RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (Full Version)

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Riprose123 -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/8/2013 18:10:35)

Jackal rowled in surprise as Rolek charged him, growling deep in his throat as years of training took over. He advanced forward, his spear turning into two long swords, as he moved to the side, slicing at the man's side. He growled as he did, wondering what this ruffian thug meant about honor and dying at his hands. He meant to go on the defensive, letting one blade return to it's ring and using the other to counter and parry whatever the man threw at him. He planned to slip into an old style of his people, closing himself in a small bubble of defensive swings, blocking attack after attack, maybe even countering a little, but meaning to tire the man or wait until he got bored. With his other hand, he pulled the cripple to her feet, growling, "Go," before turning back to the man.

"You talk of dying, human, when in truth it is your blood that will spill if you persist," he growled the words, baring teeth as he went about his swordplay, "I meant no harm to her, nor you, old man. But let it be known, I am a wolvenier! Bred and raised to kill and defend!"

He added an emphasis to the last sentence with a roar, deep from within his throat, still meaning to defend and tire his opponent.



Starstruck -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/8/2013 18:19:43)

The shadows closed in as the eyes in the tree watched the chaos begin down below. The contestants were beginning to cluster...this was a remarkably unpleasant development.

One stood by the Fountain, alone. She could conceivably attack, but the fog was in the way. Kainoiay had very special and very particular reasons for not wanting to be in the fog, all of which ended in untimely ruination, and as it spread to her location, she teleported from tree to tree until pressed almost to the very edge of the arena. Her chest heaved. A fire had started somewhere, and the smoke began to outpace the fog. The light of the fire and the fog burned her senses, and as the smoke entered her lungs, she began to cough. Tendrils of blackness entered the edges of her mind. This was not a place for- ...not a place for a kind young shopkeeper with her whole life ahead of her.

Coughing, black liquid seeping from her mouth, hair disheveled, face soot-blackened; that was how they found her, dizzy and unconscious just outside the Fountain gates. Nobody had watched her crawl there, but there were deep, jagged gashes torn into the ground leading up to her location and a trail of blood.


What faint sounds, none of it in any language anyone knew.
Next year, next year, then I will kill them all.
Was that a small smile on her lips as she was carried away, gray as death and barely living?
I cannot be held away forever.
Perhaps.



Antithesis -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/8/2013 18:42:32)

Rolek slows his pace momentarily before coming to a halt, staring, just slightly shorter than his target.

"You mean to tell me you were not going to slaughter this girl?"

Rolek slits his eyes and raises his lower lip just a bit, as if disappointed.

"And you do not wish to fight? Tell me, dog..."

He's not some dog. I can sense it in his stance, the way he's glancing at neither my eyes nor my weapon directly. He's got spirit...

"No. Tell you what. I will save you for last. I like you. You didn't jump up like a fool and fall victim to my slaughter. Your self control is... impressive."

He rubs his nose, still mildly disappointed.

"You know eventually I'm going to have to kill you, yet you tell me that you mean me no harm." A gruff chuckle escapes his lips as his expression turns into a cocky grin. "Fine! I propose that you fight alongside me until it comes down to just you and myself! The girl... I cannot guarantee her safety. Nor will I care for it. While I won't tolerate sneak attacks, her life is none of my concern. You, however, must survive, so that you and I may fight to the death! To decide a victor in these preliminary rounds! Understood... wolvenier? I propose a temporary... ceasefire."

Rolek smiles at himself, pleased at how this turned out. A brother in battle, even if temporary, is the greatest friendship one can have. This wolf... Wolvenier, as he called himself, will serve as an invaluable ally.



unknown2215 -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/8/2013 18:56:21)

The Death Knight managed to drop to the ground quickly enough to just avoid getting skewered by his arrows. Zephyr frowned, he would almost certainly try to close the distance as things were right now. Zephyr narrowed his eyes as the Death Knight kicked off the stone floor, tumbling forward and back to his feet. That couldn't have been easy, Zephyr knew, he had worn plated armor before in the past, such a maneuver was not as simple as it looked.

The Death Knight was sprinting towards him now, Zephyr immediately took aim at the Death Knight's torso as bolts of dark energy raced from the younger man's fingertips towards his dropped sword. Zephyr made a noise of discontent and quickly activated the secondary enchantment on his bow, giving it the ability to absorb wind in order to further boost it's original enchantment.

As the Death Knight planted his feet and began to sweep his arm forward, Zephyr applied Wind Armor to his bow, allowing the weapon to quickly drain the wind from his applied spell. The peculiar blade of the Death Knight was released at the peak of the arm's sweep, dark bolts of darkness repelling the sword towards him. At the same moment, Zephyr released the arrow, boosted by the two enchantments of his bow, it would pierce through the Death Knight with ease.

Immediately afterwards, Zephyr used his left arm to place the bow back onto his back, allowing his right arm to move forward as if to ward off the incoming blade. As the blade was merely a few feet away from his arm, a plain round shield appeared in it's way, deflecting the thrown sword. Zephyr was forced to take a step back from the force of the deflected strike.

With his bow left on his back, Zephyr let the shield arm fall to his side as he stood and waited for his opponent's next move.



Eukara Vox -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/8/2013 20:04:24)

Snjór watched the him flail and begin to fall. Something seemed off about him. The sense of incompletion bothered her, but she had no time to dwell on that. He had regained enough control to leap onto a neighbouring branch. When he turned he addressed her, she stiffened, her eyes wide and searching.

When he jumped back and threw blades at her, she leapt to the side, for another branch. Her body twisted, contorting to avoid the oncoming blades. Feline agility and flexibility aside, there was no way to avoid at least one of the blades finding her flesh. She growled as her hands found the branch and began the task of bring her body to a sitting position. There was pain and she quickly took measurement of where the pain was.

Her right arm was bloodied about 3 inches below her shoulder. One of the blades had sliced into her arm. The cut was well made, and she tested her maneuverability. It hurt like hell to move it, but she could move it. A throbbing ache caught her attention on her left leg. Again, her white fur was dyed red with blood. She found a gash in her left leg, midthigh.

"Damn it..." She had forgotten to cast Protect. She had let the thrill of the chase cloud her mind enough to forget a vital part of herself. Cold as hate, hard as might. Ice come hither, protect my hide. A cold mist surrounded Snjór, then clung to her body, settling into her fur. The once fluffed fur seemed to lay down and stiffen, glistening in the light. How could I forget. And now I am hurt. DAMN IT. The growl that punctuated her thoughts echoed throughout the layer.

The armour's bitter cold did help with her injuries. The cold numbed the pain, which would help her keep her mind off the bloodied gashes in her flesh.

Snjór's entire body shivered as muscle readied for movement. She launched herself at the man, midair pulling the daggers from her back, and landed on the edge of the branch he stood on. "We Kaltköttur do appreciate a game or two..." She smiled. "Cover Mine, Guardian Ice." She cast Freeze over her adversary, hoping luck sided with her and he froze in his tracks, or was slowed. Either way, a coating of ice, no matter the thickness, would help her. And perhaps help her understand why she thought he was incomplete...



Kellehendros -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/8/2013 20:51:08)

Tharala waited by the fountain, her back to the tree. She could hear the sounds of combat rising from the outer zones as the other entrants met and engaged one another. Yet, she remained, hesitant and uncertain. It had taken her so long to get here, but now that she was here, what should she do? She shifted from one taloned foot to the other, her wings flexing in an unconscious gesture of nervousness. Tharala was aware of the fact that she could hardly expect to advance if she did not fight, and yet, to fight she would have to abandon her chosen position and move into the darker, tangled ways of the outer zones. The notion was hardly appealing to her.

Still, a skyfisher knew what it was to take chances, and you could hardly hunt by sitting at home, right? Tharala resolved herself, squaring her shoulders and folding her wings back behind her. Right then, she would find an opponent. That thought was quickly banished by a whistling noise, and a whip-crack of sound as something hammered into the tree at her side. Tharala's wings flared open instinctively as she crouched, readying for the strong downbeat that, along with a leap, would carry her skyward to safety.

No, no, no, no no!

Her spear clattered to the ground, and Tharala's hands shot out, gripping the edge of the fountain with desperate intensity. She would not fly! She had given her word, and doing so would cause her to be disqualified immediately. She battled with herself, slowing relaxing her tense muscles, her wings folding back slowly behind her. Tharala panted, reaching down and seeking out the haft of her spear with her hand, locating it amid the mists seeping across the Arena floor. Taking a deep breath, the skyfisher rose gracefully, glancing at the tree.

The old tree was scarred from whatever had impacted it. It appeared as if a great, blunt wedge had been hammered against the tree's trunk, like an old and notched splitting maul. She turned slowly, looking back along the path the blow would have traveled, and gazed into the trees of the second zone. A fire was spreading amongst the trees, burning off the mist and replacing it with a choking haze of ash and smoke. Tharala swallowed nervously. She did not want to go in there.

But Snjor is in there... The thought sent a little shiver through her, her wings quivering from the movement. Snjor was in there... What if she was fighting? Tharala's golden eyes widened, and she cursed herself. Her friend was in there, what if Snjor needed her help? Sure, Tharala was ground-bound, unable to move in the ways that she was accustomed to, and the uneven ground of the tangle would be unmerciful on her stumbling, clumsy feet, but was that an excuse to hang back? What if Snjor was hurt?

Tharala shook her head, steeling her resolve. She would go down. Surely Snjor was there somewhere, and- Yes! That growl, that was her! The skyfisher rocked forwards moving faster than before, walking warily across the fountain zone, and stepping down into the trees of the second zone, spear before her. Her eyes darted amongst the trees, watching, searching. She would find Snjor. Tharala brushed aside the detached part of her that whispered that Snjor might not have come to the same conclusion, that Snjor might not see her as a friend as Tharala saw her. No. She felt a kinship to Snjor, a connection. Snjor would understand.



nield -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/8/2013 23:01:01)

Matthew felt the cold setting in, as his body slowly began to frost over and hinder his movements. His mind quickly raced, examining possible scenarios. I could probably Let it Blow to remove this frosting, but that brings its own risks... No way of telling how long I'd have to go, and last thing I need is to drop into the Stupor... No, best to just run with... ohey, I can see my arm! He raised his left arm, and admired the thin line of frosting that belied its presence. "Well well well, aren't you full of surprises, Kitty. It's been a long time since I've seen this arm." and then, with nary a warning, he slashed at her with it, the claws on the end raking the air slower than normal, due to the fact that his whole body was slowed, and then he leapt backwards, reaching out his right arm, firing the claws from the Devil's Fee behind him, and using them to reel him to a tree much further away.



Eukara Vox -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/9/2013 12:05:36)

"What the...?" Snjór said when she saw the emergence of an arm where there had been none. Now she understood why she had felt that this competitor was incomplete. Furrowing her brow, she recognised that this would make things hard if she couldn't see this arm. At least she knew that Freeze would reveal it.

She was thankful for casting Freeze. His attack was slowed, giving her an opportunity to examine any weapons or attacks he had in his arsenal. His left arm, from the elbow down, had previously been invisible. But now, lightly coated with frost, she could see it was still there, with a hand ending in claws. Snjór stepped back and watched the claw swipe inches from her stomach. Phantasmic or not, they were deadly.

The spell allowed her time to look at the other arm. It was fully visible, but there was something different about the clawed hand. Three sharpened claws, not natural by any means, rested where the middle three fingers should have been. Each looked independent of the others. That wasn’t something she wanted to be in the path of. The other digits were clawed as well, but seemed to be his original digits. It didn’t matter how slow it moved, it was a terrifying object. She had never seen anything like it. This man was a dangerous adversary, and she had actually chosen, Chosen!, to pursue him.

It was when he reached backwards with this hand that her curiosity was peaked. She was in front of him, yet he was going the wrong way! Her ears flattened when the claw released and he retreated to a tree further away where it had anchored firmly into the tree’s bark. Snjór didn't like this aspect of his arsenal. That definitely put her in danger. If he were to use that on her, it would leave her in an incredible amount of pain, if her armour was active. If not... it would probably kill her. She kept a mental note to not allow her armour to dissipate, no matter what. She had to keep a close eye on his hands.

"Do all of your... people retreat so readily?" Her ears are still flat against her head, wary.

Moving closer to the watcher, Snjór evaluated his surroundings. She looked at all the branches, planning out her path. Just avoid the claw, Snjór, and we will survive this. She had armour, but would rather not be hit by that weapon. The option before her was one of speed, especially while he continued to shake off the effect of Freeze. Path set, she spoke the words she needed to enhance her speed.

"Blink of an eye, be my drive."

She pushed off, sprinting across her branch. The speed increased the more she ran, taking her past her physical limits. Leaping across to the tree he was on, Snjór drew her dagger with the rasp of metal on leather into a backhanded grip. The route that she had foreseen was laid out before her. She scaled a branch to his left, sprang forward then crossed to his right. Marking his side, Snjór sped by him, throwing her arm in a quick arc to tear clean through the soft flesh. Spinning away from him, in an attempt to avoid any retaliation, she distanced herself as the spell began to wear off. The heady sensation of speed dropped quickly as she cleared to the opposite side of the tree and she dug her claws deep into the wood. Coming to a halt amidst shredded bark and a soft shower of fresh sawdust, she whipped herself back about towards this ever so dangerous man. Not only was she curious of the damage she had inflicted, but she had resolved not to be caught off-guard by his tricks.



nield -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/9/2013 12:30:26)

Matthew tried to keep track of Snjór's movements, but found things harder to do with his body slowed. And then, he saw her going faster, faster faster. she came at him, and he slashed out at her, but she was already gone, and then he felt sharp, searing pain in his right arm, and gasped. He fell to his knee, his left arm clutching his right, claws digging slightly into the flesh, as the arm flopped about uselessly. "Well well, Kitty,' he said, his voice ranging into Alto. "You nearly cut my arm clean off... but luckily for me, all I have to do is Let it Blow." As he spoke it's name, thus did the ability kick in. The airflow whipped around and buffeted the trees, as Matthew stood upright once more. in just a few seconds, all the frost from Snjór's Freeze spell was gone, and the wound on his arm was rapidly closing, as he began laughing to himself. It didn't take too long, before he stopped the spell, as he could feel himself already starting to get dizzy from the effects. Still laughing, he flicked his hair with his right hand, and with just that one tell, he shot his hand around, ripping the claws from the bark of the branch below him, and whipping the claws around to go flying at Snjór.



Kellehendros -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/9/2013 20:30:58)

Tharala moved, slipping into the forested area of the second zone, picking her way carefully along. Her taloned feet were not designed for walking at the best of times, this, at any other time, would have been something out of a nightmare. Why was the ground so uneven? Why did the tree roots have to creep and arch and reach as if trying deliberately to trip her? The rolling carpet of mist spreading from the fountain was hardly helpful in that regard, nor was the increasing cloud of ash and soot being generated by the fire eating its way through part of the Arena with a hungry chewing noise. She hobbled forward gamely, doing her best to put each foot down carefully, and after barking her shin on an extended root, lifting them with equal care.

She was certain that she was making an infernal racket, blundering along through the unfamiliar forest, wings curled tightly against her back to prevent them from being snagged by bush or branch or undergrowth. Still, there were little patches of open space here and there amongst the trees, with sunlight spearing down hearteningly to caress her plumage and play over her wings. Maybe she was making a great deal more noise than any ground-walker might, but from the sound of what was happening in the treetops above her, Snjor and her adversary were too wrapped up in their own battle to take much notice of Tharala.

The skyfisher hoped that was true, her keen, golden eyes catching sight of Snjor blurring through the trees. She was nearly a white blur, hard to keep track of as she bounded and leapt through the trees in a manner that Tharala could only envy. With her taloned feet, she could probably climb one of the Arena's trees, easily in fact, but she certainly could not do it gracefully, and she knew that she could not match the easy, flowing way in which the feline moved from branch to branch, poised and steady.

Tharala's gaze twitched to the man Snjor was engaged with. She had seen him fly through the trees briefly, and his method of movement puzzled her. It was almost as if he was flying, but she knew that could not be the case, as she herself was not allowed to fly. Yet, if he was not flying, how had he managed to move in such a straight path so quickly? The odd man was speaking to Snjor, saying something, and then a blast of wind skirled off his body, rustling the leaves of the trees about him wildly and sending white frost flakes scattering. Tharala rubbed at one eye for a moment, staring up at the man. His arm, it was gone! Only a moment ago there had been a frost-rimed limb attached there, but now, it was... invisible?

It didn't matter, the man was still talking, laughing, aiming his other arm at Snjor. A surge of protective fury welled through Tharala. He was trying to hurt her friend! She couldn't reach him, even with her long hunting spear, he was too high off the ground. Still, that did not mean he was out of reach. Climbing would take Tharala time, and even if she could reach the tree tops, she was not at all certain of her ability to fight there.

No, since she could not go to him, she would simply have to bring him to her.

The spear she leaned against a tree, and her hands dropped to her belt, unhooking the net tied there. Luckily, she was in a relatively clear space, and judged she would have enough room to work with. Grasping the net with one hand, and the retrieval line with the other, Tharala began to spin. Once, twice, thrice, she turned; her wings flaring out as she maneuvered through quick, graceful pirouettes, aiding her in focusing her balance and magnifying her momentum until she released with a soft grunt of effort. The net rose, spinning and unfurling as it sailed towards Snjor's attacked from below, a surprising reversal of Tharala's general hunting tactics of striking from above. The spin caused the net to open fully just at the peak of its arc, and then the strands, woven through with barbs and weights, would descend and hopefully ensnare the man. Once he was trapped in the net's folds, it should be a simple matter for Tharala to yank him down out of the trees to the ground, where she could deal with him more effectively.



Eukara Vox -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/10/2013 0:09:25)

Snjór watched him clutch his arm, disappointed that the slash didn't damage his side as she had aimed, but a hit was a hit. As he spoke, she narrowed her eyes and flattened her ears. She knew sarcasm well, and knew when someone was patronising her.

As the spell was uttered and the wind picked up, she growled and stepped back to see more of the playing field. The wind pushed then pulled, threatening to topple her right over the side of the branch. Her tail worked hard, moving, bending, to keep Snjór on her feet. This annoyed her greatly. There was nothing a Kaltköttur hated more than to have his or her fur ruffled by the wind. It was invasive, annoying, and just plain inappropriate. Only ONE person is allowed to even get close to messing with my fur...

Her heart sunk when she saw him heal as the wind whipped around. But... but surely no one can heal that fast, even with a spell! None of the OldSpells had ever been able to show me anything that strong. If he can heal so easily, how am I supposed to come out of this alive?! The wind spell soon died down, but she had scarcely a heartbeat of pause before her opponent sent the unnatural claws barrelling back after her.

Leaping to the side in order to dodge the claws, Snjór targeted a branch below and to the left of her current position. As she descended, she caught a flash of colour in the wooded shadows. Snjór landed hard, pulling her body under her and wrapping the tail around the branch in order to steady herself. Pupils widening slightly, she peered down, concentrating on the colours.

The colours resolved into the shape of her friend. Tharala... Her eyes flicked back up at her enemy in sudden concern, had he even noticed her friend? Had she unknowingly given her away? Resolving herself not to regard her feathered friend, she adjusted her perch on the branch while assuming a warily defensive stance. It was a rather pleasant surprise when, soon after, she noticed something arcing through the air.

She blinked as the object soared up towards her enemy and opened, unfurling a net. She grinned, appreciative of such an instrument. Shaking her head, she schooled her expression. As proud of Tharala as she was, Snjór needed to make sure she didn’t jeopardise the aide by sitting there like a lump on a log. Ready, Snjór watched to see just how effective the net would be, and where this man would end up.



nield -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/10/2013 23:25:43)

Having missed his target, Matthew pulled the claws back to him, and they fell back into place on the gauntlet with a small shink. He noticed that Snjór seemed to be distracted by something, but before he could figure out what it was, a net opened up and enveloped him. "Gah, what? Does a new player enter the game? Oh yes, oh yes, this will be fun! This will be- muh?" his voice had become a sing-song messo-soprano, and he had begun hacking at the net as he heard a cracking underneath him. Matthew's earlier retrieval method of the claws from the Devil's Fee had severely undermined the structure of the branch he was standing on, such that it had barely been supporting his weight. With the extra weight the net had brought, it was now fully incapable of holding him up, and had snapped under the pressure.

Matthew furiously hacked away at the net as he fell, ignoring where barbs cut into skin, for he knew if he landed on the ground while still enveloped, the various barbs would likely tear him to shreds completely. He managed to get out just before he landed, and ungracefully rolled away, clutching at his side in pain. "L....Let it... Let it blow..." he choked out, and winds picked up again, blowing on him, and several ribs popped back into place with sickening cracks. Matthew was forced to call off the spell before it had healed him fully though, as he as getting dizzy and losing focus, a sign that the Stupor was coming upon him. He stood up fully, his sides still in pain, and assessed the newcomer. "Well well. First we had the Kitty, and now we have a Birdy too... and you're both playing against little old me?" he grinned, and his voice changed to a tenor, "Oh yes, this WILL be fun..."



Necro-Knight -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/11/2013 11:56:54)

Rowan curled his lips in frustration and a little impatience. He enjoyed the feeling of combat, the rush of it, the sounds and feel of metal clashing against metal. This Archer was simply using his arrows, as Rowan should have expected, but still. He was becoming more of a waste of valuable energy then an opponent. Another arrow sped his way as he released his sword, and he wasn't going to run this time… No, this time he was going to show this Archer his power. Draining a healthy amount, yet not all, of his mana, Rowan raised his palms and what appeared to be a crescent of violet/black fire erupted in front of the Knight, yet it was truly a curved wall of shadows that were moving at such a rapid speed that they appeared as flames. The violet glowed brightly and the black seemed to strengthen the shadows in the surrounding area as the simple force whipped the Knight’s onyx-colored hair.

As the arrow met the barrier of darkness, the flowing shadows would act like a grinder and dissolve the threat with simple raw friction. Most people only saw shadows as a form of energy that could be manipulated, but Rowan knew that it was also a physical magic. Solidified shadows could form the most brutal armor or claws, or in this case… a torrent of hardened particles. With the arrow easily dealt with, it was Rowan’s turn to end this.

While this spell was initially taught to be simply dispersed once the threat was avoided, the young Necro-Knight had other plans… His arms already outstretched, Rowan’s gloved fingers slowly curled over into a clawed position as he gritted his teeth. The “flames” of shadow then began to answer their master’s unspoken command and congregate into Rowan’s clawed hands. Instead of wasting the shadows and being forced to use more mana to create a new offensive attack, Rowan simply used the darkness he’d already summoned. His arm’s shook with effort and even though the process had only taken a few moments, Rowan felt like it had taken hours. Violet bolts snaked from the condensed energy in his grip, licking at the ground and stone, seeking freedom from the caster who held them captive, and as he looked the Archer square in the eyes… Rowan complied. His voice rises into a roar of effort and fury as he releases the explosive, condensed darkness from his grip, the heads of the bolts forming into a pair of grinning skulls that almost seemed to laugh as they raced to deliver the Archer to his doom. Being the same, solidified darkness he’d used to shield himself, yet condensed into a volatile form, the bolts would either shred or simply detonate upon impact with their target.



Eukara Vox -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/12/2013 1:38:59)

Tharala watched as the net arched through the air, and she allowed herself the smallest of smiles, it had the high, sweet arc of a perfect throw. There was a certain inevitability to the net’s descent, and she knew that it would ensnare the odd man who was Snjor’s opponent. Once he was folded within the net, she would tug back on the retrieval rope, and haul him down to the ground like an oversized waterfowl.

She never got the chance. There was a high, sharp crack, and the branch the man was perched upon splintered and broke, dropping man and net to the ground. Tharala reacted instinctively, twisting at the hips and taking a hopping step back, laying her weight against the retrieval rope and pulling. She intended to set the net’s hooks and barbs into the man, fouling him as he thrashed and hacked at the net, only to watch in shock as the man simply rolled out of the net. Sure, he had left some skin behind, and he looked scratched and bloodied, but still, he had escaped!



Breathing a sigh of relief as the claws missed her, though not by much, she paused to watch the effects of the net on her enemy. She allowed herself a smile of satisfaction, seeing the net surround him on the branch, and imagined how awkward he would move now, if at all. No longer needing the daggers, she slipped them back into their sheaths on her back. The slight victory was short-lived as the branch above her began to splinter. Eyes searching for the cause, she zeroed in on the weakened spot where the claws had originally sunk into the tree on his retreat.

In danger of being caught under the falling branch, Snjór began to zigzag down and away from her position using the current and neighbouring tree as a staircase of sorts. She had to stretch her body to its limits a couple of times in order to bridge the gap between branches. Going down was usually fun, but not when your life depended on it. Snjór barely stayed ahead of the falling debris and leapt towards Tharala, landing hard on all fours, her back legs skittering across the wooded floor. Pulling up to her full height, she wiped her hands on her hips and looked at her friend, heart racing.



Tharala dropped the net’s retrieval rope. It was not something she was pleased to do, but the net would be more or less useless without a long period of folding and adjustment to get the net ready to toss again. Her hand darted out, grasping her spear as Snjor rolled towards her. The skyfisher’s wings flared open reflexively, making Tharala look larger. Her heart thundered in her throat. This was it, this was the moment where she would discover if she and Snjor understood each other, if they were friends.

“Tharala! You are okay!? Thanks be to my Guardian.” She flashed a smile, then looked at the her opponent who was rolling away from the net. He looked terrible but she knew what he could do. “He can heal. Brace yourself for the spell, Tharala. It will cause a wind storm.”

She smiled, a thrill of joy rushing through her. She had been right, Snjor had understood! Tharala blinked, looking back towards the man, and flinching slightly as the wind her feline friend had spoken of manifested. Ripples and rills of wind burst off the man’s body, skirling wildly away and ruffling through the feathers of Tharala’s wings. The skyfisher shifted slightly, dropping her spear into a two-handed grip, her voice tentative. “What... What is wrong with him?” He was speaking like someone sun-touched, weaving from side to side slightly.

Watching him carefully, Snjór looked for any weird reaction that matched what she had seen previously. Growling at the wind, she knew there was nothing that could be done to fix it. She would have to endure her fur’s ruffling for now. “The last time he spun this spell, he looked... wrong.”

“What do we do?” Tharala’s wings shifted, tucking behind her carefully to be protected from any further wind bursts.

“I think we watch. He looked... he looked like his mind was unable to think. Almost, dizzy, too.” She watched him closely. “I am thinking that this spell does something bad, even if it heals him.”

Tharala nodded, and made a short, sweeping gesture with one wing, as if ushering Snjor to one side. “Okay, flank him. If he is off-balance, we should be able to pin him between us easily.” She took her own advice, slowly shifting to the left in an arc, intending to place the man between Snjor and herself, spear at the ready.

Something is... different. Snjór narrowed her eyes, focusing on their opponent. Something wasn’t right. As she moved to compliment Tharala’s position, she spoke, hushed. “Last time he healed completely, but this time the injuries are still there. Not only does he look as if he is having trouble thinking, but he must still deal with half-healed wounds.”

Snjór reached back behind her as the man stood up straight, but she didn’t miss the body language that indicated he was in pain. Pulling her daggers again, she prepared for their attack. His voice grated on her ears. There was something about the way he spoke that was disturbing to her. “Beware, Tharala. One arm is invisible but still ends in deadly claws. The other has a weapon that can penetrate a tree with one shot.”

“Forward!” Tharala gripped her spear in both hands tightly. The detached part of her winced at the fact she was about to use her spear on another person, rather than some animal prey. Still, that was why she was here, and she had to fight. She screamed, a high hawk shrill that was equal parts fear and anger as she launched herself towards the man, extending the spear in a rising thrust aimed at the enemy’s torso, her wings unfurling again in a golden glitter, flexing aggressively.

Ears flattened, Snjór advanced, spinning the dagger in her left hand so that her grip was backhanded. She watched every move, every flick of his eyes. She kept both he and Tharala in the center of her vision. Tharala was advancing fast, which surprised her. No. The avian was brilliant.

Snjór sprung forward opposite of Tharala, daggers at the ready and a prayer to her Guardian in her heart. She sped up, banking on Tharala’s distraction to enable her to stab him on his left side with the forehand dagger. Gripping her weapon tightly, she barreled down on him, her eyes fierce, her pupils wild with the taste of the hunt on her tongue. Desperately wanting to plunge the blade into his gut, her mind blanked into feral desire. As if something snapped inside, she rolled back her need and doesn’t fully commit to the stab, instead sliding just slightly to the left.

Slashing in a wild arc, her blade dangerously close to landing a blow that could disable him indefinitely, she wondered if he would back off or continue in his suicidal need to play his little game. Or, perhaps, merely leave himself open to be skewered by her feathered friend. Snjór pulled her right hand back and closer to her body after her strike, spinning it into the more comfortable backhand grip in case he did intend to defend himself and counter.



nield -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/12/2013 1:59:01)

Matthew's addled mind had trouble deciphering the information his eyes were sending. He managed to snap his attention back, as one hand held his side. Able to understand what was going on again, he realised that the two were coming at him from opposite sides. He grimaced, and threw himself to the side, but he still caught glancing blows from both opponents. Snjor's dagger sliced through the back of his robes and left a thin line that started to very slowly ooze blood after a time, while Tharala's spear cut a gash in Matthew's side. He staggered to his feet, clutching the wound in his side, and slowly began backing away from the two foes.

"I... I can't win here, can I?" he mused to himself. He bit his lip. He was loathe to leave the game, but even he knew playing was pointless if you died. "Well... I'll see you ladies later." with that, he turned on his foot and began hobbling away, throwing a few Air-blades to slice down some of the trees and block them off from himself.

(Edited with permission from Ryu to fix an issue)



unknown2215 -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/12/2013 11:43:34)

Zephyr watched with a curious expression as the Death Knight raised both of his palms. A moment later, a curved construct that seemed to be made of black and violet flames? No, Zephyr observed, it was the same as the shadows that formed the explosive skulls thrown at him earlier. The violet glowed brighter in this spell than the previous ones, the black somehow seemed darker than before. His arrow would not pierce through the magical construct, Zephyr understood, it would be impossible for it to do so.

And so, the Wanderer released his hold on the strap of his shield and let it drop from his hand, only to catch the shield by it's edge. Blocking would serve no purpose if the Death Knight used magic of such high quality against him, it would only blow him backwards or perhaps even be the first thing to damage his conjured shield. His eyes narrowed as the arrow crashed harmlessly against the wall of grinding shadows, the enchanted arrow did not even damage the construct, it truly was a strong spell. Still, using such magic had to be draining, if he could force the Death Knight to waste more against him, he would have a greater chance at victory.

The wall seemed to be returning to it's creator's hands, no it was gathering around the Death Knight's currently clawed hands. Zephyr watched in anticipation of the younger man's actions, such a high amount of condensed energy was volatile, dangerous, the violet bolts snaking out from the shadows served only to highlight his point.

Then, the Death Knight looked him in the eye and roared, twin skulls frozen in a large, mocking grin raced towards him from the Death Knight's hands, taking all the condensed shadows with them. Zephyr stepped into overdrive, kicking off the ground and to the side, dashing to his right at his top speed with his cloak billowing behind him as he ran. A tearing sound was heard as the ends of the cloak was caught by the grinning skulls, not bothering to look behind him and keeping his gaze on the Death Knight, Zephyr threw his shield towards the Death Knight like a disc. The shield was soon followed by a broadsword as Zephyr threw that as well.

Zephyr didn't bother looking to see if his thrown weapons hit their target, it was pointless, something as weak and simple as that would not defeat the Death Knight. Instead, Zephyr continued his dash, running towards the ruined structure he was originally headed to before he was interrupted by the Death Knight's attack. Fighting him head on was not the best choice, Zephyr thought. It would be better to get more distance between him and the Death Knight, make him waste more magical energy on spells trying to attack him.



Riprose123 -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/13/2013 13:26:04)

Jackal eyed the man who had assumed an alliance. He looked middle age, a follower of an alpha at best. His tail wagged behind him gently as he thought of the comfort of having someone to protect his back. The man didn't appear to be that hard to kill, if it came to that or someone didn't do the dirty work for him. Jackal's mangy tail bristled at the thought of combat, the bright red fury he felt every time his blade ended a person's life. Perhaps it was the demon taint in him, perhaps it was the warrior spirit he and his people represented. He absently wondered if the old man might wrestle with him sometime, but instead let the light armor shift to familiar plate, a large rectangular shield forming on his left arm, the black energy tough as steel. He nodded to the man at last, finally saying, "Fine, an alliance, until I have to kill you."

He turned to the woman now, noting her crippled stature. He chuckled at the thought of her in combat, eyeing her up and down, trying to find some style or form she may be able to pull off. Perhaps knives, hidden in her clothing? Perhaps that staff was not all for support. OR maybe she was one of the unarmed fighters, like a half dragon he had met once. Jackal only said, "You are welcome to come with, injured one. I will not strike you."



Necro-Knight -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/13/2013 16:19:08)

He sighed as the violet smoke trailed from his fingers and arms. Again, the Archer’s speed was all that had saved him, but it seemed that he was starting to understand the Necro-Knight’s power. Rowan’s blasts had torn the Archer’s cloak free, but passed his target by and impacted on the far wall, shaking the arena a bit and sending out a teeth-rattling boom. As his hair whipped from the force, Rowan simply grinned as his target fled. He was running for his life, really. He really should follow him, finish what he started, though he was unarmed and the time it’d take for him to retrieve his sword would be too costly.

He couldn't afford to risk anymore offensive spell by this point, though he could… Suddenly, the Knight watched as the Archer whipped his Shield and Sword at him in some vain attempt to either discourage or defeat the Knight. Rowan almost laughed as the archer had solved Rowan’s problem for him. Straightening his fingers from their clawed position, two small bolts of darkness laced forth and caught the weapons mid-flight. Changing the position of the weapons as they flew, Rowan raised his hands over his head, waiting for only a moment. The sword and shield were called right into the Knight’s waiting hands.

The shield wasn't exactly Rowan’s style and the sword didn't hold the familiar feeling his own did, but it still had a sharp edge and the shield would act wonderfully as a bludgeoning weapon. Now armed, Rowan took a deep breath as his form quickly disappeared in a cast of shadows. This shadow-step again as uncomfortable as his one earlier, but the Archer had his back to him when he’d done it and this was a soundless endeavor. Rowan had the upper hand now, even if he was going to lay off the spells to let his mana flow back. While not completely dry, he didn't want to expel anymore then needed by this point.

The Archer was moving incredibly quickly, and Rowan had been forced to focus on the shadow-step a little more intently then he would've before to close the distance, though his enemies’ speed was also going to aid Rowan with his attack… Rowan’s form flares back into view, wearing a mocking grin, as he stood now directly in the Archers path, the very weapons that were meant for his doom now swinging in a ruthless scissor-like attack. Rowan knew an over-head swing would give Zephyr the chance to both dodge left or right, and do so easily at this speed. Instead, he swung his arms at about neck level, inward, closing them in hoping to catch the Archer at the head, neck and shoulders. Not only was this a kill-focused attack, it also left the Archer little room to breathe, Rowan knew. With two weapons coming at him from the sides, and the Necro-Knight himself standing only a few breaths away, the only position was for Zephyr to backpedal, and his current speed would make that difficult… VERY difficult.



Antithesis -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/13/2013 16:20:34)

I'd love to see you try to kill me, pup

Rolek smiles widely and nods his head.

"Then let's go crack some skulls!"

Without another word, he raises both hands and points two loose fingers, his index and middle, toward the wolf. It's a symbol from his village, a lighthearted one meaning both "Hello" and "I'm ready when you are." Obviously, his intent is with the latter.
Rolek laughs as he imagines the dog sleeping peacefully, donning that strange magical armor, on a villager's porch back home. He can't help but miss home. Just a little bit. He misses listening to the legendary tales that starred himself.
The wolf chuckles and Rolek turns his attention back to the wolf, becoming aware again of the crippled woman. In all of the commotion, or lack thereof, she had slipped his mind. He can't help but feel a slight anger within himself, scoffing at how she could enter this competition.

It's... it's an insult. An insult that she, this... WEAK woman, this weak, broken woman would enter with warriors such as the wolf and myself. How dare we be grouped with one so... below us... no. Stop it. She's not below us. Enough of your prejudice, you aged madman. You dishonor yourself with such thoughts.

Rolek feels both pity and irritation with the woman but manages to pull himself together. He's not proud of his prejudice toward the perceived weak, nor does he act upon his thoughts, ever. It's just his own personal and unspoken problem.

Hopefully my expression wasn't noticeable...

Turning his back to the wolf and the woman, he silently begins to walk in the direction he last noticed the two fighting dark soldiers.




He wanted to fight. He needs to fight.



Aurauris -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/13/2013 19:13:30)

Phaera staggered where the Primal had seized the hem of her robes in a giant paw and dragged the crumpled girl to her feet. With a soft thunk the ex-monk planted her staff and regained what little footing she could, a spark of indignation flaring amidst the swelling fear that had swarmed her senses as the wolf stepped effortlessly into her sphere of heightened-altitude. Scars in rows of parallel threes stood out sharply beneath the flush of exertion running along Phaera's throat and collarbones.

Breathe, just breathe, she chided herself over the whistle of shallow, uneasy pants. It's likely h-.. he simply wasn't near for long enough to begin drawing labored breaths. Yet.. if the Primal hailed from lands of higher altitudes and already bore resistance to their oxygen-depleted airs, that was now twice the vulnerability to this enemy—

Phaera blinked as the growled invitation pulled her wandering mind from musings, taking in with hesitation the stark, unexpected contrast between clenched jaw of grey beard and the softly wagging tail and open demeanor of the giant wolf. Jackal, the tousled-blonde woman tentatively reminded herself.

For now... for now she'd trust the increase in safety, however slight, of keeping this one in her line of sight. Despite how much her skin crawled with memories of not-dissimilar claws, she would follow and see if honor might be had amidst a Primal spirit.

Blonde hair tumbled forward to the wolf in a gentle nod of compliance and gratitude, hiding pensive tidepools of ocean blue. And with an uneven, yet steady step, Phaera trundled quietly down the path behind the stoic man, curious gaze brushing Jackal as she passed.



Kellehendros -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/13/2013 23:11:26)

Tharala grimaced slightly, feeling her spear tear a gash across the odd man’s side. It was precisely the same sort of feeling that she had felt so many times before, the sharpened head of the weapon cutting into or across flesh and muscle. Yet, it was entirely different. This was a person. A strange one, a frightening one, but a person nonetheless, not an animal, not prey. Her stomach roiled, but she clamped down on the feeling, twisting to follow the odd man as he rolled upright, her wings curling in distaste. It didn’t matter what she thought. This was why she was here. She had to do this.

Snjór spun counterclockwise, keeping her daggers at the ready in case there was any retaliation. She had felt the give of his flesh beneath the sharpened blade as it sliced through and it had given her a thrill. The fragility of life had always mystified her. Why would the Guardians give such bodies, if they fell so easily? She shivered slightly as the smell of blood tainted the air, filling her nostrils and coating her tongue. The feline side of her relished the metallic tang and smiled as she halted, unscathed, to view the blood stained robe this man wore upon his back. Not only has she landed her attack, but there was a gash torn through his side by the spear that still lay in Tharala’s hands. Both wounds seeped the beautiful red life that spread through the material, weakening him even now.

Snjór watched in dismay as he turned and stepped away, telling them both that he was backing out of their match. Eyes wide, she glanced at Tharala, mystified.

“He’s... He’s just walking away.” Tharala stared, her wings stretching open a little more, surprised.

“But... it’s not finished!” Snjór hissed through bared teeth. “If he thinks he can just walk away after all that he has done...” Her ears flattened almost completely against her head as she watched him cast those infernal air blades at the trees. They fell, leaving a mess and a slight blockade in his wake. Frustrated at the audacity of the opponent, she released a sound that was mix of feline growl and human scream. It pierced the air, echoing through the arena. A mix of anger and battle cry, her body tensed, ready to spring after this coward.

He was just walking away. No, no, she wouldn’t allow that. “Snjor, I am very sorry,” her voice is pitched low, for she knew her friend’s keen hearing would pick up her words, “but I think you should close your eyes now. This is going to be bright and loud.”

Against her own desire and instinct, Snjór paused and did not chase down their enemy as she wanted to. The taste of vengeance that was teasing her tongue turned bitter at the denial of what she wanted. But, if her friend had a plan, she would listen and work with her. “Tap me with your spear when it is safe for me, Tharala.” She closed her eyes, placed her hands over her ears and curled up on her knees.

Tharala folded her wings back carefully, lifting a hand to the leather cap strapped over her head, flipping down the lenses hinged to it so that they covered her golden eyes. The lenses were smoky, a dark glass that was specially treated to protect the skyfisher’s eyes from the rays of the sun as she worked. They cut down on the light, and more importantly, the glare that impeded sight and made finding and stalking prey hard.

Her hand moved purposefully down to her belt, and the series of dull black spheres carefully strapped there. She flipped the holding catch on one of the balls, drawing it from its holder and curling her fingers around it, feeling the metal warm beneath her grasp. Tharala stepped forward, and then spun, an echo of her earlier net toss as her wings flared out, guiding her momentum and balance as she turned a complete circle and hurled. The sphere rose, arcing over the fallen trees and whistling past the retreating man, descending towards the ground.

And then the timer ran out. The sphere detonated, coming apart in a burst of light and disorientating noise. The light speared through the forest, driving out and scattering in a blinding flash that would leave someone staring at it seeing stars, or nothing at all. Tharala winced slightly, as the noise of the detonation made her ears buzz, even at this distance. Nearby the noise would be deafening, leaving an unprepared victim with ringing ears.

Lifting her spear back into both hands, she gently tapped Snjor’s leg with the haft of the weapon. “Hopefully that worked.”

Despite the precautions that Snjór took to protect herself, she knew, had her hands not been covered in the fine velvety fur that they were, her hearing would have been in danger. The sound reverberated through her bones and left a slight echo in her ears. She felt the soft prodding by Tharala and looked up, blinking slightly as the Arena’s light shone down.

“My Guardian... what was that?” She stood slowly, then looked towards the retreating figure. Surely... this would render him helpless, or even better, dead. If he was not dead, she was ready to finish what he started.

“Will that kill him, Tharala?”

“My father...” Tharala paused, swallowing. “My father called them ringers, and no, they won’t kill him. We should catch up.”

“It won’t...” She looked at Tharala. “I am fully capable of finishing him off. I’ve had practice.” She hated how that sounded, but it was the truth. “So, yes, let us catch up and make sure he cannot bother us again.”



nield -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/14/2013 0:45:05)

Whilst hobbling away, Matthew noticed an object fly over his head. On pure instinct alone, he closed his eyes and looked away. the brilliant flash of light pierced through his eyes, which had become several times more sensitive since they became phantasmic. Matthew roared, and clutched at his eyes, though he heard nothing but a slight ringing in his ears. He shakily got to his feet, and vomited, but then he stared down the blockade of trees he had made. "No-one... NO-ONE touched my EYES." he growled. With that, he started throwing air-blades at where he knew Snjor and Tharala to have been. and he kept throwing them. He blanketed the whole area until he ran out of mana, having thrown over a hundred of the blades.



Ryu Viranesh -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/14/2013 16:07:31)

There was a crackling of arcane power that reverberated mightily throughout the reaches of the Fountain Arena. Displeasure resonated from these energies as a swirling vortex formed above Matthew in a kaleidoscope of colors. Within the blink of an eye, Matthew was irrevocably struck by the energies, his effects snuffed and his personage instantaneously transported miles away from the Arena complex and the bustling township of Bren.

The message was clear: invoke the displeasure of the Lords and your presence would not be tolerated further in this competition of valor and favor.



unknown2215 -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/14/2013 18:34:28)

Zephyr could see the ruined structure in front of him, it was going to be just a few more seconds before he reached it. He would get behind the structure and observe for a moment before continuing on towards the second layer of the arena. Better to get into the forest, more obstacles for him to use against the Death Knight. Suddenly, a shadowy form appeared in front of him, the shadows quickly cleared up and revealed the Death Knight's mocking visage.

The Death Knight was wielding his thrown sword and shield, Zephyr had been expecting him to simply ignore the thrown weapons after avoiding them and shooting his exposed back with spells. However, it seemed as if the Death Knight decided to use the projectiles as his own weapons and get within close range with another one of his spells. Zephyr didn't think that the Death Knight had a teleportation spell, at least he knew how the younger man had sneaked up on him earlier when the fight began now.

The Death Knight swung both the sword and shield at neck level in a scissor-like fashion. Time froze in Zephyr's mind, with him running forward at top speed there was no way he would be able to stop himself in time, not with the small amount of distance between him and the Death Knight, he had no choice there was only one direction to go, forward.

Time resumed itself, Zephyr brought both arms and held his fists at chest level as he continued in his run, no signs of hesitation in his body. Simple round shields made of an unknown metal were formed in his hands. The round shield's bottom half was long enough to reach three quarters down his forearm, the top half reached slightly above his head.

The Death Knight had planned to decapitate him while he was running at top speed, using his speed against him. Zephyr would not let that happen, at the last few feet before his head was cut off, Zephyr used a quick and powerful Burst, catapulting him forward, through the incoming swings and crashing straight into the Death Knight. Zephyr jabbed both of his shields forward at the Death Knight's mocking face with all the physical strength granted to him by his heritage and the momentum of his Burst.



Eukara Vox -> RE: =EC 2013= Fountain Arena (7/16/2013 1:10:43)

He isn’t going to get away with just walking away. Not while I am capable... Snjór bounded off towards the hunter after things settled and her ears stopped echoing the blast. “Tharala, he is ripe for the picking. We should take him now while he is shaken!”

Tharala swallowed, nodding and moving forward, albeit, at a slower pace. She heard the man shout something about his eyes, and knew that the ringer had served its purpose well. He was probably staggering around blindly at the moment. She certainly had the first time her father had used one on her. It seemed cruel to others, but her father had demonstrated the effectiveness of the tool to Tharala by setting one off in her room once. He had said the only way she could respect what they could do was by experiencing it directly. It was not pleasant. The sensory overload of the light, and the ringing in her ears, had made her violently ill.

Snjór smiled to herself as her ears picked up his whining, his anger, his feeling of panic. They were glorious sounds. Sounds of weakness... and the indicator that her strike would be true and complete. She needed this to work. She needed him to fall by her blade. Her blood pounded in her ears as she anticipated the kill. Just as she leapt to his back, the air crackled with his magic, and power from somewhere else.

Tharala slogged forward, unable to keep up with her feline friend’s bounding speed on the ground. She was clambering up the barrier of trees when the first attack hammered into them, shaking the downed timbers and branches. The skyfisher squawked in surprise, falling awkwardly and letting out another cry when her wing impacted the trunk of one of the trees at an angle. She rolled, pulling her wings in hard as she struggled up to one knee, and simply gaped at what she saw. The man, and his previously barely visible attacks, each illuminated and subsequently swallowed up by coruscating prismatic lights.

This was... impossible! Snjór whipped her tail around as she contorted her spine to redirect her flight as much as possible to avoid being swallowed up by the act of, what she could only assume was, the Guardians. Reaching out with claws fully extended, she attempted to snag any part of the felled trees that came within reach to further help her forward motion cease. Claws ripped through bark, splinters flew in all directions as she skittered to a stop.

“Snjor are... are you okay?” Tharala levered herself to her aching feet with the aid of her spear. She flexed her wings, wincing at a slight pull from the forward edge of her left wing.

“I... I don’t know what happened. One minute, he was wailing and whining, and getting ready to launch something huge. And then, something entered the arena from above and now, now he is gone!” Snjór growled very audibly. He was supposed to be MINE!

“Well, I don’t see him...” The skyfisher trailed off, faintly relieved. Relief was followed by guilt, and Tharala hammered the emotion down, shoving it away. Her wings rustled, rattling slightly as she gave herself a little shake. She should not be relieved. Yes, she wouldn’t have to kill the odd man, but that was what she was here for, to fight and win. If she could not commit herself to this, then she was wasting everyone at home’s time when she could be looking elsewhere for solutions. “We... I think we have to find someone else to fight...”

Snjór sat cross-legged on the trunk of a fallen tree, her tail wrapped around her waist. “I know. But, I have spent all my time concentrating on the one who watched. Other than the one that started the fire, I don’t know much. And the one that started the fire seemed rather easy to annoy and throw off. Anger is not his friend.”

Tharala looked around swiftly. “Perhaps he would be the one then. If he is so quick to anger, he might make a mistake.” She nodded, hardening her resolve. “Yes, that makes sense.”

“Mmmm, well, this fighter was male, and older. Old enough to have silver in his hair.” Snjór’s tail knocked on the wood under her. “Large... like really large. But, when I cast Whiteout and the arena light diffused through it and brightened, which was not an intended result, he seemed to go crazy and hurled an energy bolt in my direction.”

She placed a hand on her belt gently. “Light...” Tharala glanced up at Snjor, her golden eyes almost sparkling. “I have an idea.”

“Please share, Tharala. I want us to make it out of here alive.” Snjór watched Tharala but kept her ears open in case someone decided to be smart and try something.

“If you could cast that spell again, the one from before, I could use another of the ringers. If the spell magnified the light before...”

“Then, it should do it again!” Smiling, Snjór felt proud of herself. Even though it had been an accident, it was quite useful now.

“Exactly,” she glanced around once more. “Um, is that him, over there?” She pointed towards a large man, spotted through the trees and brush, moving along with... “Oh sweet Lord and Lady of the Light, is that a wolf?”

Snjór’s ears picked up, stiffening at the mention of a wolf. She looked at Tharala, then climbed up one of the branches to get a better view. She growled, but only enough for Tharala to hear her. “Yes. The older fighter is accompanied by a wolf and... a small female. The wolf is sizeable. Three, Tharala?”

Tharala swallowed nervously, but nodded. “If, if we surprise them, we should be okay, right?”

“As long as we are together and have each other’s back, we will be fine. We’ve already stood together as one against a foe, so that proves that we are a great team and will be fine. Those three...” She narrowed her eyes, focusing only on them. “They don’t look like they have fought at all. That could be in our favour! They don’t know unity yet!”

“Alright, can you cast the spell?” She pushed her nervousness away, relegating it to the small, detached space where it could exist, but not matter. Her wings fluttered once, then went still as she took a slow breath.

Snjór climbed down the branch and stood next to Tharala. Nodding, she hugged her friend briefly and then bounded ahead to be closer. She had already cast a couple of times and knew she had to be closer to the new targets for Whiteout. Ice is life, Ice is love. Wrapped in blessing from above. Conceal my form, conceal my heart. And keep my life and death apart. Keeping her eyes on the trio, she watched the fog swirl and roll around and towards the three new targets.

The skyfisher blinked, returning Snjor’s hug reflexively, and then watching as she bounded off. Tharala shook her head and stepped forward more slowly, watching as Snjor worked her magic. Her hand returned to her belt, and then rose after a moment of hesitation. She shifted her spear, tipping the point down and holding it behind the head so it would not scrape against the ground as she moved and spoil her balance. Her hand squeezed tightly, and then once more she spun. Golden wings flared open as she turned, her throat loosing a high, shrill hawk scream as she threw. The cry was designed to draw the attention of the three, even through the fog and mist that was taking form about them. If she could catch all three of them looking up, she would be more successful in her aim. Tharala was confident that their plan would work, but it never hurt to be certain.

That was why she had used two of the ringers. The dark metal spheres hurtled through the air, and burst amongst Snjor’s cloud of light amplifying mist, one after the other, like two gigantic rocks impacting each other.

Snjór watched in anticipation as Tharala hurled two spheres towards the trio and her ever growing ice fog spell. The icy particles would reflect the light at each other, continuous as the fog shifted around the area. She hoped, beyond all measure, that the results of this action would be as interesting and as effective as when she had first entered the arena.

Absentmindedly, Snjór reached down to scratch her left thigh, as an itch had begun to manifest itself. She pulled back almost immediately upon feeling something wet and warm on her fingers. Blood. Although her armour spell had done well to keep her wound numb, the blood had sluggishly seeped into her fur, turning it a dark rust-red colour. Snjór sighed. Later... Reluctantly, she shifted her gaze to their new targets.



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