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Kellehendros -> RE: =EC 2014= Finals Arena (9/24/2014 0:50:25)
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Kriege twisted, and Rowan made the wise decision, letting the blade be twisted out of his grasp. The Vastaa’s right hand lifted, catching the weapon’s hilt as he released the pressure on the blade. The weapon looked comically small in the ice bear’s massive paw, almost as if it was a slender saber instead of a broadsword. Kriege had never had much use for swords. The short stabbing blade was all he had ever relied upon. Claw, fang, and crushing strength had always outclassed any other weapon he had turned his paws to.
He contemplated breaking the blade over his knee, like a piece of dry kindling in winter, but immediately decided against it. The Chosen of Darkness was shouting at Connor about uniting against “the beast,” and the Vastaa would have only a moment to make his move.
Compared to others, Kriege was slow, at times glacial. While he was certainly capable of bursts of speed when the need arose, and could gather a deal of speed on the charge, he would never win a windsprint. Most assumed that the polar behemoth was as slow at thinking as he was at moving, but there was nothing wrong with Kriege’s mind.
Twirling swiftly, the hulking bear hurled Rowan’s blade. The weapon flew from his grasp in a hissing, horizontal arc. Though it scythed through the air, the sword was no threat to the other competitors. In fact, it traveled well over their heads along its way. No, the blade was not aimed at any of the other Chosen, but at one of the features of the Arena itself. The weapon’s arc would carry it across the sands, and directly into the Pillar of Light.
What result this might have, Kriege had no idea, but the conclusion was easy to reach. The knight was Chosen of Darkness, and had, heretofore, demonstrated a power over the shadows. His weapon of choice seemed to enhance, or be enhanced by, that power. Light drove back the darkness; thus, if Rowan wished to retrieve the weapon, Kriege would force the man into the heart of that which was inimical to the existence of the dark.
Smiling his ruined smile, Kriege pivoted back towards the knight, only to be hammered across the side of his face by a mass of icy purple-black shadow. Light exploded across the Vastaa’s vision, and he reeled back a step. The cold meant little, though he felt it; it was the impact that surprised him. A second flash of light seared past his armored form, blearily seen as it swept towards Rowan’s head. The vision was obscured as something clinked and dropped over his eyes.
Snarling, the ice bear reached up, taking hold of the broken faceplate of his helmet. He gave the metal a wrenching twist, tearing it free with a snapping and pinging of links breaking. A swift glance allowed him to take in the positions of both Rowan and Connor. The slender swordswoman was nowhere in sight, and for an instant he thought he saw a flash of light from the Light rodent, but the Vastaa had more pressing issues to deal with. Connor’s arm was moving forward, throwing another of his glass vials.
Kriege swore foully, but the flipping bulb was all that he needed to see. Dropping to all fours again, the armored goliath ran, wide paws hurling gouts of red sand into the air. There was a sharp report, and the ice bear recognized the distinctive sound of the Chosen of Energy’s weapon.
And then the world was washed out in a blaze of viridian light.
For the second time that day, Kriege hit the sand hard, his muscles locking up and seizing reflexively.
He opened his eyes on the tundra. It was an intimately familiar place, a rise not far from the village. At times, he and Shen Lan would go there at night, watching the stars when the sky was clear. Kriege recalled an indian summer, so many years gone. A hot and dry autumn, so unusual for his northern lands, as unusual as the rain that had broken the oppressive heat.
They had fallen asleep on the rise together, sheltering under its lone tree, sleeping after they conceived their son. They had awoken the next morning to the petrichor of tough tundra grasses surging back to life with the benefit of the rain. The Vastaa could almost feel her with him again, and for a moment was overwhelmed with another wave of homesickness. He could almost hear her voice. ”Not yet, love. You have more to do…”
His eyes snapped open. Kriege rumbled, forcing his body up, first to all fours, and then onto his hind legs. Shaking his head with a rattle of chainmail, the ice bear took stock. He could feel flakes of skin peeling off, blood oozing from charred flesh, and muscles aching from abuse. Perhaps it was time to extend an olive branch, not something he made a habit of under normal circumstances.
“Knight,” the Vastaa wheezed, pointing at Connor, “perhaps we could continue after dealing with this one?”
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