=EC= 2012 Fountain Arena

=EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (Full Version)

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superjars -> =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (6/22/2012 21:56:43)
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. New this year, a special group of artisans struggle to create a new Arena to add to the complex; one shrouded in mystery to be revealed at the next year’s tournament. For now, this space has been rendered off-limits, disallowing any wandering eyes from giving away its secrets. 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 normal artisans' handiwork soon enough, right after the priests and mages within them finish their last checks on the protective barriers and image transportation enchantments for the gathered crowds. The Fountain Arena was always something of a mystery. Of all the Arenas of the Elemental Championship, Fountain was the most, well, fluid. It had changed on a yearly basis, different each time the competitors entered, so that even veteran entrants might be surprised by what would be found in Fountain from one year to the next. There was a great deal of talk over the last few years, as Fountain had been closed for the most recent Elemental Championships, presumably for repairs and renovations, so the news that Fountain would be open this year had been generating a good deal of discussion and speculation. Ponderous gates opened, revealing to the competitors the Arena hidden behind the now yawning portal. The open gates revealed a brick and mortar paved path, bordered on each side by a well-tended lawn spreading out towards the edges of the Arena, which itself was circular in shape. The path ran the length of the arena, bisecting the circle, and meeting with a second path running perpendicular to it, effectively dividing the arena into four distinct quadrants. Where the paths met, they formed a circle around the fountain that stood as the centerpiece of the Arena, and its namesake. Nowhere as grand as previous iterations, this fountain was a low, shallow bowl with a single, central pillar of stone from which water streamed, slowly cascading down the sides of the pillar and into the basin. From there, it trickled down over the sides of the bowl, collecting in narrow channels cut in between the path and the lawns, carrying water out to the far reaches of the Arena. This fed the huge bramble patch that created the exterior barrier of the circular Arena, a cascading wall of deadly sharp thorns stretching along the walls of the arena, their sharp points pointing in myriad directions, with a majority directed towards the center focus. Also, the channels were enchanted to send small amounts of the water swirling into the air, causing it to form a low, semi-permanent ground fog, constantly being replaced as it dissolved into the air above, obscuring large swatches of the lawns from view. The fountain was hardly the first thing the competitors would notice, however. The eye was drawn immediately to the fact that this Fountain Arena was a graveyard. The upper-left quadrant, farthest from the entrance, was obviously the oldest, containing a variety of stones and monuments arranged haphazardly about the area, composed of a number of different stones. Some had held up well enough that one might read the names upon them, others were worn, cracked and faded with the passage of time, sure to crumble and break if hit. The key feature was that this section of the graveyard was situated on a hill, obviously created from one graveyard being built atop another. The upper-right quadrant was mostly bare, featuring a single, large oak tree whose canopy spread over the entire quadrant, offering the possibility of climbing into the branches, should a competitor be so inclined. Small channels of water weave their way through the ground of this section, feeding small rivulets of water into the giant oak’s base. The lower-left quadrant, coming closer to the gates was the newest, featuring serried ranks of stones of uniform size, each crisply etched with the name of the person interred below. Should a competitor take the time to peruse the stones, they might recognize the names of storied competitor or Champions of the past. Spread amongst the stones is many roses, each one marking one of the gravestones resting nearby. The lower-right quadrant held a ring of standing stones: large, granite slabs arranged in a circle, some with arching stones spanning the gap between one and the next. It was here that the competitor would find the most disturbing tomb of them all, for on the small obsidian spike at the center of the circle was etched the name of whichever competitor should read what was inscribed there. A threat, or a promise of glory? Only the competitor’s skills would decide.

Tdub -> RE: =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (6/23/2012 11:36:57)
Three weeks ago - So have you decided? Are you determined to go through with this mad plan?" The enormous griffin asked, a concerned look in his eyes. "Yes, Father. I will enter the Elemental Championships. I leave tomorrow. I shall come back on wing, or not at all." Three days ago - The Cyclops grunted in pain, before falling to the ground, its one eye looking at the one is was foolish enough to attack, the bird-lion with the gold feathers. It sighed, and closed its eye forever. Talon Goldwing's eyes opened with a start. Today, I will fight. Today, I will win. Today, I will fly. Today. The griffin got up, looking around at the forest he was in, then looking foward, at the town of Bren, just waking up. I still have time to hunt. Talon's large silver fight-claws were soon equipped, and he ran through the forest, hoping to satisfy his hunger. The rabbit was unsuspecting, a few yards away from the hungry Talon, nibbling at grass without a care in the world. The large front talons quickly shot through the air, followed by an orange beak and a gold-feathered face, which melted into deep crimson lion's fur. The lion paws on his hind legs were next to leave the ground, the air pushing underneath the wide golden wings. The tail feathers shifted, catching the breeze. The griffin was airborne. A huge crash resounded through the forest, the sound of a creature landing beak-first on the ground, tumbling away. Bramble-brain, Talon thought, dusting himself off with his wings. Breakfast has run away. Fighting hungry is never good. Talon was just about to start walking towards Bren, cursing the mage who once cursed him, when he heard a cry emenating from a bit deeper in the forest. Running to the noise, he found a mother deer standing over an injured fawn. It looked like it had run into a rock hard, and had split its hoof. With a loud yell, Talon scared the mother away, then swiftly killed the fawn, After eating, he walked away. How desperate am I, that I have to prey on the injured or sick? I was once the best hunter in the tribe. I took down bears for fun! And now look at me. Flightless. Hungry. Pitiful. That is why I fight today. I would rather die than go another day in this horrible existance. And if I win, I pray my flight may return to me, the Wind beneath my wings. I will be able to hunt again. I shall return to my tribe a hero, or die in the attempt. Talon reached the city of Bren, and went straight to the registration booth. By straight, it means he pushed his way through dozens of humans, elves, and other creatures wandering aaround waiting for blood. "My name is Talon Goldwing, fighting for Wind." He said to the man at the table, who was spinning a shilling on the desk, uninterested. "Very well. You realize that, should you die, we take no responsibilty?" Talon nodded, and the clerk wrote down his name, absentmindedly flipping a small silver disk in the air. "Here's your token." The token stopped moving in midair. Talon took a moment to study it. It had an image of a tornado on the front, and his arena assignment on the back. It then flew into a pouch on the vest Talon was wearing. "Incidently, there are others vying for the favor of the Wind. I don't give much for your chances." Walking out the door, Talon said without looking back, "Nothing ventured, nothing gained." The pain on the mage's face was intense, the blood real. Talon only had time to glimpse it for a moment before flying foward. The Hunter aimed an arrow, calm before the storm. The only question was who would be ready first. Talon was instantly upon the human, knocking him to the ground. The fine wooden bow went spinning out of his grasp, the arrow lying useless on the ground. "This is for my fallen friends." Talon growled. The bloodstained fight-claws plunged into the Hunter's chest, pulling out a still-beating heart. The Hunter gasped, the lights leaving his eyes. His muscles loosened, and he breathed his last breath. Talon got up. His work here was finished. "Y-you." Talon paused, before turning to see who had spoken. It wasn't the trainee. He had run away, the coward. Talon's eyes rested on the mage, still alive, temporarily. Talon mentally cursed himself. You never turn your back on a magic-user until the breath had left their body and the beat had left their heart. And sometimes not even then. The mage looked up, shaking. Anger suddenly washed over his face, followed by rage. Seething, the mage uttered the words that would change Talon's life. "Airborne, you'll never be. The sky, you'll never see." The mage smiled, then died with the evil grin still on his face. Talon felt different, but couldn't put a finger to it. As he turned, he contemplated hunting down the remaining hunter trainee, but thought better of it. He should return to the tribe and explain what had happen. Opening his wings, he leapt, springing up from the blood-splattered ground. Just as swiftly but half as gracefully, he crashed back down again, landing next to his dead friend Shaggy, with an arrow through his skull and his eyes still open. Getting up, Talon tried another launch. And then another. And the another. Panic set it. Why couldn't he fly? Talon shook the horrible memory from his head. The days after that had been some of the worstt in his life, although the next few minutes could qualify. His father had reacted strongly, and he was examined in every angle until the diagnosis was given. He was perfectly fine. There was no physical way he could not fly. The problem was the curse. It was simply to powerful and too complex for them to break. And now Talon was here in Bren. Many had died in these arenas, and many more would soon. Talon hoped that he could gain the Wind Lord's favor, to fly once again. So, the Fountain Arena. Doesn't sound too dangerous. Talon thought, looking at the back of his token. Finding his way, he entered through the large gates. At first glance, it reminded him of a park or reserve. The grass was well-watered and green. The next thing he noticed was the brambles. A stumble or mistake could end very painfully. Talon then noticed the graves, in two locations in the arena. The names were meaningless, although that the graves were there at all was interesting. I've got to be careful not to trip on those.The tree then drew his attention. Although it could provide refuge, it could also be a hazard. Talon considered. He reexamined the fountain itself, noting the humble appearance, not at all what he was expecting. Talon looked over, and saw something that chilled him to the core. A grave was there, but it was unlike anything else in the arena. Looking closer, he read the name on the grave. Talon Goldwing. Talon recoiled, reeling in shock. The name on the grave was his! Was it a prediction of what is to come? Or was it just a cruel joke? Whatever the case, it was best get away from it. Talon realized he was the first one in the arena, and had first pick of a position. He walked over to the oak tree, and stood in front of it. He could see anyone that came in. He was ready to fight for Wind.

Apocalypse -> RE: =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (6/24/2012 16:06:53)
The fire cackled and spit out glowing embers into the night. The fiery cinders floated freely upwards towards the pale light of the stars before winking out of existence. Staring up at the vanishing flecks of light was a hooded figure, seated at the edge of the fire. His entire face was hidden in shadow with the sole exception of his amber eyes as the flames were reflected in his gaze. He was utterly still and quiet, leaving the only sounds of life to come from nature. A rustle in the bushes caught his attention and in a split-second the man was on his feet, an arrow aimed into the darkness. A moment passed and a twig snapped, but this time it came from behind. He whirled around, igniting the arrow's tip in flame as he did so. He peered into the darkness, but nothing out of the ordinary was found. "I'm just nervous," he said to himself as he lowered his bow. "The Championship has got me all riled up. Nobody will be trying to kill me until tomorrow." "Oh, but howwrong you are..." The voice had come from behind. He tried to turn around, but a blow to his shoulder knocked him down before he could react. He felt a warm liquid soak into his tunic just as sharp blades punctured him below the ribs. He clenched his eyes shut and gasped for breath, struggling for every moment. The pain was tremendous, and he could already feel his life was slipping away. This...is it? He recoiled as the next breath sent a riveting pain through his entire chest. No glory...no reward...no honor... Barely conscious, he had been unaware that he had been lifted off his feet until he heard the voice of his assailant. "Azun will be resurrected tomorrow. He does not need to feed...but I think he will enjoy an offering." And as the dying opened his eyes, he caught the glimpse of a skull with glowing eyes. Then the world went black. Viraus Saukand entered the arena, sunlight reflecting off of the silver bones encasing him. As a precaution, he had coiled his tail behind his back along with his skeletal arms, rendering them invisible from the front. He dabbled in the element of Light, but it was the element of surprise that earned him the majority of his victories. As fate would have it, the only other living thing in the arena was in front of him, so his ploy was still useful. But perhaps living things would not be the only threat... Viraus stopped after a few feet to take in his surroundings. In front of him lay the namesake of the arena with a multitude of channels diverting from it. However, the truly interesting aspect was the gravestones that surrounded him. To the left was a hill with a collection of old and weathered graves; to the right, a mass of new ones. Viraus could not help but grin to himself; the resurrection of the God-King would begin in the graveyard of many. Through the deaths of others would life begin anew. His grin disappeared as what he thought was a warrior wearing the skin of a bird turned out to be a creature. Upon further scrutiny, Viraus determined that the creature was some sort of hybrid between a bird of prey and a hunting mammal. It had taken refuge by the sole tree in the arena, a mark of how it still clung to its natural habitat. This...abomination...was nothing more than the creation of some mage who sent it to compete in the tournament in hope of testing it out. Or perhaps, to actually win it in his stead. The fact that the mage failed to fight for himself and that this creature was accepted as an actual competitor was almost too much to bear. "Is this the best you can offer?" cried out Viraus as he spread his arms wide. "A monstrosity and servant of someone else? Is this what you call...a challenge?"

Geddesmck -> RE: =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (6/24/2012 16:27:00)
“An older god.” “A stronger god?” Aurim asked his companion, his voice echoing from inside the confines of his battered bucket helm. “Perhaps, although I suppose that’s what you are here to discover.” “Aye, I suppose you’re right.” The streets of Bren were all but empty in the grey hours before dawn, but Aurim’s unusual choice of companion, a skull balanced on the pommel of his saddle, attracted gawking onlookers. The few who wandered the streets could not help but notice the tall figure in battered, blackened armour atop an old warhorse, speaking as he was to a skull that, more shockingly, spoke back. “How much use will you be to me Cullan?” Prince Aurim asked the skull. The skull did not move as it replied, the voice simply emanating from it. “Not much I predict. I’ll be able at least to keep you company.” A hint of amusement in the once-mage’s reply caused the Prince’s scarred features to twist into a lipless mockery of a smile beneath his helm. “Truly useless then, even in life you were poor company.” The low, warm chuckle that the skull gave in response juxtaposed with its grim visage. The skull was once, and in a manner was still, Cullan held a kind of similarity to Prince Aurim, the bones burnt black in places and cracked or chipped in others, much like Aurim’s ever present helm and armour. And yet, for all the damage the two had obviously endured, an aura of life surrounded them. Life made audible in that low, warm chuckle. The Prince dismounted as he came to his assigned arena and set about unburdening the loyal animal that had brought him, and his ‘passengers’, all the way from The Lord of Suffering’s domain. Once his task was complete Aurim handed the reins to a stableman whose bleary eyes widened upon seeing Cullan’s skull, now firmly attached to the Prince’s belt alongside four large sacks. “Apologies for the earliness of our arrival,” Aurim handed a coin of gold to the man, “for your trouble.” The stableman received the gift enthusiastically and set about his job with speed rarely seen so early in the day. “We could see the dawn well from that rise,” Cullan observed, and Aurim felt his attention gently tugged towards a nearby mound that peeked above the nearby rooftops. He grunted in agreement and in only a few short minutes he stood upon the rise, facing east. He detached Cullan and the four bags from his belt, opening the bags as he did to reveal four severed heads, all four with their mouths sewn shut. With care he placed each head, and the skull, to face east. Two of the heads opened their eyes to look around, while another, the only one once belonging to a woman, simply opened its eyes once before shutting them again. “Do you not think it may be seen as somewhat... blasphemous for a prospective Champion of Darkness to watch the sunrise with such anticipation?” Cullan asked, that hint of amusement present again. The Prince remained silent; he need not explain his reasons to Cullan of all people. Hours later the Scarred Prince walked through the gates of the Fountain Arena, Cullan reattached to his belt and the heads back in their bags. “A graveyard is it?” he observed with a wry smile, “At least we’ll feel at home here.” A grunt of amusement from Cullan confirmed he shared the Prince’s appreciation of the aptness of their battleground. Two creatures had entered before Aurim; one appeared to be some kind of huge beast that looked a hybrid of a lion and some kind of bird. “Ah, I’ve heard of those,” Cullan said, “although I can’t seem to recall the name. It begins with a ‘g’ I believe. Giraffe? No. Gibbon? Ah, yes, that sounds more like it. I believe that’s a gibbon Prince Aurim.” “Do you have any wisdom to share about our other competitor?” Aurim enquired, studying the strange silver skeleton that seemed attached to the man’s body; wondering which entity controlled the whole in the arrangement. “Those bones are probably not human.” Cullan suggested, prompting a low rumble of amusement from within the batter helm of the Scarred Prince. The ‘gibbon’ stood some distance away, under an oak tree, and the skeleton-embraced man a short distance in front of him. Before Aurim could decide wether to attack one or the other, the man seemed to issue the ‘gibbon’ a challenge. Uninterested in being involved in a three way fight, the Prince chose to turn left and walk amongst the gravestones, reading names that seemed half-familiar as he went. “There’s a lot of suffering here. Each stone marks two deaths; that of a living creature and that of an unreached dream. I think, dear Cullan, that I now know why I was sent here.” The Scarred Prince turned to face the arena’s entrance, his wicked looking mace coming to his hand. Aurim’s menacing form stood as a single broken figure amongst the neat ranks of the dead in the sea of fog and death that was the Fountain Arena.

Master K -> RE: =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (6/24/2012 20:17:04)
The Elemental Championships. That's what the ragged poster had said. Brandon found it posted in a small rundown village, which held no promise of adventure or action. However, this Championship thing sounded interesting. The very name of it drew his interest. The poster was very basic and simple, but Brandon understood what it meant. There was a big event going on in a city named Bren, and that it would draw some of the worlds best elemental fighters. The last one standing among them would be crowned champion. The promise of being a champion was alluring in a way...so Brandon begun to seek out this city, and fight it out in the championships, with hopes that he may actually become the victor. It had been five years since he was left on his own in the world. Five long, cruel years, in which he had to become reliant on his own powers, strengths, and wits. The dragons were excellent mentors...and he wished occasionally that he was still with them. Maybe he would've become a different person, or perhaps done some things differently in his life. He could've been trained to his potential by the dragons, and when he was ready, he would have left on his own terms, instead of having the closest thing he had to family being slaughtered mercilessly. The journey to Bren took longer than he had expected. After a few days of travel, he arrived at the host of the famed Championship. The city was much larger than he had imagined. The Elemental Championships appeared to draw a massive amount of people, because Bren was packed to the brim with people, who Brandon surmised were spectators. He wasn't sure, because he had never attended any of the previous Elemental Championships. Quickly, he became overwhelmed by the crowds of Bren. He had to force his way through the masses of people to get to the arena front. Within an instant, he found himself swept into the arena. His gaze was solemn, yet seemingly angry. He did not want to show weakness, for weakness is a killer in itself. When people think you're weak, then anything could happen. They may ignore you, seemingly because they don't think you're a challenge...or they could pick a fight, thinking you can't defend yourself. Brandon didn't want that. Besides, he was also a young competitor. He didn't want people thinking he was some weak kid. Brandon inspected the arena for a moment, and he found that it seemed...off. The scenery and mood of the area was dissonant. On one hand, there was primed lawns, brick paths, and a large fountain, which gives the impression of a fancy, high class garden or something. However, on the other hand, there was a clingy fog, gravestones, and sharp thorns on the walls he had to be wary of. Those gave the unnerving impression of impending doom...like it was a high class death trap. That's probably just what they want you to feel... He then noticed the gathering of people. There were already three fighters in the arena. Brandon keep their view in the corner of his eye, and carefully walked past the oak tree where one man was sitting, seemingly watching all who entered. He walked behind the tree, and carefully slinked up it. He didn't want to seem weak...but he also wasn't stupid enough to get caught in the bloodshed that was impending. He hid carefully among the leaves, disguising himself. He was going to give all his power to win this game .

The Extinguisher -> RE: =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (6/26/2012 12:43:17)
Bren. Bren bren bren. Sounds kinda funny when you say it to yourself, doesn't it. Why am I here again? Bren. Oh yeah, that elemental championship thingy, that I'm not quite sure why I'm entering but I'm pretty sure I have a good reason for. Hmm, everyone's starting at me. Why? Wait, mouth is moving. I'm doing that talking to myself thing again. I really need to work on that. ~ It's time for the tournament, and more importantly, time for the pact. I love the pact. Pact pact pact. I'm practically bouncing at the thought of it. Calm down. I draw the seal on the floor of my room. Don't forget to clean it off after. These things make people suspicious. I don't know this vestige, but I was assured it would help me win the fight. It's something strong. “Crom-Caluch, the Frozen Serpent.” Then he appears to me, illusionary but so very real. He speaks, in a raspy voice that sounds so very much like winter. “Foolish-” “Yeah yeah yeah, old gods and praise and all that. Hey, can we skip the formality please, I'm running a but late.” “You wish to bind with me?” “Yep. I need you're help to win these elemental championships that are going on, and bring glory to the domain of ice or whatever. I figured that might be your thing.” “Elemental championship? A chance to crush people in combat. Very well, little girl. We will make this pact.” “Score! Alright, like I said I'm running late. Lets get going.” I don't understand how people do it. How everyone just walks through life with just themselves in them. Doesn't their soul feel empty? Doesn't it get lonely inside their head? The times between pacts are always the hardest. I don't want to feel alone. I'm always alone. But then there's the pact, and it's wonderful. I feel his soul become part of mine, and I'm no longer empty. My mind is no longer alone. It's the most wonderful feeling in the world, to know that you will never truly be alone. If it only it lasted longer. ~ This is beautiful. I wasn't sure what to expect in the 'Fountain Arena'. I guess a fountain. But not this. I almost feel like we shouldn't be fighting here, among the graves and the grass. It's too tranquil. To peaceful, to beautiful. But I don't have time to admire the nature. There are already competitors here. Of course they notice me, that's how they stay alive. I wanted to be the first one in, so I could get out of the way and watch. You should fight them now. With my power you could crush them. There is no glory in hiding I'm not going to be hiding. But I've survived my whole life by not standing out in a crowd, I'm not going to start now. I need to find a place to observe. Lets see. We have... four other people here. Three people and a monster Four people. I would think something claiming to be a serpent wouldn't be so quick to judge something that doesn't look human. Four other people, that's not many, but it's enough to start to carnage. Lets start it now. My teeth will crush them Not. Yet. I need to stand back, get a better feel for the battle. I head upwards, into the section of older graves, hoping no one really notices me. I'm unfortunately already armed, a gift of Crom-Caluch, a gauntlet of ice and teeth encasing my hand. This makes it easier to defend myself should I be attacked, but I also don't want to feel like I'm provoking anything. Worth the risk? Probably, but I need to be careful. I turn towards to entrance, walking among the old graves. I need to get a good look at what's coming in. Fight something. I didn't give you my power so you could squander it among graves Quiet now. I need to focus. The other in the graveyard is alone. He is easy. Enough! Or the monster. He will prove no challenge to my might “I said stop talking!” ... I just shouted that out loud, didn't I. Really need to work on that.

Tdub -> RE: =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (6/27/2012 12:06:55)
Talon watched the entrance with a glaring eye, keen to he his opponents. The first to enter was a skeleton. No, wait. That was a human inside a skeleton. A skeleton of... something. Whatever it was, it had four arms, and it looked like it was dragging a whip behind it. Or was it a tail? It was hard to see, even with an eagle's sight. It was impossible to tell the alignment, though the skeleton armor suggested Dark. Then the armored warrior spoke. Talon listened with interest, and tried to decipher what it meant, as he seemed to be talking to no one. He then realized the significance of what the human was saying, barely controlling his anger. The insolent human thought his a creation, one sent by someone else to fight in their place. Through his rage, he saw a few other competitors enter. An armored man, (even though the armor seemed like it could fall off at any moment,)walked in. Talon could not tell his alignment, though scorched armor might mean Fire. How could a man let his armor fall into such poor condition, thought the griffin. Whatever he was, he was talking to something, although Talon could not hear the words. The next to enter was what seemed like a young human. There was nothing to worry about there, and Talon quickly ignored him, not noticing what he did next. The final one to have entered so far was a female, obviously Ice. The human walked up to the section of crumbling graves, and shouted out something about not talking. Insane? Or contacting something? Talon wondered. My, does this competition bring out the strangest of the humans. Or the strongest. At least I came as myself. No coating of ice nor another's skeleton. Of couse, or all of us, I may be the strangest of all griffins. No, stop thinking. this is no time to spend precious seconds pondering useless thoughts. Talon turned his head back to the skeleton man in front of him. Barely keeping in his anger, he spoke. "Human, I am not a monstrosity, but a griffin, a species driven to near extinction by you humans and your hunting. And I am a servant to no one. You look more like a servant to one who is too cowardly to fight. You appear at first glance to be an undead construct of some sort. Now, I will fight you for my honor in retaliation to your burr-minded remarks." Talon did not mention him being unable to fly. The less his opponent knew about his weaknesses, the more of an advantage he had. Spreading his gold wings, he flapped them, concentrating with the mana in him. A concentrated gust of wind flew out, intent on the skeleton man. At most, Talon hoped it would knock him off his feet, giving him a major oppurtunity. However, that was highly unlikely to happen, as the warrior did not seem the type to enter a tournament withough being able to brace himself. Talon knew that the best he might get was him being off-balance for a second or two, allowing him to close distance and attack from the front with his fight-claws. Talon was ready to show the skeleton man exactly what a griffin was. Talon then readied his vest. He was not ready to use his spear quite yet, but if he needed it, he would have to grudgingly let it go. Lives before equipment. My life, anyway. He slowly lifted his left talon, hearing the small jingle of the fight-claw as it clanked against the points of his real claw. If the man managed to dodge, which seemed likely, as the gust could be heard as it got closer, he would shoot the tips forward to wrap around the skeleton man. He could hold for as long as possible, allowing for a quick kill. If the man was thrown off-blance, the three shap points would fly towards his neck, intent to peirce his jugular vein and windpipe. And, if I'm lucky, the annoying human's voicebox. Talon mentally berated himself again. A joke was not welcome here, although at the tiime it had seemed completely serious.

Beebote -> RE: =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (6/27/2012 20:37:35)
Air. Wind. Breath. Life. The soothing breeze. The violent storm. Always present, yet ever moving. Always present, yet intangible. The unseen mover, whose presence is as indisputable as its effects upon the world. There were many cults, sects, monastic orders, and religions that focused on the Lord of Wind and his eponymous element, and from one such order did Brother Flynn come. He had arrived in Bren like a gentle mountain breeze, pale of eye and pale of skin, head shorn, clothed in the colors of the sky: blue and white with a glint of steel grey. Comapred to many that passed through that legendary town, he was unnoticeable. Men and women, constructs and beasts, all much more impressive than he, frequented the inns and taverns of Bren. They came to fight in a tournament of most holy origins, each vying for favor; the favor of one of the Eight. In the hallowed halls of the various arenas they spilled blood and shattered bone, climbing over fallen corpses to climb to the pinnacle and be crowned the victor of the Elemental Championship. Having eaten his final meal, Brother Flynn made his was to the gates of the Fountain Arena, to which he had just been assigned that morning. Silently, he regarded what he could see within without entering the arena proper. Low clinging mists broken by ominous graves greeted his vision. It was unlike the Fountain Arena he had imagined, as described by the spectators of championships past. The hallowed dead lay but feet beneath this arena, and while he felt it a bit disrespectful to be battling on their graves, that was of little concern in the battle to come. Water and Ice would be at their strongest here, with the tools of their form in ample supply. He would be wary of their prospective champions. He walked into the arena bearing no weapons, though he was not himself weaponless. While here the elements of Ice and Water may be stronger, his element was omnipresent, and he walked in that confidence. He entered the arena like a quiet zephyr, moving silently and without comment to the circle of stones and its ominous obelisk, taking note of the other five entrants that were so far present in the arena; but when battle broke out, he would enter the fight like the mightiest of heaven's tempests. Air. Wind. Breath. Life. Before the day was out, many would send their last breaths, like dying prayers, back to the Lord of Wind; who lent them that breath at birth, and now would recieve it back in death.

ringulreith -> RE: =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (6/28/2012 1:15:12)
As the rosy fingers of early dawn slowly crept up onto the horizon, suffusing the jewel-studded sky with faint luminescence, a slight figure began to stir. Ringlets of ebon hair flowed over narrow shoulders already tensed with caussion, framing a face shadowed by a translucent tent membrane. With cat-like grace the figure began to move, limbs stretching and back arching to remove the vestiges of sleep. Faint rays of orange light began to penetrate the heavens, and with the ease of a long-practiced routine, the person rose and faced the slowly rising sun. Slowly, deliberately, gaining in intensity as the sunlight grew stronger, limbs were stretched and twisted to the fullest, the person's body contorting into increasingly complicated patterns and positions. Soon the grey insides of the tent were dappled with specks of light as the strengthening daylight glinted off the steel blades of multiple weapons that twirled and danced alongside their wielder, movements ablur as their speed crescendoed with the zenith of the sunrise. After a gradual decline in movement, the person ended their elaborate morning ritual by bowing low, their body still, face exposed to the fully-risen sun. The light illuminated an angular face, with high cheekbones and sharp, well-defined features. This was Desdemona Szar, she of the feral amber eyes and coldly smirking lips, she of the silken flowing hair and the porselane skin, she of the thin crescent scars that curved along the right cheek and the left temple. This was Desdemona Szar the Everstorm, she of the boundless ocean and the ferocious maelstrom, she of the silent singing blades of Ujë. This was Desdemona Szar, she who was competing for the honor of her lord, the ever-flowing, the tranquil, the vengeful, the master of water. This was Desdemona Szar, and today she would go out to spill the blood of her opposition to bring glory unto her people and her patron. With silent movements, Desdemona began to navigate around her small tent, collecting the equipment necessary for her upcoming ordeal and dawning them with quick efficiency. First a set of loose utilitarian clothes, tunic and trousers grey in colour and flaring out at the sleeves and pantlegs, allowing for quick concealment of weapons. Then a pair of thigh-high soft leather boots with inside straps for small arms securement. A brigandine of cuir bouilli and riveted steel scales, sleevless and reaching mid-thigh, provided protection while maintaining flexibility. Finally, a leather belt that wound around a narrow waste completed the ensemble. Thusly dressed, Desdemona firmed her resolve and marched out of her tent, heading towards an uncertain future and a well of dreams. The Everstorm approached the Fountain Arena, her assigned battleground, with caution, eyes alert and constantly scanning her surroundings. Swinging at her belt was her Urumi, a weapon of three coiled metal blades made of a silvery alloy both durable and flexible, a cross between a whip and a sword. Her deliberate footsteps and shifting clothing hid the two deer horn knives hidden up her sleeves, a weapon consisting of two heat-resistant steel crescent blades crossed with one extended to form the main blade and the other forming a hand guard, and half a dozen lethally-poisoned wooden darts hidden in special folds and pockets around her body. Upon entering the arena proper and surveying the landscape, she flashed a vicious smile of all teeth and no lips, of cruel pleasure and triumph. The setting was perfect for her – the water that she could manipulate and use in her magic, the gravestones that provided so much symbolism, and the thorns that she could impale her opponents on. It was perfect. To her right, Desdemona spotted the monolithic stone slabs surrounding what appeared to be a small obsidian tombstone – a tombstone ingraved with her name. A low, lilting chuckle escaped her throat as her eyes fell upon it. A warning to her, perhaps, or a promice, but she could also make it a warning to all who dared oppose her – a symbol of her dominance in this arena. And oh, the metaphysical potential! With efficient footsteps that barely touched the ground, Desdemona glided over to the obsidian pedestal, weaving around and under the larger stones while still keeping her eye on the other competitors that had arrived before her. Among granite and grave she took her place, her body crouched, muscles tensed, posture coiled and ready to spring into action. With one hand at her belt, ready to uncoil her three-bladed urumi at a moment's notice, she waited for her first target, like the maelstrom waiting for the right time to unleash its fury on its unsuspecting victims.

Geddesmck -> RE: =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (6/28/2012 14:42:52)
Aurim’s head titled to the side slightly as he strained to catch the ‘gibbon’s’ response to the bone-man’s challenge. He frowned and flicked an armoured finger at Cullan’s skull; “You said it was a gibbon, not a griffin.” Cullan began to mutter something about never claiming to be an expert in zoology, but the Prince wasn’t listening, too intent on observing the host of new arrivals. He noticed the boy first; a small, unarmed thing that drew little attention. So unthreatening did he appear that Aurim began to turn away, before Cullan hissed at him, “Don’t be a fool. Anyone who walks through those gates is a threat. That boy tastes of magic; he’s not to be ignored.” Slightly abashed, Aurim returned his gaze to the young mage, only to see him disappear up the oak tree. The Prince found himself shocked, and amused, by the boy’s audacity; to simply wander past three dangerous looking figures and then, without more than a hint of subtlety, to scamper up a tree and out of sight. The next to arrive was a young woman, her right arm seemingly formed of ice and fangs. “I’d wager she’s fighting for the Ice Lord,” offered Cullan, only to curse when Aurim responded by flicking the skull again. She chose to lay claim to the previously unoccupied section of the arena that contained older gravestones and something of a hill. Turning to watch the entrance, she shouted at something to stop talking. “Ah, talking to herself. Obviously crazy,” concluded Cullan in a knowing tone and Arium could only nod in agreement. The last two arrivals felt the most dangerous to Aurim; one a bald monk of some type, the other a coldly-beautiful woman. They had little in common except an aura of assurance and lethality, but that was enough to hold Aurim’s attention until they had both seemingly decided upon the circle of stones as their territory. No one moved. The arena, the crowd beyond those walls of thorns and the combatants themselves seemed to take a moment of silent preparation. Aurim picked his target. “The girl?” Cullan asked, surprise and more than a hint of disgust in his disembodied voice. “Yes. Pain radiates from her. She will last a long time; her suffering will be a worthy offering.” Cullan was silent for the few moments it took the Scarred Prince to reach the path that marked the border between the girl with the gauntlet’s hill and his own neat little graveyard. “I sometimes forget what you are,” the skull whispered and Aurim could feel the soul-deep pain that birthed the words. “I do too,” Aurim replied; words that hurt more than every scar and wound the Prince had ever received. The Scarred Prince, a mountain of broken metal with a skull hanging from its belt, swung his heavy mace at the girl with the ice-gauntlet’s head.

Master K -> RE: =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (6/28/2012 20:15:53)
Brandon carefully watched his competitors between the leaves of the tree. He was careful not to stir, lest he draw attention to himself. He observed as a seemingly crazy woman walked into the arena, due to the fact she randomly shouted something at nobody in particular. A monk entered the arena, exuding an air of tranquility and peace. He seemed like he would be a worthy adversary. Finally, a chilling, yet lovely woman entered the arena. She seemed like a dangerous opponent, and certainly one that Brandon did not want to fight. Some attacks had already been launched in the arena. One thing that particularly caught Brandon's eye was the griffin beneath him, who sent an attack out towards another competitor. The griffin was completely unaware that Brandon was above him, therefore making him vulnerable to an ambush, or a sneak attack. Brandon didn't want to leave the tree, because the other competitors seemed fierce. However, he didn't want to act cowardly and hide the entire time he was in the arena...although, being brazen and trying to pick fights would not help him win. He was in this competition to win. He carefully looked beneath him at the griffin. He decided he would shoot a fireball at the beast. The griffin seemed susceptible to burning, which would also draw other competitors attention, and possibly have them finish off the job without Brandon having to exert too much magical power. He silently charged up his fireball, and launched it straight towards the griffin. He also quickly, but carefully, went to another branch, just in case the griffin wanted to retaliate.

Tdub -> RE: =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (6/28/2012 21:43:05)
Talon looked towards a sudden movement from the man with the scorched armor. He continued his spell towards the skeleton man, but focused his attention on the other human. He seemed to be walking towards the female human with the coating of ice on her arm. Talon wondered what to do. An alliance could be a bad idea. If one were to make an offer, it could be rejected with unexpected retaliation. Or it could be carried out, but broken and betrayed later on. He had seen several alliances fall just because a member had made a move the other didn't like. And this was the Elemental Championships. Even if they did have an alliance, they both knew only one could win. On the other hand, an alliance could be just what he needed. The human with the skeleton armor, whom Talon decided was definitely a warrior of Dark, could be a tough opponent. The man with the disgraceful armor, who was most certainly a warrior of Fire, could be equally challenging. All in all, Talon wanted the human female as an ally, not an enemy. But the hardest part was communication. Simply yelling at her would only draw attention to himself, and alert others to his plans. But he couldn't move much, or the attack going towards the skeleton man would be rendered useless. Talon decided that he had to do something, and so, using a basic form of air manipulation, he gathered a small stream of air to carry his words to her ears. The spell would work both ways, and stay active for several minutes, unless he had to use a powerful spell. Taking a moment to decide what to say to the Ice warrior, he slowly and softly moved his beak. "Human warrior, I am the griffin underneath the oak tree on the other side of the path. I fight for Wind, and I know you fight for Ice. I speak to notify you that the man with the charred armor, whom I believe is a warrior of Fire, is walking on a couse to your location. I am under the impression that he has combat in his mind. I would like to propose an alliance, temporary, of couse, between us to defeat the man of Fire and the skeleton man of Dark. This connection will work both ways. Simply whisper, and I will hear your words." With that, Talon stopped speaking. He looked over for just a moment to see that the Fire human had swung his mace towards the Ice woman's head. Talon hoped she would survive. He could not help if she did not dodge, but he could give her assistance if she did. His left talon was already in the air, ready to shoot at the skeletal Dark one. Talon twisted his right talon to face the Fire human, and lifted his three claws up. With a quick flick, he sent the three sharp metal points towards him. The points would do their best to wrap around his chest and secure his arms for as long as it took for the Ice fighter to attack. He regretted he could offer no further assistance, but he was occupied with two opponents. Of course, the Fire man could dodge or block his attack. Talon knew the points would not reach him until a moment after he had swung his mace, but that could not be helped. Looking around, Talon saw that another competitor had slipped in, a female of unknown elemental capacity, with another man also there. Talon realized that he had to be more observant, lest he be attacked by a new entrant. He also could not see the young human that shouldn't have entered. He probably just saw the competitors, and turned tail and fled. Talon convinced himself. But he could not shake the uneasy feeling that he was being watched. Turning his attention back to reality, he hoped that the Ice woman survived. Suddenly, Talon heard something. Looking up, he saw the youngling shoot a ball of flame straight at him. Screeching in shock, he rolled to the side, somehow keeping his concentration on the boy, skeleton, and fight-claw points at the same time. Angry, he used some of his remaining mana to blast the tree with wind. He hoped that the irritating hatchling would fall out of the tree. He then felt a large amount of pain. Looking, he saw that his left wing had been scorched. Oh. I didn't dodge all of it. Talon grimaced in pain, and used a very little bit of wind to float about half of his healing herbs out and into his beak. He winced at the bitter taste. The pain instantly started to subside, but the injury wouldn't completely heal for about ten minutes. I could be dead by then. I now have three opponents. May the Wind Lord protect me.

Apocalypse -> RE: =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (6/28/2012 22:54:42)
Viraus waited a moment for the creature to respond. And then another. And then another. His opponent, if he could call it such, had turned its attention away from him and turned its gaze to the other competitors as they flooded the arena. Obviously Viraus's display did not offer enough stimulation to maintain the creature's focus. What wayward shaman had created this abomination? Not intelligent, not aggressive...only a twisted mind would actually believe that such a thing had a fleeting chance in this tournament. This tournament was fought by true warriors... Or was it? Since his appearance in the arena, three other competitors had entered only to flee to separate sections of the battleground. They could not have put more distance between each other if they had tried. Was not this the Elemental Championship, where arenas quickly devolved into bloodbaths, where warriors risked life and limb to prove their worth to the Elemental Lords? Viraus had been told that in this tournament even the mightiest of warriors had fallen to those who had mastered and perfected their craft. Many of those who fought knew of the certainty of their deaths, yet they charged eagerly into battle with the soul goal of being chosen by their Lord. Viraus had been promised the fight of his life...where was it? "Human, I am not a monstrosity..." The voice ripped Viraus from his thoughts and plunged him back into the arena. The creature...had spoken! And not in the words of another, but rather in words of its own! Viraus could barely take in what was being said as he processed the absurdity before him. He was well-versed in the legends of his people, where warriors spoke to gods in the guise of animals and shamans stole the forms of the beasts of the land. But this...this was something entirely different. A being existed with a mind as sound as his but in a body quite distinct from his own. It was said that anything was possible in the Elemental Championships...and Viraus had just learned the truth of that statement. Having recovered from the initial shock of the "griffin's" capability of speech, Viraus was suddenly aware of the anger in its voice. Viraus's face, though mostly hidden by the silver skull, broken into a vicious grin. If it was as susceptible to emotions as any man was, then this creature was simply a foe with talons for hands and a sharp beak in the place of its face. He was facing another adversary and nothing more. The "griffin" flapped its wings and Viraus detected the movement of the air as it roared towards him. Viraus braced himself by lodging the claws on his feet into the pavement and crossing his human arms in front of him. The blast of wind was ferocious, but his preparation had allowed him to remain standing. But the danger was not over: his enemy had cast forward a set of metallic talons. Viraus was certain that his armor could endure the blow, but he was also certain that the armor was not the target. Viraus ducked to his right, and as he did so he saw something intriguing. Strings. Viraus saw an opportunity. He willed his left skeletal hand to catch it, and in a act of speed and dexterity it snatched the strings at the base of the talons. His adversary had let a weapon fall into his hands; a mistake foolish for a warrior of any origin. Before he could use this to his advantage, however, the "griffin" was assaulted by a ball of flames. It had descended from the oak tree, and Viraus caught a glimpse of black and blue as it jumped from one branch to another. It must be a mere fledgling, some boy playing soldier who now faced a battlefield of true warriors. Hiding himself in the tree and striking at the turned back of another was the only way he could hope to survive the Championship. He would not make much of a challenge, but he would make a fine harvest for Azun. With two opponents before him Viraus, sprung into action. He jerked the talon in hopes of throwing the creature off-balance, though such a feat seemed unlikely. Next, he launched himself forward, concentrating a Mana Flash in either hand as he did so. In another moment Viraus cast them not towards the "griffin", but rather upwards into the tree where the fledgling lay hiding. Viraus followed this assault by swinging his right skeletal arm in a horizontal arc, separating the hand from the rest of the arm as he formed a chain of light. The construction lengthened the reach of the hand by twenty feet, allowing the beast to come into range of the skeletal claws. "Fight then, for your 'honor', abomination!" he cried.

Master K -> RE: =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (6/29/2012 20:21:41)
Brandon felt satisfied with the damage he had done to the griffin. The would may not be fatal, but from the looks of the damage, it seemed crippling. The wind blast the griffin had shot towards him in its frustration, but the wind blast had missed. It blew up a lot of leaves, leaving some of the tree bare, which prompted Brandon to swiftly, but silently, move to another branch, facing away from the action between the griffin and the strange skeletal man, with some remaining foliage. Then, he heard a noise coming in his vicinity. An arrow shaped blob of light whizzed past his head, and soared off into the distance before it erupted. Now, he was vulnerable to being attacked by the skeletal man, since he had revealed his position. The tree most likely wasn't going to be safe for much longer. It would most likely get knocked down or blasted to oblivion, so Brandon prepared himself for that possibility.

The Extinguisher -> RE: =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (6/30/2012 15:57:12)
Stupid stupid stupid. They all probably think I'm crazy now. Way to go. Is that a good thing? Do I want them to think I'm crazy? Or are they just going to think I'm weak. Stupid stupid. “Human warrior...” I thought I told you to stop doing that. I'm done with you. Wait. Why do you sound different all of a sudden. Wait wait. Shut up. Wait. Something's wrong here. Listen to the words. It's a different voice. Another voice in my head. Hah. Maybe I am crazy. Wait. Shut up and actually listen. “I speak to notify you that the man with the charred armour, whom I believe is a warrior of Fire, is walking on a course to your location. I am under the impression that he has combat in his mind.” Okay. Okay. Someone is attacking me. I don't see anyone attacking me. That can't be right. I turn around only to see a man in blackened armour coming towards me, with a very large and very scary looking mace also coming right at me. A mace that could crush my head with ease. Well that was a nice warning, whoever sent it. But what to do about that mace. Get out of the way I guess I could do that. I duck out of the way of the mighty flail, a can feel the breeze it creates through my hair. Oh gods that was close. Wait? Hair? That's not right either. Something's missing. I see a small little cloth cap, caught in the swing the mace and ripped to shreds. “My hat! You ruined my hat! I love that hat. It's all cute and interesting and now it's destroyed!” All right Ice Serpent, now I'm mad. Lets see what you can do. I ready my frozen hand to retaliate. A gauntlet of ice and claws and power and force. I strike upwards at my assailant with as much force as my body will allow. I loved that hat.

Geddesmck -> RE: =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (7/3/2012 16:09:02)
The force of the girl’s blow added to the collection of dents in Aurim’s armour, catching him in the upper chest and shoulder. The fangs, seemingly of ice, were harder than the prince would have guessed; a fact he could not ignore when one gouged a rent in his chest plate and scratched the ruined flesh beneath. Aurim gently embraced the new source of pain. The Scarred Prince barely reacted to his opponent’s attack, an exhalation of cold breath as he rocked back the only sign of a living creature within the mass of blackened metal. His arm rose above his head, the wounded steel in his shoulder screeching in protest of the movement, in preparation to attack again. Something struck Aurim and he found his left arm pinned to his chest. Someone had decided to attack him with what appeared to be some kind of bola, with sharpened weights in the form of metal talons. “The gibbon,” muttered Cullan. “Griffin,” Aurim corrected. His weapon arm remained free and, without missing a beat, the prince flung his weapon at the girl before him with more force than accuracy. Even as the heavy weapon left his fingers he was reaching for the knife at his waist to cut his bonds. A heartbeat later he was free, his newly released left hand reaching for his belt. It passed the sword hanging pristine at the hip and grabbed one of the bags. The Spitter’s head emerged from the sack. Fat and pockmarked, with wrinkles that seemed filled with grime, the Spitter had never had a handsome face. The panicked eyes, always open, always franticly searching, and the sewed shut mouth had done little to improve his appearance. The knife’s single sharp edge touched the thread that kept the Spitter silent. “Show mercy,” whispered Cullan.

Tdub -> RE: =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (7/4/2012 14:53:26)
Talon was not happy. His wind attack had completely missed the hatchling. If I can't aim a simple wind blast, who am I to compete in this? Talon dismissed the thought. Everyone misses every now and then. Talon then had two actions to prepare for at once. The skeleton man had grabbed onto his strings, and pulled. A common strategy, reflected Talon, in the split second he had before he was pulled. Using a griffin technique just for such an occasion, he launched himself into the air. Combined with the pull of the strings, he lifted up, spreading his golden (And on one side, singed.) wings for air balance. He saw the blasts of light fly. Talon screeched out a cry in the griffin language. If another griffin had been in the arena, it would have caused him or her to cringe from the obscenity. Fortunately, to the others in the arena, it would only sound like a very scared and angry eagle. There was no way he could dodge, as he couldn't fly. Talon closed his eyes, and braced himself for the end. The missiles flew overhead, passing harmlessly beyond the moving head of Talon. The relieved griffin didn't get to see where they were heading. Either the skeleton man has incredibly bad aim, or he was shooting for someone else. But Talon wasn't out of trouble yet. Gravity was starting to realize that Talon was not immune to its effects. Talon wobbled in the air. The gold wings tried their hardest to stay upright. To Talon's dismay and embarrassment, gravity prevailed in the fight. The enormous bird fell to the ground, just a few yards away from the warrior in the skeleton. Talon looked up, retracting the tips of the fight-claw, to see that the skeleton man's hand seemed to be coming off of his arm. It was connected throuh some sort of chain. But this chain wasn't made of Dark energy. It was..... Light? It seemed unlikely that one serving the Lord of Light would wear such an emblem of death. But the chain, added onto the bolts that had passed over his head, seemed to point towards the element of Light. Whatever the element, the hand was going on a course to Talon. If that hand grabbed him, it could all be over. The hand wasn't his only problem. As Talon retracted his other tips, he saw that the man that was attacking his (hopefully) ally was walking towards Talon, carrying some kind of head. It seemed as if he was about to cut something off of the mouth. Looking at both the attacks, Talon got an idea. The hand closed in fast, preparing to grab or hurt Talon. Leaping up, Talon did an acrobatic flip above the hand. Then, he focused his mana inside of him, and preformed an Illusion spell. The man carrying the head would feel something behind him, a rush of wind that would feel exactly like a sword being raised above his head. Hopefully, that would cause him to turn around. Talon had no idea how much control the Light warrior had over his chain-hand, but even if he did have control, the skeleton man might want to harm an opponent besides the griffin. As he landed, Talon turned to the tree where the young warrior of Fire was. Talon assumed he was Fire, as the fireball that had injured him had come from the hatchling. Talon drew deep into his magic reserves, and blasted the tree with all of his might. But this blast wasn't specific. This was a strong blast that would blow the entire tree. Unless the youngling were to jump out of the tree, he would not be able to dodge. In an ideal situation, the Light skeleton man's detached hand would continue on to land in the man who had the unknown element's back. Talon was no longer sure of his element, as the young human in the tree controlled Fire. The blast of wind would hopefully knock the boy out of the tree. The Light warrior would eliminate the unknown, or at least cause them to start a fight, and Talon could easily take care of the youngling. There was only one more loose end to tie up before continuing the fight. Talon was feeling tired. Not physically, as he was in excellent shape, but magically. His mana stores were slowly being depleted, and he knew why. He began to whisper. "Warrior of Ice, I cannot hold this connection for more than two minutes longer, as I need my magic for the battle. Please, give me your answer. We both need allies, and we could start off now. Respond quickly." Talon knew she would not hear him until the mace that the unknown man had thrown had hit or been dodged, but she seemed to be good at dodging, and her fighting skills seemed adequate. He, once again, hoped that she would survive. Looking around the arena at the ones who were not engaged in combat, he wondered what other allies and enemies he could make.

Master K -> RE: =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (7/4/2012 17:18:08)
Things calmed down for Brandon. Fighting was still occurring around him between various combatants of the arena, but nothing was happening to him. He could not see who was fighting, but he could hear the combat between the opponents. He was still braced to get out of his tree, because he had sent that fireball at the griffin, who was a fighter of wind, and injured it. The other fighter had sent some sort of explosive at him, but it had missed, so he knew of Brandon's presence in the tree. He wondered what would happen to him next... And then it hit him. Literally, it hit him. A large blast of wind assaulted the tree he was in. Every leaf on the tree was blown off in scattered directions by the vicious gale. Brandon got knocked sideways from the tree. With a shout, he desperately grabbed the branch he was on, hanging off of it by his hands. He didn't think it would be wise to hide in the tree anymore, seeing that it was no longer a place to disguise himself from the other opponents of the arena. He let go of the tree branch, and landed on the ground unscathed. He quickly looked around to see if anyone was in his vicinity. The blast of wind came from the griffin he had assaulted earlier. Upon closer examination, the griffin had massive talons, so engaging in melee combat might not be wise at that moment. "I'm out of the tree. Are you happy now?!" Brandon said angrily to the griffin. He set his hands ablaze, and waited for the griffins move.

Apocalypse -> RE: =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (7/4/2012 23:28:02)
The creature possessed a nimbleness that was surprising for something of its size. It managed to do two jumps in a short period of time, one of them being a flip over the skeletal hand. This was quite the feat, but as Viraus retracted his dismembered hand he could not help but notice the oddity in its behavior. It had leaped into the air, spread its wings...and then came back down to the ground. Why would a winged beast relinquish its advantage of flight? Unless...it doesn't have the advantage at all... Viraus felt a pull from the metal talons, and he let the weapon slip from his bony fingers. It did not matter if the beast gained control of its claw again. It had already been injured by the fledgling's flames, leaving Viraus to deal with a weakened enemy... ...Or perhaps not. The creature had released a gale of hurricane strength into the tree, forcefully removing all the leaves and the competitor from its branches. The warrior landed on his feet, introducing a new element in this battle. But...he is just a boy... thought Viraus as he assessed the situation. A weakened beast and a boy... Child's play The boy had shouted something at his assailant before engulfing his hands in flames. He probably thought it made him look fierce and intimidating, but all it did was reveal his immaturity in this dire time. Young, hotheaded, inexperienced...he was not so much a foe as he was a sheep waiting to be slaughtered. "We are not happy, until you bleed!" screamed Viraus as he charged forward, his feet spraying up water in his trail. His target was the boy, though he aimed to take down the "griffin" as well. As he passed the beast on his left, Viraus uncoiled his tail and struck at it with the razor-sharp bone. A quick stab to the torso would be sure to be an end to the foe. But he did not waste time in checking his work, nor did he slow down at all in his assault. Once in range of the boy, Viraus thrust his right skeletal hand forward, forming the chain of light once more. The claw headed straight for the sheep's heart.

Master K -> RE: =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (7/5/2012 0:18:56)
The warrior fighting the griffin was the first to make his move. He examined Brandon, and he could tell he wasn't all that impressed with him. He looked out of place among the other combatants, not impressive, not as powerful either...but he was determined. He didn't feel like joining his parents or the dragons in the underworld. No, he had to do this. He had to win this game. The skeletal man promptly shouted a death threat, and then charged towards Brandon, attempting to strike the Griffin in his path. The warrior attempted to stab Brandon in the chest, but Brandon quickly fell backwards, and rolled off to the side, dodging the warriors attack. "Joining my family in the underworld is not my intentions." Brandon said swiftly. He quickly examined how he would take down his foe. The fighter was in a skeleton of sorts, which seemed durable, as it did not seem to be completely natural due to the silver coloration, and the abnormalities...though, the strange crystal intrigued him. It was in the middle of his chest, and seemed to be important. He decided it would be a good starting point to attack. Melee fighting wouldn't be wise, because the warrior looked strong, and had those massive chains, not to mention any magic he may use... Quickly, he aimed a fireball for the warriors sapphire crystal.

Beebote -> RE: =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (7/5/2012 7:23:44)
Brother Flynn turned to follow the approach of a woman, lean and powerful, tense like a whip or a viper poised to strike. This was not one to be underestimated. He had chosen the ring of stones as his starting position deliberately. It offered the most tactical advantage and he did not intend to give up that ground without a fight. Stepping out into the open, two of the giant pillars framing him on either side. In his bright clothing, he would be clearly visible to her. He spoke no word, but simply offered a short bow of respect before taking a combative stance. He inhaled, drawing in the Last Breath and calling to mind the forms, techniques, teachings, and training of his order. Then, with the exhale, he struck, punching the air as if it were a solid object. The result was a thunderous boom as a focused shockwave leapt from his fist, hurling across the distance between himself and his chosen opponent. The first strike made, he wasted no time in relocating, leaping up with the aid of his powers to the top of one of the collumns, giving himself a bird's-eye-view of the area as he waited for the inevitable retaliatory attack.

ringulreith -> RE: =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (7/5/2012 15:31:34)
A quick flash of white teeth and a barely perceptible inclination of the head was Desdemona's only reaction to the pale man who emerged out of the ring of standing stones. Though lightly armoured and unarmed, she did not underestimate the stout figure's prowess; for he radiated a sense of serene strength and honed power. She was glad, too, for his adherence to some warrior's code of conduct, as apparent by his initial bow, for it was far too often that she faced uncouth fighters who did not give respect to the immortal dance of blades and bloodshed, examples of whom she had even briefly spotted among the contesters in this of noblest battlegrounds. Eyes alight with the fiery joy of battle, Desdemona cautiously surveyed her first challenger as he initiated their territorial clash. Even as she saw his arm muscles tense and his chest expand from inhalation, her leg muscles tensed and her shoulders hunched in preparation to move away from whatever action he was about to take. At the first sign of forward movement in the grey-eyed man's arm, Desdemona's legs uncoiled like a spring as she pushed off with her left leg, torso curving forwards to propel her body sideways in a counter clockwise curve that would position her away from the man's direct line of site and slightly to his left. The thunderous sound that resulted from the man's apparently magical punch startled her, but she managed to keep the direction of her leap steady as a result of years of training and experience with fighting opponents with esoteric powers. Unfortunately, though she cleared the majority of the projected shock wave, some of the kinetic force slammed into her side as she landed. Instead of attempting to withstand the blow, her body flowed with the force like water, and she pivoted around her right foot. She had not missed her opponent's jump onto one of the standing stones, which was problematic due to her inability to jump as high. the needed to maneuver him off the platform to engage in close-quarters combat. Using the cover of her bent torso to hide her hand movements, Desdemona drew from hidden folds in her trousers two of her poisoned wooden darts. One she threw at her opponent's unarmoured face with her right hand as she came out of her counterclockwise rotation, its velocity bolstered by the momentum of her movement, and the other aimed to intercept him if he leaped towards the next column further away from her. Her right hand fell back down to grasp the grip of her urumi, ready to draw and uncoil it at a moment's notice depending on her foe's next action.

The Extinguisher -> RE: =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (7/9/2012 4:36:38)
I only see it coming for a brief few seconds. Far to late. And then it hits me, and I feel the pain, the agony and my chest is burning with hurt and the agony that will come much later. It feels like my entire life is knocked out of me as it knocks me to the ground and there's so much pain and it makes we want to die. I only close my eyes for a moment. I'm awoken by the voices in my head again. Not the one I put there. The other one, who spoke to me before. Maybe I am crazy? Maybe I'm dead? Slowly my vision and hearing and feeling return to me and I know I'm still alive. I cough, and it hurts, but I'm alive and that means I can still fight and win. I find my opponent turned away from me, holding something in his hand. He probably thinks I'm dead and has moved on. Stupid. Stupid stupid. Listen to what the voice is telling you. “Warrior of Ice, I cannot hold this connection for more than two minutes longer, as I need my magic for the battle. Please, give me your answer. We both need allies, and we could start off now. Respond quickly.” Allies? What does that mean? Didn't the voices say something about an alliance before. It must have. Why though? What does he get out of it? There's no reason to trust someone I've never met, especially not one who needs to kill me. I pick my head up to look around. Who is talking in my head? Wait. The guy I was fighting turned away. Is it because he's fighting someone else now? Has the voice already decided that I was going to help it? That's arrogant. Or incredibly foolish. Or incredibly sexist. I'm not sure. But. But but but, it gave me some time where I wasn't getting killed, which is nice. Maybe I can use this. Just be careful. Don't trust. Never trust. I whisper a few words of confirmation, hoping that the words worked. I keep quiet, and return being in a lot of pain on the ground. Don't call attention. Make sure they don't notice you. I pick myself up, and my chest explodes with hurt. Something's broken, but I need to keep fighting. I can still win this. I'm here You! I told you not to talk. There's no time for you're foolish games. You need to strike hard, while you're aggressor is distracted. Do it The voice in my head is right. To hell with honour. I'll let my battle be fought for me, and I'll strike with the full force of the blizzard. There's so much water in the arena. So much water wanting to be turned into a weapon. Wishing to be solid and ice and snow and create shapes in the universe. I feel the ice and frost. The Frozen Serpent gives me the power to feel it and control it. I will it to behave. I am the goddess of cold and I command it. And then I'm me again, and I'm pain and bruises. I need to work harder. It hurts so much. I force the air around me to freeze, fighting past the pain. And then the snow starts to fall and it's so white and beautiful. And the ice gathers around my terrible fangs. No. Not mine. They aren't mine. I can't think like that. As the ice gathers around the Frozen Serpent’s bite, and force it to kill, and send a shower of snow and ice and hail and sleet towards my opponent. And I cough, and it's death. And the cold is biting at my legs. But I'm still alive.

Geddesmck -> RE: =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (7/9/2012 14:25:45)
They were starting to whisper about him in the border cities of Windagaia. The stories spread were varied, but the few shreds of truth that could be found amongst the fabrications were constant. It was true that he came from within the Wastelands. It was true that he had hunted down and killed dozens of mages, including Gorim Threelung. It was true that he was back again, and searching for his newest quarry: The Spitter. The Spitter attracted just as much muted interest as the Broken Knight. He was a man of uniquely vile magics; it was said that the very spells congealed in his mouth and forced him to spit them rather than recite them, earning him his name. It was also said that he was hiding. No mage, even one as fearsome as the Spitter would choose to face such a creature as the Broken Knight. But when the Spitter watched the door of the crowded tavern crash inward, followed by a monster in blackened steel, he did a foolish thing. He fought. He launched his first spell, feeling the words turn to sludge on his tongue before they even left his mouth, straight at his hunter. The Broken Knight did not pause; he simply grabbed the nearest person, an old man gibbering in fear, to use as a shield. The Spitter’s grotesque sorcery took the poor man in the back. Even the Broken Knight paused in shock at the cries of his unfortunate protector. The sludge that the Spitter had expelled stuck to its victim and was rapidly eating away at his clothing and skin. Old bony fingers clawed at the sludge, only to find themselves rapidly eaten away by the evil magic. The tavern fell silent save for the increasingly incoherent screams of horror and pain bubbling from the remains of the man. The Mage Hunter moved with surprising speed through the stunned tavern, charging through the massed crowd to claim his target. A blade, shining pristine and perfect, sang a note of warning as it leapt from its sheath into the Hunter’s hand. The Spitter tried another spell, one even worse than his first. The blade parted his head from his shoulders, yet was not stained by blood. Aurim’s gaze lingered only briefly on the griffon. The creature was clearly sub-human in intellect, it had somehow managed to antagonise a good half of the competitors collected in the arena, and anything with such pitiable intelligence could not feel true suffering. The girl on the other hand was delicious. He knew that, somehow, his mace had connected with its target before he even turned to look at her. He could feel a wave of pain radiating from her; the majority of it physical, but there was also a hint of the emotional hurt that came when someone knew they were outmatched. He turned to survey the damage he inflicted upon the unlucky girl. Aurim’s ruined vessel of a body was wracked with constant pain on a level that would drive mortal men insane. It had, in fact, driven Aurim himself insane on multiple occasions; but his Lord dragged him back into sanity every time, for only a sane man could experience true suffering. That pain was Aurim’s strength now. He loved his Lord for granting him the suffering, for pain was the currency used to purchase power. And the Scarred Prince had paid deeply. He no longer needed fear injury, for all pain was insignificant against what he constantly endured. He could ignore the irrelevant messages his body sent him about discomfort, pain, heat, irritation or cold. Which is exactly why he grunted in surprise upon seeing snow falling around him. The drop in temperature might have warned him earlier if he’d paid attention, but as things happened, his only indication of what was to come came from the flakes falling around him. The girl was on her feet, ice gathering around the already fearsome fangs upon her gauntlet and making them all the more threatening. Prince Aurim, called the Broken Knight and the Mage Hunter by some, cut the threads holding the Spitter’s mouth closed. A stream of vile, bubbling, corrosive filth spewed from the once-mage’s maw. Even as Aurim let the head, now freed of both its magic and its trapped soul, drop to the graveyard’s floor he felt the first impact of ice hit him squarely in his armoured face. The barrage didn’t let up and the armoured figure found himself pushed back from his opponent, even feeling a few slivers of dagger-like ice find gaps in his armour. He acknowledged the pain with a twitch of his lip. The attack seemed little more than a distraction; annoying but in no way likely to actually disable the Prince. Aurim felt himself smiling again, assured in his knowledge that he was by far the superior combatant. Until he felt the ice forming around the joints of his armour.

Tdub -> RE: =EC= 2012 Fountain Arena (7/9/2012 20:48:55)
The human had set his hands on fire. That much was obvious. He had spoken, but the words had not registered with Talon, as he was receiving confirmation of his alliance with the Ice woman. He had also heard signs of pain, though, so he was not sure he had made the right choice. Gathering up his strength, Talon prepared for his attack on the hatchling. But then he stopped. Something wasn't right. Looking over, he couldn't see the chains of light where they should have been. Have they been destroyed? Or drawn back? Talon suddenly got his answer in the form of footsteps, very faint, behind him. I have the mind of a rabbit! I turned my back to an enemy! The thoughts could not be continued, however, as instinct kicked in. Automatically expecting an attack, Talon leaped into the air, spreading his wings. Stop! STOP! You can't fly! Talon's mind screamed at his body. But his wings didn't listen. Talon felt pain. Not just the strain of gravity on cursed wings, but real pain in his left hind leg. Talon didn't have time to think about it, because the wings were realizing that they were not flying, but falling. And falling hard. There was no warning, other than the sudden loss of control. Talon tilted and flipped and landed hard on the ground. He didn't get up. Augh! That hurts. I bruised my right front shoulder for sure. I'm going to try and get up. Front talons first, now the back..... AUGH! The last cry of pain was audible. It had hurt more than the time he had nearly lost a claw in the Ogre-Griffin wars. Looking back, he saw a huge amount of blood seeping from a gaping wound in his leg. He looked forward again, sickened by the sight, and saw that the skeleton-man's retreating armor had a tail that he could evidently control. On the tail was a coating of blood. His blood. Talon grimaced, and withdrew most of his healing herbs from his pouch, leaving only a few. Heal-weed. That's what they were called. Very rare in his part of the forest. It had been a parting gift from his father, who wanted to help him win in some way. The herbs did their job. He felt a relief of pain. He winced as he was standing up. The leg wasn't better yet. I can stand, and maybe walk slowly. But there won't be any running going on, and certainly no flying. There hasn't been flying in three years. It looks like I'm going to be fighting the rest of this battle stationary. Now, about my foes... What am I feeling? Talon once again glanced at his leg, and uttered the griffin equivalent of a gasp. Blood was still gushing from the wound. He would bleed to unconsciousness before the herb closed the wound. He saw the girl he was allied with on the ground, after launching a particularly heavy attack on the man who had attacked her. He whispered. "I know you are in pain. I am in pain as well. I am floating some healing herbs towards you. They will take away some of the pain. In return, I would like you to seal my wound with ice. I know that's a big favor, but I cannot help you any more without it. I understand if you are unable to do it, as I know not your abilities. I trust you to do the best thing." Talon floated the last of the heal-weed and deposited them near her head. Talon then refocused upon the cowardly skeleton man. His pain turned into hate. His hate turned into anger. His anger turned into rage. How dare this impudent fool attack him! And talon wasn't even his main target! Apparently, Talon rated just below a HATCHLING on a threat level! Well, Talon was going to show him just how much of a threat he could be. Talon quickly whispered to his icy ally. "I'm going to have to break the connection now. No time to explain." Talon focused all of his remaining mana. The mana from the connection was added to the pool of pure energy deep inside of him. It was Wind. It was power. It was magic. It was the Force of the Maelstrom. With a griffin war cry, Talon unleashed his most powerful spell. The Maelstrom exploded outward, focusing mainly on the Light skeleton man. Raging winds would hit him, and, to a lesser extent, the hatchling. Everyone else would only feel a slight breeze. Talon stumbled around, wincing at the pain coming from his leg. He couldn't think straight. His magic pool was empty. He wouldn't be using any spells for a while. Dizzy, the griffin was a target for any who might attack. As Talon was stumbling around the arena, he caught a small glimpse of the skeleton man flying through the air. He didn't see what happened to the hatchling. The only thing he got was the satisfaction of knowing his attack had worked, before everything became blurry again.

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