, smiling lightly as she popped the last bite of bread into her mouth.

"Spike arena, right over there." the priest said, before turning to face another contestant.

"Thanks," she said, then walked off to the arena he had pointed out to her.

The name of the arena had suggested several images to her, and for the most part, they were accurate. As Simonaque peered through the metal doors she quickly started formulating plans, back up plans, and several random notions as she took it in. Spikes protruded from the walls, their rusted metal obviously having seen many years of bloodshed. From the floor four spikes rose up, towering as high as the metal pillar which stood in the center of the ring.

But that didn't interest Simonaque nearly as much as those within the circle did. Two other contestants were there as well, one perched atop a spike, and the other was near the pillar, apparently watching both the door and the man on the spike. Another two contestants were there as well, one small enough that she hadn't noticed him at first.

I'll be fighting a moglin? That's a new one. She thought, slightly taken aback. There wouldn't be any way of gauging the green moglin's power until she saw him fight, especially since she wasn't very familiar with many moglins and had no idea what their standards were.

The black-haired girl placed a hand on her dagger's hilt casually, though she didn't draw it. She assumed an air of undisturbed self-assurance, then walked slowly into the arena, glancing around with apparent disinterest, moving in a wandering path toward one of the floor spikes, lazily waving her free hand at the other contestants.

Spikes, spikes... Pushing, kicks, want to watch out for ranged attacks and energy strikes... It shouldn't hinder fire though; that's good. Hmm... Hell Ring would be good in these spikes, and maybe it'd help strengthen Blinding Heat... Worth a try for sure... Close quarters combat could get more interesting with these walls though... She thought, tapping the nearest floor spike -- the west one -- with her knuckle, checking to see whether or not it was hollow. Usually she wouldn't care, but in this case, every detail was important if she wanted to survive, and since she didn't have a death wish, survival seemed like a very good thing. If the spikes were solid she could probably direct heat straight through the metal, causing it to not only strengthen her attacks and defenses, but also make the metal all but untouchable due to heat.



Nex del Vida -> RE: =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/21/2010 18:38:49)

"Illian." The boy's grey eyes snapped open. Usually he would've stalled a bit, mumbling and asking for more time to sleep, but this was no time for dallying. The Championship was today. He sat up, looking at the priest standing by his bedside. The man smiled, the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkling. "Excited, I see. Good good. Well, get up and get ready. We must meditate before you begin." The priest was on the far side of middle age, with a slight paunch and a few gray hairs. He had been chosen as one of Illian's escorts by the Elders in their mountain village. Endric was his name, and he was the boy's uncle--unsurprising, as the village was made up almost entirely of Illian's family. The Fairweather clan was a large one, and so even though only around a third of them had exiled themselves to the Dwarfhold range after their purported prodigal son's eyes had stopped glowing, there were still enough people to run a small settlement without having to bring in too many outsiders.

Illian slid out of bed. The sleeping arrangements in the inn they had stayed at were better than those at home--his straw palette was lumpy and prickly, and the feather mattress here had given him possibly the best sleep of his life. Endric had poured cool water into the basin at the side of the room, so the young warrior splashed his face with it to wash away any remaining sleepiness. He shed his simple white sleeping tunic and donned the straight-lined fighting outfit he wore to train in, covering that with his loose ceremonial robe. He would meditate in the robe and then wear it to the arena, where he would take it off so as to have a greater range of movement. Endric had set out one of the ceremonial candles and lit it, its pure-white flame barely wavering. These candles had been enchanted by the Elders back home to have large, globe-like flames that stayed nearly still, a testament to the infallibility of their Lord. Illian knelt in front of the candle, staring straight into it with his all-grey eyes. He silently recited the prayer of the Light Lord before going through the vigorous stretching regimen he had performed every morning since before he could remember.
☼☼☼

Priest and warrior-acolyte strode through the streets of Bren. It was a crowded city year-round and swelled to the bursting point around the time of the Championship, so they often bumped into others. Illian had to whisk the fringes of his robe away from the occasional brackish puddle or filthy beggar in order to keep it pristine; naught but perfection in appearance and fighting would please the Lord. He asked Endric in his fluting voice, "Where are Bryna and Alden? At the arena already?" These were the other two who had been sent to accompany the boy.

"No, Ian." The usage of the last syllable of a name was a custom among the people of the Fairweather's homeland, used as a term of endearment by an older person to a younger one. "They're setting up a shrine with the other Priests. We registered for one entrant and one delegation of clerics, so that we could pray for you while you're fighting. One of us will be in the shrine at all times, the other two cheering you on." He gave his student a warm smile. "Speaking of fighting, they sent over your placement.. You'll be competing in the Spike Arena." He pointed to a large walled-off space with a set of massive iron gates. Illian nodded. Endric clasped his hand, his smile fading, and looked the young man in the eye. "I would ask you if you are ready, but there can be no question about that. Bring honor to our family and our Lord, Illian. Shine." Without another word they turned away from each other and headed towards their destinations.

As soon as he glimpsed the grand gates again, Illian began formulating an entrance strategy. In all likelihood the fighting has already begun. If not, it doubtless will soon. I should enter prepared for anything. Shall I go for a surprise attack, or scout things out first? It is called the Spike Arena... alright, I'll wait to attack. He unclipped his daggers from the back of the ceremonial robe and reached under it to attach them to his fighting outfit. When combat begins, I'll remove the robe and grab the daggers. This will, hopefully, make me seem like a weaponless mage.

He walked into the arena, taking a moment to gauge his competition before continuing his lightmage routine. They ranged from knee-height to over a foot taller than Illian, as was to be expected for a tournament of this caliber. The arena itself was quite an imposing sight, spikes protruding from all directions and a large bladed column emerging from the center of the floor. With a slight smile of anticipation, Illian tilted his head slightly upward, assuming the pose of someone praying to the skies. He began muttering the prayer of the Light Lord over and over, perhaps seeming as if casting an incantation, and summoned a beam shining from his forehead that extended into the sky until it faded from view. This was a trick he sometimes used to intimidate those unfamiliar with his spells--it appeared as though a column of light was shining on him from heaven. He raised his hands slightly, palms upward, and began swiveling his eyes back and forth in order to see all that occurred. Due to the complete greyness of his eyes, unless one was a few inches away it was impossible to see if he was moving them or keeping them still. This let him have a good vantage of the arena while appearing distracted by his prayer. He stood and waited for the fray to begin.



Postmaster General -> RE: =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/21/2010 19:03:11)

A grin appeared under the scruffy beard of the pirate. "Ahoy!" he shouted. At last, contestants had arrived. Within a matter of minutes, a wide range of combatants had made their way inside. A meticulous inspection made basic assumptions of the foes.

The first to enter was a slouching, grey form. Intermittent bolts of electricity shot from odd growths coming from his body. The slothy nature made him seem like an easy target, but the fact that he served the Energy lord dissuaded the disadvantaged ruffian.

Next to arrive in the pitfall-like arena was a long-haired skinny boy. The lad appeared peckish but the air with which he walked told Elias that this mate was an assassin; a trained killer. His build was not that of a battle tank. The assassin would likely try diversion or guerilla tactics. This meant he would require a close eye. Letting his guard down would mean an easy end to Hellsbane Hawthorne's career here in the Elemental Championship.

Soon after the assasin arrived a small competitor. So unexpected, in fact, that the seasoned adventurer had rub his eyes to make sure the great watery mistress wasn't playing a trick on him. Could it truly be? A moglin? Quite the brave fellow, although his presence here tells me that he must have some confidence in his abilities. Either that, or a death wish.

Elias arose from his crouched position. As he erected himself, his passengers shifted and scurried. This frantic scurrying gave Hawthorne a fantastic idea. The vagabond shook the rapier on his hip. The motion forced his entire garb to shake. Deep discomfort coursed through the man's skin. "Ouch!" the veteran let out as one actually ventured to bite him. No doubt in an attempt to secure itself to its fidgity host.

His old joints didn't allow much movement at the moment. His temporary motionlessness had caused the corsair to stiffen up. A second's repose was spared to limber up, Elias reached for his toes, then extended his back and twisted his hips. Feeling comfortable, he pulled the whip from his shoulder and let it fall limp.

Even from his current hieght, the sturdy seaweed whip a was barely able to reach the ground. A few spiratic jerks of his wrist sent the serpentine lash into spiratic cracks in the still, tense air.

Now that he had begun to focus on the battle area, the smell of curdled blood sept up from the surrounding holes. A disgusting, but invigorating odor. It had been said that Elias had coated his ship in blood. This was one of the many fearsome myths that was in fact true. The battle against the town guard of Sumpatra had left the bodies of the encumbered enforcers along the railings and displace around the deck of the vessel.

The air was still, another crack of the whip and one more shake of his body to make sure that the parasites were awake and ready before the glint of the rapier made itself apparent. The sunlight struck the shiny, stone blade as it was produced from its makeshift sheathe. With sword and whip in hand, the swashbuckler dismounted his perch and landed with a roll into the ground.

As he graciously complete the acrobatics, despite his age, he smiled and looked towards the gate again. Two more competitors had made their way in. A small girl, a ranger perhaps. Her youthfulness tugged at his heartstrings. Elias knew that his new, compassionate nature would have trouble striking the young girl. "Come on, lass. I believe ya missed the stairs. Spectat'rs er suppos' ta sit in ye stands!" Hawthorne jested.

Behind the girl entered a robed fellow. The pure-cloaked contestant was obviously a servant of the light lord. "High an' mighty, eh? Damn divine follower's! I've seen yer like b'fore!" The rage he felt pooled and spouted from a reminescence of years passed.

A raid for the golden treasures of a holy Light shrine had caused Elias to lose his first mate and best friend, Cercus Plosh. The sight of another disciple of that temple began to boil every fluid in the pirate's body. The adrenaline coursed through his veins and put even more power behind his blows.

The entrance of these last two was irrelevant. Elias' first victim had already been decided. "Avast ye li'l rat! Here I come!" The brash warrior shouted as he made a run at the small, elderly green moglin.

A probing slap of the whip led the way with his left hand as the skilled swordsman arched his blade over his head with the other.

"En guarde!"



Viking_Jorun -> RE: =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/21/2010 21:11:10)

Eiro opened his eyes. It is time. His eyes seemed to glow in the sunlight. The morning breeze blew into his room through the open window. Eiro sat up in his bed. He let out a huge yawn. "Time to get ready." he said to himself. He packed all his belongings, put on his robe and left the Inn. He strolled to the nearest fountain groggily where he could wash up and clean his face.

"Much better." He could finally think. He was not a morning person and resented the fact of having to battle at such a godforsaken time, but he must do what he must do. He quickly glanced at his surroundings. People running throughout the streets, shops filled with needy customers, and stray animals scurrying here and there. Where was I supposed to go again? Ah, yes. The Spike Arena. I wonder who my competitors will be. It was his first time in the Elemental Championships. All he wanted was to prove to the Wind Lord that he was strong.

He began walking towards the arena. The enormous gate loomed in the distance. One bystander bumped into Eiro. "Sorry." said the man, as he continued to his business. Man, Bren sure does boom come this tournament. I wonder what it'd be like to not have these powers and only be a fan watching it all unfold. Eiro quickly checked for his items. His chainmail under his robe, check. His stave, check. His ring, check. His spell book, check. His head? He wasn't sure about this. How would he be able to fight against a melee-crazed lunatic if there is one? He needed to get all of this out of his mind. Instead of walking to the arena, he stopped. He stopped, turned to one of the vendors and started shopping.

I need to get these thoughts out of my mind. I can't think properly, or fight properly at that, if I overthink things. After jumping from several shops he knew he had to reach the arena soon. Eiro took a deep breath and continued towards the arena. He reached the huge gate. It opened in front of him. He stopped to look at the surroundings.

The Spike Arena lived up to its name. Spikes on the walls. I need to be careful. I shouldn't make the first strike. I should observe the abilities of others as a precautionary move. After all, I don't want to be flung into one of those spikes. Six contestants had arrived before him. Eiro made his way into the stadium, near a spiked wall to detract any attention. He took a deep breath.

Well, here I am.



superjars -> RE: =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/22/2010 1:37:15)

The creature continued its slow journey towards the center of the room, moving his hulking body slowly sideways towards the first goal: the bladed pillar in the center. There were still some things he wanted to test out before he revealed his actual combat abilities. The muscles in his arms and legs began to ache at the energy starvation he was putting them through to make this guise believable, but he hoped it would be helpful. He sent a short burst of electricity down through them to dull the pain, causing a small surge of sparks to become visible tracing down his arms. Several new opponents had entered while he trudged his way to the center and he watched them all closely, allowing his hyperactive mind to catalog and analyze each one, prioritizing important information to be easily accessible when he pushed his energy back out into the rest of his body. Each of the myriad ways in which he could transfer the energy throughout his body had its own set of advantages and disadvantages. In this super analyzing mode, his brain functioned at high levels of processing information, but his body was almost useless. But when he changed the energy flow so that he could use his body with great efficiency, he had to sacrifice the knowledge he had gleaned. So he took important tidbits and earmarked them for his brain to use in its lower states.

At the moment, there were six of them in the arena, with Cassivo coming very close to being by the pillar. He heard the very first one to enter throw some quips at some of the other combatants, rise to his feet to do some stretching and pull out a whip and rapier which he swung about for a few moments. He had noticed the man glancing at him earlier, but the gaze had not returned, leading the gray creature to believe that he was not the man's intended target. He was proven right several seconds later when the man rushed towards the small creature who had been following along behind him towards the center. Cassivo shifted his body, putting the pillar between him and the two combatants and watched closely as yet another combatant enters the arena, this one a young man dressed in a simply white robe. From his assessment, this was yet another opponent with little to say; many of the others had not said a word since they arrived. Of course, Cassivo hadn't really said much to anyone else when he entered, but that was part of his plan to have all of the energy creature's opponents underestimate him.

It was finally time for him to make his move, but he still didn't want to let these people know too much about what he could do. He jerked involuntarily as he pushed the energy from his brain back into the remainder of his body. Bursts of sparking electricity passed furiously over his body, the energy channeling down his left arm, hopping to his left leg, reaching his right leg and finally jumping to the fingertips of his right hand. Each of his fingertips began to glow with a small sphere of energy, the electricity sparking randomly from one to another. He spotted the man standing near the entrance, staring up into the sky, as he stared past the two combatants exchanging blows. The creature's left arm went limp, his shoulder sagging slightly at the dead weight and the five spheres on the fingers of his right hand became even more dazzling, electricity sparking madly between them. He pressed his fingertips together, the five spheres melding into a single sphere held tight between them all. With a sudden motion, he spread his fingers wide and pushed his palm forward, sending the sphere streaking across the arena. The sphere broke apart as it moved, energy siphoning off the back of it to form a tail similar to a comet's. It blasted between the man and small creature as they fought and headed straight for his intended target, the man with the beam of light coming down upon his forehead, aimed directly at his chest.



Nex del Vida -> RE: =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/22/2010 1:39:10)

As the other contestants arrived, Illian carefully appraised each one. There was a gnarled-looking man perched on a wall-spike itching himself and twitching his long whip, which hung nearly to the floor. Without a closer look--an impossibility, given the need to maintain a distracted appearance--he could not tell what element this man served. A hulking, metallic-looking thing trudged towards the center of the arena. As it walked, the occasional spark flicked from one place to another along its tall, knobby body. This was clearly an Energy contestant. A skinny man with a gauntlet could not be identified as a warrior of a specific element either. A green moglin was tapping the floor with his cane. Perhaps Earth, Illian thought, But there's really no way to tell as of yet. Another unidentifiable contestant was a dark-haired girl, clearly examining the bowl-like structure for possible tactics. Probably a good idea.

He turned his attention from the other entrants to the arena itself. The spikes covering the walls were slightly upturned, rusty and irregular--a nasty way to die. Illian suspected that if he projected a Light Shield around his body and used Blind to strengthen it he might not be seriously wounded. He made a mental note not to use his Blind tactic until it was absolutely necessary, as he could usually only use it once per battle. The central pillar had four deadly-looking blades protruding from its corners. The same tactic might work there. He noticed a tracery of channels running through the floor, leading to a slight depression beneath the bladed pillar. A reddish scum still lingered in some of the canals. Blood.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man who had been balancing on the spike leap down and roll out of a crouch. He shouted at his intended opponent as he approached--"Avast, ye li'l rat! Here I come!" Interesting, Illian thought, preemptively casting a shimmering Light Shield around his body to ward off any stray attacks and focusing his peripheral vision on the emerging battle. A pirate, or trying to sound like one. Perhaps water? He steeled himself for battle, readying to whip his robe off and grab the daggers. And a good thing too, as the lumbering golem-like creature suddenly twitched. Bolts of lightning surged in an upward arc from arm to legs to other arm, forming a crackling sphere of energy which was soon propelled directly towards Illian. He barely had time to flinch, dispelling the beam of light and looking at his assailant, before the energy struck his shield. It crackled around the sphere, jagged streaks propagating over its barely-tangible surface. Illian sidestepped, bringing himself closer to a large wall spike. The remaining energy, still sizzling around the periphery of the globe, siphoned off into the spike. The shield flickered, a bit weak from defending its conjurer from the lightning, but quickly resumed its former luster.

The light warrior ran lightly to his left so as to pass the skirmishing pirate and moglin. He adjusted his shoulders, settling his daggers, and touched the front of his robe where he would have to pull to remove it when the time came. Being careful not to trip, he readied himself for what would surely be a taxing battle.



Silver Lion -> RE: =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/22/2010 4:18:12)

The Arena swarmed with contestants, from lands far away and kingdoms powerful. To Anfur, it seemed as if he was the center of attention. Eyes peered at his scrawny appearance, thinking the man was a relatively new, inexperienced fighter. His gauntlet seemed rusty, worn out, prepared to collapse in the midst of battle and leave the assassin even more vulnerable than before. His jacket seemed to squeeze him, forcing the last bit of air from his chest free. With a deep breath and a quick thought about impressing the Wind Lord with his performance, that feeling was gone. Anfur felt better than ever, once again scanning the opposing presenters of various elements.

The shouts of war were already heard. Anfur, amazed in the quickness and haste of the combatants, didn't want to be the weak link and wait to be stroked. The familiar, energy-possessed form slowly approached the center of the Arena. As he was trying to stop thinking about the energy elemental, a thought hit his head like lightning; thunder broke out in Anfur's ears.

Look, over there. Is that a... Young girl? Ahh, I feel that flame around her, that is a good vibe. But why would I strike her first? She is so young and... Blah, I have to. Don't judge people by their appearance, you bubblehead. Hmm...

The look in his eyes became sharp and hollow, sharper than any magically enhanced blade or dagger. His focus was only one person - the black-haired girl at the spike almost diagonally placed compared to where Anfur entered. His target was set, it was now or never. To protect himself and his chances to stay alive in this suicide pit, he had to show that the Wind Lord is the one he fights for. The wind will hide him, and steer his destiny.

Anfur began to jog slowly, near the walls of the Arena, speeding up after every second, two. The cause of his circular running was to avoid being in the center of attention, mostly; along with some other reasons of his own. Luckily the assassin realized that every second counts, that one simple mistake may end his life. Thus he decided to be fast; he bent forward a bit to gain on speed, trying to basically make a half-circular run around the Arena -- and strike. If he were to be caught by some contestant just entering the Arena, then there would be no escape. He started running faster, faster; as fast as his body allowed him to.

The hair escaped its jacket restrain, now running freely with its owner, who was approximately fifteen meters away from the colorfully dressed child. Anfur couldn't determine what she was exactly, whether a sorceress or some kind of fighter, but he thought the fight would end swiftly. Mistakes, mistakes. Raising his hand in the air, he strengthened his arm and hand. He began sprinting towards the girl once again, trying to, at least, demobilize her or distract her mind and let her focus on her injury rather than how to escape and counter-attack.



Alexandria Serthes -> RE: =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/22/2010 8:18:20)

Simonaque glanced over, her green eyes scanning the arena with a calculating look. "If I were to sit in the stands I'd miss all the fun!" she said, smiling slightly at the elder contestant, though her expression was cool, displaying no warmth as she began formulating more details, developing her plan and taking the spikes into account now that she knew they were solid.

Another contestant, a scrawny looking man began jogging around the arena, then turned quickly turned and began sprinting towards her with impressive speed, a hand outstretched. The girl thought quickly, pulling out her bow and an arrow while muttering under her breath. She turned to face him and released a blinding heat wave, which distorted the air around it, and sent the focused wave hurtling towards her attacker, a poisoned arrow following soon after it.

What, you thought I'd be an easy target? Think again stick man. She thought, slipping her bow back into its quiver and drawing her sword, her eyes flashing with determination as she ran after the heat wave and her arrow, light footsteps making no noise as she worked out a strategy.

She whipped her blade up and around in a semicircle, aiming for the man's head. She finished her swing, the sword going slightly farther than she had intended, and dragging her along with it due to momentum. Cursing silently she spun around as fast as she could, bringing her leg up to kick her opposer, hopefully hitting him before he had a chance to take advantage of her momentary weakness. Her black hair cascaded around her, her green eyes watching him with a look of disdain, challenging him to put up a better fight than what he had at the start.

One thought began echoing in her mind as she retreated to a point several feet away from him, her black locks hanging over her shoulders, startlingly black against her green tunic. He's an assassin. Hit and run tactic... Hit and run... Hit and run... It was like a drum beat, filling her mind as she concentrated on him, looking for any sign of weakness. He's tries hitting, I'll hit back? Maybe... No, dark flame... Show him how a flame assassin would do it. She thought, smiling inwardly at the idea. She wanted him to attack first though, since it would give her more information to use against him. She especially wanted to know which element this stranger represented, since it could very well define how she went about killing him. If he used water or ice he would provide a serious challenge, since Simonaque didn't know very much about countering water based attacks of unusual strength. If his power lay with wind, light, energy or fire he would provide a suitable challenge, but the girl was confident in her abilities to defeat anyone who represented those elements, especially fire, since she knew the most about it.

She sheathed her sword, pulling out her dagger instead, and went into a half crouch, her eyes -- reflecting a hundred shades of green -- constantly watching this one who was first to challenge her abilities.



Ultrapowerpie -> RE: =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/22/2010 11:13:03)

The purple furred moglin was completely unphazed by the probing whipslash or the shouts of the crazy bucaneer who had decided to challenge the least imposing opponent in the room for no apparant reason other then wanting a quick victory to gain favor with his elemental lord, or at least that was what Radnav thought. The Moglin quickly rolled forward, as small agile creatures are capable of, and turned around in a surprising burst of speed that was cquite contrary to his looks and entrance. Quickly turning around, the old Moglin took up his staff in one hand.

"Gain favor with your Lord, you will not" The old Moglin commented, shaking his head slowly.

The old Moglin suddenly felt a distrubance in the Magnetic Force, which meant that something electrical this way cometh, which was exactly correct as an electrical ball of energy went swooshing past him and his opponent. Fortunately, the roll had placed enough distance between the pair that the ball of electricity passed by without upsetting either of them.

"Come at me, if you dare," the old Moglin taunted, using his free hand to make a "come and get me" motion.



Frenetic Raptor -> RE: =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/22/2010 14:36:38)

Can you hear the shouting and the screaming, Kalirilo?
Yes, I most certainly can, Kamoturo.
Good, that means we must be near...

Can you see the executioners and their selected victims, Kalirilo?
Indeed, I most certainly can, Kamoturo.
Excellent, the gates into a violent world are near...

Can you feel the intimidating glory and the godly wrath within, Kalirilo?
Of course, what else would there be, Kamoturo?
Nothing less, but certainly far more...

Positioned just beyond the outside of this sinister gate, a peculiar figure and his miniature companion remained. They were no innocent spectator, but another unrestrained killer in this wicked charade to be played. There would be no retreat, and only two outcomes would be of any relevance. It was kill or be killed, nothing else mattered. With no regrets or remorse, Kamoturo stepped into this uninviting destructive world. The disturbing atmosphere within was nothing short of deathly sickening.

Can you smell the blood of fallen and the ones destined to follow?
That I do, and it certainly has me concerned.
Does losing me have you worried? If so, I don't want to hear a word.

Desiring to hear nothing of such troublesome emotions, Kamoturo was one step from ignoring Kalirilo completely. Such pathetic weaknesses would not be tolerated and would only become an unavoidable obstacle. Gazing within the eye of the hurricane, the search was on for someone, or something. Disappointed in almost everyone within the arena, agitation pooled inside him. Lateness, cruelty unto itself. Meddling in others affairs proved to be an entertaining proposition. If it comes to that, I will have no regrets doing so.

Um... Kamoturo... if you must, take a look towards your other side. You might find something. Hesitant with his telepathic words and unable to come to grips with following through, he didn't wish to get specific.

Kamoturo turned his head to the side and caught a glimpse of a potential candidate. The only individual that remained for that matter, for a proper duel. This young man in white; a robe no less, and a staff within sight. Further inspection proved ridiculous and undesired. Not a preferred option in such a situation, getting stuck with the unappealing leftovers. Why of course. I should have known exactly what I was going to get.

Frustrations aside, this was no better opportunity to initiate conflict. Attempting to avoid all contact with the lucky ones dueling it out, he strategically walked along the edge of the arena, just beyond the reach of every singular spike dangerously equipped and strengthened to pierce through an unsuspecting victim. Wearing only a tattered sleeveless cloak, a purple breastplate, and a pair of matching bracers, there was no other noticeable protection upon his body. Precaution for his own safety was a must under certain circumstances. One such as these spikes beside me.

Menacing horns, blackened wings, vicious talons, and experienced fur and all, he would not suppress a solitary attribute if need be. This would be an all out brawl, whether or not it was against his selection or someone else who might happen to stumble in the way. Within sight, and about eight paces away from his target, Kamoturo stopped and prepared himself. "Well now, looks to me like I've found a victim of my own." These words, spoken with a foreboding and hidden sinister agenda. Raising his voice amongst the chaos within this metallic slaughterhouse of an arena, a proposition was given to this man robed in white. "I am giving you a single decision, attack me first or I will decide for you and strike you down instead!"

Getting straight down to business, Kamoturo focused on a proper defensive tactic. His arms were positioned to each side, extended talons curling about, anxious for a reaction or a hesitation. A reaction to any initial attack would require a defensive magical sacrifice and a hesitation would cost an offensive physical element. Using both sacrifices was a possibility, provided a counterattack was necessary. The countdown was on and ready to be unleashed at a moments notice.



Silver Lion -> RE: =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/22/2010 15:19:01)

The opposition of the young one was something which cannot be seen every day. Determination, braveness and skill power vibrated from the blade-wielding lady, deeply interesting Anfur. Her speed with handling weapons was remarkable, astounding and breathtaking -- not even the gifted can achieve such a task with ease. The young girl was powerful, no doubt. Even the wonders of magic were on her side, an unusual wave emitted from the energetic body of the female. Soon enough began Anfur's pain.

Goddammit, what is this?! I can't see! What kind of elemental trickery causes such-- His thoughts broke into millions of pieces as something pierced Anfur's right leg. Ordinary bow or not, there was something more to it. Poison! Anfur immediately thought after losing his control of his right leg, his wary brain not being able to send commands to the cutout part of his body. His left hand slapped the leg, seeming as if it had done that courtesy its own, free will. Nonetheless there was no use -- his opponent set the first trap: Anfur was demobilized... Temporarily, he prayed. Suddenly, the girl hacked a blade from her deadly arsenal.

Anfur threw himself on the ground, dust and dirt pounced on his face as he fell, whilst the claws of his unusually crafted gauntlet clung yet again. Although he threw himself on purpose, and apparently his plan was a success. The sharp edge of the sword missed him. Anfur released a sigh of relief, only to lose his breath to a kick from the agile enemy. Fast thinking was probably a gift from the Wind Lord himself, though Anfur was still losing the battle. His hastened beginning wasn't as good as expected. His body was unusually hot, he felt a bit dizzy due to the rising of his body temperature.

"Fire... You represent the Fire Lord, don't cha? I have t' adm't, nice reflexes you have 'der..." Anfur's eyes looked up, noticing that the girl bounced back away from his injured self. Did she hear him or not, it didn't matter -- he was out of air. Anfur found out her element, every bit of knowledge is valuable in this spike-covered Arena. With my air and speed her fire won't mean anything. Now I just need to figure out what she was. Anfur was, so to speak, talented when it came to using intellect to dissolving riddles, puzzles or the likes. Deep down him he always knew that it would be very useful in battle, though he never admitted that to himself. Up until now. Ah, yes... Yes, that's right... That's good information, indeed.

Anfur found out her profession. All the bits fit perfectly - her quick ways to disarm an opponent, to shoot a poisonous needle at her attacker, the infamous hit-and-run tactic. Her ability to blind the enemy -- the girl combined both magic and physical strength to stay on her feet. Raw talent of a lethal assassin in the near future. Anfur should have done the same, use the overheard family spells to his own help. No doubt -- it was a masterpiece in the works.

He quickly removed the arrow stuck with his free hand, crushing it into smaller sticks with the gauntlet. The small one was down, another opportunity which could not be wasted. Anfur tried to stand up, his right leg denying the call and still laid on the ground. He look at the girl again. Seconds after words escaped his lips.

"Iishmear akantaan tii. Tii aureil tahkal!" The unknown language remained mysterious, but the assassin appeared different to the eyes. He dashed onward to the little prey, the leather pants around his right knee being torn while the leg forcedly followed. It seemed to have, in some way, lost weight -- appearing to be a minor entourage of the whole body, making a small delay in speed. Nonetheless, it worked! Anfue stood right in front of the girl, the gold on his gauntlet shining and showing its true colors. The metal nail was pressed onto the girl's neck, though Anfur didn't get the opportunity to grab her hands, leaving himself vulnerable once again. He didn't notice that, however, and continued with his usual game.

"Oh, I'm sorry this has to end lik' this. Too ba'!" His fingers danced as he deeply looked into the eyes of the Fire assassin, followed by a few deep breaths.

Suddenly, he released a roar and almost lost control of his right leg. He hoped to maintain control for just one more minute... Just one more minute... Unless something goes wrong.



Alexandria Serthes -> RE: =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/22/2010 16:09:29)

"Yes, I represent the fire lord," she said quietly, her voice completely calm, although she struggled to remain cool after his roar. "And you represent the wind lord... Assassin versus assassin..." she made a quick motion with her hands, and a ball of nearly black flames formed in her hands. The flames didn't burn, but they hindered vision more so than a heat wave would. She tossed it straight up to his face, then jumped up and did a quick kick at his jaw as the dark flames spread to form a cloud which started to drop down, its sole purpose to blind the green-eyed girl's opponent.

"But fire happens to eat the air, so I doubt you're gonna win this one." Simonaque said, moving her dagger with a careless motion to point at his chest, her other hand moving to her quiver to grasp an arrow. "And anyway, I once burnt down an entire village with one spell." the girl added, pulling the arrow out of her quiver and bringing it down at his arm, releasing it before darting to the spiky wall and pulling herself up to the lowest one, murmuring another spell frantically and forming several dark balls of the same flames she had released above Anfur's head.

The black fire billowed out, touching several of the spikes nearest to the girl and forming an insubstantial wall of flames. Though it wasn't as effective as a hell ring would be for defensive purposes, it sapped less strength from her and required less concentration. That and she wanted to have a good challenge from this opponent.

Arrows, arrows... Two gone; one crushed, one hopefully causing him another bout of pain. Hmm... What else could I do? Arrows... Her thoughts were moving in strange patterns, her focus divided between planning further attacks and trying to maintain the black flames.

She allowed a small patch to drop, and grabbed her bow, knocking an arrow and taking careful aim, choosing what looked like a giant humanoid bunny as her target. She released the arrow, then knocked another and aimed at a second target, a man in white robes with a grey sash and belt breaking the pure color.

Now time to see what happens... Random assassination attempts are an interesting way of breaking the monotony of a battle, no? The colorfully dressed teen asked herself, smiling slightly. Yes, yes they are. And fun to watch. she answered herself, looking out for the other assassin, gripping the rusted spike with her knees.



superjars -> RE: =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/22/2010 17:19:03)

His fingertips smoked slightly from the energy bolt he had just sent barreling towards his opponent. He felt a slight sensation of pain in the center of his palm where the strike had originated, but it was nothing he had not experienced before and was simply ignored. Cassivo closed his eyes tightly as his body regained its desired equilibrium, electricity coursing through his dead left arm to bring it jerking back to life. His right hand moved across his body to take hold of his left arm, quieting its spasm.

His eyes slid open, looking to see the outcome of his attack, a soft gasp escaping through his lips as he watched the blast being halted by a great golden shield, shimmering in the air in front of the white-cloaked man. He was used to, in his hunts, finding creatures that were resistant to the energy that the Brazzik people fought with, but this was the first time he had seen his electricity caught and siphoned away without causing some form of damage. It was obvious to the proud warrior that using his bolts and blasts would not be the way to bring down this particular prey. And now that he knew who his opponent would be for the moment, it was time for him to tune down the more reasonable faculties of his brain and let the raw, bestial instincts that had carried him through his first life take over.

As the man skirted around the small purple creature and his aggressive opponent, adjusting himself in preparation, Cassivo underwent his own transformation. He dropped down to all fours, palms spread on the ground, feet bracing into the floor of the arena. He channeled energy out of his mind, setting a block that would be released in a couple minutes time to return him to his equilibrium state, and siphoned it off into his arms and legs, the muscles expanding as electricity ran sparking through the conduits covering his body. With a bestial roar, the crouched creature leapt towards the center pillar, his legs bending as his feet connected with the side of it, crouching for a moment, muscles coiling within. His body went through the motions with ease, the maneuver remembered from years of launching off rock faces and trees in the jungles of his homeland to catch prey off guard. For a moment, while suspended in air, he narrowed his eyes into slits to glare down at the man, and opened his mouth wide to bare several rows of dangerously sharp teeth. Then, as quickly as he connected with the solid face of the pillar, he careened off it, sending himself soaring in a low arc towards his opponent, his right arm, and its pointy protrusion, being thrust forward towards the man’s inviting throat.



Nex del Vida -> RE: =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/22/2010 17:24:34)

The massive creature jerked again as Illian ran toward it, then dropped to all fours. The previously rare sparks jumping from one place to another along his gray skin--which Illian could now see was a weblike structure rather than a solid form--increased tenfold, arcs of energy now coursing along the being's limbs. With startling speed, it tensed and then leaped forward, hurtling through the air like a sparking cannonball. It grabbed onto the bladed central pillar with its thick hands and feet and then, executing a hairpin velocity change, launched itself directly downwards at Illian. One arm was outstretched, and Illian saw almost too late that a sharp crag that seemed to grow out of the arm extended to a few inches past the hand.

There was no time for coherent thoughts, but Illian knew that he would not survive were he hit head-on. This... thing... had incredible amounts of strength, as well as that deadly electricity. He wasn't sure whether the impact or the shock would kill him were he to be hit by this charge. Deftly he evaded the ballistic attack, removing his cloak in the same fluid motion and throwing it directly into his assailant's path. He did not manage to entirely avoid the flying creature, though, and one of its legs grazed his torso, delivering a violent jolt through him. He was paralyzed for a second as the energy ran through his body, and even after it had taken its course he continued twitching erratically as he regained use of his muscles. He managed to whip out a dagger from between his shoulderblades, but could not concentrate enough to form a sword of light. Instead he moved himself behind where the creature had landed and waited to see how it would deal with the robe.



superjars -> RE: =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/22/2010 22:49:27)

Cassivo was suddenly surrounded by darkness. His protrusion had bit into something, but that thing had just carried along with him, enveloping him completely in it's folds. Blindly he lashed out, but the cloth of the robe covering him just billowed out around him as he flailed about. As he became more enraged by the predicament, the sparks coursing over his body began to jump furiously from one protrusion to another, and he let out a piercing roar filled with fury and frustration. Finally, after several seconds of thrashing about, his hands found a small gap that had been created by his protrusion. He shoved his fingers into the narrow gap, ripping and tugging at it, the cloth coming apart easily in his strong grasp, tearing at the seam until he emerged from the cloak as if it were his cocoon. However, no transformation had occurred; he searched left and right of him, looking for his prey, but without luck. He carefully sniffed the air and caught the scent of the human, along with the twinge of ozone which was put off when his electricity passed to someone else.

The creature snapped his head around, twin dark green eyes staring straight into the completely gray ones of the other man. He rolled over onto his back and with one fluid motion, arched his back and kicked himself into the air, flipping forward to land on all fours, facing directly at his opponent. With a low guttural growl, he bounded forward, muscles of his arms and legs straining as he pushed into the air. He landed a few feet in front of his human adversary and made a smaller leap into the air, converting his forward momentum into upward, rotating his head and body backwards as he tucked his body, thrusting his legs forward at the midsection of his prey. At the same time, his arms began to fall limp and dead, their energy running down his body and into his legs, strengthening the thighs and calves for his attack.



Nex del Vida -> RE: =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/22/2010 22:51:46)

The hurtling form landed, its upper portion covered by his cloak. It roared and struggled for a few seconds, seemingly trying to hurt the cloak. It must not be very smart if it thinks the cloak is a living thing, thought Illian. The delay was short, but gave him time to focus on his drawn dagger, projecting light from his hand through it and into the shape of a broadsword.

He readied himself for an attack, shrugging off the last muscle jerks from the shock. The sword, though appearing large, weighed only as much as the dagger had: most of its blade was formed of light. The handle of the dagger was only wide enough for one hand to truly grip it, so Illian grabbed his left hand with his right to stabilize the weapon. He held it a few inches above waist-height, angled up and to the right so it covered a good portion of his body.

He had let his shield drop so he could concentrate on dodging. Now he fired it back up, using the dagger on his back as the focus of the shining bubble. The beast--for that was what it now looked like, with its animal reflexes and bared teeth--whipped around and stared at Illian for a second before bounding forward and flipping backwards, then leaping with its legs forward. The bolts that had been covering the creatures arms sped to its lower body, infusing its legs with snapping waves and jags of lightning. Illian turned the broadsword flat side outward. His swords were made of solid light and so were tangible, though if hit with them one would not manifest a physical wound. Instead, each slash would inflict magical damage equal to that of a light spell depending on the strength of the blow. Since he was keeping the sword still his attacker would not be hurt an incredible amount by the sword, but it would still contact the magical blade and therefore probably take some damage. Illian braced himself for the attack, lowering his head and bending his knees.

The sparking kick was slowed down by the shield, but not nearly enough. It hit his broadsword straight on, and he was propelled backwards with monstrous force. He toppled immediately and flung out a hand to stop himself from skidding into one of the spiked walls and managed to grab onto the lip of one of the blood canals. It slowed him down, but his momentum tore him free, cutting his hand in the process. Eventually he slid to a stop. Thank the Light Lord my sword stopped its feet before they hit my chest! I would have sustained massive internal damage. Shakily he got to his feet, flinging drops of blood away from himself in an effort to keep his garb clean.

Gasping for breath, Illian lay on the cold ground for a second. He figured he had at least a little bit of time--that attack couldn't have left his opponent balanced and it seemed to have a less-than-perfect sense of balance and direction, so it would need a while to reorient itself. After a few gulps of air he jumped to his feet, flinging drops of blood from his hand away from himself so as not to dirty his white clothing. He carefully bent each of his fingers, making sure none were broken. His little finger was stiff and hurt to move and the skin along the first knuckle on the palm side of his hand was torn from the edge he had grabbed. Damn, he thought. I should hold off on using this for a while. He had managed to remain holding his dagger, though the broadsword of light had disappeared. He blinked and a shining scimitar appeared in its place. Poising on the balls of his feet for a quick evasion--Illian realized that this could not be a battle of brute force or he would surely lose--he prepared for the next onslaught.



superjars -> RE: =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/23/2010 1:21:45)

Pain shot through his body, but he barely registered it. The strength in Cassivo's body was immense, as the puny human had now felt, but it had its downsides as well. He would feel all of this pain and damage as soon as the block keeping him from moving back into equilibrium was broken. Right now, his mind was filled with animal instinct; a dull thrum of Kill, Kill, KILL, KILL burned in his head, spurring him on, pushing him to the limits of his abilities. Even now, with his body unable to move for several moments, the voices still urged him to get up and rip apart his prey. His body convulsed violently, energy siphoning back towards his arms. Individual arcs could be seen traveling between the small protrusions on his stomach and chest, heading back to his heart. Thump. His heart had slowed during that last attack, a slow and measured beat as compared to the words echoing inside of his mind. Thump thump. The electric current pushed back into place, initializing his major organs all at once. A coughing rasp pushed it's way out of the beasts mouth, air flooding into his lungs, his lifeblood pouring back out to his extremities. His dark green eyes, full of vitriol, snapped open once again, his arms gripping the ground, pulling him up and into a sitting position. He stared over towards the wall, the spikes, and his adversary: still breathing, unfortunately. But a new scent wafted into his nostrils; fresh blood had been spilled from the man during that last attack. A course tongue ran over the rows of sharp teeth, Cassivo's mouth twisting up into a wicked-looking grin. One more convulsion and the strength returned to his hulking form. The creature performed a backwards somersault, slipping his legs up and over his body and down onto the arena floor behind him.

A terrible scream ripped from the creature's lips as he again launched an attack. Seeing his prey standing its ground, prepared for another head-on assault, his instincts kicked in. He cut off to the right, charging directly at the wall. Several feet before it, he put his body into a short, tight spin, skidding a few feet before launching himself in the opposite direction, off towards the left. Keeping his gaze locked on his opponent, he bounded closer, angled away from man, pushing himself to move faster. 5... The number popped into his head from nowhere, almost causing him to miss the trench which he used to once again change his direction, this time heading at an angle towards the wall again. He continued on, moving until he was within only 10 feet of the man. 4... The creature blinked, a stuttering step almost causing him to lose his balance and fall crashing to the ground a mere 6 feet away from the man. Time was running out on him, he realized, feeling energy building up by the block he had set in place, some of it seeping through to innervate his mind. 3... He had to finish the attack, before it was too late. Instincts overruled the new thoughts that popped into Cassivo's mind, pushing him to leap at the wall, body impacting it for an instant before he careened off of it, twisting through the air towards his opponent. 2... His body spun, legs slicing through the air as his body inverted for several seconds before righting once more. Pain spiked through his legs, arms and chest, but was pushed away by the rage building within. 1... His feet slapped into the ground, his body twisting to the left and down, his right arm and its accompanying protrusion arching through the air and aiming down at the top of the man's head, intent on crushing him into the ground.



Nex del Vida -> RE: =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/23/2010 1:26:35)

Illian arose in time to see the brute running towards the wall. He edged away from the portion of the wall nearest him warily. Perhaps it intends to shock me through the spikes...? Just before crashing headlong into the sharp points it spun around and changed direction abruptly. It continued this zigzagging pattern once more before appearing to trip and fall to the ground. Predicting that the creature would not continue with the entirely predictable changes in direction, he shifted his grip on the scimitar and prepared to dodge out of the way--he didn't think he would be able to take another full-on hit and survive. He flexed his bloodied fingers, readying them to cast a spell.

As soon as the strange being regained its stance, it dashed towards the wall and leaped onto it, pushing off with a tactic similar to the one he had used earlier. This time, instead of targeting Illian directly, it hit the ground directly by him and raised a heavy fist, the same rocky barb sticking down from its elbow. Illian, having watched the beast's progression, had time to begin a sideways jump before the arm reached him. He extended his right hand, planting it between where the ribs and hip would be on a human. He focused his mind, going through the mental somersaults required to cast a spell. The end result was a burst of magical light focused in the palm of his hand, which was pressed into the lattice of...What? Wires? As the Starburst flared, Illian realized that he had touched a part of the conduit system that transported the electricity his foe relied on. He felt the jolt enter his limb just as he was bringing his left arm around to slash at the beast's back.

This time the shock only affected his arm. He yelled as he felt the energy coursed through his flesh, and his arm snapped back involuntarily. He knew he would not have control over it for a while and gritted his teeth, one arm hanging loosely and the other at the ready. This shock might have paralyzed him for quite a while if it had touched his torso, but thankfully it had only been able to get through his arm--it had even cauterized his scrape upon contact. There's always a silver lining. His rival was standing still for the moment, and its trademark sparks were jumping up through its limbs and to its head. Illian noticed then that there was a scythe attached to its back, appearing to be made of the same stuff as its skin. Strange, the boy thought. That means it is intelligent enough to use weapons. Why hasn't it used the scythe yet? He stood, waiting for his arm to cease its spasms before going in for another attack.



Viking_Jorun -> RE: =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/23/2010 10:17:55)

Eiro could hear a distant whistling in the air. As if something was cutting through the room's atmosphere at an extreme speed. Eiro turned his head. An arrow was flying right at him. He moved, but was to late. It clipped him on his left bicep. Blood started seeping out. Ugh, why would you do that? Such kniving enemies I must be facing. At least the wound isn't too bad, but the blood will give away a weak spot. Thank goodness it's also the arm I don't need as much, but to hold my book. Eiro regathered his thoughts.

All the other contestants were engaged in battle so he couldn't tell who shot the arrow. It must have been that assassin. I'll be sure to keep my eye on that one. When all hope seemed lost Eiro was encountered by a creature. He didn't know what was more menacing; the horns, the black wings, the vicious talons, the head of a bunny or the fact that the creature was covered in gray fur. The calm expression upon its face was a lie. Eiro knew nobody, nothing in this case, could stay calm within the Elemental Championships. It wore a sleeveless tattered cloak, with a purple breastplate over it. On its belt was a small cage with a little rabbit in it. Strange. Would this be considered slavery in the bunny world? Eiro couldn't resist the thought, but knew he had to get back on track.

"I am giving you a single decision, attack me first or I will decide for you and strike you down instead!" The creature spoke. It, then, took a defensive stance with its arms to its sides. Eiro had to think. Would he take the offensive, or approach this whole battle defensively and save his energy for a later conflict. He knew he ad to come up with a decision, and fast. Maybe Eiro could go on the offensive and quickly put up his shield, but that would require too much mana at such an early stage.

C'mon, Eiro. What should you do? Offensive, defensive, or a hybrid tactic with both. Well with what looks like it, this creature is on the defensive. I'll see what kind of power he possesses. I can use an Aerostratus spell, and aim it right at its heart. It uses little mana, but that also leaves me unknowledgable about the creature's speed. I can handle its sword quite well with the chainmail, but I shouldn't let any up close encounters. I need to remember to keep my distance with that sword. I can't let those chakrams out of my sight either.

With that Eiro raised his stave in the air. His eyes started glowing white. The diamond at the top of his stave started glowing white, as well. He brought down his stave and pointed it at the creature. "Aerostratus!" Suddenly, a long white strand of wind appeared at the tip of the diamond. It continued to grow to, about, the size of a spear. With a flick of his wrist he sent the spear flying straight at the creature at an incredible speed, aimed right for the heart.

That creature better hope it's fast or this may have been a quick battle. With that, Eiro quickly took a defensive stance and opened his spell book in fear of any, possible, retaliation.



superjars -> RE: =EC 2010= Spike Arena (6/23/2010 13:39:51)

0… Cassivo’s fist slammed into the ground with minimal concussive force as the excess energy drained out of it and rushed through the pathways back towards his mind. One knee was pressed into the ground, the other bent beside it, as if he were showing honor to the wall before him. Shuddering breaths racked his body as he struggled to remain upright, the fingers of his right hand spreading out to grip the floor in an attempt to add more balance to his swaying form. With the block now dispelled, the pain from the injuries and damage he’d sustained came rushing into him, as if all of it had happened at the same time. He could feel a couple of severed lines in his side from his enemy’s most recent attack (he had not actually seen what it was, but he could feel its effect) and several bumps and bruises from the punishment his feral mode had put his body through. But the physical toll that the transformation had taken on his body was the most pronounced of all the pain; to spend such a long time with minimal mental capacity, and to be drained of the energy from his vital organs for the few moments he had done so, were brutal to his body. As his body returned slowly to its equilibrium, he thought to himself that he hoped he wouldn’t have to use his feral mode again anytime soon.

One last deep breath poured from his mouth before he reached to his back and unhooked the scythe from its position, spinning it once in his hand as he brought it around in front of him, using it as a support to push himself to his feet. Holding the weapon once again reminded him of where it came from, especially as he could still feel the last remnants of his bestial instincts as they faded from his mind. Not many of his kind made it through their first life and the long shaft and cruel-looking blade attached to it was a constant reminder to him of that fact. It had been crafted from the husks of some of his first life siblings who had not made it through their journey to second life, and thus was a sacred instrument which Cassivo only used when he needed. To find an opponent for which that was the case was an honor indeed and spoke of the man’s skill and ability.

“Well, I see you’ve survived my feral mode,” Cassivo said coolly, turning towards the man with a wide grin on his face. “There are not many who have been able to do that, so you should consider yourself blessed or lucky or whatever. You’ll find the rest of this fight quite different from what you have experienced up to this point, but rather than tell you about it, I’ll simply show you what I mean. But before that, I should introduce myself; I am Cassivo, former Grand-chief of the Brazzik people, proud warrior and fierce combatant. It is an honor to fight against one as strong as you and I would be pleased to know the name of my worthy opponent.”

Cassivo made a short bow in the direction of the man across from him, still leaning rather heavily on his scythe, but beginning to feel the strength slowly return to his arms and legs as he achieved balance. He spread his legs a little wider, just beyond shoulder’s width apart, and scooted the right one forward a bit. He gripped the scythe in both hands, held in front of his body with the blunt end set on the ground by his right leg and the blade hooking upwards above his left shoulder, and waited for the man to make his next move.



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