RE: =Elemental Championships 2008= Spike Arena


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7/25/2008 17:00:31

TormentedDragon
Member

His fury matched hers, his words ringing through her in a fashion familiar and infuriating. Her strike, he blocked, his sword encased in water and blood meeting her own blade in a skillful parry, and as his water met hers, she latched on and held. Her other blade shot forward, to meet his short sword in a ringing clash, where once again her water slipped forward over her blade to engulf his. And then there was nothing but pain.

For the briefest moment she had tasted his blood, and then that portion of her had simply vanished, vaporized by the power he wielded. She screamed once more, pain and rage and hate packed into the sound, and with it came brief flashes, images that slipped through the other's mind's eye too swiftly to understand, to comprehend, yet left behind impressions. A single figure as the centerpoint, the focus of her hate, and associated with it an unbelievable amount of pain. Pain of the sort that the chemist's weapon had caused, pain of the sort this pirate had dealt her, and pain of the sort that scarred the soul and could never, ever fade.

As before, the scream ended as abruptly as it had come, and she was already moving. Her left arm, wavering between liquid and gas, shifted form once more, retreating from the pirate's painful sword and sharpening itself into a point. His short sword still wrapped in her water, blade of ice tied to blade of steel, she thrust forward with her new spear, hoping to pierce through armor and flesh alike. "You shall not bind me!"

< Message edited by TormentedDragon -- 7/25/2008 17:07:34 >

Post #: 76

7/25/2008 17:15:47

Nightly
Member

Nightly sighed, "what is with all the people here thinking size is what matters? Do they not know that speed kills?" He wondered shaking his head as he considered his options. Seeing the man close the gap to a small area, he sidestepped to avoid being crushed but not until he had set down a thin line of wind magic down. It would have the same effect as a tripwire except it was invisible. It was a very effective trick he had picked up but it didn't work all the time. If the man had been lucky enough to step on it and not right in front of it then he would pass as easily as if it was not there. Contemplating his options, Nightly moved more to the side so that the man would have ample room and so that Nightly was out of his reach. Turning towards the pirate and the nymph Nightly watched their battle. That was when he saw the nypmh open her mouth in what only could look like a scream. Blinking rapidly to make sure he was not mistaken he saw that the fight was still ongoing and active he decided that it would be rude to intervene. So Nightly waited for the man running in to do anything. If in fact he engaged one of the other combatants, then Nigthly would intervene but otherwise he would stay and watch.

< Message edited by Nightly -- 7/25/2008 21:22:15 >

Post #: 77

7/25/2008 18:40:29

Frozt
Member

As he felt his energy leaving his body, his sight vanished too. 'Darn! I've used up too much energy! I'll have to do without my sight for a while' he muttered to himself as the world went black once again. He did not, however, get to see the effects of his attack, and was therefore unprepared for what happened. As he heard the faint sound of wind, he did not give it further thought. There were wind-users in the arena, and he knew that. It was only as he felt the stings from something across his body, that he realised. 'The darn cow tricked me!' He said, as he began coughing blood. 'But i am not dead yet!' he said, lay down on the ground. The ice in his body would not harm him more that it already had, he was an ice-mage afterall. As he lay down, he tried slowing his breath as much as possible, and with his last energy he opened his "eye".

As he watched the fights between the other combatants he looked closely at the water nymph. There his enemy was, and he hoped that she would'nt die. At least not before HE killed her. He watched her fight, and watched closely. Perhaps he could learn something? He hoped so.
Closing his eye to the combat around him, he focused on one thing: To find a secluded spot where he could rest. And he found it. A small portion of the arena, seemingly untouched, and with no combatants close by. Not a large portion, however, but large anough to hide him. He dragged his body towards it, deliberatly leaving a trail of blood, and collapsed as he reached his spot. He would know pray that the ice lord would not discard him for his weakness, and he prayed that he would soon regain his energy. As he feigned death, the sounds of battle were the only thing reminding him that he was still alive.

AQW

Post #: 78

7/25/2008 18:54:10

The Dragon Knight
Member

The tactic had worked better than he could have hoped. The boiling water had successfully evaporated part of his opponent's limb, reducing the icy blade to nothingness, and causing her to recoil in agony. At the same time, however, he was bombarded by a scream of pain and rage, one that filled his mind with a kaleidoscope of confusing sounds, feelings and images. Nothing was clear, but Torrelle could tell that these were events that had happened to this creature in the past. Pain and suffering, torture and torment at the hands of another. She feared and hated the pirate for the power he wielded, and the potential it held to imprison her, to control her.

The short sword in his left hand was caught fast by his fearsome opponent, only this time he was incapable of freeing it. She had withdrawn her injured limb, reforming it into a deadly pointed shaft. The sun's rays wavered about on the floor of the arena in a mystical dance as they passed through the clear water, giving the deadly implement a sparkling beauty.

"You will not bind me!" her cry came, loud and piercing as the spear thrust forward with the speed of a striking snake.

Unable to free his alternate weapon, and with his longsword not yet ready for another blow, Torrelle calmly made the choice that offered the greatest chance of survival. He released his hold on the short sword.

As the weapon was common steel, it would be totally ineffective against this watery demon, and holding on to the weapon when it was frozen in place made him a stationary target. With his left hand now free, the young spellsword leaped backward in a swift dodge, giving himself room to maneuver, as well as room to think. The spear continued toward him, undaunted by his sudden movement.

Calling upon the innate magic of his ability, the Maelstrom lived up to his name, reaching out with his magic to grip the spear, slowing the thrust down to a halt. Only his mastery of the elemental art had kept him from being skewered by his adversary, as the tip of the spear dug a deep furrow in between two of the leather studs, puncturing one of the small water bladders within the armor.

The slight reprieve was exactly what he needed. The water that he had so carefully been collecting in the air about him filled the crossbow once more, a clear bolt forming in its chamber. At the same time, the steam began to condense, swelling the sword's reservoirs to ready it for another strike. It would be a few more seconds yet before the enchanted weapon would be completely filled.

Backing further away from the outstretched limb of his opponent, the pirate lord prepared to make his stand, his power swelling within him, drawing more of the evaporated moisture towards his body. This included the water the creature had been forced to sacrifice upon grasping his weapon, providing him with an even larger supply than he had originally anticipated.

His eyes narrowed, he leveled his gaze at the beautiful Nymph, his mind wrapping around her final words. "Bind you?" he nearly spat the words back at her, so filled with anger was he at her insinuation that he would ever entrap another living being. "If you think I would see anyone bound, then you obviously have no sense. I would sooner die than subjugate another." He raised his remaining blade in front of him, the mists coiling about it as they coalesced.

"If you insist on mistaking me for a cowardly slaver, then you shall feel my wrath for this insult on my pride!"

< Message edited by The Dragon Knight -- 7/25/2008 18:58:17 >

AQ	Post #: 79

7/25/2008 20:07:52

Geddesmck
Member

The earthen blades collided with the steel blades making a unique sound. The sheer force and strength of the blow notched Jon’s short sword and knocked him back a couple of inches. Cale was obviously stronger.

However, strength rarely won a sword fight. Actually, that wasn’t quite true, but Jon’s point stood; he could still defeat a stronger opponent. Jon was forced to parry a blow and then duck below a second blade. Damn, he thought, this guy knows how to fight with two blades, I’m just making it up. A lunge, a swipe; both dodged, barely. Parry. Parry. Dodge. Counter!

He missed rather spectacularly, throwing himself off balance and leaving his back exposed. NO! No no no no no!Cale could skewer him where he stood, or cut straight through his spine. He let his whole weight pull him forward, he had to get away from the blades and this was the quickest way.

He didn’t get far enough away. It was only his protective clothing that saved his life once more. The jumper was sliced through, the chain mail was ripped apart and the leather vest received a nasty gash. Even his flesh was cut, but it was a shallow wound. Shallow and extremely painful.

Jon’s scream of agony must have carried around the whole arena. He would have liked nothing more than to lie down and let the pain pull him into darkness. That, however, would be the end of him and he was rather fond of life. He kept running forward, now bent double in an attempt to keep some semblance of balance. The wound on his back and the wound at his hip protested at the movement, making themselves known.

He was away, a few feet at least. No time to rest, Cale would be upon him in moments. He needed something to give him some kind of advantage. There was one spike left. A plan formed in his mind. He doubted very much it would work, but it was the best he had. The spike broke apart and crawled towards Jon slowly.

Cale was upon him long before the earth finished its journey. The noble man and monster of earth fought fiercely. Jon grimaced every time Cale’s weaponry nicked his arms or legs, but no real damage was done. And finally the earth was there.

Jon made his move quickly. With a strong attack he knocked Cale back ever so slightly. He had left himself open for a counter attack, but he needed less than a second to do what he needed. The tiny piece of earth flew towards Cale. The attack had not worked earlier, but that time Cale had expected it. The little rock collided with Cale’s shin. Cale’s leg was taken from under him, but by some miracle or some ungodly power of endurance the monster remained standing. He was however off balance.

Jon attacked. Cale somehow blocked his downward slice, but the monster was disarmed. Literally. His left arm broke off below the elbow. Momentarily the enchanter was shocked and unable to react. Then his senses returned. Jon swung up his short sword to finish him, but somehow Cale parried.

In a fit of rage Cale used his remaining arm-sword to knock the short sword from Jon’s hand. The power of the blow alone did some damage to Jon, whether his left arm was broken or not, for now it was useless. Jon took a step back to catch his breath, holding his remaining sword in his right hand, although it was starting to feel very heavy.

Cale had regained his balance and was furious. Blow after blow rained down on Jon. The noble tried his hardest to hold his own, but he was not as skilled as Cale and he was exhausted. Another vicious blow came from Cale, colliding with guard of Jon’s long sword. The weapon went the same way as the other sword, flying from Jon’s hand and across the metal floor of the arena. Jon was unarmed, he went for his knife, but it was strapped too tightly to his thigh, he could not get it in time. Another strike was due and he had to move. He ducked and rolled to the side of Cale. He needed a weapon, but his were in the other direction.

He spotted it then. The sword-arm of Cale was lying less than an inch from Jon’s right arm. It was his only chance. In a moment of madness he picked up the arm and lunged. Simultaneously Cale span around to face Jon and finish him off.

Cale’s own arm pierced the man of sand through the chest.

Jon let go of his makeshift weapon and fell to his knees as his opponent (seemingly) fell dead in front of him.

Jon had won. He got to his feet and walked wearily away from his defeated foe and approached his weapons. First he found his long sword, lying a considerable distance away, Cale had been strong indeed. He then looked for his short sword. He found parts of it. The blade was destroyed. It was no longer of any use and Jon was forced to leave it.

He hobbled over to the pouch he had discarded earlier, the one that had contained the medicines. He opened it up once more, hoping for some luck. It seemed that luck had taken pity of him. One very small vial was intact. It contained a potent painkiller. Without hesitation Jon took a drink. The pain remained, and it would for some time, but soon the drug would do its magic.

Jon sat down and sighed. Blood ran down his back and down his leg, he was tired and he was hurt, but for now at least, he was alive. Pain flared in his back and hip and there was a terrible numbness in his left arm. Maybe he should just fall asleep and let the painkiller do its work.

NO! The moment he dropped his guard, he died. With a sigh Jon held his long sword loosely in front of him, hopefully ready for his next battle.

< Message edited by Geddesmck -- 7/25/2008 21:39:32 >

Post #: 80

7/26/2008 1:17:12

Guardian of Nekops
Member

The scrawny kid who had challenged him wisely stepped aside, clearing the Crusher’s path. Continuing along his track of steel with a grin, he let the boy be as a reward for his discretion… until his foot snagged on an invisible rope and took him down. With his hands already at his face in order to deflect punches, he was easily able to catch himself before his face hit the metal floor. He glared up at the fool who had tripped him, only to find that he had dared to turn his attention elsewhere… to the fight between the pirate and the sentient mass of water, most likely. Sneering up at his inattentive foe over his injured shoulder, the burns on his face making the look particularly ugly, Roch placed one hand and the circle it contained upon the iron line attached to his wall. The other hand reached with into his pocket calmly, not particularly noticeable but not hiding the action either.

“When you kick a man down,” he said, preparing his mind for the coming Alchemy, “make sure to watch him, boy.”

Roch’s left hand emerged from his pocket full of sand and flung its contents towards the trickster’s face. At the same moment, his right began glowing green upon the steel bar as the Circle of Motion was activated. The jagged end of the iron rail in front of the wind competitor detatched from the wall, reared up like a snake, and darted in towards his left side, while other end wrapped itself around Impact’s handle where it had been left behind. With the red-hot Gravity Axe firmly in its clutches, this second branch of his track lunged unseen to it’s target’s right rear flank, swinging the weapon forcefully in a horizontal arc towards the boy’s torso. All of this was the work of seconds; despite the new sweat that dripped down the alchemist‘s face, his transmutation was quite swift.

Pushing himself up and resuming his sprint for the pillar, Roch shook his head and sighed.

“I would have let you live, lad, if only you’d been wise.”

AQ	Post #: 81

7/26/2008 13:30:44

N3344
Member

Unbelievable. Cale had LOST?!?! He had never lost before, and now, as he lay on the false earth floor dying, it just didnt seem fair. How could he have been so predictable and so easy to beat. Then, slowly, his thoughts began to shatter and slip away. He could feel the warmth of his earthly blood create a small pool near his chest. Darkness slowly began to creep up on him. At first, it was his body that he could feel the lose of control. He could feel it losing its human shape and slowly, it turned into a large pile of earth. Then slowly his mind. He could almost "see" the darkness devour him. He could hear death whispering in his "ear" and he could also hear his children crying out in desperate pain for their "father".

And then, just as everything seemed to happen, he "died". Motionless. Not a single movement in the pile of earth. This continued for a good ten minutes.

Then suddenly, a small movement occured. Another and another. What in the world was happening? It seemed as if that, no it couldnt possibly be, Cale was coming back to life. Suddenly, appendages began to take shape. A head, then two arms, a torso, then two legs. The earthen appearance soon began to evanesce. A slight pale skin color began to form on the creature. Then, just as quickly as he had died, he was reborn for the second or maybe third time.

Cale began to gasp for breath, he almost seemed to claw at it to come into his deprived lungs. It seemed as if he had been suffocated on the false earth floor. "Where was that air creature when you needed him?", Cale thought to himself in a jokingly way. It took a good couple of minutes to regain his breath. Then slowly, Cale began to stagger to his feet. At first, it looked as if a child was just learning to walk. Stumbling back and forth, it was rather comical if you had been watching him. Then, he regained his balance and was able to walk "normally".

The next deal of business was to try to comprehend as to why he both "died" and was "reborn". Cale began to think back to his memory of the fight with Jon. He could remember barrages of sword and he could remember another pebble that pierced his leg. Then he remembered his arm being detached from its shoulder. He remember Jon being in desperate plea for a weapon, and then using his own limb against him, piercing him in the chest like it was nothing. Cale mustve died from the result of it piercing his heart, but then he realized that it was stuck in his chest as he hit the floor, giving him the innate ability to absorb the earth and to heal both his heart and his arm.

"What a weird turn of events.", Cale thought to himself. Then, in a quicky flare of anger that just appeared out of nowhere, Cale began to search for Jon. He needed to redeem himself and he wanted to taste the mans blood. A quick glance around the arena found Jon to be just sitting there. Then, as soon as Cale was about to unleash a terrible onslaught on Jon, Cale caught "scent" of some earth. He frantically searched the whole arena. Finally managing to pinpoint its location, Cale began to wobbly run over towards it. Though, before Cale could begin his outreach towards it, he watched as a massively scarred man seemed to begin an assault towards what seemed to be the fragile wind creature.

The fragile man was no concern of Cales, but the massive monster of a man was. Cale could tell that this was going to be his next opponent and it seemed to be another earth user. Ignoring the fact that his children were being used as a distraction, Cale watched as the man seemed to bolt for a massive pillar unlike anything he had ever seen. Cale began to run after him, only realizing that there was no earthly way that he was going to catch up with the man. He needed to think of plan to get this mans attention and thats when it hit him. Cale was going to unleash another spike attack, but unlike the last one, this would solely come out of his left hand. Before he unleashed his spike barrage, Cale formed his right arm into a sword yet again, just in case the man were to attack him. Then content with his weapon, Cale aimed and fired not at the huge moving mountain, but at the huge pillar. By the time both the monster and the spikes reached the pillar, the man would surely know that he had another opponent waiting for him. Though, this time, Cale was determined he would not lose.

Post #: 82

7/26/2008 20:33:41

TormentedDragon
Member

As he moved back, she moved forward, keeping the distance between them small as she could. “Pride!” she snarled, her arm twisting and writhing in the grip of his power, the water that she had released from his armor instantly sucked into her whole. She sought more elsewhere, small, seeking tendrils whipping out from her shoulder and combing through the still hot mist, reaping a painful but necessary harvest. “Pride and honor, words and promises! What matters these? All are broken!” With this word, the point of her spear vanished, as she redirected her assault. Three thin blades shot out from its side, their points aiming for his sword arm.

His short sword was now hers, and she pulled it round her ice blade and into her arm the moment he released it. With that blade freed, she pressed the attack, striking forward in a sweeping arc aimed for her opponent’s side. “Pride is what bound me! Pride shall not stand!”

Post #: 83

7/27/2008 0:53:12

damselindigital
Member

Battles were raging on the other side of the wall. That was to be expected, after all, due to the nature of this place. But what Enya didn’t understand is why none of the combatants seemed at all interested in her presence. If the structure was meant to be a trap, after all, it should have been followed up by some sort of blow intended to maim or kill. Yet it had felt like an eternity counted in the quick succession of moments that classified combat and none had been forthcoming.

Confusion abounded.

Her prior adversary had a new threat upon him, one who appeared to also have great affinity for water. Her rage flared against the woman that dared interpose upon their duel. Their conflict was not to have been intruded upon, and the fact that this being had the audacity to believe she could stirred disgust and hatred within Enya.

However, there were other factors to consider, for not far away a second pair of combatants clashed. As she watched, one of them appeared to manipulate the very metal left upon the floor, which led up to…

The wall! So he’s the one responsible for…

Her thoughts trailed off again. He was using the axe that the kind man in the armor had wielded.

So, is he the one who wished to trap me and the wisp of the man prevented his strike? Or is this somehow the bearded giant sprung free from his metal?

She didn’t know. Perhaps he had in fact slain the noble warrior and claimed the fallen's weapon as his own. Since she didn’t have the time or mindset at current to put all the pieces together, she decided quickly upon a plan of action. The man would be questioned, at knife-point if necessary, about his identity and his actions. In order to do so, however, she would first need to free his attention for herself. That meant dealing with the wisp and the new challenger who appeared to be charging across the arena with the direct intent of interfering with that fray.

First, however, she needed to free herself from the obstruction that had blocked her into her own private den. That left, of course, the two openings at the ends of the barrier. The use of those, however, still was cause for hesitation on her part. After all, there was over half the arena she could not view from her vantage point and even if the one who had placed her here was fighting for his life before her eyes, others might have seen the advantage of her situation and begun to move in on her. She took a risk using either one as her point of egress.

While trying to crane her neck around to view a larger section of the arena, she attempted to raise herself further. It was then she felt the wall tremble ever so slightly under the pressure from her feet and came to the realization that it was not anchored to anything. A wide grin, filled with victory, curled her lips as she planted herself firmly and began to try and force it outwards. The impact of something out of sight with the central monolith, convinced her that this indeed was the best plan of escape as every muscle in her legs became taunt with the strains of her effort. Gradually she forced her knees to straighten until she felt the weight of the construction pass a critical point where gravity took over for her.

There were two downfalls to this plan. The first she was aware of, for the thudding impact of the metal slab upon the floor would announce her reentry into the heart of the conflict. The other was less expected, for as soon as the wall began to topple, Enya’s legs could no longer create the force that kept her back flush with the pillar. The sudden departure of pressure allowed the unfaltering presence of gravity to claim her as well, and she slid down the half-dozen feet to land unceremoniously on her posterior.

She yelped in pain upon impact, the first utterance to escape her lips since she forced the closure of her own wound, but aside from a jarring sensation that left her amply padded behind sore, she was no worse for wear. Because she lacked the air-resistance the wall possessed, her own landing occurred first, giving just the briefest of warnings regarding the impending collision of wall and floor. Then she scrambled to her feet and, drawing a short spear, rushed towards the conflict she had chosen.

A quiet voice in the back of her mind, nearly completely ignored, prayed that the unarmored man was the one who had given her greeting. This was not only because it would indeed mean he was safe, but also because she found that his backside was indeed as attractive as her imagination hoped.

AQ	Post #: 84

7/28/2008 2:12:52

The Dragon Knight
Member

This creature's strange obsession with him caused Torrelle a great deal of frustration. What did she think he was, anyway, some kind of disciple of her former captor, sent to torment her? It was all beyond him, and he knew that it wouldn't matter one way or the other. She seemed to be lost in her own world, striking out in desperation at anything she saw as a potential threat. Blast whoever caused this beast such pain to the depths of the Abyss!

Torrelle knew that he was likely outmatched. How could he hope to win against a creature that he could only harm with great effort? Each attack forced him to sacrifice something in order to move forward, and it would not be long before he simply ran out of things to give. There had to be something he could do, something he could use to drive her off. His fight was never with her to begin with, and despite his anger that she would think him a slaver of some kind, he could not help feeling a sort of sympathy for the Nymph. What in the Water Lord's glory could he do? The only thing that seemed to work so far was his ability to boil water and evaporate it, but he'd used up all of the water in the sword, again, in order to make use of that attack, and it simply took far too long to recharge.

Wait a moment, he thought, the wheels of his mind spinning with blinding speed, synapses firing off in an electrical storm of sudden realization. It had been so long since he had last been challenged like this that he had completely forgotten a very important fact: his ability to control water was not limited to his sword, crossbow and the water in the air. The only reason he used the sword's ability was because it was there, and far easier to use than his own ability. That did not mean, however, that he couldn't make use of his other weapons in a similar fashion. Tsk. Torrelle chided himself mentally for being such an ignoramus in the first place. It was time to start using his head.

His barbarian-like rage was cooling, giving way to the cold, calculating logic that had served him so well in the past. He ignored the water-woman's remarks about his pride and his word, and instead began to focus. He was lucky that he had taken the time to store so much of the water and blood, for it greatly reduced the amount of time and effort it took in order to prepare.

His mind calm and collected once more, his keen eyes spotted the movements of his opponent. The three blades that shot out of her spear-arm were fast; incredibly fast. Luckily, his sword arm was already somewhat protected from the attack by the silver vambrace that covered his forearm right up to the elbow. He ducked slighty, twisting a little bit towards his left, causing the first blade to carom harmlessly off the bracer. The second, the one aimed for his bicep, was a shade too fast for him, however, and left a neat gash along one side of his arm, even though his ducking allowed him to avoid the most dangerous knife blade; the one aimed for his shoulder. It was a close shave, however, managing to snick the leather armor of his tunic.

In the same movement, Torrelle put his magic to use, his left arm flying to his back to slip the long bladed knife from its sheath. As he did so, he focused some of the water contained in his blood-stained clothing and wrapped it around the blade in a protective layer. He had seen the icy blade making its way for his side, and he was not about to let this watery fiend have its way with him. The knife was a blur in his hand as he brought it up into the path of the oncoming shard, the blades meeting with a watered-down clang.

Lacking the volume that his longsword was capable of holding, the balanced knife was obviously an inferior weapon. However, even this small amount of water would be enough to counter this attack. Wasting no time, he brought the temperature of the water surrounding the knife to the boiling point the moment it blocked his adversary's attack, breaking any hold she had over his weapon while likely causing a minor, yet quite painful, wound.

He wasn't done yet, however. The same magic that engulfed the knife also covered several of the silver studs on his armor. With a flash and a pop, the relatively weak projectiles carried their small payload of water into the body of their target, the water boiling off the moment they hit in small, heated puffs of steam. What's more, the silver studs were small enough that the sudden rise in water temperature penetrated them completely, making them hot to the touch for a moment or two after their watery protection vanished. Still, considering the small dosage of water they carried, he had no idea if they would be at all effective. He could only hope that the sting they produced, combined with the pain caused by his dagger, would drive her back just long enough for him to prepare his main attack.

Leaping backwards once more, he poured even more of his focus into the long sword, trying to beat the clock, as it were. It would only be a moment longer, and he would be able to strike once more. This time, however, he had something else in store for her. He drew his blade back, settling into a half-crouch, calling upon all of his years of experience to help see him through the day.

However, as he dodged, he became aware of a new factor in their combat; the great steel wall was falling. The screech of tortured metal resounded throughout the arena as the massive construct began tilting forward, directly behind the watery demon. If it caught her by surprise, it would do an excellent job of splattering her in several directions, he thought.

< Message edited by The Dragon Knight -- 7/28/2008 15:19:31 >

AQ	Post #: 85

7/28/2008 14:04:12

Nightly
Member

Seeing the sand come towards his face, Nightly threw up a quick blast of wind and whipped the wind away. Hearing the wind whistle off to his left and right sides he thought, "Oh come on, you have got to be kidding me!" Grabbing his sword out of the sheath, he held it out to the right side to make sure that he would be able to block the axe. Seeing the rail from the wall come in on his left side he pushed another current of air towards the rail effectively stopping it in its tracks. However, during that time the axe managed to reach him before he could react. A roar of pain escaped his lips as the axe managed to cut into his flesh. Looking down his right side, his eyes opened wide when he saw the mangeled stump that used to house his hand, and his sword. Tears of pain reached his eyes as he let the stump drop to his side. Falling over, Nightly let the others think that he had died were in reality he was slowly healing. Swirling the air around his stump he managed to lessen the pain an incredible amount. Squinting his eyes, he took a deep breath and stood up. The motion jolted his arm and he cried out.

Turning, he faced the man who attacked him and said, "Very well, you may pass..." Gasping, Nightly turned and walked towards the wall. Situating himself so that he would be comfortable, he let the wind brush against his stump so the pain would lesson. His plan was simple, wait till it didn't hurt like hellfire, and then use the wind to make himself a new hand with the wind. Groaning, he shifted his body slightly to make himself a little more comfortable.

Post #: 86

7/28/2008 14:48:33

TormentedDragon
Member

As fast as she was, this man was just as fast. Her eyes flashed; he, like her, was a veteran of combat, and had the reflexes that came with such. Her attacks were blocked, deflected, though she tasted blood once more, and at the same time, pain. Her strike at his side had been parried, and once more he triggered his power to make things uncomfortably hot. But this was nothing compared to the first time, and elicited no scream. He was not, after all, the first to use heat against her.

His knife melted her blade in two and set her water to boil, but she still had the advantage of mass. Ignoring the pain, she siphoned off the heat, and latched onto his knife as she had his sword, the melting ice aiding in this. His next move caught her unawares, small bolts of water leaping from his armor into her body, stinging with each blow. For a moment, she lost her focus upon him, the still moving tendril-blades suddenly stopping.

For behind her, something was moving. Something large and metallic. It was the wall that had suddenly appeared, somehow set to falling. The vibrations of its motion rumbled through her, and she had an idea. This man was dangerous. She was far from overly hot, yet, but the longer she fought him, the closer she would get to the dangerous levels. This, however, could be used against him.

Barely an instant after his bolts struck, she retreated, flinging her once-transparent mass in a full speed rush on the toppling wall. She managed to arrive just as it reached the half way point, and pulled herself in as much as she could, applying all the force she could muster to the bottom of the metal construction. It took massive effort, but it worked. The wall shifted over her mass, teetering on her as it would on a fulcrum, and then came crashing down to the blue metal floor, upside down. She did not stop pushing, though, and poured all the force she could muster into keeping it moving.

With a painful, horrid screeching, the wall kept moving, bearing down upon the pirate with intent to crush. Once more, it began to topple, and there, she let it go, preparing herself for whatever would be required next, and taking the time to check around her. There were other threats here, after all... he was simply the greatest of them.

< Message edited by TormentedDragon -- 7/28/2008 15:13:33 >

Post #: 87

7/28/2008 17:14:17

The Dragon Knight
Member

What was briefly a spark of faint hope turned to horror as the young pirate witnessed a magnificent spectacle of strength. His sodden foe had suddenly broken off her attack, sliding backwards so that she had come to rest directly beneath the toppling mass. With incredible speed and impossible strength, she had caught nearly half a tonne of metal and flipped it over her body, much like one might casually flip a coin across their knuckles. The wall had landed on its opposite end, and was now no more than a couple of feet away from him, teetering on its edge for a moment before moving with a dreadful inevitability towards him.

The towering hunk of steel that threatened to crush the very life out of him, combined with the overwhelming abilities of his foe, quickly convinced Torrelle that it was time to change locations. He needed to put some distance between himself and this monster, otherwise she would eventually overwhelm him. As soon as he had witnessed what his opponent was attempting to do, he made his move. The wall was taller than it was wide, giving the swarthy pirate two immediate options; left or right. With no time to mull over the choices, he made a desperate dash and dive to the left, calling upon all of the agility he had gained through years of fighting amongst the masts and rigging of the tall-ships.

The crash of metal against metal was deafening, filling the air with noise. As the echoes faded, the regular sounds of heavy breathing, scuffling feet, the cries and shouts of battle all caught up with those who cared to listen.

The Pirate Lord was alive, having dodged the monstrous plate by a hair's breadth. He had felt the edge clip the heel of his boot as he made his dive for freedom, letting him know just how close he had been to losing his life. Once the wall finished its descent, he kept on moving, scuttling around to one side of the pillar and then backing away from it, putting as much distance as was safe between himself and that accursed Nymph. The sweat poured from him, thin streams of it cascading down his chin at the exertion and terror he had faced. He gulped in the air as if it were sweet, sweet nectar, using his power to pull extra moisture along with it, helping to sooth his dry throat.

The pirate went down on one knee, taking the brief respite to catch his breath and take stock of his surroundings and his remaining strength. He had been forced to move fast and hard for some time now, had endured injuries that, while not fatal, had still served to drain him of some of his precious fluids. He put his mind now to staunching the blood flow, rather than encouraging it. The constant seepage would only weaken him further.

He compressed the water within the blood that now dripped from the ruptured veins of his wounds, using the drops like miniature vices to pinch the vessels shut, preventing further loss for the time being. It did nothing to ease the stinging pain from his injuries, but it would allow him to fight on. After all, he already had plenty of material for what he had planned.

The longsword was fully recharged now, but Torrelle had something new in mind. He compressed the water in the reservoir, condensing it further, and drew in more moisture to fill the gaps it left. At the same time, he called out to the remaining puddles left over from the melting field of ice that the mysterious ice-mage had left in the wake of his attack upon the Nymph. The water came, some of it through the air, some simply running over the metal floor, called to its master. He would take control of as much as possible, and he would pour all of his abilities into survival.

He took in his surroundings with care. He was without any real cover now, but the trade-off was that he had a relatively unobstructed view of the rest of the arena. The central pillar lay about fifteen feet to his front now, off to the side of where the wall had been standing. Roch lay on the ground, his alchemic battle against the withered, dry husk of a wind user beginning to heat up. He spotted one of the other earth users, the golem, or elemental, or whatever he might be, making his way towards that battle. Off in the distance, the chemist was struggling to staunch the flow of blood, while the book-worm struggled to his feet in another direction. No sign of the giant could be seen, making Torrelle wonder if he had been defeated, or if he had simply yet to show his true face.

The angle of his view prevented him from seeing his most recent opponent, whom he assumed had hidden herself on the far side of the pillar. However, he kept his guard up, not desiring to be caught by surprise. Lastly, he saw Enya, charging in the direction of Roch and his competitors. It seemed that she had accepted the interruption of their duel and was now intent on finding another adversary.

Birds sang in the air above the hidden dome, their songs unheard by most of the spectators as the screamed for blood. Outside of this spiked pit of mayhem and death a magnificent summer morning was unfolding. For those who survived this day, whether they won or lost, the sight of the green grass, the kiss of a summer breeze and the scent of flowers and life in the air would be one of the most beautiful things they would ever experience. Such was the way for people who had escaped the inevitable when all hope seemed lost.

The arena was getting to be uncomfortably warm now, the sun approaching its zenith. The blood-stained metal bowl of the arena reflected the sun's rays back, doubly frying the occupants. The sweat that poured down Torrelle's body became fodder for his magic, while he absorbed fresh water into his body from the surrounding air. He cooled the moisture on his skin, regulating his body temperature, and bided his time while he waited for an opening.

AQ	Post #: 88

7/30/2008 2:11:48

Lord Memphis
Member

Much to his jubilation, the illusionary distortion faded as quickly as it had emerged, leaving him with his normal vision in a matter of seconds. It was only when he opened his eyes to the absolute chaos and derangement of the arena once more than he was able to see exactly how close to death he had come this time.

The arrows had clattered to the floor nearby, having missed him by the skin of his rather pristine teeth. Visualising in his mind, he reversed the path these arrows would have followed to have landed where they had. They came so close to his chest, it was an utterly sobering thought. At least it would have been, had he not been sober in the original circumstance. These thoughts of death, despite having only invading his mind over the past few seconds, made shivers tingle down his spine, stabbing into his muscles as they went in an uncomfortable moment of mortality.

And then, his assorted open wounds began to tingle, if only slightly. This recent shock with the illusion had almost purged the thoughts of his physical handicap from the foreground of his priorities. In fact, it almost came as another, separate shock to him that he had sustained damage at all.

Despite the illusion having only befallen him for what seemed like a few seconds, so, so much had occurred that he had not been aware of... And not been able to manipulate. Machinations built, and protections crumbled. Falls from grace so hard, and so fast, their tragedy was unmistakeable even in the confusion of the fight. Casting an iron gaze to his left and right, he allowed himself a few seconds to survey the apparent changes for anything notable. He did not have long, though. This was no time to be complacent in observation.

Now that his opponent had seemingly dissipated, and the aqueous, now with a distinctive humanoid form, had become preoccupied, Rattigan finally had time to apply some form of antiseptic to his assorted wounds. Scanning his surroundings one more time, he reached into yet another belt pouch and produced a clear vial. Yet contained within was a substance a deeper shade of purple than the sky at the penumbra of midnight and dusk.

As he popped the cork and began applying it to his wounds through the use of a clean white handkerchief, a sudden fire of inspiration surged into his mind's eye. Iodine, of the deepest purple... Casting his eyes once more across the scenes of destruction and disorder greeting him, he felt as though he had been withdrawn from the folds of time. He was secluded in his own pocket, free to do as he so wished until violent obligations once more thrust him back into the fray.

And he had the perfect scheme to accompany his wishes. Though the best laid plans of mice and men often fell awry, this one was positively foolproof, in whatever pathway it took. And most obviously, Rattigan was the man here, with his cowardly opponent acting as nothing but a mouse. A primitive creature, enslaved and imprisoned in a cage. Oh, the trickster was china in his hands now. One move wrong, and he shattered upon the floor, revelling in his insane abandon.

Rattigan spun around in a full circle, gazing frantically, looking for any sign of where this man hid himself. At finding nothing, Rattigan initiated 'Operation Chroma', a name that had spontaneously popped into his head.

He ran forwards several yards, extending the circle in which he would be running to a greater proportion. He first aimed in the general direction of where the arrows appeared to have originated from and with one swoop of his hand, threw copious amounts of Iodine in that direction. The amorphous splodges spread out over a wide radius, seeming to split and separate into independent explosions of the deepest, richest lustrous colour. This twisting, unfurling of the liquid as it glided was much akin to the actions of blood when propelled from the confines of the body by a large explosion in close proximity. Ah, the fond memories...

He continued to do this in any direction he could see until the flask was emptied of its contents. His hoping was that the dye would connect with the intended target and either stain him, revealing his positioning or camouflage the dye too, revealing the spot at which he had stood from a lack of dyed flooring.

It was ingenious, he knew, but he wasn't one to let it go to his head.

Not too much anyway.

< Message edited by Lord Memphis -- 7/30/2008 2:15:40 >

Post #: 89

7/30/2008 13:15:21

Guardian of Nekops
Member

As Roch closed the last crucial yards between himself and his wall, the foolish lightweight having been taken care of, something quick and brown flew past his head and shattered against the surface of the pillar in a shower of dirt. A warning shot, perhaps, or maybe just very bad aim.

Looking over his shoulder to see who could have attacked him, Roch also reached out to grab the twisted remnants of his rail, bringing himself to a stop and turning to face the danger face first. There was a good amount of material there, probably enough to deal with his attacker, and it would not do to be caught in the open, barren space between here and the greater resources his barrier represented. No, best to make a stand here, where he could at least count on Impact and what steel he had.

The scene that met his eyes made the Crusher wish he had continued to the wall. Not only had the sickly boy escaped his three-pronged attack and walking away, but one of the two dirtlings had apparently triumphed and come charging, his right arm formed somehow into a blade of earth. While they fought one another for dominance over their pittance of Earth they had been of negligible danger to anyone else, but if this one had gained control of all of it he might be a threat… certainly more than enough to deal with one disarmed, unarmored warrior.

So obviously, it was time to fix that.

The metal of the rail had been spread out quite thinly since the forming of the wall, and it had been in direct contact with the huge heat sink that was the blue-tinged floor of Spike. In the short time that had passed since then its temperature had decreased from nearly life-threatening to merely unbearable, and Roch used the starsilver array in his hand to make it flow up and over his with a green glow, forming into a rough, very thin likeness of his armor. Impact rose with the metal, carried by the moving steel into his forming gauntlet. When the metal reached and covered his left hand, a bright flash of green covered the whole from the blood-covered Circle of Form, bringing with it joints, texture, and stability to the new-forged armor.

So it was that Roch was thinly armored once more when the wall screeched behind him and thudded to the floor once, then twice, causing his bare head to jerk about in shock to see what had happened.

The creature of water was apparently still more monstrous than he had thought, having lifted up his defensive barrier by sheer force and thrown it into the pirate, who somehow had managed to escape. This left the attractive woman he had attempted to save exposed to the fray once more, and she was running towards him and his charging foe. He grinned warmly at this, not caring if she was coming to help him or for her own protection… it was a welcome development in either case.

Turning back to face the other challenger for Earth, Roch swung the Gravity Axe up into a two-handed grip. He was already sweating lightly from his armor’s heat and the exertion of his Alchemy, and he was well aware of how thin his armor was and how light holding Impact was making him, but he was ready now. Prepared, at any rate, for this pup who thought so highly of mere dirt; the true strength of Earth was in rock and steel, in mass and in gravity.

Confident in that fact, Roch stood his ground and waited for his enemy to come.

AQ	Post #: 90

7/30/2008 17:04:27

damselindigital
Member

The wall that had once trapped her impacted with the floor once and then continued tumbling. It hardly mattered to Enya though for she was well clear of its path and the ones that it affected were no longer a major concern to her. Instead what captured her attention was the man before her donning a mockery of the armor worn by the one she had greeted upon arrival.

Unfortunately this did not tell her much at all, for she was aware of the tradition of victorious warriors claiming the weapons and armor of their fallen enemies. This could in fact be simply a case of such a practice, despite how obviously similar this one now appeared to the other. She would be cautious though, for she certainly wished to survive this conflict and if this man had been capable of felling another so quickly then there was much to worry about.

The wisp of a man was leaving, and for Enya that seemed a good thing. He appeared unlikely to be of any use to her regardless of the answers she received. It was best then that he remain out of the way. However, she suspected she could use the second dirt mage. He was approaching from a direction almost entirely opposite her own, which would allow her to flank the killer thief, if that was indeed what he proved to be. Then justice could be dispensed quickly to this phony in thin armor.

Far from convinced though that this was the case, she instead sheathed her knife and halted, leaving four feet of space between them. Taking up a defensive stance, right foot in front with her left behind and at a ninety degree angle, she grasped the short spear with both hands. She would be ready should he decide to lunge with the hope of completing what the trap had failed to do: if, of course, that was even his doing at all.

Taking a deep breath, she then proceeded to shout angrily at the potential imposter, despite their proximity.

“You! Yes, you in the armor as thin as a lake’s first freeze! Are you the one responsible for the trap? And where’d you get that axe?”

AQ	Post #: 91

7/30/2008 19:23:06

Guardian of Nekops
Member

Roch turned to face his lovely accuser, who had inexplicably halted in a defensive pose from… him?

Silly, really. The bone spear in her hands couldn’t possibly protect her from Impact, even at its lower power due to his lack of weight at the moment. Not that he planned on attacking her, of course… but her insulting tone and words implied that she didn’t know that. In fact, there was pain there… fear. Not of what he could do, but of what he might be… what he might have done, maybe? He couldn’t place it.

In any case, I had better answer her… she seems angry.

“Trap? There was a trap behind the wall?” He narrowed his eyes. “I meant for you to be safe.” Looking back towards the man with the earthen arm to check on how much time he had, he pointed to the water nymph. “Safe from that monster coming for you, who was apparently able to break in regardless.” With a sigh at her anger with him, he concluded, “I made the wall, no traps. And I’ve had Impact for years… wizard brought it on his quest to find an owner.”

Turning back to the challenger, Roch set his shoulders resignedly. The fur-clad woman might well attack him, but if she did he really didn’t want to know.

AQ	Post #: 92

7/30/2008 23:10:22

RATIONALPARANOIA
Member

Guts was ready to fight. He was done with staying hidden, staying out of the action. Rattigan had to die, and Guts would be the one to kill him. The man was on the verge of death- and yet, he kept escaping it. How? Why? He was nothing special- there were far more interesting and powerful people in this arena, Guts included. So how was he surviving?

Guts needed to know. If it was luck, this should be an easy kill. If it was skill, this might be a challenge. Guts pulled out his sword, and watched Rattigan. His illusion was wearing off on Rattigan, he knew, and now Rattigan seemed to be preparing some kind of attack. He was pulling out a flask, similar to what he'd done before.

Guts looked at the flask, and realized what it was- he had seen the fluid before. And as he watched this, the man twirled the contents of the flask all around him. He was trying to draw Guts out...

Guts was game. He'd wanted to kill this man since he'd saw him. Now he had the chance, and he would be a fool not to take it. As he felt the iodine splash him, he took off the illusion surrounding him. At the same time, however, he put to work his latest illusion- copies of himself. Four copies, to be exact.

All the copies, and him, were all angry, armor wearing, sword bearing men (although they were colorful). They were all believable distances from where the arrow had been fired, and all of them drew their sword. And as Guts gave the mental command, they all rushed Rattigan.

AQ	Post #: 93

7/31/2008 0:24:33

N3344
Member

It seemed to be an eternity in this hell hole of place that the mountain of a man finally managed to throw a glance towards Cale. Though, of course, not before arming himself with the accursed false earth. First came the emerald gleam from his massive hands which seemed to hold an incongruous metal rod. Cale then watched as the almost liquid metal seeped into the mans body like a beautiful rain after a long dry drought. For a quick moment, the forming of the mans armor was almost mesmorizing. Truly breathtaking in an odd sense. But Cale wasnt in this arena to be beguiled. He was here to fight, and to hopefully find some kind of possible answer to his origins. He watched as the man hoisted his massive axe into the air, sitting there in a defensive position. Cale could see the beads of sweat trickle down his face, and then he realized how he was going to beat this man. He was going to wear him out. "If creating his armor and doing his fancy tricks wear him out now," Cale thought, "just wait till we start the fight."

Then, just before Cale was about to discharge a barrage of attacks on the man, a rather plump woman seemed to emerge behind him. "Oh great, a double team on poor old me.", Cale thought in a both mocking but concerned way. Then it occured to him just then that the two were just sitting there talking amongst each other. It seemed to be an arguement of sorts, or a lovers quarrel if you will. This really exasperated Cale as this was no way, shape, or form a time to be talking "casually".

This gave time for Cale to plan an attack and it was now or never that Cale had to reveal one of his last few tricks. Slowly, his body began to shift and expand towards his left arm. It grew over so slow and wide that before long, a relatively hard, medium-sized shield had formed on his arm. It wasnt like the kind of shield that the soldiers utilize when they go off to war. Instead, it had a rather D shape with the straight end of it being connected to his arm and hand and the curved side facing towards the towering mortal. Before he even realized it, the man was facing him, seemingly finished with his quarrel. Yet again he stood in his defensive stance that looked rather sad. But none the less, Cale was ready to charge, and that is what he did. Though, as he ran toward the man, he wobbled, much like that of a penguin. Being reborn for the third time seemed to dismantle his motor skills a bit. Then, with his akward rush finally coming close enough for a strike, Cale swung hard to the mans side opposite of the massive axe. Parallel to the mans axe was Cales makeshift shield which he raised high enough that his opponent would see the details of it perfectly. And with all of this happening, Cale had hoped that the only thing he would hear, is the possible shredding of the mans false earth armor and his leathery human skin.

Post #: 94

7/31/2008 1:31:20

TormentedDragon
Member

The wall had been heavy, much, much heavier than she had expected. The strain had been enormous, the effort costly, and the result disappointing. Her target had only narrowly avoided being crushed, but he had, in fact, avoided it entirely. She had not even succeeded in maiming him, and now, she could barely mount the strength to keep herself together. So she chose not to.

To the onlooker, it seemed as though whatever force that had been keeping the water in its dome shape vanished. She flowed outward, in all directions, spreading herself as thin as she could. The only hint that she was there at all was the reflection of the sun off her surface, and that was how she wanted it. Let them think of this what they would, let them do as they wished. She still seethed with rage, resentful that any would try to deny her her lifeblood so soon after she had miraculously achieved freedom, but the need for survival had reared its head, and trumped the desire for revenge.

They would not kill her. They could not kill her. She would survive, and she would live again. She would visit the rivers, and find the oceans, glory once more in the free currents and wild waters, no longer limited to what her master deemed allowable. As for him... her surface went perfectly calm, no longer responding the vibrations caused by the movements of the others. Her master. He would pay, most certainly. He might hope to bind her again, certainly, but he had only succeeded because of her own failings. She had learned far too much in his service to let it happen again.

Slowly, imperceptibly, she began to move, applying the barest of efforts to roll herself over the metal surface. Slow inch by slow inch, the fairly large puddle made its way towards the ensuing clash between metal-shaper, earth-shaper, and the woman in furs. There was a promise of blood there. Perhaps it would prove fruitful.

Post #: 95

7/31/2008 7:21:04

damselindigital
Member

Enya struck. She did not possess the time, thanks to the conversation, to ready a bola, so she made do with what she did have. Two steps forward, made with haste, were sufficient to close the gap between them. Then she ducked low and brought her short spear up with the thrust of a single hand, intending to impale the exposed side right below the ribs. If her aim was true, the weapon would continue at an angle into flesh and tear through the vital organs normally protected by the ribcage.

It was such a simple thing too, to circumvent completely the second dirt mage’s shield since he held it so high. Unless he had astonishing reflexes, Enya did not think he would be able to deflect her attack. Not when his main focus was upon the one she apparently had wounded just by her words. The way the larger man appeared to deflate as he turned his back to her, as if he was going to allow her to kill him should she chose, decided her mind. She still did not completely understand what had occurred in respect to him upon this field of combat, even with his answers, but for now she would trust her instincts. That meant allying with the axe-wielding warrior.

So as her thrust reached full extension, she grunted softly with exertion.

“Name’s Enya.”

AQ	Post #: 96

7/31/2008 11:43:10

Geddesmck
Member

Nightly had apparently suffered an injury. More importantly, he was no longer engaged in combat. Perhaps, Jon thought, I can find out how skilled this man of the wind is. Using his sword as a staff, Jon pulled himself to his feet. He felt a jolt of pain in his side, but this passed momentarily. The painkiller was working and the numbness in his left arm was beginning to lessen.

With deliberate and confident steps (taken to deter anyone for lauching a surprise attack on a weakened foe) Jon approached Nightly. "You seem to be in some bother my friend. You have suffered an injury?" Jon looked the man over. He looked... smaller, than he had in the tavern that long month ago.

"Perhaps you and I can honour our respective lords with a little skirmish here," Jon gripped his sword tighter, "I have very little material for magic, so I would suggest a test of our swordsmanship. However," Jon touched his remaining unopened pouch as he spoke, "if you would rather we fight with our spells, that can be arranged."

Jon took a few paces back, he did not want to be within striking distance should his opponent attack without warning.

Post #: 97

7/31/2008 18:32:27

Lord Memphis
Member

Having wantonly sprayed the entire contents of his Iodine flask across the arena, Rattigan could do nothing but grin, waiting for the results of his rather messy little experiment to come to fruition.

And come to fruition they did, though not in the intended incarnation he had wished for.

He noticed, in one section of the splash radius, the deep blue liquid seemed to have failed in reaching the ground. Apparently taken in by the invisibility illusion, it had served it's purpose well. He now knew exactly where his opponent had placed himself, and prepared himself for the final stage of his schemings. This would culminate not in failure, but in the death of this damnable, indefatigable, impotent fool once and for all! Oh, it was a perfect opportunity. One that would be impossible to escape with any arcane trickery. One that simply screamed for exploitation. It was at that point, when Rattigan was at his most complacent, the unexpected occurred.

His major opponent. The one who had proved thorn in side for the entire duration of the battle. The persistent one, meddling in his master plans. This servant of the light revealed himself at last, his true visage emerging from nothingness into physical form before him at last. Yet he was not one in his manifest state. No, five identical figures stood facing him. Each clad in the same armour, each stood in the same stance. Even the expression on their collective faces bore uncanny resemblances. It was almost too nonsensical to be real.

Too nonsensical to be real...

As the figures drew sword from sheath, each in perfect synchronization, the realisation struck his mind with the same force as a hammer to the gut. This immense denouement, flashing into existence, granting him an enlightened sense with which to act. These figures... These were no collective being. These were four, possibly even five illusionary characters sent to ensnare and confuse his quick witted reflexes before the coup de grâce was dealt upon him.

They initiated their charge, but Rattigan was already focused. He had an ace up his sleeve. One that was a clichéd but essential part of his repertoire, and one that he had been saving for the opportune moment such as this. He reached into his jacket quickly, the index finger of his left hand slotting into a small loop. He pulled backwards with the finger, and little objection was met to his power. A tiny click emerged, and his right hand deftly scooped a tiny ceramic sphere that had fallen from his sleeve.

As his foes began to near, Rattigan spoke out to them.

"Nice to see you at last! Death is quite the infection, but it doesn't seem to have befallen any of us yet. I'll tell you one thing that is contagious, though! Big old smile..."

He emitted a large grin as he did so, holding up his hands in a fashion akin to the dance manoeuvre referred to colloquially as 'the jazzhands'. As his palms opened, the ball rolled from it's hiding place, sliding from the cup of his hands onto the floor. The shattering of pottery was rather quiet indeed, bearing in mind the small amount of it. However, the reaction more than justified the lack of any spectacular sound effect. Torrents of smoke issued forth from the fragmented ball, gushing upwards and outwards, concealing where Rattigan was... Or rather, where Rattigan had been.

As soon as these jets of billowing smoke had encapsulated him, he fell backwards, rolling out from behind his gaseous barrier, hands already preparing themselves for his next motion. His feet extended out from their roll, bringing his body back to the upright position he had begun in within a matter of seconds. A snicker, and a quick prune of his moustache, and he spun round, placing into action his next orchestration in rapid succession to his distraction. With one pull, Rattigan dislodged the pommel of the cane from the wooden frame and pulled, revealing a sword.

He had no clue as to which one of these figures, if any, was his true opponent. However, he rather hoped to find out before any sword fight began. He pulled from one of his final beltpouches a cylinder, which he took no hesitation in snapping in two. As he did so, a bright glow was emitted from the open end, shining out in a cone in front of him. He pointed the broken cylinder at where he envisaged his enemies would be by now. If everything went according to plan, and these illusions were merely tricks of light and held no corporeal form, then they would also house no shadow.

Or maybe he was immensely wrong, these figures were all real, and in several seconds he would engage in a sword fight with five insane men planning to kill him with no modicum of mercy. One could only hope to the contrary.

Post #: 98

7/31/2008 18:53:24

Guardian of Nekops
Member

Roch stared the charging dirt warrior down grimly, mechanically noting the positions of the man’s earthen sword and shield. The blade was not a threat, as it was aimed for his armored chest, and there was no possible way that the shield of soil could defend against the crushing force of Impact. He raised the weapon high without emotion, his body simply reacting in such as way as to keep itself alive. His emotions, meanwhile, were occupied with a single thought.

What am I here for, anyway?

As the he swung the Gravity Axe on a collision course with the dirtling’s shield, he saw the lady slip in beneath where the weapon’s head had begun and thrust upwards with her spear towards the gut of his foe. Suddenly his energy and confident grin returned, and he threw all of his strength behind the axe’s swing. He had a purpose now, albeit not the one for which he entered the arena today. He had a purpose, and an ally, and now a name… Enya…

What musings might have ensued at the exotic, lyrical name were cut short by the earthen sword slamming into his armor, knocking him back half a step and punching through the steel. The point made it through, penetrating far enough to scratch at the flesh over Roch’s heart but pinched so tightly by the steel that it could go no further. Roch’s eyes opened wide, not in actual pain, but in shock that his armor could be so easily punctured.

The head of Impact flew uninterrupted through the air towards the barrier of hard-packed dirt, its power bolstered by nearly all of Roch’s weight.

< Message edited by Guardian of Nekops -- 7/31/2008 18:55:51 >

AQ	Post #: 99

8/1/2008 1:32:09

RATIONALPARANOIA
Member

"Guts, why have you woken me up so late?" The man was confused- it was the middle of the night, he knew, but his room was flooded with light. Guts was standing there, staring at him. His face gave away nothing.

"You must come outside." Guts said nothing more, just walked out of the room. Guts normally wasn't this aloof, and that made the man worried. He slipped on a robe, and followed the boy outside.

The man shuddered as the cold hit him. Looking for people, trying to adjust his eyes to the dark of the street, he was unable to find anyone. He only saw Guts, standing there on the cobblestone street.

"Sir... You once told me that to kill a man was to have ultimate victory over him." Guts said. "You told me that anything he had done to you, any slights, insults, wounds... All would be overcome when you slay him."

"Yes, I did. But Guts- What does that have to do with why I'm out here?" Guts turned around, and looked at the man. That was when the man saw what he should have seen before- it wasn't that his eyes gave away nothing. It was that his eyes had nothing to give. They were emotionally dead.

The man should have gone back into his house. He should have grabbed a blade. He should have run away. He should have done anything but what he did, which was start walking towards Guts. He didn't know what reason compelled him to do it; he never knew. He didn't care about the people he trained, not like that, at least... but maybe Guts was a first.

Guts never answered his question. At least, not with words. Guts moved towards the man, dagger in hand, and he moved fast. And watching this, the man made no move. He knew it was futile, with no blade in his hand, to challenge Guts. He had trained Guts well, damn him, and Guts would win that duel.

The blade took him between the ribs. He fell to one knee, tried to stay up, and then collapsed onto the ground. He could feel the blood dampening his shirt, and pooling around him. And then he saw Guts's face, those dark eyes looking down into his.
"You lied, Father." said Guts. "It still hurts. The killing did nothing."

Guts pulled the dagger out of the man's side. His face seemed simply calm and emotionless, but then it changed. Rage gripped Guts worse than his father had ever seen it before. His face became a snarl, and he brought the dagger down onto his father's chest.

"Why doesn't it work?" The dagger cut through the air, it's point driving into the man's chest again. "Damn you, why doesn't it work?!" Again. "I want to be free, father. Free of the pain, and free of you!" Guts used the dagger once more, but this time, he aimed for the throat.

And that was the last memory Guts had of his father, and the earliest memory he had of a kill. It was also the most vivid memory. No other sights, no other people, could replace the image he had in his head. Seeing a man lying a pool of his own blood is bad enough, knowing you caused it is worse, and knowing its your father is especially worse.

But from that day on, Guts knew what he was. He was a killer. It was addicting; something you needed to keep doing, over and over again. For if you stopped, you'd have the time to take a look back at what you'd done. And although Guts did not consider himself a coward, the prospect of doing that frightened him. It frightened him very badly, and for that reason, Guts knew that he must keep killing.

Guts watched his opponent very carefully. The man was a practiced hand at sly tricks, he saw that clearly. The smoke bomb was annoying, yes, but it didn't quite have the vision effect that he thought Rattigan was hoping for. Guts saw all, and he easily saw past the smoke screen.

Keeping his blade close, Guts journeyed through the smoke, trying to follow Rattigan. He was doing a pretty good job of it, slowly taking away the already small distance between them. And as he saw Rattigan prepare some kind of light making device, he knew that the time had come.

The copies of Guts disappeared. Guts (the real one) charged out of the smoke, sword drawn. He was rushing at Rattigan full speed, and he was certain he had the element of surprise.

"Time to die, you cunning fool!" Not exactly the smartest thing to say, no, or the wittiest, but Guts had never been good at coming up with words in the midst of battle. He had, however, been good with swordplay in the midst of battle, as he was about to show.

< Message edited by RATIONALPARANOIA -- 1/11/2009 15:35:24 >

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