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=EC 2013= Fountain Arena

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7/2/2013 0:41:41   
Ryu Viranesh
Member

It had been a long year since the last Elemental Championship, but the Championship Arena Complex did not show signs of age. Rather, it grew, and along with it – just a hill, a spring and a stone bridge away – grew the city of Bren. The proximity of the Arena had done it much good: apart from the great crowds, and thus business, it brought in during the Championship itself, just the presence of such a complex carried the city’s name far over the lands. There came adventurers of many sorts, and the burgeoning six inns of Bren were never short of business. There came priests of the Elemental Lords, building shrines and churches and granting it divine protection not from one, but from all the Lords. And there came many, many artisans to maintain the four offshoot Arenas around the First Arena now used exclusively for the Finals, and craft the minor alterations that seemed necessary from year to year.

There was a buzz about the city of Bren. The prior year there had been rumors of construction, of a new Arena that was going to join the ranks of the now fabled four. There had been a space cleared and cordoned off, to keep the prying eyes of the crowd far from what lay within. Yet now the spot stood bare, its emptiness conspicuous to any that had attended the previous Championships. The tourists instead found another surprise to greet them: the Spike Arena was closed. The famous Arena that had witnessed so much carnage during its tenure had been boarded up and shut down. Its roof was even concealed by a thick tarp, dissuading any who might be able to take wing from taking a peek at what lay within. If one were to wander close, however they would hear the faint sound of hammerfalls echoing from inside the Arena’s walls. Were they to wander even closer, they might even find the small whitewashed sign that hung from its gates; the message that the cracked, black script conveyed was simple, but one that caused no end of excitement to spread throughout the complex. Before high noon, all knew that there would be a new arena debuting at next year’s Elemental Championships.

The would-be combatants, either just arriving, or having taken a night's rest either at an inn or at the small camp of tents at the base of the Arena hill, would get to see the normal artisans' handiwork soon enough, right after the priests and mages within them finish their last checks on the protective barriers and image transportation enchantments for the gathered crowds.


Moreso than any other Arena in the complex, Fountain was an enigma. Despite being just as old as Cellar, it still held surprises that could shock even the most veteran competitors and spectators.

Fountain was a chameleon, an Arena that was altered year after year as its designers attempted to find the perfect combination of peril and polish. It had become an unspoken tradition that every year the Fountain Arena was in use, it would take a different form; that entrants consigned to the Arena should expect the unexpected.

This year’s designer made his final rounds on the morning of the competition’s commencement, carefully checking over every last nook and cranny of the newly reinvisioned Fountain. Such an organic concept had been a first for the aforementioned architect, but he hadn’t let that daunt him. Instead it had inspired him; made him work all the harder to craft the Arena into a perfect representation of his vision. He was a Handyman through and through, and knew how to work with anything that he was given.

The man’s blue eyes practically shone as he stood at the gates, looking out over his creation with pride. A smile even came to his lips as he turned his back at last, idly tapping one of the metal rods at his hip as the portal clanged shut behind him.

*


The great gates slowly creaked open, a warm mist spilling through the portal as the competitors got their first glimpse of what lay beyond. Gone were the tombstones and mausoleums that had dominated the space at the previous Championship, the designer and his artisans choosing a very different theme for the Arena this year. As the entrants start forward, they are greeted by more of the light mist, a fog that pervades the arena air.

The circular Fountain Arena appears to have been divided into three layers, each bisected by the cobbled path that cuts straight through to the center and then onward to the rear wall. The outermost ring consists of vines, bushes and other low-lying plants, the undergrowth covering the ground and making any attempt at rushed travel a veritable death trap. Scattered among the plant life is a series of dilapidated, decrepit buildings, each overgrown and covered with the very life that surrounds them. There are three buildings: two one story structures with peeling white paint that might better be described as a pair of walls rather than homes, and a two-floor brick affair that looks like it’s on its last legs, two of its walls long since turned to dust.

The second layer is filled with trees, the wooden giants rising high above the rest of the Arena. Their leafy canopies block out much of the sun’s light, creating an artificial twilight in the space below, scattered beams of light shining through the fog to create eerie patches of brilliance. The trees are certainly climbable, divots thrust into the lower parts of the trunks in order to make it even easier.

The third layer of the Arena once again engulfs the entrants in sunlight, the titular fountain finally coming into view at its center. The fixture looks grander than it has in many years, its glimmering pearly white surface a contrast with the aged look of the rest of the Arena. The boiling water billowing forth from the fountain is revealed to be the source of the fine mist that fills the air of the complex, the liquid cooling instantly as it cascades into the large surrounding pool. The pond is bordered by a yellowed brick wall, one section of the structure completely missing, a squat golden brown tree growing in its place. It not only hems in the water, but its sturdy branches may serve as platforms to stand on, should one desire. This magnificent structure is surrounded by a courtyard of smooth stone, dead plant life strewn all over its sun-baked surface. Each step on the stones produces a satisfying crunch, dispelling any chance of stealth in view of the fountain.

Its waters overflowing once more, Fountain is open for business.

< Message edited by Ryu Viranesh -- 7/2/2013 1:39:06 >
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 1
7/2/2013 3:34:24   
Starstruck
Member

Kai had entered the town of Bren like a breath on the wind, a wandering shadow who sought not merely room and board but instead a town to call her own. Her livelihood she brought with her in the form of a covered wagon, filled to the brim with assorted odds and ends.

Miss Kai's Shop Stop proved immensely popular amongst the people of Bren, like a well where all the people visit for fresh water. She seemed to have all kinds of objects, from beautiful trinkets that hardly deserved such a petty name to odd little gadgets that performed remarkable tasks. Her pharmacy was without a doubt extensive, and beginners were cautioned to stay away until they had learned the basic differences between poisons and non-poisons, for Kai would sell anything to anyone with a smile and a wink, no questions asked. Bren was a small town, anyway, and to have a neighbor who wasn't trying to find out everything they could was a blessing, not suspicious.

Kai lived among the people of Bren for nearly a year, but her true purpose never left her thoughts. And on the morning of the Championships, she stood in front of the Shop Stop and resolutely flipped her sign to "Closed."

Kai stood relaxed, hip stuck out in a sassy sort of way, one hand dangling with her scarf tail and the other resting on her slender waist. Though her expression was the picture of boredom and nonchalance, her almond-shaped eyes roamed the assorted competitors, forming opinions and calculating options. That one looked vulnerable. This one was nervous. That one...better steer well clear of that one. Her dangling hand held, as though it was of no great importance, a good-sized onigiri. Lunch for later? Who could tell? Surely nobody expected it to be a weapon!

The gates rumbled open and the mist rolled out like a carpet spread over a rich man's floor. With that, Miss Kai was ready to make her move. With a light, cheery swagger to her step, Kainoiay walked in front of the Arena gate, standing tall and implacable, but mostly (for her purposes) just open.

"I'll go first..." she said with a coy smile. Her moccasins made barely a whisper on the mossy cobblestones. Immediately, the ambiance changed. Things seemed muffled and somehow magical and old, as though Kai had stepped onto a sacred ground onto which, though she did not belong, she had been invited. The trees formed a canopy of shade, crisscrossing her body with odd patterns. The darkness felt refreshing on her skin. She turned and smiled.

"See? Nothing to worry about," she laughed.

Suddenly, her face contorted - pain? fear? agony? - and she screamed shrilly. It seemed as though a terrible shadow had passed over the sun; Kai's body turned pitch black where the sunlight did not touch her form. Her eyes turned pitch black, and she fell into the ground, leaving no trace to show she had ever been. Only the memory of her scream lingered in the misty air.

In a nearby tree, a watchful pair of eyes waited as a shadow flitted across the ground; they waited patiently until the last competitor had entered and the gates had been shut before melting into the darkness.
DF MQ  Post #: 2
7/2/2013 4:08:14   
Antithesis
Member

A few months ago –

“Ahaha! A’ight, fine, mark my words!” Rolek tilts his head back, taking huge gulps from his mug of cider. “I will come back, lads. Even if it’s just so I can have another glass of this inn’s delicious cider!”
The innkeeper slaps Rolek on the back. “You’ve been a legend in this village since you were a sprout. If it’s fair to call you that, you oak tree of a man! Ha- you were stronger than a bull from day one!”

Rolek gives out a jolly laugh and waves farewell to the patrons of his hometown inn. It was time for him to travel to Bren; to fight in the Elemental Championship.

Three days ago –

Rolek is speaking to his Ox, whom has been his companion for thirty years. “Listen, Tidus. It’s time for you to head back home. When I win this tournament, I will call for you. I trust you will make it back safely?”
Tidus almost rolls its eyes, its heavily armored head looking at Rolek, feigning sarcastic sadness.
“Good, lad! I will see you soon!”

The Ox lets out a proud hmph as it turns around, nodding at Rolek. It runs into the distance and Rolek stands, chuckling to himself in excitement for the coming battles.



Rolek's gray locks move in the light wind. With one hand, he fiddles about with his braided goatee. With the other, he traces two fingers along his precious blade, Mothbrand, keeping it sheathed. He takes note of his surroundings and stands quietly, unmoving even, as he sizes up the competitors of the arena.
Well now... Looks like I'm not the biggest one here.

He manages to resist the urge to throw himself into the soon-to-be bloodbath.
At that, he hears a bloodcurdling scream. It was too soon. Too quick to mean anything. None of the other competitors had time to perform an attack...

Something isn’t right. Something sneaky is up... sneaky sneaks will be punished in due time, but not now. I can’t leave myself open for surprises so early. I need to see what I’m up against.

Without a word, Rolek darts toward a ruined building made of bricks, using the free time at these early stages of combat to prepare himself for two energized blinks that take him to his destination quickly, moving too fast to be visible to an untrained eye.
He sits silently behind one of the walls, with his hands clasped in his lap.

I will rest here, even if just for a moment.
I will sit. I will watch. I will wait. Soon, someone will show promise in combat... Only then can I make a move.
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 3
7/2/2013 9:56:35   
unknown2215
Member

Zephyr gazed at the information broker in front of him expressionless, Elemental Championship? He had heard of the competition briefly during his travels but he never looked deeper into the matter, dismissing it as a foolish waste of time. Now though, he had just heard that the winner of the Elemental Championships would supposedly earn a "wondrous boon". His curiosity was piqued by the tale. What form would the boon take? Would it be an artifact of power from the Elemental Lord you fought for? Or would it be a wish granted by the Lord him or herself?

The information broker cleared his throat, looking slightly annoyed at his client's silence. "Are ya' gonna pay me or what?" The broker snapped impatiently.

Zephyr's attention quickly returned to the shady looking information broker. "Are you certain about this? I do not pay for mere gossip." Zephyr questioned the man in a cultured tone, a single eyebrow raised.

"Of course I am! I don't lie to my customers! Bad for business and all that other nonsense!" The information broker quickly replied in a hushed and somewhat panicked tone, looking around the tavern the two were currently located in.

Zephyr held back a sigh, he would have to have a trip to Bren and ask the residents there if these rumors of the Elemental Championships were true. On the off chance that it was... He'd have a way to improve his relationships with The Wind by fighting in it's Lord's name and possibly win some sort of great reward. That is, if he didn't die before reaching that point of course. Well, you don't get to win if you don't risk losing.

"Very well then, I shall trust your word." Zephyr said as he reached into his satchel and fished out a small pouch of coins, throwing it at the greedy man. "Good day." Zephyr gave the broker a nod as he bid the man farewell and exited the tavern with quick, silent gaits.


Zephyr looked around him, analyzing his fellow competitors. There was quite a variety of people taking part in the Championships, and this was only one of a few arenas.

After asking the residents of Bren, Zephyr concluded that there was indeed some substance behind the rumors of the Elemental Championships and had decided to take part in it himself.

After that, he stayed at Bren for a short duration of time before the the day the Championships begun. And what a string of surprises the day had been. He hadn't been expecting such a huge arena, having decided not to inspect it beforehand, hearing from the other denizens of Bren that the arenas were remodeled each year. Then he discovered that Kai, the shop owner, was participating in this as well. He'd have to be better prepared for the next time something unexpected came up.

A scream rang through the air, it was Kai's voice, had she gotten herself killed by one the the traps in the arena? It was certainly possible, but after Kai had managed to deceive him into thinking that she was a harmless shop owner, he wouldn't put anything past her. Perhaps she really was a simple shop owner who got in over her head and decided that risking her life was a small matter in comparison to the reward that the winner would receive.

But there was a problem with that theory, a person had to be mildly competent with an element before joining, therefore Kai had to have some experience with magic or perhaps a type of martial art. So many possibilities...

Out of the corner of his eye, Zephyr noticed the large, aged man darting toward a ruined building. He briefly contemplated whether or not he should shoot the man in the back. Deciding to stay neutral for now, Zephyr walked off towards one of the smaller ruined structures with peeling white paint, walking slower and more cautiously but still as silent than usual, it would not do well to be caught in a simple trap after traveling this far. For now, his greatest problem was the solving mystery about Kai.
AQ  Post #: 4
7/2/2013 15:22:43   
Necro-Knight
Member

A week prior…

Rowan sat at a table in the pleasant Smashing Pumpkin Inn, his chair balanced precariously on its back legs and his feet up on the table, crossed. His head was laid backwards, eyes closed as he listened to the soft music in the background and enjoying the scent of cinnamon and pumpkin. This was his past time, the time he enjoyed of all else. When he could simply be at peace.

Rosemary, the bubbly Inn Owner bounced over to the young man and set a small pile of envelopes on his table, giggling softly. “Your mail, Mr. Moonstone.”
Rowan opens his eyes and lets his chair right itself, smiling politely at the attractive woman, simple Son-of-the-Priestess manners surfacing again.

“Thank you, Rosemary, you take far too good care of me. “

“Nonsense, Mr. Moonstone, your my longest lasting customer. I have to treat you somehow!”

With another giggle, she walks back to her place at the counter and he starts sorting through his letters. Some from friends, some from former classmates, and…Oh, what was this? He opened the flier and began reading, something about a Tournament of the Elements. Supposedly, the winner was granted some “Incredible” reward by the Avatars themselves, the rulers of Lore and her elements. The first thing that rose from his mind was his family, his parents who had been taken from him. If anyone could restore his parents without using some dark magic or twisted Necromancy…then the Avatars could.

“Avatars have mercy on those who stand between me and victory…”

He would travel to FalconReach through the forests of DoomWood and take the Griffon from there. The quickest way, it seemed.



Rowan entered the Arena along with the others and took a deep breath of the mist, smiling a bit. He’d spent so much time in DoomWood that he had forgotten just how beautiful the sun and greenery could be. The arena wasn’t in its finest shape, but it added a rustic feel to it and complimented how nature had attempted to reclaim the stadium.

Following the woman named Kai’s scream and sudden disappearance, he snaps himself from admiring the sauna-like mist and foliage. She seemed to simply fade into the void, but to the trained eye of someone who’d spent 6 years of his life training among shadow users, he’d seen her true shadow slink off. If she wanted to be a trickster and win with smoke and mirrors, that was up to her. His true focus was on a thin, blonde, young man who was currently taking up refuge in one of the dilapidated structures on the first level of the Arena. This sun-kissed man had a bow and arrow, which took precedence over the other competitors.

He walks forward, and softly places his fingers into the water, feeling the coolness even through his gauntlet and cloth armor. All the while, his attention never leaves the blonde man as he nears the crumbling structure.
DF MQ AQW  Post #: 5
7/2/2013 23:56:28   
Eukara Vox
Legendary AdventureGuide!


 "What do you mean, I can't fly?" Tharala glared at the official, her brilliant gold wings opening slightly in an unconscious gesture that conveyed anger and the intent to intimidate. Her hand gripped the ash stave of her spear, and she repressed a sudden, irrational urge to jab the offending man with the tip of the weapon. That would be both unprofessional, and likely result in her being excluded from the competition, and there was too much riding on her shoulders for that. "Do I look like some sort of ground-walker to you?"

"Ma'am, I'm very sorry, but the rules are the rules." To his credit, the official managed to avoid looking bored, disinterested, or offended, even though he had just been obviously insulted. No doubt he had dealt with a dozen other hopefuls so far, and would see as many more once he was done with Tharala. "The rules state that flight is not permitted, as it gives flying competitors an unfair advantage over ground-bound competitors."

"But..." Tharala flailed at her mind, trying to find something, and then she let out a shout of triumph. "Ha! The Champion just a few years ago flew! You must be mistaken."

The official shook his head. "I am sorry ma'am. Champion Ember was an exception to the rule. She-"

"And why should she receive special consideration? Why can I not fly?"

"Ma'am, Champion Ember was of small stature. She would have come up to your knee. She was allowed to fly because it was the only possible way she could traverse the Arenas in any reasonable amount of time."

Tharala stared at the man, feeling her hopes crumbling around her. She was a hunter, not a warrior... A skyfisher, not a fighter. How could she possibly hope to go up against trained fighters? Tharala had been counting on the ability to strike from above and behind as a way of evening the odds. Without her wings she would be unable to strike from the sun, using it to blind her foes. She wouldn't be able to evade quickly by leaping into the air. She wouldn't be able to...

"Ma'am," the official touched Tharala's shoulder gently, startling her, "I am sorry, truly I am. If you wish, you can still withdraw your entry."

Anger flared again, blowing aside the dust of her hope. Tharala's golden eyes hardened for a moment, but she looked away. She shouldn't be angry with this man. He was only trying to help her, and he was only doing his job. She fought down the anger, doing her best to keep her voice even. Still, she could not keep a hint of bitter disappointment from seeping through. "No, I... I cannot. I will fight, and... and I will not fly."

Once her entry was finalized, Tharala had fled to the outskirts of the city. Only once she was out of sight of any of the locals or other competitors did she allow herself the weakness of weeping. How could she possibly win? It did not matter, in the end. She had resolved to try, to fight, and if she died, at least she would die trying.


Snjór Hlýju sat in the rafters of the modest military house her family had resided in all of her life. She could hear them talking below, quite loudly, about her. But that was normal dinner conversation.

"I haven't seen Snjór in days," said Allt, the younger twin.

Fyrst shrugged. "I heard she was lurking about the ruins, hanging with the Oldspells."

Their mother stared at the twins, her eyes hardened. "We do not revel in rumours. Eat before it gets cold. Both of you have trials tomorrow morning. You will need your strength."

Sterk, the youngest child, looked at his siblings. "Why do you even care? It's not like she is really one of us. She isn't fond of order, she shirks her duties at the training grounds, and she smells of magic. If it was up to me, she would sleep outside."

Allt laughed harshly. "She already does. So, you are an idiot for proposing something that already happens."

Sterk eyed his sister. "Yeah, but this way, it wouldn't be voluntary. It would be us disowning her."

Their father didn't budge, but continued to sip his coffee. Sighing deeply, their mother washed dishes. There was no defense for her in their actions.

Fyrst yawned. "Sucks to be the middle child of a family like ours. She just means very little in the grand scheme of things..."

Snjór lowered her eyes. Ever since the magic had manifested, their slight intolerance of her odd behaviour had grown to utter disdain and hatred. It wasn't her fault. The magic chose her, not the other way around.

Father looked up. "Have you heard about all the weird occurances lately? Thefts, rearrangement of things in and out of homes, poltergeists in plain view... The thefts haven’t been small either. Some have been significant, and within homes of some of our most prominent members of the ruling class... All without a trace of evidence as who did it. I swear, if we had someone like that on the force, we could do great things."

Shaking her head, she crept out. If he only knew...



The camp was small, only enough to fit Tharala’s needs. A small, carefully dug firepit, a mound of fir branches covered in her cloak for a bed, and a traveller’s well not too far away. This was not how she was used to spending her days and nights, on the ground, vulnerable. And yet, what choice did she have? If she was to compete, she must walk, and if she must walk, she had to get used to being on the ground. She huddled in her wings, staring into the fire absently, thoughts roaming.

Snjór moved along the road slowly. She had already been in Bren for awhile, watching everyone, waiting out their foibles and weaknesses, and even observing strengths if she watched long enough. Most, if not all, the combatants were in town now and she had seen them all. Some she was impressed with. Some... she shook her head. She lurked in the shadows, catwalked the walls and roofs, and found most people so preoccupied by the tournament that a purse here and there went missing without notice. Well, until it was way too late, of course.

She stopped and sniffed the air. A familiar smell faintly danced on the air. Moving slowly, she crept towards the smell, her mind rolling through all the people and places she had visited and concentrated on. Definitely a who, not a what. But who... She moved closer silently and sniffed again. Female, definitely, but other than that, she couldn’t tease out anymore details.

Tharala rubbed at her eyes, sniffing. It was just smoke from the fire, that was all. A shiver ran through her, and doubt reared up again, tearing at her like a strong headwind. Who was she to think that she could do this? She was just a hunter, not a soldier, and yet, here she was, about to walk into a place of slaughter on the mad hope of some indistinct reward. “Stop it. Just stop. They need you, you have to.”

Ears now turned forward, she heard the voice of a female and one that didn’t sound very happy. Distress, hurt, frustration... and a familiar scent which meant this could be a combatant. But why was she upset? The Tournament was soon and such a mindset was sure to limit her effectiveness.

Tharala chokes off a sob, clenching her hands and hugging herself, wings furling around her in a tight, defensive gesture. “Won’t cry... Won’t cry...”

Snjór stopped behind a wall of fern and bushes, watching. She had followed the sound and scent, leading her to the beautiful avian that had entered town only a short time ago. No wonder the lady’s scent was so fresh on her mind. But, she was crying. The feline was unsure about revealing herself. Not that she was prone to keep this secret and use it against the avian, since secrets are often more deadly than intended when used. But, would it benefit them both for her to step out of the shadows?

Something about this was saddening. Perhaps, it forced her to remember her own emotions. A small insect buzzed about her face but she kept still. Another joined, but she continued her motionless vigil. Sadly, this one landed on her nose. She covered her face with her hand, feeling a sneeze coming along. Wriggling her nose, she fought it. But, she was no match, and sneezed into her hand. It was a very quiet sneeze, but a sneeze nonetheless.

It was pure instinct that caught the sound. Tharala was absorbed in fighting against the tears threatening to fall, but she was still a hunter, and a skyfisher needed keen hearing to survive the skies. She leapt, first to her feet, and then into the air, her golden wings pumping hard and lofting her above the small campsite as she turned and whirled, searching out the source of the noise. “Who is there?”

Snjór rolled her eyes, hating nature at the moment. Now that the avian was alerted to her presence, she stepped out from behind the cover she had taken, straightening up to her full 5’10” height. She cocked her head to the side, observing her. So, she can fly. Good to know.

Tharala stared down at the lean, muscled figure of the feline humanoid. She swallowed, pushing down a reflexive fear of the feline. The white and black figure simply returned her stare. Tharala’s wings continued to pump automatically, keeping her aloft. “Who... Who are you?”

“A fellow combatant for the tournament. You have not been here long. Why are you already upset?” Her look was one of inquiry and curiosity.

“I... I’m not upset!” Tharala slowly drifted back to the ground, cursing her weakness. Here she had been, doing her best to overcome her reliance on flight by training and living on the ground, and what had she done? At the first sign of danger or surprise, her instincts had taken over, and she had flown. If she did this in the tournament, she would be disqualified! She shook her head, repeating the words. “I’m... I’m not upset.” Her tone suggested otherwise.

Snjór’s ears flattened slightly. “Your voice says otherwise, as do the wet places on your face. I won’t touch you if you are concerned. That is not for now.” She looked at the avian, eyes forward. Her tail relaxed somewhat, the end brushing the ground. “Why are you upset?”

Tharala touched down lightly, swiping at her face with one hand. She looked at the feline, hesitating. “I... I am afraid...” She twitched, realizing what she had just said.

“There is nothing wrong with that. Fear is healthy. It keeps you alert and watchful!” Her tail twitched slightly, brushing the ground more actively.

She looked aside, her wings drooping slightly. “I’m not afraid to die.” Her voice hardened, and she looked back at the feline, challenging her to disagree. “I’m not! I’m just... I’m afraid to fail, and... and I’m afraid that without being able to fly...” Lords and Ladies, how could she be so foolish? She was just spilling her heart out to some cat she had just met, one who she would probably end up fighting, and here she was giving away her weakness!

“Not having your wings in the tournament will be difficult. That would be like me having to enter without my tail.” Snjór grinned at the thought. “But, perhaps this is your chance to become strong in other ways?”

Tharala swallowed. “I... I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Well, look at it this way. Had I been put in a place of water, what would I do there? If I gave up, and gave in, I would flounder, let the water soak my fur, and be defeated. And most displeased. But, if I do not give up, but face it, I may learn how to use it better, survive in it better, and learn how it will be my help. It can be the same as you.” Her tail twitched more, obviously a sign that she was enjoying herself.

Her head turned slightly to one side, a golden eye focusing on the feline. She turned the words over in her mind, and found, to her surprise, that they made a great deal of sense, and aligned with what she had been trying, albeit unsuccessfully, to convince herself of. “You’re right.” Her wings opened slightly, and Tharala folded them behind her back gracefully. “Will you... will you join me, for a while? I think that it would be good to spend some time with someone, rather than alone with my thoughts.”

“Join you?”

The wings fanned open, and then half-curled on themselves. It was an unconscious gesture of embarrassment. “I mean sit with me for a while. That is, if you would like to...”

“No, no, it’s just that...” She twitched her nose self-consciously. “I am not someone who gets invited to join people.”

“Maybe,” Tharala managed a slight smile, “maybe you can learn something then?”

Snjór looked at Tharala, a small smile beginning. “Perhaps...”



That had been a couple of days ago now, and Tharala stood tall and proud before the gates of the Fountain Arena, silently thanking the Lord and Lady of Light that she had been selected for this place, rather than the one they called Cellar. A frisson of horror ran down her spine at the very thought. Trapped beneath the earth like some rodent, a thousand thousand tons of sand above you, just waiting for some crack in the ceiling. No, even ground-bound and weakened, it was better to be here than there, though she did wish that she might have been selected for Sky. Then again, that might have been too much for her, to be there, high up in the sky, and yet unable to spread wing and take to the air.

She sighed, shaking her head as the great doors before the competitors yawned open, spilling a torrent of mist out to creep about the ankles of those gathered there. Tharala took a deep breath, willing herself to be steady as she started to take the first step forward, only to be paralyzed by a scream of unimaginable pain. Her golden eyes went wide, fixing on the form of the woman writhing and jerking before crumpling. Tharala's head twitched, tilting to one side as... something... darted away. She had caught the movement from the corner of an eye, her hunting instincts prompting it to her attention.

Tharala gripped her spear tighter, forcing her attention to the other competitors as they moved into the Arena. The woman was dead. Something must lurk within the shaded, tangled mass of vegetation. If that was the case, then refuge lay within the sun's rays as they caressed the center of the Arena, and the fountain for which it was named.

Tharala shook her head, causing the emerald plumage that looked so much like hair to wave slightly. The first step would be the worst. The others would see it, and in seeing it, see her weakness. Her eyes darted to Snjor for a moment. It had been a surprise to see her here, and part of Tharala had hoped she would not need to fight Snjor at all, but here the feline was. She recalled their meeting, and swallowed her fear.

There was no choice, so she took the step, rocking forward first one step, and then another. Her taloned feet, weapons that could rend flesh and protect her, were hardly suited to walking. In fact, it was painful. Tharala's people were meant to fly, and though they could walk, even run, doing so was hard on them. She was not graceful on the ground. She, who could dance on the air, perform deft maneuvers that would steal the breath from wondering ground-walkers below. She was not graceful, but she walked. She had given her word.

Her face was set, showing no sign of anything but determination as she walked forward, down the cobbled path, passing into the first zone of vegetation. Tharala increased her pace with unconscious unease. If she was forced to walk, forced to fight on the ground like a mere human, than she would do it at the center of the Arena, there in the third zone where she could feel the kiss of the Lord and Lady of Light on her plumage, and where their glory would shine upon her golden wings.



She had been silent through all the instructions. She absorbed everything, even the changing sounds of the voice, for hidden information. But what she saw when the doors opened was nothing compared to the explanation.

Then it enveloped her.

Mist. Fur. NOT a great combination and now she was irritated. She stepped in, eyes wide, taking in enough so that she could leave this group and go. She remembered the layout, and had calculated her chances. For now, she would go into the middle layer. It looked like a messy path to get there at first, but she was confident she would clear the outer layer. Once everyone stepped through the door, she broke from the pack, sprinting towards the outer layer, her tail helping her to stay balanced while navigating around people. One fell, she heard the screaming but paid it no heed. Another darted so fast that her feline eyes had trouble maintaining a focus on it. That one headed for the ruins.

Her eyes scanned the flora, pinpointing the larger shrubs, already mapping her path through. She wanted the trees. She passed one who strolled towards the outer layer and shook her head. She moved off to the side, as far away from the others as she could. After looking at all the others in her Arena, she recognised Tharala. So, they must be in the same place. She made a note, filing it away. But, she did not see Kieran. Part of her was relieved. Having both would have been a major ordeal.

She entered the outer ring and it was as annoyingly clingy as it looked. Her legs, though agile and strong, struggled, but she pushed ahead. She approached the first large bush, gathered herself and leapt, her hands grabbing the front of the bush and pulled while her legs landed and pushed hard, launching her forward several feet. She repeated the action, advancing across the vegetation until she reached the trees.
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 6
7/3/2013 20:19:05   
nield
Creative!


 One month ago...

Matthew was in a slump. He hadn't found anyone to 'play' with him for a few weeks, and he was getting increasingly bored out of his mind. So here he was, climbing around a lemon tree orchard, and stealing lemons and eating them whole, and he was flopped over a branch, sated for a time, when he heard voices below him, talking about some kind of tournament called the 'Elemental Championships' Matthew could only pick out a few of the words that were being spoken, but he heard what he needed. Firstly, it was a fighting tournament, which meant it was going to be lots of fun. Second, it was in a town called Bren, which was just under a month's travel from where he was now. Thirdly... well, there would have been a thirdly, if Matthew hadn't already gone leaping through trees, headed for Bren.

present time...

Matthew was standing in front of the Fountain Arena's gate. He'd arrived and signed up at almost the last minute, so he'd had no time to check out anyone else yet. Looking around, he was deciding who would be the most fun to play with. His eyes settled on Snjór, since she was feline. Cats like to play games and have fun the most, don't they? ...Yeah, play with her first, then see who else enjoys games a lot. he watched as she made her way through vegetation and headed for the trees. he was chuffed: He'd been planning on heading for the trees himself, so he dashed along the cobbled path, wondering why the feline hadn't done the same, and instead headed through the vegetation. He reached the trees and leapt at the closest one. His claws digging into the bark, he quickly scaled it, and perched up there, looking around to see where Snjór would ascend.
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 7
7/4/2013 16:53:46   
Eukara Vox
Legendary AdventureGuide!


 Narrowing her eyes, she glimpsed one who seemed to be running alongside her, but on the path. How boring. And really, how do you get your body warm and ready by running in a straight line... Snjór gathered herself for a large leap to the last bush that bordered the outer and middle layers. She reached for the next bush as her back legs pushed off. Her body stretched out as far as possible, her tail angled to keep her righted. Landing hard, she sprung into the treed area, her back legs skittering across the leafy floor. Snjór stood, brushed her hands off and surveyed the area. It was beautiful and it was a shame she couldn't enjoy it.

Her pupils widened greatly to compensate for the darkness and saw the one that had been running with her disappear up a tree. So, we had the same goal. I will assume that means what I think it does. I am his target. And of course, the ONE I had no time to watch. Targeting a nearby tree, Snjór moved quietly and leaned against it, on the side unseen by the combatant, to review her circumstances.

Tharala is in here. I will avoid her as much as I can and attempt an alliance, as Kieran told me can happen. She was nice and invited me sit with her. I didn't see Kieran, at all. Not even a glimpse, for which I am grateful. Her heart slowed a bit as she was also using this time to regulate her pulse. She sighed in relief. A small boulder sat nestled in fallen leaves on the ground ahead, reminding her of home and her mountains. Bowing her head, she thanked her gods he was not in the same arena, hoping he was okay wherever he was sent.

"So, what to do with mystery man and watching me..." Noticing her eyes were finally acclimated to the shadows, Snjór picked out where the light filtered through. She was at a disadvantage if the light ever hit her, as she would glow like the spirits of the dead with her fur. The spots would help, as long as she stayed out of the light. Sighing, she wondered if she should consider casting Whiteout. She began to maneuver her way through the wooded floor, evaluating the tree tops and trying her best to avoid the shafts of soft light falling to the floor. Keeping the one who targeted her, well his tree, on one side of her, she moved with him always in sight.

If Snjór had any chance of finding a place to plan, she would need to cast. Shrugging and looking up at the trees around her, she imagined the parameter of the snowy fog. It would need to wrap around the wide trunks of the great oaks that stood resolute in the arena and rise as one would clothe a bride on her wedding day. She took a deep breath, centering herself and pulled the moisture in the air that pervaded the arena and called the cold and her Guardian. Ice is life, Ice is love. Wrapped in blessing from above. Conceal my form, conceal my heart. And keep my life and death apart.

The fine icy fog began to materialise slowly, and spread across the floor and up several trees. It rolled and sighed as it caressed the trees and Snjór. Snjór felt a twinge of joy and rapture as the icy particles pervaded her sense of touch and smiled. Wherever the light hit the fog, it amplified the effect, spreading light everywhere. She knew not to look directly at it, for that would blind her. She walked through and chose a tree and began to climb. It had begun.
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 8
7/4/2013 22:08:42   
unknown2215
Member

A contestant went past him, this one was sprinting, he quickly turned his head and started analyzing the sprinter as best he could. The sprinter was female and seemed to be wearing clothes made of the fur of a snow leopard? No, there were paws instead of feet and ears tufted with the same fur, she was simply one of the many humanoid races in the world. Her speed was good, but not much compared to the large man from earlier and she was headed towards the second layer. The observation took only a few seconds and Zephyr continued his walk to the ruined building, faster than before now that someone had sprinted ahead of him and not triggered any traps.

Reaching the ruined building that barely qualified as a wall, Zephyr took a look around the arena once again. There was an androgynous person perched atop a tree at the second layer. His most notable features were the fact that his left arm was gone from below the elbow and the two clawed fingers that were in his right hand. He would let the clawed person deal with the feline woman. Turning away, Zephyr noticed a woman with bright, multicolored plumage with wings and talons taking the cobbled path, possibly towards the third layer? Zephyr couldn't imagine the bird woman having an easy time fighting with either the vegetation or the trees in the way, especially with the talons she had for feet.

Continuing his scan of the arena, he looked back towards the area all the contestants were gathered at just a short while ago, there the younger man donning the armor Death Knight was staring at him. So he was being targeted already? Zephyr did not expect to draw anyone's attention so far, with his thin build and lack of arrows. Perhaps it was exactly that fact that drew the Death Knight's attention.

What to do now? Attack the vulnerable bird woman and hope for a quick kill? Death Knights honed their magic just as much as they did with their skills with the sword, the man staring at him would probably try hitting him with some dark spell while he aimed at the bird woman. That course of action was too risky at the moment. Not to mention the fact that Kai was hidden somewhere around the arena too.

He had to get to a better position, Zephyr thought, walking towards the other single storied dilapidated structure. He did not want to enter the second layer with both the feline woman and the crippled one beginning to fight each other, nor did he want to go towards the bigger structure that the large, older man had gone to.
AQ  Post #: 9
7/5/2013 5:11:57   
Antithesis
Member

Rolek inhaled softly, calmly, as he sat listening to the arena’s combatants. He could hear the slight movement of grass off in the second layer. So they’re all gathering in one place? No. One is chasing another?

The sound of scratching bark echoes ever-so-quietly.

They’re... climbing trees? What kind of competition is this?! Where is the clashing metal, the joy of combat?! Why is everyone so sneaky?!? These... these... I don’t even...

Rolek throws himself from the ground and opens his eyes, jumping out from behind the ruined wall. It doesn’t take long for his sensitive eyes to locate most of the other combatants, but he fixates his gaze on one in-particular. A black, heavily armored type.

Death Knight. I recognize the armor from the drawings I sometimes see in those kids’ books back home. And... he’s walking toward... another black-armored combatant. Black... black...

He then turns his attention to the trees. A cat. A strange, deformity of a man chasing her.

Blast, I lost sight of some of the comba-

Sudden light from the forest causes Rolek to bellow out a roar of pain.

“GAH! GET YOUR SHINING MESS OUT OF HERE!”

My eyes! Gods, get rid of it!

A wave of electricity runs from the ground up into Rolek’s body and, glowing in fury, he hurls a spear of lightning randomly into the forest area, aiming somewhere toward the light. He turns around and stumbles about for several seconds in an attempt to regain his composure, but he sees nothing but orbs of color.

Calm down Rolek. Calm down... Calm down. Calm down... Calm down!
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 10
7/5/2013 22:41:46   
Necro-Knight
Member

A lot had happened in the few minutes he’d spend running his fingers through the cool Fountain water. Someone had released a sharp, thick fog-like cloud over a section of the Tree-covered floor and easily hidden most of the area. Sharp beams of reflected light caused him to wince, but only slightly. He was sensitive to light, but not nearly as sensitive as this other person seemed to be. Rowan’s trained ear searched over the arena where he heard the cry come from.

“GAH! GET YOUR SHINING MESS OUT OF HERE!”

He heard this follow the cry, but still, could not locate its origin. You’re not worth my time if I cannot see you. Now you, Mr. Archer… Your day is about to get a whole lot more fun.
Without taking his eyes from the man, even as the Archer began to move towards the destroyed structure, Rowan started to move himself. It started as a walk, then a brisk jog, then a sharp run. This area was smaller than the rest of the Arena, so it was a quick transition. With each step, clouds of black and violet shadows began to pour from his form, as if the Darkness was overflowing from his very being. Each step left a glowing violet print and the shadows left a thick, smoke-like trail behind him. As he reached the edge of the Fountain Level, he bent his knees and launched forward in an almost leap-like movement.

As he did so, the shadows suddenly seem to flash and collapse into the man’s body, his form being wrapped up in the swirling shadows and disappearing entirely. No trace, no sound except the echo of the man’s heavy footsteps as they faded and only the small wisps of shadow to mark where he’d been.

As his form was converted to shadow and moved, Rowan gritted his teeth. He’d never truly enjoyed Shadow-stepping, but it was quick, untraceable way of movement. He’d felt his mana drain substantially as soon as his form had turned to living Darkness, but he could afford to use a little more for his follow-up strike.

Behind the archer, the shadows once again poured from the air itself, and the young Necro-Knight launched from them. He pushed off his back foot, and thrusts his palm forward towards the blonde man, as if he was going to strike him. Instead… a violet/black skull appears in his grip, casting his “Skulls will Roll” spell, he aims to hit Zephyr with his explosive spell rather then throw it as a projectile. Rowan’s armor would protect him from the splash force, but the bulk of the explosive power would be focused towards the Archer…

DF MQ AQW  Post #: 11
7/5/2013 23:32:18   
unknown2215
Member

"GAH! GET YOUR SHINING MESS OUT OF HERE!" Zephyr heard. It seemed like one of the contestants had been blinded by the bright fog he'd seen emerging from the forest before he turned away from it. Judging by the contestant's voice, it was probably the large man.

Suddenly, his Wind Senses screamed at him. Time froze for Zephyr as he processed the information given to him. There was a threat to him, it was coming from directly behind him and the level of danger was moderately high. Time restarted and Zephyr quickly dived to the side, using a quick application of his Burst skill to increase the speed of the move and the distance he covered.

Quickly getting back onto his feet once he touched the ground, Zephyr spun around to look at what had threatened him. To his surprise, the Death Knight was standing right behind his former position, a black skull with a hint of violet just passing through the spot he was standing at. Zephyr narrowed his eyes at the Death Knight. How had he gotten behind him so quickly? He was running his fingers in the water just a moment ago. He had some form of quick travel, it was not unheard of for ones using the Darkness element to have such a skill. The Death Knight chose to get within arm's reach of him, he must have been hoping that Zephyr wouldn't be able to avoid the blast and get taken out in one hit. Or perhaps the Death Knight was simply more comfortable at close range.

Still, the Death Knight would most likely be surprised at his failed attack right now. Zephyr quickly created a sword. It was plain and undecorated, seemingly made of simple steel, shorter than a longsword and it's blade slightly broader as well. Zephyr had never found out what the blade of made of, but it didn't matter to him. The sword served him well, never breaking against the numerous foes he had met in his travels. On the off chance that it did break or if he lost it, he could simply create another copy of the blade.

With this in mind, Zephyr threw the sword at the Death Knight, aimed for his head. Not the best of throwing weapons, Zephyr knew, but with the small distance between them it didn't matter, the blade would distract the Death Knight and get in the way along with allowing him to gauge the Death Knight's reaction and movements.

Zephyr prepared himself to create a shield and a copy of the thrown sword. One could never be too prepared.
AQ  Post #: 12
7/6/2013 0:16:24   
Riprose123
Member

One month prior...

Jackal crouched low to the ground, eyeing the buck in front of him. Light armor of shadow kept him camouflaged and allowed for quick movement. He sniffed, sensing the blood coursing through the animal with each beat of it's heart. He sensed every step it took, heard each and every breath. His grip tightened on the spear in front of him, and as he pushed the foliage aside, slowly, deliberately, he stood, stepping quietly across the clearing towards the buck. It caught whiff of him as he drew closer, and he had accounted for it. Every muscle in his legs tensed, ready to spring just as much as the wide eyed deer was, staring at him with dark brown eyes. After a few seconds of suspenseful waiting, if launched, and him with it, letting out a feral growl as he cut off it's escape with a quick thrust. The body thrashed once, and he grinned predatorily, slipping the buck over his shoulder, tail wagging as he returned to camp.



Present time...

Jackal stood in front of the gate way, glancing at all his opponents, clad in nothing but leather pants. His jewelry shown like an abyss in the sunlight, and second to last, he stepped through the gate, coming into a entirely different scene. He crouched low to the ground in the mist, sniffing as the shrill scream went off. He caught the scent of a running man, towards the ruined buildings he had sensed. Two more scents came from the foliage, and he caught the smell of adrenaline and sweat, probably meaning a hunt or combat. The particular sound of lunging and landing caught his ear, and he instinctively summoned armor, a breastplate and gauntlets, with nimble greaves and boots. A spear came to his hand as the rings glowed a dark purple, sucking the light around them out, the black shaft appearing in his hands. He crouched low to the ground, spear to his right side, staying below the mist, using it for cover. He moved a little to the side, keeping close to the gate as to catch anyone entering unawares. He sat on the balls of his feet, waiting, wanting the first bloodshed to be his, but wondering what possibilities of an alliance there could be, and whom it would be with.

< Message edited by Riprose123 -- 7/6/2013 0:18:47 >
DF MQ  Post #: 13
7/6/2013 1:17:11   
Kellehendros
Eternal Wanderer


 Tharala walked.

It hurt, but she was in the second zone now. The cobbles were smooth and rounded, the path well paved. No doubt it was an easy thing for the others to walk this path, perhaps even pleasant. Without the lurking knowledge that the others in the Arena with her would do their level best to kill her, Tharala might even have enjoyed the scenery. There was something a little sad about this place, a distant and detached part of her mind whispered. It was dilapidated and overgrown, with buildings toppling down in shambles, the wall about the fountain that gave the place its name broken. The entire place had an air of tiredness, of a slow, aching descent into the grip of nature. That distant part of her mind found this place peaceful, in its own sad, wing drooping way. It was almost a shame that people where going to die here.

And people where going to die here. That thought was driven home by another screaming, pained cry, and the sudden discharge of a bolt of electricity. She winced slightly at the thunderclap that followed, superheated air expanding behind the bolt, well away from her as she continued gamely forward. Just keep moving. Left. Right. Left. Right. Get to the fountain. That detached part of her mind, the one distant from the horror and anxiety about what was to come, wondered who had designed the Arena. She would have liked to have met him, or her. The place had spirit. Was that an odd thing to say to an architect? Maybe, but she wanted to tell him that. The place you made, it has spirit, I could feel it.

The others were moving, darting into the foliage, disappearing into the shadows and sun-dappled spaces. She had lost sight of Snjor. There was something about that thought that made her sad as well. The feline was gone, but there was a bright mist leaking through the trees in the second zone, a fog that flickered and scattered the light diffusely. Yet, Tharala had no time to worry about her friend now. That thought brought the skyfisher to a rocking halt for a bare moment, before she remembered that she had to keep moving. A friend? She had known Snjor for all of a few days, and only spoken to her once... But there it was. Perhaps it was the light in a time of darkness the feline had brought, but Snjor had, somehow, gone from being Tharala's competitor to her friend. What a naive notion. I... I might have to kill her. I can't think of her like that. Tharala thrust the thought away vehemently. Snjor was somewhere in the second zone, and Tharala was headed for the fountain. If they met... If they met... If they met, Tharala would deal with what to do then.

She stepped up, onto the third level of the Arena, the mist rolling out from the fountain spilling over her legs and talons. The cool mist actually felt surprisingly good on her pained feet. Each step sent a sliver of pain into her shins and ankles. Tharala flexed her wings slowly, opening them wide, light shimmering off her golden feathers, and the bits of moisture clinging to her longer pinions that had swept through the rolling carpet of mist as she had walked. She had made it, and she allowed herself a small moment of pride at the accomplishment. Perhaps another would have laughed at her had the known. Still, it had been years since she had walked any appreciable distance. This was something.

What it was was a distraction from what happened around her. Tharala pushed the extraneous thoughts away, shifting her stance and moving slowly around the fountain. She intended to get her back to the tree that had grown up through the wall enclosing the fountain. Cornered prey was always dangerous. Perhaps she was not a soldier or a fighter, but she was a hunter, and to her mind, it made sense to have a good, solid tree behind her. It would give her something to brace against, and would ensure that no one could sneak up behind her. Satisfied to continue to wait and watch, Tharala shifted her spear into a two-handed grip, her sharp eyes darting back and forth over the Arena to see who would approach, her wings fanning with gentle motions, stirring the mist rolling off the fountain around her.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 14
7/6/2013 10:56:43   
Eukara Vox
Legendary AdventureGuide!


 Crouching low on a branch, Snjór analysed each person's direction of movement. She noted each, trying to decipher which would be the hardest for her to engage. She still had the one who felt.. incomplete, watching her, though now, it would be harder for him. Proud of herself, she looked down at the fog that had obscured most of the area she was in. It was the best cast by far with that spell. The OldSpells would have been proud. And the light... that was an interesting side effect. She was no light mage, but somehow, her Guardian had enabled the light to work its magic. It was amplified far too well otherwise. But, she wasn't going to argue with her Guardian. If her Guardian saw fit to bless the spell, she was indeed blessed. She had also surveyed the trees, their proximity and construct. They were close together, close enough to employ her balance and catwalking agility. She would be able to travel just as well from the tree tops as the ground, at least here...

Snjór watched in horror as the older fighter some distance over yelled at the top of his lungs in anger. As soon as he had finished his tantrum, a bolt of energy came hurtling towards the area where she wanted to plan her next move, and who it would be directed at. Not knowing where exactly the bolt would hit annoyed her, but that was a result of the fog she had generated. She heard the impact, the crackling smash and splintering of wood. It had hit a tree. Based on the hold she had on this tree, it wasn't hers, but it certainly was one close by. She leapt from her crouch, pushing off hard to clear the gap, to a tree one over away from the sound of the impact. The landing was awkward and her grip slid slightly, forcing her tail to stiffen and set to counter the balance so she could right herself and climb up properly. For a moment, she has half hung over a long fall. Once settled on the branch, she turned, her heart pounding.

The impact had done more than just splinter a tree.

A glow of angry red flared from beneath the trees, casting an angry haze throughout the dampened fog. The sickening smell of burning youth began to saturate the air. The tantrum thrower's inability to contain anger had sparked a fire somewhere beneath Snjór. It was more towards the center of the cast, which was the point of the flung bolt of energy. The fog remained, but the flames reached higher, licking the tree's surface as it seemed to seek out fresher air. Had it not been for the circumstances, Snjór would have thought the display quite beautiful. The stink of green, living wood burning assaulted her sensitive nose and she recoiled from the area, moving backwards towards the trunk. A sickly black smoke billowed and spread, carrying with it the scent of death and wasted life.

Snjór shook out her body, as if hoping to rid the stench from her fur. She sprinted across the branches and leapt once again into another tree, to get away from the smoke.

There it was. The edge of her spell, where the fog thinned and wafted to and fro in dizzying patterns of thickness and shape. She skidded on the branch, clawing for a hold so that she did not give herself away completely. Looking over her shoulder, she had a decision to make. Did she stick to the skirts of her spell and continue to plan her attack. Or was it imperative that she find a way to leave the area and hope that her escape was not noted? She looked back once more, and said a short prayer of healing to her Guardian. There, in the midst of the fog, one tree alone stood burning. The acrid black smoke continued to spread, and by now, has exited her Whiteout spell.
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 15
7/6/2013 11:52:24   
nield
Creative!


 Matthew had grinned and rubbed his hands together, even as his eyes squinted automatically in pain from the light that reflected off the fog. His voice became a sing-song soprano as he spoke; "So! She wants to play a game of hide-and-go-stab? Oh, I DO like her already! It's my favourite game!" Then, a voice reached Matthew's ears. "GAH! GET YOUR SHINING MESS OUT OF HERE!" "Muh? What's th-" Matthew was not able to finish his thought, as he felt something smash into the tree he was perched upon, and nearly threw him off with the force. "Wh-Whoa... that was.... *sniff, sniff-sniff* Oh my good Lords no... please not be fire, please not be fire, please not be fire, please not be fire..." He hesitantly looked down, and sure enough, the tree had burst into flames. Few creatures have ever moved as fast as Matthew did at that point. He screamed, his voice having dropped to the Bass range, and leapt straight from the tree, and reached his arms out, claws digging into soft wood as he monkey-barred his way away at top speed.

Only once he'd gotten a fair distance away (and had in fact gotten right around to the other side of the fountain) did he stop to settle himself, his breathing heavy and ragged. He looked down, and realised that the fog Snjór was not there. Confused, he looked up, and frowned when he glanced over the Fountain's way and saw smoke arising from beyond. In a moment of realisation, his eyebrows arched. His voice cracked out in a tenor as he reprimanded himself; "Stupid! Stupid stupid! Now she's all the way over there and you're here! How is one supposed to enjoy playing a game if their play-partner runs away?" However, not wanting to be anywhere NEAR the flames, he remained perched where he was, and simply watched over the Fountain layer,
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 16
7/6/2013 23:56:40   
Aurauris
Member

Thunk, thunk. Thunk.

Like bright leaves along the frantic river swept eight able bodies into the maw of Trial and Terror. Further back than usual limped the ex-monk, leaning heavily on her trusted staff. It was difficult to tell whether which was more weatherworn — girl or stave. Phaera gave the smooth birch a gentle pat of gratitude as she watched each contestant vanish beyond such elegant gates in a whirl of screams, sneaking, and sparks. Charm, Vitality, Ego, Justice, Pride, Honor, Insanity, and the Primal; one by one, swallowed whole by the fine, white —

Mist gathered beneath doorframes, huddled in corners and eddied at the edges of minds alike, a fog of hushed murmurs fallen from lips to curl around the feet of passersby. Invisible as she was in her dusty robes, crumpled at the edge of Bren's busiest road and every inch the picture of society's distaste, Phaera swept to herself these wisps and drew of them deep breaths. "A Championship.. treasure.. Gold? No.. a wish.. Blood on my hands? No thanks!.. only children believe in fairytales.."

That ache, that deep-seated dark ache had called out at these villagers' musings, and the whorls of rumor were left to tousle in the buffering breeze of early-morning traffic as the ex-monk had already slipped into the crowd, navigating around cart and pedestrian alike with a deftness surprising for one of her disability. Three legs trundled towards the Championship Registry, unheeding of Reason's cries; it was already too —

Late, she'd be, all thanks to guard who refused to believe she was a genuine competitor. Despite the breadth of her unease, Phaera gave a good-natured wince, river eyes peeking from beneath a fringe of gold, and quickened her pace as best she could, just barely squeezing between the retracting gates before retreat became no longer an option. A soft sigh escaped chapped lips as the moisture swept, cool and reassuring across her exposed face, coaxing a bright and wary gaze over the sights of unending foliage and crumbling ruin, light at play with mist throughout Fountain Arena.

The creak of heavy iron, a final click, and the faint, distant hiss of blossoming steam was all to fall upon the ears of this little, lost girl.
DF AQW  Post #: 17
7/7/2013 8:56:04   
Riprose123
Member

Jackal smiled as his first victim came into view, blonde hair sweeping behind her. She seemed to be a late competitor, and he smiled as he planted the butt of the spear into the earth, silently pushing himself up onto two feet, ears flat on his head, tail hanging limply. He watched her moved farther into the arena, watching her limp, before scrunching his eyes in puzzled thought. Sure, he was here to kill people, to win, but was he really going to stoop as low as to attack a cripple? He was a man of honor after all, primal and savage as he was. The spear in his hand shifted to two long swords, and he stood behind the girl as she gazed at the foliage. He coughed once, one longsword retreating to it's ring, before speaking.

"Umm.....hi," he said, looking around a little awkwardly, "My name's Jackal. I'm, um, not going to kill you, or try to," he glanced to the side, shifting his feet uncomfortably, "I'd be a liar if I hadn't been thinking about it. Err, um, who are you then?"

He glanced at the foliage in a form of habit, taking in a deep breath to try and find a mark on the other combatants. He marked their location, marveling at the different scents. With such diversity, this tournament would be quite interesting indeed.
DF MQ  Post #: 18
7/7/2013 11:28:04   
Eukara Vox
Legendary AdventureGuide!


 Snjór looked in the direction of the one who watched her (Matthew), but was surprised at what she saw and heard. He had seemingly turned and began to retreat, and not really making it a secret. It was as if he was... trying to escape something. But, she looked around, and saw no one hunting him. She crept along her branch, on all fours, her hands gripping the rough bark, needle-sharp claws extended. Her pupils dilated nearly completely, as her hunter's instinct kicked in. Body low, Snjór's tail worked to keep her body perfectly balanced as she moved forward, towards the watcher. As he picked up speed in his retreat, so did she in her chase. When she reached the end of a supporting branch, she leapt to the next tree, body fully extended in order to make use of the most distance possible. She lands lightly and continues her chase of the watcher, running along a branch here, descending by dropping down on another there. She thanked her Guardian, once again, for the gift of stealth and quiet pursuit. Never before had this skill come in handy as it did now.

From tree to tree, she hunted the watcher. With each movement, each jump, her feline instincts kicked in stronger. Then suddenly, he stopped and she crouched even lower on the branch, her stomach nearly touching the gnarled bark. She pulled herself along, eyes fully concentrating on him, ears swiveled forward. When he looked up, she flattened herself against the branch, the leaves obscuring her view, but that also meant his ability to view her was very limited. She lowered herself to a branch below her, arms first, then legs, still remaining as close to the tree branch as possible. When he spoke, her tail flicked back and forth on the branch in anticipation.

"Stupid! Stupid stupid! Now she's all the way over there and you're here! How is one supposed to enjoy playing a game if their play-partner runs away?"

And then, his attention was on the Fountain layer. It was a game, and now he was frustrated and... bored. She growled softly, her eyes flashing with a challenge. Reaching back, Snjór checked the thin holsters that kept her daggers strapped to her back. Once she was sure they were secure, she moved forward, quickly stalking her prey. Hand over hand, paw over paw, she slinked across the tree’s leafy appendage, then dropped down to a stronger branch below as if she was water cascading over a waterfall. Once she was close enough, she gathered her body under her, legs tense, ready to spring. Her ears swiveled, listening for anything that would interfere. Body tense and coiled, she took a deep breath and settled her spirit. Resolute, she shot out from her position, bounding from branch to branch, closing in on the watcher. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tharala in the Fountain Layer and doubled her effort to get to the watcher before he could get to her friend.

She leapt, hands extended and aimed for the center of his back. All of her weight and energy slammed into the watcher's back with the intent to knock him out of the tree. With a whip of her tail, she contorted her body to change direction, using his body as a springboard and reached for a neighbouring branch. She barely made it, grasping the branch with her hands while her feet fought for traction. Scrambling, she pulled herself up onto the top of the branch and turned to watch the results of her attack, her blue eyes observing closely, tail swatting at the air. She growled deeply and loudly, the sound rolling through her body, and bared her very sharp feline fangs. Ears alert for anything or anyone trying to take advantage of her attention on the watcher, she stared at the him, waiting.
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 19
7/7/2013 12:45:18   
nield
Creative!


 Matthew flailed, his arms waving wildly to try and compensate for his loss of balance. In the end however, his balance was unsalvageable, So he leapt forward, and crashed unceremoniously upon another tree's limb. Matthew scrambled up on it, and turned towards Snjór, grinning as he did so. "Well, it seems the Kitty isn't going to just let me go that easy. Very well then. Let the games begin." With that, he jumped back, and began throwing several Air Blades at Snjór as he did so. As he went, his mind raced, putting what facts he knew together, and wondering whether he still had the element of surprise with his left arm or not.
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 20
7/7/2013 18:01:32   
Necro-Knight
Member

The Archer was right, Rowan was a little surprised at the sudden movement, but more frustrated with himself for not expecting a Wind-aligned Competitor to be so agile. Having planned to plant his explosive spell in the square of the young man’s back, Rowan was at a bit of an odd stance. One arm outstretched, and his legs spread in a wide step. He imagined that the young man had gone over to his side, and this theory was quickly proven correct when Rowan hears the familiar sound of metal cutting through the misty air from off to the side. It was a deep, long sound, so the blade must have been large in size. He lacked the time to draw his own blade to knock the attack aside or dodge in any way.

So instead, Rowan worked with what he had. Twisting at his hips and turning on the ball of his back foot, Rowan brings up his hand and fires the spell he’d initially planned to strike the young man with. The Spell didn't have far to travel before it collided with the blade and its powerful blast released. The explosive eruption of darkness should have had enough power to knock the blade aside or even better, back at its owner.

Not waiting to see the results of his counter, Rowan reaches onto his back and draws his own sword. The sword was very similar to the fabled “Necrotic Sword of Doom” of myth and legend, as Rowan had seen many writings and images of the infamous weapon in the Necropolis, but lacked the almighty power of Doom. Instead, the blade had been formed from a rare, light-weight metal that was similar to Doom Essences. This design gave Rowan a wickedly sharp sword, while not robbing him of speed or maneuverability with his weapon.
As the violet/black smoke cleared from his spell earlier, he slowly started to close the gap between him and the Archer, blade raised defensively. Judging from the way he’d quickly put a gap between them, Rowan assumed the young man wasn't extremely skilled at close-quarters combat and that was what he was hoping for.

“Do you actually intend to use that weapon or did you just draw it to intimidate me?”

Despite the sound of crackling wood and the other various sounds of combat and action from behind him, Rowan was focused entirely on this Archer. He was his target, at the moment; he was the first of many challenges to overcome before he could be with his family again.
DF MQ AQW  Post #: 21
7/7/2013 21:18:30   
unknown2215
Member

Zephyr was not surprised when he saw the Death Knight manage to twist around and counter his thrown sword with the same spell that was aimed at him mere moments ago. The skull exploded on contact with the thrown sword, creating black smoke with a violet hue. It blocked his vision of the Death Knight. By now, the Death Knight would surely have regained his bearings and drawn his sword to conserve magical energy, the bow Zephyr held would also give the illusion that he was not good at close combat.

Let's reinforce that illusion shall we? Zephyr thought to himself as he jumped backwards, using a quick application of Burst to drastically increase the distance covered by his jump. There would be around fifteen meters of distance between the Wanderer and Death Knight once he landed.

Zephyr quickly drew his bow in mid-air and held it in his left hand as the smoke was beginning to clear, he had to do this quickly. Creating a handful of bodkin pointed arrows, around nine of them, in his right hand, Zephyr landed on the ground fifteen meters away from the Death Knight and quickly notched the first arrow in his hand. With his ability to create weapons, Zephyr could forgo the use of a quiver, increasing his rate of fire.

The smoke cleared further, Zephyr could see that the Death Knight had drawn his blade, it was certainly a peculiar blade, but Zephyr had more important things to do than stare at a sword right now. He quickly took aim at the Death Knight's chest, positioned the bow and let the arrow loose. The enchantment on his bow would grant the arrow fired more speed and power than a mundane archer could, allowing the bodkin pointed arrow to pierce through even plate armor with it's force. Zephyr calmly drew and positioned the bow once more, aimed at the Death Knight's stomach this time, another arrow was let loose a few short moments after the first arrow, by now the first arrow should have just reached it's target.

The Death Knight might have said something, Zephyr did not notice, his mind automatically tuning out useless nonsense like boasts or banter. Such things had no place in a fight, unless you were specifically trying to rile up your enemy in hopes of angering them and making them careless.

With the eyes of a seasoned marksman and warrior, Zephyr watched as his arrows sped towards the Death Knight. He suspected that this would not be enough to take the Death knight out of the fight, with this in mind, Zephyr drew the bow once more and waited for his opponent's next move.

< Message edited by unknown2215 -- 7/7/2013 23:23:12 >
AQ  Post #: 22
7/8/2013 13:34:21   
Necro-Knight
Member

Arrows… He heard the twang of the bow before he actually saw the streaks of death come his way. The Archer had leapt into the air and closed the distance even more, giving Rowan an advantage if he managed to think his way out of death in the next 4 seconds. Maybe he could use… No, far too early for that. This fight is far too magical right now, and he was sick of being on the defensive. He had really no other option then what followed.

Letting his knee’s bend, the weight of his armor aid him and his sword drop from his hand, Rowan dropped straight down as quickly as he could. His waist bent and his knees were soon tucked near his chest as the arrows flew rapidly over his head, perhaps a little more closely then Rowan had liked. The arrow that had been aimed at his stomach had severely come close to his head as he dropped, and as he went, the arrow took a few strands of hair with it and Rowan winced at the sharp plucking pain.

Barely waiting for the arrows to pass by, Rowan straightened his legs and kicked off the hard, stone floor. The force of this kick was short but strong enough to get Rowan moving forward. As he was pushed forward, he extended his arms and used the forward momentum to tumble forward and back to his feet, though with some difficulty and discomfort. His armor wasn't meant for that kind of motion and it hadn't been the most graceful tumble, but it’d worked.

With only a moment to inhale, Rowan broke into a sprint for the Archer, eyes locked on the bow. The Archer would most likely try to just shoot him down as he closed the gap, and Rowan wouldn't be able to dodge as effectively.

I need to get rid of that bow and then fight him on my terms…

As he came closer to the blonde young man, Rowan extended his left arm back, multiple bolts of shadow-energy arcing from his fingertips. The bolts raced for the hilt of his sword, which still laid where he’d dropped it…until its master needed it. Once the bolts made contact, the weapon was pulled from the ground and flew to its master’s grip with surprising speed. Once the Necro-Knight felt the familiar carved-bone handle in his grip, he planted his feet as quickly as he could and let his forward momentum travel through his body and up his arm as he swept his left arm forward, blade in hand. At its peak, Rowan released the blade and using the same bolts of darkness he’d used to call the sword to him…he repelled the sword toward the Archer. Combining the darkness coursing through his fingertips with the way he’d transferred his momentum, the sword now spun towards the Archer with incredible viciousness.
DF MQ AQW  Post #: 23
7/8/2013 16:28:21   
Antithesis
Member

That smell...

Rolek winces, the blobs of color slowly taking shape in his vision. He knew without looking that he had either made a huge mistake or leveled the playing field a great deal. Turning around, he sees the smoke flowing from the arena’s forest. He had done the damage he intended... at the time.

I can’t let myself get out of hand in a situation like this. There are too many others involved in this bloodbath. I need a single target... an enemy.

Rolek shifts his gaze to the front of the arena near the gates, seeing the large wolf-man standing behind the crippled girl.

That dishonorable piece of...

He adjusts his foot placement and grips Mothbrand with both hands, beginning a slow charge toward his target. He needed this. The big guy. Of course it was the big guy. Of course this was the first blood Rolek would shed today.

I’ll take care of him and ignore the weak one. I don’t want to deal with her. Maybe... I’ll help her. But I’d have to kill her eventually... No, I can’t think about killing a cripple right now. It’s not my problem. I’ll kill the wolf-man and then I will kill her when she is ready to fight me. Him, then her?

He summons forth his strongest, proudest, warrior-voice.

“Steel yourself for combat, wolf! May the Gods shine upon us on this day, and may they reward you for dying honorably at the hands of I, Rolek... BRONZEBLOOD!”
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 24
7/8/2013 17:03:24   
Aurauris
Member

Phaera froze. Small eddies amidst air currents caressed the back of her neck, belying a towering figure just behind — a rough, quiet growl — the Primal —

Jagged shafts of fear ripped through Phaera's resolve like talons through the skin of ripe fruit. Her pulse lept, weaker knee throbbing. Hairline fissures, spread like spiderwebs across nearly every bone and long since healed, nonetheless burned in remembrance of a similar thunder, a single night of sickening agony many years ago.

Man she could handle, Man who withered in fear before and would never escape the relentlessness of Nature, whether he admitted it or not. Man, who would eventually wear down over time, but not Primals — wild, thriving representation of humanity's deepest fear, who would stop for nothing nor bestow any shred of mercy in pursuit of survival. A Primal honed inexhaustible determination, could not dissuaded from prey, and thus in the face of such a Nature-twined creature, her passive-exhaustive tactics were useless.

Panic welled, dripped to sear a frozen tongue as the Primal continued to speak, dazed brain vaguely registering his words. "I'm, um, not going to kill you, or try to.." Distrust fed by haunted memory and fear blossomed in her heart. Twisting unsteadily to shield her back and face the wolf, Phaera lifted worn staff from cobbled path only to find condensation upon the stones pulling sandaled feet from beneath her.

The wolf was huge. Even craning her neck back and blinking through welling tears of pain where she lay crumpled upon the path, he stood almost above her line of sight. A breathless Phaera struggled to shift backwards across the rocks, throwing the sphere of mimicked-altitude that surrounded her immediate space as far out into the fifteen feeble feet separating the two contestants as she could, a last resort of defense, if he should suddenly strike. Her palms and hip stung where she had hit the ground, blood rushing loudly through her head.

"In the space of the time it takes one to consider, 'When is a predator not a predator?' you have already forfeit your life.

Never forget, young one."
DF AQW  Post #: 25
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