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=Elemental Championships= Grand Finals

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9/3/2007 20:56:34   
Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...


 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.
AQ  Post #: 1
9/4/2007 0:54:11   
Varin
Member

Pain immeasurable was Davian in, and then, nothing. His essence floated on the whims of a being far greater than him, before resting in a vast nothingness that stretched for eternity. Before Davian's eyes was a mostly nondescript man, naked with the exception of a loincloth and afire, entire body wreathed in flame. Davian shied back from the burning light, such a contrast to the utter blackness that Davian had sunk into. Fear, anger, rage, and curiosity all grasped at Davian's consciousness but only one emotion was able to hold sway over him for more than an instant. And so the inevitable question came, spoken by countless souls from the dawn of time and quite possibly spoken until the dusk of time as well.

"Am I dead?" Davian queried this diabolic rail of a man standing a half dozen paces away. His mind reeled and whirled, berating himself for such a foolish question and still looking for a way out. The lack of feeling in his battered and beaten body weren't even contemplated in the face of such a humbling presence.

"You were right, you are a fool Davian Chelan. Dead you are not yet, but that remains to be seen. As to any other cliché questions you may have, stay them for the moment whilst We explain. You are to regain that which you so foolishly squandered in exchange for a price. Blood you have already paid, full and again for that which you would be given. We demand your soul as ours, soldier for the Fire Realm, until the true day of your release. Your prior unbelief is a blemish upon Our decision, but forgivable within the circumstances. Your own mind mirrors ideals that certain members of Our order find preferable; the passion with which you fight is akin to the ardor of a wildfire. Certain... archaic notions you hold dear are quaint, indeed, but retire them as you retired your unbelief and you shall be formidable."

The entity in front of Davian did nothing but speak, yet the impression of an inconceivable power behind it was enough to rock Davian to his core. He did not so much voice his assent as think it before being whisked back into the moment of here and now rather than that never and nowhere of blackness.

---

Davian thought he knew pain, thought he had experienced every agony the world could encounter; in fact, if he was to be castrated with a wooden cooking spoon, compared to the last day or so, he wouldn't have flinched. He would have been confident that nothing pain-wise could ever phase him again. No one has ever been more wrong.

Ecstatic torture would be the best description for the wash of torment that Davian was in. Each wound his bruised and abused body had suffered felt as if a white-hot steel knife was used to staunch the wounds. The heat of dozens of suns poured through his body and coursed through his veins. Perhaps his roar was heard by the competitors above in the stands, but perhaps not with din they were causing themselves. Davian dropped to his knees and heaved with lost breath, drinking in the air like a life-giving draught.

Strange as the pain was, it was exhilarating; the pain passed and Davian took relief in the absence of pain, and the absence of his wounds along with the restoration of his left arm. Davian flexed it and gave it the once over. Strange, he seemed to find something amiss with it, but couldn't place it at this moment; perhaps it was a slightly different color, but this quandary would hold for the moment. Even his nakedness didn't phase him, the smell of burnt silk in his nose alerting him to one of the side effects of a trial-by-fire healing.

Never, never would I have thought... Wrong, far too wrong I was. This was not what I signed up for! Press on, press on. No turning back now. Passion, fight for passion, fight for... Fire? What kind of concept is that? Continue, must continue. Devil of a trickster telling me to sign up for this contest of arms. Passion, fight with passion, deliver myself to my destiny with the fervor of a zealot. No, that is not you! Passion, yes; fanatic, no. Concentrate. CONCENTRATE! Wrong... so wrong. Soul is theirs, body is theirs, fight to earn this chance. What quaint notions? Honor? Must not sacrifice that now, all I have left. I have my life. But it is not mine. What do I have left? No quarter, no mercy; passion and steel and fire. Consume like a flame, burn, conquest.

Davian ran his fingers back through his hair and took a good look around him now that pitch black and doubt did not reign. He was in the alcove behind an enormous gate, the pillar of lava bleeding its heat even this far into the tunnel. A gorgeously tooled set of leather armor sat neatly arranged on a mannequin complete with silken leggings; both stained that shade of gray Davian was all-too-fond of. Not one to dally he donned the gifts, complete with provided undergarments and tunic. While the armor wouldn't do much for a determined sword-thrust, they would make a glancing blow much more survivable. Resting near the mannequin were a set of three armaments awaiting Davian.

The least of the three was a replacement brace of knives that belted over his stomach, three on either side of his ribcage. He wondered at the placement of the harness but did not worry overmuch, he had other thoughts on his mind. Presumably his original mace was left lying where he would have become a corpse, but here was a beautifully worked flanged mace to replace his. The steel of the weapon caught the light and showed off the detail of the head; each of the seven flanges were worked as a flickering flame, a masterful piece of work. The most cherished of the three would be the rapier awaiting him in its own stand. As he drew it, a thought came unbidden to his mind and the thin bladed weapon burst into flame in his hands. Davian worked the weapon in slow arcs before... willing... the fire to extinguish and hung it on its loop at his belt. If someone was to ask him, he could not explain how this came to pass, but he was able to do as such just the same.

Davian, content as he was going to be before plunging himself into the fray once more, strode hesitantly towards the gate. It opened of its own accord and he took his first steps onto the red sands of the Grand Arena. The pillar of lava pouring its heat into the air around him tugged at his soul, whether this was due to some newfound affinity or the feeling of being baked, Davian could not tell. He was content to observe as the rest of the eight came into view, his mind even more restless than usual.
Post #: 2
9/4/2007 1:58:19   
TormentedDragon
Member

The first thing she noticed was the wind. It was a light breeze, nothing more than a gentle caress across her skin, as of a mother's caring touch. It was soothing, familiar. This was the wind she felt every day, the wind that had blessed her and her family, that had guided her here. It was this wind, now, that comforted her, whisking away the far too recent memories of pain. She knew what had happened, she knew she had perished, crushed under the rock that she had brought down upon her enemies, but that was all that remained. She smiled. She had done well, then, in the eyes of her Lord. "Better than you know, daughter."

She froze. Sound. A voice, one that she had heard, rather than read. "Yes, daughter. This is our gift to you. You are our champion, and as such you must be able to hear my voice."
"Your champion?" Her voice! It was different, now... but that was to be expected.
"Yes. You have served us well, and you shall continue to serve. And, as promised, as always promised, we care for those who serve us."
Her eyes cracked open, only to shut tight against the wind. Gentle though it was, it surrounded her, covering every inch of her body.
"Rest now. You will awaken when you are ready." She could do nothing else.


There was sound again, but this was no soothing voice. This was a roar, unrelenting, yet changing, constantly changing. She frowned. This gift was likely to be more of a curse than anything else... she had been deaf for so long that hearing was a distraction now. No matter. She would have to compensate.

She opened her eyes, and as she did so, the source of the roaring became clear. She was inside the pillar of Wind, her Lord having saw fit to manifest her within her elemental symbol of strength. Dramatic, yet... not where she wished to be. She stepped forward, listening as the sand crunched beneath her boot. Boot? She had been wearing moccasins. Had her Lord gifted her with more than her hearing?

She looked at herself, and smiled. Yes, it would seem so. She was in full battle regalia, her serviceable yet relatively flimsy scout's apparel having been deemed... unworthy. She certainly cut a far more imposing figure now, that was true, and the armor was effective, of that there could be no doubt. She was wearing, moreover, the white bell-studded leather of the Elites... not stealthy, but it provided excellent protection, and there was nowhere to hide in this place. She flexed her arm, watching the play of light off the scale mail. Heavy, but not so much as to be a burden, and the protection was certainly worth it. It was the right arm, too, which clinched it. This had to be her own suit, as she was the only left-handed member. The last time she had worn this her home had nearly been destroyed. It would be refreshing to put it to a different use.

She stepped forward, listening as the sand crunched beneath her feet, sorting out the various sounds, grinning as her armor began to chime. It might be a distraction, but she could not help but enjoy it. To hear again, after so long in dead silence... it was wondrous. Even if she did not survive the coming conflict, she would be happy. She had the favor of her Lord, and a chance to show the world the power of her people. This battle would be glorious.

The wind seemed to follow her as she left the swirling vortex, sending ripples through the black and purple tresses. Her expression was that of joy, arms lifting towards the sky as she spun around, laughing as a child at play.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 3
9/4/2007 13:45:28   
Art of Blade
Member

Here's a riddle for you; does lava belong to Earth or Fire?

In Roclan, there was a superstitious belief that it only snowed at night. It was an unusual belief, because reality itself denies it, but it stuck. As a result, criminals- men who raced sneakily in the shadows of the moon- were nicknamed 'Snow Watchers'. At the moment, it was snowing in the streets of Roclan, and it was late morning. Arikard ran down it, his only arm flailing this way and that as it tried to balance his entire body. His feet were swift, and he raced down the road, the snow-covered cobbles cold under his bare feet. The houses, with their tilted wooden roofs, seemed to bounce up and down as Arikard staggered forward, desperately. Everything seemed to blur for a second as the sky turned brilliantly blue, and the sun appeared behind the thick skies, striking at his eyes. Arikard, blinded by this sudden heavenly intervention, raised an arm to block it, only to find himself dropping down a hole that certainly wasn't there before. He fell, the walls of the hole jagged with stones and earth.

"I don't know!" he shouted all of a sudden. "How could it be Earth if it burns?"

Lava is melted earth, you know.

"Now that's just confusing!" Arikard declared. The wall of the hole appeared to come closer and closer to his weightless body, and the wind that blew past him grew louder and louder.

Oh, I agree. The Fire Lord and I always bicker about it. Irregardless, you must answer the riddle.

Arikard thought about it, finding it surprisingly easy to do so despite his descent. "Well, maybe Earth?" he said. "Because, I mean, if you burned down a tree the ashes are still, you know, part of the tree, right?"

And yet it's at the Fire Pillar. Explain that.

"The Fire-what?" Arikard said. "Look, you're being really confusing. Am I dreaming?"

A laughter vibrated around him. You might say that. However, make two things clear to yourself; one, you are chosen as the Champion for Earth. As such, I will restore balance upon your body, because quite frankly you're a mess. And yes, that does include your mechanical arm. Your natural affinity is weak, sadly, and honestly that's your fault for not studying magic, but you seem to use your magic arm with a fluidness that managed to get you this far.

"Oh, that's swell," he said. "It would be, you know, really bad if I had to tell the Boss I broke his arm."

The atmosphere in the hole became... severe. The rocks sharpened and, below, the red glow of lava appeared below him in a wave of heat, and, from above, came the falling of snow. About that, yes, one must admire your loyalty to your 'Boss'... however, I am disappointed by your complete disregard for me. It saddens me. It saddens me very, very much. Remember who's giving you your power. I do not like being replaced by idols.

"But... Boss gave me my power. He gave me my arm," Arikard mumbled.

Yes, but it is my power within the arm. He gave you that arm out of greed. You know that. He merely wants another soldier. However, my power is in there out of devotion for my followers. Ginesh is a follower, yes, but... look at it this way. Do you know what he does at night?

"Is that the kind of question I should be answering?" Arikard asked.

He looks out the window, and he watches the snow fall. Remember who your true Lord is, Arikard, or you may find yourself doing the same as he for as long as you live... if you don't die, that is.

And before Arikard could reply, there was the whoosh of a blizzard, and all was dark.

---


Arikard blinked into consciousness. He was so sure he was dead. There was the flash of light as sparks ran off a man's hatchet, and the man kicked down on his chest, and the hatchet was coming down on his head, and Arikard remembered thinking about twisting his neck to avoid it before everything disappeared. Confused, he sat up and rubbed his eyes with both hands. He then realized that he was rubbing his eyes with both hands and shouted in surprise. He jumped up to his feet and stared at his hands. His left one was fully operational, and his right one... it was back. Pulling back his sleeve, he marveled at the arm, in very much the same way he did when he first got it. It felt sturdier, and the eight red lines glowed more sharply. Around his shoulder, there was a thin, pale line of wood where his knife sliced through it. Of course, the knife was there as well, just in case.

He rushed through the gates and stopped behind the Pillar of Earth. It was beautiful. He rolled back his sleeve and looked at the line of wood connecting his arm to his shoulder, and somehow felt that some of it must have come from the tree, somehow. Grinning with gratitude, he spun around and gaped at the crowd, most of whom were either roaring in excitement or dully waving flags. He searched around for Boss Ginesh, but could find no sign of him in the hustle and bustle of far-away faces. He saluted anyway, just in case he could see him.

"Now," he said, "let's see if this right arm still works as well as the Boss's arm."

He stretched his fingers. The red light flashed, unseen under the sleeve, but when it reached the back of his hand there was a sudden rumbling as the sand shifted this way and that. A stalagmite rose out of the ground. With another wave, the stalagmite separated itself from the earth, leaving behind a hole which the sand attempted to refill by trickling down over its edge. The rock spun around his out-raised arm and changed shape, leaving an earth-umbrella back in Arikard's grip.

"Oh yes," he whispered. Struck with sudden inspiration, he opened his umbrella and scooped sand under its cover, closing it just before it got too heavy. "Oi, I'm an intelligent bastard, aren't I?" he said, grinning. "Right!" he said to no one in particular. "War, Famine, Pestilence, and, er, Nameless One! Let's prepare ourselves for total, erm... kickassery! Yar!"

Raising his umbrella over his head, he realized that his speech was not particularly awe-inspiring, but that didn't worry him. He had his arms back. What did worry him, however, was this competition. He didn't do so well in the Kick-Offs... in fact, he felt he should have asked the Earth Lord when he had the chance. It could have gone, "Why the hell did you pick me, I got my behind slammed by a man's lower appendages, figuratively speaking!" and he (she? It?) would have probably replied, First, answer my question: Chicken or Egg? Chicken or EGG? And the Earth Lord, that was a whole different problem... what was it that the Lord was trying to tell him, exactly? Why did he say it? Why plant that seed of uncertainty in his mind just before he marched off to Life-or-Death Round Two?

Why?

"Why not?" Arikard muttered. That's what he would have said if the roles were reversed, after all. Why not?
AQ  Post #: 4
9/5/2007 0:46:17   
Kellehendros
Eternal Wanderer


 The roar of the crowd could eclipse even the battle cries and shouts of pain from the competitors embroiled in the Fountain Arena's fray. Alex cried out, backpedalling as a great mechanical monster, all shining chrome and rumbling servos engaged Cid in a hail of fire. There was a sudden brilliant flashing, as if the sun and stars had detonated, scattering scintillating colored lights across the field. Dazzling sprites of a myriad different colors swarmed over the embattled mage. Alex dropped his staff, and batted wildly at the creatures the ran over him like a river of light.

Cerulean, blue, azure, teal, aquamarine, a thousand thousand iterations and subtle alterations of the colors of the ocean, the sprites tore through Alex's magical defenses, and through through his body. Eyes, ears, mouth, nose, through the very pores of his skin, until the mage glowed with a brilliant blue-white light that flashed upwards and disappeared. His mortal body screamed in agony it was never meant to endure.

And then everything was gone.

The first thing that Alex became aware of was a deep bass rumbling, like that of a creature with a great, heavy tread stomping out some obscure rythym. Slowly his battered conciousness focused in on the other details of his surroundings. The ground beneath him was soft and yielding, he moved his head slightly to the side, blindly seeking the source of the continued rumbling.

Why was he lying on sand? Hadn't he just been in the Fountain Arena?

Was he dead?

Strangely, the thought didn't really bother him as he pushed himself up to his hands and knees. He sat back on his heels so that he was kneeling and facing the source of the noise. Alex was on a beach, but it was the strangest beach that he had ever seen. It extended as far as his eyesight could reach to either direction, and behind him the sand ended abruptly as though the rest of the world had been cut away with a knife. Before him the surf rumbled in, endless and unchanging, singing the song of the sea as it had, and would, for eons to come.

Alex blinked, he was dead, he had to be, there was no other way.

"Mia!" The cry was ripped unvoluntarily from Alex's throat, carrying such a wieght of sorrow and intermingled joy that it was amazing that the words hadn't just dropped from his mouth and solidified on the sand. The mage ran forward, irregardless of everything else, staggering through the surf towards the form amidst the waves, only to crash headlong into some unseen barrier. He pulled himself up from the clinging surf, beating on hand impotently against the invisible divide, tears streaming down his soaked face. "Damn you, damn every one of you, you foul, interloping..." What followed was a lengthy tirade in which Alex railed against everything present, heaven, earth, and whatever else he could think of. He was promptly stsopped when a great wave send him toppling back into the surf.

Sputtering, the sodden mage emerged from the water remarkably calm, as though the dunking had somehow washed out the venom that had eaten at him mere moments ago. He heaved a great sigh, "I suppose I deserved that." He looked up at the woman standing so close and yet so far away from him, tears still leaking from his eyes to mingle with the salty flow that surged around him. She was just a hair shorter then the mage was, a slender pretty woman with blue eyes as deep as the ocean's depths. Her voice was soft and hoarse with the same sense of strangled emotion that pervaded Alex's voice. "You should know that we can't." Alex averted his eyes, stray strands of his wet hair straggling across his face.

"I know, but I just, I saw you, and I thought."
"You did die."
His head snapped up, his eyes were ice cold, demanding. "Then, why?"
"He made for you a new form, one that will allow you to better serve him as champion."
Alex blinked. "Why, why did He chose me?"
Mia only shook her head. "Who can know the mind of a Lord? This is a gift Alex, a true gift that is fit for any king or power, you must accept it."
Alex bowed his head. "Even though He has done this to me?"
"Yes."
"I don't know if I can."
"You can, even if you think you can't. Try, that's all He is asking. Be strong for Him, your devotion has never wavered, even with what has happened. So believe, believe in your power, your knowledge, your victory, your potential, your Lord. You can do it for Him, you can do it for me."
"For you?"
"Please."
The mage looked up, his eyes linking with Mia's. "I will accept this, for you... and for my devotion to Him."

The woman's form began to fade, and Alex watched, reaching out to rest one hand against that imprenetrable, impregnable barrier that divided true life from true death. Mia reached out one etheral hand, mirroring him. "I love you." He managed to choke out.

"I will always love you." The sea roared up to claim him, and he knew no more.

Alex's eyes snapped open, the room around him blurring into place. He was sitting on the floor of a plain, spartan room, adorned only by a simple bench upon which rested a small pile of objects. The mage stood, realizing a moment later that he was quite utterly as he had come into this world. The thought was of no real concern though, the mysterious room in question had only one entrance, a grand gate that Alex knew led into the Grand Finals Arena.

The mage took his time to clothe himself, taking stock of this new form that he had been gifted with. Truth be told he felt altogether the same, though he was refreshed, and each breath seemed to come easier then that which he had taken before entering the Fountain Arena. Curiously his body was blemishless, as though he had been tossed about in the oceanic surf for such a time that all marks upon him were erased. The clothing with which he robed himself was much the same as that with which he had entered the contest. The grey underclothes covered by a blue-green vest. Yet upon the vest where before a single sigil of protection was wrought, now there appeared a multitude of them, woven across the entirety of the vest in such small, neat work that from a distance it appeared to merely be a part of the vest. Still the vest would turn a glancing blow, yet any true strike would more then likely find its way through.

Alex clasped his cloak on. The fine blue hued train hung down to just below his knees. It was clinched so that it covered his left side partially, while leaving his right arm free to carry his staff. Picking up the oaken staff, Alex felt its familiar grain, and yet also the new potential embedded in it, which caused the stave to vibrate slightly against his hand. Gripping the staff tightly to resolve himself, Alex strode forwards.

The gate yawned open before him of its own accord, flooding sunlight and sound down on him. The crowd screamed for glorious, glorious bloodshed. As the gate rumbled closed behind him, he caught the sound of a voice calling out to him, distant as a far off surf, trilling like a happy brook, and brooding like the ocean depths. "Go forth with my blessing." The mage had never been anyone special, until now, as he took his place standing before the great pillar representing the power of the Lord he had sworn his life to. He had never been anyone special, but now, now he was the Champion of Water.

His right hand tightened imperceptibly against his staff. The true test was about to begin.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 5
9/5/2007 21:39:04   
Zinsho_Lexagen
Member

He waited for his attack to strike home, to see the outcome of his decision in dealing death. However the revelation would never come, his world was inundated by light, from without and then from within. Blinded he nearly panicked, lost in the brightness of which he had no knowledge. An eternity it seemed before the light began to dim, revealing to him that he was no longer upon an island in the sky. Confused he cast about, those simple movements of his head reminding him of his power, beginning his dance once more through subtle motions that alone meant nothing.

A greater shock lay in store for him, a surge of power that was intimately familiar nearly knocked him from his feet as the weaves contorted, sinking into themselves even as they expanded from nothingness. Lashing out with his fingers he connected his powers to those weaves, anchoring them as he had done in the past, allowing his brother to create a passage where none should be, a passage of their powers, something alien to almost all sentient beings.

Through the rift a slight awareness flowed, an image of his combat from a slight distance. Realization sparked as he realized what had occurred, while seeking him out his brother had found him, obtained knowledge of his escape and subsequent flight. Such a sending required some proximity, such a tournament would have drawn his attention had he been free to attend, only luck had permitted him to do so on this occasion, luck and perhaps a fate that was still masked by the unknown.

Yet he had been found, his departure had been noted and now the true battle was upon him. The Lord of Energy had selected him as Champion, it would not do for him to do battle in the garb of a convict. Thus the rift served a second purpose, already apparent to those who knew the true nature of a dervish such as he. Few were those who could generate the fields of their own accord, few were those with the natural gift for the dance that provided the power to wreak destruction to their enemies.

Amassing before him were his true tools, the carefully sculpted metals that would form an armor only those such as he could use, the armor that struck fear simply through appearance. His blades came as well, crafted through the combined arts of he and his brother, dervish and mage. Finally came his toys, those carefully forged shards that would make his former efforts pale indeed. Were he to fight as a Champion he would do so true to his nature, resplendent in his fearsome ferocity.

Releasing his anchor he began to move, already stepping into a subtle dance that prepared him for his armor. First his rags, they were no longer of use and were discarded, cast aside to reveal what they had only hinted at, muscles honed through years of training, not the muscles of one who relied on strength alone, but those of a warrior who would cut swaths through armies through constant motion, never leaving time to mount coherent defenses again such tactics.

Then came the armor, his motions enough to touch the metal and grant it life, awakening the familiarity that lay within, drawing it into an aerial dance that would soon encase his body. The largest pieces were still small, three plates to cover his upper chest and back, one behind and two before. These mimicked his form, held there by his own powers and the art that went into making them. Next came his lower torso, two plates encasing his back to fit snugly against the first, a myriad of artificial ribs encasing his abdomen. To complete his torso came the fittings, an inverted T joining the two chest plates with a sharpened ridge of steel, sealing it to the ridged plates beneath. Next his legs, encased from waist to ankle in carefully articulated shards, each hovering just above his skin to provide protection without limiting his dance.

Braces the length of his forearms and more followed, lining his arms and spearing outward from his elbows only to be banded and locked tight, weapons and protection at the same time. His upper arms remained bare, studded shoulder guards jutting out slightly to cause deadly tackles, or protect again downward strikes. Finally only his extremities remained, his feet simplest since he had retained his boots. Lifting his hands he slipped them into semblances of gloves, a rigid backing that left his fingers free while banding his palm. The final touch was a true gift, the sole item he had not created but been gifted with, the helm of a dervish was beyond the arts of all but mages.

A thin metal band settled about his brow, a brace extending from it to guard his nose while more metal gathered about him, encasing his head in a metallic storm akin to those he created about himself, the pieces enchanted to work together, his arts only needed to maintain cohesion. Only his eyes remained unobstructed, this was a piece of art and not a true defense, with effort he might focus the shards to protect against a blow yet the purpose was to strike terror, to grant him the appearance of disaster given life.

Armored though he seemed he was scarcely protected, only mental discipline maintaining the protective covering, a discipline that would be sorely taxed in resisting blows. It was functional, enemies could attest to that but the drain upon his attention and focus were enormous were he to avoid real injury. Swinging forward he swept his hands downward, gathering up his precious weapons, their crescent shaped blades serving to slice and assault quickly, not skewer and remain trapped. Spinning them about in his hands he let them fly free, their balance and metallic nature causing the pommels to remain against his gauntlets, sliding along their length to complete circuit after circuit.

As their song filled the air he grasped them once more, changing their flow to maintain the warbling tune. Miniature caltrops rose about him, commencing their orbits as the gates slid open, sending him forth to do battle against the other Champions, sending forth a dervish to dance across bloodied sands.
Post #: 6
9/6/2007 10:28:36   
demonhunter
Member

Emptiness... That was what greeted Lisa as she opened her eyes. She looked around herself in confusion. Her shield was gone. The cellar was gone. Even the slab of rock that had been falling towards her... Gone.

She looked down at herself. She appeared hale... Even her leg, which had been broken by the golem, was as straight and smooth as if it had never known such injury. She felt no pain... Indeed, she felt nothing.

"Am... Am I..." she whispered, almost choking on the last word, "dead?"

She ran a hand down her arm. The feel of skin against her palm was reassuring. If this was death, it certainly wasn't unpleasant... She could get used to this...

Again, she looked around, and spotted something she had overlooked: A point of light was headed in her direction in this void. From it, she could hear a voice...

Lisa Hunter... Congratulations. Our Lord has chosen you to be his representative in this competition...

Confusion ran amok in Lisa's mind. "L... Lord? Representative? What...?"

Your fight against the golem was wonderful display of your ability... Your grace... your speed... and in that final attack, your power.

"But... I... I lost..."

Win... Lose... That is not the point of the first round of the Elemental Championships. The point is to determine your skill.

"But..."

You held your own against a creature that was vastly more powerful than yourself, one that had no capacity for thought or emotion. Many others would have fallen far more easily. You shall be the representative of our Lord... The Champion of Light.

Lisa blinked. Champion of Light...? she thought in confusion. Looking down at her hands, she could see light emanating from them... And then, she noticed her attire.

Where once she had been adorned in naught but her undergarments and chainmail, she now wore a golden robe, cut in the same style as the grey she had lost in the cellar. She glanced up at the light from which the voice had been coming from. It seemed to chuckle at her.

Now, now... Much as the spectators would love it, we cannot have our Lord's representative compete in her undergarments now, can we? I must apologise, however... Your crystals could not be recovered.

"Damn..." Lisa muttered, "Those things cost me a fortune..."

You will have no need of them, child. Now... It is time for you to go. The competition awaits you. May the blessings of our Lord be with you...

Lisa bowed her head as the void began to fade. "And with you," she replied.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


When Lisa raised her head, her senses were overloaded. Sight, sound... smell. She grimaced. Someone had been careless with their horse... Or maybe a few people had. There was a large quantity of horse-poop on the ground outside the gate. Disgusting... she thought.

Regardless, she was here. She was alive... Unhurt, and restored to her full strength. Her hand moved to her staff, pulling it from its place and into both hands with a single, fluid motion. A small smile flitted across her face. Maybe this time, she would get to use it.

The gate before her opened, and she strode out, ready for the challenge. She only hoped the accursed golem would not be there...
AQ DF  Post #: 7
9/6/2007 15:59:43   
Varin
Member

Davian's breath might have caught at seeing his foe from the Cellar arena arrive just shortly after him, but it was small enough to have been imagination to any onlooker. For the moment with the blissful look on her face, he rationalized that he had little to fear from her. He figured that standing around idle was the best way to draw unfriendly fire, but common sense hasn't had a hand on his reins for ages. Again that strange pull tugged at him, emanating from the ceaseless stream of lava behind Davian; this time accompanied by an itchy-burning sensation inside his left elbow. Ignoring the discomfort, he risked a glance back before losing himself for a moment in the simple beauty and raw power of the elemental pillar. Inexorable it marched on, like time, yielding for nothing. Davian's left arm twitched and moved and was accompanied by that discomfort once more, yet it stretched forward and pointed to the stream. Davian felt a kinship with the flow resonated within his arm. He was bewildered at his limb's betrayal, it was intended to stay at his side, but it rebelled against his muscles.

Davian felt the connection with the fire at its purest form tug once more; but this time his essence tugged back, ripping free a chunk of lava the size of his head. His own jaw was agape at this maneuver, flabbergasted with what his unruly left arm was doing. The ball spun lazily in front of him, tumbling and burning as he studied it. It was quickly cooling and hardening, but that did not suit the idea that had sprung within his head. Without a clue of if and how this would work, he willed the heat suffused within the air around the spherical rock to permeate it's rough exterior and concentrate itself. Once more it burst into molten form and flames, contained by the will of Davian alone. Not content to be outdone, Davian's left arm made a grasping motion with three fingers and his thumb, quartering the spheroid with invisible knives. The itchy-burning sensation at his elbow increased but it was ignored, no more than a mosquito-bite's worth of annoyance.

It was at this point that the fighter known as Arikard was fiddling with the umbrella-shaped-object made of pure earth to Davian's right. Honor would dictate that he issue a challenge, but this was no time for such "archaic notions" as it had been put. Turning, his left hand made casting motions towards the dark man, launching the four projectiles, each as large as a pair of fists. Perhaps due to his unfamiliarity with this sort of practice, or due to the incessant itching burn, Davian miscalculated two distinct things. His aim was off on the fourth throw, that projectile arced its way in at the Great Oak that was the Earth Pillar. His second, and graver, miscalculation was that he never ended the.. thing.. that he did to drain the air of its heat. Each of the four projectiles twirled their way through the air, flames increasing in size and intensity, the rock portion burning off as they traveled the distance towards their targets.

Davian dwelled on the mistakes, but his first, odd thought was, Wasn't that itch below my elbow, not above? He dismissed that concept as quickly as it came and drew his rapier, allowing it to engulf in flame. Remorse nearly touched him at the misfire; if the Great Oak was not touched by enchantments it would be flash frozen as the heat was drained from it to feed the inferno, before being torched by the ball of close to pure flame. Sure the impact would not be much, but oh the intensity of the heat! That burning sensation in his arm stabbed at him once more but Davian ignored it and prepared himself to watch all sides for any offensive actions against him.
Post #: 8
9/6/2007 22:57:56   
TormentedDragon
Member

Her joy was short-lived, a look of self-reproach flickering across her features before they set into determination. Now was not the time for that. Soon, very soon, the battle would commence, and she had to be focused. Her gaze swept the arena, taking in the layout and nature of the place. Ice and Darkness were closest to her, Earth farthest away. It seemed that opposing elements were on opposite ends of the arena... yet, for some reason, water had been placed next to fire. Odd, but perhaps useful. And the champion of fire was familiar to her. So... it would seem that his Lord had found him worthy. He had been lucky. But then, so had she. And she had already had her retribution. He did, however, serve to remind her that he surprised her. That would not happen again.

Her armor ceased its chiming at an instant, the currents of wind that had swirled about her simply vanishing. Ah... she had forgotten how much control this armor gave her. It would make this so very much easier. She knelt down one knee, pressing her free hand to the ground. As she did so, the breeze picked up again, her currents shifting the sands ever so slightly, leaving their invisible mark upon the inconstant surface. Within moments, her framework was complete. She smiled. A simple trick, but one that required much practice. She had, unfortunately, had ample opportunity to employ it in the past. Hopefully, she could change that.

Fire was eager to start, it would seem. So be it. Let him have first strike this time around. She drew her first arrow, eyes widening in surprise at the effect her Overture would have. She'd known that this was a brutal competition, but it seemed her Lord wished her to brook no quarter. This set of arrows was reserved for only the most dangerous of tasks; five of her stripe equipped with these could rout a small army. But how would they fare in this battle? All these warriors had great power and skill, of that, there could be no doubt.

And as such, there was no need to rush things. She knew little of these champions, and her lack of awareness had cost her down below. She would wait, for now.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 9
9/7/2007 3:28:05   
Art of Blade
Member

In the street, there was no such thing as honor. In fact, it was very much accepted that 'honor' was a myth, a story told by mothers to scare their children into buying mirrors to look around corners, a tale boasted by nobles to make their horrible murders in the shadows seem more acceptable, and a word thrown around so often by people who can't handle it that one would find it hard to take it seriously.

So it didn't exactly surprise Arikard when three fireballs flew his way. It should have, all things considered, because those who expect fireballs to be thrown at their heads every so often could be considered insane. Knives, perhaps, even whiskey bottles, but fireballs? They're not exactly easy to come by, and are mostly thrown at more important people. Besides, Arikard thought as he opened his umbrella, they weren't unstoppable. He brought it up in front of him like a shield, seeing only the umbrella's underside, where the sand he scooped up from earlier have formed into several small conic shapes, like bees clustering around a beehive. The fireballs, even though he couldn't see them, bounced or were absorbed by the earth umbrella. Unfortunately for whoever threw it, dirt isn't flammable. There was a fourth fireball, yes, but that hit the Pillar of Earth, a manifestation of the Earth Lord's power. When it struck the Great Oak, it simply ate at the bark and burned itself out, not causing much damage.

"Does that daft bastard think a measly fireball's gonna burn the pillar?" Arikard thought out loud in an indiscernible mumble. "Guess he's... underestimatin' or something." Gotta make sure I don't do the same, he added grimly. The best way to beat an underestimater is... not to underestimate the underestimater, because then you'd just be an underestimater as well, and Arikard stopped thinking at that point, because all those syllables were starting to give him a headache. He looked back at the underside of the umbrella, at all those tiny spheres of sand, and closed it, eyes staring straight at the Chosen of Fire.

He was holding a rapier. This surprised Arikard, because rapiers... well, rapiers don't work well against big blocks of rock, or giant weapons of any kind, or anything that's more complicated than a bottle opener, because those are the type of weapons people carry. The rapier was on fire, though. He was going to say something about how unrealistic that was until he remembered what exactly was hanging off his right shoulder. With a small grin, he tossed his umbrella to his left hand, and cracked the knuckles of his right.

There was no such thing as honor in the street. Only corners, shadows, and people who can't handle it.

With a grunt, Arikard ran towards the Fire Champion, his umbrella in his left hand. His right hand ran across its surface. From the inside, things changed. It was very subtle, because it was all happening inside the umbrella, and while there were changes outside as well, they were very discreet, because at the moment the umbrella was closed, and the closed form of the Before and After were exactly the same. When he got close enough, he waved his right arm. Below his approaching feet, a wall grew, sending him skywards. As he fell, he opened the changed weapon, and from then on it was no longer an umbrella, but more like a flower, the wide part blossoming into a bowl. And as he fell, the sands, which have also moved during the transformation, shot out of the bowl like an angry swarm of bees; bees which have been disturbed from their pollination and were determined to pelt themselves at the offender. But that, Arikard thought with a grin, was only a distraction. He, or at least his weapon, was directly above his opponent, and when he was sure the Fire Champion was close enough, he closed his weapon, his flower, his inverted umbrella, whatever one wished to call it. If his aim was correct, the weapon would have closed in on his opponent, like a fly-trap. If it didn't, if that particular move failed, well, that would simply mean he hit the man with his closed weapon, or even more simply mean that Arikard just had his weapon back in his hand and ready for the next move, or... well, Arikard would think then. You can't plan for everything, after all.

< Message edited by Art of Blade -- 9/7/2007 3:34:36 >
AQ  Post #: 10
9/7/2007 7:29:19   
Varin
Member

And so it was joined. By all rights he should have been scared, terrified even, but he was serenity incarnate while his opponent advanced on him. His cold, gray eyes studied his opponent and the intricacies of his attack whilst his hands were not idle during his opponent's long charge.

Again his arm rebelled against his wishes, pointing a fist at his opponent when all Davian wanted of it was to pull his mace and wait contentedly for an attack opening. The offending limb did something similar to what Davian had with the fireballs, it deigned to leech the heat out of his enchanted blade rather than the air. The front of Davian might have been heating up, both due to the streaking heat in front of him and the inferno raging in the heart of his left arm, but he wouldn't show it.

Given the size of the arena, even the fastest sprinter is going to take a decent amount of time to get from one pillar to it's adjacent; as for an opposite, that would be a no-man's-land type of suicide charge. The Earth Champion provided Davian the time needed to devise and implement a rudimentary, if effective strategy.

Davian chose the moment that Arikard was airborne and descending to make his move, or that is to say his arm did and he reacted with it. The left arm shot out like a punch and opened the hand, discharging thousands of degrees of charged heat into a solid beam. Davian might be new at this type of combat, yet he was not unfamiliar with how it worked; his aim would have been spot on for the Earth Champion's midsection., the inane umbrella high in the air still Not standing still to see if he hit, Davian whirled to his opponent's left and rear, circling the falling opponent and using momentum to arc a vicious cut at the middle of the Earth Champion's back as he landed. Davian flat refused to be distracted by that itching-burn halfway up his bicep.
Post #: 11
9/7/2007 10:49:27   
Art of Blade
Member

As Arikard fell, like a most unusual... thing, there was a tower of fire shooting into the inverted umbrella. Determined not to let it go straight through, mostly because it would hurt very much and probably kill him until he can be killed no more, Arikard concentrated on hardening the stone. Still the heat ate through it, but Arikard brought the other parts of the umbrella to repair the almost-hole before it became an actual-hole. By the time the heat beam ran out, Arikard was left with only a smidgen of earth on the end of a long stick, which was also of earth. As he landed, the smidgen turned into a point, and there was the flash of moving fire behind him. It took him a second to gain his bearings and dash forward. A second makes all the difference, of course, which in Arikard's case was both fortunate and not-so-fortunate. It was fortunate because, if he was a second late, he would have had the point of the rapier straight in his back and down his spine, and he would bleed to death from something that no one would call 'only a flesh wound'. If he ran a second earlier, though, that same point wouldn't have made a long tear down his shirt. Also, the fact that the rapier was on fire and, consequently, gave him a burn was not very pleasing, because, well, burns hurt a lot. A whole goddamn lot.

With a small shout of pain, Arikard turned around, barely able to ignore the burn (he couldn't see it, of course, but those who could would see his otherwise dark back spoiled by a red, fleshy line). He grit his teeth and leaned against the spear. It was quite painful. He looked at his opponent and remembered the wall that was directly behind the Fire Champion. With a thought and a wave of the finger, it sunk into the ground, leaving only a quarter of its original size.

"Are you one for clever repartee, good sir?" he asked, wincing slightly at the pain. He leaned forward, and the spear dissolved into the ground. His right arm quickly followed it underground, and the lines glowed bright red as he pulled back. Half his arm, which went into the ground, was now pure stone and sand. While some may believe this to be a covering, they would be wrong. It was a substitute, one that he could not find in the Spike Arena. "'Cause I'd love to engage in some, only I'm not very clever." He bent his new stone arm experimentally and raised himself into a stance, slowly willing himself to ignore the burn on his back. Meanwhile, half of his real-fake arm (confusing, yes) dug its way underground, using the power of Earth to drive it through the dirt. All of a sudden, it rose out of the ground and made a grab for the opponent's leg. At the same time, the wall that sunk down earlier popped right back up, this time directly in front of Arikard. "But I can say this, though." With a punch, the wall crumbled and fell forward, like an avalanche down a non-existent mountain. "You are probably a very, very... not-nice man! Also if this works, it would... it would probably hurt!"

He wasn't sure if it was because of his burn, the fact that he punched down a wall (in a silly attempt to look dramatic when he was simply casting a spell), or his disgusting rhetoric (why did he find it hard to be badass outside his own head, he would never know), but whatever it was, he felt a jolt of pain run down his spine. Yeah, he thought, probably the disgusting rhetoric. Grunting himself back into action, he ran backwards, in case the opponent didn't actually get caught by his arm and also, at the same time, managed to avoid the wall falling down on him. He kept his right hand low to the ground, to get the other half of his mechanical arm back in case of any complications, like the man thinking the hand was a giant ant and decided to step on it.

It could happen.

< Message edited by Art of Blade -- 9/7/2007 10:54:38 >
AQ  Post #: 12
9/7/2007 11:25:07   
Kellehendros
Eternal Wanderer


 The true test had begun.

The Champion of Fire, almost predictably, made the first move. The man pulled a hunk of lava from great molten Pillar, sectioned it into fourths, and flung in across the intervening space towards the Great Oak and the Champion of Earth. Three of the flaming projectiles impacted the Earth Champion's defense, a strange device that he opened outward to form a small shield. Alex was unsure whether or not this was the true purpose of the device, but he had to admit that it certainly had been effective in stopping the fiery attacks. The final ball slammed into the Great Oak itself, and flared into ravenous life. For a moment Alex was concerned that the entire Oak might become a great conflagration, but his fears were unfounded, some magic, whether native to the Tree itself, or perhaps a protection cast by the Championship's mages, protected the Oak, and only the immediate area impacted by the fireball was scorched.

The Earth Champion's reply was a daring charge across the Arena floor towards the Fire Pillar. A rather foolish move seeing as it would expose him to attacks from most of the other Champions before he reached his target. A wall of rock broke the sandy surface of the Arena, sending the Champion of Earth skyward. His odd device opened as before, but continued opening untill it formed a sort of inverted bowl towards the Fire Champion. A great quantity of rock and sand was blasted forth from the device, only to be repulsed by the Champion of Fire's reply, a column of superheated air of such a heat that even from his place a good distance away Alex could feel the backwash of the beam's blast.

Amazingly the Earth Champion's device captured the beam inside its inverted bowl, though even then the great heat of the attack caused the device to fracture and wear away. The Earth Champion landed, the device that he had been holding now resembled a spear more then the odd shield that it had before. He was conversing with the Champion of Fire, no doubt taunting his foe or bragging about his great abilities.

It didn't really matter, all that mattered was that there were now two targets in his range. Alex found it odd that the Fire and Water Pillars were next to each other, Fire and Water didn't mix. One might have thought then, that they should be some distance from each other, though perhaps this wasn't possible. The Pillars were arranged in a circle, so perhaps it was just an odd mistake that they had ended up this way.

Alex gestured with his staff and free hand, calling out the incantation for his spell. Luckily he had saved a few tricks for the Finals, like this one. Two globes of water were siphoned off of the Pillar of Water, Alex could create the water he needed for this spell, but with the great Pillar behind him he didn't need to expend the energy for that. A third, smaller globe joined the first two, floating slightly above Alex's head.

The two large globes began to vibrate, as though the water within them was stirred by some massive creature's steps. The globes lost their form, elongating into writhing cylinders, and then into the form of a pair of liquid water snakes. Of course they were only water snakes in the sense that they were made out of water, in the form of snakes. Liquidly the pair slithered down Alex's arms and onto the ground. Looking over at the two battling Champions, Alex pointed towards the Champion of Earth, who was currently backpedalling away from the falling ruins of an earth wall. "Why don't you go play with our friend over there?"

Watery fangs revealed in predatory grins, the two snakes quietly slid away towards the unsuspecting Champion of Earth. The snakes would strike for the Champion's legs, hopefully knocking him over or otherwise occupying him so that he could be more easily dealt with. Having sent his snakes on their way, Alex turned his attention to the small globe above him. There was a very real chance that he would be engaging in ranged combat here, whether magical or mundane remained to be seen, but if fireballs and rocks were to be flying everywhere he would need a ranged defense.

Raising his staff, Alex smashed it through the water globe, causing it to shatter and send droplets of water cascading into the air. Focusing on the droplets, he caught them in their fall, and burst them again to form a fine mist that hung in the air about him. Identical to the spell he had cast in the Fountain Arena, this spell would provide some defense against ranged attacks by obscuring him slightly from his opponent's vision, this should make him harder to hit with a ranged attack as his figure would be distorted by the fog.

There was nothing left to do now but wait to see what results his attack would have.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 13
9/7/2007 18:14:52   
TormentedDragon
Member

She watched as Fire and Earth clashed, observing that Fire had some new tricks... or, perhaps, had been holding back before. He had certainly paid the price for that. She would have to be wary of him, for her winds had the potential to simply fuel his fire. The champion of Earth had power over the very ground on which they tread, and was putting this to good use. He would be one to watch, as well.

It was Water, however, that grabbed her attention, by shrouding himself in mists, cutting his form off from view. It was a trick not unfamiliar to her, used to confuse and misdirect an opponent, be he outside the mist or trapped within. Unfortunately for the mage, she knew how to deal with such tactics.

Overture began ringing the moment she drew the bow, eager to unleash its power upon her enemies. She held the draw for a moment, making certain that the range would be accurate, and released, hand reaching back for another arrow as soon as the first had left her bow. The ringing grew louder as the arrow flew, reminiscent of Crescendo. It lacked the tailwind of that shaft, the winds serving to push it, rather than it serving to pull them. With its flight so sped, it reached its target barely a second after release, shattering in midair.

Where the arrow had stopped, the air began to move, a swirling vortex of wind not unlike that element's pillar rising up, sucking sand and mist into its form. The sounds began shortly after, quiet at first, but swiftly growing in strength, a wild screaming that grated on the ears. Even so far away as she was, Tasha was not immune from its effect, the painful sound causing her to wince. A ripple of chimes went across her armor, a buffer of wind forming over her ears, and she relaxed. She would have to remember to shield herself from her own attacks, or her hard-won gift would be lost again.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 14
9/7/2007 20:16:48   
Varin
Member

Ever in motion, Davian stepped back as his scorched adversary spun around. And continued backwards, nearing in on the fire pillar while keeping his opponent in sight. His greedy left arm was not content with just merely stealing heat from his blade; even the Fire Pillar's lava flow was not spared. Luckily, such a vast fount of heat had little, if any net loss. Davian almost gave into the temptation to scratch at that incessant itch just below his shoulder, but fought it successfully. Odd, he didn't even flinch at the burning sensation in his arm; good thing, he might have been frightened at the blackened spots showing up in his tunic. Maybe it was the nature of the limb, or the fact that it held such a vast amount of heat, but it was of no concern to Davian as he wasn't aware.

With his movement backwards, the probing arm of his assailant wasn't even noticed. Luckily, Davian had created enough distance between himself and the Earth Champion to have just a few motes of dust cover his boots, after the crumbling of the tower. Davian saw the Water Champion make his move from the corner of his eye and promptly forgot about it with the advent of a grating, annoying howl. The effort was not much to block out the noise; a trait learned by many stays at inns with loudly snoring patrons. Just by focusing on every noise that was not that incessant howl he was able to ignore it. Any ill effects on his ear drums would persist, but it would be a distraction no more.

Not content to react, Davian made three quick cuts in the air with his rapier, directed at the Earth Champion; two nearly as one and a third a second or two behind. The first two were vertical on either side the one known as Arikard, quick as he could swing, and the third was with the flat of the blade horizontally and more sedately. Ten foot tall walls of fire shot forward, narrow end first and to either side of the man; effectively framing the Earth Champion as a third wall approached him, feeding off the oxygen in the atmosphere, a solid barrier of flames. The first two were fast, fast enough to be up and feeding in an eye blink where the third was slower, but still moving with the speed of a brisk run.

Davian's left arm did not deign to respond to what Davian thought was a cunning plan, but continued to gorge itself on the heat from the Fire Pillar. Not nearly as easily ignored this time, that burning-itchy sensation was plaguing his arm pit through his collar bone, but ignored again it was. Davian had not a glance to spare on himself with three Champions engaged in the fray; perhaps it was for the better, he'd not have to worry about the large holes and blackened silk of his tunic's left sleeve. Perhaps he attributed the odd smell in the air to burnt stone rather than singed silk.
Post #: 15
9/8/2007 0:09:50   
Kellehendros
Eternal Wanderer


 Alex was distracted from the results of his attack as his ears caught an odd ringing noise. His eyes were drawn across the field towards the distant whirling twister that was the Wind Pillar. There was a woman there before the Pillar, blearily realized through the fog that Alex had conjured. The mage's contemplation of the female was interrupted even as he realized that she was an archer.

The strange ringing grew, and just a suddenly stopped. Alex cried out, slapping one hand to his face. Whatever projectile that had been fired by the archer had simply exploded, and a fragment of the arrow had sliced through his cheek. Blood welled from the shallow wound between Alex's fingers, but that proved to be the least of his worries.

The air began to stir, which was a bit odd, considering that moments before there had been no such moving air currents but those near the Wind Pillar. The air currents gathered strength quickly, becoming a breeze, then a wind, then a swirling gale. The sudden twister pulled at the tendrils of mist surrounding Alex, siphoning them off to spin wildly within. Sand as well was picked up and thrown wildly be the knewly born mini-tornado.

The mage might have been able to deal with the whirlwind alone, but some magic was causing it to send out a constant grating, screaming noise. Clamping one hand over an ear, Alex turned and fled in the first direction he turned in. Unfortunatly that direction was towards the Fire Pillar.

A sudden flare of heat before him caused Alex to cry out again. Turning he staggered off towards the wall of the Arena. All he knew was that he had to get away from the terrible screaming noise.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 16
9/8/2007 1:10:49   
Art of Blade
Member

As Arikard watched his wall crumble down, he let his attention waver and tried concentrating on the arena in general. This was the sort of thing you had to do when you could in the streets; he almost didn't, once, and he found himself under the weight of three muggers at the same time. He survived, yes, but with a body that was both black and blue as well as brown. He quickly looked around and paused at the sight of the Water Champion, his magic at work as a sphere turned into two snakes, and the two snakes flew out and slithered towards him.

"Oh hell no!" Arikard declared loudly, his hand- already low to the ground- flat on the sand. The connection to the earth gave him access to the full power of his arm, since the other half was also connected to the ground, and magic happened instantly. A thin pillar of sandstone rose up, and Arikard rose with it, balancing on that one hand as well as he could, wincing at the burn on his back as he twisted his body to avoid falling off, as the wind caressed it with its gentle touch.

Well, Arikard thought with a frown. If it hurt it's not really gentle at all. But it's a prettier description, he admitted.

Shaking his head and concentrating back on the battle, he saw that his grab-leg-and-crush technique failed to work. The Fire Champion made his move again, with three cuts in the air followed by three walls. The first two came quickly and ended up at either side of Arikard, while the third was making its way straight for him. The two, of course, did not hit Arikard directly, and he managed to avoid burning his toes by manipulating himself into a straight, vertical line. He thought he saw a drop of blood trickle down his arm, as though the burn on his back started to crack, but he ignored it; he couldn't do anything about it even if he wanted to.

As the third wall approached and Arikard held his breath- the fire smoke was all too much, even for a city lad- he heard a screech. A terrible sort of screech that echoed around the entire arena. He made to cover his ears but found that, of course, to be a mistake. He fell backwards, felling down the back of the wall, and only when he was half-way down did he make to grab it again with his right hand, his fingers gouging into it like putty. He twitched at the horrible sound. He had to get away from it. He also had to get away from that third wall of fire, which was getting dangerously close now, but the sound, as far as he was concerned, was more annoying. Therefore, it must be dealt with first.

And the best way to deal with annoying things is to get the hell away from it.

He let himself drop to the ground, and just then the third firewall started to crack through his thin pillar. When it did, causing it to collapse like a tree in the forest that nobody would hear (because of the gosh-darned tornado, experts would say), Arikard was gone, leaving a hole behind. By the time the third firewall passed over it, the hole was refilled from within.

There was bliss in the underground, Arikard thought, his mouth closed as he held his breath precariously. The sound of the tornado whips around itself, but thankfully not below it, or else it would be much, much worse. He concentrated slightly, and his fake arm popped back into the ground, back to banish the stone replacement from whence it came and to take back its rightful place as the End of the Right Elbow and the Beginning of the Hand. Both most beautiful regions of the land, Arikard thought, before banging his head into the earth ceiling above to get his concentration back. Of course, he couldn't stay underground forever, but he didn't want to go back up. An idea popped into his head. Crawling forwards, his magic aiding his trek through dirt and stone, he approximated (or, for those who aren't posh about their words, guessed) the location of his Fire Foe (Arikard smiled at the alliteration before reminding himself to go back into battle, damn it) and creating a small, tiny hole to look through. He could see the bottom of his sleeve, which was burnt, for some reason. Was he practicing on him self? Anyway, Arikard grinned, I've got you now. Remembering this place, he dug forward, bringing himself further away from the Fire Pillar and, well, most of the other Pillars as well. He popped out of the ground, silently as he could, and looked at his foe. Covering an ear with his left hand, he snapped his fingers with his right, grinning in smugness and grimacing in pain at the same time.

Directly underneath his opponent, a sinkhole appeared, draining into the ground and bringing the sand down with it. Since the Fire Champion was directly below it, he would sink in as well. But the earth had to go somewhere before being a hole, of course, and here Arikard grinned even more, as he rose up on a disc that inched upwards higher and higher as the hole became deeper and deeper. Hopefully, it would drag the Champion down with it. Arikard slapped the disc he was on experimentally (now with one ear on his shoulder, that tornado was so painful to hear), and he sunk and rose back up an inch, while spikes of stone went from one end of the hole to the other before returning to their place in the ground, like teeth closing and opening. Arikard wondered if they were stalagmites or stalactites. They didn't have a word for the ones that went sideways.

Stalasidetites?

Arikard almost punched himself for not being able to concentrate on the life-or-death situation for more than five seconds. Honestly, he thought, as he started to get used to the tornado's screech, he annoys himself sometimes. He paused, wondering if this annoyance shows whenever he talked to Boss Ginesh... and then he wondered if this annoyance shows when he spoke to the Earth Lord, who, he felt, was quite angry at him by the end of it all. But the Earth Lord was angry at him for being so loyal to Boss Ginesh. Why? What did the Lord know about it all?

This time Arikard actually slapped himself lightly with his left hand. No philosophizing or angsting on the battlefield, he told himself. Very sternly, he thought, oh yes, he is stern.

< Message edited by Art of Blade -- 9/8/2007 3:13:01 >
AQ  Post #: 17
9/8/2007 15:27:15   
Zinsho_Lexagen
Member

As he stood on the sands Ketter observed the field, a slight dance to his motion allowing him to maintain that which shielded him as well as gradually increase his power. It would take nigh on forever for his current approach to grant him the power to launch an attack such as he had previously, but that was not his plan, such assaults were for utterly destroying those who he deemed needing of such a fate, and as yet he saw none that were.

He was nearly alone in his section of the arena, a girl at one of the nearby pillars, Light in all likelihood while the chilly pillar to the other side remained unguarded. That decided things for him, if he were to do anything and not remain waiting for an assault to approach him he would best attack the Light girl, particularly after his recent encounter with a golden one. Taking a step towards the girl he paused, a grin appearing as he considered the pillar beside him, a pillar containing enough energy to launch him clear across the battlefield, if he dared risk such travel.

A long distance flight would be risky, he had little way of knowing if he would be able to land successfully or if he would become a smear of blood on arrival. However, the much shorter distance towards the nearer pillar... that would be quite possible. Lunging forward he kicked off, flipping himself backwards through the air as his powers tore free the shards from his boots, removing the added traction as they reshaped themselves, focusing themselves at the toes of his boots to form smooth plates, surfaces that could serve to allow him to skid across flat surfaces at speed.

Landing he turned back to the pillar, charging at it full tilt and extending one arm. Reaching the ideal distance he leapt, his blade clanging dully against the testament to his powers. Focusing he twisted the energies that flowed forth, wrapping himself in them, using them to draw him about the pillar, a slow descent towards the base once more, spinning about it faster and faster until only his awareness of the field let him know where he faced.

Growing dizzy he judged the time was right, releasing himself from the field with a slight launch that sent him flying towards the Light pillar, first inches then a couple feet above the ground, on a course that would get him nearly two thirds of the way there before he touched down. Touching sand he tilted forward, focusing his weight on his toes so he continued to slide, slowing quickly on the rough surface but no so quickly as to defeat the purpose of his launch.

A few steps away from the girl he broke back into his run, his blades windmilling about his hands to maintain energies as he came in for the blow. Had he run the distance outright he would likely have arrived at the same time as through his catapult plan, however rather than provide long moments of preparation his approach had nearly quartered the travel time, in addition to the shock it would likely produce.

Not that it mattered, such a slip of a girl had little chance of survival, even with grating sound that was starting to become painful, almost as bad as steel grating on steel in large quantities at close proximity. Part of his mind hoped the noise would grow no louder lest it truly impair his thinking even as his fingers caught his left blade, halting its spin to serve as a diagonal slash just as the girl came into range.
Post #: 18
9/8/2007 18:41:14   
TormentedDragon
Member

Her overture had been a grand one, indeed, and had not, surprisingly, earned her any reprisals. Yet. She walked, slowly, bow at the ready, towards the center of the arena, eyes dancing across the whole of it. Energy made his move, launching himself towards light, his entire form blurred with constant motion. He struck her as dangerous, perhaps more so than any of the others here. She would have to keep her distance from that champion at all costs.

Earth, however, revealed an ability that was perhaps most threatening of all. He could enter into the ground, where she could not touch him. She could cause her sound to reach him, but that would not be easy if she could not sense where he was. He was, however, concerned more with Fire... something that would work to her advantage.

She reached out, extending herself along the currents. Her armor's chimes, which had softened following the overture, returned in full force, their ringing aiding her in her attempt to ride the winds. Soon, she was completely focused on the air, her eyes staring but not seeing, ears deaf to the world once more. Every subtle shift, every eddy and current, was open to her, the tapestry of motion dimming the farther she felt. Her tornado was a beacon, drawing, nay, demanding her attention.

There was much that she could do with it. She could feed the beast, causing it to grow, to spin faster, to scream louder. She could twist it, changing its spin, its form, the shape of its ravenous mouth. She could move it, directing it as a master does his dog. This last was simplest, requiring only a nudge in the right direction, a subtle shifting of the air around it. And, as a dog obeys its master, so did the vortex obey her urgings, beginning its march towards the ever-flowing lava. As it moved, it continued to draw in sand, promising massive injury to anyone fool enough to be caught within its flow.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 19
9/8/2007 20:34:15   
Varin
Member

Davian was still moving, for no reason other than not leave himself as an open target. He went down in a tangle and heard the stone chew at where his body should be at the moment. Davian gaped and laid still, completely oblivious to anything his current opponent may be doing as he gawked at his left arm; from his fingers to his shoulder it was the color of a lobster shell. He could feel the power building in the arm and watch as the line crawled its way forward and singeing on his tunic advanced with it. Completely taken aback by this, Davian concentrated inside himself and willed the red to stop advancing. He had no idea how it worked or if it would, but he noticed even as the limb drank deep from the Fire Pillar that the line was no longer advancing and the itch seemed to abate.

Davian hauled himself to his feet and dusted himself off, glad that no one took advantage of his momentary lapse in common sense. His eyes went agape once more as he saw what he took for a miniature pillar of Wind approaching him. It was coming for his newfound Lord's pillar, slowly but with authority that seemed that it would not be denied. Time enough was left for Davian to effect a pair of strategies; he pulled and threw a dagger at the Earth Champion with his off-hand. The aim might have been less accurate than he hoped, but it was arcing in at about his midsection, if he accounted properly for distance and elevation. Ever thirsty, his left arm divided its greed between the Fire Pillar and another warm source in the vicinity, the Earth Champion. Davian wasn't sure the wisdom of such, drawing from a warm body was not the same as a static source, but he hoped his arm knew what it was doing. Possibly perplexed, Davian tried not to think about rationalizing his arm as having intelligence.

Davian would be fool to stay where he was and proved himself as anything but. Taking a page out of the Water Champion's book, Davian retreated in a counter clockwise manner, distancing himself between the Earth and Fire pillars. His arm might not be able to gorge itself as freely from this distance, but still he could feel heat flowing from the Fire Pillar into his crimson left arm. Of the Earth Champion, a few more seconds would tell if his strategy had worked…


< Message edited by Varin -- 9/9/2007 10:05:59 >
Post #: 20
9/9/2007 0:21:42   
Kellehendros
Eternal Wanderer


 Alex continued to stagger forward, eventually bumping into the wall of the Arena itself. His staff thudded into the ground, and both his hands rose to cover his ears, he stuffed a finger in each ear, swearing. The mage drew his hands out slowly, making an odd gesture with each as he did so, leaving behind a small quantity of water that essentially formed an earplug to shut out the thrice cursed screeching coming from the Wind Archer's magic arrow. The small water droplet's divided into two small disks in the mage's ear with a small air space between them. The sound captured by Alex's ear would have to be transmitted first through one disk, then the airspace, and then another water disk before reaching his eardrums, this would remove much of the soundwave's energy so that the noise would not be so loud.

There was a decided improvement, the level of the screeching reduced to something a bit more managable, though it would be awfully hard to hear anybody speaking. Then again, Alex probably wouldn't be trading anything but blows in this Arena. Taking advantage of his respite, he cast a glance around the Arena. The Energy Champion zoomed up and around the great metal Pillar, and then flung himself forward at the Champion of Light. Alex caught movement from the corner of his eye, the Earth Champion was rising slowly on a mound of sand, checking on the progress of the Fire Champion, Alex realized that the growth of the sand pile below the Earth Champion corresponded to the sudden appearence of the sink hole near where the Fire Champion had just been. The mage bit his lip, he would need to be careful of the Earth Champion, a mage who can manipulate the ground you stand on is not someone to take lightly.

Alex looked back towards the center of the Arena. There she was, walking forwards calmly towards the center of the Arena, her bow held loosely in one hand. The Champion of Wind stopped, her strange attire fluttering around her as she simply stood there, staring off into space. Her posture had an odd, far off quality, as though she was simply there, but yet, not there. It seemed a bit foolish for her to make such a target of herself by simply standing in the middle of the field like that.

Suddenly, the thought hit him. She's vulnerable, she's casting a spell. His prediction proved accurate, the twister that had been created by her arrow was speeding up, the howling growing stronger so that it began to cut through his improvised earplugs. Slowly, yet with the stately grace of the inevitable, the vortex began to move towards the Fire Pillar. Alex wasn't sure if the woman meant for the vortex to be chasing him, or maybe she was just trying to get it into the vecinity of three Champions where it would be more effective, but it was really annoying that he would have to run away again.

Swearing, Alex leaned over and grabbed his staff, straightening, he sent out a message to the Water Snakes. As he began to run past the Fire Pillar, the Snakes reversed their course, heads travelling through their bodies to emerge where their tails had once been. The pair burrowed into the ground, slithering their way towards the unmoving Champion of Wind. When they had come within a few feet of her they sprung, exploding from the sand to strike at her legs and torso. The mage kept moving, shadowing the Fire Champion's flight from the Champion of Wind's vortex.

< Message edited by Kellehendros -- 9/9/2007 0:32:15 >
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 21
9/9/2007 13:22:32   
SomThngWickdThsWyCms
Member

Everything became so quiet around him, like a vortex ripped the sound out of the air and pulled at his breath. He wanted to move, he watched to clutch his throat and tear a hole within his windpipe so that air would enter his lungs, but his arms refused to move. His eyes widened and everything became white, white hot, a burning light filling his vision, bursting through his mouth and incinerating his vocal cords as a scream tried to fill his throat and exit his mouth.

But it was all too late. Far too late.

The visions of glory were tainted by this bright light that burned him all over, setting him on fire. His fingers clutched into fists, and when he could not take the immense pain of the flooding white – it vanished. He fell like a stone from the air, his body limp and his eyes half open, plummeting through the blackness all around him. The wind teased his hair, his clothes, slapped them around as he felt the presence of his glaive in his fingers. Tears filled his eyes and they were pulled from his cheeks in glistening balls of sadness. He knew he didn’t make it. They were eliminating him.

And as he fell his soft hushed lips moved and even though no words got out he knew what he was saying, and he knew that the Lord would know as well. Fair words and apologizes formed though their voices were caught by nothing. Deaf words befell deaf ears. His white teeth bit into the flesh of his lips and his eyes closed fully for what he thought was the last time.

His skin felt cold.
His body ached.
He felt no mo-

A soft whisper, one that echoed with the velocity of a thousands voices grew and grew in volume until it rattled his brain and made his eyes open. It was his own voice, it was the voices of his opponents, it was the voice of everything. It told him… Told him that he won. That he made it. That he was the champion for his element, that he was the man who would take them to victory. He reveled in the elegant disenchanted lullaby of splendour a smile carving itself into the hardwood of his features.

“Go now. Join the champions… and defeat them.”

The darkness was gone, there was a flash of light as the world around him rushed to meet with his body: The sky melding into the sand, clouds rushing up to join the heavens above him and this sudden flash of brightness, of colour, of anything but the black he had been falling through blurred his eyes as they dialated in recovery. Gently his body collided with the sand, and it was then that his eyes really opened, his body really moved, and the world became one again. His body rose from the sand like he was reincarnated and he felt the same way, the soreness was gone, the pain of his throat, the burning of the light. And as he rose from the floor he stood with his glaive in hand, the darkness of the pillar behind him, a wicked smile formed; red sand pouring off of his body, out of the folds of his clothes, dripping from his messy hair.

The sun gleamed off of the metal of his glaive, the light of fire danced upon his form, and his eyes feasted on the beauty of the arena itself. But what he saw as beauty soon became nothing more than his environment, and he pushed that state of mind away. Now it was the time to act, to fight.

In explosion of light he saw the first to act, the first to begin the fray and fire shot across the arena bursting into nothingness as it collided with the Earth pillar in sheer brilliance. He flinched at it, covering his eyes, they finally adjusting to the bright around him; as the man who was chosen for Earth made his attack. Echoes of attacks reached his ears, coupled with the sounds of the crowd, the loud roar that made his blood pump with adrenaline, the faint buzz that made his brain ache.

His feet padded through red sand, sinking in softly with every step, and with every movement he could feel the heat of battle, and his emotions began to change, his mind filled with thoughts blood lust and deep down inside of him something clicked that fueled his body with this hatred and this want to win. To represent his element and make those who joined with him proud. It was soon, however, that after only a few steps he was halted by the sound of a thousand screams – a thousand banshees trapped within a whirlwind of pure air.

A hand clutched his head as his eyes squinted and watered from the sound, his own voice echoing underneath its loud noise and caused him to fall to a knee. It was so damned loud… and whipped his hair back and forth around his head, trying to shake it out, trying to do something to take his mind off of this painful noise. His fingers tightened around locks of his own hair, yanking on them, pulling on each gentle piece as the other grabbed into the warm sand. He could feel his hand sinking in a few inches, covering his hand in red hot sand that playfully burned at his skin and at the same time filled with entire body with a welcome warmth.

He forced his eyes open to be blessed with the sight of a woman making her way into the center of the arena, the wind teasing at her clothing, filling the bells that jingled on her body with noise that rang like the awful raging winds that consumed the sand like it was its life-blood.

Instantly the connection was made, and he knew this needed to come to an end.

The glaive at his side was suddenly consumed by the palpable darkness of his shadow which slowly grew smaller and smaller as more of it through its sticky tendrils onto the weapon. It was hard to concentrate, and the shadows picked the weapon up from the ground shakily as he himself rose to look at his target. He knew he could not miss, could not afford to miss. Her attention had to be distracted from the spell she was casting, from the winds she was controlling. He needed to kill her.

In one mighty charge, the darkness drew back the weapon like it was an arm and launched it into the air with more force than he could. His eyes watched it soar through the air at in incredible speed, arching as the blade whistled through the sky, its trajectory placing the tip right between her shoulder blades. He himself started off after it, his feet trodding through the red sand as fast as they could, the dark shadow following behind him just as quickly, dancing over his foot-steps, running over the small foothills that were caused by the wind.

The air was filled with the electricity of battle.
His soul screamed for victory.
Blood lust flowed through him like wildfire.

Aiden licked at his lips, tasting sand.

All the worlds a stage.

< Message edited by SomThngWickdThsWyCms -- 9/9/2007 15:56:06 >
AQ  Post #: 22
9/10/2007 5:45:59   
demonhunter
Member

Noise... Like her Master's fingernails down the slate he used when writing... Lisa grimaced at the sound. Narrowing her eyes, she focused for a moment, focused on blocking out the headache-inducing screech. Slowly, the sound left her, along with all others. She was deaf to the world.

With the loss of one sense, she began to more fully utilise her others. Her eyes moved constantly, scanning her surroundings at all times. Others were engaged with each other, but the champion of energy caught her attention. His strange actions with the pillar of Energy intrigued her... But she didn't catch onto their intent until he was already airborne.

His actions triggered a series of thoughts in her mind, thoughts that ran through a number of calculations that allowed her to guess at where he would land. Within a second, she knew what he was doing: He was closing the distance between himself and her. She didn't need to guess, or to calculate, what his intentions were once that distance was closed. This was a fight, and her combat personality had surfaced. Cold... Hard...

Merciless.

Just as the dervish landed, Lisa herself began to move. She threw herself into a rapid series of backflips, demonstrating not only her physical dexterity and flexibility, but also her speed. Three times, she flipped from hand to foot, and on the fourth, she leapt high, somorsaulting(sp?) in mid-air. A flash of light could be seen in her right hand as she landed, throwing herslef effortlessly into a no-handed cartwheel. Moving backwards was fine, but it would not take her out of harm's way. The sideways movement, however, would buy her a moment... Changing direction during a charge was not easy. And that moment was all she would need.

As she moved through the air in that last maneuver, she flexed the fingers of her right hand, making them rigid so that they resembled claws. Upon landing, she raked the 'claw' through the air in front of her, releasing the light as she did. The result was a set of four parrallel waves of light, streaking towards the Energy champion: A move she called Luminescent Claw.
AQ DF  Post #: 23
9/10/2007 13:26:17   
Art of Blade
Member

God-spitting-damnit.

Despite creating his hole, the Fire Champion had moved in just the right time, managing to avoid the stalasidetites altogether. Which is such a shame, since he put so much effort into making up that word. 'Stalasidetites'. It was genius, he knew it was, if only other people would accept it. And they would have if they saw a body impaled on it, like a rogue sesame seed in between your teeth, and you had to wiggle it out with your tongue. It was truly a shame that didn't happen. He was going to go 'OM NUM NUM, where is your god now?' when the stalasidetites clanged together with the body in between it, and then he was going to laugh, because then there would be one down and about seven more to go and laughing just seemed appropriate at a time like that. He might have even danced.

With a rather bored groan, he watched a knife make its way towards him. With a lazy swing of the finger, a small wall of hardened sand appeared out of the already-large pile of sand, and the knife wedged itself into it. Another swing made the hole whole again, the sand pile dissolving into the ground. Meanwhile, the sound- the ever annoying sound- began to grow louder and louder. Arikard looked up, cringing. It was loud enough already, damn it. Turning his head, he found his long hair swishing wildly this way and that. He brushed away some of the strands that came on his face, and gaped at the... at the... at the spinning windy thing. Whirlwind! Tornado! Death in wind form! He thought he felt a chill run through his veins as he watched it approach him. He looked back at the Fire Champion, who, alongside Water, was running away around the Arena, but to where he could not tell, because he was too busy being surprised at the tornado going at his direction.

Well, he thought, might as well move.

But even as he stood, the chill went through his vein once more. He shivered slightly. It was like being back at the Spike Arena. At the thought, he saw yellow sparks in his mind, the tears of a god who is about to kill him.

And then he found that he couldn't move. He was far too cold. But that was ridiculous; it was very, very sunny. His fingers twitched. He felt horribly hollow, and his skin longed to have feeling come back to it. He could even feel the hairs on his arm stand on their end, almost forcing themselves to rip away from his body in case that would help whatever heat there was, and certainly there was a lot of it somewhere, reach his skin. His teeth were ground together as he glared at the tornado, which made its way towards him defiantly. His eyes shifted and his head slowly turned around. He could barely see her, but the Champion of Wind was somewhere behind him, and she was most certainly the source of the death twister. He was starting to feel its wind whip at his clothes.

Yellow sparks.

He remembered talking to Boss Ginesh. Boss... he was always smiling, always grinning. He was a happy character, glad to do his best for those not rich enough, those who were, as he said, unfairly persecuted by the law. This, apparently, included thieves and murderers, but when he said it, it sounded right. And besides, everyone was either a thief or a murderer any way. Only those with money and hopes to spare cared about stuff like that. I want you to be strong for me, he'd say. Train your body and your soul, and train all that I give you, especially that arm. Be grateful for what I gave ya. And if you accept my gifts, and if you accept your responsibility, then please accept me as your master. Do as I say, and no one will ever mess with you again.

Arikard's memory was messy, and perhaps idealized slightly, but the general gist of it was true. That's what he said. Ever since then, he had no qualms about being Boss's servant, and even less about half-worshiping him. But then the Earth Lord talked to him... said words that disturbed him, shook him a little. He pushed it to the back of his mind, of course, because he was in the middle of a battle, and he honestly didn't want to think about it any way, but... well, he can't move any way. His left hand cracked as it twisted itself, desperate to generate heat in any way, even if it tried lighting a fire between its own joints. But the Earth Lord said that he granted him power in his arm, because of compassion for his followers, or something like that. Sure, compassion, and this coming from someone who introduced himself through riddles. Arikard paused in thought. The arm... Arikard almost strained his eyes staring at it. His right arm... technically, it wasn't even part of his body. It had no blood in it, at least not in the way Arikard's body has blood, and that's where all the heat was, wasn't it? And, and... yes, he thought, as it swung freely, it could move!

Arikard wanted to shout something, like "Oh hell yes!", but his teeth clicked together when he tried opening his mouth, and the tornado was dangerously close, in any case. With a strained grin, the right hand slammed into the ground, palm open, and the earth swallowed him, the pile of sand returning to the flat surface it was before.

Under the ground, it was a lot quieter, which actually hurt Arikard's ears. He had been listening to that annoying tornado for so long, he was surprised that silence made itself seem this loud it comparison. As the magic propelled him through the dirt, like food being forced down someone's throat, he began to think. He paused at one point, because this sudden quietness made his thoughts sound far too loud. He began considering the Fire Champion. He didn't feel good about fighting him, and there was that Water Champion as well. They were so close together, they were probably going to duke it out, unless the Wind Champion was going to continue throwing whirlwinds at them. And all that made it too dangerous to involve himself in. It would be wonderfully poetic though... Earth, Fire, Wind, Water... Lungs? He went even further down the ground. It was a lot warmer there, if he tried ignoring that horrible chill in his body, but otherwise his hunt for internal heat seemed futile. And besides, he needed to breath. With an annoyed growl, he charged upwards and popped his head out of the ground, right in front of the Ice Pillar, where he swallowed the air like water out of a Fountain of Eternal Youth and Generally Unreasonable Requests.

Here he was furthest away from the Fire Champion, the Water Champion, and although the Wind Champion was right in front of him, the tornado of hers wasn't. Here, he felt less... cold. He wasn't sure if it had to do with the Ice Pillar, which has the certain snowy quality that reminded him of home. It made the cold much more bearable, since it was also this horribly cold in Roclan as well, although it didn't seem so alien, like it did on the sands of the Arena. He was still in the sands of the Arena, yes, but there was also snow here. It made the unexpected temperature easier to accept. He plucked himself out of the ground, widening the hole he was in and regaining the use of his limbs. It was still shivering terribly as before, but time, need, and the aforementioned Pillar made it more tolerable. He stood up and wondered why the Ice Champion wasn't here. Maybe he or she was hiding in wait? He shook his head. No time to be thinking about that. With a cautious look-around, he summoned a tiny stone pillar out of the earth for him to lean on. Well, that, and to make his magic just a second faster. Every second counts, he grinned, remembering that burn on his back. The cold helped with that, at least, but that was only because it numbed the pain, which was barely an improvement. He took another look-around, seeing the Wind Champion's back, making sure the Ice Champion wasn't going to ninja him, and hoping that the fight between Light and Energy (he twitched at the sight of the Energy Pillar) won't involve him just yet. He took another backwards glance at the Ice Pillar and grimaced.

"Mr Groundhog say Winter is forever because love is over!" he muttered under his breath. He almost wheezed as he stopped himself from laughing to loudly and placed his hand on the little homemade pillar of earth.

He decided not to attack anyone just yet. He was ready to defend himself, to make himself unseen, because in the street even the rowdiest of the rowdy knew when to hang back and not force himself to throw that last beer bottle at the gang leader's face. Those who did it any way died, otherwise, because he completely ignored all the henchmen. But he wasn't going to make that mistake. He did it already, when he lost his left limb in that fight at the Spike Arena, but he wasn't going to do it again, that's for sure.
AQ  Post #: 24
9/10/2007 14:21:20   
TormentedDragon
Member

I am of the hurricane.

Fire and Water fled, their bodies leaving a wake of disturbance with their passage. Earth, for some reason, remained where he was, unmoving. The tornado would scrape the flesh from his bones, and yet he stood and faced it. Odd. But there was something else that demanded her attention.

My path is inexorable. My foes scatter before me, fleeing my fury lest they be consumed.

Darkness had finally made his presence known, his movements betraying him to her. She turned as his weapon flew at her, the framework she had built beforehand responding with alacrity, gathering the prepared winds to where she needed them in an instant. The sand flew out in spurts as she slid to the side, the winds shifting her with a speed she could not achieve otherwise. Her assailant was running, his motion betraying him. A perfect target.

My howl strikes fear into the hearts of the fearless. My shriek brings the bravest to their knees.

Draw back the string and aim in the same motion, release the arrow with a breath, reach for the next. Do not wait to see if you hit, waiting means death. Tremolo Forte will do its job regardless, its pinging wake sure to strike him whether the arrow does or not. Next arrow, Capriccioso. Wait...

Water had attacked her, somehow hiding his pets from her, until they leapt at her. She kept sliding, her path leading her towards the humming energy pillar, her right hand slashing Capriccioso's tip at the snakes, using the length of the shaft as a focus. A crescent blast of wind flew at the constructs of water.

All in my path face devastation, in my wake I leave destruction. Nothing remains untouched.

The tornado had continued on its path, its whirling mouth leaving sand behind in favor of lava. The screaming faltered, then died as the tornado stopped within the molten flow, shrouding the arena in deafening silence. Soon, however, a new threat appeared, as the true speed of the tornado's spin revealed itself, spewing the forth the lava with wild abandon.

I am of the hurricane. I destroy.

< Message edited by TormentedDragon -- 9/12/2007 17:23:52 >
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 25
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