RE: =Elemental Championships 2008= Spike Arena


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7/21/2008 14:59:37

TormentedDragon
Member

For a moment, she was frozen, finding arrows instead of a creature, illusion instead of reality. And then the man the creature had been charging arrested her attention with his action. She saw what he threw, and all hesitation was gone, borne on a wave of sudden hatred. The arrows she thrust forward, speeding them on their way in an instant counterattack. At the same time, she reached out towards the man's flasks, catching them, cushioning them, so that they would not break. The first, however, she was late in catching, and the fragile glass made contact with the metal, and a crack was formed. The second, she did not allow anywhere near the ground, sweeping it up into herself in a strong current.

For a time, she remained stationary, still bathing the arena in a wild display of dancing color. But her attention was on the things he had thrown at her. They absolutely reeked of chemistry, bringing up old memories, full of pain and hatred. The broken one she tested, tasting the crack, trying to determine just what it was that the man had thrown. In her obsession, she did not realize that the crack was growing, as the glass was pushed and pulled by her whirling currents. Too late did she understand what was happening, and the flask... shattered. The greek fire sprang to life, and she screamed. As with all her spoken words, it communicated to all within the arena, a high-pitched wail of agony and hatred screamed directly into one's ear. For that first instant, there was no other sound.

Her instinct was to rid herself of it. Her wish was to repay the pain to the one who had caused it. The two were compatible. He had moved in the time she had spent investigating his weapons, and his attention was elsewhere, his back to her. The knives came swirling 'round, one of them combined with the burning substance, and then the whole ensemble was ejected forcefully from her roiling mass; the knives, one burning, one not, flew point first at his back. The rest of the fire followed, set to splash across his form. And as a spiteful afterthought, the tiny, glittering flask of Rubidium was veritably spit at him, as yet undamaged and unopened.

With the source of pain gone, her scream cut off, and she allowed herself to collapse. She spread herself out over the floor, and flowed away from the chemist, away from his painful implements, seeking shelter and seething with rage.

< Message edited by TormentedDragon -- 7/21/2008 16:01:11 >

Post #: 51

7/21/2008 15:39:13

RATIONALPARANOIA
Member

Guts was focused now- He would have to act quickly. Rattigan, that fool- He was trying to attack Guts, but in doing so, was just helping him. The one who was rushing him, the man in armor, he was getting much closer. He had his axe raised in the air, and was preparing to deliver a crippling blow. The giant stopped, apparently preparing himself for the blow. The armored one was eager to kill… But his eagerness would be his undoing.

As he thought this, a sudden splitting pain rose in his head. It was a scream, Guts knew that, but a scream unlike any other that Guts had experienced. It was extremely hard to think of anything else, to focus, but Guts had to. This was a crucial moment, and he was not going to let concentration get away from him. The gargoyle had already disappeared, its purpose gone and the thoughts needed to sustain it no longer there. Himself, on the other hand… He was still here, and he intended to keep it that way.

The giant moved, stepping backwards as the man in armor charged. They were heading toward the trap, yes, but he was sure that the man in armor would follow. His momentum would push him this way, first of all. And even if, for some strange reason, it didn’t, Guts was sure that the man would follow. He seemed intent upon killing the giant, and the giant had already gotten away from him- twice. Guts doubted that the man would let it happen again.

< Message edited by RATIONALPARANOIA -- 7/21/2008 15:52:31 >

AQ	Post #: 52

7/21/2008 17:25:32

Guardian of Nekops
Member

The nymph’s shriek of rage filled Roch’s ears at the critical moment of impact, causing his aim to falter and strike slightly lower than intended. This would have been no more than a minor inconvenience, but the detestable coward he was fighting was no longer where he had been, having taken a giant step backwards. Even so, the retreat had only gained his foe a few feet.

Sacrificing the advantage of momentum for a few seconds delay? He can‘t possibly outrun me going backwards…

“Fool!” He sneered aloud, “I have you now!”

Roch brought the Gravity Axe around for a clumsy swing at the legs of his enemy, not having enough time to aim beyond throwing his whole strength into it to ensure the weapon reached his mark before he did. This was unlikely to be a problem though, as it was nearly impossible to miss a giant at such close range. He did not even give a thought to missing, and the snarl that could be seen beneath his helmet was full of rage and triumph, of revenge long pursued and about to be realized at last.

AQ	Post #: 53

7/21/2008 17:42:32

damselindigital
Member

Finally, Enya had a stroke of luck. The strike that she had assumed was almost certainly the blowing of smoke to gain distance from her attacker connected, but in a far more effective way than she had ever hoped to occur. Certainly, of course, she had felt the contact during her acrobatic display, but it was not until she was once again standing defensively that she was able to survey the results.

By some mercy of the Fire Lord, the man with the sword of water had been knocked sprawling, though how he had landed on his stomach behind their prior position was something she didn’t have the mind to grasp in the heat of the combat. What happened next, however, Enya had not expected. Standing ready for a charge or even a ranged attack she did not suspect that he would stand up and do something that would completely take her aback.

He grinned at her.

Somehow he had a method of speaking to her over the din that had been resonating through the arena almost from the start of their clashing. As he bowed as would one of the entertainers that would rarely come through her village on a merchant’s sled, Enya was thrown completely from her strategies. A battle that was paused when it had only just begun was unheard of for her. No two-bear stopped in an enraged charge, after all, and she did not expect this man to have done so either.

Even the arena itself seemed to give showmanship to the moment as a rainbow of scintillating colors coated the whole of the area in a display even her experiences with the reflections of ice could not rival. As she began to stammer out a reply which largely consisted of the repetition of a single vowel, unsure if the strange entertainer could even hear her, a couple of earthen spikes pinged harmlessly and unnoticed against the pillar. The wind seemed to be picking up in speed, which made her confused mind almost idly point out that it had been a wise thing indeed to secure her hair beforehand.

Then the sounds stopped. That is not to say, certainly, that the arena was awash in silence. Far from it, in fact, for the normal noises of the clashing of battle distinctly remained. Yet to Enya’s ears, it seemed that even standing alone on the Plateau during a windless day, things had never been this still. She was a daze in what was occurring about her, and when she attempted to give voice to her words once again, there was a sense of deep uncertainty to her tone.

“You are welcome…? I suppose… some… replacement furs… might be nice?”

Noise erupted once more, in a single focused burst that put the previous clamor to shame. Startled into remembering where she was, Enya ducked and hunkered low between the chained pillars on either side. Stopping herself from clapping her hands over her ears and thus putting herself at a disadvantage, she crouched in the wedge-shaped space, spear gripped tightly and resting horizontally upon the floor. Even as what she could only consider to be the scream of one in deathly pain ceased, her head continued to ring with it.

Intuition told her that the events that had precipitated the scream had not yet concluded. Even if they had, that left a competitor likely dead and a victor searching in triumph for a new target. So she waited there, ready for an incoming attack, and hoping she did not illicit the attention of the one that could make something howl like that.

AQ	Post #: 54

7/21/2008 20:27:19

Lord Memphis
Member

Rattigan continued to observe. Scrutinising meticulously, waiting for the golden moment when one of the two figures would put their footing even the slightest bit out of alignment. That crucial second when a simple mistake leads to pain. Suffering. Perhaps even death.

A death to the one who had brought upon him pain. Suffering. Perhaps even death. It seemed fitting that such similar qualities should apply in their mutual hatred. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. Yet Rattigan would find himself unscathed. It would be this... Brute. This fool who found himself as the suffering, half-blind man with dental deficiencies. While this man crumbled and wasted away, able only to drown in the vitriolic oceans of self-induced delusions, the omnipotent Salvador Rattigan would persist, pushing ever onwards. Higher, faster, stronger than ever before!

Once more he grimaced. Referring to himself in the third person, now? Another sure-fire sign of his new-found arrogance. Would this loftiness never cease to become ever more... Lofty? Ah, and there goes the cognitive vocabulary. The one part of his mind that, even if all others failed to coexist, would still grant him the appearance of a true genius. Perhaps it was this all-consuming primal coercion that had been the catalyst for this transition from methodical to maniacal. Whatever it was, he hoped for his own sake that it did not cloud his judgements too much over the coming, filled with strife. Errors in judgement were grave, and often irreversible. He would need to be especially cautious.

And this was something he was not doing by debating the atrophying of his oratory skills in the heat of battle. He should have been concerning himself more with the actions of the giant and the knight. Or those of the -

The scream was enough to wrench Rattigan from his own private domain of mentality back into reality. That soul wrenching shriek, emanating from one point in the arena. Seeming to pierce into even the very heart of the oncoming storm. This was no scream of fright, though. This was one of hatred. Loathing. This was a scream of absolute abhorrence.

And he knew exactly who the culprit was. His head span around to face the swirling surface of the aqueous form, and smirked at the sight of the most bitter unison of the water and fire. This creature seemed to writhe, seething, wishing death upon whatever had brought such desecration to it's form.

And Rattigan knew immediately that he was now in serious danger. A grave error of judgement, in fact. Most likely irreversible. It was this knowledge of a threat to his safety and security that allowed him to act so quickly, and without pause for thought on repercussions. In an ironic sense, it was this scream that saved his life. He noticed a dagger spit forth from the depths of this miniature ocean, immersed in tongues of flame, flickering as it flew towards him, and emitting a weak whistling noise as it gyrated on it's trajectory, perhaps due to the change in densities it would have experienced once leaving the water.

Disregarding the aching pains in his shoulder and hip, Rattigan placed faith in the fortitude of his body. His knees bent, and thighs tensed as he fell into a peculiar position that lowered his legs into a half-stand, half-squat. He felt himself feeling safer already, and he threw his upper body backwards to avoid impact with the knives. It narrowly missed his face, and he felt the scorching heat of the ignited stiletto claw out at his face as it sped by.

But there was no time to utter his relief yet. No sooner had the knife clattered to the floor than an amorphous, twisting bulb of ignited water hit him square in the chest. The water, now corrupted with his very own solutions continued to burn, unhindered by his obstacle in the course it had followed through the air. A deadly symbiosis indeed. His jacket began to wrinkle and scorch, parched of moisture by the flames which ravaged across his torso. Arms splayed wide, Rattigan barely noticed the Rubidium container hurtling through the air. With no cushioned landing, it shattered not two feet away, the shards of glass speeding across the metallic floor in all directions possible.

It all came too quickly, in what he liked to call a stagecoach wreckage. Each problem leading to another, and another, and another. This had all amalgamated into one painful, highly dangerous catastrophe.

Rattigan, rather than bother with meticulousness, now accepted his life was in mortal danger and wrenched open one of the pouches on his belt, producing a green bottle wrapped in linen cloth. He then proceeded to avert his eyes as he smashed the container over his chest, the pungent stench of cattle urine spreading out on the tendrils of smoke now wisping away into the atmosphere. It seemed to have the intended effect, though, as the fire was immediately extinguished, albeit at the cost of his expensive ambrosia fragrance.

The Rubidium began to flare on contact with the atmosphere, sparks flying hither and thither as the metallic outer shell rapidly dulled, an effect of the inevitable oxidisation of Rubidium. The first glimpses of flame began to flare into existence now, preparing itself to spontaneously ignite. Rattigan threw himself to his feet, disregarding an odd tingling sensation in his torso, and clambered backwards, away from the tiny flake of white as it engulfed itself in an iridescent flame on the floor of the arena.

And yet, Rattigan felt an odd tingling sensation in his abdomen. It's strange, that many times people say they don't feel the pain until they look upon the wound with their own eyes. As his sight slowly arced down to his stomach, he noticed the second dagger protruding from the side of his torso. At this moment, the pain once more pulsed through his veins, endeavouring to overpower his sense and sensibility. His cognition. In fact, attempting to overpower his very mind. His life, even.

He stumbled backwards a few more steps, before yanking the dagger from his flesh, gasping in agony as he did so. It felt as though endless torment had befallen him, and yet he knew it was truly only a matter of seconds. The build-up of blood splattered on the floor beneath him, and he produced the linen fabric in which he had wrapped the bottle of cow urine to wrap around his stomach, encompassing the laceration in cloth as a makeshift bandage.

It was immensely painful, and electric shocks seemed to flare across his chest, but he began to gather himself once more, and leaned on his staff as he slowly dragged himself to his feet...

< Message edited by Lord Memphis -- 7/21/2008 21:57:09 >

Post #: 55

7/21/2008 21:58:10

Nightly
Member

The scream destroyed his focus; the winds dieing a bit as he lost some control over them. Turning his eyes, now completely white and glowing, towards the thing that emitted it the winds fluttered even more. It was the water creature, yet it was even more weakened from the blows it had received. Judging by the angle that she was crawling away, he saw who it was. Smiling slightly at who it was, the chemist to be exact, Nightly let the tornado die down completely, leaving only a faint whisper left to let all those in the arena to remember its power. Reaching out with his left hand, he threw forth a small tendril of wind towards the nymph. Reaching into a small flask inside his armor, he poured it into the air stream. It made the air full of condensation, something the water creature couldn’t pass up in its current state. Making sure he had an ample distance away from the creature to make sure that it would not be able to harm him, Nightly let the condensation in the air move even closer to the nymph. It was close enough now to the nymph to allow it to take in water.

Looking downwards Nightly saw, with a small sigh escaping his lips, his body. The illusion he had created always made his body look like this; yet it was a very effective and useful plan. It also helped him overall because of his lighter weight; he had a better sense of the air. Lifting his sword a bit off the ground, he recognized the shift the sword had made in response to the transformation his body had made. Clenching his fist, he turned towards the battle of the two giants, and waited.

Post #: 56

7/22/2008 1:05:16

Guardian of Nekops
Member

Impact tore through both of the giant’s legs right below the knees, its nigh unstoppable force cutting through the flesh and bone like a siege weapon through air. Blood gushed from the severed limbs and covered Roch from head to toe, bright red and totally intangible on the exposed portions of his face. No heat, no wetness, not even a sting or a true obscuring of his sight when the blood covered his eyes.

And if the blood was fake, the veins through which it flowed could not be far behind.

The colossus of Light stood firm in Roch’s path despite its legs being cut out from under it, and the warrior’s momentum carried him forward. His armored body met no resistance as he plowed through the giant, catching a brief glimpse of the hollow brightness within the apparent body of his foe. It was almost as if he was standing inside a sculpture of stained glass; the world outside of the giant’s body was visible, but was viewed through the nearly solid colors of the illusion he had been chasing all this time.

Roch’s anger redoubled at the realization that he had been led around the arena by the nose with nothing more than smoke and mirrors for bait, and he broke through the other side of the mirage with a fearsome scowl. He wondered for an instant how he was going to find the charlatan responsible for his humiliation, but that was all the time he had…his next step was once again on oil-smeared metal, and he fell forward into the trap as it burst into flame around him.

Although the exposed portions of his face remained clear of the oil, they were not spared burning. His beard and eyebrows were quickly scorched away by the barrier of fire as he hurtled through it, and his curly brown hair also began smoldering where there were gaps between helm and armor. He could not see what was happening, as his eyes were firmly closed, but he felt the flames lick at his skin and cried out in rage and agony, exposing the inside of his mouth to the blaze as well. A separate little spot of fire caught his face just after he passed through the main conflagration, burning lightly into his left cheek.

The momentum of Roch’s mad rush carried him all the way through the inferno before his armor became dangerously hot, but he emerged far from unscathed. In addition to the damage to his poorly protected face, the brave warrior for Earth was covered both front and back with oil that continued to burn around him, and the thin metal at his gauntlets was beginning to grow too hot for him to deal with already. Frightened that the rest of the surrounding steel would soon follow and made frantic by the flames that licked all around him, he whimpered pitifully as he fought for the concentration needed to find the circles engraved on the inside of his armor.

In front of him, just visible through the flames that danced before his eyes, the woman in furs crouched by the central pillar. Jerking his hands away from the scorching arrays inside his gauntlets, his panicked mind still not giving up the locations of the others, Roch groped further for a transmutation that would let him escape the armor without risk to her.

AQ	Post #: 57

7/22/2008 8:17:51

Frozt
Member

As his powers returned, Froztious began the preparation of his combat "eyes". The air in the arena began cooling down, not so much as to freeze, but enough to be felt. As he got up, his "sight" returned. He could now see what was happening. A water creature, possibly a water elemental, were coiled around arrows? He guessed that it was an illusion, seeing that she seemed like a creature with intelligence, but he could not see said illusion. 'That is both a blessing and a curse' he thought. As the arrows began moving he saw the target. A man. A combatant. As he realised were he stood, he was shocked. He was in the path of the arrows, and would surely be struck if he kept standing there. He moved, and as the arrows began moving he jumped. He knew that he was hit when he could feel the blood leaving his hand. With his "eye" he could see that his left arm had been pierced by an arrow, but he could tell it was'nt fatal. Using his powers over ice, he froze his arm. 'This will surely stop the bleeding' he said, and covered his ears as a scream filled them. 'What?' he said, and noticed the water creature slinking away, but why he could not see. 'Must've been HER' he muttered. 'It was her firing those arrows!' He said to himself, and began charging at the water... NYMPH!. It struck him. He now knew what his enemy was, and that meant her powers. Or at least some of them.

He ran across the arena, focused only on the nymph. His right hand glowed blue with magic, as he prepared to blast the nymph into oblivion. He felt the magic, the coldness and the sensation as the huge ice wave was fired at his target. He had used quite a lot of his energy now, but he knew that it would return. If he was succesfull the nymph would NOT get up.

< Message edited by Frozt -- 7/22/2008 8:19:44 >

AQW

Post #: 58

7/23/2008 1:23:00

The Dragon Knight
Member

Her startled expression was amusing, to say the least. She bore the look of somebody whose world had just been turned upside down. Torrelle could not help but think that this woman, while an experienced combatant, must not have much experience in fighting civilized opponents. While he was quite well aware that his own personality was unusual, mostly due to the mental and emotional scarring that had occurred when he was forced to watch his wife and two children butchered at the hands of one he once called a friend, he liked to believe that the art of the gentleman's duel was not completely lost.

He chuckled as she spoke, the sudden cessation of sounds striking with the instant clarity of a thunderclap, realizing that the woman's previous fury had been as a result of the damage done to her clothing. Odd that anyone would wear something to battle that they were not prepared to lose, but every warrior had their own peculiarities. Her confusion was almost child-like in its innocence, and it only made his grin widen even more.

"Well, my dear, whether or not I can offer you a replacement set is going to depend on the outcome of this battle. If you win, there is every possibility that it will be at the expense of my own life, at which point you'll have to satisfy yourself with that. If I win, however, then I will happily have a replacement set of furs made for you once the tournament is over. I happen to know a very talented young tailo..." The pirate's frivolous chatting was cut short at that moment, as a scream ripped through the arena.

Pain. Suffering. Torment. The scream seemed to embody these emotions. Torrelle was a gentleman; a pirate by profession, yes, but one who despised unnecessary cruelty and strove to prevent the loss of life as much as possible. Having survived tortures that would have killed any lesser man, and having witnessed atrocities that struck straight through to his heart, he had once thought that there was nothing left in this world that could cause him to blanch or quail. He was wrong.

The scream that reverberated amongst the spikes created ghostly echoes within the Maelstrom's mind. Whether they actually were echoing endlessly or not simply did not matter, for they were very real in his head. His short sword clanged as it hit the metal floor, released from trembling fingers as the young pirate fell to his knees, no trace of mirth remaining on his stricken face. Blank, glazed eyes stared out from his sockets, as in that brief instant the scream that had ripped from his wife's lips at the sight of their daughter's mutilated corpse sounded crisp and clear in his memory. The enchanted long sword rattled against the metal surface of the arena, his unsteady hand clenching the hilt with such force that blood was starting to ooze out from between his fingers.

The scream lasted no more than a few seconds, cutting off almost immediately with an astonishing abruptness. Yet in those three seconds, the once boisterous and confident Lord of the Western Seas had been reduced to a hollow, shell-like ghost of a man, his face pale as death, and a single tear rolling gently down his left cheek. The memories of his past failure, for years buried deeply within the darkest corners of his soul, had been freed from their prison, and now surged to the fore to torment their owner.

The silence that followed the scream was deafening. For a brief moment or two, Torrelle did not move. Yet, during that brief moment, the memories made fresh in his mind served to remind him of his purpose, of the vow he had made so long ago. He was in this arena for a reason, and it was not enough for him to simply play about as if he did not have a care in the world. It was high time he became serious.

The rattling stopped. The hand that wielded the sword had ceased its shaking, and held the deadly blade firmly once more. The water that covered the blade expanded to include his hand, the blood dripping between his fingers mixing with the water, staining the whole blade in a brilliant crimson. The water formed a sword-knot, a simple and effective method of preventing oneself from being disarmed. At the same time, the other hand grasped the hilt of the short sword, lifting the killing implement from the ground as the pirate slowly rose from his kneeling position to regain his footing.

No trace of weakness remained. The eyes that absorbed the sights of the arena were sea-gray, and the intensity that shone within them made it seem as if a great storm was brewing. Yes.... if this woman won the battle, it would indeed be at the expense of his life, for as long as there was breath in his body, he would continue to fight. It was no longer simply for the thrill of battle; Torrelle now fought to gain the power that the Water Lord would bestow upon his champion, in order that he might avenge the fallen.

Leveling his gaze upon the spear-wielding woman, the pirate's voice acquired an edge of tenseness to it as he urged her, once more, to prepare for assault.

"My lady, I'm afraid the time for games is drawing to a close. I hate to take a life without need, but I would never dream of insulting you by asking for your surrender. I pray that you have wisdom enough to do so of your own accord if and when your defeat seems imminent." A slight smile curled the corners of his lips in an almost wistful fashion as he continued. "However this day turns out, let it be known that your skill is great, and that I hold you in the highest respect."

He spoke no more words, and settled into a crouching stance, the bright sunlight that bathed the arena as the morning grew old a striking contrast to the dark clouds within his heart. All thoughts were bent on combat now, and his every sense was painfully keen to the activities of those around him. The blood-red sword seemed to pulse, as if the water was an extension of his own arteries, and beat with the anguish of his heart. The twelve or so feet that separated the man from the woman could be closed in an instant, but he wanted to give her the honor of the first strike.

AQ	Post #: 59

7/23/2008 2:51:01

TormentedDragon
Member

She fled, her voice a subtle whisper, her words unintelligible. But for those who could hear them, who would concentrate, they evoked a remembrance, of events that had not occurred to them, that could not have occurred to them. Images, sounds, smells, all flickering by, giving an impression of immense pain, scars that time could not heal, and underneath it all, a bubbling, boiling rage. And for the one who listened close enough, she named herself, and her intentions. Selah would no longer hold back. Now, she was in a killing mood.

As if in answer to her desire, to her needs, a stream of water-laden wind came close to her, and without hesitation, she pulled herself upward, her borders retreating as she once again regained her height, a slender tendril reaching out and sucking in the moisture. Yet as she did this, she was attacked. A newcomer, one she had not noticed before, charged at her, and unleashed his icy assault. She had no time to think, but she needed none. She had weathered the years, forced into countless battles and hopeless situations, and had survived; nay... triumphed. Her reaction was instant.

To the onlooker, it seemed as if the pull of the earth had suddenly failed. Her essence flew, rushing up the extended tendril in a reverse waterfall, forming a single edge to meet the coming assault. As the ice wave struck, the edge froze, and as ice met ice, the man's wave was split down the middle. The freeze spread across her surface, guiding the assault to either side of her, yet failed to penetrate deeper. Behind the protective wall, she swirled and seethed, and then reformed herself into the stunning woman that had emerged from the flask.

Yet there was a difference. No longer did she wear a green wrap, barely concealing the most interesting aspects of her form. Her body was covered, now, in silver, from toe to neck, a flashy, distracting outfit... and a match for her hair, which had retained its iridescence, and once again fell down to obscure half her face. Old habits die hard, after all.

No sooner was the nymph reformed than she turned and struck the wall of ice that had once been part of her, shattering it into powder with the barest of touches. The ice user's assault had passed, and she unleashed her own: a single unbroken lance of water from her right palm, needle thick and piercing sharp, aimed at the offender's heart.

< Message edited by TormentedDragon -- 7/23/2008 14:08:58 >

Post #: 60

7/23/2008 13:11:45

N3344
Member

It was a relatively perfect hit in Cales eyes. The beautiful spike had pierced Jons skin and Cale watched sadistically as his blood slowly seeped from its wound. For a moment, it didnt seem like Jon was affected at all. In fact, if he hadnt worn that preposterous chain mail, Cale mightve caused some grave damage. Though, regardless, Cale could still see that Jon was effected enough that the fight between the two earth rivals would be relatively different. Slowly, Cale watched as Jon almost seemed to drag his injured body towards him. In his hands were nothing but two metal swords. Yet again, Cale saw the false earth. Oh how he hated it. Its cold, unbreathing, unreal nature.

Suddenly, Jon began his assault towards Cale. A quick lunge that Cale didnt seem to catch. The cold metal piercing his earthly skin. He could feel and hear his skin hiss against the unearthly blade. The pain, at first, almost seemed to be unbearable as it was nothing Cale had expierenced before. For the second time, he watched as his unnatural blood released its way out of his body. Then, in retaliation, just as Cale was about to attack Jon, a massive vacuum of wind and debris began to pick up. Looking over towards the source, Cale only managed to see what seemed to be the figure of a man. It was hard to tell what else was there as the column of twisting air began to grow larger, and then out of nowhere, a tendril of wind shot through the fray of Cale and Jon. Fortunaetly, the tendril missed Cale and had no apparent effect on him what so ever.

Returning back to the battle, Cale was just about to return fire, when a piercing scream shot through both Cales ears, and what felt like his "soul". It was an unnatural scream, something he thought hed only heard once before. But that was only once when he was "born". Frantically, Cale searched the arena. He was unsure as to who sent out this scream, until he saw her. For some reason, Cale had not noticed her before, but the woman, literally of water, seemed to be hurt. Her body seemed to slide across the ground in pain. It was weird, for a brief moment, for Cale seemed to be connected to her. They were both so similar. Cale made of earth while the woman was made of water. Both using the elements to form their bodies. The only difference now was that Cale remained in his "human" state.

Yet again, for just about the fourth time, Cale discarded the feeling of being near the other opponents. He knew that his battle was with Jon and that he needed to finish it before he could move on. Though, before he would attack Jon, there was something he needed to do. He needed to call his children to come to him yet again. Slowly, Cale began his outreach to his children. The spikes that had not hit the other combatants, slowly lost their form. Then, like jetting eagles, they began to dart their way across the cold metal arena. Cale could feel their displeasure as they made their way near, but he reassured them the sweet benefit of reuniting with him. Then, finally the jubilation of unity, save for the one spike that hit Jon, made its self known and with that unity came the time to end this brawl with Jon. With his earthern twin swords, Cale rushed towards Jon, hoping that his collection of children would collide with Jons false earth, and with this collision, he hoped that this would create both a spectacular battle for the spectators and the end of this earthern feud.

< Message edited by N3344 -- 7/24/2008 3:04:37 >

Post #: 61

7/23/2008 13:14:55

Frozt
Member

He watched as the scene unfolded, and he waited for the attack he knew would come. If he was able to see colors, or actually see other things than the rough details, he would have been stunned by the beautifull appearence of the Nymph. As the lance was flying towards him, he knew what to do. His eyes began glowing with a strange, almost hypnotic, swirl of the purest white. As the speare came close enough, it seemed to freeze in mid-air and float towards his eyes, and swirl into them. 'Before you die, i will introduce myself' he said as he lifted a glowing hand. 'I am the ice-mage Froztious, and you are my first win in the chamionships' he said as the water lance lance apeared in mid-air, in front of him. 'And i know you can control water' he said, as the lance began freezing. The now frozen lance began moving towards the nymph, and a rain of ice spikes followed.

AQW

Post #: 62

7/23/2008 15:13:35

RATIONALPARANOIA
Member

Guts watched these events unfold, and had to resist an urge to laugh. That fool, Rattigan, was going to die. He knew that- In addition to annoying Guts himself, he had apparently annoyed the water woman as well. In a way, though, Guts supposed that he should thank him. He had set these ‘traps’, the same ‘traps’ that Guts had led the man in armor too.

But he was too unpredictable. Too much of a wild card. Those flasks he kept pulling out; what was in them? Guts didn’t know (it appeared different in each one), but he doubted it was something good. His mentor had been like this man, lots of flasks… Only Guts had known what had been in them.

Guts watched as Rattigan was hit by an attack from the water woman, and fell to the ground. He watched as his giant moved back, and led the man in armor forward to his doom. And now, it was time for him to finish off Rattigan. In one raise of his hand, Guts dispelled the giant. It disappeared, leaving behind no trace of it. Even the blood that had been on the man in armor was gone.

Guts kept his other illusion up, the one that prevented him from being seen by the others. Raising his bow to the air, he loosed three arrows, aiming them at Rattigan’s middle, who was slowly rising to his feet. At the same time, he put his abilities to use, giving Rattigan a very specific image to enjoy.

Rattigan would no longer see the arena. Instead, he would see a world of fire and brimstone, where demons, and even what appeared to be the Reaper himself, were advancing on him. And, at the same time, in the center of this illusion, burned two words, written in giant flaming letters: “Thank you!”

Guts watched as the arrows continued on their path, and the man in armor activated Rattigan’s fire trap. Guts was running away from where he had been, still hidden, but he was also very intent on watching this. It was all getting very interesting, and all of them should know by now that Guts loved a good show.

< Message edited by RATIONALPARANOIA -- 7/23/2008 15:16:36 >

AQ	Post #: 63

7/23/2008 17:34:17

damselindigital
Member

The very nature of their fight had altered at its core, and Enya was uncertain precisely why the change had occurred. The showman’s mood had altered rapidly, from amusement, to great and heart-wrenching pain, to settle then upon this fierce determination to conclude their battle. A feeling of fright for her own life flared up within her; this time not from an unknown threat, but one that was directly before her, and she could feel the strength of fear from a clear and known source begin to course through her body. No longer was she ready to flee. She had been backed into a corner of her own making, and like the bear trapped within its own den, she would prove to him how dangerous such opponents could be.

So focused was she on this man who dared to challenge her within her own lair that her concern for the one with the (possibly) adorable backside was completely forgotten, despite noticing his fiery approach out of the corner of her eye. This was not the time for distractions and she would be certain to bring her opponent to her so the fool would witness her ferocity.

“You wish to issue such a flowery challenge and then allow me the first strike?” She snarled at the man, all sign of childlike wonder and distraction replaced by the savagery of one who lived each day to ensure the survival of herself and her people. “So be it.”

A hand dipped beneath her coat and sought a bola. As she stood, she took a step forward, both to allow the weapon to be fully extended as it was swung and to create some room should she need to fall back from one of his charges. This attack was blatant and undisguised, and as such she suspected the man would have no trouble avoiding it, especially if he had seen the like before. However, it mattered very little, for with a foot and a half diameter, he would be forced to move quickly and dramatically. She knew too that if he was not fast enough, even a glancing blow to the strongest of bones would create a painfully distracting bruise.

All this, however, was not the point, for she still had her short spear in hand. At the first sign of committed movement, for she would hold off the fraction of a second to ensure it was not a faint. Then when it was too late to reverse course, it would be cast towards his chest.

With a roar of challenge, Enya released the bola towards the trespasser’s legs.

AQ	Post #: 64

7/23/2008 19:02:38

Lord Memphis
Member

He finally pulled himself back into an upright position, standing unsteadily. He felt weak, pathetic leaning on his cane for support. It also deprived him of one of the more conventional tools of the trade, but he had an inkling that it would prove useful at the moment.

And, as the being of water found herself preoccupied with a new competitor, Rattigan was able to pull himself back to the situation at hand.

Casting his eyes back to the struggles between the armoured figure and the giant's machinations, Rattigan was able to gaze upon a situation he had not intended to occur. He began to clench his fist, contracting and expanding his fingers from ball to widespread, both to relieve pain and remove stress. The trap had, indeed, been activated, yet by the wrong person. Sighing in pure frustration as the enigma of a knight collapsed in the pools of flame, he was able to see exactly how this would do more harm than good.

His vision drifted back to the giant, who had once more proved a thorn in his side. This man was more than a nuisance, confounding any scheme he had put into place so far. He was a damn liability!

And to Rattigan's surprise, he found not the giant, but the absence of one. At that exact moment he knew for sure something detrimental to his personal health was about to occur. And, if it was coming from the master of good faith and no hard feelings, it would almost definitely be fatal.

Trusting prior knowledge, and a lightning fast intuitive mindset, he prepared himself for the worst. He had faced his own explosives being hurtled at him. Flaming knives. Volleys of arrows. Magically manifesting daggers that appear to float in mid air and track the target. He was truly prepared for whatever trivial challenge would next accompany the circus' parlour tricks.

He was not prepared for the parlour trick that accompanied the circus of death.

Blinking takes only a millisecond. A fraction of a fraction of time's vast chronological resource. And yet all the trickster needed was an iota of a millisecond to so meticulously craft his own personal visions for Rattigan to see. When he opened his eyes, he was greeted with a rather unpleasant sight. One of a hellish realm, borne of flame and hatred, with repulsive demons approaching, their claws seeming to unsheathe themselves in preparation for the kill. A wave of heat pulsated through him, scorching his face somewhat as it did so.

He did the only thing anyone would in his situation, and began to back away slowly. He was surprisingly calm for someone in his situation, bearing in mind he was about to be torn apart by daemonic spawn from the pits of Danté's own homestead.

He continued to back away, building pace somewhat in his reversing, until a whistling noise appeared. Followed by another. Then another. Unbeknownst to him, this was the sound of three arrows skimming past him, missing own by his impulse decision to back away suddenly. As the whistles occurred, a breeze of cool air hit his face, once more overpowered by a slightly weaker blast of heat.

This cool sensation triggered a mental reaction. Then it occurred to Rattigan. It hadn't become hotter when he entered this place. It had been this hot prior to his transportation, probably due to his proximity to a heat source. Like... Like a flame. Like a fire.

A puzzled look crossed his face as he took a step forwards, his left foot becoming suddenly hotter. Back again, at it cooled.
Then another thought crossed his mind. Why would the lord of fire allow him to be condemned to a realm made, predominantly, of fire? He had been doing everything right in this tourney, so he had no reason to deserve punishment. As well as this, surely the elemental lord would just be able to pluck him from danger in such a situation? Sort of a... Planar Transcension?

His mind threw itself into action. Oh, such a brilliant, methodical mind. Scanning through every possibility. Any causal situation, plausible or otherwise. And then, it all fell into place. The tiny, niggling inconsistencies, instantaneously eroding away the credibility of this situation. For several years he had spent nigh on every day observing with a scientist's eye. One that identified any anomalies in results out of obligation, because change can mean danger. This scientist's eye was the one that suddenly cracked the code. Solved the riddle. Broke the algorithm. This... This wasn't plausible enough to be real. This was just a fantasy. A distorted, messy fantasy created by a delusional creature.

And the frustration mounted, seething, bubbling into something rapidly becoming rage when the realisation struck him that he had no control over the illusion. He knew exactly what this fabrication was, but this was absolutely useless in his determining of an escape or evasion.

A slave bound in the visual chains of an insane illusionist. Oh, this was brilliant...

Rattigan kicked the ground below him, despite being unable to see the truth behind it. Complicated emotions erupted, concoctions of anger and frustration, combined with joy at surviving the inevitable death planned for him in such a simple way.

Post #: 65

7/23/2008 20:12:54

The Dragon Knight
Member

The time for words had passed, and the battle was about to be well and truly joined. The woman's face was a mask of cold fury as she readied her weaponry, while his own visage reflected only a grim determination. All around the arena, the clash and heat of battle raged, as first one, then another of the combatants gained the advantage. Flames licked the sky, floating atop an oily substance, slowly trickling down the drainage pipes of the arena floor. Roch, the armor-clad Earth warrior, was engulfed by the flames, the heat from the inferno he had stumbled into filling the space, fighting for dominance against the chilled air that seemed to surround the newly arrived Ice mage.

Those very flames were a boon to Torrelle, because they served to provide him with something he had been sadly short on: water. The ice-shield that had briefly protected the water nymph had shattered at her touch, dust-like particles of ice falling to the floor of the arena. In such small pieces, the heat from the sun, as well as the nearby flames, quickly melted the ice back into its liquid state. Even as the fur-clad woman began to spin the bola above her head, the ice-water was evaporating, making its way through the air towards the call of his medallion. Still, it would not be of any help to him for a few more minutes, but there was enough water on its way to replenish his reserves once he had acted.

The warrior woman's bola whistled through the air as it spun, gaining speed and momentum as she prepared for a direct assault. It was a very similar device to the mast-breakers used in ships cannons, except where the ships used two balls of a heavy, dense material on either end of a length of chain or rope, the bola had a third, smaller ball in between that would cause the weapon to wrap around its target. The weapon would be launched at a high rate of speed, sending it spinning towards its intended victim.

The blur that was twirling ominously above the woman's head would likely be significantly less powerful than a mast-breaker, but no less deadly given the circumstances. At worst, it would break a bone or entangle him if it struck, and at best he would be badly bruised or sprained. He would need to do his best to dodge the attack. At the same time, he realized, he would have to be wary of her counter. Those short spears were made for throwing, and he knew from experience that it was much easier to hit one's prey while it was dodging. His fertile mind wrapped around her intentions in an instant.

Blood ran freely down the pirate's left arm from the wound he had sustained earlier. While not enough to be life threatening, it was more than enough for his purposes. He knew what he had to do.

As the bola left her hand, several things happened at once. By changing the speed of the molecules within the water covering his sword he was able to superheat the liquid in a flash-boil, causing a large amount of steam to fill the area immediately surrounding him, swiftly obscuring the woman's view of her quarry. As the mist erupted from the blade, the blood that had been running down Torrelle's left arm gathered swiftly into the crossbow, forming a crimson dart.

While the mist concealed him from the woman's view, it also served to hinder his own view of the incoming bola. With only an instant to act, the pirate launched himself off to the right in a sideways dive. The steam was not enough to render him completely invisible, but should be more than enough, he hoped, to throw her aim off, as well as hide his actions. As he dove, his left arm came out in front, aiming through the steam to where the woman had been, only slightly lower. Pinned, as she was, between the two spikes, she would likely be forced to dive or roll out of the way, The crossbow released the bolt, sending it cutting through the mists, a red flash of fury that left the steam curling in its wake, the deadly projectile aimed to intercept the pillar at about waist level.

He had been right to leap for safety. The sound of the bola whistling through the air passed beneath him, the shadow of the menacing device ghost-like as it moved through the thick mists. One of the balls brushed his right shin as he fell, causing a sudden numbing sensation to the flesh, most likely due to an impact with a nerve. While this would have been fine on its own, he was also forced to deal with an unexpected injury; his worthy adversary had apparently followed up her bola with a lightning fast spear, sending it sailing into the mists as soon as she saw his form move. Luckily, his defense had succeeded in its intended purpose of throwing off the woman's aim. The spear had passed cleanly through the fatty part of his abdomen just above his left hip, sending a jolt of searing pain through his body but avoiding any serious damage.

His dive took him beyond the mist, causing him to impact the metal floor with a painful thud. The glancing blow from the bola followed by the lucky spear strike had ruined his landing. Instead of hitting the ground in a familiar forward roll, he instead landed in the prone position, his feet already scrambling beneath to get himself up and running. A stationary target was a dead target, and his muscles were tense as he finally gained his footing, launching himself painfully forward, ignoring the burning sensation that surged through him every time his left leg hit the floor.

Wrenching himself around to face his opponent, his mind focusing on the mists to his left, drawing the moisture back to the now naked longsword, he ran forward, towards her. He did not simply charge headlong into battle, however; that would be a fatal mistake. He kept his wits about him, moving to close the distance, but leaving plenty of opportunity to stop and reverse direction if needed. As he did so, the blood from his hip flowed up his side and down his arm, into the crossbow's chamber, readying it for another round of mayhem, while the water droplets began to collect on the blade once more.

AQ	Post #: 66

7/23/2008 23:33:15

damselindigital
Member

In a more stable state of mind, Enya might have admired the tactics her adversary employed in an attempt to disguise his movements. Unfortunately for him, he had failed to consider a number of key points and thus had given his movements away despite his intentions. For one, the warm steam rose, which left his legs quite visible beneath the impromptu screen. He had also neglected the fact that she was quite accustomed to conditions where visibility was anything but clear, thanks to the large quantity of snowfall her lands were subject to, and could pick out rather well the forms and shapes within blanketing clouds.

As soon as he lunged away, her spear left her hand and she began to move. A stationary target, after all, was an easy target. A few hasty steps to the side, without even seeing the bolt coming for her, were enough to prevent most of the damage. Unfortunately, she was a bit too broad about the waist, and what a smaller individual might have dodged easily clipped her side. With no more effort than before, the sharpened cylinder of water punched effortlessly through her hides and left a clean hole about an inch above her right hip, which quickly began to bleed.

A scream of pain and fury erupted from her lips.

The wound was not serious, but if left to ooze, her strength would diminish. Yet it seemed that the time she required to treat it would not be granted, as the man was already charging towards her position. Quickly, her knife was drawn and she held it before her chest defensively to try and meet his rush. Her free hand was open and up near her left ear, ready to deflect or strike as seemed necessary.

The spike on her left was too near her to allow much comfort or room, but it could serve her too if necessary. She would wait until his charge brought him nearly within striking distance. Then she would quickly take a single broad stride to her right, centering her again in the wedge and hopefully maneuvering about him. If somehow, regardless of his determination, he was as clumsy as before, he might even be unable to halt his charge and find himself stumbling over the stationary obstacle. At the very least, it would only leave his smaller sword, the one he had not coated in water, towards her. She felt much more comfortable dealing with that weapon.

Lips curled in a snarl, she let him come.

AQ	Post #: 67

7/24/2008 1:07:56

TormentedDragon
Member

Once again, her opponent spoke to her, spouting words that she ignored. His words were meaningless, his claims irrelevant. All that mattered to her was that he had frozen her strike, had somehow superseded her control over her own essence and claimed it as his. Here was yet another who would claim her as his, who would subject her to torments beyond her imagining. She would not allow it, could not allow it.

His ice approached, and a snarl crossed her features moments before the first of the projectiles struck. The moment it touch her skin, her color vanished, leaving only her shape... and the shape of her head suddenly turned, her transparent hair whipping around just as if real. Almost immediately, the ice within her moved, her currents whipping the disparate pieces along. End to end they were aligned, and for each a tiny bit of essence was sacrificed, to bind them together and give the whole an edge. Two separate weapons she formed, slightly curved, and long, and what she did not use, she loosed back at the man who had given them to her, point first, a spiteful counter intended only to keep him busy.

For the water that had made up her shield of ice had melted, and that which she considered hers was moving, drawn in by the command of another. A thief. A controller. Another who could bind her. And this, even more than ice-mage before her, was maddening.

Even as she had formed the blades she had begun to move, clear legs moving in an imitation of walking, and then of running, as she began her charge. Her arms extended, the blades of ice shoved into them and to the front, to form the deadly leading edge. Straight for the woman and the man she ran, her color flashing back for an instant, save for her arms... and then vanishing again. Her face had been twisted by a snarl of hate, the expression of one who had only one purpose in mind. She wished to kill. She wished to drink deep of their blood, to take their water and make it hers. And as she drew closer, she snapped her arms forward, the two scythes set to sever and rend.

Post #: 68

7/24/2008 2:33:43

Guardian of Nekops
Member

The cornered lady from the North cried out in enraged pain as her opponent closed on her, and the sound of it cut through Roch’s terror at his own plight. The flames licked at his armor, blackening the surface and raising the heat within moment by moment, adding a deadly urgency to his thoughts that prevented him still from finding his escape. Raising his head to check on her, his breathing still rapid and shallow through his blistered lips, he saw that not only was she under attack by the pirate but also by the fantastic creature of water who had appeared from the bottle when this conflict started. Wounded and trapped as she was, there was no way she could stand against the two of them alone.

It was then, as the growing heat of his armor began to brand the transmutation circle in his breastplate into his awareness and his flesh, that he decided she would not have to.

A bright flash of green shone through the red glow of his flaming armor as Roch activated the array, sending a thick line of his armor’s steel along the ground towards the damsel in distress. Maintaining the contact between circle and material required for his Alchemy to work, he thrust still more of the scorching metal along the track to build itself into a thick wall that denied both nymph and pirate access to the charming Eskimo. When he had finished, an arc of steel five inches thick and seven feet high completed the defenses of her den, leaving exits only at the central pillar itself. Even these gaps were partially defended, however, by the dangling spikes which would make squeezing through them difficult and costly in terms of time. The impromptu wall was far from finely sculpted, but it was quite solid and where it was not scorched from the flames it glowed red with their heat.

There was little left of Roch’s armor once this was done save the silvery circles that had been set into his gauntlets. Pulling the sleeves of his simple, clay-spattered shirt over his hands to protect them from the heat, he snatched up the two starsilver disks and started running towards the new-forged fortress of the attractive woman who, hopefully, would consent to be his ally.

If she did not, he had nothing left to save him.

Impact lay abandoned where he had fallen. The oil in which it was coated was still burning, and without the armor it would be folly to wield it regardless. Near defenseless, he raced across the arena floor.

AQ	Post #: 69

7/24/2008 17:09:26

Nightly
Member

Tutting to himself, Nightly watched as the nymph sped off to fight the other water user in the arena. "Strange how people fight over their element. In their lust for becoming the best they musn't realize that they beleive in the same thing. Moreever, two are better than one. Their attacks would mostly end into a stalemate. But, since that fire-user is still there, she may choose to interpose on one of them. Creating a two on one. I do so hate those, it takes away all sense of chivarly." Nightly reasoned to himself quietly as he stood in on the other side of the arena. Turning his head slightly, he noticed another man was running over to join the fight. Judging by his speed and angle of entrance, he was heading for the pirate. "A three on one?! Have these people no manners! Shame on them!" Shaking his head in utter disappointment, he drew his sword and sped off towards the pirate.

"Who to choose, who to choose?" Nightly wondered. "The nymph has a claim by anger no doubt and they may have to resolve that sometime. The fire user was the first opponent. That leaves the man coming in" he smiled as he changed his direction and headed a little ways in front of the man so as he could block off his attempt to enter the fray. Turning towards the pirate he said, "I think a two on one for you is a little more fair? I'll take this gentleman over here to make sure that you won't get your behind handed to you. Oh, and watch the nymph, she's not as nice as she seems to be." Turning back towards the man who was running in, Nightly waited a little longer until the man was in hearing distance before he said, "Sir, you shall not make the battle behind me a three on one. Now draw your blade." Glancing over his opponent, Nightly mentaly cursed himself for not paying better attention. "You fool!" He chided himself. "He has no weapon!" Sheathing his sword Nightly corrected himself saying, "After my slow watching skills caugth up I realized you have no weapon. Very well, put'cha dukes up!" Raising his fists Nightly prepared to fight in an old fashion brawl.

< Message edited by Nightly -- 7/24/2008 21:38:12 >

Post #: 70

7/24/2008 17:40:02

The Dragon Knight
Member

She was injured! The pirate lord swept in for the kill, catching the sight of her bright red blood seeping out of the newly formed hole in her coat. She had managed to avoid death, as expected, but the wound was obviously painful. Torrelle was certain that he could win if he could only get in close. Forcing his legs to move as fast as they could, and more, he was a blur of movement as he approached with frightening speed, the woman's dagger raised to counter his attack.

The young swashbuckler was blind to all else as he closed the distance, his mind focused on the attack ahead. As he reached five feet, he drew his sword back to his side, then swung it about in front, charging in without regard for his own safety. His sword pierced the woman's furs, driving up beneath the dagger she held, burying deep within her stomach. He regretted the loss of such a worthy foe, but he could not allow such sentimental feelings to get in the way of his mission. The woman's body went limp, her eyes losing their light as she slipped from the blade, her crimson blood staining the floor of the arena.

At least, that was how he imagined it in his mind. In reality, what actually occurred was this: Torrelle drew his arm back to swing and ran right into a wall that had suddenly materialized before him. His face hit first, impacting a metal surface for the second time that day, followed soon after by the rest of his bulk. He collided with the barrier with such force that he was actually repelled backwards, landing on his rump with a thud. Although shaken, the sudden halt had not been enough to break his hold on his weapons.

Blood oozed out of a wound on his scalp, the skin split from the sheer force imparted on his face. It was a miracle that his skull was still in one piece, although the sudden numbing sensation across most of his frame made him wonder if his skeleton had, in fact, survived intact. After a split second of doubt, his body finally responded to his commands, forcing itself up off the ground in a painful grunt. A mental check of his extremities confirmed that he was, in fact, relatively whole, although blood was now starting to get into his eyes. Oh well, he thought, just one more source for his magic.

The handful of seconds that it took for Torrelle to regain his feet were enough to bring the watery specter of death within his sense of hearing. Her fury was almost palpable, and he could feel the air tingling with it. He brought his eyes swiftly to bear on the arena, taking in all that had taken place over the last few moments. The savvy sea captain cursed himself for having lost track of the other combatants. A loss of focus was responsible for his being backed into a corner now, and he would have to pay a price for that stupidity.

Torrelle had spotted Roch coming in from one side, while the Nymph was approaching from the south. He had no idea what had become of Enya, whether she was still alive, or if she could escape the metal barrier to join the fray. It did not really matter at this point, he supposed. Things were looking mighty grim for the Maelstrom of the Western Seas as he swiftly moved away from the glowing metal of the wall. He mentally took stock of his potential defenses and realized that anything he might throw at this watery denizen would likely become food for her growing power.

This was not going to be easy.

Committed now to engaging this new threat, Torrelle was obliged to abandon his duel with the fire-mistress. The sun filled the arena bowl, but a shadow seemed to fall upon the gentlemanly pirate as he took aim at the approaching figure of Roch, releasing the deep red bolt from his crossbow with deadly force. It did not matter if the bolt struck true or not, it would still serve a purpose either way. As he did so, the water that his sword had sacrificed for the steam had finally condensed and refilled the weapon's hidden reservoir. Even better, some of the water-laden air from the melted ice shield was already coming within Torrelle's circle of influence.

He came to a stop at a point roughly ten feet away from the burning metal wall, the blood of his wounds refilling the crossbow once more, his ability directing the red tide away from his eyes, while the excess soaked into his under-shirt. The dark material grew darker as it became soaked in blood, hoarding it, storing the fluids for the moment when they might be of the most use. The young man raised his blades once more, his mind focusing on the water around him, awakening the hidden potential as he prepared to fight for his life. As he did so, one of the other competitors, the wind user if Torrelle was not mistaken, charged in, stopping between the pirate and the Crusher. While not exactly inclined to trust the newcomer, Torrelle did not have much of a choice but to go along with him. The Crusher and the Nymph would likely be more than he could handle on his own as it was, so if this new face were to turn on him as well in some treacherous attack, it would simply mean that he had sped up the inevitable.

The pirate nodded, thanking the man for his timely intervention in a very brief fashion, all of his attention now focused on the approaching Damsel of the Deep. The sunlight glinted off of the frozen blades in her watery grip, sparkling with menace that spoke of a craving for blood. His blood.

AQ	Post #: 71

7/24/2008 23:01:18

damselindigital
Member

A scream of rage and frustration tore itself from Enya’s lips. She had been ready for her opponent’s headlong charge, but before she could enact her plan to swiftly dodge and counter him, a massive wall grew from the ground and interposed itself between them. That man’s life was to have been hers to take or grant as she wished, not stolen by another!

Now she found herself trapped in a channel no more than two and a half feet wide with the new addition so warm in places, it glowed red. Of course, heat was something she knew best, but she still could be burned by it. Backing up against the pillar, she waited, crouched, for some form of incoming attack from the open sides. She was an easy target now, and she was aware of it. Left without room to maneuver, it would be difficult for any strike to miss her. Thus she tried to make herself as small as possible within her confined space.

When none was immediately forthcoming, Enya decided her time was better spent than remaining stationary within her trap. Yet as she began to stand, a pain flared up in her right side where she had been so recently injured. Blood already was soaking through every layer of her garments, making it dangerous to leave it unchecked; perhaps even more so than lingering a few moments more in this place.

Quickly, she pulled upon the hooded collar of her coat and set it between her teeth, ignoring the feeling of fur in her mouth. It would not do to bite her tongue while in pain and cause even greater bleeding while she checked that of her side. She drew on her heat, but rather than cast it towards one of her claims, she directed the entirety to the wound on her side, causing it to ignite as she had done for her tribe in providing fuel-less fires.

Another scream ripped through her, muffled in part by the material in her mouth. Tears of pain crept from the corners of her eyes as, injury cauterized and task complete, she ceased feeding herself to the fire. She spat out the hide in her mouth, which now was adorned with a rather precise impression of her teeth, and shakily got to her feet. Her breath came in short pained gasps, and she leaned heavily against the pillar. For this one moment she would allow herself to feel and show weakness.

Then, her mind set against the lingering pain, she stood straighter and surveyed with a more critical eye the cage she was in. The key now was to escape without knowing what was occurring outside and making herself a slow, easy target. With the limited size of the access points, it was not to be an easy task.

However, she soon realized there was a third escape other than the openings left at the sides. Deciding that was likely the least expected avenue for her to emerge from, and thus the wisest, she set her back against the pillar and planted her feet on the entrapping surface. She whispered thanks that her boots were well insulated so she did not need to worry overtly about the heat from the wall; at least, not as long as she refused to linger.

After testing for sturdiness, she began to work her way upward, one step at a time. The pressure she maintained between the wall and pillar was sufficient to keep her from falling. Hoping the vantage point would allow her to see events unfolding without readily being spotted by the other combatants, she carefully climbed in order to raise her head over the top of the short wall.

All through this, she never relinquished her grip upon her knife. After all, a surprise attack might still be on her captor’s agenda, and while the small bone implement may not be able to even deflect what was in store, she still felt better with it in hand.

AQ	Post #: 72

7/25/2008 0:17:07

Guardian of Nekops
Member

The fur-clad woman Roch had just tried to save cried out from behind his wall, and he shouted out in his own distress as he urged his legs on to still greater speed, sprinting to her rescue.

A crimson jet of liquid-- blood?-- flew into his field of vision far too quickly for him to react. The bolt grazed his right shoulder just above the bone, causing him to stumble and grip the wound tightly with his other hand. The mix of the weapon’s blood and his own soaked into the material of his shirt and covered the Circle of Form in his palm. Snarling in the direction from which the bolt had come, he saw the pirate who had been the cute woman’s opponent from the beginning. He began to change his heading from the entrance of her den to close on his attacker, until he remembered, No weapons, no armor… helpless, and he continued running for the cover of his wall.

The brave warrior’s mind was unwilling to let this somewhat cowardly excuse stand, and it was not long before he recalled the two gaps in the charming lady’s defenses, her two attackers, and the fact that she would be trapped all alone within her lair if he did not get to her first. He was a man on a mission, and he had no time to defend his own honor right now.

As Roch made his six foot, two hundred fifty pound way along the metal track leading to the barrier he had transmuted from his armor, a sickly-looking young warrior darted in from the side impossibly quickly, turned on his heel without stopping, and planted himself firmly in Roch’s path with enough time to have a conversation with the pirate and issue a challenge. Though the boy had a weapon near at hand and weighed no more than a hundred pounds when soaking wet, he insisted on fighting the sprinting powerhouse with his fists to-- somehow-- make the contest fair of all things.

Without breaking his stride, Roch raised both arms up to protect his face from a lucky blow and lowered his head like a charging rhino. This exposed the wound on his shoulder, and the blood began flowing from it more than before as he raised his injured arm. Harnessing his pain to fuel his voice as he closed on the foolish kid, he roared, “Out of the way, lightweight! Crusher coming through!”

AQ	Post #: 73

7/25/2008 2:01:16

TormentedDragon
Member

Suddenly, there was a wall. For a moment, she was confused, unable to conceive of how there could be naught but air one moment and an obstruction of metal the next. But as the pirate ran face-first into the sudden wall, she considered what she had seen, and understood. Another was charging at these two, the one who had been covered in metal from head to toe, the very image of a golem of earth, and his armor had seemingly vanished from his person.

But this was irrelevant. Her fury was not directed at this manipulator of metal, but at the pirate, whose further actions had shown him to be the thief. The woman was now out of sight and out of mind, and thus the blade that was intended for her could be used in a different fashion. In fact, both could be.

The blades shot outward, and water with them, giving them width. Her hands reformed and shifted to grasp their new, watery hilts, and as her fingers closed her colour returned. She turned her full-body charge into a swift stab, her left blade snapping forward with intent to pierce his belly. The right she held back, ready for the next strike. Her eyes, the sole part of her body to remain transparent, glittered with rage as she mouthed the words that would echo later, words meant for him and him alone.

"I will taste your blood."

< Message edited by TormentedDragon -- 7/25/2008 2:17:41 >

Post #: 74

7/25/2008 14:49:05

The Dragon Knight
Member

Every nerve in Torrelle's body was tingling with anticipation. He knew, from glimpses of the battles that had raged about him, that this creature had a control over the element that was the equal to, if not surpassing, his own. Confronting such a being was foolhardy at best, but he did not have much of a choice. Even if he tried to make a run for it, she was likely to overtake him with the speed of a wave crashing down on a hapless swimmer.

He watched with unblinking eyes as she reformed her body, turning her forward movement into an ordinary charge, her two curved ice-blades covered in water, much like his own sword. He could not help but admire her beauty in all its elemental fury, such an astonishingly magnificent visage that most men would fall to their knees and weep for the sight of it. The Pirate Lord of the West, however, had no room in his heart for those feelings. He had loved once, and that love had been forcibly torn from him, leaving a hole that could never be filled. All he perceived at this point was the fury inherent in this watery woman's advance, although he knew not the reason why she was so angered.

As she closed the distance, he readied himself, unsure as to what his next move should be. It was then that her voice reached his ears. "I will taste your blood."

That voice! In an instant, he understood. The pain, the suffering, the horror revived that he had experienced; it was all because of this woman! It had been her voice, her scream of pain and rage, that had forced him to remember what he had for so long been trying to forget. The memories of his past, of the loss and failure he had experienced, all of it had been shut away in the depths of his soul, until this Nymph, this beast, this thrice-damned creature had the nerve, the audacity even, to rip them out of hiding and throw them in his face!

His features, once grim set with determination, became a mask of cold fury that was easily a match for the torrential waters bearing down on him. His voice, like hers was wont to do, reached her "ears" in a crystal clear roar of rage, seeming to come from right beside her.

"You! It was your doing! If it's my blood you want, then come and get it, but if you insist on attacking me here, I will make sure it's the last thing you ever taste!" As he spoke, he drew back his long sword, his blood once more mixing with the water that protected it, dyeing the fluid in crimson fury. His roar of challenge finished with a crash as she descended upon him, one of her curved implements aiming to pierce his belly.

Despite her momentum, despite the speed of her attack, his anger gave him speed and power that allowed him to match her, for the moment. He side-stepped the thrust, moving to his left so that his short sword was able to defend against another attack, and bringing the enchanted longsword in his right hand down upon the blade. As the weapons struck, he was impressed by the power that she wielded; he could not shatter the sword, nor could he force her blade to the ground. The water that coated her blades was still a part of her being, and as such he knew that she would have the most control over it.

He tried to lift his sword away, but found that he could not. He watched in fascination as the clear water surrounding her makeshift weapon engulfed the blood-soaked longsword. Some of it was already being overwhelmed and absorbed into her being. As expected, this.... thing could absorb his attacks with frightening ease.

Most of them, anyway.

His fury burned hot within, his blood boiling in white hot rage, and he allowed that energy to flow into the blade itself, translating into a sudden surge of molecular energy, speeding up the water molecules at an insane pace. Once more, the water that filled the sword flash-boiled, burning off the precious fluid in an almost instant evaporation, generating incredible amounts of heat. His lips parted in a grin of sheer blood-lust as the boiling effect happened to the water in his sword.... and the body of the creature that was trying to steal it.

< Message edited by The Dragon Knight -- 7/25/2008 14:58:38 >

AQ	Post #: 75

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