RE: =EC= 2012 Cellar Arena


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7/10/2012 13:05:46

TormentedDragon
Member

"Kerzzek," he muttered, as he reduced the ladle before him to a single, long strip of metal. "Puncture, then spin," he said, wrapping the ladle strip around his newly formed spike with a continuous twirling of his index finger. "Rip through a wall, even. See them beat this. Hmph."

Movement in the mirror wall caught his eye, and he risked a look - first, there was a watery thingy happening over near Mr. Bone-de-bone, but that wasn't near him. More interesting was something happening over near the titans, which demanded much more attention.

He turned, to get a proper look, twisting a carving knife into a second spike point as he did so. The golem had the armored fella in a crushing grip ... and was lighting him up with lightning, the little furry thing lending its own power to the blast.

He gave a low whistle. Impressive. Not only the lightning display, but also that it took that much to down the black knight. The fuzzy thing was a threat, but right now ...

He grinned, and set the screw spike to spinning, arranging it beside the lid of his cauldron in a spear and shield formation. "Yoi! Rocky! I got a present for ya!"

Post #: 26

7/10/2012 17:06:50

.Discipline
Member

The bone-clad assassin cackled with laughter as he watched the watery bard's futile attempts to block his scimitar's howling assault, the sharp edge of the blade breaking through still air and watery jets to lodge itself within Tiure's side. That... has got to hurt. thought N'aschi, smirking as he went to unsheath his second curved blade, readying it for a finishing blow. The bard, seeming oddly unphased by all of this, continued to play his silent song, playing faster than N'aschi had seen an instrument played before.

The water began to swirl around the bard like a great whirlpool within a stormy ocean, surrounding him in a vortex of liquid which circled him as if to dare N'aschi to assault him further, or as a desperate defensive strategy while he tried to gain time to cease the flow of blood from around the sharpened bone edge lodged between his ribcage and only just missing his vital organs. One thing was for certain; the bard's magic was working without sound and to continue blocking the sound around him was a waste of N'aschi's precious mana reserves. Taking a deep breath, he allowed the sound to return, hearing a vivid crescendo of notes accented by manic laughter and crashing water.

It was clear now this foe would stop at nothing short of his untimely death, which was just what N'aschi intended to deliver.

Calming himself, he brought his mind to ease, becoming one with the flow of the air until he had enough control to move it so swiftly it howled viciously as it encircled his entire bladed form, his long red hair buffeted back and forth by the cacophonous gale as he held his bladed arms out, leaping from the hard ground beneath him into the air, letting it push his twisting body above the funnel cloud as he deftly flipped and weaved along with the flow of his magical gusts.

'The eye of the storm...' N'aschi whispered to himself. 'That is where we shall battle. Where the wind is calm. So much potential. Destruction. Get ready.' he reminded himself as he brought his tornado into line with his opponent's maelstrom. Both pushing clockwise and counter-clockwise respectively, it was a battle of magic and will as the maelstrom began to slow and N'aschi brandished his blade, attempting to swoop down for a cleaving blow on his opponent's head.

N'aschi began to drop down into the calm center of both magical torrents. The air was still, almost eeriely so, as he put his next plan of assault into action.

As soon as the bard had realised what N'aschi was planning, he began to fiddle harder than ever, blasting several musical notes upward and directly at N'aschi. A few collided with him, striking his knee and sword-arm and effectively blocking his attempt at slicing the bard's head clean in two as N'aschi recoiled in sweet agony, laughing hard to himself as if the game were only just beginning. Falling through calm for but a split second, he reached out with his free hand, attempting to cease his piercing weapon from his opponent's wound, forcing him to cover it or bleed out.

A struggle for conquest in the perfect storm. he thought to himself. How very fitting.

He could almost feel his fingers grasping the perfectly carved handle.

AQW

Epic

Post #: 27

7/10/2012 17:19:57

Mirai
Member

Air trembled.

Energy arced and crackled about the Dreadnight’s lifeless form, azure light condensing into tiny orbs that glowed within the depths of its dark helm. The bitter smell of sorcery formed metal slowly burning could be scented from the still suit of black armour.

High above the motionless corpse, the bloodthirsty crowd whooped and hollered in approval, delighted at what they believed to be the first casualty of the arena’s brutal conflict. Onlookers exchanged coins at bets won and lost, unaware of the minute changes taking place within the Dreadnight’s silent shell.

Memories of a lifetime lost, the echo of a soul’s energy imprinted upon its bones, glowed in response to the catalytic electric bursts. Fitful sparks of reminiscence were cajoled into a virgin flame by the corrupted effects of the necromancer’s spells. Arcane outpourings of the ancient mana giving gauntlet lent fuel to the emerging blaze. Soulless memories of life lost, gave chance birth to existence anew. It was not life. It was not undeath.

It was something… new.

Catelyn?

The armour clad warrior sensed faint light upon its face, heard thunderous roars all around, as if surrounded by crashing oceans, or a raucous throng of vicious rocs.

Cate?

Sapphire energy bloomed in orbs of pure light within the Dreadnight’s helm as memories of a Bremen lord tried to open his remembered eyes. Yet the sight that greeted him made him wish they'd remained locked shut.

Ah gods… where is she? And which of the nine hells am I in?

All around the fallen knight, vicious battle still raged unchecked. To one side a giant golem advanced upon a violet haired young fighter. To the other a bone masked death dealer stalked toward a wounded water wielder. And as if to confirm the warrior’s conviction that he was lost within the dark abyss, a man twisting knives like they were putty, and a short, fur-covered creature, completed the combatants.

Brimstone and ashes… I’m jailed with the inmates of some devil spawned asylum.

The new-born entity felt a wash of emotions run through him: confusion mixed with rage, shock laced over despair. For a moment he wanted to fill his lungs, to scream out anger and fear.

Get hold of yourself Gallaphile.

Memories of ironclad discipline snapped resolutely into form, a resolution of purest steel driving against the wave of uncertainty. Whatever his purpose here, he would face his fate with the honour and dignity he had maintained in life. Unaware of the ghastly truth within his pitch black helm, the steel clad warrior thought he felt his lips smile, recalling how he’d once instructed his troops that without honour they would be but shadows.

If I have to, I’ll just have to cut my way out of hell to find Cate again. I’ve lost you once my love, but now I’ll find you again even if the dark lord himself stands in my path.

With glacial speed, the Dreadnight slowly sat up from the arena’s smooth surface, armoured chest rising incrementally from the floor. Up above the arena, roars of onlooking triumph faltered into shocked stillness, before returning again with a vengeance… along with cries of fury as some opportunist gamblers made off with their ill-acquired gains.

AQ	Post #: 28

7/12/2012 7:52:05

demonhunter
Member

Jonathan's bolt struck home, combining with the other construct's own electrical assualt to flash fry the black one. A wry grin crossed Jon's features as he turned to examine the goings on in the Arena.

Two were locked in combat. Another was going after the golem. And the last... Was messing around with metals, preparing something... For the golem, it would seem. Jon glanced around, and was surprised to see the Dreadnight getting back up. Apparantly, the combined electrical assualt hadn't quite done the job.

He weighed up his options. The bolt he'd thrown had been the strongest he could muster. If that thing could get up after an assualt like that, then he had no business trying to continue fighting it. Avoiding it would be the wiser course of action.

His gaze settled on the metalmancer (Is that even a word? Whatever), and grinned to himself. Metal would make for a good target, and flesh and blood reacted much better to his electric attacks than whatever the Dreadnight was... And it could bleed.

He drew his knife, and sprang forward, dropping to all fours for extra speed. While the metalmancer's attention was on the golem, he'd dash past him and try to slash at his legs. Maybe he'd get lucky and hamstring him. At the very least, he'd get the attention of an opponent he had a chance to beat.

Jonathan may be small, and lack the physical strength of humans, or even the muscular dwarves... But he was very, very fast.

Post #: 29

7/13/2012 18:38:00

Micosil
Member

"You! Explain this. Now." A finger pointed at the monitor where, frozen, lay the image of the Dreadknight being assaulted by lightning.

"Builder?" The hesitant reply did little to hide its speaker's fear and anxiety.

"The golem. It wasted its defensive neural shock on an enemy it could've crashed with his hands." The man spoke very slowly and very clearly - a clear sign for all who knew him that he was extremely angry. "Then, to make things better, he knelt, wasting around two seconds. Explain. Why. He. Did. That."

The technician stuttered for a few moments, not knowing how to begin. That particular problem, however, was solved when the Builder interrupted him again a second afterwards.

"Because I swear that's how he'd act if you didn't wipe his previous protocols!" The builder's voice rose in anger, his dimly lit eyes staring down the technician. " The ones I clearly told you to wipe! And are still showing in the logs!"

"I-I would've..."

"OUT!"

The technician quickly scrambled to his feet and ran out of the room. Inside, the Builder turned around to look at the screen once again.

"Seems you won't be performing as expected, 65." He murmured. "I had such high hopes for you. But there's always the next iteration to look forward to."

65 wasn't expecting to get a moment's break, and his prediction turned to be accurate. After he finished taking care of the unconscious black knight he turned just in time to see the other fighter throw something at him, identified almost instantly as a hook. A quick trajectory calculation later, the golem was rotating its torso, attempting to keep the weapon from colliding straight with his vulnerable inner layer. At the same time, he started the process to load up the Burst Shield module, expecting more ranged attacks.

He didn't move fast enough, however, and the hook was wrapped by electricity, heating it even further as it collided with one of the metal plates on his back. As the hook redirected the flow of electricity, sapping and dispersing it, the metal piece started shaking, its links to the rest of the golem's armor being weakened. It just took a moment before the rock plate it was attached to was shaking as well and, with a crashing sound, they both fell to the ground, magnetism dragging the hook with them to the floor. A thousand warnings came up in a matter of seconds, quickly informing the Golem's main control routine of the situation.

"Yoi! Rocky! I got a present for ya!"

Too busy trying to keep his skeleton from crumbling, most of 65's non-important functions were delegated to other routines - including receiving and analyzing the odd man's message.

Designation "Rocky" not recognized. Information acquired: Subject wants to transfer of something of value to "Rocky" without the expectation of payment. Relevance 4096. Message will not be transmitted to higher control routines.

Amidst all this chaos, one piece of good news shone:

Venting phase at 95% completion.

Post #: 30

7/14/2012 10:28:26

Starstruck
Member

Tiure felt the cool spray of the water brush against his cheek in a chilling caress, aware of the mortal danger he was in in a frightening instant. The bone mask was terrifyingly close to him now, filling his range of vision with its smooth, impassive gaze. It was the face of death, and Tiure was not facing it with the stoicism he had imagined. His breath came in short spurts, his hands were clammy and sweaty, and his side hurt badly, a large scimitar embedded just above his hip. Just then, the song ended. Immediately, a storm of watery music notes generated and blasted out from the bard's violin in all directions, bouncing off the mirrored walls in a dizzying explosion of sound and reflection. Tiure yelled in fear and terror as a hand from above came closer and closer to the handle of the sword. His leg didn't seem to be obeying him; it was as though the entire limb had been transmuted into a dead weight. As the hand reached closer and closer to the young bard's hip, he lashed out, filled with unadulterated terror. All he wanted was for this to end.

The puddle that had formed around him struck viciously at the reaching hand, powered by a spell that Tiure had played earlier that granted him hydrokinesis. His entire body felt limb and numb as he fought the impending blackness of unconsciousness and death. He heard rather than saw the assassin draw back in alarm, struck by more music notes that had rebounded off of the mirrored walls. The arena was filled with a cacophony of splashing and clashing, but it seemed dull and muted to Tiure. Every gasping breath brought a fresh wave of exquisite pain, and it only got worse as time went on. With shaking hands, Tiure lifted the violin to play, but fell instead, rolling in fresh agony as it drove the scimitar in his side even further into his body. Sliding up onto his hand, he rested for a minute, trying to regain his strength.

This was a fatal mistake in a competition such as the Elemental Championships. To rest for even a minute was to open yourself up for attack. A stationary, immobile opponent was a dead man already. Though weak, Tiure was unwilling to give up completely. In his free hand, Tiure clenched a single spoon. It glowed an ethereal blue in the half-light of the Cellar. The bard slid his thumb discreetly across the handle, and it slid effortlessly from one spoon to five or six spoons that seemed to appear from out of nowhere, all clenched tightly in his slender, strong fingers. They wavered, though, as Tiure's strength ebbed and flowed to and from his limbs, one moment clenched in a death grip, the other held in the loose grip of a bard wracked by searing pain.

Tiure coughed up blood.

< Message edited by Starstruck -- 7/18/2012 21:41:22 >

Post #: 31

7/15/2012 7:35:40

Mirai
Member

“Kill it!”

“Oh for Feng’s sake! Would one of you morons finish the freak while it’s down?”

High above the battlefield, enthusiastic spectators roared out advice to the gladiators in the arena, many an observer momentarily believing themselves more tactically astute than the combatants for which they roared, and ignoring that most were focussed on the singular art of staying alive themselves. Few had opportunity, and none inclination, to test the Dreadnight’s apparently groggy state as the armoured knight slowly levered himself onto one knee, steadily rising from the arena’s smooth surface.

Consequently, despite the numerous enemies that it had made during the bloody contest thus far, the revived warrior had precious moments to assess its limited war-gear. Noting the two short swords strapped to its side, the dark avenger flexed the fingers of his right gauntlet in mild surprise, wondering how the magic artefact had followed him into this purgatory.

Worry about that later. Right now I need to focus on making a later happen at all… ah, that shield and sword would help. Wonder which fool tossed them
aside?

With a simple, silent cantrip, the unnatural creation summoned his mislaid weaponry back to his iron hard grasp. The giant broadsword trembled for a moment, and then shot forward, hurtling like a brutal ballista bolt back to the dark titan. A moment later, the pitch black shield similarly flung itself back to its master, its razored edge slicing through the dry air.

And not a moment too soon, as Tiure’s sorceries burst into explosive life, a maelstrom of ensorcelled water blasts exploding from the musician’s location. As a torrent of liquid missiles hurtled toward the rising colossus, the Dreadnight caught its shield with surprising agility, and securely placed the circular disc before its kneeling form. In the next instant water droplets exploded all around the shield’s edge, careering away from its black surface.

Behind the makeshift barrier, the Dreadnight’s armoured helm glanced around once more, taking in the rapid conflict encapsulated in the underground arena afresh. As watery missiles flew out around his colossal form, Gallaphile’s awakened memories analysing and assessing the other dangers around him. The Bremen lord could see but one exit from the walled chamber, a set of spiral stairs which climbed to dangers unknown. Unfortunately, the path to escape appeared to be temporarily obstructed by two of the asylum’s varied gladiators, the enormous golem facing off against what appeared to the nobleman to be a dark haired, pale faced young warrior.

Brave kid… that or foolish. Of course, for all I know, he’s actually devilspawn, and it’s the construct that’s actually under greater threat here. Still, I hope he has more than a hook up his sleeve to be fighting at close quarters with a foe of that size.

Close against his shield, diverting the watery tide in its fury, the veteran warrior rapidly considered his options. As much as I want to start hacking my way through to the stairs, first I need to know why they’re all fighting each other, to learn exactly where I am, and why this seems familiar somehow. For a moment he longed to take off his black helm, to feel some refreshing air against his face and try to clear the fog of confusion. But if I can be ready to intervene, should one of the contests become uneven, I might be able to buy myself some more time to work out what’s happening.

The lordling clenched his right fist around the broadsword’s jet black hilt, letting the catalytic energy that flowed from the magical artefact build up, creating a nimbus of dark power that seemed to suddenly glow around the gauntlet. Not that I need to go thundering in to do so.

AQ	Post #: 32

7/15/2012 20:50:01

Ryu Viranesh
Member

Despite Ryu’s worries, the hook met no resistance and flew right into the side of one of the golem’s plates. Just the same, his mouth twisted into a snarl; that hadn’t been where he’d wanted the attack to land, not at all.

I knew that it wouldn’t work. This is what happens when I trust my insti-

Just as he started to to beat himself up for his failure, Ryu noticed that the metal weapon had stuck fast to the golem’s outer armor, electricity crackling all around it. A few seconds later both the hook and the plate buckled under the force of gravity and fell to the ground, his weapon trapped beneath the boulder-like armor. The thoughts that he had been on the verge of having dissolved in the shock that came with the whole situation, the hook’s wire slipping from his fingers to fall to the floor. Eventually, as a matter of fact rather quickly, he shook his head, remembering where he was and that he couldn’t afford to remain idle for too long.

...I-I was right. I managed to damage that thing when even that black monster couldn’t. No matter how much I planned, I wouldn’t have settled on that course of action. Yet, my intuition did...

This was something that might as well have been totally foreign to Ryu; for the past five years he’d always thought through his each and every action, careful to avoid making anything that himself or others would deem as a mistake. All because of the one mistake that had changed the course of his life. One that, he just now realized, still haunted him to this very day, despite his denial to the contrary.

Was it really because of shame? Is that why I don’t trust my instincts, or was there another reason?

Ryu wasn’t left with much time to ponder that question as sound suddenly burst into his ears; the sound of moving water and of a violin being played. It only took a brief glance for him to see that the blue-clothed man, who was indeed a mage, had summoned a vortex of water to surround and protect him from the assault of the bone-armored man he’d noticed earlier. Based on what he’d seen, the defense wasn’t working quite as the mage might have hoped. However that didn’t appear to be the boy’s only plan, as a veritable typhoon of musical notes burst free from his instrument and into the arena; the magical mirrors that surrounded the space assured that none of them would likely be free of the projectiles any time soon.

They flew to and fro, this way and that, soaring through the air all around Ryu; it was only a matter of time before one of the missiles hit him. There it was, zooming straight for his legs, leaving him without more than a few short seconds to react. Rather than try to run, he chose to leap off of the ground, the note striking his calves instead of his thighs. The impact carried more force than Ryu had expected, sending him both groundward and stumbling backward. Not only that, it appeared that the explosion had covered his legs in water, which when you were fighting a creature that used electricity as its weapon of choice, was not a good thing.

As his eyes turned back to the construct’s vicinity, he was greeted with yet another pleasant surprise: the black knight was getting back on its feet, its sword and shield flying back to its hands. It might appear a bit unsteady, but Ryu knew that he wouldn’t be getting back up at all if he’d take all of the punishment that that creature had, and yet it was still going. Ryu unconsciously clapped his right hand over his left, bringing his sword around into a usable position, the twitching finally dealt with. At the same time his legs momentarily exuded a great amount of heat, his leggings now no more than damp.

Well, they were right once. Let’s see how they do a second time.

With that, he slowly started his way forward, one of his his eyes watching out for any more of the mage’s watery projectiles as he attempted to bypass the black titan if he could and make his way back to his chosen foe: the golem. This time, he intended to finish what he’d started.

Post #: 33

7/18/2012 19:09:38

Mirai
Member

I may not go thundering in, yet it seems my foes come to me regardless.

As watery missiles continued to rain down against the Dreadnight’s shield, blazing sapphire orbs of electric energy watchfully considered the long fingered Ryu Viranesh as he first leapt to avoid the aqueous onslaught, but was then sent stumbling back into the veteran warrior’s vicinity. Vaguely sensing a flare of sudden warmth, but unable to accurately determine its source, Gallaphile’s re-energised memory cells assessed the younger combatant before him, noting chainmail links glimmering beneath a revealing fold in his black shirt, studying the warrior’s bronze coloured sword.

Unusual design for a blade, but hardly what I’d expect devilspawn to wield. Might it even be dwarf-forged? Eldritch eyes narrowed momentarily, focussing upon the curious weapon, questioning what it would be doing in the hands of a denizen of the abyss. Yet dare I take chances when I’ve seen him rend plating from the golem yonder?

Liquid droplets still drumming against its makeshift screen, the undead warrior briefly weighed up a simple set of options: to launch a vicious attack while the red eyed man was still recovering from the musician’s watery attack… or maintain a respectful distance, and see if he went after the construct once more.

Verily, there’s no fool like an old fool. But if we are without honour, what are we but shadows?

Decision made, the dark avenger snapped his sword hilt bolt upright in Bremenese salute, sorcerous power still humming and vibrating in the air around his gauntlet of forged copper and blackened steel. Azure balls of energy remorselessly stared at Ryu from behind the Dreadnight’s jet black blade, unblinking as they watched the stubbled man pick his way forward.

Your move ser.

AQ	Post #: 34

7/19/2012 9:10:15

.Discipline
Member

"It would seem to me..." spoke N'aschi as he slowly and menacingly approached the wounded bard. "That your time here is drawing to a close." he said, almost delightedly as he drew out a couple more blades from the sheathes on his side.

"A pity, really. Such tricky prey you were. I was only hoping that you'd at least entertain me some more." his mouth taunted, his eyes covered by the mask concealing any hint of glee that would be apparent. The crowd might turn on such an act of pure sadistic indulgence. The windborn assassin had always had a thing for toying with others, something innate within him, making the defeat as crushing as possible.

"But I only hope to defeat. Nay. Annihilate the opposition in the name of my Lord. Perfection is the only way, you see. Nothing personal." He ran his fingers across the sharp blades of the two daggers he now held maliciously as he approached the spluttering bard.

"Although you've made things decidedly difficult for me, which I admire, you're going to wish you hadn't stood against the plans of the Wind Lord and his devout servant, N'aschi Leventera." his voice became more sinister now, as his fingers slipped loose on the bone daggers and they hovered on the air beside the insane assassin as he cracked his neck and knuckles. He could see the bard was going nowhere, the blade had caused almost fatal damage that might have been treatable if not for the lingering enchantments ensuring the bard's untimely demise.

"So. I offer you this, young bard. A simple request really." a smile played across his thin lips as the breeze building around him lifted his long, blood red hair into a menacing flurry of locks flowing in the warm, dry air. "Give me your name..." he commanded. "And beg for your life."

N'aschi was certainly not playing games here, even holding back on a bout of laughter as he focused on the daggers and the precise areas they would strike once the time was right.

"Beg."

AQW

Epic

Post #: 35

7/20/2012 7:30:00

Micosil
Member

With the venting finally finished, 65's armor sealed upon itself once more, as slowly as it split - except now it was missing a rear plate. The golem's threat analysis stated quite clearly that it'd be optimal to take his enemy down before the next venting phase. Given that the chance of that happening was not as high as he needed to consider it certain, he instead prepared to defend himself from the man's next blow.

Which is why he was taken completely by surprise when a barrage of what seemed to be notes made of water started crashing into him, coming from all directions thanks to the Cellar's mirror walls. A quick panic alert run through his system, and he started the motion to drop on the floor, covering his back - but it was too slow, too late. A lost note hit the hole in his armor, then another, and then a third. The heat inside the golem made the vast majority of that water disappear, but a drop, maybe two, reached the core.

With a sudden crack of thunder, the golem was swallowed by uncontrolled energy, a sphere of uncontrolled energy enveloping him as the circuitry that had kept the Core's power under control short-circuited and fried almost instantly.

Inside the Golem's mechanical head, everything was going wrong. Core routines that should reply under any circumstance did not, others responded with garbled nonsense and, every second that passed, whatever was going wrong spread further.

Following Directive 7 "Win, you damn piece of junk" with priority 0 ... Core unstability prevents directive from completion. Directive failed.
Following Directive 1 "You will protect organics." with priority 1 ... Organic detected nearby.

The golem quickly rerouted the excess power from the core into his internal circuits, making the deadly nimbus disappear to keep it from shocking the Dreadknight as he tried to shove him away - a shove that would probably set the armored warrior more than a few meters away, if it managed to reach him.

65 never knew whether it did, though. He wasn't designed to deal with this kind of overload, and most of his circuits simply melted in an instant, leaving a dripping trail of silver on the fallen rocks. He barely managed to give the order to push the Dreadknight away a mere instant before he lost contact with his arm. Maybe it hit, maybe it didn't - but a second after the hit should've been landed, it started falling to pieces, so he didn't have another chance. Soon, the golem itself was falling to pieces, his legs crumbling, leaving him in what seemed to be a kneeling position for a brief instant before he toppled over, crashing onto the floor, his aura pulsing ever larger.

FolowingDD DIRectIve 1 withpriiiiiii ... Orrg₴ⅎῷﭏ▓▒░

The golem's hand extended towards the purple-haired fighter, trying to repeat what he'd done with the Dreadknight, but this one was too far. His hand started moving again, but it didn't finish - a blast of radiant white signalled the Core unleashing its full capacity upon the Cellar, releasing a massive wave of pure, undilluted power, spreading from the Golem outwards. All the magic that it touched was twisted, changed, turned - filled with power to the brim, twisted to the whims of the magical blast. Spells would become more powerful, or fail for absolutely no reason.

65's owner, however, would see none of the effects this would have - his screen was frozen in a flash of white, and the log simply stated "Connection lost".

Post #: 36

7/20/2012 10:15:51

TormentedDragon
Member

Something was moving. Something fuzzy, and small. Towards him. And moving very quickly. With a knife. That was the small fuzzy thing that had bolted the construct. Fun fun, don't let it get close.

His eyes widened. Damn, that thing was fast! A twitch of his fingers, and the cauldron's lid slammed into the ground, right in the creature's path ... and rather distressingly close to his feet. He followed it up with the spike he'd made for the golem, its point slamming into the ground just a few inches in front of the lid. With the speed that thing moved, though, he doubted he'd hit it. Keeping track of the fuzzy fuzz was going to be difficult. Get some distance.

He took a step backwards, and up, followed by a second and a third in quick succession before he halted, staring across the arena. Tall, dark, and not-metal was back up, and acting different. Typical fighter guy was facing off against Rocky. The back of his neck was itching. something bad was about to happen.

He moved forward, as the rain of notes began to spread, sending the mirrors into a cacophony of color and motion. With each step, he rose yet higher, the metal in his shoes keeping him aloft. Distance and height. He'd be a target up here, but that was alright.

The water bombard began. The first of the notes expended itself on his second spike, still half-finished, and from there, he ignored the rest. There was no lethal force to them, just the possibility of knocking him off-balance. And that, he took care of with a couple horseshoes at the armpits.

His eyes narrowed. Something were wrong with Rocky. Lightning ... and water. His eyes widened. "Oh shi-" There wasn't even time to run.

Post #: 37

7/20/2012 12:02:04

Starstruck
Member

Tiure coughed blood with alarming frequency now, and his body was frighteningly weak. With ears that retained their unnatural sharpness of hearing, he listened as the assassin spoke. His hand unclenched, unable to sustain the grip, and the spoons fell to the ground and simply vanished.

"I...I beg. But not...not for life." He was awash in crimson pain. The assassin's mask was impassive. "Kill me...quickly...please. Please do not protract.........my agony..." Tiure's body felt like molten lead, unable to move, but doing so anyway and burning as it did flowed.

"I didn't ask if you wanted to die." N'aschi cruelly pulled the scimitar out of his side, but Tiure didn't flinch. His eyes were glazed and unfocused, and his breathing was unnaturally even and calm for one so injured, as though he was controlled by an unseen puppeteer. "But if that's what you want..." The competitor was drawing it out, seeking humiliation from his opponent. With a flourish, he produced a knife. "Then...that's...what...you...get." Across the chest, down the right arm, a stab to the other side of the kid's hip, and a final, cruel twist of a dagger in Tiure's cheek. The bard gave no response, not even when N'aschi viciously pulled him up into a seated position, legs crossed, back against the pillar, propped up by his weighty bag. Suddenly, Tiure spoke just one word, fighting through a haze of intense suffering to deliver his final message to the world.

"Euterpe..."

As Tiure closed his eyes, waiting for the end, he felt his neck grow tight. As his eyes snapped open, glowing brightly with an arcane luminescence, N'aschi executed his finishing move. Though he was unable to breathe, Tiure did not gasp or choke; he was beyond pain, beyond fear, beyond life. He waited only for death's quiet peace.

"Vacuum Guillotine!" snarled N'aschi, tossing the scimitars, one bloostained and the other clean, high into the air. After going a short distance, the swords suddenly stopped and homed in on the source of the vacuum...Tiure's neck. The two scimitars zipped towards his neck at a very high speed, staggered ever so slightly as they broke the skin so as not to come in contact with each other but to still make a clean cut as their razor-sharp edges passed through skin and bone at lightning speed. An extremely loud pop could be heard as the vacuum was filled by scimitar, blood, and air, equalizing pressure in one brutal instant.

Just as the scimitars passed through Tiure's neck, the bard's eyes glowed and his hands showed magically glowing, blue, vaguely triangular symbols on them. The trajectory of the swords launched Tiure's head high into the air, his body lying as though cemented to the ground and the pillar as his head went flying, free at last. Suddenly, it exploded in a torrent of azure radiance, the body and head of the young bard shining in a harmonious unity. The young bard, though unable to produce sound by any discernable means, released a dissonant scream that pierced through the brightly lit air. It subtly resolved to a sweet, pure chord that filled a place of death with beauty, however fleetingly.

N'aschi watched in satisfaction as the head, still shining, landed precisely back on Tiure's neck. That was skill. That was excellence. Truly, the Wind Lord would be most pleased with his servant.

As Tiure's head landed lightly back on his severed neck, the shining aura left his body, forming an entity of energy in the vague shape of a slender young woman. She smiled sadly, brushed intangible fingers across Tiure's cheek, and flashed softly. In a swirl of harmonious sound, she dissipated, circling Tiure's dead form and thrumming in a soft song of mourning. The siren's melodious call almost seemed tangilbe, hanging in the air as though a rainbow forming in the mists of life. As the magical blast from the expiring golem spread outwards from the source of the blast, Euterpe's siren call exploded in sheer power. Memories became intertwined with the beautiful song, the power of music to communicate emotion made overwhelming, transformed into experience...

FLASH

A small alley, deserted, dark, and far from comfortable. A small child rests on a barely covered stoop, watching in awe as the stars come out at night. Its belly, pinched from hunger, its limbs, small and weak. As the clouds roll thickly in, as a deep fog shrouds the land in mist and humid darkness, as the rain patters softly, the child falls into a deep slumber, touching regions of consciousness and unconsciousness unknown to mortal man.

A curious spirit, floating, singing softly to the child. Its compassion, awakened. Its gentleness, infinite. It sees the child, floats for a closer look. Instinctual connections, powerful mental vorteces, a fight for independence and then for dependence. A mutually beneficial relationship. The memories are indistinct, but understandable.

Years later. Time skips by across the still surface of the water of life. Euterpe has begun to fade, her and Tiure forming a closer connection than ever before. They have become the same person. The melody is light and happy, dwelling on funny memories, times playing in the sunshine, times playing in the rain. Amidst the cheer of the tune comes a solemn, wailing countermelody; he is gone. We were together, and now I am alone.

One day, a disturbance. A ripple slides smoothly across the lake of time.

FLASH

"Why, hello there...Tiure, is it?" The Sage smiles kindly. "I've heard a great deal about you. Might I ask for a demonstration?" Tiure nods warily, but the tasks that the Sage sets are simple and easy. Just listening to things? In fairness, some of those things are harder than othres, but Tiure and Euterpe together are a potent aural force. They finish with picking out the sound of a pin dropping from two doors down and after that comes nothing but failure as the tasks get harder and harder. The Sage stops the demonstration, picks up the tired boy gently in his arms, and walks back to his tower. A fine meal is enjoyed, an offer is extended and accepted, and a tutelage begins. The boy and his symbiote learn more and more each day in a voracious thirst for knowledge. The art of Sonomancy falls under their grasp, but the art of Hydromancy eludes them. The Sage is an exacting master, sending Tiure on brutal, potentially fatal tasks with too little preparation, but the boy trusts him blindly. He learns Hydromancy at an astonishing rate, but the mastery of this branch of magic completely elude him, hidden and disguised by his wise mentor. He tries harder and harder, growing angrier and angrier.

Finally, the last command.

"If you want to be a true hydromancer...you must enter and win the Elemental Championships."

FLASH

Finality washed over the melody like a wave across the shore. The spirit, encircling the prone form of the young Tiure, pressed closed the open wounds of the deceased bard-mage and held them closed with ethereal energy, washing away with salty tears the blood that stained Tiure's clothes and surrounded his body. Those of the audience who had chosen to listen, which constituted a vast majority of the spectators, sat spellbound, silent for a few seconds. By normal standards, Euterpe's song could enrapture the strongest of men; empowered by grief and a great deal of outside interference, anyone who chose to listen had almost no choice but to see memories of times they did not live, and feel the pain of losing someone they never had.

She would weep over his death for a very, very long time.

Post #: 38

7/20/2012 19:45:35

Mirai
Member

But before the fiery eyed young warrior had a chance to respond to the Bremenese salute, an ear-splitting crack of thunderous sound resonated through the maelstrom of sorcerous aqua bolts now bursting all around the Dreadnight’s midnight coloured metal form. Though his shield had screened the armoured avenger from the initial surge of watery missiles, they were now rebounding from the chamber’s strange walls, pummelling combatants from all sides. Fortunately, with gravity slowly draining away their momentum, the liquid darts were of little concern to the veteran warrior: certainly not compared to the enormous Golem now charging toward him.

Verily, what was I thinking before about my foes thundering in? By Logan’s beard… this thing is the size of an Ice Giant up close.

Sighting the huge construct from the periphery of his electric vision, the undead warrior lurched suddenly to the giant’s left, barely avoiding a monstrous arm as it flew toward him. Whirling about, the Dreadnight’s jet black blade rose up, intending to strike in riposte, when Gallaphile felt his jaw gape in shock, as the colossal limb continued flying onward from the behemoth’s shoulder. The armoured knight checked his strike, a prickling in the back of his neck warning him of imminent danger, even as the golem crumpled to the ground, silver smears marking its path.

Hellfires… the last time I felt like this, the gate exploded behind me. Gods… what’s happening to the construct? Too late, he began to swing his shield before him. Brimstone… any second it’ll… He began to step back, as if a yard’s distance would make any difference. Oh gods no… please no… not agai-

The world exploded.

Magical energy blasted out from the golem’s ruined corpse, dangerous and unpredictable. Some spells would swell in its presence, their flames fanned by the explosion’s catalytic urgings, while other sorceries would gutter and die as candles in the eruption’s wake. The blast would be dangerous to many a fighter in the arena, but being a creature of magic, the Dreadnight was perhaps uniquely vulnerable to the elemental paroxysm.

Incredible force picked up Gallaphile’s heavy armour plated body, tossing him into the air as if the huge fighter was naught but a child’s toy. For a brief instant, he felt terror grip his heart, even as liquid white lightning burned at his eyes, roaring relentless through his ears. He felt pain sear unremittingly through his skin and flesh, burning into his muscles and tissues until it felt like nothing remained but bones.

No… I have to…Cate…

Moments later he crashed heavily to the ground with brutal speed, skidding along the arena’s smooth floor. Pain wracked his sides from the wild fall, but this was nothing compared to the devastating impact of the chaotic magics wracking across his form.

Night coloured metal swelled and softened, grains of magic visibly washing back and forth across his armour like flotsam upon cavorting waves. Cracks blistered through the sorcery formed carapace, painfully puncturing through the undead fighter’s dusky shell. Gallaphile sensed agony and ecstasy lacerating through his temples, thought he felt his heart burst from his chest, sending ruptured ribs spearing away through his lungs. The veteran felt heat and cold wash over him, seemingly bathed in icy sweat as air thundered out his mouth. His brain seemed to be pulsing, the sensation utterly disorientating, making thinking akin to breaking holes in murky fog.

What…

The warrior knight caught sight of his left arm, and gagged in horror at the image. His armour had sloughed away from the limb, leaving what little remained exposed. Bone digits gleamed white where his fingers should have been, while his forearm was surrounded by an atmospheric mist of black and red, muscles and bloody tissues hanging loose from his skeletal appendage. Capillaries burst into sudden being, swelling along the length of his arm, before vanishing into a drift of dusty motes. Metal armour surged back into being, spikes erupted from his shoulder plates, newly formed additions to the midnight mithril that covered his arm once more.

I…

He looked at one of the mirror walls, and the clearly undead figure captured in its reflection. He saw a black helm partially burned away, revealing a skull with bright burning blue eyes. He sighted a breastplate ripped and ruined, revealing an ebony ribcage behind the still bubbling black metal. He saw a creature of evil, a servant of the darkness that he had dedicated his life to rooting out and destroying.

No…

Perhaps the magic of Euterpe’s song of mourning mingled in that moment with the uncast magic built up in the ancient gauntlet. Perhaps it was simply another effect of the chaotic magics still dancing across the knight’s ruined form. But something in that moment gave the undead warrior something his original creator, Heinrich von Casten, had never intended: a voice.

Gallaphile’s scream of purest, darkest horror rang out over the arena.

AQ	Post #: 39

7/21/2012 13:18:42

Ryu Viranesh
Member

Travelling back toward the golem was something that was easier said than done, especially with the water mage’s musical missiles continuing to ricochet off the cellar’s mirrors. It was taking most of Ryu’s concentration just to dodge the flurry of notes and they weren’t even the biggest threat to his passage. No, that distinction lay with the dark knight that now stood almost exactly across from him, the being’s head turned in his direction. A chill ran down his spine; he could feel the thing’s gaze upon him, even if he couldn’t see it. Then in the midst of all of this madness and mayhem, the knight did something that made even Ryu halt for a second, the chaos unfolding in the arena continuing on unchecked. It … saluted him. Or at least he thought that it was a salute, though he wasn’t sure of the gesture’s origin so he couldn’t be sure.

First it tries to cut everyone in half, and now it’s trying to drag me into a duel? Is the man inside that armor bipolar or something?

He shook the thoughts from his head, his body once again starting to sidle forward. Ryu had no intent of entering into combat with the brute, no matter how much respect it gave him. Not after he’d seen how strong the knight was, even though based on the titan’s last clash with the golem, the latter was clearly stronger. Ryu had managed to damage the construct though, so that gave him at least a little confidence that he’d be able to harm it further and eventually take it down. It would be just a few more moments until he was out of the black warrior’s range; then he could make a break for it and charge the golem, praying that none of the violinist’s stray bullets would disrupt his plans. Wait, pray? When was the last time that he’d thought about praying for anything? Certainly he’d said his prayers to the Fire Lord as the Vartai had required, but it must have been years since he’d wanted to do so of his own volition. For some reason, Ryu found this whole revelation deeply discomforting, even troubling. Why though, he couldn’t say.

At that moment he finally made his way past the knight, giving the warrior a careful glance before turning his attention back to the golem. It seemed that Ryu’s efforts had been in vain, since the construct was charging forward, coming to him; this was fine, no, better than fine. He’d be able to meet the automaton’s attack on his terms for the first time in this engagement, and he wasn’t going to let that chance go to waste. The warrior of fire raised his sword, twisting it so that it would be ready to meet the golem’s rush with its broad side. He continued to stand like that as the giant’s arm blew past him, heading straight for the black knight behind him. It took but a moment for Ryu to realize that he’d been ignored and another for him to spin around, intending to bury the sword deep in the hole he’d created in the golem’s circuitry. However as he got a better look at the construct he instead stumbled backward, his feet continuing to move as he strove to put as much distance between himself and his former target as possible. Something was wrong with the golem, that was obvious; sparks flew off of its body and arcs of electricity were dancing along its rocky surface. Now Ryu didn’t know very much about machinery, but he remembered something that one of the dwarves under the mountain had said in passing about the contraptions devised by the manic gnomes. “If it starts to spark, get out o’there, cause sooner o’ later, ‘is gonna blow.”

So Ryu turned and ran, his battle stance forgotten and his sword coasting just above the ground. A few moments and a few yards later, he realized just how good a decision that had been when the whole world went to hell. The room exploded with light and the sound of crackling electricity dominated his ears, and it was only then that he looked back to see what destruction had been wrought. Or tried to, but his sight was eclipsed by a black shadow flying through the air before the light, crashing into the ground a few feet in front of him. It didn’t take long for Ryu to recognize the armor of the knight that the golem had been attacking; it had been brutally ripped off, even appearing burned at points, allowing him a glimpse at the person inside of the mail. His breath caught, his eyes widening as the sight of the creature’s skeletal body burned itself into his retinas. It was hideous, revolting, and altogether disgusting; he was having a hard time believing that this was the being that had given him a salute not that long ago.

Was it trying to trick me? Lure me closer with the promise of “fair combat” so that it could stab me in the back? That must be it; this monster is an executioner, no a butcher, nothing more, nothing less.

His mind made up, Ryu hardened his heart and steeled his face, raising his left hand to gesture at the creature of the night. A small, orange fireball leapt to life in his palm, the flames producing a small crackling sound, as though they were being emitted from a miniature fireplace. Fire was supposed to be harmful to the undead, so Ryu supposed that any would be better than none. At that moment the creature let out a horrible, banshee-like scream, the pain and agony produced by the wail amplified by another sound that had been working its way into the back of his mind, some kind of mournful dirge. Shocked and confused, he added his own frustrated scream to the mix, his voice sounding somehow broken.

The fireball shot off toward its intended target, likely to hit the creature just as the golem’s explosion washed over the living corpse a second time. Ignoring the risk, Ryu charged forward directly behind his projectile, spurred on by the only thought remaining to his addled mind: the extermination of this hellspawn. Caught in his own uncertainty, that was all that he felt he could do.

Post #: 40

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