RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena

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Mirai -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (7/7/2011 16:34:00)
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles from Bren, a Clerk was bored. Gunthar, First Clerk to the King of Tairon, Emperor of the 7 cities and Star of the East, looked up from his pile of paper work, stifling a heavy yawn. Sunlight drifted in through the wide windows, wisps of dust dancing in its gaze. A cool wind softly pattered against the castle’s walls, lifting the summer’s sweat from the brow. The First Clerk glanced over at Narwel, a younger clerk dressed in violet robes, who appeared to be fixated on a single piece of dusty paper. Apparently transfixed by the dusty brown vellum, the younger man’s seemed remarkably engaged by the single piece of work. Gunthar smiled, and ran his soft fingers through is whitening hair. Outside in the green verdant gardens, a group of gardeners had gathered, animatedly watching the opening round of this year’s elemental championships upon a sorcerous orb, designed to transmit images of the brutal death tournament across the lands of Lore. “How’s she doing Narwel?” Distractedly, his colleague muttered “She’s been wounded, and is finding it tough against the light mage, Inaless of the silver valley. Plus she's made several other enemies, but overall I think she’s holding her own… err… sorry m’lord.” Gunthar smiled. “Never mind Narwel, we’ve all tried that trick at some point. I used to listen to Helixian bloodball myself back in the day. Besides, we’ve rarely had a contestant quite so… infamous.” The First Clerk stretched. Following the destruction wreaked on Nagraith, an Adept of the Ninth level of the Order of the Silver Wolf, Asael Od’reya, had been granted license to compose a tale of the bloody days and nights of the Red Crescent uprising. Naturally, the song had been subject to the Clerks’ editorial control, but even within that Salina- as villainous leader of the band of traitors- had quickly grown a suitably villainous reputation. Gunthar himself was quite proud of the lines he’d personally added to Asael’s epic: ‘With fire and wind, and skin most flayed/The crescent followers were betrayed.’ “Even so” he continued “I still want that options paper of yours fully drafted by midnight. The rice crisis of South Fethier won’t solve itself, and our lord wants to take a decision on the issue tomorrow morning. And for your own sake Narwel, scope the options properly. The last time you threw something in undercooked, we ended up with a ranger being sent off to scout through the Marshes of Malicat, and we all know how that ended.” Suitably admonished, the younger clerk scurried back to his work. Gunthar smiled once more, and returned to his own papers, the merry tune of Asael’s epic of the Red Crescent Uprising humming about his lips.

Goldstein -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (7/8/2011 15:31:27)
The doctor was running blindly, as if he had actually had his eyes plucked out. The rain, the shining light, the flurried activity, the shifting floor, all caused one not to trust their eyes fully. A person may be a shadow, or a shadow may be a person. The edge of the arena may just be the edge of a rock, with another floating just beneath it. The Sky Arena had become the epitome of chaos, and Doc was floundering through it like a chicken with no head. A strange noise touched upon his ears, a noise he'd not have thought would be present in such a situation. Doc twisted his head over his shoulder and saw the food critic had belched out a massive fireball. How fitting, he thought. He gets to shoot his disgusting spit up at me. The fireball was traveling faster than he, and the rain had not diminished it's size like Doc had hoped. He felt the heat on his neck, at first like a candle, then like the sun, then like hot pitch. "Oh, balls," he cursed, already accepting his inevitable fate. A pain shot through his leg, however, and he went down. The fireball went whistling overhead and over the perimeter of the arena. However, the doctor was not out of the frying pan yet. He had a twisted ankle. Doc turned on his back, and acting as quickly as he could, removed his boot. His right foot was bent in a way that was totally unnatural. "Most likely sprained, possibly broken," he thought under his breath as he worked. He took a vial and smashed it on his foot. The ice quickly spread, and soon, it completely enveloped his injured foot. The cold numbed the pain, allowing Doc to easily return to his feet. He was working on borrowed time. In about ten minutes the ice would be gone. In another five the pain would be back. Doc didn't know how long this fight would last, but he was unsure if, when the time came, he'd have enough supplies to apply another vial. "You've been in deeper trouble before, old boy," he muttered as he removed his blade that had landed, luckily, a few feet from where he had tripped. "You have a plan now, you know how to stop this guy, so now, LET'S DO IT!"

demonhunter -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (7/8/2011 21:38:01)
Deaf to the world, Jonathan didn't hear the second whistle. Indeed, he didn't hear much of anything. He was vulnerable and he knew it. Moving carefully around the opposite side of the Arena to the noise-maker, he kept low to the ground, hoping to avoid notice. His eyes darted around, taking in as much visual information as he could. Fortunately, he'd not been looking at the light mage when her spell had ignited, and one glance in her direction was enough to keep him from looking again. A number of metal shards whizzed past, just over his head. Though he didn't hear them, he felt the wind of their passing, and swore quietly, before moving sideways to dodge the arrow he could see his intended target firing. Odd... She turned her attention away from him almost as soon as she fired... Had she meant to scare him off? Or was she so sure of her aim that she thought him dead from that single shot? Hard to be sure, but one thing was certain. He would not be deterred. As his balance recovered, he moved more quickly over the stones of the Arena, always low to the ground, making himself a more difficult target. His knife remained sheathed for the moment so he could move more easily, but he was ready to draw it at a moment's notice. Provided none interfered, he would reach her soon. And then he would show her how he treated the servants of darkness.

Mirai -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (7/10/2011 19:51:21)
Shadow-swift, Salina darted forward, lunging to attack her foe from behind the wave of her mithril shards. Still effectively fighting blinded by the iridescent brilliance of Inaless’ light magics, the former Captain knew she would have to trust in a combination of memory, battle-honed instincts, keen hearing and pure luck to direct her attacks. Many warriors would not have chosen to attack blindly. Many would have tried to take cover, weave in defensive patterns in the hope that their opponent’s sorcery would expire, hope that their foe would make a mistake and give away their position. But Salina was not many warriors. Many warriors would not have survived Perdeep Pit. Salina had personally sent at least 3 dozen of its inmates through its grime coated gates, while even among those she’d had no contact, her slinky hips made her a marked target the minute she entered the gloomy gaol. But instead of avoiding the threats around her, Salina actively sought them out. She broke the arm of the first man that tried to seize her. He was a sweaty fellow, all brawn and little brain, who grabbed at her collar. Instead of trying to break away, she simply clamped both her own hands against his right mit, pressing his palm even tighter against her collar, and twisted to her left. A split-second later, her left elbow was pressed against his own, their respective bio-mechanics forcing his joint to rupture a moment later. The next man suffered a worse fate, permanently losing an appendage more precious to him. Even so, as the former guard captain strode into her assault, she knew the odds were stacked against her. Her short swords were ideally suited to blocking initial thrusts and slashes from her opponents, and then counter-attacking with their short swing paths and lightweight balance. They were less adept for random hacks into the grey yonder. Problem is, if I don’t press the attack, without vision I’m just begging to be picked off. Hopefully my bald friend hasn’t moved far from her last position. In that sense, at least the shifting platform works to my advantage by making her own movements more hazardous. If I can just get her to make a noise, if she can just react to my shards, I can start stabbing away. With a metalic hiss, both Salina’s mithril blades snaked from their scabbards. Drawn from her left scabbard, her right hand blade would be sent flying in wide roundhouse whirl from left to right, its gleaming edge intended to arc towards the space where the former captain had last seen her foe, a vicious backhand slash calculated to eviscerate Inaless’ stomach in the unlikely event that her foe had not moved. Simultaneously, Salina began to bring her other sword up into a defensive stance, hilt close by her chest, blade arcing up to resolutely point to the sky. Yet even as her hands began to initiate these blows, the former captain’s ears were alert to the sound of more precise a target. Come on shards, give me something to strike at.

TormentedDragon -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (7/11/2011 23:21:49)
"Thou art a beacon; thy light comfort in darkness." A second shrill assaulted her ears, and she winced, but forced her eyes open. The world cast in light, and she drew in her breath, heart jumping. It was ... beautiful: the stark play of light and darkness, each shadow rigidly defined, every detail thrown into sharp relief. And with the rain, the shadows rippled, shifted, and twisted, white light thrown into brief splashes of color. "Thou art beauty; thy light the means by which such is known." But her opponent was moving. She could not hear her, but she could see her, and the whistle she spat. It came sailing at her, both shining and dark, and caromed off her shield, which by dint of training was at the ready, and by dint of luck was in the way. The rune pulsed, and dimmed, and she shuddered. That would have hurt. "Thou art life; thy light nourishment to the growing things." More sand? No. Her eyes widened. Metal, blindingly bright. The magic of another rune faded from her fingers on the instant, her left hand coming across to shield her face. Wind gusted, as before, scattering them everywhere, and her eyes tried to follow, half her mind still reeling at the sudden change in the arena's appearance. "Thou art death: the light a wrathful glare on the irreverent." The wind hit first, and her footing was off. She felt herself slipping as the shards hit, a few off her shield, more off her robes, their enchantments holding even against these edges, and could not catch herself. Pain shot up her spine as she landed - her tush would be tender; a rather embarassing bruise. But there was no time. The woman had drawn her swords and was advancing, her slashes aimed where the monk had been. The first arced perilously close to her head, and she jerked back in response, bringing her right hand up as if to block - unnecessary. "For thy glory, we seek." There was a blight on the surface of the arena, marring the wonder her light, no, The Light had wrought, a moving shadow, heading her way, fast. She scrambled back, away from the swordswoman, scribing a single rune, the lines shaky with her haste. That darkness scared her; though there was no true animosity between her Lord and Dark, the people of Lore were not so enlightened. "By thy will, we find." The darkness was upon her. She brought her hands together, cupping her rune, connecting its power and meaning to those on her shields. The flared, expanding, a swirl of silver about her person, casting the white light back to silver. As the darkness engulfed her, her Refuge was complete. The darkness was without, and she was within. This would not last long, but it would give her time. "For thy people, we preserve." Both hands now free, she began to scribe her counter. As she scribed, she spoke the last of the words. "For thee, we wield the Cipher. We are thine. Use us as thou wills."

Mirai -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (7/13/2011 19:42:24)
Silently, Salina cursed to herself as her blade slashed through empty air. Long lashed eyelids still closed tightly shut, the former guardswoman vaguely sensed the proximity of her foe, a muffled bump around her feet suggesting the mage had ducked or slid beneath her vicious strike. Fearful of counter-attack, Salina’s left blade whirled down in a defensive pattern, arcing to thwart assault. Simultaneously, the grey-eyed warrior hurried several steps forward, keen to put distance between herself and her silver tattooed foe. Suddenly darkness enveloped her, momentarily a blissful contrast to the intense brilliance that she had sensed even through her clamped eyelids, before sudden fear gripped her as to what the source of this blackness might be. After images of light still flared in her vision, but otherwise she was surrounded by a web of utter, abject nothingness. Gods- am I struck blind? Did that witch’s light burst burn my eyes out after all? Even with her iron control, the former coven mistress could not help but feel a shiver of terror, at the thought of wandering sightless from the arena. Panic starting to lace through her veins, she glanced about, desperately searching for relief from the nothingness that surrounded her. Wait- I can see light- a glow over there. The light mage? Then this darkness must be the work of another. Ah- the forces of darkness and light once again renewing their age old conflict. How quaint. And how utterly pointless. Momentarily, Salina crouched low, wary of attack, but using the momentary relief of the darkness to blink repeatedly, hoping to clear her vision from the aftereffects of Inaless’ sorcery. Ears pricked, she listened out for sounds of attack, and smiled as she heard other fighters talking- to themselves and to their gods. Invisible within the blackness her light wielding foe murmured something about using ciphers, while beyond the darkness, another combatant urged himself onward, muttering something about “… let’s do it.” Amateurs. First thing a street-rat learns is when to keep her mouth shut. And the second thing is when to attack from the shadows. Not honourable, but… honour is what the powerful make of it. And first power must be seized. Carefully, Salina began to inch away from the light mage. Conscious that she remained precariously balanced on a ledge hundreds of feet from the ground, she’d little desire to accidentally plummet to her death from within the fog that gripped her. I’ve little desire to get caught up in your little feud with the forces of dark my dear. I’ve thrown sand, spikes and steel at you, and for all I can tell have barely left a mark. Maybe the gods are saying its high time I left our duel and found other prey. Now then, what tricks do I have left in my little kitbag… ah yes. An old favourite I think. Another blind shot, but difficult to miss with this mesh. Seizing the spider silk net from her belt, Salina held the gossamer lattice to her lips and blew upon the fine material. Seized up in the sudden gusts, the web rapidly unscrambled to its full dimension, a kite caught up in the winds that bore it to the red-haired woman’s will. Spinning through the air, the material's filaments flared wide, bursting out from the surface of the black mists that surrounded Inaless. For this time the light mage was not Salina’s target. Rather, it was the unfortunate warrior who she had overheard urging himself onward…

TormentedDragon -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (7/17/2011 12:49:57)
"In time of trouble, we pray to thee." The darkness writhed without the dome, the silver construct already flickering under the draining assault. But she worked fast, now that she had no need to worry about attacks, the runes coming at double the speed. Light, the most basic of runes, and Orb, to the side. Over Light, Column, and as a link to Orb, Transfer. And finally, the connecting lines, and the rune for Control. "In time of peace, we give thee praise." The runes glowed, the magic moving to follow the path laid for it. Her dome flickered, once, twice, and a third. Her eyes flicked to the rune, widening as it shattered. Her tracery had yet to activate. Her dome was gone. The darkness rushed in. "In time of war, we march for thee." Her light dimmed, fighting the fog. Still, she felt it on her skin, and she shuddered. This was death. Eyes closed, she kept up her prayer, trusting that her spell would trigger, that the runes would hold despite the darkness. "In thy light I trust. For thy light I live. If this be my time, then I go to thee gladly. If this be they will, then I bend my knee. For thee I entered, and for thee I shall die, e'en should they purpose be the glory of thy sib." Her light failed. Her skin chilled. And her runes triggered. The fog burned away as the light soared skyward, a coruscating column of silver that denied all interference, capped 12 feet up by an orb that grew with every passing moment. She opened her eyes, at the center of the column, opened her mouth, and laughed, relief washing through her. "Then, oh my Lord, thy will be done!" The fog fled, roiling back from the column, even as its width diminished. She stood, the runes on her robes glowing with the strength of the Rune of Control, and thrust out her hands, the runes on her palms shining with light. Instantly, four beams of silver shot out, two from the orb, two from her gloves. She had picked her targets swiftly, the woman she assumed was responsible for the darkness, and somewhat rotund and jolly man who steamed in the rain. "For thy glory, I serve!"

Kellehendros -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (7/17/2011 17:11:24)
Suddenly, out of the blue, or whatever the dominant color was at the time, multi-coloured sprites appeared, hovering down at rapid speeds to choice contestants. The swarm wiggled and writhed onto them, seeking entrance into the contestants through their ears, mouths, nostrils, and making the fighters emit a glow most spectacular from their eyes, ears, mouths, and even noses... Their bodies grew transparent, the strange lights taking over everything, making them impossible to see, the light (the contestants?) rose up slowly, finally exploding into a gazillion of little marvelous pieces. The Lords had made their pick, their chosen champions would proceed to fight the Final Battle of the Tournament...

Goldstein -> RE: =EC 2011= Sky Arena (7/18/2011 10:10:06)
The doctor was disappointed. He was just getting pumped, he had finally received his second, enthusiastic wind. He was on his feet, he was fresh again, and he had a fire in his belly. Nothing could have stopped him. Except for the very fine spider-web net that collided and encircled him and caused him to fall back to the hard ground. Then, through the gaps in the net, he saw as the winners of the arena were exploded into light. The Lords did have a certain dramatic charm about them. "That's it?" the doctor yelled. "We're done? That's all there is to it?" He tore the spider web off and staggered to his feet. "No announcement, no speech, no condolences? You know what? I'm tired of this. Screw the Lords, I'm going home." Doc whistled and waved his arms around as he wandered to the side of the arena. "Hello, mages? Take me down! I'd like to live to save people another day." He turned and bowed deeply to his remaining opportunities. "I am pleased to have fought with all of you, but to be honest, I'm tired. Good-bye." And with that, the mages guided Doctor Chyrasander Dameinakis back to solid earth.

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