RE: =Elemental Championships= Cellar Arena


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8/29/2007 18:47:25

TormentedDragon
Member

The dagger left a wound most dire. Deep and ragged, it meant death, whether it was the swift death dealt by another's hand, or the slow death dealt at the hand of time. But she had yet more to give of herself. Wounded or not, she would win.

Her hand went to her sword, her intent to draw it and free herself from the entangling cloak, but as she touched the hilt, her bells sounded once again. She reacted instantly, feeding herself into their sound. The winds stirred around her, a small tornado swiftly forming moments before the rabbit's fists connected. The currents merged, their forms twisting about each other in a maelstrom of motion, punctuated by the panicked chiming of her bells.

They fell silent for a moment, only to ring out in unison as the maelstrom suddenly exploded outward, sending gusts of wind in all directions. Tasha found herself airborne again, only this time her flight was neither planned nor welcome. The winds ripped her bow from her grasp, only to slam it back into her chest as they threw her to the floor. The archer simply lay where they left her, eyes staring into nothing, mouth hanging open.

Post #: 51

8/29/2007 22:58:02

Varin
Member

Davian struggled to catch his breath, being that it had been blasted from his lungs on impact. His efforts at moving were nearly hidden from even his own view, due to the torches that were extinguished earlier in the mass melee. Finally, with no small amount of pain and equal effort attributed to his part, he managed to pull himself to some semblance of a sitting position. Fortunate he was, as this afforded him the view his former opponent crashing back to the earth, falling unnaturally still. An unfamiliar dread crept its way up from the pit of his soul, screaming its denial and hammering at his senses. He watched, unwavering, as his former opponent failed to arise once more. Be it she was dead or merely unconscious, it mattered not to what came next.

Wha… What have I done? If put to words, his inner voice would be deathly quiet, near to the sound of innocence breaking. How could I have? What have I become? no. No. NO! What the hell AM I?

Pure criticism once again flooded through in that oil-slick perception of sound. You are? Are you sure that you are? You have slid much from your earlier realizations. Have you not realized the nothing that you are? Or perhaps you have discovered yourself and your baser instincts are pouring out. Do you like this? Savor it. Savor it like a man's meal before that last dawn, waiting for the rope to snap taut. We are nothing without our instinct, our bloodthirst, our rage and our fervor. Cherish it. Embrace it as a lover, for it is a kinder mistress than you will ever know.

But.. that woman, she did not deserve death! Is this advice so good that I am to ignore that which I have spent my life following? To never harm an innocent, to never harm a female? Is what you are saying that that is just so much refuse?

That broken husk of a woman is immaterial, even you are as such before the nature of the universe. Life is created, life is taken away; it is a joy and a privilege to have choice in the manner of the latter and an impossibility in the case of the former. She, as you, decided that this end would be a good enough one for yourself, do you doubt her decision? Do you doubt yours? More the fool that I thought you if that is true.

Davian sat there, staring at the husk of Tasha, willing some movement out of her; wanting, hoping, needing to not be the cause of another woman's death, no matter how indirect. Secretly, he feared he'd be staring until his last.

Post #: 52

8/30/2007 14:12:40

Harlequinade
Member

The Elemental Championship was a famed tournament, known across this land and beyond. Tales of the brave warriors and the wise mages, who fought in the Championship were told to the children in even the most obscure fishing villages. Stories were told about how the rogues made wonderful jumps and the archers shot their arrows in ways that defied belief. The children in the street pretended to be the noble paladin or the elegant heroine. The myths of the Championship were in numbers so great that not even the most dedicated scholar would be able to collect them all into one book. Heroes were made at the Championship. Legends were formed. Tales were spun.

This year another legend began. The legend of Malloc and the Golem.
The tale began as a story about the gleeman, Malloc, who dared to sit still and concentrate while the yellow golem came running forward. This Malloc was brave, indeed, but also focused. He was able to ignore the danger and bring life to his own creation.
In the following years the tale would change and be about how the noble Sir Malloc knelt down and faced the yellow golem with a stoic calm as it crushed him. In some provinces Sir Malloc would be a paragon of faith as he was able to face death with no fear in him, because his life was pure and the gods would welcome him in the after life.
However, the tales did not stop changing there. Like the golem of schadenfreude has altered its form then so did the tales surrounding it. In lands even further away Sir Malloc would be a strong paladin, a beckon of faith for the people to follow and the Golem would be made of pure death and hatred. Some even changed the golem to be a demon. No longer would the noble Sir Malloc be crushed by his black adversary. He would kneel down and pray to whatever god the storyteller believed in. And when the fiend of darkness reached Sir Malloc it would be destroyed by some holy force; a lightning, a beam of light or simply incinerate where it stood. The legend of the gleeman, Malloc, and the golem of schadenfreude became a story about faith in your god.

Strangely the stories to come did not depict the truth. The golem did not crush Malloc nor did the gods purge the golem from the tournament (at least not in this moment). When Malloc was about to meet his demise the yellow golem's course was altered. Not by another strange change of heart but by the weight of the earth golem. Before the yellow giant could use its claws it was tackled by its brown kinsman. The impact coursed from the blow of the enormous shoulder made the yellow golem tumble sideways only to fall like a rag doll, doing nothing to soften the impact. The earth golem, presumably because its enormous arm put it out of balance, followed and the entire weight of the earth golem came down on the yellow one. The most apparent result of all this was the sound. Titans clashed and titans fell. The volume of sound released in the following minutes equalled the strength of the two mindless combatants.
It seemed the scales of strength were tipped in the yellow one's favour. The golems lay on the ground and exchanged blows. But where the earth golem had before been on top was now the yellow Goliath. Not phased by the earth golem’s blows it continued striking down again and again with the amazing right hand. Regardless of blocks, regardless of hits and regardless of retaliation it kept on striking with all the strength in its body.
But if you looked closely you would see something was wrong. Where the earth golem has tackled its foe was a dent. The boulder shoulder had hit the right shoulder of the yellow golem and it had been terribly pressed. When the golem of schadenfreude lifted its hand above its head and sent it flying down it was slower than it had been and if you ignored the roars of the earth golem and the sound of golem hands hitting one another you would hear a screeching noise from the yellow shoulder. The golem of schadenfreude was wounded.

Post #: 53

9/1/2007 3:12:06

xaxtoo
Member

He stayed on his back, swaying with confidence that the attack would hit; rocking idly away was much more satisfactory than seeing his punches strike the girl. Besides, with the speed he launched the miniature barrage, he wouldn’t have been able to propel himself up fast enough to see the impact anyways.

Suddenly he felt a massive disturbance in the stagnant air, the instant after, he became trapped in the dangerous whirlwind. If air currents had personalities, this one resembled the fury of the Elemental Goddess coalescing deadly intent with ethereal yet capricious nature. It changed at a whim’s notice. The wind was Lapinche’s element, and he excelled in it to the degree it became a physical extension of his motion, effortlessly blending the flow of the fluid with his perfectly aerodynamic ears and head. However, the behavior of the wind was so unlike anything natural, that meant that this had to be Her judgment. As if adjured, Lapinche’s presence was decidedly marked by an uncommon show of coerced acquiescence, for he was in the Goddess’s will, and in this massive swirl of random motion, he had no control, reduced to simple submission, no longer a wave rider, but caught in the stream. The current thrashed him in every direction, but as a whole, it brought him up towards the ceiling.

Inches away as if the Goddess had just reached a conclusion, the air stopped as suddenly as it started, leaving Lapinche just enough time to brace before being rammed against the ceiling awkwardly on his side. The pain of a few broken ribs pierced even his consciousness, bring darkness to his world for a brief moment before reviving to a blurred and teary vision, in part due to the overwhelming joy of passing judgment, which dulled the pain to the point where Lapinche can remain conscious. The Goddess had issued her challenge for him, ringing loud and clear for him on his high vantage point. Finish quickly before the injury exacerbates. Lapinche could no longer hold back now that death might be the price of failure. Engage someone or die. Disregarding the defunct girl, he turned his lackadaisical fall into a spinning dive, picking up rotational velocity at the same rate gravity pulled him increasing closer to the golems. A condensed sharp incising stream of air formed in front of the tip of his ears, a rude drilling for someone who just happens to be a gleeman, the only person not engaged or hurt, who was seemingly meditating right in the middle of the arena. A high pitched shout brought him a second closer to the encounter.

“Turn around Gleeman!”

AQ	Post #: 54

9/1/2007 12:25:14

Cheeseliker
Member

The earth golem slammed into the yellow golem with a thunderous crash, followed by more peals of loud thunder that could only be the mighty golems falling to the ground. Malloc grunted with effort, not in his own body, but in his golem's. He was one with the golem, felt what it felt, and struggled with the yellow golem as if in his own body. The blow had been brutal to both sides, but the yellow golem had taken the worst. The enlarged shoulder had worked effectively, bowling the yellow golem over, but then, unbalanced, the earth golem fell to the ground as well, and the golem's grappled like mighty wrestlers. Unfortunately, the shoulder which had been effective before, was now disadvantageous. With only one arm, the earth golem could not defend himself well from the yellow's blows, and the yellow quickly got on top and began pounding on the earth golem viciously.

Malloc grunted again and again, as he felt each blow slam into his own body. He bit his lip, focusing, trying not to lose concentration. Strong winds came out of nowhere, trying to hurl him this way and that, but he was anchored to the ground. He was one with the earth, and his golem, and the wind could not move him. Bits of earth began flying off the earth golem as it got pounded again and again, slowly getting destroyed. Malloc needed a plan, and he needed it fast, but what could he do? Before he could come up with anything, his fear that he would be attacked whilst undefended became realized.

"Turn around Gleeman!" The shout came to him from above and behind.

"Ah hell!" He grumbled, pulling his hands out of the ground and hurling himself instinctively to the side. He felt his back get torn up by something razor sharp and rolled to the side. He was taken aback slightly, as he saw that his fierce back attacker was a small bunny with long ears. Suddenly a great cry bellowed throughout the Arena, and Malloc glanced over, already knowing what he would see. The cry was heard by all, but only Malloc felt it deep within his body. The earth golem was dissolving fast, becoming mere piles of dirt as the yellow golem finished pounding it into dust. Malloc reached back and touched the long gash on his back, feeling blood. He glared at the little bunny, which was kind of hard because it was so cute. He then glanced at the yellow golem pounding away and knew he needed to figure out something fast. He would've gone after the bunny, but the yellow golem would soon realize the earth golem was finished, and would presumably continue on its course towards Malloc.

He wiped sweat from his forehead, breathing heavily. The golem had taken much out of him, but he had managed to do some damage to the yellow golem as well. Was it enough though? Doubtful, and now this godamn bunny was after him. He unsheathed his shortsword and hurled it at the bunny. It flew, flipping through the air on its way to bury itself in the bunny's body. Without seeing if the sword would hit, Malloc darted off on a jog, heading towards the North West pillar, keeping his eyes on the yellow golem and the bunny, trying to distance himself from both so he could figure out just what to do next. The staff in his hand flexed and twisted, and Malloc nodded. Soon, he thought, very soon.

AQ	Post #: 55

9/1/2007 15:19:03

TormentedDragon
Member

A sudden convulsion wracked her body, her back arching as she finally managed to breathe. Her attempt to defend had gone awry, yet it had served a purpose, as the others in the arena were now ignoring her... save for the warrior who had managed to lame her. He was staring at her, his expression disconcerting. Was it regret? Fear? Or something else? She shook her head, bells jingling with the movement. It did not matter.

She pulled herself up, hand tearing away the now tattered cape to reveal legs covered in cuts. The fury of the wind had born a cutting edge or three. The wounds were not deep, and the winds had not pierced her armor, but there was now little point in anything but attacking. Ignoring the pain, she pulled her legs under her, hand grasping her bow and bringing it to bear on Davian, a Rinforzando her arrow of choice. "You first."

There was little chance that the warrior lived, his broken body flung through the air for what was likely the last time. He was done. "Now them." Fortissimo, Crescendo, and Tremolo... they would be her swan song. As the arrows touched the strings, their power began to manifest, the winds gathering in force. She shifted once more, wincing as she forced herself to kneel, and raised the bow. She held the draw, allowing the energy to gather, pouring her own power into the deadly shafts, and finally released.

All three flew high, their powers manifesting swiftly. Tremolo and Crescendo combined their wakes, a pulsing wall of wind and sound that would wash across the center of the arena... but that was only secondary. Her target was the ceiling. Crescendo and Fortissimo struck simultaneously, sending reverberations throughout the arena, while the explosion of wind slammed downwards. The massive outpouring of sound accomplished exactly what it was meant to... the ceiling began to crack. She watched, bow held across her knees, as the cracks spread, bells ringing in panicked unison, warning her to move.

Within moments, the rocks began to fall, their descent accompanied by a torrent of dust. Some might escape the cave-in. She would not. For a few moments, the sound of her bells could still be heard, muffled by the rock that had crushed her, their tone discordant, confused... sad. Their ringing faded, and all was silent.

< Message edited by TormentedDragon -- 9/2/2007 18:31:35 >

Post #: 56

9/2/2007 17:16:59

xaxtoo
Member

He sailed past the gleeman, timely delivering his warning, before using his ears as a spring stand to somersault into a running landing, not daring to lose any momentum. A moment afterwards, the lonely thump of a sword landing behind him signaled the form of the gleeman’s retaliation, sending a rush of blood straight to Lapinche’s head, alerting his senses further. However, it accentuated the pain from the ribs, as well as brought a fresh wave of pain from the bones, loosened further from rapid spinning, and thusly digging into the abdomen. He almost involuntarily stumbled, but his purpose stayed firm, and wouldn’t let him lose, at least not so unceremonially. Circling around, he shockingly saw the archer let loose arrows screaming towards the ceiling. He was duped by her playing possum, a dirty trick.

He had no time to seethe as cacophonous waves of sound riding on the wings of the downward air brought his world into chaos. The noise was deafening as it swallowed Lapinche, drowning out everything else, and handicapping Lapinche amidst its innards. He felt an apprehensive tremble in Cellar’s air as he realized the ceiling is going to collapse. Using her final attacks to cause a cave-in, the archer had doomed injured contestants, some having no previous quarrel with her, to her judgment, a dishonorable act, unredeemable before her death, of which Lapinche will make sure of this time.

Relying on his vision alone, Lapinche would have an impossible task avoiding the falling rocks. That, however, suited Lapinche fine for he had no intention of dodging anything as he turned towards the archer with fury reflected in his eyes, honed in absolutely, zoning out everything else. With a slight shift of balance, Lapinche landed on the tip of his foot, which subsequently turned sideways with such intensity his whole body started to twist. Following suit with his other foot, Lapinche started spinning on the ground. He lowered his ears parallel to the floor shooting out continuous streams of cutting, upwards spiraling air currents. He normally wouldn’t do something so drastic, but his ears had been forced. His resolve had strengthened up in the air, but the success of his last valiant effort will be decided by his ribs holding out from the pressure of the spin, his will holding back his desire to drop and faint, and his last reserves of energy lasting him until the rocks stop falling. The plan had too many uncertainties, but the one constant holding it all together for him was that the archer must die.

Rocks started falling all around Lapinche, and one had the unfortunate luck of landing in the whirlwind. It was immediately shaved into fine dust before becoming part of the wind, painting it with a murky brown hue. A storm warning has been issued for Cellar—a tornado was spotted heading straight for the archer, all in its path are advised to find shelter.

AQ	Post #: 57

9/2/2007 20:29:32

Varin
Member

Questions Davian had of his sanity, of his beliefs (intact and shattered), and of his own being. These he would have asked given the time or inclination. Now was neither. His preoccupied mind barely caught the flicker of motion that was the archer's revenge knifing towards his chest. His left hand rose of its own accord, futility catching the point of the arrow through the palm of his hand. The pain barely had a chance to register before Rinforzando released it's deadly blast; it's force was enough to shear his weakened arm off at the elbow. Davian howled in a wordless rage, and then the shockwave struck.

A sphere of pure wind shredded Davian's clothing; toggles on his silken shirt tore gaping furrows across his chest. Gravity fought to maintain its hold on Davian with a vengeance, but lost within the first seconds of the first round to Rinforzando. Up yet again Davian flew, blood from the stump on his left trailing comically behind. As fate would have it, this landing was not the gentle grasp of a lovers embrace that the others would be if they were compared to this one. His body spiraled and whirled, his right foot found purchase on the ground. Short lived would be any triumph found in that small feat as the rotation took him to his knee and the force of the impact snapped his right thigh like a pencil. Reflexively his arm on the corresponding side shot forward to catch himself before his face connected with earth. Half successful was that attempt as the forearm in that limb was shattered, and his head connected with not quite bone crushing force.

The vast extent and pain of Davian's injuries was inconceivable. The berating voice in his head would have been welcome as he slipped into sweet nothingness, each breath coming slower and more ragged as more and more of his hearts blood poured out of his ragged wounds.

Post #: 58

9/2/2007 20:38:47

Harlequinade
Member

Malloc, the gleeman, had made one crucial error. It was not that he decided to stay and summon his golem when the yellow giant came running towards him. Although the earth golem was being turned into piles of dirt by the continuous blows of the golem Malloc had avoided ending beneath a yellow foot - a place where the fragile human specie tended to die. The error was not to be found in the earth golem's disproportional design with one enormous arm to bring it out of balance. Clearly the one-armed golem had succeeding in tackling the yellow one. The error Malloc made was giving the earth golem a voice.

The fight between Tasha Terrel and Davian Chelan was magnificent. So much pain and anguish was released into the air, being responded by pulsating waves of glee from the audience. The rabbit's sneak attack on Malloc did not go without response either. As expected the tournament was like a royal feast for the golem of schadenfreude. But what frosted the cake was the earth golem. If the two mindless combatants had been silently pounding each other then the amusement of the onlookers would most likely have been minimal. But with one golem howling and roaring and bellowing in response to the severe blows of the yellow one - now that brought nearly orgasmic joy to the audience. The waves of schadenfreude were immense.

The yellow golem stood up. It was a terrible sight. Holes through its massive body. Scorch marks, melted spikes, cracks and after the encounter with the earth golem its smooth surface was dented as well. Only once throughout the duel had the golem parried an attack. It was not designed to dodge or otherwise evade attacks. It was meant to endure. It had taken what had been thrown at it and it remained strong. It never screamed or complained. If it was damaged it continued without hesitation. It did not have a heart or a brain or a liver. Humans could be killed by harming the organs. One stab in the chest and they would cough up blood until they died. Cut through the arteries and they would bleed to death. But the golem of schadenfreude had no such organs. If it did have a power source it had yet to be located by the other combatants. As a result it had only been attacked wit brute force and simple damage magic. Hit it until it, like the earth golem, was reduced to nothing but its primary elements seemed to be the way the adversaries had thought. As a result that had all failed. The golem moved on. If it was damaged no one could tell. It did not move slower. If it broke off a leg it would continue to use the remains. It was not inhibited by pain or fatigue or stress. As its creator had predicted it was the perfect duellist. It had no fear, no remorse, no pride. It would end the life of all in its way and in doing so it would grow. The more damage that was caused the more the audience got their money's worth and the more the audience enjoyed themselves the more the golem grew.

And, indeed, the golem of schadenfreude grew. As it once more commenced its steady pace towards Malloc it changed. What had before been only a pitiful appendage on its back - even forced into the golem when it attempted to land on Lisa Hunter - now began growing. The small appendage nearly exploded. Like the spike had appeared in a second so did the golem form its tail. In a flash the appendage grew. Behind the mighty golem was now a two meters long yellow tail swirling madly about in the air. If the tail would stop acting as if it had a life of its own and stand still for a moment it would be possible to see it was smooth and round, being about as thick as a muscle-man's upper arm and narrow in the closer you came to the end of it. The tip of the tail was quite something in itself for the golem’s new limb ended in a sword. The tail ended in what looked remarkably like an average double-edged broadsword, only in a deep purple colour. Should one come too close then the tail would very likely shred the unlucky passer-by.
The tail, however, would not stand still and be admired. It constantly swung about in an unpredictable pattern, as if the golem had no control over it, whatsoever. On three occasions the sword-like end of the tail even made a superficial cut in the golem's own back.

There was little time to admire the golem's mad design. Tasha Terrel made her desperate attack and was punished for her actions accordingly. Death was the reward of such a foolish move. Her first attack consisted of a piercing sound that would harm those who listened. As the golem was deaf it did not fall into this category and the attack was of no concern to the yellow giant.
Her other attack, however, did have its effect. As boulders fell down from the cavernous ceiling the golem was in genuine danger. If there during the tournament had been something to permanently stop the golem of schadenfreude it would be the amazingly large boulder that fell from the ceiling towards the area the golem was running into. The boulder was at least twice the size of the yellow golem and weighed many times more than its target.
The golem either did not know there was danger ahead or it did not care. No matter the case it did not alter its course and continued straight for the gleeman, Malloc.
If Malloc reacted to the following sound of a giant rock hitting the floor he would see that the golem was still running towards him. The boulder had not hit. Apart from the ricocheting pebbles the golem was unharmed by the falling boulder. Tasha Terrel's attack had failed taking the golem out of the tournament.
But if the golem was not damaged and continued to run towards Malloc then why did it not get any closer? The golem was running dead in its track and despite a valiant effort it did not move forward.
The reason was the tail. What could have been a formidable weapon was now proving to be but a tool of hubris. Beneath the many tons of rock that had fallen was the golem's wild tail somewhere. The golem itself did not seem to realise this and continued to run as if nothing had happened, but as the tail was still attached to golem it held back the yellow giant, who would have to move the weight of the rock in order to get anywhere. A human would be able to realise what was happening but the golem felt nothing. This was its weakness. Emotions, self-awareness and logic were needed to free itself. The golem did not possess these qualities. What had previously been its main strengths had become its weaknesses. As a result the golem of schadenfreude was trapped.

Post #: 59

9/3/2007 20:59:24

Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...

Suddenly, out of the blue, or whatever the dominant colour was at the time, multi-coloured sprites appear, hovering down at rapid speeds to choice contestants - they then wiggle into their heads through their ears, making the fighters emit a glow most spectacular from their eyes, ears, mouths, and even noses...

Their bodies growing transparent, and thusly the strange lights taking over everything, making them impossible to see, the light (the contestants?) rise up slowly, finally exploding into a gazillion of little marvelous pieces.

The Lords had made their pick, their chosen champions would proceed to fight the Final battle of the Tournament...

AQ	Post #: 60

10/4/2007 0:24:59

xaxtoo
Member

With weariness weighing heavily on his eyelids, Lapinche was too tired to even open them. All he knew is that he was lying belly down on a flat surface, arms stretched limply at his sides; he looked like a rabbit being roasted on a spit. His pain was oddly gone along with memory of anything past his whirling fury of a tornado aimed for the sonic archer. Had he killed the archer? What exactly happened? He didn’t really care at the moment. All he wanted was to settle back into the bliss of a thoughtless rest. Once more, nothing moved except for the steady rising and falling of the body from shallow breaths.

In the nothingness, something was stirring, never satisfied with current events. Slowly, negligible at first, but as much as he tried to ignore it, Lapinche’s throat began hurting from the breathe he’s taking, each passing of air seemed like a scratch from an obtuse knife, threatening to finally make an incision to cut into the slumber. He laboriously forced his eyes open even though the sticky hold of sleep resisted and left behind thin strands of weariness like webs enmeshing him and pleading him back to a restless sleep. The pain helped him resist the urge; however, as much as he tried, he couldn’t get enough leverage from his forelimbs to raise himself to his two feet, so instead, he reached out feebly with a paw to start walking, very normally as bunnies go, towards the end of as his eyes finally made out, a tunnel. Progress was slow as he lethargically made his way along, but oddly with the passing of time, the exit seemed just as far away as the beginning. When a thought finally crept into his frantic mind, already fraught with worry, however unfortunately, the idea that he might be trapped in an illusion was not the subscription his mind needed. For the lack of another thing to do drove his legs faster, pushing and straining his already tired muscles to the max as he lumbered towards the mouth of the tunnel, now seemingly smirking, mocking him.

He slowly ran, without thinking, without effort, and slowly losing any desire to reach the end, not even reacting anymore to the pain each raspy breathe renewed in his throat. Was he just after Water, which by extension, his life? Why did this situation feel so familiar? No longer paying any attention to his surroundings, he simply went through the motions, two quick and light thumps from his forepaws, followed by a spring with his legs, and repeat. Minutes passed as he ran notions through his head in vain, as he kept circling back to the feeling that there is an eerie similarity between his current situation and something that had happened before. Before long, his exhausted muscles finally gave out as he collapsed to the floor, coldness surged past his coat of fur into him, as darkness once again found him.

A strident and familiar voice entered his dream, firmly demanding his obedience, and so he obeyed lacking a better alternative. This time he woke up to familiar surroundings, for he was back at the monastery, in the atrium outside the worship hall. He fell asleep leaning against one of the willows decorating the atrium as well as giving it peculiar shade, which formed unique breathtaking silhouettes of nature depending on the time of day. Right now, the picture on the ground was a view from a window of a distant mountain slightly covered by leaves dangling from a nearby bamboo. Oddly, the third leaf on the branch was missing, instead it gave a view of the chrysanthemum garden outside, beautiful except for a freshly dug grave, by which, with just, existing marred the entire landscape. Lapinche never realized the purpose of the large round shadow as the hole, so he avoided it whenever he walked through this atrium; however, right now, he found himself buried alive, the darkness of the image held him in place, as if he’s awaiting judgment.

“Rise Lapinche!” commanded the same familiar voice, softer this time. “I thought I had taught you better than that, I’m disappointed in both you and in myself for not instilling enough core values to you.” Once again the voice resumed the firm authoritative tone as it demanded, “Now, do you know why you are here?”

The moment Lapinche realized the owner of the voice, he automatically kneeled despite the command and kowtowed to his master. He restrained himself from wanting to look upon the changes a year has brought to his master to restricting his vision no higher than his master’s feet. At his master’s question, he raised his eyes, dared not to rise, and all he could manage was to weakly shake his head in the negative tentatively, fearful what his master’s response might be.

“Maybe we should start with an easier question,” his master replied with his harsh edge slightly dulled yet tinged with what can only be said as in an amused tone. “What was the purpose of your journey?”

“Little brother went to participate in the Elemental Championships tournament.”

“So what was the reason you gave us elders to let you out?”

“If I go, I’ll bring glory and honor to our monastery.”

“And how do we bring honor and glory to the monastery?”

“Little brother knows only of one way, and that is to embody the teachings of the monastery.”

“And those teachings are?”

“Give respect to the land. Each creature is sacred in its own right. Never impose on others what you would not choose for yourself. Cultivate yourself through mental and spiritual growth. Physical strength is an outward extension of the strength of your inner morals. Forgiveness is a flower bud, let it blossom, not fester. Passion is a double-edged sword, keep it close to its sheath. Live life with honor.”

Even though he knew for certain Master was testing him, Lapinche recited them all with almost a banality, for those aphorisms had been etched into his brain since the beginning. Yet, as he got closer to the end, he felt an odd feeling that despite his words being true, something fell from the mark. No matter how much he thought in the brief moments he wasn’t going to impress his master with an epiphany today.

“Recite them again for one thousand times,” commanded his master as he disappeared from view again.

The shade seemed so cold as he started his labor; he shivered, but resisted the temptation to think about his physical condition as he kept his mind’s eye on the same phrases over and over again. Time passed, but he continued strong without blanking his mind from thoughts, always circling back to the beginning of the Elemental Championships before reliving the moments one by one in fast forward. More time passed, and he failed to notice even the immutable shadows at his feet that should have shifted long ago. A constant counter provided the lifeline for his past, with every 10 repetitions, his whole performance started afresh. No two were exactly the same; however, there was one event he remembered vividly, his fury being spun into his last attack towards the archer, but the memory always faded before the result. The sharp juxtaposition seemed oddly like a trick answer to bedazzle Lapinche into an easy mistake. An answer hidden in the words taunted him, dancing about avoiding any specific pattern in which Lapinche can pick it out.

He did nothing more than endured the torture of his failure as he finished his recitation only to have his master’s voice command him to another 1000 repetitions. He is barely whispering by this time, the hoarseness of his throat constricted the passage of air. Even his thoughts slowed, no longer able to maintain the quick pace of his mental replays, slowing down to only per 25. The extra time offered him the luxury to incorporate more into each re-experience, so much so that simple things such as running was in so much detail, Lapinche felt like he was watching his every move in his own performance. He once again lived through shielding a broke opponent before swinging him into a corner only to later use him as a pole to swing to safety from an ice beam, as well as his attack on the earth user than went awry as the warning wasn’t registered in time. He felt his mind wander to these two individuals, where are they now? Did they survive the ceiling collapsing? His questions held back the usual rage he felt at this point of the memory, giving him another perspective of the final seconds. Amidst the falling rubble he danced his whirling pirouette of doom, turning all that entered the maelstrom into dust. Nothing touched him as he spun towards the archer. The uneven terrain from the fallen ceiling made the footing precarious, and his injuries throbbed incessantly, increasing in intensity with each successive spin. Nevertheless, he willed himself on, closer and closer to the archer; when suddenly, as he was on top of the archer, struggling to keep consciousness, just readying to lower the tornado onto her, a light descended upon the arena, blanking out his vision and his mind, as he crumpled to the floor, thus ending the memory.

He had failed, for even his determination couldn’t carry himself towards a simple goal. He wasn’t lacking in the talent department, nor was he ever a slacker at putting in effort for training, in essence, he was ready to take the competition by storm, but instead he couldn’t finish off one girl. The mental torture reduced the pain of his physical ones as self-doubt immersed every facet of him, drowning out his very existence, save for the very vestiges of the teachings of the monastery, consistently forming in his lips. From that, he latched on to the primal teachings, embedded into his very soul, reaffirming the strength of the teachings as they slowly built Lapinche back up with brand new enlightenment. He had no idea how long he remained inside himself, but when he came to, he had stopped reciting, and finally, the final iteration of the teachings made sense to him as the missing piece fell into place, and he realized his mistake. He had allowed his over-righteous emotions take control of his fury and direct it towards seriously harming someone, instead of seeking to protect those in need.

“A harsh lesson learned,” said his master, who suddenly reappeared once more. “However, since you transgressed the monastery laws, you will serve a penitence of a year’s time, during which you may not set foot inside the monastery.”

Lapinche hung his head in hearing the sentence, yet tranquility was all that he had with the decision as he already looked ahead to the challenges he was going to have to face and overcome.

“Also, Lapinche, you will be forced to wear these ear bands.” His master took from his sleeves two silver and metallic rings, and with a snap of his figures, they appeared on Lapinche’s ears. “I will not tell you their purpose, for that is something you have to discover. Think of them as finality to this lesson. Now then, since you are not physically here, the sentence hasn’t been compromised. See you in one year’s time.”

Lapinche’s world once again faded away in something of an occurrence that is happening way too often to him recently. Cold gravel and dirt pressed against his belly, bring him out of ignorance into the world of the cavern naked except for a belt and unmarked by any injuries. So that was just a really complicated dream from deliria. Feeling slightly relived, he moved his head away from the floor, he felt the presence of a foreign object burdening down his ears, creating metallic scratches as they moved in the debris. His eyes reluctantly found the ear bands, fear briefly skated across his heart, leaving a thin mark. With an irregular pulse, fresh blood carried with it slight shivers as it circulated. Fortunately, his mind, fresh from a the recent raping in which the lessons it carried firmly stuck, soon took over and spread its will in the form of a spherical shell, slowly expanding and exerting its resolve throughout, and the heart was calm once more. He had steeled himself with conceding acceptance, for that was the only option open to him.

Pushing himself up onto his hind legs, Lapinche finally realized that he was near the entrance of the arena. He looked around in hopes to catch a glance of his fellow contestants, but the debris spread throughout the arena blocked him from getting a clear view. In a new light, he wanted to see if the other contestants are alright, but he ultimately dissuaded himself from entering the arena, for he knew that if he survived, the others most likely would too. Besides, he saw no one in the stands except for a few who were apparently picking up trash, which meant time had already long abandoned his rescue of his fellow contestants. Furthermore, he had no skill in the art of healing except basic abilities with herbs, but there were wise men here who had already healed him. So beyond a doubt, the others had either been treated equally or were taken to further battle, then that was out of his control.

A sudden pinch on his stomach brought him out from his musings along with exuberance that his flea had received healing as well and still lived. He let the flea drink. His spirits lifting slightly, he straightened his belt and began traveling in the tunnel to leave the arena behind along with his cloak buried beneath a piece of the ceiling, once more naked in rebirth to try again, to begin the first day of his exile on a high note.

< Message edited by xaxtoo -- 10/4/2007 0:35:41 >

AQ	Post #: 61

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