=EC 2011= Sky Arena (Full Version)

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Kellehendros -> =EC 2011= Sky Arena (6/24/2011 21:03:32)

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 a spring, and a stone bridge away, grew the city of Bren. The proximity of the Arena had done it much good - apart from the great crowds -- and thus business -- it brought in during the Championship itself, just the presence of such a complex carried the city’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.



High above the main arena floated the conglomeration of levitating, interlocking stones that was the Sky Arena. No enchanters, magi, or artisans stood in the way of the contestants assigned to this arena. No, far from it, but rather eight magi stood waiting to offer their assistance in raising competitors to equidistant starting points that served in lieu of any gates allowing general access.

The roughly hewn stones were not precisely inviting, however, and the whole arena seemed to spin slowly. Almost, just almost, as if the slow revolutions were trying to pull competitors into the large central hole within the Arena's design. The stones spun at their swiftest there. Perhaps the spin was meant to make it easier to trip due to the slight gaps and uneven surfaces. Traps, perhaps, or tricks to be exploited. Regardless, Sky was an unkind mistress from the first sight to the last, a fact that was made even clearer as a sudden grumble of thunder echoed through the air, and after a moment, a solid, steady rain commenced to fall, slicking the stones and creating even more hazards for the unwary foot. It was time for blood to be spilled, and the first to fall.

Sky, at last, was open.



TormentedDragon -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (6/24/2011 22:26:18)

First of the Champions known to us: The Ronin of Dreams, a wandering warrior, fighting in service to the Lord of Water.
Second of the Champions known to us: Tasha Terrel, a general of armies, fighting in service to the Lord of Wind.
Third of the Champions known to us: Enya, a shaman of the frozen lands, fighting in service to the Lord of Fire.
Fourth of the Champions known to us: Tel'rion, a mage of the drakel, fighting in service to the Lord of Water... though in his addled mind he fought for Salt.
Fifth of the Champions known to us: Ember, a sprite with the power of dragonflame, fighting in service to the Lord of Fire... as if she could do aught else.

Fair, elegant hands reached down, taking up the gloves that lay on the table, the supple leather painstakingly stitched with minute runes in silver thread. She slipped them on, and flexed her fingers, turning each hand over to inspect the larger runes that adorned both sides. Blue eyes narrowed, as she ran through the list of champions in her mind.

Time and again, Champions have risen in service to the Lord of Light. Time and again, they have been found wanting. Her fists clenched for a moment, though her face remained impassive. And we... I... stood, and watched, and recorded the failure. For all lore is worthy of notice. But still, it rankles.

She turned, examining herself in the mirror (a luxury rather common in the inns of this town), running a hand over her shaved head, fingers tracing the silver pattern splayed across her scalp. And must I stand by yet again, to watch, and hope, that this time those who come to offer their service will be truly worthy of the honor? She paused, finger resting on the star that graced the middle of her forehead, her lips pressed into a thin line. I cannot accept that, Syniera, Laresh. I cannot stand idle. Forgive me.

Her hands dropped to her sides, and she turned, and she left.

***


The magus barely quirked an eye. In another town, with another man, she might have drawn his stare, her height, her robes, the tattoos on her head, and the grim expression she wore piquing the curiosity of the populace. Here, though, in Bren, she was hardly special. Perhaps just strange enough to blend into the crowd. Others would be the ones to draw stares. She had long gotten used to this - the once a man had looked for long, he'd later admitted he'd simply been trying to decide whether she was a woman or just a tall elf man. That hadn't ended well.

Her transport brought her to the arena with without fanfare, the rock she stood on coming to a graceful halt. Her eyes narrowed, her robes already darkening as they soaked up the water, her scalp glistening in the rain. This would make it difficult. No matter. She had fought in worse. She stepped off her rock and into the lazily spinning arena, the runes on the back of her gloves glowing as she flexed her hands. The next moment, two shallow domes of light had appeared, silver and translucent, their runes prominent at their center. Let the battle begin.



demonhunter -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (6/25/2011 3:05:40)

"Hey, Longhair! Good luck this year!"

A small, furred figure raised a hand at the call, one of many from well-wishers who remembered him from last year's tournament. Despite not making the finals, Jonathan Longhair had earned himself a small but devoted following among the Elemental Championships regular spectators.

He was an unusual sight compared to most of the competition's entrants. Standing at a mere three feet in height, covered in goldenrod fur with a long, brown ponytail hanging down his back, and a long, prehensile tail, the Jakkai was considerably smaller than the average competitor. Not that it meant much. After all, last year's Grand Champion had been considerably smaller than him; a fire fairy that he'd observed in the Cellar arena, where he himself had fought the Darkness Champian-to-be.

Jonathan scowled at the memory. He'd lost his knife in that fight, and had to surrender a good chunk of his emergency funds to replace it... And three months later, a much larger chunk to ensure that such would not happen again. His hand rested on the hilt of his new weapon, a simple but well-forged blade meant to kill, not look pretty. He had no intention of losing this one.

Now he was back in Bern, to do this year what he had failed to accomplish previously: To earn the favour of the Energy Lord, and test his skills in the Championship finals.

~~~~~~~~


"Sky this time, eh?" Jonathan grumbled as he stared up at the floating rocks that formed the Sky arena, "I was hoping for Cellar again..."

Jonathan was a hunter by trade and by nature. Familiar territory was a comfort to him in a fight. A moot point, now, though, as he'd been assigned to an unfamiliar Arena. Not wishing to waste time or lose his nerve, he signalled one of the magi to take him up.

He was deposited on the eastern side of the ring of stones that made up the Sky arena's surface. Rain fell freely here, and Jonathan's scowl deepened. Aside from the danger posed by slippery footing, all this water made his lightning-based spells as dangerous to himself as they were to the enemy. And any water contenders would likely have a very large advantage...

He drew his knife and gritted his teeth in frustration. This was going to be a much harder fight than last year...



Mirai -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (6/25/2011 11:30:02)

3 weeks ago…

The Clerk of the Tairon Elemental Championship Participation Committee grimaced, and ran a scarlet ermine clad sleeve against his sweaty brow. This was supposed to be a straightforward process, a simple case of the prisoner appearing before the Committee, being informed of the Members’ decision that they were to be sentenced to the Championship, and being led away from the oak-wood table. In previous years, men had screamed in protest, roared in defiance at the Committee’s will, or sunk down in despair, moaning that they were innocent. The Chair of the Committee- Lord Erwin, an overweight man with grease black hair- would bang his gavel, and guards would lead the prisoner away, to be provided with suitable equipment and transported to the tournament.

This year, however, things were not proving so straightforward. Instead of protesting, the prisoner had immediately accepted that she wasbound for the championship, saying nothing to refuse this sentence. Nor had she said anything about her original crimes, nor sought to protest her innocence.

Unfortunately, she had much to say on other matters.

First she had negotiated with the Committee on the level of her performance in the championship, arguing that it would bring little entertainment to the people of Tairon, and dishonour to the kingdom, if she refused to fight and sang lullabies. For long incredulous minutes, the Clerk had watched on as she refused to be cowed by the Committee Members, observing how she calmly sat before them, how her attitude and composure shone out beyond the rags of her clothing, the bloody bruise below her left eye. In exchange for guaranteeing that she would fight to the best of her ability, she had then wrung not only concessions from the Committee on the equipment she was to be provided with, but also the opening of several cases where she considered that other inmates at the Perdeep Pit had been improperly sentenced.

“… further, I recommend that the case of Robert Redfearn is re-examined. He was originally incarcerated into the Pit three years ago, after being convicted of arson, in association with the property of Lord Mountbattenburgen. However, the man has a deep rooted fear of fire, dating from his childhood, when he and his family were in a refugee camp, attacked and set ablaze by the Orcs of the Yellow Lantern tribe. I have corroborated this account with records of the attack, and character witnesses who were not originally called for in Mr Redfearn’s trial can testify for his fear of fire, to the extent that I believe it can be proven to be within reasonable doubt that he committed the attested case of arson…”

The Clerk sighed, quietly, wondering when the irritating woman would shut up, and continued to scratch away at his parchment, recording a verbatim account of the Committee’s meeting. He’d planned on doing some shopping at the market this afternoon, of purchasing some new shoes, given his existing pair had developed several holes. For a moment he glanced at the prisoner, quill scribbling away as he slyly ran his eyes over her handsome features, taking in her faintly freckled cheeks, her soft red lips. She was pale from her time in the pit, and sported one bruise on her face, but otherwise appeared in remarkably good health. Faintly, he wondered how in the 7 hells someone condemned to Perdeep Pit had possibly managed to keep her lips so fulsome, how they could possibly sit so confidently, long legs crossed before her, head tilted assertively forward, waving to indicate she was content for one of the Members, Lord Mealys, to interrupt her.

“You make a number of points about reopening cases Ms Goodchild, but it seems to me that there have been a number of unfortunate… accidents during your stay in the Pits. Do you have any comments to make about the seven men found dead in the vicinity of your cell?”

The prisoner smiled, briefly running her hands over her raised thigh. A stray strand of silken firey-red hair momentarily fell down before her piercing grey eyes, before she nonchalantly flicked it back between her left earlobe.

“As I know from personal experience, my Lord Maelys, the Pits are a dangerous place, where accidents happen not infrequently. Should my Lord wish to conduct a rapporteur visit to the Pits, I’m sure my fellow inmates will be happy to accommodate him. I would say, however, that in the cases of prisoners Xavier, Yilgar and Zygot that the record might reflect my own regret that it was not until their unfortunate suicides that they confessed to the rape of several children in Altrox. I can only imagine that guilt led them to their acts.”

The clerk ran his hand over his brow, sweating beneath the brightly lit chandaliers that burned above the committee’s meeting room. He glanced about the room, noting how the 9 members of the committee were growing steadily more fixated on the prisoner’s words- and ever less on the job of actually sentencing her. And of course, who would have to do the initial work of actually investigating the prisoners’ claims? Not the lords themselves of course, it would be he and his team that had to do the work of their masters. Politicians never did their own grunt work. Signalling to his deputy clerk to take over the verbatim record, he hastily scribbled a not to the Committee Chair, urging him to bring the proceedings to a close. Fortunately, his lord concurred, interrupting the prisoner several minutes later as she briefly paused for breath.

“Fine, fine. The clerking team will make arrangements for the cases you’ve highlighted to be re-examined. In return, you will perform to the best of your ability in the Championships, and expressly will not seek to dishonour Tairon by throwing down your weapons, and run screaming round the arena. In addition, you will be provided with a selection of non-magical equipment from the city armoury. You will be escorted to Bren forthwith. Now my lords, if we could move to the next item on our agenda, I’d like to move a motion under standing order 21.37 to continue our meeting in private…”

Present…

Rain slicked against her skin, Salina crouched for a moment, steadying herself after her airborne flight up to the conglomeration of circling stones. Then, confident she was as accustomed as possible to the shifting balance of her sorcerous platform, she stepped brightly forward, boots clipping in measured tones against the puddled stone floor. With a flash of white smiling straight teeth, she glanced about the other contestants, grey eyes running along the two other warriors to have already joined the arena.

Tall and short, they were a striking pair. The closer one, a woman, looked to be several inches above Salina’s own height, her shaven head seemingly tattooed with striking silver designs, that vaguely reminded her of a hoary sea-lizard’s crest that she’d once spotted upon a trawler lodged in Nagraith docks. The other, male by appearance, and slightly further away, stood barely half her span, yet his amethyst eyes seemed to burn with an intensity that belied his slim size.

Not human certainly. Not a species I’m familiar with, so don’t make any assumptions about what that one can or can’t do. For that matter girl, don’t make any assumptions about anyone, or anything.

She breathed deeply, savouring the feel of the rain upon her skin. On a rationale level, the ex-Captain felt healthy fear, a respect for the potential dangers that lay in wait. All too well she knew the tales of the tournament, the stories of heroes who had met their brutal ends in this bloody death match. All too well she knew that the elemental lords cared nought for their pawns’ plans and purposes, that chance and misfortune played as much a part in these contests as skill or sorcery. All too well she knew that more deaths would soon be on her conscience- or her own demise would be on another’s.

But at the same time… there’s nothing like having death’s cold hand perched upon one’s shoulder to make a girl feel alive. To feel adrenaline dancing down my veins, weaponry to hand, the exhilaration of knowing each breath might be my last… the truth is, I’ve missed this.

Reflexively she tensed her left hand against the hilt of one of her short swords, recalling her satisfaction at the feel of the twin blades as she’d weighed them up in the Tairon armoury. Each hilt was inscribed with the ancient runes of truth and justice, while the cross-pieces had images of a wolf and lion branded into solid mithril.

More, if I can gain an audience with the elemental lord of wind… who knows? Maybe, just maybe, my lords of Tairon may have unwittingly delivered me with a second chance.

For a brief moment, the ex-Captain’s forehead crinkled, as memories rose up of her last bid for power. For an instant, she heard Gael Blackfire gasp in shock as Salina plunged a dagger into the back of her childhood friend. For a split second, she saw sweet young Seargent Galen’s face crumble in betrayal and disbelief, as she turned from her summoning to confront him in the temple of Feng-Kai. For the briefest pause she felt regret.

But I know my cause was just.

Salina shook off the memory. Perhaps she might find means in this place to deliver the justice her parents died without. Perhaps. Justice might theoretically exist without the steel to enforce it, might live in the books of academics in their ivory towers. But in her experience it took power to impose a moral code, took force to create a garden fit for the growth of justice. That was the truth to why she had seen nations might claim the moral right to fight one war- but remain silent on abuses that cried out for intervention. Because invariably such nations could not impose their notions of morality on certain abuses- because they took place beyond the limits of their power. Power did not define justice, but it enabled it to exist in the first place. Power that the elemental lords could potentially deliver.

To that end she had killed one of her best friends, Gael Blackfire, when the mage had been in her way. Slaughtered colleagues from the coven. The justice of her parents justified such deaths. The justice of her parents would justify those that were to come.

To that end she would not think of her fellow combatants as anything more than obstacles to be overcome, fresh meat to be butchered once again. She took little pleasure in such acts, but these warriors knew what they had gotten into by entering the tournament.

And now they’re in my way.

With a wild grin she continued forward, gliding over the treacherous surface with seeming calm towards the shaven woman.

"Hey sweetheart, what's a nice girl like you doing in a bloodbath like this? Or have you and your furry friend eliminated the rest of the competition already?"

I think this is going to be fun...



Goldstein -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (6/25/2011 11:45:59)

Chyrasander "Doc" Damienakis awoke to the strong smell of blood. It was repugnant, made all the other poignant by the intense humidity that signaled a rather fierce storm. He rubbed th e gap between his eyes and slowly raised himself to a sitting position.

"Oh, right. Jonah."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and pulled on his waistcoat that was hanging from a bedpost. "How are you feeling, dear boy?"

The limp body didn't answer.

"Oh, you haven't woken yet. How cute."

He yawned, cracked his neck, then walked over to his patient. "Alright, let's take a look." The bandages were dirty, but they had stopped the bleeding when the poor fool stumbled in with three arrows in his right thigh. A small green spot was growing near the jagged red wound, which wasn't good. Doc poked it, and smelly white pus spurted out.

"Oh dear, that's ghastly."

With the deftness that comes from performing hundreds of surgical procedures, Doc drew a vial from his bandolier and poured its contents onto the injury. A thin, shiny coat of ice covered the little hole. "Yes, that will do. Goodness, I'm hungry."

He looked up and saw that big, fat raindrops were splattering against the dirty inn window. "Oh, I love rain, don't you? Although I don't like the fact that it makes the rocks slippery. It could cause injuries, but then again, that's good for me! I fell sorry for the fellows participating in the Sky Arena today." Chuckling, he rolled up his sleeves. Then, he abruptly stopped. "Oh, wait, I'M participating in that Arena! Oh, bother!"

Forgetting his patient, Doc hastily laced his boots and ran out his room, pausing only to grab his sword and an apple to eat.


The Sky Arena was quite the threatening sight, the soupy clouds providing a frightening backdrop. Doc's stomach was churning as a magi lifted him through the air and onto the Arena. "Bloody heck," he cursed, "the rocks spin? That's just ridiculous! Good thing I coated the soles of my boots with varnish."

He was deposited onto the northern side. The wind was fierce up there, and Doc's hair whipped around. "Is that a hole in the middle?" It was. The uneven surface of the rocks created several strong streams of water that poured with the ferocity of a river. Doc nervously fiddled with his vials of ice. "Perhaps...perhaps I can freeze the water and immobilize the rocks briefly...perhaps..."

Meanwhile!

Jonah the Competent woke up inside an unfamiliar inn with a throbbing pain in his leg. He realized he was alone and asked in a timid voice, "Doctor?"



N3344 -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (6/26/2011 1:22:43)

He had been here before, only the last time "he" was different. The last time Cale had entered the Elemental Championship, he was an actual human. Not a mentally stable human, but a human none the less. Cale had fought a follower of Earth like him, only he didnt do as well as he wanted too. Or did he? His memory was too fuzzy to even remember. After all, being broken down into nothing but mere dust and locked into a walking, human shaped, metal container certaintly has some side effects towards ones memory.

Regardless of his appearance, Cale was still the same "person". He still hated humans, especially for their treatment of the Earth. How could beings who are so dependent upon the Earth treat it so badly? The Earth literally offered itself to these beasts and in return they destroy it by creating monstrous castles and buildings. Every city Cale entered, he could hear the call of his children, begging him to destroy the buildings and free them. It was no different in Bren. He had forgotten what it was like to be here, what it was like to hear his children scream in pain. For some reason, the Earths cries seemed much louder and stronger here. Their voices echoed inside of his head causing him to cringe inside his metal prison. Even though Cale was bound by his new body, which he hated, it certaintly made him much stronger than the last time he competed. His "weapons" were much more durable and could take stronger hits. And, most importantly, he couldnt be directly attacked by water and wind. Cale "smiled" when he realized this.

His heavy, metal feet pounded the earth, but instead of kicking up a cloud of dirt, it seemed to stick to his body like metal to a magnet. He could feel the stares from the humans all around him. Cale knew why, of course, these beasts were staring. He was a cold blooded murderer. The feeling of his own two earthern hands piercing into the heart of a human was just... delightful. He loved the feeling of their blood mixing into his body, the earth. He enjoyed the fact it would stain his body a crimson red for just a brief second before it slipped off of his container and into the earth below him. The satisfaction that there was one less human that could harm the earth provided one of the most exhilirating experiences, which is why he is fighting in the Elemental Championship again. He needed to wipe out more humans, and what a better way than the Elemental Championship where killing someone is encouraged. Cale, of course, had a list of targets in which he ranked the most desirable to kill. First was the follower of fire, the one that burned and destroyed the earth, his children. Second and third were the followers of water and wind respectively. Floods, hurricanes, and tornadoes would ravage the land, causing massive destruction to the earth. Fourth, fifth, and sixth were ice, energy, and darkness; winter would freeze his children to death, energy would starts fires, and darkness would prevent his children from growing. And finally, there was light, causing his children to become dehydrated during drought season from the obnoxious sun. If Cale could just destroy these seven, the world would most definitely be a better place, at least to him anyways.

Finally, he reached the sky arena, his playground. The last arena he competed in was the fountain. Or was it the cellar? His memory was to fuzzy to retrieve his last fight. Regardless, that was the past and he was now much stronger, much more powerful, and with a much stronger motivation, than last time. Cale wasnt going to lose again and that was his mindset. He nodded toward the magi, signaling he was ready to go to the arena. He hated the fact that he had to ask a human for help, but it was the only way he could kill the others. Besides, he could just kill him after he killed everyone in the Championship.

As Cale finally reached the northeastern part of the arena, he was greeted by the rotating pieces of earth. The earth welcomed him as they knew his true intentions to save them. There was one small problem though... it was raining. The droplets of water bounced and slipped off of his metal container and, for some reason, his insides were all a buzz. Perhaps he was nervous because of the rain? No, of course not. It was nothing more than excitement! Cale looked around to examine more of his surroundings only to find contestants. There they were, his targets, his next murders! His "eyes", which were nothing more than glass covering buzzing sand inside his body, scanned the arena. He saw a peculiar bald woman, what appeared to be a doctor, a small, odd looking creature that he wasnt even sure how to describe, and what seemed to be woman of magic with red hair. For some reason, Cale knew these people were not the warrior of fire that he was after first. Disappointed, with his lack of selection, Cale knelt to the earth, hearing their words speak to him, telling him to save them. He was ready to fight, and now all it took was for the fire warrior to appear, or for him to be confronted. Cale needed for his cold, metal body to be reunited and fused with the warmth of blood that he had forgotten so long ago.



The Dragon Knight -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (6/26/2011 11:45:04)

Earlier That Day

The morning started, as usual, with the delicious scent of bacon wafting through the streets. This time, however, was a little different from most days because the smell was even more mouth-watering than usual. People walking past the Waltzing Weasel Inn would stop, their noses upturned as they sought to capture the bacon-y essence, and invariably wander through the doors. The innkeeper was more than pleased by the massive increase in traffic, although he was beginning to think that he may have gone too far. The first day it had happened he had been impressed, but figured it was nothing more than a fluke. After the third day in a row, he had decided to take advantage of this new business and make it even better.

Signs adorned the walls and windows outside of the inn, and a hired crier did his best to make it known that the Waltzing Weasel was the place to eat. “Come one, come all, to the Waltzing Weasel! The best food in the realm, as prepared by the famous critic and chef, Henry DeFranco! Come and taste the delicacies of the world! Only for a limited time! And, as a bonus offer, free tickets to the Elemental Championship to all overnight guests so they might watch The Gourmet take to the battlefield! Tonight only!!” rang his clear voice, repeating his message to anyone who passed. If the scent of the food was not enough, the offer of free tickets to the most important tournament of the year brought the people in droves.

As the innkeeper surveyed the packed restaurant, he thanked the Lords that he had only offered tickets to overnight guests who were paying for rooms. Had he made the mistake of giving tickets to anyone coming in for food he would have been bankrupt in an hour. As it was, the line of hungry patrons extended out the door, down the street and didn’t stop for a quarter mile. He shook his head and turned to walk into the kitchen.

The scene inside the kitchen was far different from the humongous throng that filled his establishment. The kitchen was spotless, with shining pots and utensils, sparkling counters, and a floor so clean you could literally eat off of it. The only things that gave away that it was even being used were the ever-burning stove, the glowing oven and the blur of frenetic movement that was Henry. He zipped back and forth, chopping up vegetables here, ladling broth into bowls there, pulling things out of the oven with one hand while stirring a skillet with the other. He never stopped moving, and he was never without a huge smile and look of contended peace on his face. Truly, the innkeeper thought, this man was incredible. Or, perhaps crazy was the appropriate word. Who in their right mind found enjoyment in this sort of thing? Well, he reflected, what business was it of his? All that mattered right now was that his guest of honour received what he wanted.

That first morning, Henry had sat down to breakfast like any other guest. “A lightly toasted buttermilk biscuit with poached eggs, thinly sliced Algorian bacon, some potato and leek latkes, oh, and a jar of fresh mint jelly, if you please!” was his order. The innkeeper had been quite apologetic that, not only did they not have half of the ingredients required to make such a dish, but their cook was simply not skilled enough for the task. In response, Henry had jumped out of his seat with a smile and said, “Not a problem, not a problem, I’ll take care of it then. And while I’m at it, would anyone else care for something not on the menu?”


And that’s how it all started. The cook had quit after the first day, warning the innkeeper that he was now going to be hard pressed to keep his newfound clientele once Henry had left, and that the cook was not going to take the blame for the sudden decrease in quality. This had worried the man because it was, of course, true. However, that was a problem for another day. Right now he had made more money in a week than he had all of the previous year. He shook his head at the way fate worked and left Henry to his work.



Present

It was later in the day, and the sky was dark and leaden. Henry glanced up at it and simply smiled. He carried no umbrella, nor any kind of overcoat to keep the drops off of his fine, silken clothes. The ordinary elements were no longer of any concern to him. Oh, he had no doubt that he would encounter some incredible extremes today, but for normal weather he was quite well equipped.

Such a portly and unassuming figure did not attract a lot of attention, even on the best of days, and today was no different. As he made his way towards the coliseum he discovered that he was quite invisible. People were on the lookout for those who would be competing this year, of course, but they were looking for old favourites and those who had the appearance of warriors or mages. The well-dressed gentleman with the cheerful expression and rosy cheeks did not seem, at all, to be the sort of person to compete. He looked more like a wealthy spectator, on his way to take his seat in the arena stands.

Indeed, when he finally arrived at his destination and presented himself to the guard at the competitor’s entrance, they mistook him for an observer and tried to direct him toward the main entrance. It wasn’t until he showed them his gladiator’s seal that they took him seriously and allowed him entrance. In spite of the disbelief, Henry was more than a little pleased. Nobody had really seen him during his trek to the arena, and the crowds were going to be in for a surprise.

He greeted the Sky mage with a smile and a carefree, “Good morning!” before taking his place upon the stone platform. As it began to climb, high into the sky, the clouds began to deliver their payload. The drops fell, slowly at first, but by the time he had reached the battlefield thunder rolled and there was a steady downpour soaking the combatants. Or, at least, most of them.

As he stepped forward onto the rotating outer ring, Henry appeared to be smoking. This was not correct, however, as the water turned to steam even as it touched his skin, wrapping him in a thin haze. His blood, permanently afire, was hot enough to keep him warm and dry in any normal weather. His gaze swept the arena floor, taking in those who had arrived ahead of him. He offered them all an even broader smile than normal as he reached over his shoulder to pull from his backpack a single item.

Unfolding the piece of cloth, he tied it about his neck with two thin pieces of silk. The large bib had a picture of a lobster on it, holding a knife in one claw and a fork in the other, with a very cute chef’s hat upon its head. This task completed, his smile turned to a happy grin as he spoke to the arena in general.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, I hope you’re happy with today’s menu. I know it’s a tad early for lunch, so I sincerely hope you’re still hungry. It’s time to eat!”



TormentedDragon -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (6/26/2011 21:55:07)

Jonathan Longhair, of the race of Jakkai. Entered in service to the Lord of Energy in the year prior; lost the honor to Marcos "the Handyman" von Nelsyren. Survived the Cellar.

Of those who had arrived so far, he was the only one she recognized. Not surprising. Only a few had ever entered twice. Of the others in the arena, she knew little - only what she could infer from their appearance. The first to arrive was a woman, proficient in the sword, seeing as she bore two upon her belt, and with no doubt possessing a number of tricks with which to surprise her opponents, else she would not carry bags into battle. The second, a man, bearing a sword and what looked to be a bandolier, though what it held she could not tell at this distance. The third, a man made of metal; there was no armor that could look that way. And the fourth, another human, male, portly, and steaming.

The woman was moving towards her, and so she picked her target, inscribing the first of her runes in the air with her left hand, splitting magic and mind between this and the far simpler task of activating the beam rune. She stepped toward the woman, noting her grace, despite the slick of the stone underfoot, and raised her right hand. "If thine eyes mark me nice, sweetling, they play thee false. Here, I shall chastise them in thy place."

The rune on the palm of her glove glowed silver, the light bulging at the center, then flashing forward in a coherent, painful beam of silver, aimed directly at her head.



Micosil -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (6/27/2011 16:37:14)

Grax groaned when he saw the masses of people blocking the streets on the way to the Arena. Although he was a competitor and, as such, wouldn't have to deal with the masses that were probably forming in the public entrances - were there even viewers? He'd never bothered to ask - he would still have to carve a path through.

The large troll sighed and stepped away from the window, skin turning a deeper blue once the sun was no longer on it, and made his way out. He waved to the innkeeper as he left, having already paid for his time here, and went out to the streets, and into the crowd. The large, metallic tank secured into his back - or rather, secured to a metal plate screwed into his back - and the pipes coming out of it and through his arms, combined with the blue tone of his skin got him a few looks, but it was his size and strength and, more importantly, the fact that he used them to move through the crowd like an axe through wood, that got the attention of most people.

After a few minutes of moving in this manner, he arrived to the entrance to his arena - Sky. The door he passed led not to the arena itself, but within, he was quickly directed to one of the mages that raised the contestants onto the battlefield. A few words crossed between the arcanist and the troll and, soon, he was flying upwards.

The first thing he noticed was the downpour, and his thoughts instantly crossed to how useful that would be. Not only did the troll use water as his weapon, much like the one that was falling, but he also knew how to move in soaked terrain, thanks to his excursions next to the sea. Of course, now the stakes were a bit higher - literally. Troll or not, no regeneration could help when you turned into a red splat on the ground.

He set his feet carefully, eyes flickering over to the competitors that had already arrived, grayish silhouettes in the rain. Without paying it much attention, a globe of water formed around his left hand as he wondered how the others would fare. Jumping from rock to rock was a risky thing at best, and most competitors would have a problem with the reduced visibility from the rain.

Calmly, his eyes set on one of the figures in the distance. He could see neither weapons nor armor, which was always a good sign, and in this weather most elemental mages would have a hard time. Intending to finish the fight as soon as possible, he started accumulating water on both hands, his target being football sized spheres, even if it required more focus than he would've liked. Once that was done... Keep it simple. Build power now, shoot later.



Mirai -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (6/27/2011 18:55:17)

Not one for chit-chat then...

Straight as an arrow, the bright laser burned towards the former guard captain, sizzling through the damp, drizzling air. A heady mix of terror and adrenaline shot through Salina’s veins, doubled in a heartbeat as cat-quick reflexes sent her leaping over the abyss in response. She soared out over space, long legs deftly propelling her onto an inner ring of the ever-circling stones. As she landed, her leather boots skidded upon the slick surface, and for a fearful moment she swayed upon the rough-hewn marble stone. Then her balance reasserted itself, and a wide grin flashed in the grey rain.

Well if the antiquated speech patterns weren't enough of a giveaway, I think the laser safely confirms you're dealing with a light mage girl. And in an impressive display of making friends, you’re the first person in this whole arena to be attacked. Well done. Oh, and now you’re moving into the middle of an ever expanding array of potential enemies. Trolls and metal men, a mad professor and… wait… that’s never Henry DeFranco is it? What in the nine hells is he doing here? Didn’t the Green Knight Tavern… focus girl. Light mage trying to burn you alive first, famous food critics later.

With a wink, she addressed her foe. “Nice try honey” she called, her clear, confident voice ringing out over the sorcerous arena, “but I’ve had my fill of censure. Here, try this for a laugh.”

The once-coven leader’s left hand flashed to her belt, plucking out the fist-sized pouch of itching sands tucked away there. Most of Salina's equipment had been seized from the Tairon stores, selected from the wide range of weaponry and armour held in the name of its King. The sands had been a late purchase however, purchased from a joke shop in Nagraith on her way to Bren.

The visit to Nagraith had been… difficult. It had been a long year since she’d been Captain of the town, but being in her former home had brought Salina an unexpected wave of emotion. Round every corner she found memories and ghosts clawing at her. Sedric Sneral’s Apothecary store stood empty and in disrepair, the upper window from which the odious man had plunged to his death still splintered with shards of shattered glass. The town Guardhouse bustled with life, hushing into sudden silence and shocked whispers as she and her minders passed by. Gael Blackfire’s cottage still stood as a blackened husk, soot and ash still tainting along its walls, bearing a grisly memory of the arson Salina herself had set in play, to cover up the murder of her former friend. Even so, she had shook off the doubt and regret, reminding herself that her ends justified her black and bloody means, and in the midst of her uncertainty found a new tool for her plans.

Not that rows of chattering teeth and glowing green eyeballs make traditional bedfellows for a weapon, but even in this downpour I think this’ll serve. It might make me chuckle anyway.

With a flourish, the former guard captain upended the leather bag, letting the itching dust fall out, notably tipping it away from her face. The Agrovian sands would cause an allergic reaction among most living creatures, causing violent itches wherever it touched, leaving its victims to scratch and scrape away at themselves until the offending grains had been scrubbed and washed away.

As the dust fell sparkling down, the grey eyed woman pursed her lips and blew upon the tumbling sands, imbuing her breath with magical force. In a heartbeat the grains were caught up in the sorcerous gust of wind, sending them blasting out in an expanding cloud towards the light mage.



Goldstein -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (6/28/2011 0:38:33)

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Doc shouted as he watched two of the combatants immediately attack one another. It seemed a little premature for them to be exchanging blows already, wasn't it? Wasn't there suppose to be an official, or an announcement, so perhaps they should wait for more competitors to appear? It didn't seem to matter, and no one paid Doc much mind.

"I might as well get ready then," he muttered to himself, unsheathing his broadsword. "I'd hate to get knocked out before I even got my weapon out." With the eye of a trained surgeon he scanned the battlefield, despite the torrential downpour. There was an impressively dressed man with an out-of-place lobster bib, a metal man of some sort, a dwarf in a black tunic that was comically short, a rather ugly water troll. There were also two women, one of them bald, both dressed in form fitting clothing. They were lashing out at one another with some kind of magic that somehow involved dust, a seemingly harmless substance to Doc.

How lovely, a catfight to start our little foray, he thought. Deciding to act on his previously thought up plan, Doc drew three vials from his bandoleers. He waited until the rock he was standing on scraped its neighbor. Quickly, he threw down the vial. It shattered, creating a thin sheen of ice that locked the two rocks into place. He repeated the action with his other two vials until he had created a nice, stationary platform for the doctor to stand on.

"That'll do," he said as he admired his handiwork. Instead of melting, the drops of rain froze to the ice, creating an even stronger bond. However, not all was secure. A sudden gush of wind caused the good doctor to stumble back. He felt something strike his hand as he flailed to regain balance. Almost immediately, his hand exploded into a furious itching.

"My God, this is horrible! It feels like someone has wrapped my hand with one hundred wool shirts and then lit them on fire!" he hollered. Doc brought his hand to his face and saw a tiny grain of sand embedded in his skin. "Aha! That must be Agrovian sand! I treated Old Man Franklin for this once. I just need to pry it out..." He took his sword, and as carefully as he could be, he cut the small section of skin containing the offending sand off.

"Much better," he sigh as he wrapped his hand in some gauze, the itching already fading. He held his sword out in front of him, ready for whatever might have come his way. "Now that I've conquered sand, what shall I squash next?" Doc



Clyde -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (6/29/2011 1:19:13)

She had traveled all day just to make it to the city of Bren before the sun fell past the horizon. The reason behind this was because she had wanted to experience the city life once again instead of heading straight to bed. With all the traveling she was doing, it had been a whole year since she was ever within a city. She craved the nightlife, she thrived for it in fact. The Elemental Championships were at hand, this would mean people were partying and celebrating the night before. With this in mind, she looked all over the city to find the more active spots.

The night was still young and all Nia wanted to do was just walk around and enjoy herself a little. She wanted to take it all in: the lights, the sounds, and all the other beauties that this wondrous city had to offer. Why she was acting like this night could be her last was simple really, she believed that this night could really be her last one alive. She tried hard to fight those thoughts, but no matter of partying could help her escape the cold reality before her. Throughout the whole night she kept a close eye on the time, no matter how tempting it was to ignore that she needed sleep, she knew that she would need her rest. After saying goodbye to anyone who stuck out the night with her, she headed to bed.

The early morning light tried to fight its way through into Nia's room, but it met resistance in the form of complete darkness. Her shroud filled the room and hid everything within. If you were to remove the walls of her room it would look like she was somewhere in a black box. While others reveled in the comfort of the sun, Nia enjoyed the embrace of the shadows. She understood the special relationship that light and dark shared, but she always had an affinity towards her element. Within its grasp she felt more alive, her senses would heighten, and her mind would clear of any distracting thoughts. She was a child of the night in just about every sense of the word.

When she arose from her bed she had let out a big yawn while she stretched her body. A smile forced its way onto Nia's face, she had to admit to herself that the beds were pretty comfortable in this city. She hopped out of bed and sat on the floor in her usual pose for meditation. Each inhale brought a slow exhale. Her eyes closed and her legs were crossed, she started mumbling slowly in a chant. Moments later she began her prayer to her elemental Lord.

"Oh Lord of Darkness. No other element even compares to power that you hold. Together we will make those who think they are brave, fear the dark again like when they were children. I am only a shadow of your greatness. I am the emissary that will bring the respect that the element of darkness so greatly deserves. There is no light at the end of the tunnel, when their bodies are buried, there is only darkness. Grant me the strength to make the other elements look pale and weak compared yours. I want...I will win in your honor."

When she had finished her prayer, she opened her eyes. The darkness that filled her room dissipated little by little, just as Nia wanted. Instantly she looked down to her hands which trembled violently. She brought them together and close to her chest. Praying to her Lord had always made her nervous because whenever she prayed she was never sure what was the right thing to say and always felt like it was not enough. There were doubts that clouded her thoughts.

She could die in that arena. Would anyone even care? Or would she just be another number on the Elemental Championships' death toll? Her head shook back and forth in a silly attempt to shake out all those nasty thoughts. The night before she had checked her inventory twice just to make sure that everything was alright and nothing got lost. After getting dressed, she checked her stuff to make sure no thieves got their hands on it. When everything seemed in order, she stretched and exercised a bit to keep her body loose and her blood flowing. Her metallic eyes fixated upon the mirror in her room, she inspected herself closely to look for any errors. At the same time, she had felt that inner darkness creeping itself through the cracks of her surface. When she thought about the Elemental Championship her past came back in a flood of memories...

She had performed for a traveling circus before to repay her debt to an old friend. The first thing that came to mind were those members of the audience that waited, WANTED the performers to make a mistake, and have something bad happen to them. During her first days at the circus, she remembered their shouts and demands for her to fall off the tight rope. Even then she had managed to keep her cool and stay alive. The Elemental Championships would be not any different from that. These combatants were performers for the blood thirsty crowd. However, what made them different from performers was one simple fact... They were fighting for their lives.

Nia was deep in thought until someone she had met last night had stopped and greeted her. She was startled and kind of confused until she finally realized that she had been walking to the arena this whole time. After she regained her composure, she smiled to the person, and thanked him for wishing her luck. It was a gift in her opinion, to smile at life. She accepted that it was short and tried to enjoy the little things.

Registration seemed like a distant memory even though she did it only a few minutes ago. When she saw the Sky Arena, she did not know what to say. The rocks spinning around each other had brought an uneasy feeling within her stomach. She had climbed trees and rocks as a kid, danced about on tightropes high in the sky, and even rode a flying zard not too long ago. None of those seemed as bad as those rocks, especially the ones closer to the center. Never in her life had she seen anything like this.

After staring and gawking she took a big gulp and looked at one of the eight magi standing about. She gave a nod of approval before she was lifted up into the air and onto one of the outer-most rocks of the Sky Arena. The higher she moved up the more she felt the pressure change. When she finally got her footing together on the rock, she looked up at her competition. Admittedly, she was interested at the motley crew of people assembled in this arena. It was not even fair to call them all people, one was some furry creature, and another was this metal thing that looked like a man. There was a woman who looked like she had years of experience, but still had the body of someone young. When she glanced across the rocks, she saw another woman, strange looking, she summoned two domes of light. The hunter part of her wanted to know their patterns, the way they think, or even what they are capable of.

In her excitement she had completely forgotten about the rain. Nia could not help but to curse to herself. She already had worried about the arena and rain did not make her feel any better about it. Next thing she knew her hands were trembling again. "Stop it!" she said quietly to herself. She was nervous because she had never fought on behave of her Lord before. If she did not live up to his honor then she did not deserve to even be alive. Her eyes closed before she started breathing slowly. She grabbed her bow and withdrew an arrow from her quiver. In one fluid motion she readied the bow and arrow as she pulled the bow string. When she had opened her eyes she had decided that if this was going to be her last day, then she would make sure that the it would be one hell of a show.



TormentedDragon -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (6/29/2011 15:54:17)

Her target dodged; expected, really. One who could walk with such ease on a moving, slick surface was sure to be blessed with agility and speed ... or perhaps just a highly developed sense of balance. That she landed the prodigious leap spoke volumes as well; this one would be difficult to trip up, or even catch.

The first of the ciphers was complete, now, the rune floating in the air, silver lines pulsing faintly with the magic they held. She was already tracing the second, its lines overlaying those of the first, 'light' being laid upon 'self.' There was a third to draw, but her other hand remained at the ready; a grandmaster might draw two runes at a time, but even then it was risky.

A laugh, she says, and with this thought, she raised her left hand, the silver shield pulsing, the curve of its dome flattening, so that the edges covered a greater area. A bag of some form of powder, released into the air. An irritant, perhaps, or a poison, such as those used by- Focus! She controls the wind!

Her second rune complete, she put both hands in front of her face, the shields overlapping to cover her exposed skin. Magical wind met magical light, and parted around it, tearing at her robes and boots. Eyes closed, breath held, she sent a silent prayer of thanks to the eminently practical First of the Cipher.

In thy journeys, thou art exposed to much, and danger lurks in forms uncountable. Guard thy mind and body equally; let thy skin be covered, that it not be burned by sun or dried by wind. Let thy feet be shod, that they be guarded from the stones of the road. Let thy hands be gloved, that they stay hale, so as to record thy findings for others to know. Let only thy face be shown to the world, that thee be open and trusted, and may better perform thy mission.

The blast passed, and she lowered her shield, eyes opening even as her scalp began to itch. Some of the sand had made it past her guard, over the edge of her shield. She grimaced, but it was nothing worse than a sunburn- or no, it was MUCH worse than a sunburn. Her scalp felt as though a firebug had run across it. No matter, she had rune-scribed then, she would do so now. Already her left hand was scribing the final rune of the three, this one linked to the others, but not overlaid.



Mirai -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (6/30/2011 14:48:20)

So, not much chance of blasting old silver head out of the arena then, if she can throw up light shields against my winds. On the plus side, I think I’ve successfully irritated her now, and who knows, maybe that’ll prompt her to do something foolish. And on the negative- she’s a determined wench, you have to give her that. The rain will have helped, but I can’t believe she blocked out all of the sand with her light shields. Yet she’s not even scratching- there she stands, just calmly preparing another spell.

The hairs on the back of Salina’s neck rose up suddenly. She had limited experience of light magics, having little use for them either as a Guard Captain or as the leader of Nagraith’s Red Crescent Coven. Still, having seen her foe summon a light laser with barely a pause, it would take a buffoon not to recognise that whatever art the silver tattooed light mage was now preparing would be considerably more potent and powerful.

A year or two back, I might have defeated a mage in open sorcery, but these days my powers are but a pale shadow of their former selves. I need to keep this fight fluid as the autumn breeze itself, not let her settle into a pattern. She’d probably expect me to stand here and spit more barbs at her, so it’s time to signal the charge…

Calmly, the former guard captain filched two beeswax plugs from her pocket, and hurriedly inserted them in either of her pale skinned ears. Then, shadow swift, Salina suddenly shot forward, gliding over the jagged rocks with surprising speed. Her long cream cloak billowed up behind her, as her dark leather boots whispered over the broken floor. Observers in the assembly crowd below the arena might have put her wild charge over the floating, rotating, slippery surface down to one of two possibilities: iron-clad confidence in her own balance, co-ordination and boot grips… or insane recklessness. Those that weren’t simply baying for blood, and hoping the red haired woman would slip, fall from the sky, and splat down on the uncompromising flagstones far below the circling arena.

Yet despite the seeming madness of her rush, as the former guard captain raced along the treacherous surface, she found time to snatch a reinforced-steel whistle from her waist, and hold it between her grinning white teeth. It felt good to have the steel shrieker in her mouth once more, its metallic taste reminiscent of long ago days when, as a young officer of the Nagraith watch, she’d patrolled the streets, keeping the peace of her hometown. At the time, she had found it remarkable just how many criminals gave themselves away by running at the sight of her uniform. Had they carried on walking, most of the time she and her fellow guardsmen wouldn’t have had a clue to their guilt.

Half the time, we didn’t know why we were in pursuit, other than because they were attempting to evade pursuit. We had to stop our suspects first, and ask questions later. And so we peeped our whistles, summoning aid as we chased after our unknown suspects. Not that my once loyal guardsmen would be much help up here, even if any would now come to aid. Of course, when one is a Mistress of the winds, a little whistle can do more than cry out a call for help…

Nearing her foe, the grey eyed fighter blew into the seemingly innocuous instrument, while using a tendril of her sorcerous power to massively magnify the force of her exhalation once again. A split-second later, a cacophonous shriek shrilled through the arena. Discordant and dissonant, the noise grated and jarred against the clouds and swirling stones, the reinforced steel screaming in protest at the violent thrust of force ripping through its fabric. Even through the earplugs, Salina could clearly hear the shrill shriek of her whistle, slicing and screaming in an audio assault on the soul and senses.



The Dragon Knight -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (6/30/2011 16:13:34)

The party was already started, it seemed, as the two women engaged in battle. A beam of solid light pierced the sky, the opening salvo of what would likely be a bloody foray. The target, the tall, slender woman with the flowing cloak, had reacted by leaping out of the way, nearly taking a spill in the process. Henry scanned the arena quickly as she returned fire, in a manner of speaking, by letting loose a small cloud of some sort of dust. The wind seemed to carry it in the direction of the light warrior, which could mean that the winds were being controlled. It could also have been coincidence, but Henry was not about to take that kind of chance.

Some of the other competitors were also gearing up, it seemed. The man dressed up as a physician had used some sort of item to freeze a couple of the slabs together, although Henry highly doubted that this would prove to be more than a temporary solution for him. The jostling, shifting stones resembled the surface of a lake during a mild wind, with some of the stones jarring and grinding against one another like waves as they continued on their never ending waltz. Still, the sight of ice gave away this man’s elemental affiliation.

“Well now, he seems like a cool customer. I should go over and introduce myself, I suppose. No need to give the man the cold shoulder, after all,” the gourmand thought to himself. The sad part about Henry was that he was completely oblivious to the puns, just as he was equally oblivious to most things in the world that had little to do with food. He had once wandered into a kingdom that was burning with the flames of civil war, risking death and dismemberment, because he had heard a rumor that a small local bakery sold the best crescent loaf this side of the great mountain.

Picking his way carefully across the shifting floor of the arena, Henry approached the man, a welcoming smile upon his face. As he came within ten feet or so, he called out to the man, giving a wave of his hand as he did so.

“Good day, sir! I’m quite happy you could make it out to this early lunch. My name is Henry DeFranco, lover of food, seeker of recipes and devourer of the finest delicacies the realm has ever seen! My career is my life, and as you appear to have the trappings of a fellow professional, I hope you would not find it rude of me to invite you to join me for my meal.” Henry plucked one of the capsules from a pouch at his waist, holding it up to the sky to inspect it as one would observe the color of a fine wine. “I believe you’ll find today’s menu to be quite delicious.”

Then, without further preamble, he popped the capsule into his mouth and swallowed it. The change was subtle, at first. A red line, similar to a deep blush, rose up his neck to his hairline, turning his face a deep purplish red. He coughed, and a small puff of smoke escaped his lips. Reaching up to his neck, he hooked a finger in the collar of his fine, silk shirt and pulled it away from his skin. A sizzling noise could be heard as a cloud of steam arose from within his clothing.

“My goodness, but that sausage is spicy! Well I suppose that will do as an hors d’oeuvres. Shall we begin, good sir?” With that, the food critic’s hands began to glow a bright red, and the stone beneath his feet began to steam as the intense heat of his body heated it up like a wood stove. At the same time, a shrill screech began to permeate the air, giving him the beginning of a headache. “Oh, blast, who in the name of deliciousness is making that awful noise?”



Goldstein -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (6/30/2011 17:26:01)

The good doctor was quite surprised. Calmly, and completely ignoring the raging battle between the two women, the finely dressed man skipped across the arena's surface and approached Doc with a delightfully wide grin on his minutely pudgy face. "Good day sir! I'm quite happy you could make it out to this early lunch. My name is Henry DeFranco, lover of food..." He rambled on and on about how he, obviously, loved food and believed Doc to be a professional, which flattered him to no end.

"Well, thank you for the wonderful show of etiquette! I would be delighted to share a brief meal with you oh, we're eating pills. Being a doctor, I understand how important pills are and oh my you're on fire, aren't you?"

The change in the critic was astounding. A wave of red washed over his face until it was a hue of burgundy darker than his hair. Steam rolled off his skin. Any moment, doc feared the expensive looking clothing would erupted into flames, which would be a shame. The transformation actually reminded Doc of a patient that had unintentionally engorged a a poisonous pepper that literally burned him from the inside out. When the Doc had exhumed the body, there was nothing but bone fragments and ash. It was both a fascinating and gruesome case. Surely, Mr. DeFranco, being the profound expert that he was, would not knowingly consume such a dangerous food.

Then, the critic spoke. He sounded just fine, maybe a little uncomfortable, but perfectly healthy. His hands were glowing red, and the intense heat was causing the drops of rain falling on him to evaporate into little puffs of steam as soon as they came in contact with him. He was even causing the incredibly cold ice at Doc's feet to start sweating drops of water.

Unexpectedly, a terrible whistle pierced the air. "My word, how annoying! But forget that, my good man! If, somehow, both of us survive this little debacle, would you be so kind as to allow me to study you? Nothing obtrusive, just a physical exam. You have amazing properties, my friend, and I'd love to know what gives you your fire resistance. Truly, you're an anomaly, but a good anomaly!"

He took a vial and delicately poured the liquid ice onto the blade. The cold ice produced a chilly mist that somewhat counteracted the pulsing aura given off by the critic. "Now, do we just begin, or? I mean, I'm not just going to try and take your head off. That'd be rude. But I suppose a leg stab..." As quickly as he possibly could, he thrust his sword down towards the critic's right leg.



N3344 -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (6/30/2011 20:37:56)

All he saw was bright flash of light. Obviously a sign that things had already started to heat up. He looked at where it originated from; the bald woman. Such intense focus and ability to cast such an attack surely surprised Cale; however, he knew her opponent was not going to just stand there and be defenseless. Suddenly, something startled him, stirring up powerful anger and rage. He looked through the raindrops to see a gust of wind with pieces of earth. His children thrown out towards an opponent as if they was nothing more than an arrow or throwing knive. He could hear their cries of pain as they were not only being hurt by the wind, but the exposure to water. Cale was furious. There was no way his slow metal body could reach his children in time to save them and he could not recall the pieces of earth towards his body over such a large distance. There was only one thing left to do.

Cale removed his cloak, letting it fall completely off of the arena. It was time to take action. Cale reached up, twisting the flexible, protruding piece of metal that would allow his real body to exit the container. He dipped two of his cold, metallic fingers into the hole in his shoulder and then removed them. His fingers were covered with golden sand which seemed to move and buzz with excitement. The sand twisted from his fingers and spread to the entirety of his hand. Just as he was getting ready to form a weapon, Cale noticed something, or more like someone. He quickly turned his head, with a rough metallic scratching sound, to get a better look. Through the rain he couldnt really tell what it was, but it appeared to be some form of beast. Cale jumped from the piece of earth that he was standing on to the next rotating piece. He needed to get a closer view. Suddenly, once he was close enough, he realized what he was seeing. It appeared to be some kind of orc, no... a troll. It seemed that the beast had a lot in common with Cale, using its own body as a weapon. Metal pipes stuck out of its body, seemingly pulsating from Cales perspective.

Upon closer inspection, Cale realized that the troll had water building up around its hands with a gaze directed right at him. "Hmph. This water beast dare direct his gaze at me as a way to initiate a fight. What a coward," Cale thought to himself. "Well, if he wants a fight, hes going to get one."

Cale now reached up to his left shoulder, unscrewing the cap as he did with his right shoulder. Earth not only began to snake its way down to his left hand, but also his right. He didnt forget about the red headed woman and her torture to his children. The sand began to build upon both of his arms and hands which were unfortunately moistened by the rain. Slowly but surely, the moving gold began to take form. The entirety of his right arm became a long, firm sword while his left hand formed into what appeared to be a boomerang with spiked tips. "This is for my children," Cale thought as he launched the boomerang at the red headed woman. The flying weapon snapped from his body and wobbled in the air. Unfortunately Cale hadnt taken into account that the rain would soften the boomerang and not do near as much damage as he had hoped. He simply concluded that this would be a means of getting her attention. Cale now took his gaze back to the troll. This beast had challenged him and he was not going to back down. With the rain collecting and falling on his metal body, Cale hopped onto the floating earthern steps, making his way towards the beast and hoping to finally have another kill.



TormentedDragon -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (7/1/2011 15:21:57)

The itching was already beginning to fade, and she said a prayer of thanks to her Lord that Water had determined to indundate this battle. The machinations of one of the Lords worked to her benefit, the cool, soothing drops wiping away the irritation from her scalp, bit by bit. Still, she clenched her fingers, making a fist to prevent the criminal error it would be to reach up and scratch, no matter how much she desired to do so.

Squinting her eyes against the irritation, she kept her gaze on her opponent, noting the motion of her hands. Something in her ears? Peculiar... but as she pulled out a whistle, it suddenly made sense. She was in service to Wind, and the second of the Champions had demonstrated to devastating effect how Wind and sound went hand in hand. With an inkling of what was to come, she finished the third of her runes, finger flying to draw the linking bar and the circle of connection around the inscription.

The sonic assault reached her ears even as she triggered the spell she had drawn, her own magic rising in tandem with that of the shriek. She clapped her hands to her ears, and hunkered down, her form glowing silver, the light ever increasing. Within the span of a second, silver had changed to blinding white, and she was suddenly the brightest spot in the whole of Sky, a sun in miniature, descended below the clouds and resting upon the rocks themselves.

A simple strategy, if not a simple spell - one cannot attack what one cannot see.



demonhunter -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (7/1/2011 21:00:11)

One by one, the rest of the competitors arrived. One moved almost immediately to engage the female who had arrived before Jonathan. Others took the time to survey the competition before making their move.

Jonathan himself was doing the same. He immediately ruled out the metal man-shaped thing. In clear weather, when he could safely use his lightning, certainly. But in this rain, he would be reliant mostly on his physical capabilities, and he didn't have anything capable of punching through metal.

He immediately dismissed the large being that stood opposite him as an opponent. The creature was considerably larger than himself, and would make for a far more difficult fight than he would like.

As he pondered the others, a horrific shrieking sound erupted from one of the battling females. A sound-based attack, most likely intended for her opponent. Unfortunately for Jonathan, his ears were a good deal more sensitive than those of a human.

As the sound hit, his knife fell from his grasp, and he clutched his ears in a futile effort to stop the sharp pain and ringing noise that assualted him. The pain passed in a moment, but the ringing remained. He could no longer hear the rain striking the stones, and ground his teeth in frustration. His hearing was gone... Hopefully temporarily.

He dropped to all fours, collecting and sheathing his knife as he did. Looking around, he noted that many of the others had moved to engage in combat, but none had settled on him. He could see ice, fire, light, wind, earth and water in action now. An interesting mix. Had they assigned one contender for each element to this Arena? If that were so...

Jonathan's amethyst eyes settled on the last stationary human shape on the other side of the Arena. If they had assigned one of each here, then that one would be in service to the Dark Lord. Either way, this one was the only other contender either not in combat, or not too big for his tastes.

He started moving towards his newly selected opponent on all fours, navigating the stones as quickly and carefully as he dared. The sound attack had thrown off his inner ear, and thus his sense of balance, so he was a tad unsteady, but he managed to stay upright.

He would have to be very careful.



The Dragon Knight -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (7/2/2011 15:28:09)

It was certainly a rather odd request, especially given the circumstances, but Henry simply couldn’t say no to such a polite question in such a violent situation. Of course, given that this man of medicine had just asked for the opportunity to examine him as one would examine a lab animal, Henry did feel a tad uneasy.

“Well, how about we wait and see what happens here today, shall we? Then perhaps we can discuss it.” As he spoke, the doctor poured a strange liquid onto the blade of his sword, coating it in a layer of ice. “My word, but that is remarkable!” he exclaimed in delight, “I wonder if I could use that to keep my drinks cold? I’ve been having such a beastly time with keeping ice from melting, and I must say that I’m getting a tad weary of having to drink warm ale…” Whatever Henry was going to say after that was cut off as the friendly doctor plunged the tip of his not-so-friendly sword into the critic’s right thigh.

“Oh dear...” was all he managed before the sudden contact of the super-cold ice with his super-heated blood caused the reaction one might expect (well, aside from the cursing and shouting of having one’s leg stabbed). The layer of ice exploded from the sudden change in temperature, sending out shards in all directions. Due to their close proximity to the explosion, one holding the sword and the other holding the sword by the wrong end and with the wrong part of his body, the two men caught the majority of the shards.

“Oh, curses! That rightly smarts!” the gourmand exclaimed, hopping backwards with a limp. The icy shards had not caused him quite as much damage as one might expect, thanks to his rather feverish condition. The small particles had largely evaporated before reaching him, akin to how a meteor shrivels in size as it falls through the atmosphere, and only the larger pieces had managed to leave their marks, only to disappear an instant later. Even so, he had a number of small cuts upon him, and his fine silk garments had acquired a few minor tears. “Goodness, but I don’t think I wish to try that again! That will certainly wake you up in the morning.”

At that precise moment, he became aware that it was becoming uncomfortably bright in the arena. At first he thought that the sun had managed to pierce through the forbidding clouds above, but he soon realized that the source of the light was man, or rather woman, made. The light mage had disappeared into a dazzling haze of light that was painful to look at. Henry quickly shifted around so that the light was not directly in his eyes while still keeping sight of his opponent. Shadows played across the stone rings in a nightmare dance of darkness, giving the arena a surreal appearance and leaving his features in deep shadow.

Grimacing from the pain in his leg and shifting his weight, rather uncomfortably, to his good appendage, Henry plucked a second capsule from his pouch. He had observed that the doctor’s sword had some of his blood clinging to the blade. While the Hot Sausage capsule he had consumed only gave him the ability to melt metal with his hands by increasing the blood flow to that part of his body, getting his blood on a weapon was similar to coating it in a powerful acid. While it might not be enough to completely destroy the item, it would certainly take the temper out of the blade and leave it softer and duller than when it had started. And, of course, continued coatings would eventually render the weapon completely useless.

“Allow me to offer a suitable rebuttal, good sir,” he said as he held the capsule up to inspect it. Satisfied that it was the one he wanted, he popped it into his mouth. “Nothing like a nice piece of Sharp Cheddar when one is fighting for his life, wouldn’t you say?”

The glow on his right hand suddenly increased, then burst into flame. The tiny inferno covering his the hand began to lengthen and condense, taking on a shape. It swiftly formed a rapier, solidifying to the appearance of a normal, if brightly glowing, physical weapon. The bright light from the other side of the arena dwarfed the glow, however, so that it was difficult to tell that the sword was just as hot as his touch. He instantly shifted into a back-swording stance, the blade outstretched, ready to pounce.

“Forgive me for this, but I’m afraid I simply must return the favor. I do apologize if I seem a trifle hot-headed, but you've gotten my blood up.” With a sharp lunge, Henry brought the sword down, then upwards with a flick of the wrist intended to sneak underneath a man’s guard. At worst, he might possibly score a hit on the physician’s side or leg, or shear completely through his sword if he attempted to block with it. At best, if he was still off-balance from the explosion, he would find the sword lodged in his abdomen. On the bright side, blood loss would not be a problem. At 1600 degrees Celsius, the blade would cauterize the wound instantly.



Goldstein -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (7/2/2011 16:39:43)

Doc had not thought his plan of attack out very clearly. Just as the blade was about to touch the critic's skin, he perceived the physical problem with his action. Hold on now, if I recall correctly, when two objects of polarizing temperatures come into contact, the results are explosive. Oh, goodness, this is a bad idea. Abort, abort! Agh, it's too late for me to stop the blade! It's already in motion!

The collision was spectacular. Dangerous shards of ice went spinning through the air. Quite a few stabbed him in the leg. His trousers had prevented the ice from penetrating too deeply, but it was enough to draw blood. "My leg!" Doc yelped as he stumbled back. "God, my leg!"

Then, to make matters worse, a blinding light spread across the arena. The rain drops were suddenly accentuated by the light, like stars caught in the beam of the sun. It cast dark, foreboding shadows. The shadows created cartoonish caricatures of the fighters they originated from. Suddenly, the number of warriors in the arena doubled: the corporeal and the incorporeal. The light was a bit of a blessing; the uncertainty of the light provided by streaks of lightning had made for an environment non-conducive to proper conflict.

The critic swallowed another pill, and a pulsating rapier materialized in his hands. Before Doc could protest, his opponent sliced downward. Instinctively, Doc flung his sword upwards. The rapier cut through the sword like butter, and sent the cutting end spiraling through the air. Fifty feet away, it lodged itself in between two rocks.

Doc looked down at his useless handle, then up at the critic. "I bid you farewell!" With that he threw the handle at the critic's face. Then, like a true gentleman, he turned around and run as fast as he could. He saw the source of the shrill whistle, and was struck with a rather devious, if not stupid idea. He unhooked two more vials from his bandoleers, one in each hand, ready for use. "If you want to continue this fight, I suggest you come and get me, you cur!" Doc yelled out as he headed for the girl with the little irritating whistle.



Mirai -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (7/2/2011 18:25:39)

Sounding the shrill shrieker, Salina leapt to the attack, vaulting towards the rough platform where her silver tattoed foe stood in wait, hurriedly completing yet another of her sorcerous enchantments.

I’ve just got to hope my whistle throws your plans off a touch sugar. Gods I’ve missed fights like these- my encounters in the Pit weren’t a patch on the thrill of open air combat, whirling in a dance of doom. Now, eyes peeled girl, whatever trick your bald friend has in store for you, you’re- ooph…

Deaf to the reverberations of Cale’s spiny boomerang as it hurtled through the air, Salina was caught entirely unawares by the sand-crafted missile. Though her spider silk tunic and cloak held against the savage spikes of the weapon, the grey eyed fighter felt violent pain erupt along her left hip, flesh bruising with the force of the blow.

Well, someone’s popular today aren’t they?

Her balance thrown by the unexpected attack, the former guard captain’s gaze was ripped from Inaless, forced to focus instead on the rough-hewn stone upon which she stumbled down from her leap. Her right ankle jarred tenderly as she landed upon the rocky surface of her immediate opponent’s platform, and she almost slipped from the slick arena altogether, the screech from her whistle peeping further as her breath hissed away. Lurching up from a crouch six yards from the light mage, the auburn haired woman’s gaze had started to snap back towards her foe when the world suddenly exploded into excruciating white radiance.

Once again the shrill shriek of Salina’s whistle rose in pitch as the former guard captain’s optic nerves screamed in pain. Instinctively squeezing her long lashed eyes tightly shut against the brilliant light, Salina could only thank the gods that she had not been looking directly at her assailant at the time her incantation ignited. As it was, she suspected she’d temporarily have white flashes flaring in her vision for some time. Had she been staring at the light mage when this second sun exploded… it would undoubtedly have been the last thing she saw in this world.

Not that there’ll be much time left in this world if you don’t attack girl! Blinded, deaf with your own devices… you’re a sitting duck! Dodging the thrice-cursed light mage’s laser was bad enough before, but it’ll near on the impossible if you can’t see it coming. You know roughly where she is- from the glare against my eyelids if nothing else, she likely hasn’t moved off this platform, and you know where she was standing when you leapt. And attack is the best form of defence…

Salina’s right hand snaked round to the back of her belt, and grabbed the pouch of mithril shards concealed there. Her captors had thought her mad to ask for a look through the Tairon armoury’s wastage, wondering why on Lore the demonologist would want the scraps from weapons’ forging, rather than the devices themselves.

But a street rat learns is that everything is a weapon. Alone on the streets, mummy and daddy’s bodies still warm in the alleyway where the muggers found us, their blood still trickling into the gutters below… you have no choice but to learn if you want to survive.

Eyes still squeezed shut, Salina spat the reinforced-steel whistle from her lips, once again infusing her breath with a wizardry thread of hurricane’s might. The makeshift metal bullet shot away, 4 feet off the ground in the vague direction of Inaless, but Salina had not finished her assault. Tipping the leather pouch towards the ground, trusting her memory, her instincts, and her sense of touch and feel, she let the mithril shards tumble out. Yet another gust of wind surged forth from her lips, her head tipping her head left and right, up and down to scatter the spread of shards in their flight, and also jar loose the beeswax earplugs.

Well, I’ve got one sense back- much good it’ll do me against laser beams. Now get your swords out girl and get hacking!



Micosil -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (7/4/2011 19:08:40)

Grax's focus was almost shattered by the shrill screech that pierced the air, but his training and experience pushed through, resulting in only a fraction of a second in which he stopped accumulating firepower. Beyond that, whatever happened in the arena was only marginally noticed - the attacks, the conversations, everything went mostly under the radar, as if his senses realized there was no threat and didn't bother to inform his brain about it. What he did see was his target's actions - the gazes crossing, a typical situation in stories but not so much in real life, was something he found interesting, but the really important part was that he saw his foe's preparations for combat and, for the first time, he noticed the metallic tinge on his foe's skin. He watched as he put a couple of fingers into his own body, pulling some kind of honeylike substance which he used to form weapons. The troll made a quick note about both this skill and his choice of weaponry - longsword and a boomerang, not very usual as a combination.

His eyes narrowed as he saw the latter, preparing to dodge or block its attack, but the blow never came - instead, it flew after some other fighter, which was something that Grax didn't quite understand, and didn't mind either. He found it worrying that his foe would go so happily against two fighters, but there was no way to back down. In any case, his enemy had to close the distance and that, in itself, would give Grax an advantage, seeing as the metallic man had thrown away his ranged weapon. Can probably make more, tho.

His eyes didn't leave the metal man's body when he started his charge, following his every step from one floating rock to another. The troll's body tensed, preparing for the attack, and when his target was right in the middle of a jump between two rocks, his right fist shot forward, followed by the sphere of water he'd managed to accumulate, shifting as it flew into a jet of high-pressure water. Even at the last second, when it was about to lose contact with the troll's body, Grax corrected the shot, the jet flying straight like an arrow but far faster towards his enemy's chest - a shot designed to pierce whatever outer shelling the metal-man had at his torso and release its pressure inside him, hopefully damaging his guts, cogs, or whatever it may have inside. The sheer speed of the attack meant there was an area where his current and future positions overlapped, and that was specifically where Grax had aimed, but he'd settle for an impact anywhere right now. This was because, right now, the shot was a gamble - Grax didn't know how much resistance his target would actually offer. If it was lower than he expected, his shot would pierce right through him, causing a dangerous wound, of course, but not as damaging an effect. On the other hand, if he went too low, his attack would bounce harmlessly, effort wasted, so he'd in fact chosen to shoot for a higher resistance than he expected, just in case. Small wound. Better than no wound.

His feet shuffled right after he shot, moving carefully over the wet rock, ready to dodge. He wished he'd looked at the rocks behind him before actually threatening someone, but there was no fixing that now, so he started accumulating rain water on his right once more, and raised the left defensively, crouching slightly as he prepared to receive the attack. A couple more of shrieks pierced the air, foiling much of his water buildup, annoying him and causing a real hindrance. Noisemaker, kill your target or die already, but let. Me. Focus.



Clyde -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (7/4/2011 22:02:42)

There was so much going on. Each of the contenders paired up and started fighting with one another. Nia thought it was odd, this was not a one on one tournament, but a free-for-all. A fight for survival, there were no rules, just like the wild.

Anxious, she steadied her arms and hands, prepared to shoot any one of them off the rocks. She considered each opponent carefully as she moved her aim from fighter to fighter. Her body clenched tight when she discovered an opening. The woman who was fighting the light mage. She was hopefully distracted, one arrow be enough to either kill or disable her.

After a slow exhale, she counted down the seconds before she would fire. 3...2... The wind woman pulled out a whistle and blew into it. At first Nia raised her right eyebrow in confusion. What in the world was she about t do? Then the attack finally hit her. An explosion of sound penetrated her ears and shook her bones. Her grip loosened on the bow string and she watched her arrow shoot down towards the ground. When she looked back up at the whistleblower and the light mage, she noticed the bald woman engulfed herself in light. Nia turned her head to the side in fear that she might have lost her eyesight.

It was an attack on the senses. Nia's ears would not stop ringing and her eyes squinted in an attempt to block the excessive light. The bald headed light mage and her adversary's one on one had become an irritation for everyone within the arena. They have to be stopped! was the first thought that came to Nia's pounding head. It seemed that not everyone shared that same idea or even had a fighting partner for that matter. The furry creature started dashing from rock to rock towards her.

She snickered to herself a little as the creature made its way forward. Its fur, its ears, all of it reminded her of one the stuffed animals when had she was younger. Cute or not, an enemy is an enemy. Nia withdrew another arrow and shot quickly at the creature. Her intentions were not to hit it, but to alter its direction. After she fired the arrow she leaped on to the moving rock in front of her. The rain had made her landing a little difficult, when she landed she felt herself fall forward a little. Quickly, she brought the end of her bow down to the rock to use as leverage and a way to keep her balance.

Sorry lil' guy, but you're not my target. Nia thought as the rock carried her. She had a plan and that creature wasn't in it. The first thing on her list was to get rid of the bright light. Her eyes closed before she started chanting in her language. When she opened them, her eyes were pure white as the darkness started to form within in her right hand. The darkness twisted and curved within her hand as it grew slowly in size. She smiled menacingly because within her palm was the pride of the Masai tribe.

This was a move she used sparingly, considering how much energy it drained from her. Summoning the shroud around her was always easy, but if she threw it at a distance? There were no words that described it. After she threw it towards the light mage the darkness started to expand and stretch outwards. The further it advanced the larger it grew; by the time it would reach her the shroud would have covered a distance of about ten feet.

Nia grinned, if all went well the illuminating mage would find her light fade into the blackness. She would have to escape from the shroud if she wanted to use her light-based tricks. This was only one problem out of the way though. How would the wind woman take this intrusion? Will the creature attack her while her back is turned? Whatever consequence this action brought upon her, she was ready to accept it.



The Dragon Knight -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (7/6/2011 15:53:08)

The doctor had been thrown off balance by the explosion, recoiling in a mild panic from the stinging shards of his own creation. As such, he was not prepared to properly counter the strike of the rapier, resulting in the gourmet’s weapon sundering the already softened blade of the physician, sending the cutting edge sailing off into the arena.

“Hah! A worthy strike, I would say!” he quipped as his opponent gazed in shock at the stubby remnant of his sword. “I always knew that I was rather sharp minded, but I never expected that you would so easily succumb to my cutting wit! Nothing like some friendly conversation over the course of a dinner battle, wouldn’t yo-“ whatever Henry had planned to say was cut off in mid-sentence as the metal hilt of a sword hit him square in the jaw. He stumbled backward, blinking back the tears that suddenly formed in his eyes, and uttered a number of curses that were far from gentlemanly.

“Good Lords, but that smarts!” he finally managed, once he had regained some measure of control. He noticed the faint taste of blood and a faint whistle when he spoke, and quickly discovered, with a probing tongue, that one of his teeth was missing. “Good heavens! You knocked out one of my teeth, you blighter! How is a food critic supposed to properly criticize when he can’t bloody well chew!”

It was a rather surprising change, considering how jovial and polite he usually was, although not a particularly frightening change. After all, no matter how angry he might get, it was difficult to be scared of the sight of a small, rather portly man wearing a slightly torn dinner jacket and a lobster bib. Still, the impossibly red tinge to his skin and the steam rising from his body gave him the almost comical appearance of a man who was, quite literally, boiling with rage.

Now, Henry has a personal clause, just as everyone does, in which he lays out the items that are purely taboo. They are those items that, without fail, are nearly unforgivable. The first, as one would expect, relates to food. Never, ever, mess with food. Food is something to be taken seriously. Without it mankind would not survive, after all. Also, the effort that one puts in to preparing a meal is a labour of love, and to taint or waste food is akin to spitting in the eye of the person who made it. Many ale lovers share this philosophy and feel that the spillage of a fine ale is the ultimate blasphemy.

The other personal taboo, under which Henry’s teeth fall, involves the mistreatment of kitchen implements. Many times he has beaten a chef senseless for allowing a kitchen knife to dull, or for burning the bottom of a pot. “These are the tools of our trade,” he would always say. “Without these tools, we are but barbarians. Treat them better than you would treat your own children, and care for them better than your lover.”
Not only did this man have the audacity to vandalize a national treasure (which was actually true, since Henry’s ability to eat just about anything had so impressed the people of the Nation of Yrr that they had declared his teeth to be a national monument), he also had the nerve to run away, throwing back a challenge for the gluttonous gourmand to follow if he dared. What rot! What improper etiquette! Honestly, Henry thought to himself, it’s so hard to find decent dinner company these days.

Henry eyed the form of the swiftly retreating offender, headed in the direction of the wild wind whistling wonder. He was tempted to follow, but decided that to do so would be to play to his enemy’s expectations. Besides, for someone who dared to mar his beautiful chompers, a more fitting display was required. He plucked one of the three skins from his waist and took a swift pull from it. As he gulped down a mouthful of the sweet water within, his skin began to lose its glow. The rapier faded out of existence and he was soon back to a normal flesh tone.

All across the arena fights raged. The metal warrior had squared off against the water-summoning troll, and it seemed like everyone was trying to converge on the battle between the light mage and the annoying whistler. The glare of the light was still making it difficult to focus on that portion of the battlefield, and Henry was aware of the occasional spot in front of his eyes whenever his gaze strayed too close to the mage. However, the whistling suddenly stopped, and the critic caught the glint of light off of metal as shards of varying size went whizzing through the air. None of them were in any danger of hitting him, but they served as a reminder that he must remain vigilant of other threats as well.

“I do believe that it’s time for the main course,” the rotund warrior muttered to himself, pulling one more capsule from his pouch. Popping it into his mouth, he took into account all of the battles going on around him and decided that he would likely be better off finishing what he started. No sense in angering several people at once by butting in, after all. Smoke began to seep out from between his lips in thin wisps, and he grimaced as he placed a hand against his stomach. “Bloody heartburn always gets me,” he sighed.

A deep rumble sounded, but it was different from the thunder that occasionally shook the sky. As Henry began to make his way, carefully, toward the fleeing doctor, the rumble repeated itself, this time accompanied by a number of gurgling noises. As he patted his abdomen, it became quite apparent that the sound was coming from his, rather vocal, innards. He stopped, drew in a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then let loose with a rather explosive and quite impolite belch.

What accompanied the rude expulsion, aside from the faint scent of hot peppers and spicy beef, was a volleyball sized fireball. It erupted from his mouth with great force and headed in the direction of his cowardly opponent’s exposed back. “I think it’s time for a barbeque!” he cackled gleefully, picking up his own speed as he headed off at an angle, not wanting to be in the same place for too long in case the doctor, or one of the others, decided to turn him into a shish kabob. As delicious as that sounded, Henry decided that he would much rather eat a kabob than become one. Taking care to keep well away from the edge of the arena, he picked his way across the shifting stones so that he could follow up on his attack from a different angle.

Now, if only the good doctor would be so kind as to die in a fire, he thought. Not that he didn’t simply adore the fellow, of course, but it would make his life so much simpler. After all, a fight is similar to an operation, and nobody likes a surgeon who leaves a patient on the operating table.



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