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=EC= 2012 Finals Arena

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7/21/2012 13:12:02   
superjars
Member

Light’s Lady stands high above the arena, staring down with sadness as another set of drop-offs comes to a close. Her chosen from last year, Leira had brought honor and glory to her name, but the year of privileges and prestige that afforded before her siblings had now come to a close. She makes her choice, disappointed with the turnout for her element this year. However, Viraus Saukand, while not one of her typical servants, would be a worthy chosen for her this year. With a flash, she summoned him to the grand arena and took her place as the Pillar of Light to stand amongst her brethren as the Finals began.


The arena is large, with rows upon rows of seats for spectators above a perfect circular field of red sand. The crowd slowly gathers to watch the incredible displays of sorcery and swordsmanship. The wealthier viewers sit in front-row seats, surrounded by armed bodyguards and personal mages, while the commoners are forced to watch the bloodshed from a more considerable distance.

The air is filled with anticipation, excitement, and the buzz from the invisible protection fields the guardian mages produce to keep wayward projectiles, metal, magic, or otherwise away from the crowd.

It's not such petty protective magics that are the most prominent sight of the arena, but rather the eight pillars, incredible manifestations of the Elemental Lords' power, and incarnations of the Lords themselves, and the gates behind each that put such things to shame.

The gates themselves unimportant, only what's behind them being of any relevance - for behind them were the eight champions, now healed and restored after the battles that granted them such a title, who came here to fight for their own glory and the glory of their elements. Few sounds came from behind the gates - unlike before, there was but one man or creature behind each, and there was no one they could express whatever emotions they had to there... Everyone knew that a Lord only chooses a single follower to battle on - the one who he sees as most worthy of the privilege, and thusly everyone knew that this would be a battle to remember.


A large, dark-skinned man stands before the gathered crowds, arms outspread, mouth spread wide in a large grin, sparkling white teeth gleaming in a large, open mouth. His words come booming over the arena, spreading over the 150-foot diameter to reach the lucky men and women who could afford to watch the Grand Melee that would end this year’s Elemental Championships.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, people of all ages and sizes, cultures and communities, welcome to the Elemental Championships!”

Screens around the arena light up showing each individual pillar as the chosen are called.

A well-weathered and ancient looking stone stands stoically in place, covered by clinging moss and wreathing vines. A reminder of last year’s chosen, as well as a show of strength and power, the Earth Lord’s incarnation stands, a testament to the unwavering confidence that he shows for his chosen. In a random array upon the surface, small metal spikes stick out of the upper portion of the artifice, giving it the look of a monstrous, granite cactus.

“By the Earth Lord’s choice, let me introduce, the master metal-worker, the bald-headed monk, Wintin!”

A large cauldron, surrounded by an effervescent blaze and spouting red hot lava from its open mouth, constitutes the form the Lord of Fire has chosen for this year’s incarnation. The flames flicker through various stages of yellow, orange, red and blue as they dance rhythmically around the cauldron, which in turn spews forth small gouts of bubbling-hot magma down onto the surrounding desert sands, where it is absorbed into the depths below. The Fire Pillar's heat is indeed making all the nearby cool drink vendors happy, and the rest of the crowd suffer, drenched in their own sweat.

“Chosen by the Fire Lord, allow me to bring to you, the returning warrior, guaranteed to heat you up, Ryu Viranesh!”

Water blasts in all directions in thin, powerful jets, weaving and circling around each other, shooting up from the ground and gathering eventually in a fixed spot in the air, turning into a fine mist that sprays back down onto the sandy floor below. The Lord of Water has decided on a dynamic and gorgeous display for his incarnation this year, hoping to rival some of the more powerful elemtents for this year’s Championship.

“The Lady of Waters chosen, for your viewing pleasure, comes the briny bard, the musical mage, Tiure!”

Blackness surround where the Dark Lord’s pillar typically stands, obscured on all sides by a writhing, cloying mass of dark matter. Every once in a while, a pair of horns, a blackened claw or a cloven foot is seen darting out of the shadows to play at the air, but never remains for more than a moment. Loud cries, both of agony and pain, but also of frenzied glee and vile enjoyment, echo from the abyss that stands as the incarnation of the putrid Dark Lord.

“Picked by the Dark Lord himself, I bring to you, the construct of dark revenance, Dreadnight Gallaphile!”

A set of finely crafted steel daggers flash and whirl around the Wind Lady’s powerful form, spinning and whirring around in glittering patterns that cause the audience to cheer in awe. A howl of power and force push around the calm center, where the form of a lovely woman stands, a testament to the grace and beauty the winds impart on the world. The mad juxtaposition of calm and conflict creates a powerful image to all about the Wind Lady’s intent.

“Carefully chosen to represent the Lady of Wind, hailing from parts unknown, the air assassin, the master of bone and blade, N’aschi Levantera!”

A crystalline form stands proudly at the center of a cacophony of frozen artifices, a grand, ice-carved dragon staring out over the arena before it. Three dusty tomes lie at the feet of the Ice Lord’s monstrous form, all of them humming with energy and blasting out a different icy creation. On the left, chains of glistening white spiral up and around the dragon, swaying back and forth like a serpent. The middle simple pushes out gouts of white fluffy snow, that rise into the air and then fall slowly to the ground. And finally, the one on the right creates a single, gigantic frost spike, serving as a potent reminder of the power the Ice Lord possesses.

“The Ice Lord’s chilling chosen, child wielder of the power of Crom-Caluch and binder of the blizzard, Alexis!”

Four tall steel spires rise twirling from the ground, each one capped by a gyrating sphere of intertwined electrodes, hanging wires and coiled metal tubes. Between these four rods, sparks of electricity go shooting up and down each individual rod, while playing back and forth between each pair of steel artifices, creating a dazzling display of light and sparks dancing around the steel cage, while shooting in multi-colored sparks out the top when it arrives at the upper coils of each spire.

“After long deliberation by the Lady of Energy, the chosen construct, powered by the Lady herself, Model 0-65!”

The cameras stay focused on the Pillar of Light for quite some time. Colors dance within glowing balls of effervescent light, swirling around in a grand figure eight, each globe disappearing at various points in their journey, only to reappear farther on. The globes speed up and slow down, as if dancing to some unheard melody, whirling and gliding through the air to the beat of some unknown drum. Within the center of this glorious light display, the Lady of Light appears, gesturing to the crowds in thanks for her honored place, the joins the globes in their wild dance around and around.

“Chosen to defend the Lady of Light’s last champion, the glowing skeleton, the light mage, Viraus Saukand!”

With that, the man is swallowed up by the sands around him, disappearing from the crowd’s view now that his job was done. The Eight Lords steady themselves for the coming conflict, joyfully anticipating another wonderful Elemental Championship!

< Message edited by superjars -- 7/21/2012 13:27:04 >
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 1
7/22/2012 15:26:35   
.Discipline
Member

N'aschi cackled with glee, his face lighting up behind the mask as his blades tore through the bard's neck as if it were made of butter, the loud pop signifying a gruesome end to his opponent.

"Hehehe. Perfect." he spoke as he watched the disembodied head somersault in the air and land right back on the deceased hydromancer's neck. What happened next shocked him to his core. Flashes of strange energy bursting through the air, not only from the bard, but also from behind him. There was nowhere for N'aschi to run as he began to panic blindly, the energy closing in on him as a symphony of eerily saddening music filled the air, accented by a bloodcurdling howl of sheer terror from another of the contestants.

N'aschi could see nothing as his body tingled, the energy rippling over him as he felt his physical form fade away. It was over.



The bone-clad assassin could not tell where he was, overcome with blind fury as panicked and attempted to clamber somewhere that would be safe. He couldn't move at all. In fact, he felt like... he was floating. Just floating.

"Am... Am I?" He stuttered in disbelief. "Am I dead?" He clenched his jaw and fists in anger.

But I was perfect...

"No. Your time has not yet come, N'aschi Levantera." a soothing female voice cut through the darkness, bringing with it erratic gusts of wind which danced and created the form of the Lady of Wind so that N'aschi could see her clearly. She reached out a hand toward his floating body and he felt the great pressure around his body subside. The wind was calm and so now was N'aschi. He reached out to his Goddess, feeling the breeze caress his palm.

"Your Excellence..." he spoke out, entirely humbled by the experience and the presence of the one he had dedicated his entire life to. "I cannot express the honour you bestow upon me." He spoke, physically trembling.

"Then repay it." The Lady spoke. "You have been chosen for your embodiment of my spirit. You are calm like the breeze, fierce like a hurricane. Your grace, your devotion. I respect all of these things." she spoke as a warm breeze blew through her realm. "But I have been observing you for some time. You strive for perfection, seeking to please me with a display free of error. Error is what makes each and every creation beautiful, N'aschi. Every creature is perfect."

"But... But my Lady." N'aschi replied, before biting down on his tongue a little. "I understand."

N'aschi crossed his legs and sat there, contemplating what his Goddess had imparted upon him. It felt like days had passed, the winds picking up and passing at the same time as his very thoughts. He gripped his now clean blades close and pondered a while longer.

"If your parents could see you now they would be ashamed to have let go of such a prodigious child. But they had no choice. I thought you should know that. You were never unwanted and in their eyes, you were always perfect."

N'aschi gritted his teeth, realization brushing over him like a gust. Tears rolled down from behind his mask as he tried, to no avail, to regain his composure.

"Thank you, My Lady." he spoke through shudders, bowing his head.

"Now make us all proud. Let my glory ride on the edge of your blades. Let them all know how perfect you are! Show them the power of the New Champion of Wind!" She told him, a rallying battlecry which could have never meant more to the masked assassin.



N'aschi could see nothing once again, his entire form tingling as he felt himself falling through the air. Suddenly he found himself standing upright behind a gate and the Pillar of Wind itself.

Is this it? he thought to himself. The Arena where the chosen of the Lords do battle?

“Carefully chosen to represent the Lady of Wind, hailing from parts unknown, the air assassin, the master of bone and blade, N’aschi Levantera!” the announcer spoke as the great gate slowly clanked open, revealing the vast expanse of sand and the gates which would reveal the other competitors.

"I will not disappoint her!" he spoke to himself, baring his teeth as his passion became a whirlwind swirling around his slender, bladed body and he stepped out onto the reddened sands of the arena which began to orbit The Champion of Wind, obscuring his final tear shed onto the ground before he scoured around, waiting for his first target to make itself known.
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 2
7/22/2012 18:53:05   
Mirai
Member
 

 Unaware of the fireball roaring toward him, Gallaphile would have been easy prey to Ryu’s magic, so consumed was the veteran knight with the horrific sight of his own reflection. The flames hungered to purify the undead warrior, to scorch clean the unnatural blight from existence. Indeed, in that moment of utter revulsion, the skeletal champion might have welcomed the cleansing inferno headed his way. However, a split second before being struck by the conflagration, the Dreadnight’s armoured form vanished, a momentary jagged scar of dark energy in its place the only clue to its destination…

…


Old Night’s champion drifted in inky blackness. Momentarily buffeted from painful, stinging memories, he existed but did not remember, knew but did not think. Far off, he could hear a voice of authority booming in the distance, though he was not the subject of its address.

“Ah, atheists is it? Surprised to see me? You lot must be feeling a little silly right now.”

He felt a semblance of peace, floating in an empty space of nothingness, though it was a grainy calm, flecked with a sense of larvae crawling at the edge of his psyche.

“Ah, my Dreadnight has arrived. Do excuse me, Alyss will give you a warm welcome in my absence. A boiling one in fact.”

Faintly, he heard screams echo distantly in the darkness around him, though whether they were solely cries of horror or delight, he could not tell. He sensed dancing figures close by, cavorting in chaotic delight at his presence.

“Welcome to my realm, Gradius Gallaphile.”

Smoke and brimstone drifted past him, burning at his senses. And the darkness itself… it remained perfect: total absence of light, unrelenting shadows drowning him, pitch black oblivion.

“Remember yourself.”

For a moment he fought against the onrush of memories, tried to hold the blanket of the void against the wild jumble of thoughts burning into his mind. And then he remembered it all, Catelyn, the children, Bremen and the dark warriors rushing upon his townspeople. He remembered the gate, the wooden splinters shattering through his armour and flesh, recalled his desperate last-ditch counter attack against the orc horde.

Worse, he remembered the dreadful events of the brutal arena, the fiery eyed young warrior, the exploding golem… and the dreadful image of what lurked within his own ruined armour. He brought his hands to his reformed mithril helm, desperate to confirm the horrific sight.

Yet as he pulled away the black metal his gauntleted hands encountered… skin, locks of hair, the familiar curl of his dark moustache. A dark mirror appeared out of nowhere, reflecting back the image he remembered, bright green eyes set in a lined face. Not normally a vain man, the Bremen lord had never been so relieved to find his facial features unchanged.

Except…

“This is not real.” His voice sounded puny and pathetic in the vast void of the dark abyss, but the words rang true to his ears even as he spoke them.

“It can be. Reality is informal here, as well as infernal. Win a contest for me as my champion, and you may have your prison of flesh once more.”

The veteran warrior stared at the mirror one final time, at the image set in its black diamond ring, but then shook his head. “No.”

“Then see your truth once more. Just don’t go screaming again, or you’ll scare some of the inmates here to death.”

A cacophony of vile laughter rang out around him as darkness flickered, and the nobleman found himself staring at an undead monstrousity once more. But this time he was ready, and though he felt revulsion for the sight, he did not react to the horror before him.

“Hear this too Champion. You are not who you believe yourself to be: the real Gallaphile’s soul already lies beyond my grasp. You are his memories, sparked into brief life once more by a chance combination of lightning and necromancy. ”

Though the dark lord’s words tore at his very sanity, the metal clad warrior turned from the mirror, and stoically refastened his helm. At least if I’m not really Gallaphile… that means he may now be with Catelyn. There’s a comfort at least, even if I am… nothing.

“Win me the elemental tournament, my champion, and I may not turn you upon those Gallaphile once loved. Now be gone maggot, for I have a group of blood sucking vampiric fiends to attend to: lawyers.”

…


Exhausted from his experiences in the realm of darkness, the nobleman waited several long moments before pushing open the gate before him, and setting foot upon the scarlet sands of the arena floor.

As much as I might despise fighting on behalf of the agents of darkness… if I don’t my townspeople, Aliena and little Telemach will surely pay the price.

Treading heavily upon the red dust, the Dreadnight took in the eight pillars arrayed around the vast circular arena, and the combatants beginning to emerge from behind them. Sighting the pillars of water and wind to his left and right, he instinctively set off toward the champion of wind: marching steadily in the direction of the bone masked air assassin he’d seen earlier.

As he pounded forward, then jet black behemoth snapped a rapid Bremenese salute in the man’s direction, though he lacked the heart to bandy words with the wind warlock.

Somehow, I have to find a path to freedom. Even if that means going through the other competitors to do so.
AQ  Post #: 3
7/22/2012 21:45:48   
The Extinguisher
Member

The Frozen Serpent
Terror of the Old World
Sinks his teeth into the earth
And calls the storm down

To claim the world as his
And bring about the end
The Frozen Serpent
Lost from the world


There once was a young girl in a small village, who was taken from her home at the very young age of six. This girl was taken and raised far away from the loving embrace of a family, and taught of old worlds and old gods and about pain and suffering. She was taught about a world of mistrust and of those that would fear and hate her for who she was and what she could do. She was raised in an environment that no young girl should ever have to grow up in.

This girl could speak to things that others couldn't. She could see the fabric of the world and look at those that lay beyond it. Ancient and lost creatures and gods and heroes beyond time and space. Vestiges. And in her home so far away from someone who could hug her and love her and comfort her she was taught the history and power of these spirits. She learned how to latch on to their suffering and harness it. To control them and use their power as her own.

Every day she grew stronger in this oh so ancient form of magic, and every day that sad, scared little girl who just wanted her mommy inside her died just a little bit more.

~


There was only pain. Whatever was in the spell was pain in physical form. Pain eating away at my skin and face and body and soul. I cannot stop myself, and I scream and scream until I cannot scream no more. I fear death. I'm going to die. The pain won't stop, long after the last of the spell's remnants is gone. And I cannot see, but I know this is it. The end. My life is about to be ripped from my body by this... this demon in black armour.

My last moments, coughing and bleeding at the feet of a stranger. A fitting end? I don't know, I just want it all to stop. All my life, all my pain. I can only hope death will end all of that. I feel the voice in my head clawing so desperately for something to use. Something to stay alive. But I have nothing to give him. There's no strength for a counter attack, no power to call a blizzard. Just waiting for death. A death that isn't coming.

And then I saw him. My killer, kneeling so compassionately over my broken body. But I see his face, scarred and destroyed and his eyes, filled with so much pain, so much hurt and suffering. I wait for the end, and pain hits me. Not the pain of death, but the pain of a life of suffering. I feel it all, as real as it has ever been, and there’s more. I feel all the pain of this warrior, and it's far to much. I force a scream through my ruined throat. There is no world expect the pain, and then, just as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone. All of it. Everything I have ever suffered through gone, replaced with fear and loneliness and horrible, horrible emptiness.

And I'm left there. To die? Maybe, maybe not. But certainly not to live. There's nothing anymore.
I miss my mommy.



~


“Do you know the tale of Crom-Caluch?”
“He was an ice god, wasn't he?”
“Yes, but he was much more than that. The Frozen Serpent was the god of blizzards and storms, and he was a vengeful god. He brought destruction and desolation upon his land, and demanded so much from those that lived there. But he was greedy. Not content with his frozen continent, he sought to cover the whole world in ice and snow, and claim it as his own. He called down the greatest storm men and gods had ever seen, and war shook the land.
“But one day, it ended. The Frozen Serpent, commanding the battle from inside his domain received a visitor. This visitor claimed to be a messenger from the other side, bearing an offer of peace and surrender. Crom-Caluch was arrogant and fool-hardly. There are no stories explaining what the man did to the Frozen Serpent, but he was not seen, nor was his power felt from that day on. He had vanished from existence.”
“Did he become a vestige?”
“Yes. Exactly. Much time passed before he turned up again among the work of our scholars, but it is clearly the same being. Crom-Caluch was a powerful god, to stubborn to accept his lose, he willed himself into being as a vestige, a feat not easily done. But he had his faults. Arrogant enough to accept the hero's claim of surrender.
“Trust is not something to give lightly, Alexis. Many in this world will kill you when they find out what you can do. Do you understand?”

~


There once was a young girl who was taken away from all who loved her.
She died before she ever found them again.

Yes, her heart still beat, and her lungs still filled with air, but the little girl, so lost and afraid was dead. She was broken by the pain, and she died. And I was born.
I was always here.
I, I, I, I, I still am here. I'm still alive and in pain but I'm dead.
Pain.
Pain. And fear and betrayal.
And my head is screaming with voices. Voices of an ancient snake, so angry and so frightened of dying again he forces the body to cling to life. Voices of a scarred little girl who just wants her mommy. My voices, of pain and emptiness and despair. And another voice. This one isn't in my head. It's my weak throat, spitting out the last words it will say for a long time.
“Ardun, Angel of Peace”
Why those words, what am I doing. I open my eyes, or my eyes open for me and I my hand as drawn a seal into the ground with my blood.
I need to live. I cannot move, it hurts to breathe. This is how I live. And the voices in my head are screaming at me and they are joined by someone new and someone calming and suddenly I don't need to breathe anymore. Or maybe I do, but one of the voices is doing it for me. I like the voices, they make me feel safe and not alone.
I'm alone. And I'm going to die here. I cough up some blood. It's not enough.
The little girl who was taken from her home would never find those who loved her.
They were already gone before she was taken.


Too many voices now. These ones aren't in her head. I hear them. The sounds of cheers and applause and now I open my eyes. The little girl stands there, not so little anymore, behind a gate. She is standing, when only a moment ago I could barely crawl. I touch my chest, and the wound is gone. Her face is scarred, but healed. I notice the wings. A voice in my head tells me it's okay and I remember. The angel. Did he heal me? That cannot be. Maybe I'm dead. But I was already dead. The little girl died. I saw her die and I took her place.

And then I hear one voice. It drowns out the voices that aren't in my head, but it's words are too much for me. It speaks, however, to the voices. And I feel a deep anger inside me, as one of the voices responds. It speaks of treachery and a great battle. The words aren't mine, but I feel like I'm speaking them. This frozen voice, pushing me and pushing me until I want to strike. Then the I hear the full words of the Ice Lord.

“Just a child. A child playing with things she couldn't possibly understand. Nevertheless, you are my champion, and you will win this championship for me. With a force like The Frozen Serpent behind you, it shouldn't be hard. Alexis Undom
iel,”
“Who? Oh yeah... that's me.” I say the words, but there is no voice. My throat is still scarred and ruined.
“Alexis, it's time to fight for your lord.”


I push the door open, and for a moment, there's silence. Oh, the crowd is still roaring above me, and the voices are still screaming at me, but I cannot hear them. I'm lost in the beauty of the arena, of the eight pillars and the sensation of being somewhere amazing. That lost little girl standing among the great warriors of the elements. But the roar of the sounds comes back to me and I'm lost again.

I wander.
I circle the pillar. The frozen pillar. So beautiful and deadly.
It's comforting.
Like the voices. And the one voice, the one voice who saved me speaks again. It tells me to draw my weapon, and my sword is already in my hand.
And the angry voice, the voice of ice and great power and fear pushes me to fight. And I raise my weapon.

I secretly want to leave.
I don't tell the voices.
I don't want to die here.
I want to be that little girl, so scared that her mommy is gone.
So scared with a power she could not control.
I miss my mommy.
Post #: 4
7/22/2012 22:46:02   
TormentedDragon
Member

Pain. It was all he could feel, all he knew, right at that moment. As the power ripped through him, he could feel own skills twisting, warping the iron and steel that surrounded him. The chains on his arms burrowed into his skin, twisting his limbs back on themselves with the sickening crunch of his bones. His cauldron fragmented, the shrapnel tearing his back and following the rushing wave of power, a threat to anything in its path.

And then, he was gone, and his metal with him.


"Up."

He moaned, but did not move.

"Up. Now."

He could not move. His back was fire, his arms were nothing, and his legs ... his legs felt as though they had been snapped in two. They probably had.

"You disappoint."

"Oh, shut it," he croaked, and regretted it immediately. It hurt just to speak. Hells, it hurt to breathe!

"Were there any other choice, I feel you would be by the wayside. And judging from your state, dead. Lucky for you, then, that there were no other contenders for the title."

He managed to open his eyes, and blinked. He could barely see; his vision was blurred, and tinged with red. Last time he'd been this hurt ... well, never. Never been this hurt. He could vaguely make out a sort of shape. Seemed humanish. Maybe. Couldn't see the features, really.

"You have been chosen. Champion," the shape said, speaking the last word with a jeering tone. "Were it up to me, you would be supplanted, perhaps by one from the audience. Or perhaps I would take your place myself." He blinked again. It did seem to be helping a little. Things were just a touch less blurry.

"But such things are not for me to choose," the figure said with a sigh. "My Lord will follow the rules of the contest, and so you are picked." It snorted. "Such weakness."

He licked his lips, and lifted his head, wincing at the pain of the movements. Thing wasn't making much sense. And it was annoying. "I said," he croaked, and coughed, wincing once again at the agony the action put him through, "quit yer brayin' ..." he paused, taking a shuddering breath, "... you ass."

There was silence for a moment, then a low chuckle. "Not the most inventive of insults."

He let his head fall back down. "You try it ..." he sucked in another painful breath, "with a cauldron in yer back."

"A point." The figure shifted. Leaning forward? Bah. Barely mattered. "I will make you a deal. Get to your feet, and I will give you a boon."

He snorted. "Boon's for ... Champion. Ain't stupid."

"My Lord's boon is, yes. Mine is much simpler." He closed his eyes; keeping them open was taking too much effort. The room, or wherever it was that he was, had started spinning. "All Champions are healed before they begin the finals. Get to your feet, before I fix you, and I will do you one better. I will give you back your metal, as it was."

Wintin frowned. That sense, at least, was still working. He could feel his metal, his chains, blade, hooks, horseshoes, hammer heads, and the poor, twisted pieces of his cauldron. They were in poor shape, twisted and weak. Nothing he couldn't fix, but it would take time. Far too much time. This ... person's offer was one he couldn't pass up. He heaved a sigh, ignoring the surge of pain, and prepared for the effort. With no working limbs, there was only one way to stand. And it was going to hurt.

Eyes closed, he focused. Slowly, painfully, the chains that had shredded his arms untwisted, tearing free of his flesh with a sickening squelch, and wrapped around his body. The shrapnel in his black flattened, the bits fusing together, as other pieces of metal came to his call, attaching themselves to the patchwork construct, until his torso was well secured.

And then, he lifted, and screamed.

His body rose off the ground, arms and legs dangling uselessly, and tilted up, until he was upright, a single band of metal shifting to his posterior, to support from below, and there, he hung, eyes squeezed shut, every last ounce of his will put into the twin tasks of staying awake and keeping himself aloft.

"Well done," he heard, the words distorted and far off. "You have tenacity enough for me. Perhaps you will do well." He was losing it. Already couldn't feel half his stuff. Just the band, left. "Go then. Fight. Win."

It was gone. Darkness took him, as he lost the last of his control, and collapsed to the ground.


He opened his eyes, gasping, a hand on his chest. Hand. Intact hand. He stared at it, then checked himself. Arms whole. Legs fine. Clothed like normal. Pain was gone. Metal in place. All in the cauldron, tied to his back. "Right well done," he muttered, taking a moment to check the quality of the metals. "So that's what ol' Father can do, eh? Well then." He shook himself, looking forward, and stepped toward the gate with a grin on his face. "Best not disappoint."



He halted at the side of the pillar of Earth, looking up at the grand construct. It was rather different from what he'd heard of in the tales of the arena; gone was the grand tree (stories had never quite agreed on whether it had a crown or no) and the quicksilver golem that had stood as a guardian for it, and in their place, a giant rock, all covered in greenery and studded with spikes to make Kerzzek proud. A quick glance around the arena confirmed it wasn't the only change; every pillar was different, in fact, and over Wind's way he could see lady right smack in the middle of all the bluster.

"Goin' fer the ol' 'rock solid' bit, eh, Father?" he said, reaching up to pat the boulder. "No' a bad choice. Ye were never quite so flashy as t' others." He chuckled, lifting his feet and working his horseshoes back into his sandals, the cauldron lid joined by an array of hooks, knives, and a single mace head. "Be leavin' that t'me," he said, as his chains snaked out of the cauldron and wrapped around his torso and legs. "I'll give 'em a show t' remember, aye."

He narrowed his eyes, shading them with a hand. Mr. Bone-de-bone and that black juggernaut were here too, he saw, and the one was already moving to the other. "Startin' the party early ag'in. And all the way across the sands, too." He shook his head, floating a large nail to a good spot in front of him. "Let's see how good they armor is."

He jumped once, twice, and then spun, his foot flying out in a roundhouse kick that brought his heel directly into contact with the nail's head. It shot forward as if fired from a cannon, a twitch of his fingers sending it into a stabilizing spin. "Surprise, Mr. Bone-de-bone."
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 5
7/23/2012 18:04:47   
.Discipline
Member

Trying to take in the vast arena and map it out mentally, looking for his first target, it would appear N'aschi himself was being targeted. The hulking Champion of Darkness lurched from his pillar shot N'aschi some kind of strange wave before stomping menacingly toward the slender assassin.

Not good. Not good. One hit from that blade and I'll be crushed inside my own armor. he thought to himself, trying to quickly formulate a method of assault.

As if brought about by his train of thought, N'aschi felt a crushing yet concentrated blow against his left shoulder, cracking the wyvern bone plating against itself and making N'aschi lose focus as he was pushed back with a thud and a tingling sensation shot down his arm. These were precious seconds, with that reanimated monstrosity coming toward him a distraction was the last thing he needed.

No time to figure out where the projectile had originated, he took a deep breath in and regained his stance, readying himself for a quick duck and roll in case he could not halt the beast with his hasty plan of attack.

The strong gales rushing around the Champion of Wind picked up more and more sand and flung it in a wide-spread cloud toward his titan aggressor. The behemoth didn't even stop for a moment, but swung his mammoth blade toward N'aschi, leaving no choice but to execute plan B.

Jumping away and rolling along the sandy ground before springing to his feet with elegant precision, N'aschi saw and opportunity to strike his assailant. The mythril giant's entire right flank had been left completely unguarded as he finished swinging his heavy broadsword.

Taking his chances for the Lady of Wind, he rode on her graces, a mighty gust which blew him toward the exposed side as he struck out, landing a swift triple kick and a downward elbow on the collosal champion's tough armor to no avail, the blades on his limbs simply bouncing off the the sleek midnight mythril, leaving nothing more than scratches on the Dreadnight.

Jumping back in the realization that his usual blows would be ineffective against his brute of an opponent, he narrowly avoided a heavy retaliation, a strike against him with the blunt side of the construct's brutal shield. Only one choice remained now as the tingling in his arm began to subside. Run like the wind until he had some ground between him and this horrific monster. His feet pushing hard against the sand he began to sprint away to safety.

You weakling. You coward. he thought to himself. How could you be reduced to this? The recesses of his mind taunting at him as his legs carried him as fast as they could, behind the titan toward the Pillar of Darkness itself.

'Great...' he spluttered, taking up a defensive stance as he unsheathed a couple of blades, running them along his fingers as always to check they were fit for purpose, the compulsion gripping him even though he knew he had honed the ivory edges at least 5 times that morning and that they probably still wouldn't do the job. He needed some way to assault the Dreadnight. But how?

A million thoughts raced through his mind as adrenaline and fear pumped through his entire body, filling his armor with a cold sweat as he prepared for the giant to give chase and stroked the handles of his daggers as if they would give him some comfort.
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 6
7/23/2012 21:09:30   
Ryu Viranesh
Member

The moment appeared to last a lifetime: Ryu’s moccasined feet connecting with the ground at the end of each painfully long stride, the fireball floating before him as though it was a will-o-wisp, and the undead monstrosity that was wailing before him, all set against the backdrop of a massive shock wave of pure energy. Ryu was aware that he was screaming as well, though he couldn’t hear his voice, his hearing deafened by the cacophony of sound and death going on around him. Though he couldn’t say how, he knew that someone had died in the arena; not the golem, since he wasn’t even sure if such a construct was capable of experiencing “death” as he knew it. No, someone else had died, someone mortal. Someone human. He was about to cause yet another death, and yet he felt no remorse about that fact. No, this creature didn’t truly live, it was only a gruesome caricature of life that was mocking all those who fought with their lives on the line in this contest of death. Yet at the back of his own mind, a thought persisted.

Am I really any different?

Perhaps that was why he wanted so very badly to wipe this creature from existence, because he saw himself mirrored in its face. Just as quickly as the idea raised itself Ryu vehemently denied it; he wasn’t some hellspawn that had been called back from the dead, he was a living, breathing creature! That was the only argument that he had, the only reason he could use to convince himself otherwise. Then time sped up and the time for such mental debate was gone; he had a fiend to exorcise from this competition. However fate must have been conspiring against him, for at that moment his target vanished, a jagged line of pure blackness left in its place. It must have used some kind of fell sorcery to escape; even now it could appearing behind him with its massive broadsword, ready to slice off his head. Ryu tried to spin around, a curse on his lips as he hurriedly shoved his sword forward, but then his world became white-hot pain, his body totally engulfed by heat. At the very same moment, though didn’t notice them in his current state, many multi-colored sprites flitted about his form, crashing into him from every angle and taking him far, far away from the Cellar.

Despite the pain, Ryu found that his new white world was oddly calming, the first peace that he’d found since this tournament began. No, not “this” tournament, the one that had started over five years ago and never truly ended for him. All of the thoughts that he’d been forced to push away in the heat of combat came rushing back to him in this place, all of his uncertainties and insecurities bowing his back forward as he struggled under their weight. He was faced with the truth, yet continued to deny it even here, where he had the chance to admit it without anyone around to hear.

“I … came here to help people.”

“Is that really the truth, or are you running away from it? Are you running away from yourself?” The sudden rejoinder came from all around him, Ryu unable to find the source of the deep, rumbling voice that had challenged him. Then the world changed. The pain that had continually assailed his body receded, the remainder of it centered in his left arm, which tingled as though he was being stabbed by countless pins and needles. A look around revealed his world to no longer be white, but instead a washed-out brown wasteland crowned by a clouded sky, countless dry twigs littering the ground, a large pile of the branches beneath his feet. Fuel for the endless array of fires that covered the landscape, burning brightly against the gray background; no smoke rose from any of the pyres, further increasing their glare.

Ryu next took stock of his own condition, only to nearly have a heart attack when he saw his left arm. The limb was on fire, entirely covered by shifting red and orange flames. Yet, upon closer examination he realized that the skin wasn’t burning, and perhaps even more strangely it was actually healing the wounds that he’d taken in his fight with the golem. Before he could ponder this wonder any further, the strange echoing voice spoke again, this time its tone far more abrupt.

“Answer the question, child. We don’t have all of the time in the world.”

A bell clicked in Ryu’s head, and as he realized to whom he was speaking he hurriedly mouthed the only appropriate response that he could think of.

“N-no, o’ Master of Fire, I’m not lying. How c-could I do so in your great, illustrious presence?”

A growl emanated from each of the fires around him, perhaps all of the fires that he could see before the Elemental Lord responded, obviously not pleased.

“I thought that I told you to cut the crap. You and I both know that's not the truth.”

Ryu paled and grit his teeth, his eyes glancing this way and that as if to search for an escape, but they found only more and more fire. Finally, after taking a deep, hissing breath, Ryu made the attempt to placate the being that might as well be a god once more.

“I’m telling you, my Lord, I’m not lying.”

“Stop testing my patience, mortal!”

Instead of meekly accepting the rebuke from his patron, a deep, hot rage awakened in Ryu, overpowering all thoughts of subservience and self-restraint as he practically spat back his response, his eyes glowing like a pair of hot coals.

“What do you know, master? What could you possibly know about having to live with shame for all your life. Gnawing at you, eating away at you so much that it starts to control you. For the past five years I’ve been forced to live a lie because I couldn’t face myself, and so I tried to hide the flawed being that I was. Well you know what? This is who I am: the selfish warrior of Fire who fights for what he wants to, who wants to live his own life! Right now, I want to win that tournament more than anything, no matter what I’ve been telling myself, and you want the same thing. So if you want me as your Champion, than you’re just going to have to deal with it!” He left the final thought unspoken, feeling that it would have taken away from the intensity of what he’d said. Then, when this is all over, I’ll settle the matter in the mountains with my own two hands. I won’t run away and try to use magic to make it all just go away. Not anymore.

The Lord was silent for a few moments before an amused chuckle filled the air, growing louder and louder the longer that it went on.

“Finally some FIRE from you, and some honesty as well. Very well, we have a deal: You are my Champion, though you’ve kept me waiting for some time.”

Stunned not only at the Lord of Fire, but at himself for finally speaking the words that he’d held inside himself for so very long, Ryu couldn’t help but chuckle along with his master, overcome.

“I might have come more quickly if you’d let me know sooner, my liege. Though, my apologies nonetheless.”

“Perhaps you might have,” the deity snickered for a moment before all mirth drained from his voice, replaced by the serious growl from earlier, “however, there is still one thing that you need to understand. I will NOT suffer your insolence on the matter of prayer any further; whatever you do, you do in my name and with my blessing, and you would do well not to forget it.”

A curt nod and a simple “Understood” were Ryu’s only responses to his Lord’s ire, his tone measured, yet firm.

A deep, lordly laugh rose around him, the fire’s themselves flickering in response to their creator’s amusement.

“I believe that you do understand. Now, our time runs short, so go forth and make me proud, Champion!”

At that moment, the flames that had until this moment been restricted to Ryu’s left arm started to spread over the rest of his body. However, unlike his previous expression of horror, this time the warrior’s face remained calm, allowing the blaze to cover his body. The fire grew as they consumed the sticks beneath him and eventually, were one to look at him, all they would see was another pyre of flames, kindred to all around him. One with his god at last.

**********

Ryu’s eyes flew open, his body in a cold sweat as he glanced around, trying to discern where he was. Firstly, he was definitely standing, though how he’d managed to fall asleep in that position was beyond him. Secondly, he stood in front of a gate that led out onto bed of red sand and … a cauldron surrounded by flames and spurting lava, no magma, onto the surrounding sands. Everything came back to him as the heat produced by the monument washed over him, his sweat evaporating in an instant. He had been chosen, chosen to represent the Lord of Fire in the Finals of this dangerous competition. As if to confirm his thoughts, the loud sound of the announcer’s voice came blaring to his ears.

“Chosen by the Fire Lord, allow me to bring to you, the returning warrior, guaranteed to heat you up, Ryu Viranesh!”

The gate before him suddenly rose, allowing him entry into the arena. Remaining still for just a moment, Ryu stared at the cauldron, saying a quick prayer before this madness began.

Lord, be with me, I’m sure that I’ll need you. Now then, let’s get this started.

With that Ryu Viranesh, finally a true soldier of Fire, strode through the gateway and into the Grand Melee. Blinking the sun out of his eyes, he realized that the rest of the arena hadn’t even waited for him to start. The black titan that he had been trying to slay was charging the bone-clad warrior who was also from his previous arena, a sandstorm kicking up around the two. Swallowing his revulsion for the moment, Ryu glanced around the rest of the arena to see who else he would be fighting against. His eyes settled on the short man with the cauldron, the one who had blocked the dark knight’s broadsword with a pair of horseshoes. More specifically, he was staring at the cauldron, his gaze momentarily shifting back to the pillar at his side before returning to the one in the warrior of Earth’s possession. It could be a sign left by his Lord, but even if it wasn’t, the man was currently without a battle partner, which suited Ryu’s purposes just fine. His plans settled, he drew forth his large, unusually-shaped sword and held it in a two-handed grip as he rushed towards the Champion of Earth, heat already flowing from his body into the weapon.

< Message edited by Ryu Viranesh -- 7/23/2012 21:22:30 >
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 7
7/23/2012 21:34:10   
Starstruck
Member

Euterpe's requiem suddenly ceased in the unnaturally dry, chaotic Cellar as the body she encircled and still partially inhabited (though her life force was beginning to ebb from Tiure's dead form) was lifted and teleported from the floor. As the bard faded and disappeared, Euterpe ceased weeping, arcane forces pulling her ethereal presence to its rightful location.

Euterpe was alive while Tiure was dead, which granted her some level of autonomous thinking. Spellbound at the sheer power of the Lady of the Waters, the Muse watched as Tiure's body was masterfully reconstructed, the life-giving water imparting breath, beat, and thought back to Tiure's youthful form. Euterpe heard nothing, felt nothing. By all rights, she was drifting in a bottomless, empty sea; surely it was the Lady's consciousness. Overjoyed, she imparted one last, short melody thanking the Lady of the Waters. She received back a gentle hum, and as Tiure awoke, harmonious, echoing words.

"I have seen your dreams, your passions, and your ambitions," said the Lady, as a small avatar of herself appeared before the gently hovering Tiure. "I know that you have the spark of victory within you. You will make an excellent hydromancer." The avatar smiled slightly. "I also know that your last spell in the Cellar has not been performed by any other mage in history. You're a gifted spellmaker, Tiure." The young bard-mage blushed, gripping the handle of his scythe tightly in his embarrassment. "I try," he finally choked out.

"The Finals are about to start. Go now, and bring glory to the element of Water! Show them your grace, your skill, and your unstoppable force!" commanded the Lady as her avatar vanished. Tiure felt himself being lowered to the sands of the Arena, the geyser allowing just a tiny bit of the water that kept him aloft to submit to the force of gravity. Even so, the bard dropped sickening for a few seconds before the Lady caught him and lowered him a bit more gently to the ground.

Stepping out of the geyser, fully replenished and healed, he looked at the backs of his hands. They glowed with Euterpe's ethereal light as they had once done when they had first truly met, in the isolation of the Coterie's embrace. Just then, several clouds levitated gently down from their circular path around the pillar, the clouds that Tiure had generated but had not used. Tiure smiled at the pillar through the gate, which sprayed mist high into the air; Tiure took it as a breathtaking return gesture and a portent of good fighting to come. With a grin still on his face, the bard pushed open the gate and stepped out into the arena.

Immediately, the crowd's roar hit him like a hurricane of sound, sentiment, and a great many surprised hoots. Mingled with the general hubbub, Tiure caught more than one exasperated yell of "Just kill the stupid bard and let him bloody stay dead this time!" The clouds and scythe twisted in a fluid dance around his body, but Tiure was unwilling to draw attention to himself just yet. Instead, he deliberated. Shamefully, he wondered if he should even fight at all, considering how everyone in the arena could smash him into a pulp. Even the Dreadknight, as it swung its majestic sword with lethal force towards the man who had killed him, was looking less and less likely to enter an alliance with a puny-looking young bard, even one who played the trump card of knowledge about Kalen's gauntlet. Tiure mentally set that aside, hoping that soon he would have the chance to talk the the massive warrior but unwilling to get too close to its blade.

That left him but one option: play and play and play until somebody noticed him and tried to kill him. And when that happened, he would be ready, and they would be not ready, for him to lash out and annihilate them. The Lady willed it, so it must be done.

Raising his bow to the strings of his violin, Tiure began to play. The song was quiet, testing the waters for sharks, but the audience would probably hear it magically amplified. Well, it was pretty, so let them enjoy it. And if it kept them shut up, even better. Even now, Tiure could hear a definite lessening in the roar of the audience as many, though not all, listened passively to Tiure's playing. He hoped the other competitors didn't notice, because that would be bad. As he played, he felt the water energy build in his mind as he generated the water for the spell that he was about to perform. As the song grew quieter and quieter still, the music calling for a delicate diminuendo, Tiure kept a sharp watch for any preemptive individuals who sought free, easy kills in the beginning of the finals.


< Message edited by Starstruck -- 7/23/2012 22:28:16 >
DF MQ  Post #: 8
7/23/2012 22:51:29   
TormentedDragon
Member

He grinned, catching the nail as it rebounded off Bone-de-bone's armor, and letting it fall harmlessly into the sands. Poor fool had his hands full, now, fightin' that titan o' darkness with only a couple knives and some wind tricks. He'd have to be inventive to get through that armor. He stroked his chin, thinking. He could help, of course. He'd never really got the chance to use those spikes in the Cellar, and with the titan focused on the flighty bone warrior, he'd be almost sure to get a clear shot.

Movement to his left caught his eye, and he grinned again. Well. Nevermind then. Seemed Fighter from the Cellar wanted a piece. Fire Champ, eh? "Alright, Fire Fighter," he whispered to himself, "let's see what ye got to offer." He turned, spread wide his hands, and his metal moved, hooks, knives, and mace head slipping back as an array of horseshoes took their place, six, arranged in a star.

His eyes flickered from the charging warrior to the pillar beyond, drawn by the play of light off shifting water. Bard was back too, eh? And taking bow to fiddle. "Would prefer pipes, but oh well. Play us a tune of death, minstrel!" he shouted, and set the shoes to spinning. "Somethin' to get the blood pumpin'!" He clapped his hands together, and two of the spinning shoes flew forward, one aimed at the fighter's head, the other at the arm that crossed his torso, and in that same motion, began his own charge, his grin growing wider yet.



Badger.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 9
7/24/2012 18:43:27   
Micosil
Member

As the announcer introduced the contestants, a pile of rocks started humming softly behind one of the gates, the spark that had once animated it renewed as a new portal appeared and stabilized inside Model O-65's core.

Boot check... complete.

Zero-layer routines loading... complete.

SupportGolemAI v1.2 starting up.

Loading database... 7.63*10^10 definitions loaded.

Loading analysis suite: CombatAnalyzer v1.044 ...

400000 rules loaded.

Loading decision-making system: Indecisive v2.0 ...

1.23*10^6 nodes loaded.

SupportGolemAI v1.2 core startup completed with exit status: 0

Detected pre-defined directives. Loading now...

Directive "Win" with Priority 0 loaded.

Successfully loaded 1 pre-defined directive(s) for a total of 1 directive(s).

Engaging assembly routine.

The humming became a crackling as the core connected to the plates of armor, which started crawling along the ground, forming parts of arms and legs which then were lifted upwards to form part of the golem's outer shell - enough for him to kneel down and grab the missing pieces, carefully putting them in their place.

Assembly complete.

Hardware check: 0 errors, 0 warnings.

Loading modules...
T.Vision loaded.
B.Shield loaded.
E.Wall loaded.
M.D.Emitter loaded.
Shockwave loaded.
All modules functional. Combat status: operational.

A living creature might've wondered about the sudden resurrection, or perhaps about the change of scenery, but for 65 there were only orders to be followed. Thus, the golem started walking outside, extending his Energy Wall and activating both his Burst Shield and the disruptor before even making it out.

After taking just a step outside of the gate, he headed towards the energy pillar, the impressive sight of the elements in their glory being wasted on him as he analyzed his opponents, some of which had already started fighting mere moments after leaving their gates - which, as far as 65 was concerned, was the only proper way to go about a competition.

His gaze locked on the man standing next to the water pillar. His routines quickly threw out that the logical thing to assume was that he was a water competitor and that his music-playing was likely magic related - out of the many reasons for playing music in his database, only that one would increase the musician's opportunities to win the competition. That, plus the fact that Water presented a considerable threat finished tipping the balance in favor of - or perhaps against - the musician.

So as he placed his back to the Energy pillar he raised his right arm and, a moment later, the sphere of energy was flying towards the Water competitor, set to detonate when it reached him.
Post #: 10
7/25/2012 15:55:17   
Mirai
Member
 

 Combatants were arriving quickly now, the chosen of earth and fire apparently squaring off. As he pursued his bone masked foe, from the periphery of his vision Gallaphile could see the man he’d earlier saluted- the fiery eyed warrior of flames- unsheathe his sword, while his opponent countered by sending a pair of horseshoes spinning over the dusty ground in aerial assault.

Horseshoes? Verily that doth seem a strange weapon… yet… oddly familiar…

Yet other fighters appeared more circumspect. The young champion of ice circled her master’s pillar of chill statue of a monstrous dragon, while the bard of water began to play a fiddling tune. Recalling how he’d earlier been struck by the musician’s aqueous arrows, Gallaphile made a mental note to beware further assaults from the azure eyed mage, even as the mighty golem- apparently reconstructed since the last arena- closed in on him. The huge monster dwarfed the Dreadnight’s own monstrous size, yet it was no so much fear, as a strange camaraderie with the construct that came to the nobleman’s mind.

How many of us have died now, returned to existence only for our capricious gods’ delight? I have never felt such a pawn as I do now.

For a moment he felt anger and despair lap at the edge of his psyche, desired to cry out at the horror of his plight. He was a monster, a creature of children’s nightmares. He would never be with his wife in death, his daughter and grandson would feel only horror and revulsion at his sight. He fought on behalf of the very god that had savaged his townspeople. For a heartbeat's pause, he wanted to end it all, to drive his broadsword through his own skull, or run into the nearby pillar of air and accept inevitable, fatal retribution for his impertinence from the divine lady of winds.

Gods… I don’t deserve this. Please, goddess of winds… let this nightmare end. Give thy chosen the power to grant me oblivion once more, to cut me from my shade linked prison.

But in the next pulse of the black magic that gave him unnatural life, he fought back the despair. In life, he might have become a noble lord, but he had been a soldier first. And soldiers did not always have the luxury of fighting how they wanted, where they wanted.

I have to fight to the best I can, lest little Telemach suffer for my weakness.

Thoughts of the little boy’s red cheeks, his tufty hair, and boundless energy gave him strength. Memories of playing hide and seek gave him heart. The boy’s grandfather had to be strong, even in the midst of this horror.

Just keep going. Fight as hard as I can, and leave the rest in the gods’ hands.

Thus the Dreadnight advanced cautiously on Na’schi’s position, alert for more of the air assassin’s tricks, for signs of dust eddies gathering once more. For though the earlier whirlwind’s stinging sands could not directly harm the dark warrior’s blazing eyes of sapphire energy, the swirling cloud they created had nevertheless screened his sight. Battle-trained instincts had kept him going, sent his giant broadsword swinging for the unseen heart of the dust soaked maelstrom. Not for him the fate of so many soldiers, whose instincts betrayed them, compelled them to freeze at sign of danger or surprise, when explosive action was required.

But his opponent was fast. Very fast. The black knight’s vicious forehand slash had met only dusty air, and in response a rain of blows that had hammered into the Dreadnight’s solid plating with awesome speed. Yet the sorcery formed metal had withstood the initial onslaught of attacks unbroken, and a reflexive swipe of the midnight avenger’s dark shield sent his swift assailant running for cover. Feeling like a shambling ox stalking a flitting bat, Gallaphile cautiously followed his bone and leather armoured foe as he fled across the dusty arena, toward the veteran’s own starting position.

Oh hellfires you fool, don’t go behind there!

There was surely a certain irony in the bone masked aeromancer apparently now seeking shelter behind the pillar of the undead titan’s own dark lord, yet it did not appeal to Gallaphile. Instead, as he saw a blackened, misshapen claw momentarily break from the nightmarish mass of shadow matter, heard shrieks of torment echo from inside the monument of evil energy, the nobleman found himself thinking back to his own experiences in the nether realm. Mentally, he grimaced at the memories, conscious of the dread terrors that awaited in his erstwhile master’s grim lair.

“A word to the wise, master of the winds,” he cried out, his unnatural voice ringing clearly out over the arena’s blood red sands, with faint traces of its melodic origins. “Ware the darkness that lurks beside you, for there are worse fates than death.”

I should know.

With his location betrayed, and the chosen of winds doubtless preparing for another hit and run attack from the apparent safety of his position, the giant undead warrior rapidly weighed up his sizeable shield, and the angles between himself and the far side of the darkness pillar.

Better attack, before he springs another surprise on me.

Then, with surprising speed for a being of his size, the jet black colossus swept his shield up in his left hand, before straining his body taut to launch it with awesome force at the side of the arena’s circular wall. Though the chamber’s walls were not specifically designed to reflect missiles, they served the veteran warrior’s purpose well enough, with the razored disc ricocheting off the side of the chamber, and flashing through the air toward the concealed assassin.

A shield can be a weapon, and this one I can summon back to my side. Verily, you move faster than I can parry assassin, but let’s see if you can move faster than I can throw.
AQ  Post #: 11
7/25/2012 17:26:10   
.Discipline
Member

N'aschi's subconcious held him in a panic as he heard the savage roars and horrific screams of the pillar he had selected to be his haven from the chosen of darkness. What a terrible place to try to think.

“A word to the wise, master of the winds,” The creature warned him in a chilling supernatural tone which sent even more shivers down his spine at the realisation that this thing was not the brainless tank of destruction he had taken it for. "Ware the darkness that lurks beside you, for there are worse fates than death.”

Indeed there are. He thought to himself. Disgrace, dishonor, failure and weakness. N'aschi's own thoughts stabbing at him like a sharp knife, he gritted his teeth as the hulking monstrosity began his shambling pursuit. Just... just keeping outrunning it.

To the gale raiser's horror, the Dreadnight threw his mighty shield toward the wall of the arena as it's razor sharp edge rebounded from the barrier with a loud and nerve-wracking clang.
Taking a deep breath he tried to probe at the giant's psyche.

"Was that your best shot? Pathetic!" He yelled across the arena, trying his hardest not to show a hint of fear and grinning smugly to complete the act.

"Save thy breath from insults wind mage, thou shalt need it before we are done. Scorn dost bring thy goddess little honour." The black avenger yelled back in his usual eerie tones as N'aschi noticed a strange movement in the air behind him. The shield was coming back... right for him. Suddenly, inspiration struck as the squall summoner pushed a torrent of air toward the shield, finding it more difficult than he expected to force it to slow considerably, but still managing a reasonable reduction as he leapt high into the air and with perfect timing, landing with both feet firmly planted on the broad side of the midnight shield.

N'aschi had finally figured out how he would assault the pitch black shell. The only thing he had that could possibly tear through that enchanted plating was the very same material. He would use the bladed edge of the shield, boosted to frightening speeds by a rush of hurricane-force air and ride the damned thing right through to the core of the beast. The crowd roared in amazement as he tossed back his blood red hair, laughing wildly as he began a sinister collision course with the chosen of darkness, the wind at his back and his bladed arms providing balance as he steadied himself.

"Innovative." The behemoth spoke, moving quickly to the side and attempting to smash down on the galerider with his malicious blade. The titan was too slow, once again smashing his heavy blade into the sands instead of his opponent as N'aschi tumbled straight under the path of the blade, narrowly avoiding an extremely gruesome end as the shield flew off across the arena, rebounding once again from the wall, this time at a much greater speed and spinning diagonally toward the Pillar of Energy and the collosal construct which had almost destroyed every other competitor in the cellar.

N'aschi landed on the sand with a thud and continued to roll, landing close to the Pillar of Wind again pushing up with a conical gust to send crimson sand flying into the air around him as he attempted once again to make his swift escape.
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 12
7/26/2012 1:04:30   
The Extinguisher
Member

Pretty music.
I could listen to this all day. As the battle of heroes and evils and... what appears to be a robot... take place around me, I'm only interested in the music. The pretty, pretty music. What lovely sounds. I need to find out where it's coming from. I look around, entranced, and find the source near the pillar of water. An odd choice of things to do for a competitor. It's probably some form of magic, but it sounds so lovely I don't want it to stop. Maybe he won't stop, and we can all have something beautiful to listen to while we kill each other.

I don't like that thought.

I scan the arena for the other competitors.
Bone-clad in armour.
A clanging cauldron and bits of metal.
The music maker.
A great thing in black armour (the same one that killed her?)
A warrior with a strange looking sword.
...The large robot...
And pretty little me, standing among hardened fighters in her body, with a gauntlet of ice that isn't mine, and great grey wings I am only borrowing. I feel out of place, but I probably don't stand out that much.

The voices are screaming at me to fight, even the calm one that's nice to me, and for once I agree with them. I cannot stay alive if I do not win, and I cannot win if I do not fight. I should avoid the demon in black and his opponent. I'm not sure if it is the one that killed me, but I don't want to take that risk. I like the music, killing him would probably make it stop. The man with the funny sword appears to be going for the cauldron man. One of those would do.

You can crush the power of flames easily, with my help. However cold metal hits just as hard. Destroy the man of fire.

I hear his voice clearly. The one I so desperately tried to keep quiet, back when I was still her. I'm not afraid of listening to you anymore.

I need to get there quickly, before someone I cannot defeat looks my way. The calming voice speaks to me, and my feet lift from the ground, just barely but enough so I won't scrape my toes. This will be much faster. Sword drawn and ready for a fight, I charge towards the fire-man, as he heads towards the man of metal.

The music keeps playing. Lovely tunes to let me forget that only one of us can come out of here alive.
Post #: 13
7/26/2012 13:52:19   
Ryu Viranesh
Member

The second that Ryu rushed forward, he realized that fighting in the First Arena was going to be quite different from his experiences in the Cellar. Firstly there was the very ground that he stood on, something that he hadn’t truly taken the time to stop and consider before he’d committed himself to an attack. Unlike stone, sand was neither solid nor particularly sturdy, which meant that it would be best to avoid direct combat with such forces of nature as the dark knight.

Not to mention that I can’t run nearly as fast as I’d like, he unabashedly grumbled to himself, the thought quickly becoming lost in his stream of consciousness.

Secondly, there was the crowd. Had he been forced into this situation before his unexpected meeting with the Lord of Fire, one look at the assembled masses might have spelled Ryu’s defeat in this tournament. He’d never been able to figure out exactly why large crowds of people unnerved him so, but he did know that the problem had grown significantly worse after his failure five years ago had been broadcast for all watching the Cellar arena to see. Now, while he still disliked the attention that the thousands of rabid onlookers were giving him, it no longer made his legs quiver or his eyes close in an attempt to shut out the world. Perhaps in finally laying that tournament and his failure to rest, he’d also managed to cure his phobia.

Whatever the case, that wasn’t particularly important right now; Ryu knew that he would have plenty of time to revel in his newfound freedom after the Grand Melee was completed. A quick glance around revealed that more contestants had found their way into the Arena, and some of those had already found their way into combat. The golem that he’d waged war against in the Cellar had made its triumphant return, firing a charged ball of energy that was sure to drop jaws toward the Water Mage who had made their last moments in the previous round more than simply hectic. Off to the side, alone, was what appeared to be a young girl circling around the Ice Pillar, almost as though she was lost and didn’t have any idea what she was supposed to be doing here. However, almost as though she’d sensed his glance, the girl appeared to start to glide toward him like a ghost, a very solid sword in hand. Narrowing his gaze, Ryu nonetheless moved to return his attention to the short-legged warrior he’d chosen as his target.

Even if she’s moving like that, it’ll take her some time to cross the whole arena to get to me. I’ll have to defeat, or at least dispose of my current opponent before she does.

It turned out to be a good thing that he’d chosen to glance back at the meister of metal, for it was at that moment that the man lobbed two objects toward him. Upon closer examination, Ryu could see that they were the same type of horseshoe that the Chosen of Earth had used to block the Darkness construct’s sword. Had he had the time and luxury, Ryu might have stopped and berated himself here at this very moment; because of his wandering eyes he’d almost missed an attack that could be easily avoided. Instead he continued on, his eyes carefully following the curves of his opponent’s weapons of choice as they grew closer and closer, their launcher not far behind. He was the Fire Lord’s Chosen, and while that didn’t mean that he was perfect, it meant that he could forgive himself some mistakes so long as he took care not to make them again.

So, rather than remain still and beat himself up over what he’d done wrong, Ryu moved forward and ducked his head down and to the left, his body following closely after. That took care of the first horseshoe, and a second later he smacked the dull side of his sword downward in the same direction to bat the second to the ground. Holding his weapon securely across his chest, his eyes widened as he noticed that the horseshoe had stuck fast to the blade, as though clinging on for dear life. Nonetheless, Fire’s Chosen closed the remaining distance between himself and his charging foe, starting to slide to a halt just before he reached the man. His hands twisted around the sword’s hilt in a struggle to maintain their strong grip as he presented the earthen warrior with the broad side of his heated blade just as they came together.

< Message edited by Ryu Viranesh -- 7/26/2012 20:29:55 >
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 14
7/26/2012 15:21:46   
TormentedDragon
Member

The fighter wasn't paying attention. Silly. Though, not entirely, since someone was coming from over Ice way. Great bloody dragon, that. Flashy flashy! Hm. A little miss. And not running. Interesting. "Plan to interfere, eh?" he muttered, and wiggled an ear. The mace head responded, whipping forward and around, circling the tinsmith once, twice, and a third time to build up speed, before hurtling off to meet the little lady.

His eyes slipped back forward. The fighter dodged and deflected, and they narrowed, a twist of will keeping the horseshoe stuck to the sword like a barnacle on a ship's hull. There was a fair bit of power put into that sword, and all in the form of heat. So that explained why the warrior were of Fire. Though, he did think he'd seen him throw a fireball, too, back in the mirrors of Cellar. "Let's make this interesting."

He leapt, and the horseshoes in front of him fled, flying outwards to clear the way. A pull of his arm brought dodged shoe around, spinning its way towards the blue-haired warrior's back even as the tinsmith's leg extended in a powerful kick. Metal-worked sandal met dwarf-forged sword with a clash and a yell, sending the warrior staggering back, in time for the shoe to strike his back.

The tinsmith stumbled back a step, the sand making footing difficult, and laughed. "A fair welcome to ya, Fire Fighter! Let's make a ruckus, aye?"
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 15
7/26/2012 19:48:40   
Mirai
Member
 

 Faster than I can throw? Verily fast enough to ride mine own missile. Impressive indeed.

In truth the veteran knight had been fortunate, barely avoiding his own razored disc as it streaked toward him, its velocity swelled to hurricane speed by a combination of his own magic and the wind wielder’s sorceries. If the crowd not roared in sudden appreciation of his foe’s sheer skill in commandeering his own dark shield, he might not have been so alert for his smaller foe’s counterattack.

Had it struck him… Gallaphile had no idea whether his black armour would have held against the blow. It might well have cleaved him in twain, ruptured through his midrift, and sent shattered splinters of ebony cascading over the arena’s sand swept floor.

Would that it had…

But the undead warrior’s instincts had instead sent him stepping swiftly to his side, scarcely evading the disc as it sheared through the air. A downward slash from the revenant’s sword of solid night had been far too slow to strike the red haired assassin, but had served to thwart the wind-rider from following up on his ingenious initial attack. Instead, the bone masked death wielder had been sent tumbling to the sands, close to the pillar of winds once more, an explosion of red dust exploding up to conceal his flight.

Doubly wary of the dagger wielder’s tricks now, Gallaphile did not seek to press in on his foe. Instead he held back, two hands clasped tightly around his colossal claymore, holding the giant blade before him, ready to strike or defend at signs of movement. As motes of crimson rained down upon the arena’s scarlet sea of sands once more, he circled his quarry’s last position, sapphire orbs of energy trained intently to divine his foe’s location.

“Verily, thy last attack was inventive warrior of winds. Thou hast an imaginative mind indeed.”

Sand shifted and quietly crunched beneath mailed feet as Old Night’s titan maneuvered his heavy frame, seeking to put the wall of the arena to his back once more. From the periphery of his spectral vision the armoured avenger noted swirling patterns of other combatants beginning to take shape, even as he orbited his bone masked foe. Battle had been joined between the warriors of earth and fire, while the young chosen of ice was making her way across the arena, apparently heading toward their duel: and a mace head sent viciously spinning toward her.

She looks young… younger than mine own daughter. Ah gods, why do you bring such children into this capricious carnage? For a second the veteran soldier felt impulsive compassion for the woman as she walked through the brutal death chamber. Yet I must harden my heart to her plight, lest mine own beloved be harmed by my weakness.

Forcing coldness upon his thinking, the dark reaver made a mental note to keep alert for assaults from the other contenders within the circular arena, conscious that in the fog of war a stray arrow could be just as deadly as the long seen spear. For now though, he kept his broadsword trained in what he believed to be the direction of his closest foe, and spoke out once more, spectral tones carrying clearly through the dust laden air.

“What brought thee to this place disc-rider?”
AQ  Post #: 16
7/27/2012 3:18:54   
Starstruck
Member

Tiure's nerves were strrung, his fingers shaking with more than just vibrato as he prepared his latest spell. Keeping a sharp watch over the other competitors, he was terrifyingly aware of the danger as the golem took aim and fired a large sphere of energy at him. The bolt crackled and fizzed as it rushed towards him, a burst of electricity imbued with malicious intent, no doubt. Unwilling to get in the way of such a missile, Tiure edged his way away from the incoming projectile. As much as he feared death, he disliked interrupting a spell mid-song, as it had disastrous results for the effectiveness of the eventual cast. As the charged sphere grew closer, so rapidly, so quickly, faster than he could move away, he abandoned the song mid-note in the interest of self-preservation.

It's a fair trade-off, and I was rather close to the end, mused the bard as he threw himself to one side, muscle memory taking over to carry him into a spin that led into a deep crouch. I can only hope that the unique properties of this particular spell are...preserved...from the stupid interference of this...oh, what's happening now? The sphere had come to a stop a couple of meters away from him, and suddenly expanded to encompass fully half of his body in its static field. His right side felt as though it was on fire! Quickly jerking back, he felt the pressure in his head lessen as whatever was in the field that had been left by the explosion disrupted the spell he had just worked so hard to cast. Probably, it would be a mere shadow of its former self...but it would be a useful defense nonetheless. Tiure just hoped it would be enough to block or slow something when the moment was right. But the golem had disrupted his magic. Now he didn't have all his magic. He'd interrupted the spell and sucked some of its power away again, as if the first time wasn't enough.

He felt cheated. Tiure didn't like feeling cheated. Not one bit.

But he could not lose his senses to rage and charge right towards the golem, which he noticed was, alarmingly, moving rather quickly towards him, no doubt with calamitous intent. The last time he had engaged an enemy in close quarters instead of avoiding direct physical combat, he had ended up dead; the bard-mage had absolutely no wish to repeat the encounter with his Lady, only with the bitter failure of defeat, the final loss of life. And to his credit, he had come far too close to dying before the EC, and looked to be continuing his streak of near-death (and in that last case, post-death) experiences. Well, not anymore. He would fight, and he would win...

...from behind that Dreadknight. Deciding that now was probably the best time to spring the idea of a mutually beneficial alliance on the black behemoth, Tiure turned tail and ran, feeling the sand sift and skip behind his booted feet as he flew with the boundless energy of youth to the next pillar over...the Darkness Pillar. The golem could not be close behind, but Tiure was definitely faster than the foretress-sized rock creature, and as he zigzagged back and forth across the uneven sand that had been whipped up and tossed around by the Wind competitor's tempest, feet scrabbling for a more solid purchase, he couldn't help but feel as though he wasn't being an easy target for his slow pursuer. Good.

Much to his dismay, there was already a fight going on by the Darkness Pillar. And with a sinking heart, Tiure saw the mask of his killer, N'aschi Levantera, apparently at the mercy of the armored terror of the Chosen of Darkness. All the more perfect for an alliance to be forged, as protection from the one who had proved deadly in the past, though Tiure had to admit that simple knowledge of Kalen's existence seemed feebler and feebler as evidence for an alliance; the relationship was entirely one-sided due to the Dreadknight's impressive size, strength, and power. But Tiure, pursued by the apparently irate golem, knew that grasping at straws was better than clawing at empty air.

The giant blue scythe followed mindlessly, generally ignored by those who wanted their weapons in the hands of people who could use them. It would have its chance, yes. Eventually. Until then, what was there to do but wait until its services were required?
DF MQ  Post #: 17
7/29/2012 12:29:59   
The Extinguisher
Member

Mace mace mace. Always with the maces.
The first attack on me of the finals, and it could have gone a lot better. I'm not used to these wings. It misses my body, but hits the right wing as it dodges. Good thing they're mostly just for show, but damn does it still hurt. Not as much as I thought it would. Though it seems like nothing hurts as much since I was killed. Since she was killed. I don't know anymore.

I was hoping I wouldn't have to fight the metal-man first. But I might be able to use this to my advantage, if I help the warrior guy with the fight. This would be so much easier if no one was trying to kill me.

The ice comes more easily to me now. I feel it stronger than before, and consequently I feel the angry serpents voice stronger too. And he directs my power into the snow still caked around his fangs, and the temperature drops once again, and the ice and snow and blizzard builds up even more. I'm closing in on my opponent, the one who attacked me, and I send a storm towards him, ice and sleet and hail and an angry, angry god, with my blade following shortly behind the cold.

I'm driven by the power of the Frozen Serpent, and he will bring the full force of winter onto my enemies.
I wonder how much of that is me, and how much of that is him. I guess I can only wait until tomorrow when I'm alone inside my head again.
I wonder if I'll live to see tomorrow.
Post #: 18
7/29/2012 13:23:05   
Ryu Viranesh
Member

Ryu had expected the man to use his array of horseshoes to defend against the sword strike; if he was in the warrior’s position, that would have been his first thought as well. However, if he’d done that and the strange weapons had stuck to the blade of Ryu’s sword like the first horseshoe had, then the fiery fighter doubted that they’d really be any hindrance in his attempts to burn his foe to death. Yet it appeared that the man was chosen for a reason, because instead of walking into his opponent’s “trap”, he dismissed his barrier and rose to meet the attack himself. He leapt into the air and smashed his foot into the Fire Chosen’s sword, Ryu grunting as he was shoved backward by the force of the blow. Short though they were, the metal manipulator’s legs had some power to them, something that his challenger would not soon forget. After a few moments he finally managed to halt his unintentional retreat and regain his footing, just in time for something to slam into his back and drive him forward a step. A gasp of air escaped Ryu’s lips, the unexpected attack temporarily forcing the air from his lungs.

Right … that wasn’t the first horseshoe, the one aimed for my head was. Looks like I’ll need to watch my back while I’m fighting this guy as well.

As he hurried to raise his head and straighten his body so that he wouldn’t be caught unawares again, Ryu was greeted with what up until this point he’d considered a most uncharacteristic sight in this tournament. His opponent was laughing, and not in derision or any other such negative fashion. He was laughing joyfully, as though he was having the time of his life in this death match that they’d all found themselves in. Then, in the midst of his already unheard of chuckle, the man called out to him, his voice characterized by an unusual accent that even the well travelled Chosen of Fire couldn’t place.

“A fair welcome to ya, Fire Fighter! Let’s make a ruckus, aye?”

Ryu could only stare at the man for a few short seconds, during which an image flashed through his head; it was him at the beginning of this Championship, when he’d just entered the Cellar. When he first lay eyes on the dark knight who’d tried to kill him, the grin that had appeared on his face and how alive he’d felt. The same feeling that now overtook him, holding him firmly in its grasp. Before he knew it Ryu had a large grin on his face and had started to chuckle himself, the sound broaching the silence that he himself had created mere moments ago. There was still much that he had to learn, it seemed.

“Well met, o’ Earthen Elite. Well met indeed.”

Now that he’d had time to recover from their previous engagement, Ryu quickly launched into his next move, although to the warrior across from him this fact wouldn’t be immediately obvious. Even the “Fire Fighter” was so caught up in the moment that he barely felt the crawling feeling that swept over his skin as his Heat Aura was once again called into being. Nevertheless, the sensation grounded him somewhat, his laughter dying down even though his smile remained. He knew that he would likely soon be facing two foes, and since both appeared to be human enough, maybe his aura would be more effective this time. At least, that’s what his euphoria-powered brain had appeared to think. Sparing but a quick glance toward the approaching Ice princess and noting the frigid storm that preceded her, Ryu reserved the bulk of his attention for the Chosen of Earth. His Heat Aura should hopefully neutralize some of the incoming attack and leave him free to dodge out of the way of the rest, if necessary.

“If it’s a ruckus you want, then it’s a ruckus you’ll get. Why don’t you kick us off?” Ryu shouted back, moving his sword into a defensive position diagonally across his chest. He had a strong feeling that he was going to enjoy this battle.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 19
7/29/2012 17:17:55   
Mirai
Member
 

 What in the name of Feng is it doing?

As Gallaphile’s questioned his opponent in the arena, hundreds of miles away, a dark necromancer ground his teeth in frustration. Shards of undead servants lay scattered on the amethyst coloured carpet around his feet, testament to the rage that had ripped through their ranks. The once rich furnishings that had adorned the room lay torn and shredded, ancient paintings ruined in a moment’s fury.

Talking? Complementing its foes?

As his sorcerous viewing globe showed the chosen of water running towards his creation, the black robed wizard ran his long fingers over his scalp, itching to tear at his own hair. Anger rippled through his thin frame, his arms shaking in response to its heavy heat.

Circling the enemy rather than attacking? Does it seek to embarrass me with its pathetic weakness?

Heinrich von Carstein felt his upper set of teeth gratingly jar against his lower incisors, and consciously forced calm upon himself. All is not lost. Somehow, the lord of darkness had seen fit to admit this pathetic embarrassment of a fighter into the finals. And by sheer fortune the lady of light’s chosen appeared to have been waylaid before entering the arena, or otherwise delayed from making an arrival.

The evil mage stroked his chin for a moment, eyes noting the ice maiden launching her assault upon the brown eyed metal wielder, even as he faced off against a fiery eyed swordsman. Yes, all is not yet lost… the stupid brute might yet do something right. Just as long as it doesn’t start trying to make friends in there.

He breathed out, trying to expel black tempered vitriol from his lungs.

Idiot.
AQ  Post #: 20
7/31/2012 0:02:38   
TormentedDragon
Member

Wintin stood on one foot, allowing the heat that lingered in his other to dissipate. His horseshoe had not lied; there was serious heat in that sword. Fortunately, the heat in the horseshoe itself was just heat, no magic, and so it responded just as normal to his urgings, twisting itself around the blade in the silence that followed his invitation to the fighter.

He chuckled at this opponent's response, and his title for him. "Elite?" he said, flicking a finger to call a halt to the mace head's flight. "I'm no a slouch, sure, but you should see me brother." A twitch of his hand, and the knives came forward, two at either of his hands. "Or a proper war smith. Now that," he said with a grin, "is a sight ta behold."

It was hotter than it had been but a moment ago. Winning bet was the Fighter had to do with it. Too much longer it'd be hotter than a forge. Clever trick. Tire out the enemy. Guard against the ice that was fast approaching. Him, on the other hand, he had to show a trick he'd wanted to save, his hands flipping the lids of his hip flasks open. "As for kicking us off, though," and his grin turned wolfish, "I already did."

His left hand moved with near blinding speed, a punch that had no chance of touching the fighter. The knives, however, did, shooting blade first for the fighter's chest. His right hand moved with near the same speed at near the same time, cutting the air in savage upward chop, and the contents of the flasks responded, the quicksilver almost ripping the containers apart in its haste to answer his call. With a flattening of his palm, the liquid metal formed itself into a wall, wide and tall enough to block him entirely from the sight of the approaching lady of ice, and her approaching storm.

And with the opening his knives provided him, he turned to the wall, and struck it with his open palms, sending it rushing to meet storm, blade, and lady, a whisper of will keeping the liquid as solid as steel.



Badger.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 21
7/31/2012 18:00:39   
.Discipline
Member

After pushing the crimson sand into the air, N'aschi knew he only had a few seconds before that great lummox was on his heels again. The hulking brute was slower than him, but if it caught him off guard, that broadsword would cleave him in twain.

Maybe if I could make him lose grip on that sword I could use it. he thought to himself, before realising the last thing he wanted to do was get close enough to try that out. Scouring his opponent as the construct circled, there was a realization which gave N'aschi great glee. Allowing the swirling sands to drop to the floor, he stood out in the open, appearing helpless and dazed as the Dreadnight swang his great blade, attempting to behead The Chosen of Wind.

N'aschi quickly ducked under the blade, the edge narrowly missing his crimson locks as he pressed forward, running under the destructive path of the gigantic claymore to the giant's waist, and running up the behemoth's chest, quickly kicking it in the face. This appeared to do nothing. How disappointing it would have been if that were his plan. Luckily this managed to confuse the mythril tank long enough that N'aschi could backflip and land back in the sand as the titan closed in once again.

He caught his breath as he brought the sands into a swirling shroud once again, hiding himself before his foe could divine his location again. This time, as the dust cleared, N'aschi stood there grinning, two black mythril blades hovering to either side of him as he beckoned for the titan to come closer so that he could impale it. He had managed to sneakily grab the twin shortswords from the Dreadnight's belt loop in his lightning fast manouver.

"Impressed?" he asked, cocking his head to the side, an arrogant tone to his voice as he raised his bladed armed into a razor sharp defensive stance. He had a way to cut this titan down to size, he just needed to stick to his convictions.

The stolen midnight blades twirled in the air, the sharp points threateningly trained toward the chosen of darkness. The bigger they are... he thought to himself. The louder they'll scream when I cut them open.
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 22
8/1/2012 0:41:32   
Apocalypse
Member

A knight scarred by countless wounds, a boy wreathed in flames, a beast versed in the arcane...all obstacles in the way of the resurrection of Azun. And there was only one way to deal with obstacles: complete and utter annihilation. His claws streaked through the air, his chains giving off a dazzling light...

And the light grew. It blazed of its own accord, encompassing Viraus in its blinding radiance. The chains themselves dissipated as the skeletal warrior was overwhelmed by the light. It seared through his armor, shredding through the steel-like bone as if it were parchment. Yet the light, while devastating to his armor and blinding his eyes, did not harm Viraus himself. Rather, the light was soothing to him. He could feel the pain leave his arms as the wounds healed, and the tension in his muscles ebbed away. It was only after his body had been cared for that Viraus realized he was not standing on the ground, but rather surreally floating in this shining void.

A shape began to form in front of him, but instead of being darker than the void it was impossibly brighter. Viraus strained his eyes and by some miracle was able to make out some details about the shape. He was still unable to see much, but he could tell that it was a figure, a figure of a woman...

"Greetings, Viraus Saukand. I am the Elemental Lord of Light."

Her voice was beautiful, as sweet as honey to his ears. What little anxiety he had left drifted away at the sound of her words.

"You have done well, Viraus. Well enough to be selected as my Chosen. Well enough to serve me, and me alone."

Her words echoed through him. Serve me and me alone.

Me and Me alone.

The tranquility within Viraus was suddenly shattered as a wave of anger rolled over him. "I DO NOT SERVE YOU!!!"

The figure shifted, but Viraus could not tell why. It did not matter. She did not matter.

"I am loyal to Azun the Annointed One! The God-King and the God-King alone has my allegiance! He is my lord, my master...not some feigned deity of a foreign land."

A new burst of radiance flared from Light's Lady, and this time the light was like needles digging into Viraus's skin, twisting and turning. When she spoke, her voice was harsh and fierce.

"Foolish mortal! You dare worship another? I had you dealt to me as my Chosen, and that is why you were selected. But I would rather not be represented at all than have a wretch like you!"

The needles turned to knives, and every spoken word was like a hammer driven to his head. The pain was unlike any other he had ever experienced. He opened his mouth to scream but found he had no voice. He was nothing, nothing but a living embodiment of pain.

"Where is your Lord now?" she screeched mockingly. "Why won't he save his faithful servant?"

"I can't save him..."

Through the light and the pain, Viraus could make out a second figure. This one a man wrapped in chains, emitting a soft glow about his form. His light was dimmer than the rest of the void, but emanated strength nonetheless.

He raised a single hand towards Viraus.

"But I can release him."

Viraus could feel himself being pulled in every direction, but he did not fight it. For the pain had stopped. His very being dissolved into nothingness, the essence of his magics swirling towards the trespasser in Light's domain.

A moment of burning brightness

An explosion of fury

And Light's Lady was left alone.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 23
8/1/2012 18:37:20   
Ryu Viranesh
Member

Ryu’s response appeared to have amused the man at least as much as his words had excited the Chosen of Fire, that is, if his chuckle was any indication. The aptly named “Fire Fighter” stood ready to receive whatever attack that his opponent was going to throw at him, though he was unsure as to what exactly constituted a “ruckus”. Would it be something wild like the name foretold or something shockingly conventional? In the end, he decided that it wasn’t something that he could really worry about; the metalworker was going to assault him again, and whatever it was Ryu would have to deal with it. However, this time he had an edge: his Heat Aura, which would make this battle all the more difficult for the Chosen of Earth.

“Elite?” The man’s unique voice intoned, the sound full of a raw, unguarded emotion that was unlike anything that Ryu had ever heard. “I’m no slouch, sure, but you should see me brother. Or a proper war smith. Now that is a sight ta behold.”

The sudden omission caused Ryu’s eyes to widen; he hadn’t expected the man to object to his titling, but he was even more surprised that the smith had admitted that he was far from the best at his craft. That there were many in his profession that were more capable than him, even his own brother. Yet just the same, here he was, chosen for the same honor that the rest of them in this Arena had received. The blessing of an Elemental Lord. To see that level of humility here was … nothing short of amazing. So amazing that Fire’s Chosen was once again reduced to staring, his eyes fixated on his most unusual counterpart.

This one’s full of surprises. If we both survive this tournament, I’d like to-MOVE!

Even though, or perhaps because his gaze was locked on his earthen opponent, Ryu saw the knives the moment that the man summoned them. He had reacted somewhat more laxly to the Earth Chosen’s previous projectiles, but he could not afford to do so here; a pair of knives were far more dangerous than a pair of horseshoes. So the moment that they were launched Ryu quickly brought his sword up to intercept them, glad that for once he’d chosen to stay on the defensive. The twin daggers collided with his broadsword with an audible “ping” before they rebounded and fell to the ground; expecting a much deadlier attack to follow, the warrior of fire quickly turned his attention back to his foe.

However, the metalworker had diverted his attention to the ice princess and her storm, sending what looked to be a wall of liquid metal straight for the two. Left alone for the first time since he entered combat with the man, Ryu glanced at the man’s unguarded back, conflicted. On one hand, such a thing was underhanded and “wrong”, but on the other, this was a melee and...

This might be the only chance that I’ll get.

Decided, Ryu lowered his sword until it was horizontal with his torso, not wasting any of his precious time as he charged forward. He brought the heated blade around for a slash at the Earth Chosen’s rear, oblivious to the horseshoe that had slowly started to mold around the weapon. There was honor and there was living, and spurred on by his Lord’s blessing, Ryu had picked the latter.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 24
8/1/2012 19:13:47   
Mirai
Member
 

 “Verily.”

Gallaphile appraised the bone masked wind wielder with ever increasing respect, even as N’aschi gestured at the Dreadnight with his own dark fanged short swords.

Hellfires, if I can’t negate his speed, he may yet cut me apart with mine own blades.

Conscious that he had no idea how dangerous the sorcery formed weapons could be to his own mithril plating, the colossus was all too aware that he was rapidly getting into difficulty against his innovative opponent.

Verily, I must stay patient- one decent strike will carve him asunder. But by Feng he is fast.

Moments before, when the dust storm suddenly vanished, the black armoured avenger had found himself surprisingly close to his foe. Lacking time to exercise power through his feet or shoulders, he had instinctively lashed out, rolling his wrists to send his jet black broadsword sweeping around. Though the flashing
blow had lacked the power of his usual thunderbolts, it might have still had sufficient spectral force to behead his smaller opponent.

Perhaps the confused body language of his red haired opponent fractionally checked the velocity of the veteran warrior’s strike, or more likely it was the bone masked assassin’s sheer speed, but once again the death wielder had evaded Gallaphile’s attack, slipping under his brutal blade. Pressing his momentary advantage, the wind warlock had darted inside the black blade’s arc, dancing up the knight’s chest, before snapping a vicious kick at his helm.

The eldritch eyed undead warrior’s skull had snapped briefly back in response to the violent assault, but the bonds of arcane magic that laced his skeletal form had held against the assault. Yet before the nobleman could think to counter-attack, to grab his lightly armoured foe and bring his awesome strength to bear, N’aschi had launched himself away from harm’s reach. Worse, as the assassin landed lightly upon the arena’s scarlet sands, Gallaphile had seen his own midnight coloured short swords grasped in the wind warlock’s hands.

Verily Gradius, use thy brain! Cease relying on strength alone.

Clenching his broadsword, the veteran rapidly analysed his encounter with the leather armoured warrior. Hurling his shield hadn’t worked any more than his sword swipes. Each time he had struck, the man had darted aside, using his sheer speed to evade the soldier’s attacks. A pattern had been established.

Inside his jet black helm, Gallaphile’s ebony jaw twitched in a grim smile. And a pattern can be broken.

The Dreadnight suddenly stormed forward, vicious broadsword raised up over his right shoulder, poised to sweep around in what appeared to be another brutal, horizontal attack, aimed to rupture through the wind warlock’s torso. Like a bellowing bison rushing at the nimble jaguar cat, the titan thundered forth, all power and supernatural might.

“Have at thee!”

But Gallaphile had a different plan in mind to his advertised assault. This time, his side-on sword slash would be a feint. Instead, when his black blade swept around, the armoured avenger intended to halt its motion early in its arc, and- should his foe try to dodge under the flashing strike once more- bring it crashing down through his defenses.

Let us see if I can’t use thy speed against thee my innovative friend, for they say thought is the fastest weapon of all.
AQ  Post #: 25
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