=EC 2017= Sky Arena

=EC 2017= Sky Arena (Full Version)

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Starflame13 -> =EC 2017= Sky Arena (7/24/2017 0:01:06)
The brick and mortar that held Bren together felt charged with an arcane power. Every stone, every wall, and even every person was transformed, filled with a wild frenzy of excitement and anticipation. Chaos rained the streets as mages and guards, shopkeepers and innkeepers, armorers and weapon smiths and every other citizen rushed into preparation. The Arena did not awake until it was ready, but once woken, had little patience for waiting. Vendors started calling out as the city gates were flung open, attempting to draw the attention of the hundreds of visitors now streaming into Bren. In between slight pauses for food and refreshment, or to exam this stalls goods or that, the tide of people flowed steadily past the markets and buildings and eventually over a surprisingly sturdy cobbled bridge onto Supplicant's Way. High above them the Arena towered, growing larger and stronger with each passing tournament, ever-watching as potential combatants and spectators alike slowly passed under its shadow towards the barred gates to the complex. There, the crowd parted. Thousands came to watch, dreaming of entering the trials beyond, but only a select few ever had the daring to follow through with such a monumental task lurking ahead. Murmurs filled the air as the stands slowly filled, stories being passed of the years and trials gone by, and questions rising above the clamor. What challenges lay in store for the competitors? Who would be risking life and limb to compete? And which Element, championed by one Paragon alone, would claim victory? The gates to the Arena swung open, and began to answer. Curling and graceful sigils, carved amid designs of clouds, now lead the way. Mages stood all about, equally graceful in their sweeping robes, varying in hue from the gold of the morning sun to the near-black of midnight. The halls here were open to the heavens above, but despite early morning sunshine, a darkness seemed to hover over high the heads of the spectators, who sat here in raised stands and were eagerly awaiting the start of the fight. Always present and always watching, the Sky itself held many secrets, and its arena revealed mysteries as easily as it created them. No doors stood ready to grant access to this arena. Instead, a great gong echoed out, signaling to the mages that it was time to begin. They moved as one, raising their arms and causing the hall in which the challengers stood to glide upwards, higher and higher until, with a shout and gesture from the mages, it came to rest even with the heightened stands of the spectators. Another gong rang out, and arena sprang to life before them. Bright blue skies transitioned to the deep violet of midnight as the floor beneath them started to glow, alternating rings of silver starlight and golden sun. The combatants stood on the outermost ring, but even as it settled into place, the gong rang out once more and the floor divided, pieces splitting away from each other to form a multitude of floating islands, rising and falling until a soft hum from the mages caused the motion to still, leaving the platforms hovering apart from one another. With a deep crunch, the remaining stone walls behind them crumbled, coalescing together until they formed a collection of asteroids and creating a barrier between the combatants and the mages that held them aloft. Slowly, the asteroids began to rotate, orbiting the arena even as the stars and planets orbited far overhead, casting the whole arena in a soft silver light. As the asteroids picked up speed, those within felt a lightness to their steps and a shortness in their breath. A lilting choir of voices, the mages who held the floor aloft, sang brightly across the mini-galaxy. "You stand now in the trial of the Sky's Nebula. Fight or Die, adventurers, but let the Elemental Championships begin!"

Tdub -> RE: =EC 2017= Sky Arena (7/25/2017 10:50:39)
“Nasty little ground-rats. Ain’t no way one’s ‘ere for this.” “Even if there is one, I ain’t bettin’ on it. ‘Ear there’s a full-sized dragon flyin’ in from the west to enter this year.” “Ya say that every year, Tom. Ain’t no dragon enterin’ the Championships. No dragons, no tree-men.” “I keep tellin’ you, that thing’s comin’ one of these years. Looks like a man, ‘cept he’s a tree! I seen 'im!” Grimacing as he put down his cup, Ayiso closed his eyes in a futile attempt to ignore the loud conversation at the table behind him. Crammed into a tiny corner of the overcrowded inn’s dining area, the lonely patron couldn’t help but feel like an arrow hastily shoved into a filled quiver. The small lodge was clearly having its best day of the year, with travelers from all corners of life packed unceremoniously into a space built for perhaps half of its current occupancy, hurried servers and cleaners pushing their way through it all. The sounds of conversation filled any empty space that might have remained, and Ayiso was left wishing for the lifeless landscape of the mountains, the howling of the wind and snow drowning out all other noise. At the very least, the sharp cold of the mountain air would be drastically better than the warm stench of the crowded city. Doing his best to ignore his senses, Ayiso couldn’t help but continue hearing the speculations of the customers behind him, sharing rumors of pirates, knights, and monsters. “I say the competition ain’t up to snuff this year. I oughtta dust off my sword an’ run down to the Arena myself.” “Yeah, you should, Mandel. Mind if I move in with your wife after they carry you out in a box?” Laughter erupted at the crowded table, and a few of the men rose from their chairs, wandering into the crowded room to buy themselves more drinks. “Very funny, Jad. I’ll tell you all what I do know.” Their voices lowered, and Ayiso could hear the squeaks of the chairs as the men at the table leaned in to hear what their friend had to say. “I ‘ear one of them mountain men’s come down, been wanderin’ around the city for days now. Y’know, those tribal types from the Haquer? They say he’s a real loner, keepin’ to ‘imself and all that. Weirdin’ out the locals. I know the Championships take all types, but I ‘ope I never ‘ave to meet one of those folk. Ain’t no way you can live up in those mountains and fit in down ‘ere.” A few murmurs of agreement spread across the table as their friends returned with new mugs. “Well, ‘ere’s to another Championships! Let the blood flow as fast as the drinks!” As the cheers erupted from the table, Ayiso stood, reaching up to put his hood over his head. The room seemed to grow louder as he picked up his staff from its leaning position against the wall, and he began working his way through the bustling dining area. “You leaving, honey?” The soothing voice came as a surprise to Ayiso, as he was used to being completely ignored in the large city. Turning, he saw the woman standing behind the counter holding a mop. She laughed softly at his confused look, and began smoothing her apron out with her hands, continuing to speak. “Yeah, I’m talking to you. You’ve been staying here for days, always been nicer than our regular type. You coming back tonight?” Ayiso stared blankly at the woman, trying to come up with the right words in his head. Mustering a soft smile, he answered in a deep, gentle tone, “I hope so.” The woman smiled, and began half-heartedly moving her mop across the floor behind the bar. “Well, I hope luck brings you back here safely tonight. Be careful in the city today, all sorts of crazies wandering around this time of year. Some folks don’t like having so many different people around.” Ayiso chuckled and reached into his pocket. “Luck won’t have much to do with it. Here, for your kindness.” He held out a small gold coin, stepping closer so that the woman could reach. Taking the coin, the woman examined it, smiling brightly. “Ana!” she spoke with authority, obviously meant for someone to hear. Before Ayiso could point out that there was little chance anyone had heard her over the din of the inn’s movement and conversation, a small girl emerged from the crowd, easily slipping past the larger customers. Looking to be no older than eight or nine, and holding a cleaning rag, she hurried behind the counter. “Take this coin and put it in the jar in the room. Be quick about it!” The girl nodded and scurried off, weaving through the dining area toward the stairs. “Your daughter?” Ayiso inquired, turning to face the woman. “Yes, we live here in one of the spare rooms. It’s small, but it’s home. We take what we can get. Her father left before she got a chance to know him, so you can imagine how difficult it is for us.” Suddenly the room seemed to spin as Ayiso’s mind was pulled elsewhere. It was as if the noises and odors of the inn were whisked away, leaving the hooded man in an empty room, staring at a toddler just out of reach. With brown eyes and skin as dark as his own, the little girl giggled and crawled across the floor. Then she was gone, and the room was again filled with pulsing crowds of excited patrons. “Do you have children?” the woman inquired, stepping back to mop another section of the floor. “A daughter,” Ayiso muttered quietly before his mind could stop him. “I have to go. Thank you.” With that he was gone, pushing through the crowds toward the door. The woman stopped mopping, watching him curiously as he moved away. “Thank you!” she called out after him. He did not hear. I give thanks for the cold that sharpens my mind. I give thanks for the frost that destroys my weakness. I give thanks for the snow that blinds my enemies. I give thanks for the ice that protects my body. I give thanks for the Winter that will never die. Ayiso hadn’t recited the Prayer of the Frost Tribes in many years, but the words still echoed in his mind as the tournament’s mages prepared to raise the stones of Sky. Gripping his staff tightly in his right hand, he kept his eyes shut in an attempt to focus his mind before the fighting began. Yet the words felt hollow, more routine than a heartfelt prayer. Even as his body rose higher and higher on the hovering stone, he struggled to remove his mind from the conversation with the woman at the tavern, and her fatherless daughter. Against his will, his thoughts turned to his own. She’ll be twenty-two now. A leader, if they let her. Chieftess. Strong-willed. Stronger than me. Even though such thoughts were clear distractions from his current situation, Ayiso could not help but feel the all-too-familiar sensation of guilt washing over him. Almost instinctively, he muttered a curse aimed at his younger self, as if the words made up for his foolish, cowardly actions. There’s a time and place for every thought, son. Just remember to think about the time. In spite of his circumstances, Ayiso smiled slightly. Even now, after all he had done, years since he had fled the mountains, his father’s words still guided him. You would have been better at this than I, Father. Clearing his mind, Ayiso removed his hood as the platforms of Sky came to rest. Your first enemy is the land. Know where you are. Where is the snow deep? Where are the stones hiding? Once you know the mountain, it will fight for you. The floating rocks of Sky were unique, to be sure, but not overly demanding. Ayiso knew he would have little difficulty leaping across the stones if he needed. The crisp air was reminiscent of the thin atmosphere at the tops of the mountains, and actually provided Ayiso with a much-appreciated sense of familiarity, if only slightly. Grasping his staff in his right hand, Ayiso shifted his left hand out of his cloak and held it in front of his body. Hesitating for just a moment, he glanced around. Beginning a lyed would attract attention, and would doubtless invite an attack from the assembled crew of hopeful fighters around him. His eyes glanced from person to person, barely registering the types of people assembled around him. Knowing the fighting had to begin one way or another, he decided that he could afford to begin a lyed now and focus on examining his new foes later. Taking a breath, Ayiso began to sing. The chant began softly, verses beginning and ending quickly before lurching into the next. After a few moments, Ayiso’s voice reached speaking volume, and soon after morphed into a loud, fluctuating incantation with a haunting baritone melody. The lyed of Frozen Fortitude was not a soothing song by any means, but it rolled from Ayiso’s lips as though it were a ball of snow pushed down a hill by a child, bouncing and growing. As the song grew louder, the ancient magic began its work. In Ayiso’s previously empty palm now sat a pebble-sized sphere of ice, growing larger every second. As the magic of the song continued to manifest within the singer’s body, Ayiso worked his hand around the ice, growing it until it filled his palm. Taking a breath in lyrics, he focused his mind on the song while training his eyes on the various opponents in the Sky Arena. He would continue to sing and grow the now apple-sized ball of ice as he waited for an opponent bold enough to move against him. From the mountains, to the Sky. I wish I was something to be proud of, Father, but maybe this will suffice.

Ronin Of Dreams -> RE: =EC 2017= Sky Arena (7/26/2017 1:46:24)
“...And should that Knowledge once more roost at home, it won’t just be Man that dies...” The bard’s voice trailed off, having lifted into lyrical tones towards the end of the recitation as Warnings of the Willows came to its foreboding conclusion. The message of the poem eerily scratched at the Willow Man’s mind, sounding sincere despite the art evident within the performance instilled into the piece. It was as if the bard were talking to him, talking about him, and completely disregarding his existence all at once. If only he understood the words! His keen interest, however, was picked up by the practiced performer. “Ah, now. Perhaps we follow that with song, yes? How about you, sir, is there a topic you might be interested in?” Clouded jade eyes stared at the bard as the Willow Man processed the performer’s body language. The sudden directed interest behind the incomprehensible language was fairly clear. His brow knitted for a moment, but his immediate response outstripped his thoughts to the point. “Dimana nyaeta mandala sahiji juara?” Swiftly the Willow Man realized the error and brought a fist to pound his forehead as the words trailed away - they didn’t speak that here! He knew better! More than the bard were staring at him now. Their attentions were unwelcome, but the Willow Man tried again. “...Arena...Champion?” “Ah...our foreign friend here must be from far lands indeed!” The bard’s mellifluous tones quickly recaptured the crowd’s attention from the Willow Man’s gruff, halting speech. “A tale of champions? Oh I have many such son-” But the Willow Man stopped the bard in his tracks, moving his hand forward palm out with a loud grunt and a shaking of his head. He was not after a tale nor a song. So once again he muddled on in his halting, gruff manner. “Arena. Dimana?” Words were a problem. He couldn’t find the right one - talking always frustrated him. It wasn’t that he didn’t know words, he had learned many in the oasis from a myriad of travellers. Body expressions, however, were what he preferred. So he raised the baldrics held in his left hand high and shook them as the word finally came to mind. “Where?” The bard’s eyes glittered. A new tale had just come to his doorstep... If the bard had assumed this tale would be easily chased down and dissected into a wealth of detail, then it appeared to be the Willow Man’s delight to frustrate him at every turn. The Willow Man simply wouldn’t dance to the tune. A casual shrug of the sheathed blades? There was no telling personality to that, while the stalking manner of the Willow Man’s movements as he padded away into the crowds could suggest much… Still, suggestions did not a story make, and not even a single word spared in thanks or farewell! Having turned his performance into a mobile escapade, the bard found the continued lack of engagement by the Willow Man incredibly dull. Doubly so when the Willow Man disappeared briefly inside the complex, for registrations weren’t open to the public. Stories of lone warriors making their way to the Championships were a dime a dozen. Foreigners who didn’t understand the lingua franca were much rarer, but the bard needed ever so much more to spin a tale...and if it took until the combats began, every minstrel, poet, and silver tongue would have the same opportunities! Such a prize could pay off...if only the Willow Man did something interesting. The day proved all but fruitless for the increasingly frustrated bard. A casual repast of roasted scarabs was unique, true, but the Willow Man seemed incredibly aloof. He danced among the crowds with nimble steps, never seeming to have his bare feet stepped on. The movements were mincing, almost bullish, as the Willow Man parted through the densest of crowds without rocking back at step. A far cry from the dancing grace the bard has anticipated from the Willow Man’s simple countenance. Such a thing wasn’t impossible, but the bard was forced to wonder. The interest he had in the Willow Man remained grounded, captivated for reasons the bard could not even begin to guess. Morning skies cleared with the dawning sun to find the Willow Man beneath an elm tree. As far as the bard could tell, the Willow Man hadn’t slept, just sat there leaning. He had kept twitching through the night, scowling every so often at the sounds that had perforated the calm. The bard knew this simply because the same sounds had startled him, having been so intent on staying awake and observing the Willow Man that they came as a surprise even to someone rather familiar with Bren. More startling still was when the Willow Man, after slaking his thirst with water from a creek, looked directly towards the bard. The discretion the performer had undertook in observing the foreign man had been wasted effort - a point that perhaps could build the Willow Man’s mystique within the bard’s future tale. “Pikeun pakalangan.” The Willow Man’s free hand pointed to the bard then dismissively onwards. “Go.” A grimacing scowl, as the Willow Man sought the right words he needed to say to make his intentions clear. “Lead. Show.” The aspiring competitor did not look pleased, and the bard’s nerve left him. Now that the roles had been reversed, the bard’s steps became galvanized by a concern for health and wellbeing. Darting through forest and field back to Bren, the bard tried to dislodge the Willow Man, but when he turned to look back from the safety of packed streets, the Willow Man was right there. Waiting. Looming. Watching. Urging the bard onward with a roll of his shoulder and a wave of his hand. To guide him to where he needed to be. The bard simpered softly, then acquiesced to the demands made evident through the use of body language. Even though the Willow Man seemed small indeed amidst a crowd, his presence seemed wild and startling up close like that. Another tidbit for a later story. Yet the bard was posed with a problem as they made their way to the complex and through the great gates that welcomed all this day. The Willow Man had never given a name, nor any indication of identity. How was the bard supposed to know which of the arenas he was to escort his charge towards? Then, as a crier called forth a list of names for Sky Arena, the bard simply knew. “...Molly Halfcrow! Willow Man! Kana Rain-Caller!...” Even with rigid training to resist shock - the bard did consider himself a professional after all - the escort blanched and suddenly could barely stand. This was a tale that had come to life before his very eyes! Not just a simple poem, either, but the bardic tales of the Willow Man ran to the macabre and vicious. It had been a stretch of whimsy to even share one of the most family-friendly poems of the creature. But here! Now!? The Willow Man’s hand clapped the bard on the shoulder, and the bard could feel the breath upon his neck as the Willow Man leaned in. “Dimana.” There was no translation this time, nor was one needed. Even as the bard wilted to the ground, a single finger atop a tremulous hand pointed to where Sky Arena contestants traditionally gathered. With nary a glance back to his escort, the Willow Man stalked onwards and away. An unkind smirk blossomed across his face as the acrid scent of utter fear rose from the bard who had watched him for so long. ’This...this is a place of power.’ The Willow Man had been moving along the hall, following the gestures of the assembled magi to what only could have been a predetermined position when the thought struck. It came from the depths of his head, beyond the curtain walls of pressure and pain from the headaches of the day before. Traveling through Bren had been an ordeal, almost more difficult than the original trek to arrive there. The gaudy colors, bright and contrasting. The din of the crowd, and the barkers in the streets shouting ever louder in a vain effort to attract customers to their wares. It was like looking out upon the sands during the Shimmer Hour, not quite painful but still settling into the same intense discomfort just behind the eyes. Now added to that came the niggling thought from a voice that sounded...familiar. Oh so familiar. Dancing in his mind. Not that the Willow Man thought in quite those terms. With a shake of his head, the Willow Man padded over to where he was expected to stand. His toes flexed and spread upon the boulder beneath his feet, and he relaxed slightly. Rock was good. Rough and porous, though obviously hewn into shape, the grip was like a firm handshake between his skin and the stone. Others, too, took positions on similar shaped edifices. The entire floor appeared to be an amalgam of similar constructs. The beginnings of a smile began to quirk at the corners of his mouth. Then there was the sound of a gong in the distance, and the smile vanished as abruptly as it had appeared. As the stones flew upwards, rising into positions proper for an arena named “Sky”, and the Willow Man once again regretted not knowing a Word. This...transition? It seemed obvious and expected to the rest, or at the very least a suspected thing. His feet slid wider into a half-crouch, and to quell the unease of his stomach, the Willow Man stared at the stone beneath him. There was a design upon it, some form of divot or channel, too regular to be carved by rainwater and too small to be the result of wind-caught sands. It ran around the entirety of the stone, indeed so regular there must be a purpose. Meanwhile the air grew reedy and thin as they ascended, his breathing becoming noticeable for the sudden difficulty, much like one grew to notice how hard it was to avoid outright panting during the hottest days upon the sands. Another gong and another series of changes were wrought upon Sky Arena. Stone broke apart from stone, the floor separating while the walls crumbled away. There was a wash of fine colors writ across the skies above, around, and to a degree even below while flying boulders tumbled around the arena’s edge. ’Heat haze. Fever-dreams. Mirages. Focus! Paying the bulk of the changes little heed, his eyes darted around. Gauging. Measuring. Calculating, even, as it became clearer that the gathered few were indeed the opposition. Gaps between stones were regular, and what could be considered the center had stones whose top surfaces ran almost at eye level, while the set just in front of him were perhaps his height below him. Even so, the feeling of lightness that had risen within him kept him from ease. The trickster in him grasped two things rather swiftly: The channels were there as grips and handholds. After all the distances would require an amazingly prodigious leap to move upwards in a single bound. That difficulty would be universal should one move to the second platform ring. One would face the threat of assault from above from either rimward or coreward in this offset ringed arrangement. More deadly would be the threat of ranged reprisals...and a quick scan of the other contestants left a frown on the Willow Man’s face. He might well be the most disadvantaged in that case. But there could be a silver lining to that. The Willow Man had long learned from the creatures of the desert various tactics that could prove useful. Such study had broadened the skills honed from his inspections of pictographic scrolls left by travelers at the Willow Oasis - bribes and tribute to forestall the threat of the Willow Man’s mischief. And one such creature came readily to mind. A facet of the Jester Mouse was a tempting meal for the tanduk sholawat sidewinder, but often as not the mouse would leave a meeting unscathed. It managed this by turning its weaknesses into apparent strengths during the encounter, flinging the body heat of its tiny mass away through bristled fur. Turning a nice warm meal into a seemingly cold core surrounded by a much larger being. So it was that the Willow Man released the baldrics from his left hand, letting the paired harpe swords clatter against the stone. They would not be useful here - just a hair long and a hair heavy - since he would need his hands free. Nor would keeping them help the ruse. Perhaps it would also send a message to the others; that swords weren’t even necessary here. As the magi below uttered their warning signal through incomprehensible words, the Willow Man sprang forward in further action. Bared feet slapped against the stonework - Once! Twice! Thrice! - then he pushed off and went airborne. Kicking as he went, turning his body in a lazy backflip that let him gauge his point of landing. The unsettling sensation from earlier wasn’t just in his head, as he found himself with more hang time than expected. Sleeves of stained silk rustled in the breeze of his passage, and he brought his hands together. Hiding, so he hoped, the act of slipping a numbing needle between the middle and ring fingers of his left hand. Knees bent as his feet touched the ground, and the Willow Man let the momentum pitch him forward. He smacked the ground with outstretched palms and rolled, pushing the needle until it was held just by the tip while twisting around to position his back to face the third ring. As he rose, he spread his feet wide to anchor himself to the rock underneath him and kept his stance low. Presenting the hardest possible target for magic or missile. His left hand rose up, palm outward, ready to ward off physical strikes while keeping the needle held loosely, casually hidden along the back of his hand. There was no verbal jibe to the others. No taunting gesture of the hands. Not even the flash of ivory teeth to goad the others to fight him. Just a man, the Willow Man, standing at the ready and projecting full confidence at what was to come.

TitanDragonLord -> RE: =EC 2017= Sky Arena (7/26/2017 16:29:53)
It was raining the day their hero died. The battlefield was charred and scorched, a blackened no-man’s land littered with the bodies of countless warriors, scattered as far as the eye could see. It was eerily calm compared to the chaos that had filled it earlier that day, the anguished screams and the roars of men too young to die all now silenced and replaced with a howling wind that swept across the plains. Underneath darkened skies, two men glowered at each other through fluttering embers and billowing smoke, while sparks of their previous clash still lit the night. Each one was in the prime of his youth, blond and dark hair their only defining features in the dim light, otherwise mere silhouettes in the night holding their weapons close in a beat of heavy breaths and cold stares. Fingers flexed on hilts, shoulders rolled, and necks cracked before the air was filled with their high bellows once more. The song of steel rang true, only rivalled by the roar of opposing flames as the two rushed at each other over and over. Each warrior easily could be considered a master of their craft, but battles like this rarely ended with both parties walking away. A quick leg swept out underneath another attempting to dodge, and it was all but over. A swift punch to the gullet sent the black haired man reeling into the damp grass below, whose panicked scrambles almost invoked pity from his opponent. Inigo had never been fond of these righteous champion types, be it something about the way they carried themselves, how they truly believed they were above it all, or how they believed they were always doing the right thing. The right thing didn't exist; it was all a part of playing pretend for them, part of a little bubble that hid them from the harsh realities of the world. In reality, you fight to survive, you cheat and lie to live another day, and you kill or be killed. "Why... are you doing this?" Uriel was one of those warriors. 'The Cleansing Flame' they called him, purging the land of evil and ‘saviour of the people’. He was world renowned; some even called him a legend. Inigo stared down at the pitiful sight before him, questioning if this truly was the hero of the stories he'd heard so much about. It was a difficult fight, yes, perhaps even the hardest Inigo had ever fought, but he had still found untapped corners to his potential just bursting at the seams, waiting to be unleashed. "Because," he began, taking a firm step forwards, water splashing up his already soaked leg from the sodden grass, "you are just a stepping stone to a place much higher." Before a response of any kind could be made, Inigo’s blade twirled out at lightning speeds, arcing out across the fallen soldier's neck to free a ‘legendary’ man’s lifeblood to pool with the murky greens and browns of the muddy grass below. With each battle, each kill, he felt himself getting stronger, skills sharpening, reactions quickening, strength rising to new heights. He was going to stand above all, surpass each and every living thing, reach levels above the realm of mortals and into the world of godhood. He knew where he was to go next, for he’d heard rumours and whispers of it before, but it had truly caught his attention in an inn earlier that day whilst tracking the lifeless soul who now lay before him. The Elemental Championships. Word had it that Uriel was travelling there, to Bren, to face combatants who all were as strong as he was, possibly even stronger. This would be his next challenge, the next rung on his ascension. The strongest fighters in the world all gathered in one place, it would be worth the trip. That memory flashed within Inigo’s mind as he stood in a moment of calm, blade drawn and at his side as he slowly returned to the present, eyes rising open to settle on the empty positions to his right where no warrior stood. It was a strange feeling, knowing that it was Uriel who led him here, who might have even stood upon one of those stones had it not been for him. While that may be, there remained such such an array of characters here in his stead. There was no doubt in his mind that these people were the fight he’d been craving for so long, and this was only the beginning of the tournament. He shook his head, wiping his mind of such thought for the time being. Now it was time for a battle in the heavens, and he had precious little time to analyse the unique arena before a chorus of voices would ring out to mark the beginning of the round. Three rings, one central platform, along with floating earthen spheres. There were so many factors to consider in an arena like this. Obviously he wanted to get as far away from the edges as possible to avoid an easy knockout from one of the hopeful champions, but on the other hand the other warriors would no doubt be thinking the same thing, making the centre a nexus of chaos and battle. Even so, it was about twice the size of the thinner rings that orbited it. What a dilemma. There was something else about the ring too, and he felt it moments before pinpointing exactly what the sensation was. Lighter, he felt lighter, like a weight he didn’t know he was carrying had been lifted from his shoulders. Whilst in itself the idea seemed like a boon, it didn’t take long for the warrior to note that this meant he would be much more vulnerable to being thrown from the edge, or being knocked away during counterattack, something to bear in mind at the very least. The air was also thinner up here, and that could make things difficult if he was to find himself winded, or if he overexerted himself in a short timeframe. Then again, every positive and negative of the arena wasn’t just affecting him, and being aware of that fact might open a few avenues for him. Instinct took over the moment the announcement was completed, prompting Inigo to leap from his perch down onto the first ring before quickly making another jump to land upon the second, while taking full advantage of that new lightness he felt through his entire body. He swiftly halted his advance and twisted his body to the right to raise his blade into a guard, sinking himself down into a firm stance against the stonework, to watch, and to wait. He was thankful he didn’t have to be vigilant of his left flank during the opening moments of the bout with his starting position and the lack of competitors to fill the space. No doubt that advantage would soon peeter and fade within seconds, but if he could take advantage of someone trying to leap to the higher platform, now could be his only chance to do so. His eyes burned with a new intensity, just daring any one of his opponents to challenge him, to test their might, or perhaps to test their luck.

Kooroo -> RE: =EC 2017= Sky Arena (7/27/2017 13:31:12)
Bren was, by far, the most racially diverse city that Irina had visited in the past decade, perhaps of all time. From her experience, grabbing twenty citizens of a town or city would contain maybe three or four different races if you were lucky. In Bren, you'd probably have issues naming half of them.To be fair, she hadn't been explored the universe, like some of her esteemed superiors had. But she there weren't many other places you could see pigs buying porkchops at a market stall, while making casual conversation with some... sludge, worm creature. Outside of the Army and anywhere related to the Elemental Divisions, her luminosity and general appearance turned heads. Whereas over here, she was probably considered one of the most ordinary. A blessing of sorts. The entrance to the Sky Arena was straight ahead, according to the map in her pocket. Another hundred meters or so, by the looks of it. Good. Still some time to spare. Irina changed her path, and took a right into an empty alleyway. Streams of sunlight danced through a gap between the neighboring buildings. She strode over and closed her eyes, drawing in deep, calming breaths. She focused, and felt the magic flowing through the entire city, observing the hundreds of sources of light that pulsed within it. The largest concentration of magic was, of course, in the Arena complex she had detoured from. The smaller lights were the various magical people and creatures in the city, moving about in their daily lives, a large majority flocking to the Arena complex like moths to a lamp. She felt the magic around her, calming herself for the ordeal to come. Feeling the calming flow of the magic around her before an actual battle was one of her preferred ways of meditation, though it was relatively easy to interrupt the meditation. After an... eventful start to the day, these few moments of peace were the closest she could get to a proper preparation. Which was never meant to be. "Ah! There you are!" A sharp spike of pain drove her focus awry, and the darkness closed in. The magical lights that she'd visualized disappeared, to be replaced by an unfathomable and horrifying emptiness. She opened her eyes, and brought her focus to the physical realm around her. The sun stream she'd been standing in was no longer cast a warm glow around her, but instead bored coldly into her. The walls of the buildings guarding the alley looked ominous, and the sound of the city was oddly muted. Magically muted. A festering darkness seemed to be taking hold of the alleyway, and the source was obvious. A tall, young lady in a black coat stalked closer. Dark hair, pale skin and a grin maniacal enough to shock a coma patient, along with an unholy aura that seemed to flow from her. Irina gritted her teeth, and instinctively took a step back. The lady saw the step, and laughed gleefully. "What's wrong? Is something the matter? I only came to see you off, and I brought snacks!" The girl shook a bag in her hand, and started rummaging through it as she neared. She stopped just before they collided, uncomfortably close. A smell of decay, disinfectant and ammonia wafted from her, doing nothing for Irina's rattled nerves. The lady stared down her nose at Irina, eyes locked, grinning the entire time. Irina glared back, secretly wondering how she was going to get past to the Arena. A good few seconds silent seconds ticked by before the lady stepped back and whipped out a tiny lizard. "Gecko?" she offered, holding up the wriggling lizard. Irina didn't react. The girl shrugged, bit the lizard in half and chewed. Another few moments of silence before Irina made to walk past the girl, though the girl didn't move. She made to squeeze past from the left, but then the girl leant into the wall, and Irina had to move back to prevent herself from being crushed. "What's the rush? You still have a few minutes to spare right? Can't we chat?" the girl asked lazily, now eating the rest of the lizard. "No. Not with you," Irina spat bitterly, triggering a smirk and giggle. "Aww, come now Irina! Don't you care about your soldiers? Don't you want to hear what I'm going to do to them?" "No." "What if I tell you I'm going to let them go? What if I told you I will let them go if you just entertain me for a bit? Do you juggle by any chance?" she pulled a few balls out of the bag. "You won't. There's no chance you'd let any of them leave, especially after earlier." The girl nodded, putting the balls away. "No, I wouldn't. Right, even you aren't that dumb. You aren't a real clown, I guess. No juggling, huh?" The grin grew wider. Irina gripped her sword hilt, tempted to draw it and take her chances. She stood about as much chance as she had with a full out assault on her Commander, but nearly anything was better than this. The girl obviously saw the action and feigned fear, dropping the bag and backing off several steps, hands raised. "Hey, I thought we were friends? You won't even say more than a few angry words to me, and now you want to pull a knife on me? We don't have to get violent, Irina. Haven't you heard that a display of violence is a sign of an uncivilized being?" Calm. Irina took a deep breath, and waited a moment before responding. "Violence is all you know. Let me through, or Auros will hear of this." The grin faded slightly from the girl's face, and she didn't respond immediately. The darkness around her cleared slightly, and Irina could hear the sounds of the city a bit more clearly again. She started forward again, and this time made it past the girl without incident, her head clearing slightly. She began walking quickly before the girl thought of another way to antagonize her or before the threat lost effect, almost making it out of the alleyway when- "You know..." Too late. The voice came from next to her ear, and Irina started, turning to see the girl almost right where she had been. The grin was nowhere to be seen. "We could probably make amends, even though you won't even talk to me. I mean, we're probably going to never see each other again. So I'll forgive you for all the mean things you've said in the past, and you can give me all of your other worldly belongings when you die in the Arena. What do you say?" Irina's temper flared again, any sense of calm or focus vanishing. She opened her mouth to retort when the girl held her out her arms wide. "Hug?" Reality warped, and then Irina was in front of the girl. The girl closed her arms and squeezed, hard. There were cracks and pops as her bones and joints cracked and broke, followed by immense pain and then a chilling numbness as the wounds were healed. Another warp, and then Irina was back near the entrance to the alley, a few meters short of the street. She groaned, and leant against the wall for support while feeling returned to her upper body. The girl laughed and pointed, before managing to calm herself, beaming an insane smile that showed far too many teeth. "I'm glad that you found it in your heart to forgive me. That wasn't so bad, right?" she pulled out something from her coat pockets and looked at it before whistling. "Well, it's almost time! I better get seats. Can't watch you die if I'm behind a 10-foot tall skeleton creature, am I right?" Irina gritted her teeth and started to rise. Feeling was rapidly coming back, but the memory of the pain was still there, as present as the sun. Another laugh from the girl, patience worn. "Hate you too! Oh, and remember," she said, wiggling her fingers, "Lots of flailing!" She turned and strolled out, vanishing into the crowd. Needless to say, her preparation time had been less than ideal. Irina had managed to arrive in the Arena with ample time to spare, and was guided to the waiting hall with a few bare minutes to spare. There was just enough time for her to calm her mind and focus before the gong rung out and the Arena formed around them. As pretty as it was, Irina had no time to marvel or admire the lights displayed in the Arena. Nor did she have an incentive to. Age-old training kicked in, and experience told her immediately that she probably would not want to be on the outer ring, closest to the wall of death at her back. The second, lowest ring was not ideal either, as the low ground was horrible for defending against attackers from above. She had magic, certainly, though whether it was enough to overwhelm an attacker on the high ground was not something she was foolish enough to test today. Ideally, she'd be on the third ring or the center platform, though those would be the most contested areas she'd imagine. Regardless, reckless action wasn't what she was known for, and she wasn't about to change her tactics due to a new environment. She drew her saber and held it up before her, settling into a defensive stance. Eyes warily watching her front, she sneaked a quick glance to the heavens and spectator stands above. Death could wait.

Rayen -> RE: =EC 2017= Sky Arena (7/27/2017 21:47:43)
Not for the first time, Molly wished Bren had been erected closer to the sea. For better or worse, the town was primarily a tourist destination after all, and access to a port would surely exponentially increase the wealth of the quaint town. Also, she missed the sea, and she was quite sure the locals had no idea how much they were missing of the sea, too. And seabirds. She couldn’t stand these twittery, flimsy landlubber birds. Their incessant whistling gave her a headache. Slowly making her way through the town, she sought a source of water to meditate at, finding it in a small fountain. The old sailor stood, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath in as she focused on the cool, humid air swirling about the water feature. After a moment, however, she felt the slightest of tugs at her belt and opened one eye to find a young lad about to run off with her coin purse! Quick as a hungry barracuda, Molly had the boy lying on his back, his right foot having been caught by the hook of one of her swords. Both stared at each other in disbelief - the would-be thief in wonderment that such an old woman could move so fast, and the ‘such an old woman’ astonished that anyone had managed to sneak up on her. Molly looked down, a twinkle now forming in her eyes. “Say there, laddie, would you perhaps mind lending a poor old bird a hand? I’ll be more than willing to pay you for your troubles.” Taking his silent shock as consent to continue, she informed “I’m actually intending to compete in these Championships, you see, and my hearing’s not as good as it used to be. I wonder if you’d be able to let me know if you hear them call my name?” Gaining composure of himself, the urchin straightens himself out, rises to his feet and extends his deft hand to acknowledge their bargain. “My name’s Sebastian, Missus, but I can’t believe you’re hard of hearin’. I ain’t never met anyone sharp as you before. What’s the real reason you want me around, ey?” Grinning inwardly at the quality gem of a young sailor standing unpolished before her, she whispers to him, “Sebastian, hey? Bass. A good fish. Well, see, it’ll be less suspicious for an old girl like me to be wandering, fully armed, through town if she’s with her grandson. I’d rather not attract unwanted attention, if you catch my drift?” She winks, hoping to win his loyalty through a ‘shared secret’, and is rewarded as his eyes widen with excitement and he attempts a clumsy wink in return. “Now if you wouldn’t mind, my young ally, I’ll take a few moments to prepare my thoughts by this fountain. I’m entering in honour of Water, after all. Give me a whistle when my time’s come.” And with that the wizened seawoman resumes her meditation. Although her life and love were on ocean waters, Molly had always taken a few weeks every year to build connections ashore, buying trade goods, sharing stories. And early on, captivated by tales she’d heard of heroic battles and treasure beyond imagining, Molly had visited Bren to experience them first hand. She returned a number of times over the years, but after the first few Championships, she found Bren had lost something - part of its mystique. Every year or so, new tales would emerge of people, heroes, legends, all vying for the power to make dreams come true. Some bards had a favourite, and most of the locals did, but really they were all the same. The same attempt to exert the forces of the divine upon an imperfect world. It was beautiful in its hopelessness. But, above all, it was disappointing. Solid, irrefutable evidence proving the existence of sentient, near-omnipotent extra-planar forces with the power to change the world, and it’s turned into an arena, a side-show, another absurd thing for the commonfolk to gamble their money on. So, upon returning to her ship, Molly added a short activity to her early morning preparations. While the crew would offer prayers to whichever Beings they resonated most strongly with, or spare a thought for their loved ones ashore, their captain started her own religion - Interrogation. “How do you spend your days, Neso?”, she would implore the Water Avatar, “Why not share with us a fraction of your power, that we may better serve your Lord and protect ourselves? What right have you to sequester the Cure for death at sea, to force us to remain unsatisfying snacks for the mindless beasts of the depths?”. Each morning her questions would change, and each morning they would become more desperate and more alone. For a time she wondered if perhaps she were to blame. Perhaps she had unwittingly offended the Avatar, and its silence was her punishment. So she returned to her prayers of thanks; her crew released ten percent of their catch back beneath the waves. Business was good, her crew were happy, and she had ever more to give thanks for. Until the largest storm in memory crushed the Adelita and her crew against cliffs so obscured by rain and cloud that they remained invisible even till the very end. By some ironic twist of fate, the captain did not go down with the ship on this occasion. The knowledge that she survived whilst those she strove to protect became food for the sharks haunted and shamed Molly for years to come. As ever, she needed answers - or at very least to prove her point - and she knew just the place to find them. Pressure from a gentle hand on her shoulder broke Molly from her memories. “It’s time, old bat.” The cheeky grin of a young lad greeted her as she wheeled around, hands on hilts. Startled once again by the speed of her haggard frame, the grin rapidly devolved to a look of uncertainty as he stepped back, looking ready to bolt. Much as she hated to admit it to herself, the wily fry had managed to get the drop on her this time. Though frankly, she’d entirely forgotten he was there. Attempting to cover her surprise, she offered him a wink in return. “It’s one thing to be quick and quiet, but another entirely to plan ahead for every outcome. You have fast reflexes, Bassy, but they’ll only get you so far. Now wipe that shocked look off your face and escort me to the arena like a gentleman, please.” As directed, the youth stood up straight and offered his arm to the elderly woman, leading her confidently towards the entryway before extending his hand in expectation of his reward. “Look now, laddie, I won’t tell you what you should or shouldn’t do with your life, but harken me when I say you’d make a fine sailor.” She pauses, detaching a fine compass from her belt and pushing it into the lad’s hand, before removing from her boot a coin purse far heftier than the one Sebastian originally attempted to steal and adding it to the compass. “If you take yourself to the nearest port town, tell any old dog there that Molly Halfcrow gave you her recommendation and you’ll be well on your way to doing something a bit more meaningful with your life. But remember this: Offer thanks to the Elements, aye, but ne’er expect anything from them in return, for they’re as indifferent as the sea is full of blood.” And with that, Molly turned on her heels and resumed her disguising slow, hobbling gait towards answers…or death. The Arena was impressive this year. ‘Sky’s Nebula’, the mages had called it. To Molly, it looked like an arena better favoured by the spry. But as she bounced on her feet to warm up, she noticed a distinct lightness of foot. And…how could it be that her joints seemed to ache less, as though she were suspended in water? The ageing woman felt as though she’d just surfaced from diving for lobster, mind you, but years of diving had granted her an efficient set of lungs, and she’d be kidding herself if she thought she was in any shape to run a marathon, regardless of any shortness of breath. The two competitors nearest her had already made their move towards the centre, and though the early bird may catch the worm, she didn’t feel like taking any untoward risks by openly declaring war. But then again, where was the fun in not taking any risks? Moving quickly to the far left of her platform, Molly tightens the harpoons across her back before running full-pelt in the other direction. Just before reaching the end, however, she launches herself off the edge towards the space the young man - Inigo, did they say? - had occupied before pulling himself upward to the third platform. Upon impact, and emboldened by her regained feeling of nimbleness provided by Sky’s Nebula, she makes a seamless roll, then, using her momentum, springs upwards towards the third platform, drawing her swords mid-air and hooking them backwards over its lip.  Quite strong enough to hold her own weight with one hand for a short time, she feigns losing grip with her left arm, letting it dangle by her side, then looks up at Inigo, genuinely gasping out a “Care to give…an old bird a hand, lad? It’ll…surely be a challenge to hold the…higher ground alone, though…as you can see, I’m struggling enough to…hold myself here.” Molly weighs her options. First, mostly likely, the overconfident lad moves closer and attempts an attack, in which case her left arm will flick up and hopefully hook around his ankle and pull him off balance - or even over the edge. The second scenario she can think of is the preferred: He comes to her aid and strikes a temporary alliance whilst the other challengers struggle to find their ground. Thirdly, she’s attacked from behind before either of them is able to act, in which case her risk proves fatal. However, as she gasps hanging from the ledge, she allows a sly smile to wrinkle the black wave markings around her eyes. All things considered, she hadn’t felt this alive in years.

Ronin Of Dreams -> RE: =EC 2017= Sky Arena (7/28/2017 14:01:34)
Movement caught the eye. Predatorial instincts are keen to catch it, for discerning whether prey will flee or fight can mean the difference between a good meal or a fouled stalk. Combat was treated much the same for the Willow Man. Food, fun, or practice - the cause had no bearing, all boiled down to the same end result. Kill or be killed. The other denizens of the floating Sky Arena did not disappoint on that account. Both of the opponents he had directed his perception towards exploded into motion. On his left the elder female, the one named Molly, darted forward with swords drawn. They had a curious curve to them, and his left arm followed her progress for a heartbeat before the detail of her direction solidified in his head. She was not closing the distance towards him, however, nor did she show indication of anything besides tooth and claw tactics. Though she jumped down to the second ring like he had, the Willow Man was already dashing forward and back towards the initial ring. Kana, it appeared, was dancing. A distant rumble stirred, the sole foreshadowing of the monsoons that hit desert sands once every few years. He felt it in his chest as he pumped his arms and legs faster. The soft scent of rain wafted through the air, thick and foreboding. No genius, he, but even the Willow Man could tell that Kana was drawing upon magic. With a roll of his wrist, he flicked the needle into a tumbling arc towards the caster, the pistoning of his arm providing extra force to the casual throw. It flew high, dull ivory picking up and reflecting the colors of the Nebula. Casually aimed and flicked, it lacked the directed thrust to penetrate flesh. The needle merely scratched at Kana’s forehead, bounced lightly, then tumbled off the tip of his nose. A lucky strike! Not enough to dose the mage with medicines, but like a sudden tapping of a finger, it broke the mage’s concentration for moments… ...moments which the Willow Man had used to close the distance with swiftness reminiscent of a destrier. Padding feet had pushed off from stone, then rose to cushion the impact as the Willow Man grasped the lip of Kana’s platform. Legs pistoned hard, tendons along fingers taking up strain as he pulled himself up and sideways to roll atop the floating stone. Maintaining his momentum. Rising up to crash into Kana with his shoulder, the Willow Man struck swiftly. Breath exploded from Kana’s chest as the Willow Man’s shoulder dug deep, but the desert dweller did not leave it just at that. Knuckles whipped around, crashing into Kana’s nose with the crunch of broken bone and a sudden geyser of blood. The Willow Man planted his feet, still sideways to the endangered mage, then snapped Kana’s head back violently with a follow-up rising elbow. Stunned, Kana staggered back, but on the thin platforms of Sky, the choice was...poor. Kana’s heel caught the edge of the platform and the mage began to windmill his arms to keep his balance rather than take the long fall through spinning rock. “Nguciwakeun …” With utter contempt, the Willow Man launched his foot in a wicked snap-kick, driving Kana up and over the platform’s edge with the simple expediency of a heel to the rib cage. The mage fell through the spinning field of whirling debris, body crumpling against further impacts, but the Willow Man did not watch his victim’s descent. Kana would likely live, if the mages below were kind enough to arrest the fall. His eyes were drawn back to the others still standing upon the soaring stones. The Willow Man drew his leg back and the voice in his head grew a little more solid. ‘How cunning... No, how ~appropriate~ to dine on the weak.’

Tdub -> RE: =EC 2017= Sky Arena (7/28/2017 23:40:40)
The light of the Sky Arena was surprisingly beautiful. As the sphere of ice took shape in his hand, Ayiso examined the area, and couldn’t help but be reminded of the pale glow of a mountaintop, piles of snow untouched as far as the eye could see. He remembered hunting with his father hours before daybreak, admiring the frozen beauty of his surroundings before other fantasies would steal his attention. His father would warn him against being swept up in the landscape’s allure, telling him how carelessness could be fatal in their harsh environment. Ayiso would never listen. Now, in the Sky, he needed no warning. The stones spinning around the Arena were certainly beautiful, but their deadliness was just as apparent as their grace. With the empty spaces around the floating platforms inviting any careless competitor to stumble into their open jaws, the Sky displayed more apparent danger than the mountains ever did. And, of course, the mountains had very few powerful opponents whose sole purpose was fighting everyone inside. Ayiso took a moment to study those who had gathered to compete in Sky. He had heard their names called out along with his, but that seemed like ages ago, and their lack of meaning to him confined them to obscurity in his mind. Before the Arena had been raised, he had seen the blonde man positioned directly across from him. However, now that the stones that comprised the Arena had been split, his view of the furthest competitor from him was obscured by the central platform. What you don’t know can harm you. What you don't see is twice as dangerous. The other competitors made themselves known in various ways. The first was the wild-looking man two positions to Ayiso’s right, making an impressive leap to the lower ring of stones. Then the older woman, whose seemingly-frail physique reminded Ayiso of the elders of his clan, moved out of sight, perhaps to engage the other unseen combatant. Another man stood directly to Ayiso’s right, unmoved. But the most interesting of the competitors stood directly to Ayiso’s left. A blonde, short-haired woman in military attire remained on the outer ring of stones, a slender sword drawn in front of her. Perhaps it was simply the light of the Arena, but to Ayiso, she appeared to be glowing. Ayiso ceased the lyed, holding in his left hand a sphere of ice nearly the size of a human skull. Briefly, he considered flinging it at the woman, but that notion was quickly dismissed when he noted the distance between their positions. The glowing woman was too far for him to control the orb’s speed over the complete distance, and would travel too slowly without his control. In order for the ice to be effective, he had to close the distance. The idea of running and leaping to her platform crossed his mind, but that plan was dismissed just as quickly as the first. The woman was obviously prepared to fight with a sword, an engagement Ayiso was not willing to risk. His thoughts turned to the lowered ring of stones in front of him. Though jumping to the low ground is typically seen as bad strategic positioning, Ayiso decided the change in distance would be worth the risk. Holding the ice he had created against his body with his left hand and gripping his staff with his right, he ran forward on his platform and leapt to the stone below. Realizing immediately how the high altitude affected his intended jumping path, Ayiso prepared to land further than he had originally anticipated. Bending his knees as he landed on the stone, he rose and darted left. He knew the wild man was somewhere behind him, but hopefully he would engage the closest competitor, leaving Ayiso alone for the moment. Once he felt comfortable with the distance between him and the woman, Ayiso stopped, bringing the orb of ice up in front of him. Drops of water, already melted from the newly-formed sphere, rolled down his hand, dripping to the stone below. He cast his hand out, and the ice flew, hurtling toward the glowing woman’s head. As it drew nearer, Ayiso twitched his fingers, and the orb shattered into dozens of small shards of ice, spinning toward the woman’s head and surrounding areas. Though the individual shards would not be as harmful as the solid sphere of ice, they were less likely to be dodged, and a lucky cut to the eye or neck could be even more effective than a blunt strike. Switching his staff to his left hand, Ayiso removed the hood from his head, watching as the shards spun toward their target. Before they had reached the woman, Ayiso began to sing again, beginning the formation of new ice in his right hand. Turning, he held his staff in front of him as his voice sang the turbulent melody of the lyed, concealing the arrowhead-sized shard of ice he was forming in his hand. The woman would hear his voice as it carried the magic of the lyed, of course, but hopefully he would be ready by the time his new foe attempted a counter-attack.

TitanDragonLord -> RE: =EC 2017= Sky Arena (7/30/2017 11:38:22)
He watched as another fighter launched herself up to the ring he occupied mere seconds after he scrambled up it, as she seemed to lose her grip on one of the weapons she was trying to use to secure herself onto the platform. Now this was an interesting turn of events, not one that was expected from the supposed finest in the world, yet had so many possible outcomes. A keen eye was cast towards the woman who hung there so precariously, seemingly desperate for some sort of rescue. Whilst many would see this as an opportunity, a chance to get an easy knockout in the opening seconds of the battle, a few quick thoughts held him back from his impulses. Ideas and dull reasoning that could well end up saving his life if he listened, and there was certainly some compelling arguments for not trying to kick the lady down to the depths below. First off, the idea of a mutual agreement was compelling, to say the least. One versus five was far from the fair odds that would give him a good chance of coming out on top, and whilst he wasn’t a stranger to going into battle against overwhelming odds, he was no fool either. Holding the high ground indeed was a phase in his loose strategy already, but in a circular arena against multiple opponents, there was the chance of being struck from behind whilst focusing on another foe. Having someone else to watch his back would be beneficial, if only as a temporary truce. Second off was the chance of this all being some elaborate ruse, a chance to put him in a position where they wanted him, and having not yet seen her in combat it was a possibility that he couldn’t rule out. Thirdly, perhaps the most compelling thought in Inigo’s head at that moment, that simply wasn’t what he came here for. He came to this city, this championship, for a good battle, not to strike down his foes before they could realise their potential. Time was wasting as he collected his thoughts, his attention quickly snapping up towards another competitor, rushing away from the duo and towards an opponent who was yet to move from his starting position. If he didn’t make a decision in the next few seconds, he’d be putting not only himself in danger, put the hanging woman as well, and that wouldn’t do in the slightest. He slowly lowered his blade, dropping one hand as he takes a few precarious steps closer to her, the tip honed in on her neck before moving aside to offer a free hand. It was more than obvious he was being wary, but the offer was genuine. “Take my hand,” he called down, grabbing at her wrist to hoist her up onto the ring, feet firmly planted onto the rock to prevent himself from tumbling off with her in tow. His blade never was entirely put at ease, held aloft and ready to swipe out if this woman struck out at him. Perhaps some of his mistrust was misplaced, after all, there was such limited floor space, and with their close proximity there seemed to be no way that such a move would end well for either of them. His attention was briefly brought towards a limp figure falling beneath them through the great gaps in the stone. So the first warrior had already fallen? With this many competitors, it wasn’t particularly surprising, but that also meant there was one more fighter who was no longer occupied and would soon be on the prowl for new prey. That meant that the high ground was going to have to come sooner, rather than later, and he really hoped the woman in front of him would still be accepting of a temporary alliance of sorts. “Inigo Arias, pleasure to meet you,” he said, taking a couple of slow steps away from the older warrior, blade brought back round to hold defensively before him, just in case. “You said something about holding the high ground together, I want to take you up on that offer.”

Kooroo -> RE: =EC 2017= Sky Arena (7/31/2017 4:56:32)
While Irina had opted for her usual, defensive approach, it seemed that all of the other competitors had thrown caution to the dusk. Other competitors had jumped to the lower platforms, and then to the inner rings, electing for the high ground, though one was apparently about to be dispatched. Though a few other competitors had also not moved, they were presently engaging with each other. Irina watched on, wary for any stray projectiles that might come her way and send her to an early end, whilst noting the sudden movements of the warrior closest to her. She noted his appearance as he moved, jumping to the lower set of rings. He was tall, broad shouldered and in rather plain attire. The long staff he held indicated that his strength was magical in nature. The magical disturbance around him, glistening orb of ice in his hand and barbaric, tribal chanting that reeked of magic also attested to this, if it wasn't obvious enough. Luckily, Irina wasn't one to set time aside for making snide inner commentary. She watched impassively as he neared, waiting for some form of aggressive movement. Boarding action, perhaps? From the low ground? Irina would have laughed, if she wasn't concentrating so hard on her surroundings. Her skin's glow was relatively low to prevent any unwanted attention, so hopefully he man didn't notice as it began to dim by the slightest fraction. The frozen orb was suddenly hurtling towards her with two motions from the man, hurtling directly at her head. How primitive. How basic. Irina instinctively moved, taking a bare 2 steps to her left. Like a petulant wisp, however, the orb's trajectory followed her as she moved. Or not. That would've been too easy, though, she had to admit. Refusing to allow any displeasure to show on her face, she took another step towards the left of her platform, keeping an eye on the dark-skinned man below. He was looking directly at her, possibly concentrating on the orb. And then the orb exploded, flinging dozens of icy fragments directly at her head. Her speed saved her from catching a faceful of shards as she half-dove, half-lunged to her right, ending in a graceless stumble that brought her to a knee. The same chant drifted towards her as she stood again, glancing at her opponent below. His magic might be slow and inefficient by her standards, but it certainly wasn't as simple as she had thought. Irina raised her blade again and considered her options briefly. Her foe seemed determined to continue his ranged assault, judging from his continuous chanting. The words and intensity of the magic around him didn't seem to change, so she probably didn't have to worry about icicles exploding from beneath her, being crushed by a magically spawning avalanche, or something on a similar scale. However, his stance and positioning indicated that he was hiding something, which made her hesitate. As long as the lyrics didn't change, she would probably have been fine, especially with the elevated ground. Her own magic could be brought to bear either when a clear opportunity presented itself, or if something unexpected happened. However, she wasn't going to get anywhere with dodging icicles all day, and surely one of the other competitors would interrupt their fight eventually. A quick skim over the arena told her that one of the competitors was now missing. The rain caller was now missing, presumably dispatched by the wild man. She couldn't quite see the other two competitors, but she didn't hear or see any signs of their battle. Best to presume they were both active, though they didn't seem to be immediate threats. No matter. Her fight was currently with the ice singer below. She resumed her stance and gazed dispassionately down at her foe.

Rayen -> RE: =EC 2017= Sky Arena (7/31/2017 17:35:51)
Hanging from the platform, gasping from her exertion in the thin air, Molly gauged the reaction of the younger man. He seemed to hold himself cautiously as he considered his options, but with a measure of dignity - a good sign, as far as the old sailor could tell from her position, precariously placed as that was. Just as her arm began to ache under the suspended weight of her body, Inigo lowered his sword and approached, extending a hand both of truce and assistance. Molly’s free arm swung up swiftly, blade glinting in the soft silver light, before setting the sword on the stone at Inigo’s feet. Hand now free to accept his gesture, she returned to the relative security of solid ground, eyes twinkling between panted breaths as she listened intently to his introduction and the terms of their alliance. Deftly scooping her other weapon from the platform, Molly’s mind returned to planning. Reaching the central platform should be no great difficulty, particularly with the assistance of her ally, but their actions after the higher ground was acquired would have severe consequences for their enemies - or for themselves if they weren’t careful. Either way, the unlikely alliance between Age and Youth would be an obvious target to all other combatants. “Before we make a move, lad, let’s establish some ground rules. Our primary advantage will be our ability to survey the tactics and abilities of the others. Once we’re up there, we’ll need to identify those who pose the greatest threat to our position, then work at removing them.” She paused for a moment to ensure Inigo followed her train of thought, and was encouraged onward by a curt nod. “Trust is hard enough to come by even under the most peaceable of conditions, but ours must be absolute. On the souls of my ship and crew, I swear to lay no ill against you until it remains just you and I, and in that event I’d appreciate the opportunity for a fair fight. Do you agree to these terms?” For one so young, Inigo’s response bespoke wisdom and experience far beyond his years. Although she’d have been a fool to underestimate any competitor, she was inwardly surprised by the quality of the lad she’d, by pure chance of positioning, forged an accord with. ”I’m hardly a good man, but you seem trustworthy, and I know honour more than most," he said after a brief pause, a small smirk poised on his lips as he did so. "We should get moving then, can you get up there alone?” Returning Inigo’s smirk with a wink of her own, Molly replied, “Aye, well no doubt I could, but why would I go to so much trouble with such a sturdy stepladder available to me. Mind giving me a boost up?” Stepping up onto Inigo’s cupped hands, the small-framed old woman leaped, the shocking clang of steel meeting stone once again rippling down her arms. With little trouble, Molly heaved herself up onto the platform, then unwound a ten-foot length of rope and tossed it expertly to the man down below. Bracing herself in a low, wide stance against his weight, she waited for him to make the climb up before quickly re-looping the rope across her shoulders. Finally having reached the highest point of the arena, her initial instinct was to press herself to the cold stone surface in order to make herself a less noticeable target. However, acknowledging that doing so would be wasting the advantages their position provided, she slowly, warily, straightened up. Though sharp-witted and wily, yes, Molly originally gained her title of “Halfcrow” at a young age for her sharp eyes. Ever spending her free time up in the crow’s nest of the Adelita, the crew would joke about her being “half crow”, and the term caught on. Although the clarity of her eyes had dimmed somewhat with time, her attention for detail and abnormalities had only increased with practice, and she now set her experienced gaze upon the arena - seeking weakness; seeking her prey.

Ronin Of Dreams -> RE: =EC 2017= Sky Arena (8/1/2017 11:22:40)
His toes brushed against the stone beneath him as he finished recovering from the swift dispatch of the so-called Rain Caller. The wild man spun lightly on his feet, panning his gaze around the arena. The others had split into pairs, a building duel between Ayiso and Irina while - for the moment - both Inigo and Molly were out of sight. With a moment seemingly to himself, he crouched on his haunches and focused on catching his breath. Air billowed out from puffed cheeks. He wasn’t terribly out of breath but the thin atmosphere around them made such quick bursts of activity much more noticeable of a drain. It was home territory of a fashion, and it would favor short, explosive engagements over long, drawn out confrontations. But there could be no true aspect of stealth here among the flying stones. Surprise, perhaps, once Inigo, Molly, or both returned into view if either could fight beyond the range of tooth and claw. But no sneaking among the dunes, blending in with shifting sands until bursting out to deliver a lethal bite or sting… No, the only avenue would be surprise, and that meant he would have to be forgotten in the heat of the moment as Ayiso and Irina traded blows. Which meant waiting; a boring and hateful thing. The spectators would no doubt agree, not that he gave one grain of sand for their opinions. This was his stalk. His prey. But it didn’t mean he had to like the option. To occupy himself as he stalled for time, the Willow Man reached out a finger and dipped it in one of the small puddles of blood left upon the stone by the strike that had shattered Kana’s nose so spectacularly. He rubbed it between thumb and middle finger, sniffed at it while keeping his eyes up and aware of the movements of his competition. The scent of copper filled his awareness. There was something about blood… ’And skin. Blood and skin.’ It was less a new voice and more...of a memory? The Willow Man clenched his eyes shut briefly and gave his head a hard shake. Why would he have memories of talking about blood and skin? Steam rising above a fresh kill, bleeding a prey animal to preserve the meat? That would make sense, but the Willow Man rarely talked. Like grit sneaking its way onto sensitive places, it bothered him something fierce. Bothered him so much that his already thin patience nearly vanished entirely. With a soft grumble he pulled out a pair of needles stuck in his shift by the shoulder. One each of the medicinal compounds he had brought to battle. A subtle refusal of fighting wholly fair; to sap away concentration from the focused and to sow the niggling seed of doubt among the highly trained. The Willow Man shifted his stance wider, still crouched on the balls of his feet, and debated which to use on whom as he watched Irina and Ayiso with rapt interest.

Tdub -> RE: =EC 2017= Sky Arena (8/1/2017 23:26:41)
As his new foe dove to avoid the fragmented ice, Ayiso stopped chanting, taking a brief moment to rest his voice. In his right hand he held a small, triangular piece of ice, not very large but quite sharp. Disappointed with how his attack failed to harm the woman in any way, he quickly reminded himself of the caliber of competition the Championships attracted. A simple attack like that wouldn't get him very far unless he was more clever. His disappointment continued when the woman failed to launch any kind of counter-attack, instead standing in nearly the same position she had been holding before he had attacked. He would have preferred for her to retaliate, but instead he was forced to move closer as she stood patiently. He could tell the woman was a seasoned warrior, skilled at making her opponents do what she wanted rather than the other way around. Unfortunately, he had no choice but to play her games. The woman had the upper ground and the gift of patience, while Ayiso only had his magic. As he moved closer to the woman from his lower platform, he began to hum. Once, the Winter’s Blessing had been a powerful lyed, essential for any High Lyer to survive in the wasteland. Now, with the lyrics lost to history, its magic was dimmed, only capable of creating a small cloud of mist. Ayiso walked quickly, the mist materializing around him, enveloping him in its cold embrace. As the chill graced his skin, the would-be Lyer felt his sense sharpening. He suddenly became overly aware of his surroundings, the feeling of the wind against his face and the sensation of his feet hitting the floating stone. More importantly, he became more aware of the action taking place behind him. Glancing briefly to the center of the Arena, he saw the elder standing on the highest platform, towering over him from a distance. He didn’t yet see the other competitor, but surely they were engaged in combat? His curiosity was almost enough to distract him from his current foe. Before his sharpened mind was too far taken by his attention to detail, he glimpsed movement from the corner of his eye. The glowing woman had thrown out her hand, launching a small bolt of light. Without time to think, Ayiso launched himself forward, rolling over his shoulders to land, squatted down, on his feet. Fortunately, the mental clarity that came with the mist allowed him to focus on maintaining his hum through the roll, ensuring the tune would continue as the woman’s Light magic sped past him. Standing, he dashed with increased speed until he came close to the position of his opponent, looking up at her from the lower platform. He was certainly much closer than he would have preferred, given the woman’s obvious capability for close combat, but he needed to be close to strike at ideal speed. Throwing his right hand forward, Ayiso hurled the sharpened shard of ice, continuing to hum the lyed. The ice flew upward, aiming for just under the woman’s ribcage, in the center of her body. He knew it was unlikely to connect, or do any damage at all. However, it could inspire the woman to change positions, giving him the chance to even the odds. As the shard sailed out of the mist, Ayiso waited for his opponent to make her move.

TitanDragonLord -> RE: =EC 2017= Sky Arena (8/3/2017 10:03:05)
Fingers interlocked beneath a boot to support the older woman’s frame as she scrambled up to the highest level, the young warrior lifting both hands to throw his companion upwards. It wasn’t that she seemed to have any trouble with the climb, of course, but in that moment time was of the essence. By a quick count in his head, he figured that there were still three other fighters that he’d have to deal with, after the formation of the alliance and the one defeated competitor. Not only that, he also knew that if they managed to be the last pair standing they’d be facing down against each other, alliances in this place were only temporary after all. The young man turned in preparation to find a way to haul himself up to join his partner, only to watch as a rope gracefully dropped alongside him, brushing against the floor before hanging there as an unspoken invitation. He reached out, giving it a light tug to test Molly’s strength, the rope holding firm against his strength. The idea of her helping him surprised him, somewhat. He wasn’t used to this sort of thing, preferring to work alone more often than not. Even then, he usually only gave his support when it suited him, but right now he wasn’t going to even think of complaining. Satisfied that she would be able to support his weight, he started the quick climb upwards, using the low gravity to his full advantage to reach the platform in almost no time at all. His blade clattered against the rock as he detached himself from the rope, eyes flickering back and forth as he rose to full height to scan the surrounding area from above. It seemed like his initial guess was correct, three opponents, two already engaged in battle with each other and another watching on like some sort of predatory beast. It was good that none of them seemed to have formed any alliances, that would make things significantly more difficult, and it meant they now held a distinct advantage. Now it was about using that advantage, making the most of the opportunity the pair had given each other. Whilst the pair were locked in battle, himself and Molly could catch them both by surprise, or they could both ready themselves to take on the other man who would have the problem of trying to face two foes at once. There was no doubt in Inigo’s mind that the two of them could take any of these targets down if they played their cards right, but would that mean rushing out or waiting for their prey to come to them? So many factors in play, but the key one right now was whether they hold the central platform, or rush out to face their enemies head on. Yes, charging would leave them ultimately more vulnerable, but there was also the chance they could knock out all of the major threats in one fell swoop. On the other hand, if they played defensively, waiting for challengers to come to them, they’d be able to respond immediately, against potentially weakened foes no less. He always did have a mind for battle, even back when he was first beginning his adventures he didn’t cease to impress the most acclaimed generals and warriors with his gifts, his knack both as a warrior and a strategist. The perfect mix of burning passion, of fiery instinct, melded together with a cold and calculated approach to each and every encounter was what made him such a dangerous foe to face. He’d earned that reputation, he’d fought his way to the top and now those who knew his name either fell silent or told tales of both fear and respect. “How much damage can you do from a distance?” he asked, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth whilst he watched the others from afar. “We can’t give up our position, but we shouldn’t remain passive.” With his thoughts out in the air, he began to pace his way towards the edge of the platform, halting a few steps from the drop. No need to be reckless, not with the relative safety they were in at that moment.

Kooroo -> RE: =EC 2017= Sky Arena (8/4/2017 0:10:02)
The first complication arose soon after a lone figure reached the top of the center. That in itself was fine. A singular person on the high ground was not a major problem. Irina had conceded that if she stuck with her usual combat strategy, another more daring, more rash and impulsive individual was likely to reach the high ground before she did. Especially with her current opponent, the frost singer, blocking the most direct path to the central platform, it looked incredibly unlikely she was going to be able to even get near the central platform before another opponent claimed it. Which was fine. Staying alive and eliminating all the other targets competitors was the main objective, not some risky game of King of The Hill. Even if another competitor reached the center before she did, they would likely need to contend with another opponent while getting to it, or even better, on top of it. While they were distracted and wearing each other down, she could take at least one of them down with stray potshots, and leave the survivor to wait there, licking their wounds or feeling smug. The first competitor that appeared at the top of the center platform was the old woman. Irina was surprised, to say the least, as she had assumed that the old lady had been busy fighting the other missing competitor. A singular glance before focusing back on her approaching foe was all Irina managed, though little had changed in her stalemate with the ice singer. As she flicked another glance back to the center the second complication emerged alongside the lady, and began striding to the edge of the platform instead of kicking the elderly fighter off the edge. Two opponents on the central platform was quite a different situation. If she was lucky, it was going to be a minor inconvenience. If it went as she expected, however, it was likely to be a complete disaster. They could watch from afar in relative safety, and launch a coordinated attack once everyone else was worn down. Or, alternatively, they could make this arena into a live-fire training exercise if they had the right armament. The second set of rings on which the ice-thrower stood also became a death trap in this scenario, so getting to the inner set of rings became difficult without the use of some serious magic. Irina wasn't about to attempt that, nor was she willing to traverse the lowest set of rings. She wasn't particularly fussed if the ice-lobber stayed down, though. The only possible advantage to this is that the two on the platform would attack the other competitor instead. The two-on-one advantage may seem like greater odds, and they might elect to attack the wild one to take advantage of those odds. That would keep both other parties preoccupied, or in a best case scenario, they would take each other out. Although knowing her luck, that was as unlikely as Irina challenging Auros to a fist fight and winning. Something was amiss, though. Irina turned her full attention to the the foe before her, realizing that while his approach had stayed more or less the same, the magical chanting that had accompanied him had vanished. A faint mist had begun to shroud him, and no doubt he was preparing another gift for her as he approached. She scowled in displeasure, chastising her lack of focus. She'd been distracted. Her mind wasn't where it should be, on the battle before her. Distractions such as these had cost her before, though on battlefields far different from this one. Patience and analyzing could only get one so far. She threw out her hands, focusing, and the magic leapt from her finger tips, coalescing into a bolt that flew at her foe. Despite its speed, the chanter dodged it easily, coming up in a low crouch that made her earlier attempt at dodging seem clumsy and crude. From the crouch, he lunged, and Irina reacted impulsively, taking a step back. As she stepped back, something shot at her from the mist. It glinted in the light, bulleting towards her from below, as she instinctively twisted and lowered her blade to block the projectile. Whatever it was, it exploded, catching the edge of the blade instead of the flat as she could have liked. Shards sliced through the air around her, a couple of smaller shards bouncing off her uniform whilst a few other chunks flew around her. A larger shard cut through her uniform, slashing the surface of her thigh, whilst a sliver opened up her cheek. She ignored the prickling sensations, instead stealing a glance at the wild man. Still crouching, unmoving at his platform. Immobile. Nonthreatening. She bent over, charging her magic, as another thought crossed her mind. If the man decided that the central platform was too dangerous, the only alternative was to engage... If only the raincaller had been a better distraction. Irina threw her hand out once again, another bolt erupting at her opponent's chest. As the bolt left her hand, she ran, sprinting to the left of her platform, and not bothering to see if it had hit its mark. Patience was a virtue that few people in the Army had gotten down to an art, and she liked to think that she had the practice fairly well in hand. However, many of her superiors had instead called her overly cautious, or 'lacking initiative'. She had personally dismissed the idea, as more than several of the higher-ups merely brute forced all opposition out of their way, and it wasn't an impossible notion that some of them could use a dictionary to define 'patience' at the next gift exchange. Patience wasn't everything, however, and it could also get a person in more trouble than an Airship loan from the shadiest of goblin lenders. In such a case, if twelve-foot club-wielding 'complications' turned up at your door,one of the only paths forward was to hurriedly make up a plan of action and wing it. Some of the best things in life were rushed, after all. .... Said noone ever.

Rayen -> RE: =EC 2017= Sky Arena (8/4/2017 15:38:52)
For the first time since entering Sky’s Nebula, Molly found herself with the opportunity to observe her competition. Frankly, throughout the vast majority of past life-or-death battles she’d been forced into, the abilities of her opponent had been irrelevant. In a fight, one only needed to know how to win, and to execute that condition before one’s opponent took the initiative; most commonly, a quick, well-placed strike was enough to dispatch any manner of man, beast, elemental, or other horror of the depths. Aye, throwing caution to the fresh sea breeze, trusting in your blades and your crew; there was nothing quite like the focused freedom wrought by the simple act of Survival out on open waters. But there were no winds or waves here; no cry of gulls, nor flutter of sails. No water in sight at all, in fact. The arena was foreign, alien - and every contestant within it equally so. Each had more than earned Molly’s caution by the mere fact that they’d willingly thrown themselves into this dressed-up bloodbath. Though unsettling, it gave her some morbid comfort to know that they were all stuck in the same sinking ship, fighting for the last available position in a life-raft. The Willow Man appeared dangerously at home, lithe and unpredictable as he waited on the opportunity to strike.The ice magic of Ayiso was impressive, not something Molly was in any rush to face herself as it would be a great challenge to get close enough to him to put her swords to use. And then there was Irina, who, despite wielding an impressive blade of her own, seemed intent on using it as a shield. The question was which, if any, should be made Molly’s next target. The young man sharing her platform was clearly also weighing their options, voicing his thoughts by inquiring, “How much damage can you do from a distance?”. Sheathing her blades, Molly unbuckled the first of three harpoons from her back, bouncing it a few times in her right hand to adjust to its heft and centre of balance in the peculiarly thin air of the arena. Turning to Inigo with a mischievous look in her eyes, she replied “Well, lad…if you’re interested, I’d be happy to give you a demonstration. Name your target and I’ll let this gannet fly”. With care, Molly removed the safety pin from the explosive head of her harpoon, leaving it active to detonate upon impact with body or stone. With a moment’s thought, Inigo turned his head to nod towards the lone Willow Man. Although more likely to be in a position to both notice and dodge the projectile, Molly agreed he was the most desirable competitor to engage with - drawing the attention of either of Ayiso or Irina may incur their combined wrath. So, after pausing a moment to judge the distance to her target, the wizened warrior set her harpoon sailing along a line straight for the crouched hunter’s head. With considerable luck, he would neglect to notice the large projectile and die instantly, but assuming he did and managed to dodge, Molly had a second goal: If the harpoon continued straight, it would very likely collide with, and shatter, one of the meteorites orbiting the arena, spraying shrapnel back across the Willow Man’s platform. The chances of easily knocking the wild competitor out of the arena were slim, but if nothing else, offloading a harpoon would result in a lighter load and a hefty “bang!”. There was always a bright side - just whether or not there lay a mouthful of teeth behind that brightness was another matter entirely…

Ronin Of Dreams -> RE: =EC 2017= Sky Arena (8/5/2017 3:39:46)
Blood smeared across the Willow Man’s cheek as he idly scratched at his stubble. Sky’s Nebula was providing only boredom to the crouched man of the sands. All the whirling rock and thin air did was magnify the creeping ache in his head, while Ayiso and Irina were simply trading blows at range. Projectiles of pure light and razored ice shimmered in the air, at least when they weren’t being engulfed by the burgeoning mists. He wasn’t close enough to feel their chill upon his skin, but the air tasted of the cold ensorcellment of their source - another trick from Ayiso. He almost thought it clever, too. The second ring of platforms acted like a canyon, helping the mists build upon themselves. However remarkable that idea was, it would still mean respecting a magicker, which was something the Willow Man was loathe to do. Not so despising as to try and get in the middle of that spat quite yet - Irina remaining on the high ground and acting so warily kept him still. Waiting. Toes curling against the stone at his feet, gripping fast. Eyes flicked as motion caught the corner of his gaze. The woman had risen atop the central platform and now had a domineering overlook of the arena. Even as his eyes narrowed at this development, the other male joined her atop the rock. No attacks were levied, no blows were struck. It reeked of alliance, and the Willow Man ran his tongue along a canine tooth. Teamwork. A position on the high ground. An obvious survey of the arena and some discussion. They were looking at him. Adrenaline surged within the Willow Man. Others might curse their luck, or consider their opponent’s motivations, but the Willow Man was a truly simple being. Instinct was a great weapon, and it helped him focus as nature’s fight or flight response strengthened his awareness. The woman hefted her harpoon - a weapon unfamiliar to the Willow Man with his desert origins - but its similarity to an overlarge needle was enough for him to get the idea. More movement. Irina sprinted along her platform, away from his general direction. Irina, hitherto a poised, calculating and defensive fighter, had turned and ran. She had turned her back on him. There would be consequences for that, but first… His gaze snapped back to Molly in the middle of the arena, where she had just finished altering preparing the harpoon in her hand. Lips moved in unheard speech, possibly an incantation or maybe a passing remark. Didn’t much matter, her hefting the weight of the weapon took precedence. At that one moment, the Willow Man had the stillness of the desert within him. Sands settled into dunes and valleys, undisturbed by wind or animal in the baking heat of the noonday sun. Magnificent edifices which, when viewed from afar, looked as solid as mountainsides. Though they shifted with time, catching their movement was a rare thing. Sand was simply still. Until it was not. Callouses warmed with sudden friction as the Willow Man exploded into motion with all the unforeseen ferociousness of the sandstorm even as the piratical Molly cast the harpoon his way. It wasn’t simply the desire to avoid being skewered like a scarab by a needle, there was prey to chase. In just a few moments everything had changed and it was truly wonderful in Sky! As the harpoon passed through the air the Willow Man had vacated, the wild dervish had already crossed the short distance to leap towards Irina's flight, landing on the intervening platform. With nary a care he bounded through the air, planting his heels at the corner nearer the hazardous meteors. Behind him the sharp crack of an explosion threw shrapnel against the rock he had just left, a cascading series of pings and clinks that pleased the Willow Man’s ear. There were a few pricks, barely felt along his back and calves, from bits that ricocheted far enough to spill a bit of his blood. But the Willow Man was grinning, and let loose a piercing whistle to get everyone’s attention. Now there would be mayhem. Now there would be mischief. Even that mirror voice inside his head felt the same. ’Now, let’s have some fun.’

Tdub -> RE: =EC 2017= Sky Arena (8/5/2017 21:42:43)
The woman’s stoic patience, as infuriating as it had become, was very similar to that of a Haquer stag, at least in Ayiso’s mind. Though his hunting responsibilities had often been disregarded and were nothing but a distant memory, he quickly recalled the hours spent on his stomach, a thick white fur pressed over him to conceal his brown skin in the white snow. In the distance, he could see his prey. The magnificent gray beasts could feed half the tribe if they were big enough, and their meat was better-tasting than any of the other mountain creatures. The comparison between the stag and the woman was easy to make. A Haquer stag would stand still for an hour if it thought there was a possibility of danger, and would flee if it noticed a hunter’s presence. Just as Ayiso had to wait, completely still, for the beast to wander close enough for him to strike, so did he have to wait for his foe to make her move before he could risk making his. As the woman unflinchingly deflected his ice with her sword, Ayiso finished his lyed, knowing he had several seconds before the mist dissipated. Just as his hum ended, a second bolt of light erupted from the woman’s hand. This time, the bolt had a shorter distance to travel, but Ayiso was still graced by the effects of Winter’s Blessing. Quickly jumping to the side, he saw the woman turn and run, like the stag suddenly aware of danger. Not hesitating, he began running in the same direction, chasing the woman on his lower platform. As soon as his legs moved, he began to sing, once again filling the air around him with the sound of the Frozen Fortitude. With more ice beginning to form in his hand, he looked up, being careful to mind the approaching gap between platforms. The weak lose to the enemies at their front. The foolish lose to those at their back. His father’s words again ringing in his ear, he turned his head, glimpsing the wild man, who was evidently finished with the competitor who once stood between them. Now the man raced in his direction on the outer platform, pursuing either Ayiso or the woman and probably intent on delivering whatever fate befell the fallen combatant. Turning his head to his right, he saw the other two inhabitants of Sky, evidently engaged in some sort of alliance. Knowing that an attack could come at any moment, from any direction, Ayiso continued to sing as he ran, the ice in his hand growing larger every second. The woman reached the edge of her platform, leaping deftly to the next. Taking short breaths, Ayiso bounded forward, springing over the gap through the thin air of Sky. Landing nimbly on the next platform, he continued to sprint after his foe. The mists around him began to fade as he continued his run, causing his speed and awareness to slowly return to normal. He looked upward, watching his foe run just ahead of him as he ceased his song. In his right hand he held another formation of ice, resembling the size of a large apple. This potential projectile was jagged, consisting of carved, uneven ridges and spikes that surrounded the rounded shape. Knowing that this distance between him and the woman was well within his range of control, Ayiso threw out his hand, the sharp construction of ice flying at the woman, racing up toward her right leg. If his attack was successful, it would embed itself in the woman’s leg, ending her run and allowing him to incapacitate her. If not, he would return the flying ice to his hand in the hopes of using it again. Switching his staff back to his right hand, he continued running, keeping up with the woman as his creation hurtled toward her leg. Wary of the enemies that surrounded him, he hoped he had time to regain his weapon or create a new one before the other occupants of Sky attacked.

TitanDragonLord -> RE: =EC 2017= Sky Arena (8/6/2017 17:10:33)
“Well, lad…if you’re interested, I’d be happy to give you a demonstration. Name your target and I’ll let this gannet fly,” Molly said, a playful spark glittering in her eyes. That weapon certainly looked like it would do the job, even before a pin was pulled from its tip to clatter against the stonework beneath the two. Seemed like there was more to these harpoons than met the eye, but that would only make them all the more deadly. Slowly, deliberately, his head turned to face the lone fighter, nodding in an unspoken command to fire on the man. He was hardly the ideal target, too far away to reliably hit, and from his position there was no doubt he’d already spotted the duo and would see the attack coming long before she the weapon was thrown. Not ideal, but it was the best shot they had. If they attacked either of the others, there was a good chance they’d see the bigger threat and work together, and Inigo wanted to keep the odds balanced in their favour for as long as possible. A wicked smirk spread across the young warrior’s face as the projectile sailed through the air, widening as the harpoon detonated upon impact with one of the meteorites orbiting around the arena after missing the original target, shards and fragments of stone scattering as a deadly spray through the nearby area. A brilliant move, even he had to admit, if that was her plan all along. He couldn’t take her lightly, she was ultimately another competitor despite their alliance after all. The Willow Man had leapt out of the way of the harpoon, a harsh whistle screeching across the arena to leave Inigo wince away for a moment from the piercing sound. A beast in all senses of the word it seemed, unless there was something else to the sound. Perhaps he was drawing attention to himself from all competitors deliberately, a move that would sow disorder and drag the floating arena into a chaotic free-for-all. If all three of them chose to ascend to the central platform things could prove problematic, to say the absolute least. He could hope that wasn’t the case, or he could make moves to mitigate that potential turmoil. His smoldering gaze latched onto the Willow Man, silently following his target’s movements. If he was right, they could be overrun within a matter of minutes, which meant they had to stagger the incoming assault before a retaliatory strike could be made. His nostrils flared, lungs expanding as the warrior drew in as much air into his body as possible whilst harnessing his yet unseen magical strength. Within seconds, a single great ball of flame had formed, filling his mouth to lick along his face, an orange glow filling his vision. With a bellow, the burning bolt was launched forth, homing in not on the Willow Man himself, but on where he was expected to be in a few seconds time. With any luck, he would be distracted enough from his narrow escape with the harpoon to not notice the searing shot headed for him. “Attack again, if you can!” Inigo barked in a breathless yell, head angled just enough to see his partner from the corner of his eye. What were the chances he could dodge both of them continuously assaulting him? It was the best shot they had, though the attack had left him gasping for a few moments, the thin air not helping matters. He couldn’t use the Ripper Volley again as quickly as he usually could, but he hoped Molly could fill that space with a strike of her own.

Kooroo -> RE: =EC 2017= Sky Arena (8/7/2017 13:56:28)
The chanter didn't know when or how to give up, apparently. As she jumped the next platform, she saw him give chase, her bolt having done little but delay him. But that was sufficient, and the chanter would be of little threat if he continued this pursuit. A shrill shriek filled the air, and Irina nearly grunted in acknowledgement. Judging from the direction, the wild one. Great, something else to add to the list of things testing her spacial awareness. As Irina landed on the next platform, she resumed her run, noting the weightlessness and thinness of the air, as well as the weight on her right leg. Everything seemed much lighter, and she had been able to clear the gap between the platforms with little difficulty. No doubt a low gravity effect, meaning that her projectiles would be even better for knocking a nuisance flying. The air was also lighter, though, and drawing breath seemed.... different. Not so much more difficult, as she was less dependent on oxygen as those completely of flesh and blood. If she had still been completely divine, this thinner air would've been a huge advantage. Then again, if she had still been a divine being, then this competition would have been that much easier. The weight on her leg was another factor. Though Auros' sword was not especially heavy, its weight was still notable and slowed her down slightly. The size of the sheathe she had chosen to keep it in was also a slight hindrance, though not as much as it would've been had she gone for a full-sized one like a fool. A full-sized greatsword sheathe attached to her leg would've made walking a chore and running impossible. To keep her mobility, she had instead elected to keep it in a sheathe a quarter of the length of your average greatsword. When she had first given the smith dimensions for the sheathe, Irina had idly wondered what onlookers would think of the blade. Maybe an ornate, over-sized dagger? Ridiculous, regardless. As such, she was unable to pull away completely from the chanter unless she was going to really gun it. The familiar chanting drifted towards her as she ran, signalling that more ice was going to head her way soon. If she wanted to keep be able to keep a lookout over her shoulder, then she wouldn't be able to run all out until her opponent's attack had been made. She glanced over her shoulder to watch him, just as his chant ended again. He was looking directly at her, his eyes clear and visible without the mist to shroud them. Even better for her, assuming this next attack didn't end her run, so to speak. The man's arm moved, and Irina reacted instantly, and prepared for what was to come. As the projectile begun to fly, she slowed and pivoted, retaining her balance and dignity for the first time that day. Amazing. She flicked her blade outwards, hitting the shard with the flat of the sabre. It shattered with a deafening crash, the fragments exploding outwards and back from whence they'd come as another sound filled the air. Something red, from the side of her vision. From the center, another projectile. Not a concern yet, at least. Irina flipped on her heel, and began running again, increasing her pace slightly. She wouldn't be surprised if the same shards came back at her, but that deflection would surely provide a slight distraction, and hopefully the ice lobber would begin to tire. She bounded across the next gap, landing on the next platform without losing stride. Her skin dimmed once more, until it was barely noticeable. The next gap loomed ahead. Your move, frost thrower. Again.

Rayen -> RE: =EC 2017= Sky Arena (8/8/2017 5:08:35)
Although Molly had entertained the possibility that the sentient mish-mash of misfitting clothes and hair had cottoned on to her intent to impale him to smithereens, she hadn’t accounted for a reaction quite as animalistic. Frankly…she’d intended for him to explode, not explode into action. Given the particularly fine aim of her throw, he struggled not to feel offended as the Willow Man lunged forward the moment the harpoon left her hand. The uncommon variety of projectile she carried into Sky’s Nebula were exclusively used for large prey whose hide was too tough for standard weapons to penetrate, or too dangerous to engage with in extended battle; the sighting of whales, sharks, giant turtles, or a sea serpent, would stimulate amongst a prepared crew the careful preparation of a small number of explosive harpoons. But never had any one of those creatures dodged so deftly out of the firing line, let alone…was he grinning? Something felt off about the man. The sea was a place very welcoming of madmen, ever willing to help add to their ranks, and Molly was beginning to feel as though a sailor surviving off seaweed stranded on a raft in the centre of the ocean would welcome the Willow Man with open arms as kin. He was dangerous, and not only was he clearly an able-bodied combatant in an arena of this prestige; he seemed unstable, somehow. As he ran, he unleashed an unsettling whistle from between delighted teeth, seeming to revel in his chaos-inducing unpredictability. Curious to see her young ally’s interpretation, she flicked her eyes towards him, though what beheld her eyes there was no less startling than the wild man’s actions. From his mouth rapidly grew a considerable sphere of fire, which he then proceeded to launch ahead of the Willow Man with a guttural exhalation. Gasping for breath after the exertion of his attack, he coughed out a few sounds which Molly failed to interpret but assumed were encouragement to take the opportunity to strike again while the unsettling hunter was distracted by fire. Muscle memory of her first throw kicking in, the salty old lass set a second harpoon sailing just as Inigo’s fireball reached the platform onto which the Willow Man had leapt to…avoid her harpoon, or give chase to the pair locked in combat across the arena, she wasn’t sure. Although she had confidence that her currently-friendly lad’s attack would halt the Willow Man’s progress, if not hit him directly, she was concerned that he might attempt to evade by leaping down to the second ring of platforms and launch some sort of ranged attack at the allied pair above. Given that, she’d aimed her harpoon to land roughly ten feet along the feral fellow’s platform at knee-height, such that it would be placed above the platform of the second, lower ring and directly in the path of their target should he attempt to strategically launch himself there. Now down to only one harpoon, Molly hoped this attack would yield better results than her last. She believed her tactical thinking to be sound, but in the heat of battle, who could ever be certain they’d not missed something? Nevertheless, she hefted the final projectile around and off her back, and primed it ready for whatever came next. The old sailor breathed deeply in through her nose, attempting to maximise the oxygen entering her lungs, but with the relief it brought was accompanied a sense of foreboding that things were sailing dangerous waters. She struggled to restrain a humourless cackle; aye, the Willow Man may seem a tad insane, but she was confident that compared to her, *he knew nothing* of madness.**

Ronin Of Dreams -> RE: =EC 2017= Sky Arena (8/9/2017 1:18:29)
The Willow Man stood proud as his piercing invitation to battle blanketed the arena. Yet, to his great disappointment, Irina and Ayiso both continued to keep their distance from him. Not even gracing him with the minimal honor of a concerned glance his way. The nerve! He was no desert feline, content to chase down prey in a footrace and slaughter the exhausted. Nor was he about to be a shooting target for… A flash of scarlet out of the corner of his eye interrupted the feelings of indignation roiling through the Willow Man’s heart. Fire! He dove back and to his right, towards the center of the arena, once more into the nothingness of empty air between platforms. The pair of needles in his hand were lost to the oblivion of the void below them, discarded in haste. Hands reached out to grip the corner, fingers seeking the grooves he now knew from experience were there. It wasn’t fear that drove this prompt response, but respect for the element. Though adrenaline continued to course through his veins, the Willow Man shared instincts with animals more than other humans. This included a healthy desire to stay out of fire’s way. It was an unburdened worldview that served him well as the fireball not only impacted the platform, but exploded with a whoosh of heat and flame that scorched a vast swath of stone. Though Inigo’s aim had assumed he would continue to move forward, the Willow Man was not entirely spared of the fireball’s wrath. Skin crisped and blistered along the fore-knuckles of his left hand and suddenly the Willow Man was swinging by one arm alone. His feet scrambled for purchase against the pockmarked ledge, rushing to take strain off his remaining arm in any way possible. Callouses ground against granite, but his feet found footholds and the Willow Man felt momentarily safe. Just as the crack of a harpoon striking stone prefaced another krumping explosion that he felt through the platform. This, too, he was mostly spared given the aim involved, but no amount of respect made it wise to keep hanging from the platform. Gingerly, he tested gripping with his injured hand; it was painful, but not to the degree of outright incapacitation. He could hold on with it, at least until the onset of shock set the nerves quivering. Enough to shuffle himself around the corner of the platform and bunch himself against the wall. It presented his back to his ranged assailants for a moment, but it was a moment he needed in order to spring off the platform and down to the center circle. The Willow Man collected himself, rolling into a crouch facing his paired assailants with a sour demeanor and an almost petulant expression. There had been mayhem, all right, but not the type he had been looking forward to.

Tdub -> RE: =EC 2017= Sky Arena (8/9/2017 16:30:10)
As his feet continued to pound along the hard stone of Sky, Ayiso kept his mental hold on the small construct of ice. Nearing its target, the projectile spun with its ominous spikes and grooves, preparing to bite into the woman and end the foolish chase on the rocks. Ayiso felt a glimmer of hope as the ice flew closer and closer to his enemy’s leg. The frozen weapon whirled through the air, threatening the woman like a winter storm on the horizon. Without warning, the woman’s stride slowed. Like a dancer, she gracefully struck the ice with her blade, shattering Ayiso’s creation into almost a dozen small shards, spinning out in his direction. He slowed slightly, momentarily losing control over the ice, its change in form throwing his focus for a brief second. Regaining his concentration, he reached out with his mind and took hold of the scattered pieces before they met the ground, holding them suspended. As soon as he had control again, he regained speed, the ice flying beside him. The woman had resumed her run, almost as if Ayiso’s attack had never taken place. Her grace and endurance was certainly impressive, even if Ayiso had little time to admire her consistent thwarting of his attacks. He was struggling to keep up with her pace, and it was slowly becoming more difficult to breathe in the thin air. He found himself trying to take deeper breaths than the atmosphere would allow as he ran across the stone. It will be some time before you notice, but you’ll always be older than you feel. Age strikes earlier than you would expect. A noise behind Ayiso distracted him from his thoughts, and although he had no time to look, he knew what had made the sound. Fire had an unmistakable crackling to it, and the noise travelled far through the thin air of Sky. Though it seemed like fire did not pose an immediate threat to Ayiso, he became very wary of the danger. Fire would render most of his abilities completely useless, and he would struggle to face an opponent of that nature. For the first time, he was thankful to be fighting his current foe, and not one of the Arena’s other occupants. The woman was still running, and Ayiso knew he only had a short amount of time before she outpaced him and left his range of control. Throwing his left hand forward, he willed the the ice to fly toward the woman. In a brief moment, the ice would reach her. Though he lacked the concentration to control each of the shards individually, he was able to move them as a mass swarm. If he was successful, the sharp pieces of ice would circle her head like a small horde of insects, hopefully distracting the woman from her run. Ayiso kept running as the ice raced toward his opponent, but slowed to a fast jog. Knowing he needed to be ready in case of a threat from behind, he prepared to defend himself from any attack as he controlled his ice. Never expect your enemy’s weariness. Always expect your own.

TitanDragonLord -> RE: =EC 2017= Sky Arena (8/11/2017 9:17:37)
Inigo stood and watched as his attack collided with the stone, the ball of flame exploding in a violent blast, narrowly missing the Willow Man. A slight miscalculation on his part, but it had done the job well enough. He never really expected to strike his foe from this range, but the attack had forced him to move, herding him like the animal that he seemed to be. That would put him in a far less safe position, and would make him easier prey. The man’s new position was a rather perilous one at that, hanging off the edge of the lowest platform like some desperate beast. Normally the pyromancer would try to attack again straight away, but those fireballs needed his breath to properly launch them, and the thin air of the arena stopped him from preparing himself as quickly as he’d like. A shame, his target seemed so vulnerable at that moment. He could now only pray that Molly would be able to finish him off as instructed. He straightened back up, head turning just in time to catch a glimpse of his ally throwing the second harpoon, the weapon sailing through the air to explode just shy of its target. Damn, it seemed that she’d made the same mistake as him, and overcompensated for their opponent’s movement. A disappointment, but not an unexpected one, and not one he could especially blame Halfcrow for. If they didn’t want to carry on exerting themselves with little results, they’d have to change their approach. The warrior raised his left hand, another ball of flame forming to fill his palm. Gritting his teeth and focusing his strength, he slowly started to compress the sphere until fingers were curled around into a white knuckled fist. Holding his arm out over the edge of the platform, he flicked his wrist, unclenching his tight grip on the now tiny spark of bright energy. Eyes followed the small flare as it drifted down, landing on the grey stone of the closest ring to them. “He’s going to be coming up, get ready,” he said, eyes still focused on the Willow Man, not turning to face his companion. He twirled his blade in his hand as he took a few steps away from the edge, pacing back and forth in anticipation for the coming battle. Now it would be time to see how he compared with the supposed best warriors this world had to offer.

Kooroo -> RE: =EC 2017= Sky Arena (8/11/2017 17:11:10)
Planning ahead and thinking in advance were not traits that were commonly associated with Lieutenant Irina von Ra. Typically, the name von Ra was associated with incredibly long and drawn out battles, with the main tactic being a focus on minimizing friendly losses. Many of her decisions were singular, on-the-spot, and made to halt an enemy maneuver or nullify an unfavorable development on the battlefield. They also seldom came in pairs, and almost never came as a full-packaged plan. Lieutenant von Ra was not typically known as the type of commander that brought a massive, novel-length strategy to the Command Platform. Rather, she was well-known for the tendency to show up in front of the portal with little more than a few last minute notes and a cup of chocolate. Rarely, if ever, were they a step in a pre-conceived master plan she had prepared that ensured their victory. Very rarely did her on-the-spot thinking ever lead anywhere, however, and as a result, efficiency was not something she was exactly renowned for. Which made this development interesting. Mildly interesting. But only mildly. A bit past the halfway point of the platform, she glanced back briefly again, reaffirming that the ice thrower had indeed continued his chase. She hadn't been able to see what was floating around him, but she had an idea as to what it was. More ice. He seemed to be slowing, though that hardly mattered. If he had stopped now she would've been saved the trouble of running any further, and may have been able to convert these few meters gained into a somewhat crude and hasty flanking maneuver. Assuming that the inhabitants on the platform weren't just sitting at the top of the platform ready to... skewer her and process her into lantern fuel, or whatever decrepit sailors did with slain, luminescent foes. Maybe the sailor's warrior partner would've just beheaded Irina instead? Regardless, the chanter had chased Irina instead of giving up or falling off the Arena, and as a result, he was still her main concern. Which was where her mildly interesting plan came into play. She mentally ticked off the checklist she had prepared a bare minute ago. Is he still chasing? Of course he was. Irina wouldn't have minded her plan failing if the man had just given up or keeled over, though. A shame. Is he still staring? The chanter had indeed still been staring in her direction. Whether it was because he was watching her or concentrating on preparing his next attack, it didn't matter much. He was still looking in her direction and that was all that mattered. She started gathering magic in her free arm, watching as the next gap neared. Is he gaining? The opposite, in fact. Good. Another few steps, and Irina felt like the timing was right for another threat on her life. She threw a glance back and almost caught the spray of ice in her face. She raised her arms protectively in front of her face and dodged slightly to her left in an attempt to avoid it. Jump. Instinctively, Irina jumped, a step before the platform disappeared from under her. A second ticked by, and then suddenly the next platform was below her. She landed heavily, dropping to one knee, and immediately started rising as she noticed that the shards were still keeping her company. If they swarmed her face all at once, it might be bad. She could lose an eye, or the distraction could allow for another attack if the frost caller had another prepared. The frost caller. She whipped her head to the right as the shards dove into her unprotected neck, wincing and cursing as the chanter approached the end of his platform. Maybe it was a good thing that he had slowed down after all. She bent at the knees and waist, pretending that she was about to sprint again, though keeping her head angled and hidden behind raised arms. It was all down to timing and precision now. The frost shaman's run was little more than a jog now, but still he hurried after Irina, peering at her, concentrating on the swarm arcing around her. She took a deep breath. Her quarry reached the end of his platform, his knees bending slightly and his feet pushing off- And then she exhaled, exploding with light from within. As her skin shone, Irina twisted, flinging her left arm forward and fired. The power in her arm erupted from her hand, racing towards her airborne target. Perfect.

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