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=EC= Elemental Championship Finals

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9/19/2006 5:15:57   
DWeird
Member

The arena is large, with rows upon rows of seats for spectators above a perfect octagon field of red sand. The crowd slowly gathers to watch the incredible displays of sorcery and swordsmanship. The wealthier viewers sit in front-row seats, surrounded by armed bodyguards and personal mages, whilst the commoners are forced to watch the bloodshed from a more considerable distance.

The air is filled with anticipation, excitement, and the buzz from the invisible protection fields the guardian mages produce to keep wayward projectiles - be they metal or magic - away from the crowd.

It's not such petty protective magics that are most prominent sight of the arena, but rather the eight pillars, incredible manifestations of the Elemental Lords' power, and the gates behind each that put such things to shame.

The gates themselves unimportant, only what's behind them being of any relevance - for behind them were the eight champions, now healed and restored after the battles that granted them such a title, who came here to fight for their own glory and the glory of their elements. Few sounds came from behind the gates - unlike before, there was but one man or creature behind each, and there was no one they could express whatever emotions they had to there... Everyone knew that a Lord only chooses a single follower to battle on - the one who he sees as most worthy of the privilege, and thusly everyone knew that this would be a battle to remember.


And, as a reminder of that fact, the eight grand pillars stand - if not to communicate to all those who gathered of the Lords' might and grace, then at least to provide some distraction for the blood-thirsty crowd.


An ancient oak stands in the sandy arena, or at least, a trunk of one, for the only visible branches grow straight into in the stone platform above. Indeed a monument to itself, the Pillar of Earth seems to be eternal and vivid at the same time. Beside it, a silver statue of defender with a spear stands, ready and vigilant... Stories, some true, some false, but all wondrous, tell of how that man had fell last year, and how his death was honoured by the Lord itself.

Surrounded by a shimmering veil of superheated air, a stream of flickering lava - who could have guessed melted stone could burn? - flows constantly from an invisible spot from the platform above, and disappears just as mysteriously into the sand bellow. The Fire Pillar's heat is indeed making all the nearby cool drink vendors happy, and the rest of the crowd suffer, drenched in their own sweat.

Small translucent fish play in the Pillar of Water - a lazy waterfall, which, while providing an aura of coolness and relaxation for all of those around, does not spill one drop of it on the red arena sand.

The Darkness Piller can not be seen - either because it simply sucks all nearby light it in, making its surroundings signficantly dimmer than the rest of arena, or due to the fact no one really wants to look at it, seeing how doing only rewards one with piercing pains in the head and the taste of bile in the mouth...

The Pillar of Wind can not be seen either, but it most certainly can be felt and heard... A whirlwind (though more of a miniature tornado) spins happilly around, messing up the elaborate hairdos of the ladies in the stands above.

A white patch of snow in the red red field with a humongous slab of ice in the center - even a penguin would probably lose a limb if it were to touch the Pillar of Ice.

A silent hum and standing hair are the only warnings one gets of the pillar of pristine steel standing in the sand - the Piller of Energy, of course.

The Pillar of Light seems to be ethereal - a light as bright as no one has ever seen, and still one that doesn't hurt your eyes - rather on the contrary, as its soothing effect is possibly even greater than that of the Water Pillar's.


The Arena is spotlessly clean, with not a drop of blood or gore anywhere... Either the scarlet liquids were washed away during the course of the year... or they simply became one with that red sand below your feet and in your shoe.


The gates begin to open, with loud cheers from the crowd.


You will either become victorious, or become sand.

< Message edited by DWeird -- 9/22/2006 7:01:31 >
Post #: 1
9/19/2006 19:13:34   
Cheeseliker
Member

Daroth stared out into the arena, behind the iron gates. His sword was out, and he shook himself, ready to enter the all-out chaos that would soon ensue. He was fully healed, fully rejuvenated, and raring to go. He had been surprised to have been picked, remembering the emberrasment of before. The Dark lord had obviously seen Daroth's potential, and was giving him a second chance. Daroth would not need a third. Nobody would strike him in the back this time.

He could feel the power of his lord's pillar, radiating Dark energy. He could look upon it with no side effects, and the vision of it thrilled it. He was pumped, ready to fight for his lord. Ready to show all that the Dark lord was the greatest of lords, and that Darkness was the true power.

He didn't know much about the other contenders, and couldn't really see into the other stations where they stood. He knew the moglin was back, fighting with and for Energy. He would be a tough cookie, that was for sure, but Daroth looked forward to a challenge. A challenge, that was what this was. A test of your devotion to your lord. A test to see which element is most powerful this year.

Daroth clenched his hand and closed his eyes, focusing on the magical power in his armor. It was fully charged and ready to be unleashed. Combatants would die here, Daroth knew, for to lose and stay alive would be to live forever in shame. Daroth would win or die, for not becoming the Champion was as bad as losing in the dropoffs. Only the Champion matters. Only his name is remembered forever, and only will he, forever live with his lord after death.

What would happen first, who would fight who? The beginnings of these things were always interesting. Would the rivals fight eachother perhaps? Fire and water, dark and light? Or would it become completely random? Daroth gazed out into the arena, and waited. Would he die today? Daroth smiled. Death smiles at us all. All we can do is smile back.
AQ  Post #: 2
9/20/2006 0:36:14   
Guardian of Nekops
Member

Behind the Gate of Earth, Roch the Crusher fell to his knees, gasping for air. The power that had brought him and the other Champions here had taken him underground for a time, where the raw materials of the Earth had been packed by powerful hands into his wounds and into the holes in his armor, changing from dirt and stone into flesh and steel. The sense of weight, of being in the presence of his Lord, had been greater there than he had ever felt before, and the intoxication of the experience still pulsed through his veins. To think, his wounds had been tended and his armor repaired by the Lord of Earth himself! Touching the armor where it had been flawlessly restored on his left shoulder, he whispered, “God-forged. Amazing.”

And he knelt on red sands... the red sands of the Great Arena. Lifting up a handful, he let the grains flow through his fingers. He was really here, really the Champion of Earth. He had never believed he would make it this far, and he had not prepared himself for it. Fortunately, the people of his village had been more confident in his abilities than he had been, and had lovingly prepared his armor for the sands of glory they were so sure he would walk. Roch smiled, his heart warmed as he thought of the sacrifices so many of his neighbors had made in order to pay for these alterations, as well as at the knowledge that a few of them would be here, watching him from the stands.

Reaching back with his free hand, Roch touched the transmutation circles on the soles of his boots. Unlike the general circle inscribed inside his gauntlet, which was designed to give him some control over the transmutation that it enabled, these arrays were quite specific. Their sole purpose was to change the tread of his boots from a surface suitable for combat on stone or metal to a spiked one that would anchor him in the loose sands of the Great Arena, and that is what they did. With a light groaning of the metal, each boot condensed its ridges into inch-long spikes, perfectly placed to give the Crusher’s feet a grip on the sand, both for running and for standing his ground.

Planting the shaft of the Gravity Axe firmly in the red sands, Roch used it as a lever to force his armored body up. He moved his feet in the sand to test the feel of the spikes, deciding that they would stand him in good stead in the battle to come. Facing the closed door that stood between him and his fate, he closed his eyes and reached for his Lord. Catching a slight taste of the peace he had felt while his body had been reshaped underground, he prayed, Great Lord of Earth, you gave me the victory over my enemies in the foothills of K’eld Naer, and honored me greatly by proclaiming me your Champion. If the strength is mine to do so, I will give back to you both victory and honor this day. If not, I shall gladly die to show that my zeal, at least, is not lacking.

With a loud, impressive creak of metal and stone, the door before him opened, revealing to the Crusher’s eyes the Pillar of Earth in all its glory. As he strode into the Championship Arena, Impact held ready and his feet firmly rooted in the ground, the Champion of Earth gazed up at where wood and stone grew together and saw his dream made real; he saw Eternal Life.
AQ  Post #: 3
9/20/2006 6:07:43   
demonhunter
Member

The moment Bernard had found himself behind the iron gate, he had sheathed his blade and lowered himself into a kneeling meditative position. He had killed. Granted, he had done so in defence, but still... He had killed. Inflicting death was a last resort to a Cassiline, and one that many of his ilk felt required due penance.

He knew where he was. The Pillar of Fire beyond the gate was all he needed to see to realise that he had made it into the next round of the tournament. It was to be expected. Cassilines were the elite. In single combat, few warriors could match up to the sheer skill of a well-trained Cassiline.

But still... There was always a chance of death. Especially since he was without his...

"Ho there, Cassiline!"

Bernard looked up at the sound of a voice calling him. Something was thrown down in front of him... Something that clinked, like steel striking steel. It was his armour, but the voice wasn't that of the blacksmith he'd left it with.

He glanced around, and up at the stands, but he couldn't see whoever had returned his armour. No matter. He had already paid for the repairs that the equipment had needed, and by the looks of things, the repairs had been completed.

The Cassiline stood up, and stripped off his shirt. Lifting up the chainmail shirt, he admired the repair work. Not a single link looked as though it didn't belong. Excellent. He donned the shirt quickly, and drew his grey tunic-shirt over the top of it. Next the chain-mesh gloves, which would protect his hands. His arms were bare of armour, save the steel vambraces at his forearms. Now, he truly felt like a Cassiline again.

Grinning as the gate opened, and he strode out towards the Fire Pillar, only one thing crossed his mind.

Failure is not an option.
AQ DF  Post #: 4
9/20/2006 10:46:51   
Zinsho_Lexagen
Member

For a moment he was blinded, the change in lighting enough to throw him off balance as he realized that the mists were gone. So were the spikes, and the pirate he had planned on killing. Instead he found himself in a tunnel leading up to a gate. As his eyes adjusted to the changes he realized where he was, what had happened. The battle had ended, or at least the first battle. He had been chosen as Champion, now he supposed it was time for him to finish things, time for this battle to be ended for good or for ill.

Moving up to the gate he gazed at the pillar before him, the pillar of Light. Comparing it to his blade he chuckled, there was no comparison between the two, the pillar was as manifestation of the beauty of Light, his blade was a tool that would teach others to respect the power of Light. The one disgusted him, the other called to him, sang to his core. His life was his tool, his weapon, his art, now he would show others just what the true beauty of Light was, the more subtle, obscure beauty, beauty through purpose.

Stretching out slowly he settled to wait for this round to begin. He still could not remember his past, nor where he had learned what he knew, but he knew what he was at this time, in this place. He was the warrior of Light, the shadow that would turn your light to his needs. Thus Zinsho waited, the shadow-blurred form with his light-warped blade.
Post #: 5
9/20/2006 16:24:19   
Art of Blade
Member

And suddenly, her eyes opening like the curtains owned by a man who has only just realized that terrorists are bombing his front lawn, Nimra gasped, and looked around frantically.
Was this... death?
As she gazed upon her surroundings, she noticed the red sand below her, the gates placed in front of her, and the screaming shouts from the crowd around her.
Quickly, Nimra checked her side. Where once a covering of ice had stopped blood from streaming and, in turn, damaged her insides, there was now nothing. Well, of course, there was her clothing there, and her skin under that, and muscles under that, and then the bones...
But streaming through all this... her blood? It was still there? It was back? Moments before, she had lost it all in an attempt to eliminate a powerful opponent...
Nimra paused.
Her previous foe's blood could not be felt anywhere. He did not appear to be here.
Did she win?
Or was this the place where the losers were placed?
In hopes of having some sort of clue to these questions, Nimra rushed towards the gates, and peered through it...
A pillar, a cold pillar of ice... she could feel its stinging breath from here.
Nimra stared.

Do not worry, said a voice within her. We have been chosen by the Ice Lord. This... is the Elemental Championship's Final round. It is this round where we get to prove ourselves to our respective Lords.

Nimra paused. Of course. Berdin would understand this sort of thing. After all, she came here at his insistence. Berdin will never forget what happened to him... years of isolation... the feeling that he was forgotten as a mere pawn...

No point in reminiscing on my past at this point, now, came the thought, yet again. We may share the same mind and body, but that's no reason to feel any of your silly pity for me. As of now, they are irrelevant. For now we must fight.

Nimra nodded.

She was not one to wear heavy armor. Her clothing was based more on speed and agility. Her red bodysuit covered her entire body, except for the head and the hands. A dull orange vest and an equally dull pair of orange pants were worn. The bottoms of the pant’s leggings were tied to her legs by a small bit of fishnet. A long piece of a bolder orange cloth was tied around her waist, and 'streamed' behind her in three 'tails'. Her reddish-brown hair, long as it was, was kept in shape by a dull orange sort of bandana.

She was unsure why she was here. A simple answer would be that it was the duty of Berdin, as a Spirit of Ice. Nimra sensed, however, that there was more to this than that. These events... they could not merely be the separate points, joined by threads of luck. There was meaning in her joining this Championship. There was a meaning in her being here, her wounds being healed; even her clothing seemed to stitch them up. Only destiny could repair something that was torn away, even if it was lost long before the Championship has started... this cloth that is now tied around her waist, which was slashed off since ages past.

This was not merely a full heal. This was a total and complete revival.

The way this Championship operates is... unusual, isn't it, Berdin?
I find it best... not to question such things.
It's as if it's powered by destiny and fate.
Such things are ridiculous, of course...
Of course... only with our own strengths can we forge a future...
The lives of others have nothing to do with ours.
And if we die, it is only because our strength was not enough.
Exactly. It matters not what our goals are, were, or will be... if we are not strong, we will end and be forgotten. That is all.

Nimra walked past the gates, the feeling of blood in the air becoming stronger and stronger. Approaching the block of pure ice, Nimra gazed upon it, its power apparent, as if the Ice Lord has seated himself upon this very pillar.

But still... it doesn't harm anyone to think such thoughts, Berdin, does it?
It depends... are we strong enough to be worthy of confidence? Are we worthy of victory, of being recognized?
As you said... we are here because the Ice Lord has chosen us. All we need to do now...
... Is to prove ourselves.

With a small twist of the hand, and sphere of ice formed in it. She bit a small part of her finger, and smeared her blood upon the icy sphere. And then, proudly, she held the Blood Ball tightly and pointed it towards the Pillar of Ice, as if she was saluting it.

Heh... are you teasing my loyalty, Nimra?
No, not teasing, per say...
Ha... by doing this, you have made a promise to a block of ice.
Only because you don't have your own body to salute with. I know you'd do something so meaningless as an expression of, dare I say it, your unusual loyalty.
So now we have sworn that we won't lose...
Well, considering that losing means death...
Heh. If only promises had any real effect on reality...

As Nimra paused to consider this, she shrugged. She licked a single finger, and placed it in the air in the manner of one testing the winds with a small smile.

Heh... we sound like chapters from a self-help booklet. Our little philosophy lesson is finished for now. Let us start this battle, Berdin... the blood excites us!
AQ  Post #: 6
9/21/2006 0:38:15   
Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...


 A sprite flitted across his vision briefly, a crystalline aquamarine flashing brilliantly against the swirling grays of the mists. It collided with Ronin, almost imperceptibly, slowly spreading a diffuse glow across his entire person. As he stared momentarily in stunned bewilderment at this odd occurrence, a single thought had the time to run rampant through his mind, How…odd…, before he exploded from within in countless shards of glittering remnants.

Yet his consciousness remained eerily intact. This is…jut a tad unpleasant and quite a disturbing development. Or so he thought, as soon enough in the same abrupt and sudden fashion, his body had reformed and took hold of his consciousness once more. Not that he felt entirely whole in the same fashion as before, rather, a slightly odd feeling crept across the back of his mind. He was outside the gate of Spike Arena, yet no one seemed to pay him any mind at all…and the feeling suddenly seemed to define itself. I am…ethereal for the nonce? After all that…not even transported all the way to the Main Arena either? I suppose I’ll just have to hoof it there, how quaint.

However, there was a purpose in this, as in all things that the Lords and even their greater Avatars chose to decree amongst mortals. With each step he took, waves of soothing relief washed over the man that first numbed his wounds, then coaxed them back to health. More subtly, he felt the pulsating force of raw magic lap gently at his hand. As he had expected, and even planned for, his runes were not capable of restoration outside of the rituals that had imbued him in the first place, yet to his mild surprise, the ring of stored power consumed by the conjuration of the mists was being rewoven.

Ronin strode with purpose into the corridor leading to Water’s gate in the Main Arena, feeling the etherealness being replaced by the firm hold of reality. However, Water’s Blessings were not yet entirely finished, for now his breastplate was alit with an inner glow of its own…and so too was his rent shield, that sat alongside a satchel next to the iron doors separating this alcove from the arena proper. He was shocked as he felt the purpose of this new supposed blessing, the restoration of the entire Armor Cerulean and his Aegis of the Fallen Star. Neither of which had been whole for years.

“No.”

A single word, a single act of defiance against what Water had chosen to bestow upon the ancient warrior…and it was enough. The glow faded, leaving him conflicted with a sense of loss. There was no time to waste, and he opened the satchel to withdraw a set of clothes from a bedding of fine gray, silver, and gold dust. No ordinary dust, but the reduced remnants of two millennia of trusted weapons and armors Ronin had used…that would find its use soon enough.

Ronin moved to a shadowed area of the alcove, not so much for privacy but to maintain a sense of modesty, before stripping off armor and clothes alike. Feathered pauldrons and sapphire-hued breastplate, robes and leather breeches, even his boots found themselves discarded onto a growing pile next to his rent shield. He replaced these clothes quickly, not wanting to stand around in only the cloth that girded his loins, slipping into an overlong tunic and a pair of voluminous pants that reached to mid-calf. The tunic was of a sleeveless variety, and had a deep v-cut in the middle such that two ties had to secure the garment from slipping off of his shoulders.

Both were a fluid silver color, trimmed in cold sapphire, and made from two rare materials of Ronin’s own creation. Dreamweave, an exquisite substance that rivaled the finest silks, bound by Runethread which replaced the need for archaic characters to be so garishly displayed as his source of magic. Neither were truly impressive in any other respect, but it was a prideful work whose design was patterned after the practices of the fighting orders by his Kindred. Yet even in these clothes, expanses of skin showed, resplendent in tattoo work curiously similar to the runes inlayed in his prior garb. He finished the ensemble by securing a deep scarlet sash around his waist, before realizing that the gate had been open for some time now.

Well then, mustn’t keep the others waiting. Picking up both the satchel and the pile of discarded gear, he strode into the deafening uproar of the crowd over to the Pillar of Water. Dropping it all, save for his blade, in an unceremonious heap beside the flowing waterfall, he turned and surveyed the field of battle.

Two years since I have been here…two years and I have been stripped of those arms that served me in those fights. That shall be rectified in the heat of battle soon enough. Spreading his bare feet in the red sands into a shoulder-width stance, he prepared himself for what was to come. Reaching up, he pulled away the cord binding his queue together and added it to the pile solemnly. This time, there is no holding back.
AQ  Post #: 7
9/22/2006 19:06:58   
Cheeseliker
Member

Daroth's armor crackled with Dark energy, as Daroth watched the other combatants. The Earth champion entered the arena, axe in hand, amazement on his face as he viewed the Earth Tree. One wearing chainmail, headed straight for the Fire Pillar, the endless volcano. A female walked out to the Ice Pillar, and raised a finger to the air, causing Daroth to shake his head. Some magic ritual? A pre-combat tradition perhaps? It didn't matter, and another caught Daroth's eye. He walked to the Water Pillar, dropping a bag and some discarded armor. Others did not show themselves, but Daroth decided it was time.

He walked out, eyes glancing from side to side, always alert. He was wary from the dropoffs, and did not want to get backstabbed again. He reached the Dark pillar, and could feel the Darkness radiating from it, empowering him. It gave him great strength. He reached out, intending to touch it, but hesitated. Even he was afraid, no, nervous about the power of this Pillar. But he was the Dark Champion. He alone had been chosen to fight for his Lord. He touched the Pillar, the blackness, and shuddered as energy surged throughout his entire body. He closed his eyes as Darkness consumed him.

He floated, as if in a dream. He felt himself inside the Pillar, gazing out at the crowds, the combatants and himself. He would've had goosebumps, had he been in his body. He felt ethereal, godly even. Then, as sudden as it ha happened, he opened his eyes and he was there, again. Touching the great black Pillar. He looked to the sky. "Darkness shall consume all." He swore, and lowered his hand slowly.

He strode away from the Pillar, toward the middle of the arena. The Pillar had given him strength, power, and confidence. He couldn't lose. It was impossible for Dark to lose to any other element for the other elements were weak. Arriving in the center, he turned in a circle, viewing his opponents, all standing by their Pillars. He would not go to fight them where they had the advantage, nor would they have fought with him near the Dark Pillar, if they were smart, and to make it here, you had to be smart, and so Daroth stood on middle ground, where no one had the advantage. Would they face him? Would they dare to leave their precious Pillars?

Daroth raised his arms and his sword, issuing a challenge. "Come warriors of the elements! Face me on even ground, and we shall see who will live and who will die!" He lowered his voice to a whisper as he readied himself, still turning in a circle, waiting to see which answered his call first. "Come and see your death."
AQ  Post #: 8
9/22/2006 23:37:16   
xaxtoo
Member

A ceremonial voice is talking in Martin’s head. Martin is swearing quite profusely. To be more precise, Martin’s swearing started much earlier than the invasion of a voice into his mind. Upon seeing the light descending upon the arena, Martin realized the gravity of his situation, which turned out to be quite different than playing with a bunch of warrior wannabes. The impending doom casted such a gloom over Martin’s countenance: Martin looked like he might just empty his stomach despite it being quite empty since last eve. Martin has been around enough and has even attended one Elemental Championships to know that death is likely to visit all except one lonely participant daring to step foot inside the arena. There was no doubt that Martin has ever been more vehemently opposed to anything. With a grim resolve to oppose any demands God might issue with her sense of unjustified entitlement, Martin is at the point now still steadfast as the voice gets from sultry and soothing akin to what one would expect a dancer of the flamenco would have to thunderous and violent. Finally, it stopped altogether, yet before Martin could even exhale from relief, a vivid image of a clearing appear inside his head. So shocked by the realism of the image, Martin didn’t even question that despite having never traversed these lands before in his life, he knew exactly that the clearing is 400 meters due west of his current position. Slowly an image of a man start to materialize, no, not quite a man, a giant, no, that doesn’t seem quite right either, it was Martin himself. Martin can feel himself touching his nose in disbelief; he saw his hand moving towards his nose, he felt the heat as it stayed on his nose, then as it leaved, a slight disturbance through the length of his beard. He saw himself do this on the field, yet his nose felt the brush of his hand both of which are currently still in the arena, as Martin can attest to since he can still hear the din of the crowd. Then the Martin, the one free, starts walking west towards some unknown destination, Martin knew that he clearly wanted a tavern soon, and west seemed as a good direction as any: he had made this decision while still in the fountain, surprisingly fictitious Martin knew of his thoughts as well. After a couple of steps Martin’s head suddenly jerked back and he fell to the ground. He saw nothing, yet when he reached out with his hand, he felt a distinct barrier. The image disappeared, and once again Martin’s head is filled with a seductive voice reasoning with his reluctance, nay total objection to receiving any sort of aid with his task. With an angry swirl the lights disappeared too. All that remains is Martin with his newly acquired headache near an inn, close by another arena, which Martin all too well recognize as a possible location of his death.



Martin has never met a group of people as mad as those he just convened with, though his future certainly contain a group of people much more mad and zealous. Chugging down his drink, Martin gets ready to retire for the day. Even after an afternoon of running around in preparation, Martin still doesn’t feel prepared for tomorrow. Ever since his vision, Martin resigned himself to the fact that he has no means of escape, and all he can do is participate and hopefully not die. One of the first things Martin resolved was he made sure for tomorrow he would have a bottle to last him through out the whole day: the situation certainly requires a certain degree of inebriety. Lucky for Martin one of the shops had a giant-sized cloak, though as a paltry defense a cloak is, one for giants can impede most missile attacks. The shop owner turned out to be a vicious and greedy merchant, Martin had to use a massive feat of persuasion to get the owner to see the light. Then for the rest of the time Martin looked for some select people he could hire. Unfortunately, most of the type of people Martin is looking for have already threw themselves into stupidity: most and if not all are already recuperating at nearby inns and taverns, the late arrivals weren’t easy to find at all. Martin managed to strike a bargain with them; however, the deal turned out not in Martin’s favor, but he can bear it for the sake of survival. Arriving at his room, Martin settles into finishing some loose-ends. First of which, which a knife he stole from the kitchen Martin starts sharpening the sapling. With the finishing handiwork resembling that of a certain pipe, the sapling now has a sharp end, some decorations, and the artist’s name. The very last task Martin has to do is to sew another pocket onto his shirt as well as add a compartment somewhere to safely contain his liquor. Unfortunately his hands didn’t make it through the night without acquiring some small holes.



“Morning Gents.” As Martin came down the stairs his band of make-shift warriors were already waiting for him, “good, you’re on time and prepared to boot. Off we go then.” Martin divides them up equally into two portions and after scooping them up, deposits each half into one shirt pocket. Just as Martin was about to leave, a voice interrupts him, “A package for a Martin Blowhard.” “I swear,” As Martin turned to face the messenger and talked to no one in particular, “God has a cruel sense of humor; she’s vindictive too, after I specifically told her I wouldn’t accept any help, she even tramples on my last bit of defiance.” Martin takes the package, and thanks the messenger by flicking him across the bar as gently as possible before taking his leave. The trip to the arena had nothing interesting to report outside the fact Martin lit his pipe; he has no intention of taking it out for the duration of the day. If his fate didn’t feel sealed before, upon arriving at the daunting gate, Martin has no doubt much blood will be spilt before the day’s done.
AQ  Post #: 9
9/23/2006 11:31:51   
Art of Blade
Member

Nimra turned her head to look at the man in the middle of the arena, raising his arms and his sword and shouting challenges to the other contestants. He sounded very confident in himself, Nimra noted dully. Even ground? Nimra thought, as her mouth twisted itself into an almost evil grin. She gripped her Blood Ball tightly, as she slammed the ground with her free palm. Gradually, the ice reach a couple of meters ahead of her, and then fanned out in both directions to create a circle of ice around her- ice that was as clear as glass. If she could, she would have covered the entire arena with this sort of ground... but that would have been a pointless waste of energy, really. The ice was ordinary, but then again, that's all she needed. Nice, slippery ice that would last quite a bit. She stood in front of the pillar of ice, and tossed the Blood Ball casually in the air, the sphere always returning to her hand. As each second passed by, she felt a bit more confident about her being there. Last time, there was a horrible amount of mist blinding her. This time, however, she could be a bit more direct knowing who and where her opponents are, exactly. And now with the ice covering the sand, and her being one who knew how to run on ice, she had the advantage of running towards any direction if the opponent happened to slip (or, in the slight possibility that the opponent was able to run towards her on the ice, run) towards her. The advantage lay in her being quicker on ice.

She was going directly against the man's wishes, because going up against him in exactly the way he wants her to would be absolutely stupid, an amateur move, something done by someone with a deathwish, and oblivious to obvious traps. Either that, or horribly proud. As if such a thing was needed on the battlefield. She shook her head slightly and pointed an impolite finger at the shouting man standing in the center.

"You!" she shouted, her mouth grinning, "you stand out too much and you're asking for too much!" And with an almost silent 'grah', she threw her Blood Ball towards him. This time, she hoped, my Blood Ball might actually be useful without it being cracked in half. Now strike, Sphere of Ice, and return to me! she shouted in her head, convinced that it sounded wonderfully mystical and convincing. And, of course, since something like that has to rhyme... Spill his blood with thy blunt yet painful blows repeatedly!

< Message edited by Art of Blade -- 9/23/2006 11:33:18 >
AQ  Post #: 10
9/23/2006 23:24:30   
Guardian of Nekops
Member

As Roch walked around the great trunk of the Earth Pillar, he came upon the silver statue that stood defending it, spear and head held high. Arcadius, fighter for the Earth...

"A strange fate is yours, friend," he whispered to the motionless warrior. "To be overlooked as champion of your element, then to become a part of its symbol in the arena forevermore, waiting for an entire silent year, then watching the Championships without being able to fight... a hard thing to bear, I should think." Noting the slight smile on the silver face, though, he continued, "But you seem content, so who am I to judge? Endure, wasn't that what you said?"

The Crusher's musings were interrupted by the challenge issued by the warrior for Darkness, who had taken a position in the center of the Great Arena. The maiden of Ice responded with a strategy of which Roch greatly approved; first, she covered the sand around her with a thick layer of ice to give herself the advantage, and then she cast some sort of icy projectile at her foe, forcing him to come to her or suffer her attacks again and again. The thought recalled to his mind Ronin's words to him in the Spike Arena, about paying close attention to tactics, and that is what he began to do.

Looking directly across the arena towards his elemental counterpart, the Champion of Wind, Roch saw that the competitor was a giant. The Crusher was eager to fight one who could match him in sheer brute strength, but checked himself before rushing towards the battle. For one thing, a fight against the giant would be an even match; there were probably easier targets here. For another, the Dark Warrior stood directly between the two of them, and to fight the giant right now Roch would first have to pass him, which he feared to do. There were plenty of shadows inside his armor, after all, and if this fighter could manipulate them... he shuddered with the thought.

Someone else, then. Looking around the arena, Roch's eyes landed on the self-styled Ronin of Dreams, now much transformed from the man he had fought among the mists of Spike. The now-Champion of Water stood next to his Pillar in loose clothing that gave him an exotic look, the pile of equipment by his side looking almost like the materials for a transmutation. Though he wasn't sure what the former prince had planned this time, the Crusher knew better than to get stuck in the middle of it again.

When he saw the Fire Champion by his pillar of molten rock, Roch was sure he had the right mark. This warrior was close, only one pillar to his right, which would cut down the time he would have to react to a charge. He wore only chain mail, with nothing to protect him from the crushing force of Impact, and Roch would have little to fear from the man's fire or his blade while wrapped in protective steel. But what could give him an advantage, he wondered, to counteract the neccessary closeness to the Fire Pillar?

The sand, he thought, grinning as he broke into a run towards the Fire Champion. The spikes on his boots dug into the sand as he ran, giving him even better control than he had anticipated. Holding the Axe of Gravity low on his right side as he ran, Roch shouted, "Defend yourself, Fire, for the Crusher comes for you!"

The cry was quickly followed by a hail of red sand headed for the Fire Campion's head and torso, propelled up and forward by the flat of Impact's head as it swung up and left. Roch jumped into the air behind the quick, biting sandstorm in minature, bringing his axe down towards the Fire Champion with all the force he could muster.
AQ  Post #: 11
9/24/2006 2:49:59   
demonhunter
Member

Bernard stood impassively, observing the actions of the other competitors. The Ice champion's tactics intrigued him, and he found himself devising similar tactics of his own. He had a number of nasty little tricks up his sleeve that he could use...

His train of thought was broken by the shouting of the Earth champion. Bernard turned to face his opponent as swiftly as he could, then hurled himself to his left, with an angry "Elua's Balls!" of surprise. The axe missed his foot by a hand's span, no more.

He hit dirt, hard. Standing up and shrugging off the pain, he thrust a hand towards the pillar, curled his fingers, and then wrenched his hand towards himself. A jet of molten rock followed the movement of his hand as his eyes narowed in concentration. It was difficult to control this substance, more difficult than controlling fire... But fire was its essence, and it was that to which he bound his will.

With a harsh, incomprehensible battlecry, he thrust his hand forward, towards the Earth champion, sending the molten rock he controlled hurtling towards the man. The searing heat should prove uncomfortable, if not painful, for the Crusher, whilst the semi-solid nature of the substance should provide a nice solid blow.

But even as he attacked, he was already preparing another. And this little trick wasn't one ordained by Cassiel... Or the Fire lord. No, this was a skill he'd picked up during his travels in the province of Kusheth, where he had been born. It was a skill inspired by four lines of verse... And the lady to whom those lines had last applied.

With his left hand controlling the molten rock projectile, he raised his right hand in front of his face, summoning fire in his palm. His fingers moved swiftly, shaping the fire into a particular form, as he muttered the lines which would make this flame what he intended it to be.

"Mighty Kushiel, of rod and weal,
Keeper of the brazen portals,
With blood tipp'd dart, a wound unhealed,
Prick the eyen of chosen mortals."

These words referred to a physical feature known as Kushiel's Dart: A pinprick of blood in the eye. It was the mark of an anguissette, one who finds pleasure in pain. Only one person in the last eight generations had borne such a mark, and it was her symbol which Bernard formed now in his fingertips, fashioned in fire.

The symbol was actually a marque, a tattoo borne on the back of a Servant of Naamah when he or she had completed their years of service. This particular marque had later become reserved especially for those who were pricked by Kushiel's Dart. Its design was based on that of a briar rose, with the intertwining stems forming a sharp point, symbolic of the dart. In colour, the stems were black, with the rose petals done in a deep scarlet colour, but when rendered in fire, only one colour was needed.

Bernard scored his cheek with the tip of the fiery dart, letting the blood cling to it. The only colour required for the dart, when rendered in fire, was a single drop of blood on its tip.

The Cassiline kept the fiery dart in his hand. He was prepared to throw it, and when he did, he would aim straight for eyes...
AQ DF  Post #: 12
9/25/2006 1:13:38   
Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...


 Ronin stood there, playing almost idly with his blade held in his left hand, as impatience overtook several of the other competitors he was to be pitted against. The warrior of Darkness, prideful and arrogant, shouting challenge to the rest of the assembled. He is not yet worth my time, and while pride has its place, the prideful have an odd habit of being the first to fall when it comes to grips. He glanced then past this warrior towards the Pillar of Ice, and watched with just the lightest interest as the female Chosen for Ice went and layered a semblance of a tactical advantage. Clever, she will bear watching. Yet others caught his eye merely because of their nature. A giant, apparently the beholden of Wind, that Ronin had no desire to tangle with…although he may well be forced to do so. Fire having been taken by a Cassiel…not a true surprise in and of itself, but he hadn’t known of any of that order taking part this year.

The contestant for Light did surprise him slightly, as the warrior appeared to be more focused around its deceptive qualities than its outright brilliance. Almost as surprising as the seeming lack of his elemental polar opposite… I wonder, what has happened to the gall of Energy? It is not like that Lord to not find a candidate; anyone with exuberance and excitement tends to fit the bill. Ah well, so far none have taken an interest in me, and I shall take advantage as I may of that fact. Then his gaze alighted upon Roch, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth threatening to break out into a grin, before the armored behemoth ruined it all by declaring a charge against the Cassiel.

You always did tend to train the fools, Princeling. Or is Arcadius not yet proof enough of that fact, spoke the serpentine voice within. Ronin sighed heavily, for he could not find much fault in these words given the actions of Roch laid plain before him. Yet that did not restrain him from acting on the lad’s behalf at least this last time. Drawing his right arm up and back, he drew upon the power laid within the Runethread of his current garb and summoned into existence a handle of water. Thinner than a finger’s breadth, it was nigh insubstantial and most likely unnoticed as he cast his arm forward as if snapping an imaginary whip.

Flowing from the handle at the apex of this movement, water cast itself forth in the manner of a cresting wave in miniature towards the Cassiel warrior. Constantly drawing upon the water latent in the air as vapor, it doubled and redoubled in size as it reached out towards the man, its tail evaporating behind itself. Ronin was left holding nothing, and the effect would still be slight in comparison to a more fully-fleshed spell…but Ronin was not about to discount that warrior’s own preparations held in hand. It might distract, cold possibly delay, and generally leave a light welt that could well annoy in its own rights, or it could fail to do anything. Either way, it was the only aid Ronin would be sending Roch’s way without the promise of returned favors…although one might argue that Roch still owed Ronin much.

Regardless, this set him back from enacting his own well-laid plans from the outset. Even as Raikenin would prove to remind him of this, he began to move in broad, sweeping steps that resembled a dancer’s turn of movement. Now you prove impetuous, come now Princeling, have you no dedication to your own choices leading in to this farce of a tournament?

Hush, serpent. I’ve not the time for your disruptions. Either prove to lend me your strength of experience, or remain silent and let me work…

Soon enough, Kindred Prince, soon enough… And so he danced on…

AQ  Post #: 13
9/25/2006 12:37:47   
Zinsho_Lexagen
Member

The battle had been joined, the competitors revealed to the light of perception, the time come to create the end. Foolhardy challenges were proffered and answered with less prideful assaults. One pillar remained unclaimed, one warrior absent from this battle. Yet of those that remained few were of the type Zinsho cared to face head on, not from any concern regarding whether he would be victorious or not, there was no question in his mind of who the victor would be. Yet why should he bother to carry the assault to a foe when the foe could lose all the sooner without seeing the assault?

Ignoring the Earthen warrior charging away from him he focused on the other direction around the arena, on the frigid female who made an attempt at tactics. Rather than rush towards her and risk alerting everyone to his intentions he relaxed, centering himself and strolling casually towards her, blade held loosely in his fingers. Were his opponents able to perceive the weapon they might suspect he was on the verge of dropping it, that his grip on it was so lax as to negate any advantage it might provide, perhaps even leave him at a loss were he suddenly attacked. Yet behind his lazy poise and blurred form lay muscles prepared for impossibly rapid actions, every motion in perfect balance and chosen to provide the greatest possible advantage.

Soon the dance would begin though, soon his motions would shed their disguise and reveal the threat that lay behind his shroud. Only the nature of his position in this competition disguised the true nature of his guise, the fact that his clothing deceived because of what it was rather than who he served. For in the end Zinsho served only himself, fought only for those goals and tasks he chose. There were none who could lay claim to his allegiance, those who once had were now dead or lost.

Steps away from the ice Zinsho shed his casual posture, wrist flicking to bring his blade to bear, readying himself to teach fear to his foe. The Shin Mae'ro Elves were no more, the dreaded assassins destroyed even as their monastery was swallowed by rent earth. Yet their legacy lived on, embodied in the now Champion of Light.

The time had come for Death to dance once more, for the tunnel to find it's end at the Nch'tcha.
Post #: 14
9/25/2006 15:19:52   
Cheeseliker
Member

Nobody really answered his call, his challenge. Nobody faced him on the even ground, which only made Daroth's belief stronger. Darkness was the stronger element. They were afraid, afraid to face him in the middle. He grinned. They were afraid of the Dark. But one did react to his challenge, trying to be strategic, thinking herself clever, perhaps. Ice formed the ground around her creating a slippery surface, to say the least. She called out to him, saying he asked too much, and his grin widened. Asking them to fight me on even ground is too much? He nearly laughed, and shook his head. Weaklings....These warriors are worse then the ones I face in the dropoffs!

She hurled the iceball that had been in her hand at him, and Daroth's grin faded. It flew at him, probably with some magical enchantment of some sort. Concentrating, Dark energy crackled around his armor, as Daroth altered it's magical defenses. Before, it's defensive energy had been concentrated on defending all elements, though weakly. Now it was changed, taking the energy used for defending against other elements and focusing it on the element of Ice. Damage from Ice attacks would be considerablyt lessened now, though attacks from other elements would hurt all the more. Thankfully, as Daroth had noted before, the others were busy amongst themselves.

The Dark energy stopped crackling, as Daroth finished focusing his defenses, and the iceball had gotten closer. Thoughts spread through his mind instantaneously, as he wondered how to deal with such an object. He could easily stop it with its sword, but there was a high chance of destroying the ball altogether, and sending ice shards everywhere, which could be deadly for his uncovered face. He could let it strike his armor, and it wouldn't do much more then knock him back and perhaps to the ground, but why get hurt even a little unnecessarily when the most obvious choice offered no damage whatsoever.

Daroth dived and rolled to the side, letting the iceball fly by him, and leaping to his feet again. "So, you like throwing things around, do you? Well, I can do the same..." Daroth muttered, raising his free hand, palm up. A black ball emerged, floating in the air. It didn't appear to be made of fire, or ice, or any real substance for that matter. merely, a small ball of swirling Darkness, only about five inches in diameter. Daroth gritted his teeth, and muttered something unintelligible, and the ball doubled in size. With a small grin, Daroth pulled his hand back, and threw it forward, letting the black ball fly towards her.

It wouldn't hit her and explode with fire, or knock her flying backwards, no. It was much more creative then that. It would fly to her position and then instantly expand into a large black cloud. The black cloud would only remain for a second before dispearing, but anything caught in the cloud would have their lifesource sucked away. Not completely of course, but they would be weakened. It was possible for the girl to escape the cloud if she could run fast on ice, for the ball would travel only to her immediate position that Daroth had sent it to, but that was unlikely. Hopefully, she would merely think it was a black fireball of some sort and merely try to dodge it. Then she would be easily caught in the cloud....

Daroth's head snapped around as he noticed another figure heading towards the girl, holding......nothing? Daroth shook his head. His hand seemed to be holding something but....Daroth shrugged, mentally noting that he would have to watch this peculiar fighter. An ally...? Daroth wondered, and then his eyes widened as he realized who it was. The Champion for Light!?The Light Champion arrived at the ice, and Daroth shrugged. Perhaps he was helping. Perhaps he merely decided to fight the ice girl randomly. Perhaps he would be caught within the Dark spell, and perhaps not. Whatever happened, Daroth was sure chaos would soon result. He waited to see what would happen next.

< Message edited by Cheeseliker -- 9/25/2006 18:40:58 >
AQ  Post #: 15
9/25/2006 16:29:51   
Guardian of Nekops
Member

As the head of Impact came down, missing the Chosen of Fire by mere inches, Roch began to think better of his warning cry. On his side he had only surprise and brute force, and his shout had cost him the more valuable of the two...

But not entirely, thought the Crusher as the Gravity Axe struck the sand, for the force of my blows is a surpise all it's own.

The red grains flew into the air in a thick geyser of dust, providing only minimal resistance to the overwhelming force of the battleaxe as they rushed to get out of its way. By the time Impact finally stopped, Roch stood in a crater as deep as his waist was high, with a perfect screen of falling sand above him... through which a jet of flaming lava flew, inches above his head. Some of the drops that fell from this stream struck his armor on the shoulders and helmet, eating a little ways into the steel before their heat was exhausted. Although no real damage was done, it gave him an idea of what a blow from the full jet would have done; his armor, thick as it was, could probably stand one hit, but not two.

Blast it, I didn't know he was a mage, thought Roch, I'm overmatched. At least here, near that blasted Pillar of Fire. Unless... Reaching out a single finger, he began to trace a trasmutation circle in the wall of the crater, imagining a wave of Earth that would sweep his enemy away... but his plans crumbled along with the wall as the crater began to fill in with sand, threatening to bury him. The screen of sand above him was also fading fast. Yep, he concluded, punching the already collapsing wall in his frustration, definitely overmatched. So what now?

He had to get out of range of the Fire Pillar so that the Fire Champion couldn't draw upon its power, that much was clear. But where could he go? His own pillar would not be far enough away, and there was no advantage to be found there in any case. So, that left... no more time. The last of the sand was falling from the air, and the red sands were piling up around his ankles.

The Wind Giant. He would rush across the arena, past the Darkness competitor, and go attack his elemental opposite. It wasn't a good plan, not precisely well thought out, but he didn't have any time to think it over. With two swift swipes of Impact, Roch cleared a rough ramp that lead up out of the crater and rushed up it towards the the center of the arena. Lifting his axe high, he prepared to bring it down towards the Chosen of Darkness as he passed. But he wasn't out of the Fire yet...
AQ  Post #: 16
9/25/2006 18:09:15   
xaxtoo
Member

Taking the package from under his armpit, Martin unwraps his present without any semblance of joy; normally, he wouldn’t even considering abusing his principles in such a fashion, but now, in such uncertainty, especially over such a precious thing as his life, he makes an exception—but he won’t be happy about it! Inside the plain package, Martin discovers 6 bows with 6 fully stocked quivers. The bows lack any intricate markings, but even to ones who have never seen bows, they’d recognize the quality of the workman ship. Upon seeing the bows, Martin had to chuckle: he had been outplayed by the Goddess, she even knew how many he had managed to convince to his senseless task. All he had done was gather some people without really thinking about how to really use them, but now with this new addition to his arsenal, he now can have them assault people while he stays far away, his kind of fighting. Naturally, he doles out the bows and quivers, 3 to each pocket.

With a new strategy, Martin is still, however, reluctant to take on the offensive, though idling wasting time would only consume the energy of his fighters as well as make himself vulnerable to attacks. “Would you guys shut up so I can think!” Martin growled to his pockets. Still grumbling underneath his breath about life and a certain Goddess in general, Martin, using his height to his advantage, takes in the whole arena with one glance. It seems that everyone else had started fighting. To his chagrin almost everyone has some sort of armor on, this relegates his make-shift spear to a bludgeoning weapon. Time I could have used to sleep! The figure skater has started transfiguring the field to her advantage; the ice would reduce the vast mobility edge Martin has over everyone else; Martin would have to deal with it somehow. But first putting this concern out of his mind, Martin remarks how even aided with some help from Mr. Water, Mr. Armadillo, maybe Mr. Hedgehog might be more fitting, ran from his intended target. The Cassiline certainly isn’t shying away from displaying his fire powers. Bloody bloke, I still have a slight grudge against ye. Out of indignation, Martin puffs extra hard at his pipe for several moments. Good, Armadillo is running towards the ice, with his foolishness, I may be able to turn this situation to my advantage. Though in order for the plan to work, the Cassiline would have to be involved as well, let’s hope his blood is sufficiently boiling. Martin quickly orders his men to start firing volleys across the action towards the Cassaline. “Arch them high and shoot them behind him, so he has no option but to chase the Mr. Armadillo, but make sure the volleys are high enough so he can’t tell where they’re coming from. Make him think that he has enemies in the audience.”

As his men notch their bows, Martin instigates the second part of his plan, the fun part. Taking his bottle out from hiding, he removes the cap, and takes a big swig. With the satisfaction of alcohol in him, he takes another well-sized swig, but this time, he doesn’t swallow, but rather he held the liquor in his mouth, waiting for an errant fireball to go after Mr. Armadillo, and at that instant, the ice shall be quickly turned into a great conflagration. However, even with this plan, Martin is ready to swallow at any instant and issue new orders to his men, in case luck decides not to blow his way. Maybe with some help from the wind, luck might not even need to go visit the pigs. The first volley aways, and not soon after another one quickly followed. Good, good, now I wait.
AQ  Post #: 17
9/26/2006 11:18:46   
Art of Blade
Member

There were many things going on at the moment, and Nimra quickly took them in to the hospitality of her mind. First, she noticed how the Fire Champion was actually manipulating the pillar. This was unusual to her, for when she merely looked at her own pillar, she felt that power, a strong and forceful power. The idea of controlling it was the last thing on her mind, but now she felt that she could bend its power, and was even prepared for any pain that she might feel if she were to 'use' the pillar, somehow. Heck, if you can manipulate it, what else can you do? The second thing she noticed was the Light Champion, who stood there, almost too calmly (this is a battlefield, afterall, thought Nimra). It would be a good idea to avoid having more than one foe. Third, the Earth Champion rushing in a certain direction. For the aforementioned reason of "one foe at a time", attacking him was out of the question, but he might distract- or even strike at- a nearby opponent. Lastly, for the two most important things, were the Blood Ball and the shadow ball being flung towards her. The ball of darkness being flung towards her was, indeed, being flung towards her, which would be enough of a reason to get the hell out of the way. And the Blood Ball was dodged...

That might prove to be a good thing.

All this went through her mind, as she quickly calculated the situation and her observations, and in a few swift movements she found herself running up the Ice Pillar, away from the dark sphere. It was also, she noted, away from any competitors who might get in her way or anyone who might to try shoot at her with something. As she ran up, supported by the pure, yet painful, ice that mercifully kept her there, she clawed her right hand into it, willing the ice from the pillar to form around her hand and her arm. As she moved upwards, the ice began to form a shape... and, gradually, the shape showed itself to be...

---


So this shape will help you control the ice ball, Nimra?
A green hill, nice and pretty, with little craters which suggested a minor skirmish. The blood that was all over the place, however, went beyond suggesting and into actual statement that, yes, there has been a minor skirmish, thank you very much. However, the way a certain woman stood there suggested that she has nothing to do with it, and was merely passing by. This suggestion was brought about by the lack of blood on her person.
Yes, Berdin... it's designed after a hunting weapon.
Hunting weapon?
You should know about it... it helps throw the ball, and when it returns, then it will easily 'grab' it and throw it back.
Couldn't you use your hands for that?
Well, I could... only this would be a heck of a lot more effective.
Ah.
Also, it's sharp at one end... like a sickle.
Interesting... I'm curious to see, Nimra.
Well, problem is...
What?
It needs a lot of ice to form any shape. I mean, I could always use an actual weapon, but...
It won't be as effective?
Exactly.
Shame... you've gotten me curious...

---


So we finally get to see this weapon?
We're walking on more ice than we even need! It's perfect. So, hell yes, we get to see it.

An explosion of darkness appeared and disappeared instantly at the corner of her eye, yet she did her best not to get distracted. She needed to concentrate on the shape, the awfully specific shape... and she jumped off the pillar, back unto her own ice.
The soles of her feet stinging from the absolute coldness of the Ice Pillar, yet her mouth carved into a smile, Nimra pointed her right arm towards her foe... and on that right arm, the ice was manipulated into the shape of...

Oh, a Jai Alai Cesta.
So that's what it's called...

Now, back to her original train of thought... the Blood Ball. Her opponent dodged it, and thus it is apparant that he doesn't know of its power. The ball bounced silently off the distant wall, and flew back towards Nimra... the Darkness Champion, however, was in its forceful way. And Nimra was ready to recieve it with her handmade ice jai alai cesta.

Capable of projectile attacks and now capable of hitting people with a weapon, Nimra grinned madly and pointed her makeshift weapon at her opponent tauntingly, keeping an eye on the other opponents and noting how their blood felt like.

< Message edited by Art of Blade -- 9/27/2006 10:43:31 >
AQ  Post #: 18
9/27/2006 8:46:02   
demonhunter
Member

Bernard felt something strike the back of his shoulder, even as he observed the strange phenomenon which seemed to have been caused by the Earth warrior's axe. Seeing that made him glad he'd managed to avoid it.

Instinctively, his left hand moved back to check his shoulder. It hadn't been a physical strike... His hearing was good enough to have detected the sound of footsteps behind him. His fingers came away wet, and when he looked at them, a small amount of water clung to them before evaporating due to the heat of the nearby pillar of fire.

Th earth warrior had fled towards the centre of the Arena, leaving him alone. He turned to eye the individual closest to the pillar of water, as he assumed that the water on the back of his chainmail-clad shoulder had originated from that direction. The man was dancing... Dancing on a battlefield, Bernard thought, odd...

Well, he currently held a fiery dart in his hand that couldn't be used for the purpose he had intended: the earth warrior was armour-clad, and the only opening he had seen was now facing the other way. So, with little better to do, he turned his back on the water champion...

... Before whipping around, hand outstretched, to cast the small projectile he held at the water champion. Having created it, he felt he might as well use it. And the water champ had attacked him, so technically, he was acting in retaliation, and in keeping with his vows...

A whistling sound filled his ears. A moment later, an arrow hit the ground behind him, followed by several more. Cursing angrily, he raised his arms up, and used the vambraces on his forearms to protect his face as he looked up. He could see the arrows now, but they were coming from such a height that he couldn't track their arc.

Someone was aiming behind him, most likely in an attempt to force him towards a particular direction. He ground his teeth angrily. He could use a defensive fire spell, but that would be a waste of his strength. So, he took a different approach.

He moved forward, but only by a few metres. He would see what he could find out about this mysterious volley before running into a possible trap.

< Message edited by demonhunter -- 9/28/2006 3:28:30 >
AQ DF  Post #: 19
9/28/2006 22:27:33   
Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...


 He was dancing, languid and graceful movements that lulled the portion of the crowd nearest him into a state of awe over steps of a style long-forgotten. The act itself served to center the man, focusing his mind into a razor keen edge for spell work yet to come, while also proving useful to keep his gaze continuously scanning the entire arena. That both Light and Darkness sought to spill the heart’s blood of the Chosen of Ice did not escape him, nor did the continued absence of his elemental opposite go unnoticed. The decision by Roch to cut and run met with a slight nod of approval as well, but it left Ronin to focus on how the Cassiline might choose to respond.

Ronin did not have long to wait. While the warrior had honor enough to resist attacking Roch’s fleeing form, he did not stand himself above at least a modicum of deception. It was an admirable attempt, turning his back before spinning to fling a creation of true flame at Ronin, but it was not something that caught him entirely by surprise. Well played, but all warfare is based in deception. Now then, time for my blade to serve once more before being lost to the ages. Gripping the shortsword by the blade itself, he twirled about and bent backward lazily into the path of the dart. His blade rolled off of his hand in a slow toss, colliding with the dart in midair mere feet away.

He had been waiting for that precise moment, before bellowing out the first word of a complex chant in the language of the Kindred. “Tanak!” he exclaimed, and the sword burst with a dim silver flash into a cloud of metallic dust that robbed the dart of both its magic and its momentum. “Na’rai shin sharea.” The pile of discarded equipment next to the Pillar of Water, as well as the satchel itself, dissolved slowly into a similar mass of fine dust. So too did the dart expel its fury upon him, creasing his right thigh and leaving an angry red slash of cut and burned flesh. He suppressed a gasp, but remained fluid in his motions as best he was able.

“Kalesk natal na kama ji’ren.” In a continued whirl of motion, Ronin’s tattoos took on a golden glitter as moved to tear off the twin rings of pulsating force he wore. Slamming the two together, he twisted them violently at the point of juncture, creating a mobius strip of conflicting flows that floated just above his left palm. An exasperated hiss came from deep within his frame, Two spells at once?!? , but Ronin paid the serpent no heed. He was already far too involved in dealing with the activation of one spell, and the control over the powering of yet another.

“Tora na ki Ki’rin.” The metallic dust, both before him and behind, began to seethe and sway along an invisible tide of force. So too did the runic tattoos that adorned his entire body began to pulse with lapping waves that moved in time with that same tide. The fine dust, remnants of arms and armaments both ancient and recent, strove to ride the crest of this unseen tide but it was not yet time to do so. Ronin pulled himself from his spinning dance, stomping down while forcing his frame to adhere to a solid stance for battle. Readying himself to respond to anything else thrown his way. Twin spells, twin casts, under his control with naught but time to tell their effects… Time, all that mattered to him…

“Niten!”
AQ  Post #: 20
10/2/2006 12:20:27   
Zinsho_Lexagen
Member

The Dark Champion's motion was enough to attract his attention, even if only for a moment. Yet that moment was enough to prepare him for the projectile that would soon near his target. He doubted that it would be as innocent a weapon as it seemed, fire might be suitable for a direct explosive attack whereas darkness was more of a vile weapon, something that would catch the foe unawares by assaulting them in a way that they were not prepared for. Yet it seemed that the Ice Champion would not be affected, she was already clambering her pillar, moving out of range while coming into contact with her elemental strength. Yet that would do little to save her he suspected, elemental power might be useful, but what good would it serve for one who was already dead.

Stepping onto the ice he pushed off, his balance faltering for a brief instant as he slid before muscles reacted and recovered. The Shin Mae'ro monastery where he had been raised was in the midst of the highest mountains, his experiences were with the ice and cold, at least when not near a fire trying to warm himself while recovering from injuries suffered during 'training'.

Foolhardy though it might seem he pushed himself in the general direction of the dark ball, aiming to come behind the IceQueen and catch her by surprise while she faced her more obvious foe. Light hid in darkness, how appropriate for the death of a foe, he thought, continuing his controlled slide. As the dark ball exploded he brought his sword up to parry, slashing the oncoming darkness and parting it before him for a brief instant before it swallowed his blade. Only shreds touched him, gnawing at him with a leeching hunger that left him startled by the effect. Yet the brunt of the drain was applied to his blade, neutralizing itself against the light that was stored within.

As quickly as it had appeared the darkness vanished, leaving Zinsho sliding to a halt behind the Ice pillar and its champion. The new weapon she carried was of a curious nature, he could not identify its purpose, nor its nature. Regardless he dashed forward, pushing against the ice so as to slide into the attack. Running might have worked better yet for the moment he preferred to slide, hiding his ability to move easily on ice and instead provide the appearance of someone who could only travel in straight lines. Reading his blade once more Zinsho struck, aiming a downward slice at his foe, intending to hamstring her or ruin her knees. It was only the first blow he planned, one that would carry him past her and leave him ready to react to any retaliatory strikes as his blade came to bear once more.
Post #: 21
10/2/2006 13:32:29   
Cheeseliker
Member

The Dark explosion failed to cause any real pain, and Daroth's face grew grimmer by the second. The Ice girl had not even been caught in the cloud, surprising him by running straight up the Ice Pillar, and the Light Champion was barely the worse for wear, but of course, they were elemental opposites, so that had been expected. the Ice girl created some sort of crazy weapon, extending around and past her hand, and seemed to be watching something behind himself. What...? Then Daroth heard the whistling of something flying through the air behind him, yet it was too late.

The Blood ball slammed into his back sending him falling to the ground hard. Though his armor took the brunt of the damage, Daroth could tell his back would be sore for days. The Ice ball was not light, and had been flying reletively fast. Gritting his teeth, and tasting sand, he glanced up to see the ball continuing to its master. He shoved himself to his knees, sword still gripped in his hand. "Sulthelde dumane delhildroth!" He shouted, gripping his sword with both hands and shoving it deep into the sand. Nothing happened on the surface, and yet Daroth could feel the Darkness slithering underneath him, from his sword towards his target. Soon, three long Dark tentacles would emerge from the ground around her and rip her limb from limb...At least, that was the desired effect. At the very least they would hopefully distract the girl long enough for the Light Champion to finish her off. Daroth noticed now, that the Light Champion was close, and once again, he would be in the area of Daroth's spell. But the tentacles had one target, for Daroth wanted revenge. Too many things had hit him in the back today, and he wanted, no, needed, somebody to die. It would be the Ice Champion. And then would Light and Dark face off against eachother as always? Perhaps, perhaps not. Perhaps Light and Dark would be the last to survive. Wouldn't that just be perfect....

The tentacles would not reach her before the Ice ball would though, and Daroth began to see her new 'weapon' might have other uses at well. He anticipated she would throw it back at him, but that could be subject to change depending on whether the Light Champion or the Ice ball reached her first. Perhaps the Light Champion would distract her and her own ice ball would nail her in the head. Daroth smirked at that thought, even as he moved the fingers on his right hand, black electricity beginning to emerge at his fingertips, as he began whispering. If the Ice ball did reach her first, and she did send it back at Daroth, he would be more then ready.

AQ  Post #: 22
10/2/2006 15:46:06   
Guardian of Nekops
Member

Roch's feet pounded on the floor of the arena, his spiked boots digging into the sand as he passed from the warmth of the Fire Pillar's influence into the relative cool of the center. By some miracle he had escaped the spellsword who fought for Fire unscathed, and after a final glance back over his shoulder he was able to concentrate fully on what was ahead.

The Champion of Darkness stood between Roch and the Wind Giant, his sword planted firmly in the earth. He was facing the Ice Pillar, deep in thought, his armored back presenting a perfect target for Impact's wielder.

When he was ten steps distant from his opponent, Roch was firmly convinced that he would let the man go unscathed for now. He was no threat at present, and to strike a man in the back did not appeal to the Champion of Earth.

At the distance of three paces, however, the Crusher began his swing. This was to be a tournament to honor the Elemental Lords, a display of the pinnacle of fighting prowess, and if you didn't notice a heavily armored warrior rushing across the field towards you, you did not deserve to be here.

The head of the Gravity Axe flew towards the back of the distracted warrior in a deadly arc parallel to the Earth it served. Behind it, supplied by the Earth Champion's substancial weight and its own magic, was enough force to rend both the armor and the body of the Darkness Champion in two.
AQ  Post #: 23
10/2/2006 23:12:59   
xaxtoo
Member

Martin swallows; the liquid, albeit warm, still caresses his throat on the way down. “Stop, ye bums!” Luckily, without having to shout Martin managed to stop his archers from firing their third volley. “Can’t you see he’s closer? You could alert him to our actions; I want to be cautious and more importantly remain out of range of anything life threatening, heck, anything dangerous. It’s certainly fortunate that no one has decided to attack us yet, and if all goes well, it shall remain that way. Wipe those frowns off your faces; they resemble a shaggy old dog. Let me tell you young’uns that staying out of trouble isn’t mutually exclusive from getting what we want: don’t worry we’ll win.” Rather, I’ll use you to survive. “Now quit your clamoring and let me think.” Shows that Goddess for choosing me as Champion; by placing me in a blood filled place doesn’t mean that I’ll do what she wants.

So this is the wind pillar; constructed quite like the barrier on my prison. I wonder… Martin exhales the smoke from his pipe onto the pillar. He watches his murky strand follow the stream of air current, encircling up an invisible spiral, not all unlike the swirls on an ice cream cone. As the smoke build up speed, Martin focused some of his innate magic into the pillar, and it left in the form of a pillar, bursting into many different directions. Slowly, the strands infused into the air and slowly disappeared from sight.

While working his magic, Martin felt the strange presence of the ice and darkness pillars. The magic surrounding the ice pillar feels distorted, most likely caused by all the action surrounding it; however, the darkness pillar had a strange resonance with his magic. This could prove to be interesting, but I would need sometime to study this, and it would please me further if the loud neighbors to the right stop their din.

Martin’s eyebrows furrow unconsciously as Martin once again set to work his magic: this time, though, something slightly more complex. If Martin had known about the behavior of his eyebrows, he would have purposely stuck his tongue out toward the side of his mouth. But alas, such idealizations were not to be, for no one ever told Martin his eyebrows creased when he’s in deep concentration; though part of this can be attributed to Martin never really having to concentrate much, and when he did, it was because situation demanded that he do, mostly when his life was threatened one way or another while he was exploring off alone.

Again, Martin will rely on the pillar to be the conduit to his magic. This time, he sends much more smoke into the pillar, and while the smoke swirled, he drank a huge mouthful of liquor before spraying it into the pillar. His magic prevented the smoke from leaving, which allowed the liquid particles to evaporate into the smoke. Once Martin felt that the two have been sufficiently mixed, he directed it towards the fighting near the ice pillar. Instead of watching his black cloud of inebriety sink onto the fighters, Martin, once again, directs his attention to the darkness pillar.


< Message edited by xaxtoo -- 10/3/2006 17:40:53 >
AQ  Post #: 24
10/3/2006 0:48:28   
Art of Blade
Member

Blood...

Nimra's grin widened ever more with each second, as the Blood Ball got closer and closer to the unsuspecting Dark Champion.

Blood... opponent's blood... sliding blood...

As it got closer and closer, the Blood Ball was just about to connect...

... sliding from behind!

Nimra somersaulted backwards just as the Blood Ball slammed the Dark Champion's back, just as the Light Champion had attempted to cut her at the knees. Sneaking from behind, eh? She landed behind the Light Champion, and then jumped again, high in the air. The Blood Ball was flying back, and Nimra was ready. She moved her jai alai cesta arm to catch the Blood Ball with her weapon, and with a simple swing she launched it towards the ground, aiming at the Light Champion. She landed in front of the Ice Pillar, grinning with madness, although less so than before. "Lighty, you made me miss the part where he gets hit! Shame," she mocked. The Dark Champion's fingers were sparkling with electricity. Oooh, temper, temper, thought Nimra.

The ice beneath her started to crack.

Frowning, Nimra slid to the side just as the ice was punched through by three dark tentacles, swaying in their attempts to grab and mail something.

Oh crap.

The tentacles had retreated back into the ground, the ice automatically covering up its wounds.

Oh crap oh crap oh crap.

The same had happened once more. The ice beneath her has started to crack, and Nimra retreated just as the tentacles broke through.

Okay, stay calm, it seems like these things are after you, and they won't stop...

From a distance, Nimra noticed a black cloud sinking towards her.

Oh crap.

Once again, the tentacles cracked the ice, Nimra noticed, Nimra escaped, tentacles crashed through and fell back again.

I can't be here when the cloud comes in... I wouldn't be able to notice-

Her train of thought was once again interupted by the cracking, the escaping, and the crashing.

-notice these tentacle... things. Oh gosh, they're so creepy...

The cloud had sunk in.
The feelings of blood of increased, yet the tentacles were horribly hidden.
I need to rely on sound at this point...
She heard the crackings of ice once again, and she escaped, although barely. One of the tentacles, closer to her, seemed to have grabbed her ankle. However, hurriedly, in a sort of panic, Nimra slashed at it with her jai alai cesta. It had retracted for a second, in which Nimra found the time to get away quickly.

Thank goodness I put this ice on the ground, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to escape so quickly...

< Message edited by Art of Blade -- 10/3/2006 10:10:05 >
AQ  Post #: 25
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