RE: =EC= Elemental Championship Finals


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10/3/2006 23:46:03

Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...

He stared blankly, his mind distracted as the sights of the battleground played themselves out before him. The maiden of Ice continuing to participate in a desperate and deadly game with both the Light and the Darkness. A tingle swept across the back of his neck as the champion of Darkness worked his magic and had it take hold upon the arena to seek the lady of Ice out. Intriguing, yet more clever still… Come Raikenin, lend your touch to the call of our magic’s song, there is no longer time to delay.

In time, Princeling, in time. With a slightly disapproving grimace, Ronin focused further still on the twin spells he worked, in particular to the mobius strip floating above his left palm. It had begun to spin and rotate along unseen axes. Slow movements that quickly grew in both speed and violence, forming a chaotic sphere of flows and ebbs unseen to the naked eye. Yet he knew what the spell now desired, and he twirled slowly in one full rotation. As his eyes alit on the majestic waterfall that was the Pillar of Water, the fey nature of the magic began to draw the very essence of that element toward him. A multitude of projections formed, cyclones in miniature that curled and twisted as they playfully stretched their way in tentative advance to the unheard Siren’s call of the sphere of blue magic.

“Tanak!” The ritual word burst forth from his mouth suddenly, catching Ronin by slight surprise as Raikenin channeled the Vish-nu tongue through the man for his part in the ritual. “Sharess vish kar sin.” The runic tattoos adorning his body now were ablaze with an inner, golden fire as there magic was called more fully to the fore. It warmed the man, radiating from his core, and those wisps of water that caressed his skin feel so soothingly cool, that patches of gooseflesh formed on his exposed skin. “Shir tal ve’er ih su’kar Nihil.”

The orb floating in his hand was becoming much harder to control now, as it continued to gain in both power and in substance. Ronin was glad to be channeling the Spoken Word of the ritual spell for the nonce, as he was sacrificing the powers latent in several strands of Runethread, consumed in the difficulty to control and restrain this spell held so near to his hand. Yet the other would not go Unworked, and bolstered Ronin’s spirits as its incessant call held the worst of physical exertions at bay from its twin in casting. “Vir kan riss Vish-nu sar no kin.” It was only now, as sweat broke out upon his brow despite his best efforts, that Ronin noticed the sea of metallic dust at his feet. That dust, the ground remnants of so many faithful arms and armors over his lifespan…it flowed about his feet freely and obediently as his ritual came closer to completion.

“Nitak!”

AQ	Post #: 26

10/7/2006 5:12:32

demonhunter
Member

Bernard scowled as the sound of arrows hitting the dirt behind him ceased. He would have little chance now of tracking their source.

Bringing his hands down to rest on his dagger hilts, he looked around the arena once more, observing the actions of others. That giant... he thought, wasn't he the one who struck me from behind in the last round? Bernard was almost sure it was... Only the giant would have had the physical strength to send him flying in such a manner.

Well, there was only one thing to do... Something he did extremely well...

Payback.

He started to walk forwards slowly, towards the giant. After several metres, he broke into a jog. Past the pillar of water, not caring (and not listening) to what its champion was doing. Past the pillar of darkness, although he gave it as wide a berth as he could. As he past the dark pillar, he drew his daggers, and let flame envelope each one. Though the giant had assisted him in defeating the clown, albeit unintentionally, the Cassilines were taught, and expected to adhere to, the principles of an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and a life for a life.

He would fight. He may not win... Cassiel knows his chances against a giant were slim... But he would make the giant work hard for a victory.

Post #: 27

10/9/2006 1:14:11

xaxtoo
Member

The resonance isn’t foreign to Martin, he’s just having difficulty placing where he encountered such before. Martin has lived through too many things to remember every single event, but if this one is tingling his mind, then it would have to had grave importance at the time. Slowly exhaling and enjoying the smoke, Martin moves a fist to his chin. As if the arm provided a detour, the traffic suddenly starts to flow again, and Martin remembered. Martin had to grin, for this was such a fortuitous coincidence. Immediately, Martin sets off infusing correct amounts of magic into the darkness pillar at set intervals; however, instead of exactly duplicating the event of his memory, Martin adds elements of his own doing, picked up through years of traveling through the recognition that timing is more important than power. Though this type of magic is more strenuous than Martin would like, such a chance as this wasn’t to be passed up even by a blowhard as big as Martin. Albeit invisible, Martin can feel what he has set up resembles a top, with his own addition like a string coming off the top which with the just right coaxing, the whole mass will activate.

Satisfied, Martin is just about to issue a whole slew of instructions before he saw the Cassiline running towards him, in a mood rather different from someone here to chat about the weather. Grumbling about the poor quality of people in the world, Martin immediately starts putting distance between himself and his approaching antagonist by striding towards the center of the arena; he slightly bears right to avoid running into his own cloud. Since Martin thinks the Cassiline has no good reason to attack him, he’s rather furious that the Cassiline wants to add grievances on top of being an unfriendly fellow. While running, his pocket protectors have finally grasped the situation and begin readying their bows. Well, Martin has no good reason to stop them, but somehow he doubts that arrows will fully stop a charging Cassiline.

Martin once again unholsters his bottle which he had put away after his first trick failed to materialize. It’s currently too full for what Martin’s planning, so he starts taking swigs when he felt sure enough when his movement wouldn’t cause any spills. I’ll sack him good.

< Message edited by xaxtoo -- 10/11/2006 1:41:32 >

AQ	Post #: 28

10/12/2006 13:56:59

Cheeseliker
Member

Daroth saw his tentacles rip through the earth and ice, yet had not managed to grasp the agile Ice woman. He kept the energy in his right hand growing, the electricity sparking more and more with Dark energy. The ice ball was not returned to him however, and Daroth realized he would not have to use the spell he had been concocting.He began to hear thudding, and soon realized it was the feet of someone running close by. Before he could turn however, the Axe flew, and Daroth could only dive forward, barely managing to keep the blow from fatal.

The Axe cleaved through the armor to the bare skin, leaving a huge horizontal gash that ran from side to side. Daroth fell to the ground, gasping, as the Earth Champion kept moving. Pain resonated throughout his body, and left him shaking. Blood was flowing freely, running down his sides and pooling on the ground. He tried to move, but the pain was too much, and he gasped in agony. Perhaps his spinal cord had been injured.....Who knows how much damage the backstabber had done? Daroth's armor had not been ready, and the brutal axe had dealt a blow that Daroth knew would be his end.

He shook his head with a grim smile, and managed to get to a kneeling position, though almost blacking out from the pain. He gazed around the arena as if in a haze, and he realized he was dying. His sights suddenly settled on the Earth man, and Daroth snarled. The energy from the unreleased spell still in his grasp. He knew he would lose it soon. He could do two things with it. Use it to heal himself and perhaps put off death a little longer, or strike with it, and take one last revenge.

He raised his hand, palm out towards the fleeing Earth Champion. "May Death embrace you in his loving arms, coward." He muttered coldly, as a bolt of Dark energy flew from his hand at the Earth man's back. It was not merely an energy bolt, for, as soon as it struck, it would envolope the Champion in darkness, and slowly suck the living energy from him.

Daroth sighed and settled back, still on his knees, blood still pouring down his back. He closed his eyes, and sensed another in his mind. A powerful presence indeed. "I am sorry my lord. I have failed you." He said aloud, and waited for someone to finish him off, or for him to die of bloodloss. He knew it was the end, and almost welcomed death. Death was much easier to face then failure.

AQ	Post #: 29

10/12/2006 15:50:23

Guardian of Nekops
Member

The Crusher grinned as he felt Impact strike the armor on the Dark Champion's back and tear through it, biting deeper and deeper into flesh until the Earth Champion's own movement ripped it away. He knew it was a mortal blow without even having to look back; he had made his first kill of the Championship.

After only a dozen more steps, though, Roch stopped smiling. The Dark One had challenged him along with all the others in the arena, but had never really harmed him. And surely entrance into the tournament was an admission of willingness to die, but still... striking from behind? Had that really been necessary?

His thoughts were interupted at this point by a great cloud of pipe smoke which settled down upon him and much of the Arena around him. Not being a smoker himself, Roch's lungs were sensitive to the irritant, and he began to cough uncontrollably, only barely able to continue on the his current course towards the now unseen Pillar of Wind.

Thus it was that Roch had no way of hearing or avoiding the bolt of dark electricity which flew at him through the smoke, charged with the deep hatred of the fallen Champion of Darkness. The bolt struck the Crusher full on the back, cackling with dark glee through the steel of the great suit of armor. There it found no spell or charm to resist its passage, and it continued unhindered on its way.

It was not magic or might that saved Roch that day, but a little-known agreement between the Lords of Energy and Earth that had been in place since the beginning of time. Electricity follows the path of least resistance to the ground. And at the moment, that path did not include passing through his flesh.

The dark lightning flowed into the metal of the Crusher's armored back, straight down through the right leg and boot, and dispersed harmlessly into the red sands of the Great Arena, carrying most of the Darkness away with it. The residue that remained in his armor to sap his strength was not enough for him to notice right away, and besides the rising of the hairs on his neck Roch had no clue that he had been attacked at all.

When he finally stumbled out of the cloud, coughing the rest of the smoke out from his lungs, the Earth Champion saw that the invisible Pillar of Wind had been left vacant. Glancing about as he continued towards it, he noticed the Wind Giant fleeing at a pace he knew he could not match, but he still desired to see how he would measure up to his elemental opposite in physical combat.

"Well," he said, "if Artix can't go to the graveyard..."

With that, Roch began to hurl sand into the Pillar of Wind with great sweeps of the Gravity Axe. The winds caught them up, holding the grains aloft in an ever-thickening sandstorm. When he finally judged that he had enough, he took several strides away from the Pillar, knelt, and began to draw his transmutation circle in the sand, preparing his mind for what he was about to attempt.

AQ	Post #: 30

10/14/2006 2:21:39

Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...

Ronin was secretly pleased with how things had progressed so far. Not only had only the most minor of attentions been made towards him, resulting in the shallow, oozing, and still painful cut on his thigh; but his spellwork had been coming together nicely. It was a pleasant thought that distracted from the straining efforts upon his willpower from his twin castings…and yet it was time. Finally ages of works would be, in a manner, reborn anew. The serpent within him seemed to agree with this sentimental feeling for reasons of its own. Now, in the common tongue princeling…bind our efforts together.

Nodding almost imperceptibly any onlookers, the man began the chant once more. “Tanak! Thy ebb and flow shall heed my command. Restore that which has been lost to the ages. Choose thy form by guided wish of twin peoples. Whirl, thy Sands of Time! Nityr!” His runic tattoos pulsed, pausing in their wavy inner fires to seem more brilliant than before for the briefest seconds…then, so too did the metallic dust beneath his feet.

In muted fashion, both runes and dust dulled, fading entirely from sight. As they did, Ronin became aware of new weight along his forearms and hands. On his right he felt a familiar shape take form, three lethal blades extending from secured joints on the back of his hand and locked tightly onto an ornate bracer. It was a katar style weapon, some might call it a tiger’s claw, yet the blades were thick and robust with heavy edges and deadly points. So too were the blades short for even this close-in weapon, made more to rend armor and break bone than to cut cleanly. Even so, Ronin was quite familiar with it for it was the sister of the claw Valiance, which he had wielded in his last appearance in the Elemental Championships. The Kindred had chosen his blade well for him, granting him Defiance even to the last.

On his left, a much more unfamiliar form took shape. Obsidian-edged scales of jade grew out of one another, growing forward until exerting a powerful force that bent Ronin’s hand into an unnatural fist. A gauntlet, that much was more than plainly obvious, but it splayed his fingers apart until resembling the thumb and two-fingered grip of Raikenin. In curiosity, for he had expected some form of defense, he tried to move his hand into a flat palm…only to find heavy resistance to the motion. Like trying to walk through a waist-deep marsh. Our shamans called it Wisp of the Morass, Princeling.

Nodding again, Ronin beginning to vaguely understand this unusual choice. “I see,” said the man aloud, “and so both reaffirm that ideal…very well.” His mind newly freed of one of its burdens, he regarded the orb with a critical eye. It seethed heavily where it floated above his fist, the tendrils it had drawn turning awry and falling to pool on the sandy grounds chaotically. Fighting him in his moments of distraction, it had neither grown nor lost power, despite consuming more of his runethread‘s latent magic. Reaching up, he forced his hand open to grasp the sphere in his newly gauntleted hand and felt it come to rest with odd ease. It slowed, and he could now see that it had also begun to harmonize its magic tides. When released, the spell would prove powerful indeed.

With nothing left in his arsenal to overtly prepare, Ronin decided that it would be best not to stick around the Pillar of Water as a static target for when the others freed themselves from their combats. He moved forth once more with a dancer’s grace, his footsteps silent upon the sandy floor. Each step took him closer towards the Pillar of Wind and the contestants nearby, where of note Roch knelt and a shaggy giant strode taking swigs from a massive bottle. Using Bernard, who was heading on a similar bent, as a screen for his own movement, he began to whisper to himself silently a favorite phrase of his. “O divine art of subtlety and secrecy! Through you we learn to be invisible, through you inaudible and hence we can hold the enemy's fate in our hands.”

AQ	Post #: 31

10/16/2006 12:15:00

Zinsho_Lexagen
Member

As the Ice Champion leapt he pivoted, retracting his blow before it touched the ice and letting his momentum drag him away, out of immediate range of any assaults that he would be ill-prepared to prevent. Yet the assault that came at him was not the one he expected, there was no slash for his blade to parry nor limb for him to deflect. Instead his foe had launched herself farther still, catching a projectile with her weapon and then launching it soon after in his direction. Luckily his momentum provided him with a way to escape the assault, tumbling backwards in his slide with an additional push as his back touched the ground send him skidding all the faster towards the edge of the ice.

With a heave and a twist he regained his feet at the edge of the ice, the projectile having missed him by a near margin but enough to leave him unharmed for the moment. Yet now his prey was out of reach, assaulted once more by his counterpart, at least assuming such dark manifestations came from the obvious source. Their disruption to the surface of the ice did not bode well for a second rapid assault, he would have to walk along the surface and be wary of sliding, lest he stumble against the irregular surface.

Assault might be foolhardy yet neither would he allow this individual to escape his blade, he had committed himself and now his foe had retaliated, such an action could not be permitted without punishment. And so once more Zinsho took to the ice, trudging towards his foe with his blade at the ready, prepared to attack or defend as the need arose, ready to use the broken ice to his advantage, a surface suited for speed in a place where speed could be foolhardy.

For one so attentive to the approach of danger the dark cloud was almost unexpected, he had been aware of it's presence yet had discarded it as a fluke of nature that would have little import on his immediate area of battle. Yet it sank down onto him, obscuring his vision for the most part even as his eyes flared once more with lavender flame, a low growl coming from his throat at the impediment to his vision. He still knew where he was going, having seen the area well enough to know roughly where to go from whence he would rely on his hearing and any vision he might have to best direct him to his foe. The noxious nature of the fumes might be of greater import soon enough however, his eyes watering slightly at the composition of the air even as his garments protected his lungs from the worst of the effects it might have had at least for the time being.

< Message edited by Zinsho_Lexagen -- 10/16/2006 14:38:47 >

Post #: 32

10/17/2006 2:04:48

demonhunter
Member

Another behind him, his target moving towards the centre of the arena. Arrows flying, easily deflected with a swing of his vambraced arms. His daggers burned still, but they would not for much longer. Bernard needed to act. The giant had struck him in the last round, and the Cassiline was honor-bound to pay him back.

The giant stopped, and seemed to be drinking from a large bottle. This was an opportunity too good to pass up. Though he was still some distance away, he twirled the dagger in his left hand, and struck out with his left arm in a sweeping strike. The movement dislodged the flame on the dagger, and with a little coaxing, the fire became a missile of flame, hurtling towards the giant. If he'd aimed right, it should prove to be distraction enough for Bernard to get close enough to make a decent strike. Heck, if he'd aimed right, and the giant didn't extinguish it, he might be able to burn up his clothing... Now that would be an amusing sight to see.

Post #: 33

10/17/2006 10:13:02

Art of Blade
Member

In the darkness, Nimra was patiently repeating her strategy of 'Stop, Listen, Run, Aaah’. However, with each try, she found herself getting grabbed by the ankle more and more often; the only thing saving her was her quick reaction and a quick escape. At one point, she had almost run into the Ice Pillar, which was more than just embarrassing; something was dulling her senses. Enough that she had barely avoided something as powerful as the Ice Pillar. Her ability to sense blood, however, was unconfirmed. She used her sensing of blood to feel people, since she can no longer see properly, and came up with what she hoped was an accurate description of surrounding people and not the equivalent of counting six fingers on one hand. Two figures were standing, and then there was a third one running towards a second. Nimra stood still for a second, as the third one passed by the second one.
Nimra paused. Although she, herself, did not know where she was, it would be important to note that she was a few steps in front of the pillar, facing the arena inwards.
The second figure became a pool of blood, pouring, like a fresh fountain of coin droppings. Or was it the third figure?
Nimra paused again, in an attempt to gain her bearings, which was becoming increasingly difficult at this point.
And then she noticed something pleasantly relieving.
There were no tentacles.
That can't be a bad thing, Nimra decided, but... why do I feel so... I dunno...
She giggled slightly, despite everything around her.
Heh... blood... and the air smells... strange.
Nimra slid around in small circles.
Hmm.
You know, Nimra thought, if I didn't know any better, I would suggest that I might be feeling a little drunk.
But that's stupid. There's no drink. Thus one can not be drunk. The relation between the two can be found in the fact that only one letter is different. Like... rocks and hard places.
Logic. I am logic.
She blinked, the air watering her eyes, when she noticed that there was somebody else there. However, she felt confused and slightly uncomfortable with her head, and that, apparently, did affect her ability to sense blood, because there seemed to be a person coming in her direction… who turned into two people… and suddenly seemed to disappear before becoming one person again.
That, in no way, explains why there's somebody there, seemingly fluctuating in and out of existence annoyingly, Nimra thought, circling her head for no real reason.
Annoying. Ly. Leee…
Gaaah, Nimra shouted in the misty confusion of her mind, my head feels strange, I do not need this annoying, flittery person being here right now. Go away! No? Fine. I'll make you go away. Rude. You’re rude like... like a damn... damn pineapple.
She circled a foot on the ground, almost tripping on herself as she did so.
"Go awaaaay ya damn... damn pineapple!", she shouted, slurring every word out.
The ice beneath her cracked as veins of water melted into it, and like a million invisible joints they moved around. The size and area of the ice as a whole became smaller as more and more became concentrated at one point. Where that point was, exactly, was almost forgotten. Nimra blinked. She was no longer sure where the person was, exactly. He was somewhere... there. Where ever 'there' was. I... somewhere... that... damned... person. I don't like him. I don’t like people that I know are there but I still can’t know where they are. And thus! He will die! Because... I... am not a cow!
As she stomped on the ground, the ice around her moved about, randomly creating large spike after large spike, one by one, in its attempt to get rid of the other person, as if the ice itself was in a blind, drunken frenzy, which would be an accurate description. It was entirely possible that Nimra missed completely- however, she would not be able to tell, nor care otherwise. She was too busy feeling peculiar .
And no one likes feeling peculiar.

Once again, it must be said that, although Nimra herself doesn't know where the spikes came up, it would still be important to note where the spikes were, what they looked like, and how they were acting. As for where they were popping up, well, that was almost random: one came up near her, another came from one end of the ice-floor behind her, and a few managed to come up in the right general direction, and others were dead wrong. The spikes themselves were a bit over six feet high, very sharp, but also very thin all around, like a needle. Not as thin as a needle, of course, but when compared to other spikes (like the ones in the Spike Arena, say), then such a comparision would be "awesome correct". Finally, how they were acting: first, the ice on the ground shifts slightly, and then the spike would pop up suddenly, stay there, and then melt after a few minutes and return to the ground. It wasn't very good acting, but it would have been enough to get a part in 'Cats'.

Nimra rubbed her forehead. She had a headache. She wasn't the type that hung around places with alcohol, and the place reeks of it for some reason. Last time she was in a place like this, a bar, when she drank large amounts of it she always woke up to find at least five people fatally wounded; a waste of good blood, really. Once again, Nimra acknowledged the air's alcoholic smell, and found that it was of an uncomfortable quantity and an unusual state. Heck, she could even breathe it in and out. She demonstrated this to herself to confirm what she thought was true, and it was. She felt a pain in her head from the breathing in, which was bad. But this meant she was not lying to herself. Which, she decided, was good.

< Message edited by Art of Blade -- 10/17/2006 10:14:02 >

AQ	Post #: 34

10/17/2006 23:49:56

xaxtoo
Member

When Martin felt that he had enough to drink, he decides that the bottle is empty enough to sack a person. So, Martin quickly pirouettes around to face the Cassiline to let off his attack. Unfortunately, the ends of his cloak didn’t quite get the message that a giant half turn is happening, thus stayed just long enough to rub against Martin’s nose. The coarse fabric rasped lightly on his nose; furthermore, the loose strands went into his nose, not deeply but enough to trickle an instantaneous reaction too quick to get proper authorization from the higher ups in the brain. A violent burst of air issued from his mouth and nose; loud screams of panic came from his pockets. Due to a tug on his shirt, Martin starts looking down to make sure his archers are not in pieces on the ground. From the corner of his eye, he notices something red singeing the ground somewhere northeast of him. Gently taking the rather chubby archer hanging on from the out fabric of his pocket, Martin moves him back into his pocket with a light pat on his head.

Martin’s fervor at his sick joke wanes as he notices distance between his intended assailant; besides, the attack doesn’t quite work for extended distances, though if the Cassiline happen to continue his reckless charge, then Martin would know exactly what to do. Even if his plan didn’t have immediate success, it would be hard to fault something that brought one third of a bottle of liquor down his throat. Due to necessities, the pansies internal bureau of liquid conservation shouldn’t have warrant to complain, even if that happens, liberal doses of a posing Diane should distract them enough to prevent guilt pangs. As quickly as adrenaline had pricked Martin to action, it just as suddenly dissipated, leaving in its place a bemusement and a question that ponders whether or not it’s an appropriate time for tea yet. Of course, following such a thought provoking question, the subsequent question is that whether crumpets can be obtained by contestants, or if the vendors in the stadium could somehow be persuaded to throw down their wares.

A squirm and a shout alert Martin once again to the objects in his pocket, and for an instant, he ponders the possibility of eating one or two of them, though not the fat one, he already had a rather rough day, if he could somehow obtain tea. Since Martin hadn’t had any time to factor in the Energy Pillar uses yet, he really has no idea what he should do now that he arrived at this pillar, so he sits down right by the pillar and starts puffing vigorously at his pipe.

Martin admires his cloud for a minute before analyzing the field for more information now that he once more has a vantage point. The Earth Armadillo is doing something by the Wind Pillar, and from the looks of it, he really has no idea what he’s doing. The only thing remotely threatening about dirt in sand is that griffins might suddenly show up and do their wind dance around such a vortex. Finally, when all the griffins are gone, the ground plus all objects near the wind storm gets quite a bit whiter, and Martin would not like to see that happen. Judging from the current shape though, that sandstorm would be lucky to attract hysteric chickens. With the polar opposites playing hide and seek on the other side of the Wind Pillar, that leaves 3 clandestine in the cloud. Martin once again directs his attention towards the center. And by sheer luck, he sees what resembles two feet positioned in a way that the owner would have to be sprawled on the ground, unless the legs were broken. Since either case is advantageous for Martin, he studies the feet closer and recognizes them as the property of Darkness Champion. Since the water champion has left his post, if I were to subdue the darkness champion and soak him in the water pillar, maybe I’ll get a passable Oolong; albeit it will be slightly red, but for such an occasion as this, the crimson color will only better complement the day.

Rather vexed that he couldn’t rest any longer, Martin gets up with a grunt before making his way closer to the cloud by a sweeping motion along the edges. Normally, Martin would send a breeze to fetch his ingredients, but since he’s already holding a spell, he doesn’t have the experience to work another spell. Once he reaches a point outside the cloud that he feels is closest to the feet, he kneels down and tells his pockets to hang on tight. Then, he gets on his hands. With his sapling spear, he starts hooking at a location where he feels that the body of the Darkness Champion is most likely situated based on the orientation of the feet.

< Message edited by xaxtoo -- 10/18/2006 0:04:59 >

AQ	Post #: 35

10/19/2006 1:18:25

Guardian of Nekops
Member

With a final line through its center, the transmutation circle was complete. All told, the array was about the size of a wagon wheel, and was a near copy to the one inscribed on the inside of his armor. Roch had added the rune terra several times in the blank spaces, figuring it couldn't hurt things, but didn't know enough to make any other modifications to it. He knew it was somehow inadequate, or at least ill suited, for the task at hand, but he also knew he could do no better.

Having moved about on his knees in the drawing of the circle, Roch looked up and oriented himself so that he was facing the swirling crimson sandstorm that was the Pillar of Wind. Setting Impact down on the ground beside him, he placed his hands on the edges of the array. The gentle crushing weight of his armor settled down on him like a mantle, a comforting feeling which, along with the slight cheerful tinge given to his outlook by the alchohol in his system from the giant's cloud, helped him to ignore both the sight of the gore on his axe and the immense stupidity of what he was about to try.

Closing his eyes, the Champion of Earth activated the circle beneath his fingertips and threw his mind forward into the cyclone before him, attempting to bring the swirling particles of sand together into some sort of order. It was only then that he fully realized his error, for the physical forces of the Wind Pillar drove the sands at a breakneck speed, and his alchemic attempts were equivalent to a small child yelling against the noise of a battle, trying to get the soldiers to form ranks.

Just as Roch was about to give up on his transmutation, another voice began to speak to the sands in the Wind Pillar, saying, "Be still!" The voice was infinitely deeper, infinitely more experienced than his own, and it quelled the chaos inside the vortex. The grains of sand were held motionless in the Pillar, letting the winds rush by them and between them. When all was still, the voice said, "Obey this one. He is mine," and was silent.

Tentatively, more frightened than reassured after hearing the voice of his Lord, Earth's Champion tried his transmutation once again. This time the sand leapt into action at his command, the individual grains forming into the matrix necessary to create sandstone. With the hand of the Lord of Earth still upon him, even the sands below the Pillar joined into the alchemic reaction, and soon Roch's work was complete. A pillar of stone now stood where only wind had been moments before.

For a moment, the Pillar of Wind was the antithesis of all it should have been; it was both static and solid, the wind whistling agry but contained through the tiny holes of the red sandstone. For two pulses of the Darkness Pillar's magic it stood locked in stone, and on some level of metaphor unknown to the Crusher a giant top had begun to wobble.

Then, with a roaring burst of rage, the winds of the Pillar broke free of their prison, shattering the stone into fragments that it threw down upon the surrounding area. The Crusher's armor was pelted by several large pieces, but fortunately the light rock broke easily upon contact with the steel.

Straining to even move his arm under the weight of his armor, Roch reached over and retrieved the Gravity Axe from where it lay, half buried under chunks of sandstone. Rising to his feet, he turned towards the giant with a smile, chuckling, "Now that should get his attention."

AQ	Post #: 36

10/19/2006 22:46:58

Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...

Ronin continued to use Bernard as a screen, swiftly shooting for the wide gap between the Casseline’s chosen path towards Martin, and the still kneeling form of Roch. Already it had proved to be at least a slightly worthwhile strategy, as the archers apparently secreted away in the giant’s massive pockets had continued to send their volleys only at Bernard. A slim part of his mind urged him to strike at the vulnerable rear of that warrior while he dealt with the incoming arrows, but he dismissed this thought out of hand. Not only did he respect the fact that Casselines had a strict code of honor, but it was the giant whom he perceived as the greater threat anyway.

Then the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly leapt to rigid straightness as a powerful magic acted dangerously close to him - a magic more powerful and sudden then even he thought that he could perform amidst this fierce competition. Whirling about, he saw a sight possibly more magnificent than he had in ages, if only in its effort rather than any apparent utility it might serve. A pillar of sandstone that stood where the whirling vortex of the Pillar of Wind should stand…

…And then that monument made of Earth rumbled, before shattering apart with explosive fury as Wind fought its way to freedom once more. Almost too late was he able to bring both his arms up, interposing them between his more vulnerable face and chest to help weather the rocky hail thrown forth by Wind’s violent fury. His frame shuddered with each impact, whether the mass of lighter stones that skipped across his skin, to the heavier masses that left dull aches of promised heavy bruising. Two shards of the potent stone, by luck or design having retained a sharp edge to them, dug light furrows of upwelling blood upon his cheek and neck.

Nor was the cut on his thigh, received from Fire’s Chosen earlier, spared from torment. The whirling sands of the explosive aftermath of the artificial pillar ground grit harshly into the still open wound, leaving it feeling newly raw and bleeding lightly. Glancing at Roch, who now stood unperturbed by the storm of destruction wrought upon his magic, he felt the stirrings of primal anger overwhelm the normally placid pool of his heart. True fury was denied him, as that relevant Binding still lay unbroken, but the anger was enough to lead him to lash out verbally at the man.

“Ji’kar Savrashi!” he yelled out in acidic tones towards Roch, in two simple words comparing the otherwise staunch warrior with a dung-eating plague rat. Though it was beyond that warrior’s ken to understand the Kindred’s language, the mad gleam that crossed into his eye might well make the intent of the words known more clearly. Turning his head towards his original target, he found only more fuel for his building anger. Martin had used his massive stride to move away, seeming to disappear from his veiw entirely but a few footprints told diffferently. He was around, somewhere near the cloud perhaps, or maybe on the other side of it and concealed thusly. Enough of this scurrying about like three blind mice in an alley full of cats! They shall come to me, or be swept aside before the storm.

Hopping lightly to place the wall of the arena at his back, Ronin tore the spell sphere free from the Wisp of the Morass to once more float freely. In his maddened gaze, he peered through it at the cloud hanging heavy near the Pillar of Ice and decided his course of action. Tearing with his will at the power latent in the runethread that he still wore, he shunted the magic forcefully into the sphere. The slightest wisps of silver stoked the sphere to greater and greater chaotic seething as it floated between his outstretched palms. Yet at its peak of chaos, where it seemed that no force of magic or will would contain the power building within any longer, it calmed mysteriously.

Smooth, tranquil, and as clear a blue as the waters of the tropics, the others might only suspect what might be contained within. Yet Ronin knew, and in his mind, more verse was spun. Within the Eye of the Perfect Storm, as the Currents calm and the Oceans still, hides the Beast of the Maelstrom true. Its fury is my Force, and I shall see you all broken upon the cliffs of the shore.

< Message edited by Ronin Of Dreams -- 10/20/2006 15:24:36 >

AQ	Post #: 37

10/22/2006 0:22:03

xaxtoo
Member

Martin suddenly shivers, the kind that he recognizes as the unease of someone dangerous watching or thinking about him. Currently indisposed to touch his goosebumps, Martin settles to imagining huge boils running down his arms to increase his sense of urgency if not his apprehension: he’s far to old to haves his nerves shaken by a bunch of silly sods that should being getting rejected by farm girls to barn dances instead of trying to appease their gods; they should be appeasing the gods by spreading the seed of their loins! Couldn’t be a better time for tea. Martin’s stick hit a barrier; immediately he starts pulling the object towards him. Just then, a strong breeze hit the cloud and it moved ever so slightly towards Martin. Luckily Martin was far enough from the cloud to have his head enclosed by it. Maybe because he’s the cloud’s creator and being well aware of the cloud’s properties, he was rather taken back simply because something so big decided to close in on him causing a slight attack of claustrophobia, which Martin never really has, since he stays in barns all the time to escape from rain. Dirt flying in the gust mixed with the sweat on Martin’s face from his overexertion partly due him to doing so many things in a short span of time and from him being so low to the ground which devoids him of a constant gentle breeze that is part of a constant air current exactly where his head falls when he’s standing to form grime which Martin wants to wipe away as fast as possible. Still rolling the Darkness Champion slowly towards him, Martin bends his face laboriously downwards to wipe the grime on the sleeve of his support arm.

Finally, Martin has the teabag in reach; he abandons using the stick, instead he reaches out with his hand to grasp the Darkness Champion. He notices a huge gash on the man oozing his flavoring out quicker than a Panda goes through bamboo. Ah the man is still weakly breathing, that would account for the blood still spilling out. Quietly whispering a generic burial prayer in his head, Martin gently squeezes the air out of the man’s lungs as well as squeeze the marrow free from it’s outer crusty exterior—it is a delicate operation which retains the blood by not having it flow out as the body becomes condensed. A leaf probably fell from a tree somewhere, or someone’s candle has gone out mysteriously, but who knows, the arena remained the same with the same ominous roar from an eager crowd. From the look of things, Martin seems to be very proficient at his current task, for he’s not even looking at the body anymore, instead he helps himself up with his support arm after grabbing his sapling buddy with the index finger and thumb, for the rest of the hand is cradling his bottle.

Now time is of the essence, for the quality of the tea decreases tremendously if the blood congeals. Worried about dropping his drink, Martin moves the sapling back to his other hand. The orientation worked out uncannily as Martin holds the remains of the darkness champion against his sapling with his thumb. Both wanting to free a hand and to secure his dear possession, for he has no use for it at the moment, Martin once again puts his bottle back into the hiding place. Realizing he’s rather close to the light pillar, Martin heads towards that direction with the intention of circling around the outermost edges of the arena to the Water Pillar. Driven by the desire for tea, Martin never once questioned his lack of a container to immerse his tea bag.

AQ	Post #: 38

10/22/2006 4:15:29

Art of Blade
Member

Something, for a split second, was forgotten and misplaced in Nimra's softened mind.
Earlier, the Light Champion had slid backwards to avoid the stinging bite of the Blood Ball, which was all well and good for him.
The Ball had hit the ground, almost hitting him, almost feeling the taste of his blood, and reluctantly flew back into the darkness of the cloud.
If the Ball had a conscience, it would have been slightly interesting to list its thoughts as it sailed through the air, slightly saddened by its missed, feeling annoyed as it barely avoided contact with the spikes that were, for some reason, popping out of the ground haphazardly, like gophers being forced to pop out of holes by fairly unhinged people with large mallets and an unusual love of gold tokens.
Then again, if the Ball had a conscience, it would have still been a very boring thought process because, let's face it, spheres wouldn't make very exciting people. Sure, they may be completely three dimensional and have round personalities, but the fact that their sole purpose in life is to be tossed around would make for a very boring conversation. Especially the Blood Ball, if you think about it. All it would be thinking would be something like, toss me toss me, blood blood, toss me toss me, blood blood, like those broken clockwork birds who find that it’s their duty to constantly remind everyone that it’s six in the morning every day at exactly three thirty in the afternoon.
Through the air, it didn't matter for the Blood Ball how black the sky was or how horrible the smell was; all that mattered was for it to find the blood of Nimra Berdin's right hand.

Nimra Berdin was currently spinning on one foot, thinking about how nice life would be if the sky was more yellow. People would be calmer, if you really think about it. If they were upset, all they’d have to do was go outside, look at the sky, be glad that they’re not as ugly as that, and then walk back into their houses, happier than before. The ground had calmed down significantly, like the unsteady pause after a particularly spiky storm. Her right hand had gradually increased in weight as time passed, and now it felt horribly heavy. Nimra glanced at it. Oh yeah, she thought, like someone who was walking around with their eyes closed and only just realized that moving their eyelids would help, I have a jai alai cesta on my right hand... that's a funny name. Jai alaaaai cesta. Has a nice ring to it. It's heavy, though. This time she spun her jai alai cesta around her, in circles. She then stopped as something was caught in the jai alai cesta's curved grip. Instinct and much self-enforced training suddenly took over, as she caught a single glimpse of the Light Champion's blood, a single moment of concentration, and with that she tossed the sphere towards him, its speed and strength multiplied by the already spinning jai alai cesta's force. She fell over as she did so, the strength overwhelming her. With that done, she picked herself up. Her drunken mind, confused and generally unresisting as it was, decided that it was best to run after the ball, to run behind it like a shadow and perhaps even make the man go away with the sharp end of her sickle-like weapon. She was to stain her weapon with the unforgiving waters of her foe's life, the red liquid that is called 'blood', the driving force of the lives of desperate people such as herself. And as she ran, she was operating solely on instinct and the powers of guess, but when she felt that the man was within her reach she flung herself towards him, swinging the edge of her weapon at him as she did so. The Blood Ball crashed into the man's skull as the edge gashed his chest, spilling his blood on the sandy ground.

The blunt blow of the ball to soften to flesh, and the cutting edge of the weapon to tear it open. Cause him to bleed and gather the blood, to offer it to the Ice Spirit within her, Berdin.

The Blood Ball returned to Nimra, tucked into the jai alai cesta. She wrapped her free arm around her stomach, coughing out some of her blood, the combined effects of alcohol and sudden adrenaline taking toll.

< Message edited by Art of Blade -- 10/23/2006 15:32:34 >

AQ	Post #: 39

10/22/2006 14:46:41

Guardian of Nekops
Member

It was not long before Roch forgot all about the Wind Champion.

As his eyes turned in that direction, hoping to see a reaction of rage on the part of the giant at the desecration of his Pillar, he was horrified to note that two others, namely the Ronin of Dreams and the Fire Champion, had been caught in the fallout from his alchemy. He was glad that Ronin had been forewarned about the shower of rock by some arcane sense and had acted to protect himself, taking only minor cuts on his face and some probable bruising. Although the Water Champion did call him what was presumably some awful insult in his own language, he refused to let his anger rule him and returned to the battle where he had left off, backing up against the wall and preparing to use a highly charged orb of magic.

Although the Crusher considered, as he had in the beginning of the fight, charging Ronin and disrupting what he was planning, he thought better of it. The time for Roch to fight the mage had not yet come, and he was reluctant to do so any sooner than he had to. Remembering to keep his eyes out for any motion and his ears open for any noise from that corner of the field, he turned back to the Fire Champion.

The Cassiline had not fared well in the face of the Wind Pillar's wrath. Without Ronin's ability to sense when magic was being worked, he had been caught unawares by the flying shards of sandstone. One of the sharpest pieces had pierced his right eye and wounded him there so gravely that he lay on the ground, writhing in pain. A clever surgeon might have saved the man by taking out the eye, but there were none such here, and his chances of living until he could be treated were slim even had there been no battle raging about him.

With a sigh, Roch walked over to where the Fire Champion lay dying. It was a shame that death in battle was so seldom quick and painless; gruesome deaths such as this robbed a warrior of dignity in what should be his finest hour. When he stood over the fallen warrior, the Champion of Earth raised Impact high and said, "You fought well and bravely, Cassiline. May you find favor with your Lord and your god in the life to come."

With that, he brought the Gravity Axe down with all his strength. When the red sands of the Arena settled, there was no need to bury Bernard the Cassiline, Champion for Fire.

AQ	Post #: 40

10/22/2006 23:25:12

Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...

As he stood, he breathed deeply. The salty scent of sea borne air had begun to permeate the area directly around him, an odd fruit of his recent labors upon the spell sphere of potent force. The smell roused the serpent within him, that ethereal passenger of his soul, once more. You seek to command his presence in such confines, Princeling? The irony that Raikenin would even dream of cautioning him brought him to shake his head slowly from side to side.

I would not seek to be so impetuous, Vish-nu. Even at the height of my powers I would not dare to try such a folly. Nay, only a visage of the Great Beast of the Maelstrom…and yet, as you know, that shall be more than enough to aid my task. Shaking his head again, in part a dismissal of Raikenin’s concerns, and focused his eyes upon the sphere floating between his hands once more. Careful now… Fighting against the murky pressure of the Wisp of the Morass…and the inane thought that he ought to rename it to suit his style…he forced his hand flat and slowly forced it through the outer surface of the sphere.

Letting out a breath he hadn’t realized that he had been holding, he grasped the ring within the sphere and grasped it tightly. Clenching the muscles along his entire arm, he wrenched it free violently and set the sphere proper into chaotic seething. “Now, come forth Beast hidden in the whirl tides of the Maelstrom!” He crushed the ring in his hand, leaving the sphere to expand under the release of power into a visage that haunts the nightmares of many a sailor. Translucent cerulean scales coiled about Ronin, elongating and expanding into the ghostly image of a great sea serpent. Some might even say the great sea serpent itself, Leviathan.

Either way, a hush settled upon the crowd nearest Ronin, beholding in awe the spectacle of what might appear to have been a summoning. It wasn’t, not quite, but Ronin was not about to bother taking the time to correct them. “Now, Terror of the Deep, teach these unwary few first about the warnings of the misty wave, then crush them beneath your fury!” The ghostly image coiled low in shimmering glory, resting its gaping maw just above the man’s head, as it scanned from side to side the expanse of the arena. Then it breathed deep, and its exhalation brought forth a mighty jet-like spray of needle rain that it swept across the arena slowly. A needle rain that might well seem familiar to Roch, at least, but with much more deadly force.

Unbeknownst to him, this deadly rain took its first casualty within the cloud soon after the great serpent began to breathe it. The Champion of Light, enshrouded as he was by shadows and reflections, had been knocked off-balance from the random spikes upon the field of Ice. As the lethal swath of rain approached, Zinsho was caught off-guard, and stood still long enough to have his left leg torn asunder by the sudden rise of yet another spike. Not twin heartbeats later, Ronin’s rain began to flay flesh from bone and spray the resultant blood and gore behind where that man once stood. The corpse still stood for many moments, as if frozen in a combination of shock and the icy temperature of the area, perhaps to be crushed and cut yet further by another proven safe from the fire-shadow that Light’s champion would prove to provide…

Spray of the wave though it was, the crushing force had yet to spread forth. Opening its maw wide in a silent roar of muted fury, the visage of the serpent reared high in the air in the guise of a cobra‘s striking posture. With a nod from Ronin, it leapt the bulk of its coiled body high into the air and angled its head downwards with obvious intent. As it crashed head first into the sands of the arena, one might just barely hear a soft chuckling beneath a slowly building rumble…

AQ	Post #: 41

10/25/2006 17:09:18

Guardian of Nekops
Member

The needle rain struck the Crusher's armor as he climbed up from the crater which was the Cassiline's tomb, ringing on the steel in dozens, nay, hundreds of places. Looking down, he saw that the drops had actually been strong enough to mark the metal slightly. Roch grunted appreciatively; this rain was strong enough to flay the skin from a man's body. It was similar enough to the attack in Spike Arena that he was sure this attack was Ronin's doing, as well.

When the stream of rain had passed him by, Roch looked up through the settling cloud of dust towards its source... an image of the great Leviathan in the air above Ronin's head. Surely, he thought, trembling in fear at the awesome sight, this cannot all be just for a strong rain...

The first drop of rain struck the Great Tree of Earth, glancing harmlessly off the bark, but what was left of Arcadius made no distinctions when it came to attacks on his Pillar. Leaping into action, the guardian of the Tree planted the butt of his spear in the ground and used it as a pole, interposing himself between the fifth drop and his charge, spreading his arms and body wide open to block the needle rain and flailing his limbs to block individual drops.

The Quiksilver that coated the statue was weaker than the bark of the Tree, and was dented by the relentless rain in countless places as Arcadius strove to protect the Pillar of Earth. The wounded metal closed over the marks almost as soon as they appeared, however, and the brave warrior relentlessly countinued to fight his misguided battle against the horizontal downpour that dared attack the Tree. Although he could not stop all of the needles of water, his great nimbleness and mindless dedication allowed him to do far more than any normal man could have hoped.

When the rain passed by the Pillar of Earth, Arcadius returned to his place with careful, dignified steps and resumed the position he had held since his defeat a year prior. By the time he stood motionless once more, the statue was whole once again, and nothing but the dampness marked the passing of the rain.

When Leviathan had finished sweeping the arena with its stream of rain, the great serpent reared up and propelled itself up into the air before crashing into the sand. Hearing a rumble in the earth, Roch realized that Ronin's spell was not over... the needle rain was just the beginning. Looking around frantically for cover, the Crusher's gaze was caught by the swirls of red sand and the chunks of sandstone that still remained in the Pillar of Wind.

Realizing that a Pillar would provide the best protection he would get from any attack Ronin threw at him, Roch ran towards a spot directly opposite the mage, with the Pillar of Wind right between them. When he reached his chosen place, his terrified thoughts envisioned Leviathan emerging from the ground behind him, or beneath his feet to swallow him whole, and he fell to his knees. There, he drew a hasty transmutation circle and placed his free hand upon it. Not having the slightest idea what was going to happen, he left the circle unactivated and trusted to his reflexes, hoping he would be able to transmute whatever protection he would need in time.

AQ	Post #: 42

10/26/2006 0:09:45

xaxtoo
Member

Martin can taste the tea. Maybe Fatty has been comforted enough by his compatriots, so he won’t mind so much being the cream filled crumpet on the side. Suddenly, a force wrenched the pleasant images of afternoon snacks to one of an idyllic country side, only marred by the storm clouds on the horizon threatening to destroy the evanescent peace. Once again, a giant appears in the image; the giant is napping by a wagon that looked abandoned for sometime. In the distance, one can see shades of an arena so big, the dying sun is entirely eclipsed by it. The air around the giant swirled angrily, slowly gathering strength near the ground before lifting the startled giant and violently throwing him a good ten meters westerly. The giant, finally grasping the situation, didn’t seemed much fazed outside of the initial startle; he landed sprawled on the ground. Slowly he turned to a more comfortable state, then he nonchalantly resumed his nap.

Martin stops dead in his tracks; the sudden lurch elicits outcries from his pocket, but he couldn’t be helped now to pay them any mind. He couldn’t help swearing at the Goddess, and he does, most vehemently, for leaving him stranded in the arena. In a fit of rage, he flings, as hard as he can, the body of the Darkness Champion right at the Earth Pillar. He doesn’t look, but the resounding thwap, brings about a cold breathe of calm, but not before he issued forth more curses at the Goddess.

The sudden outburst worked a little too well, for he has regained enough sense, despite that he still wants to rage, to realize that he couldn’t possibly uphold his end of the bargain to his cannon fodder. For one, he had never thought they’d survive through the ordeal, much less that he would have to pay them if they didn’t get the glory of having helped the giant achieve Champion status. Martin will have to bank on them not seeing through his sudden even more irrational acts to trick them somehow.

In his calm, Martin notices that stuff constantly falling on him are ticklish. Martin does not condone tickling! Someone will pay for this. Just then, something wicked came into Martin’s brain. First, he confirmed that his cannon fodder all had melee weapons. Then he starts relaying his plan to them enthusiastically. Feeding upon the restlessness of his men, Martin’s duplicity goes through without a hitch, he even got them to leave their bows. Martin quickly removes his cloak; while holding both ends of the thing, he brings it down before his pockets, and like ants heeding the queen, the pocket soldiers immediately leaves their posts for the cloak. “Okay remember, while you’re distracting him, I’ll circle behind him and club him good.”

Martin couldn’t resist striking a Herculean pose, before he starts whirling his cloak faster and faster above his head. Aided by his gargantuan strength, not more than 5 swings was required before Martin launched his projectile towards the Water Mage. Instead of circling around, Martin went straight for the nearest gate. Whirling his sapling above his head with much more confidence than he felt at such tasks to build up speed, Martin rams the sharp edge at the gate lock. The force of the shock happened so suddenly the sapling had no time to assume surprise before it simultaneously bent and splintered. Having served it’s purpose, Martin tosses the sapling over his head. With a kick aimed at the recent crack, the gate gives way and falls with a thunderous thump.
Before leaving, Martin suddenly recalls that he has yet released the spell he prepared. He turns around, takes a look at the Earth Champion, chuckles, and then lets loose the binding on the spell. Just behind the armadillo, a dark portal quietly rifted dimensions and swirled open, sneakily hiding just behind the warrior.

Martin turns around and steps through the newly opened archway: a vagabond at heart, lacking any reminders of this event, save for some bows which will soon be traded away anyways. With the opening to freedom in sight, Martin suddenly whirls around once again. With a different sort of resolution in his eyes, he walks a couple of steps back, turns right and goes up the stairs into the stands. Eyeing the eager fans with disdain, Martin issues a menacing growl from his throat, which immediately clears the surrounding seats around him. Getting his bottle out, he lays down on his seat. One hand propping his head up, the other lazily fiddling with his bottle, he proceeds to watch the conclusion of the event.

AQ	Post #: 43

10/26/2006 0:51:40

Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...

As the limp body of the ill-fated Champion of Darkness flew through the air towards the Pillar of Earth, the arcane magicks that were imbued in the body of Arcadius took hold once more, spurring the statuesque man into action. Whipping the Alcarde Spear about violently, he interposed the lethal tip between the pillar and the dead body. There was a resounding thwap that spread to the entire arena as the body not only was impaled upon the spear, but knocked into the staunch defender. Recovering with inhuman speed, Arcadius cast the dead body aside after extricating himself from the tangled mess of limp and broken limbs. Resuming his post, he waited with aether-worldly senses for the next instant of need…

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As the great maw of the visage of Leviathan hit the sandy floor, it did not smash open and apart much like a flesh and blood beast would from the impact. Rather, the water the visage was created from gathered in upon itself and began moving towards the center of the grand arena of its own volition, the rumbling impact of length after length of serpentine coil leading the way and leaving scaled imprints in the hard ground. Ronin chuckled slightly at the sight, the sounds so like rolling thunder drowning his voice out rather easily, although the odd spectator caught his expression and frowned in wonder.

Yet Ronin’s reverie was cut short rather abruptly by the flashes of silver glinting from the Pillar of Earth as the water gathered itself in a veritable geyser in the exact center of the arena. The vague stature of Arcadius, resplendent even in death in his coating of quicksilver and still wielding the mighty Alcarde Spear, was visible to the smaller Ronin of Dreams. “Ah, so Fate has guided my hand more closely than even my own defiance has…now I know what had befallen him in greater truth. Our paths may yet still intermingle, old friend.”

He shook his head to refocus his thoughts as the geyser of water erupted outwards in a circular band of pure concussive force. This took on the guise of water’s nature as well, appearing to all as the strong breaker amidst more placid waves, building in height as it rode forth. So too was the band in its inner heart growing in force and power, rolling to crush all not by throwing them against the walls, but to suck them under and expend its fury from above. Granted, yet another distraction fell into Ronin’s way…this time in the form of several warriors spilling out of an ominous cloak. A cloak whose size told the story quite clearly; the giant had decided to use his ‘pocket warriors’ differently now. The warriors appeared slightly worse for wear given the method of their trip, and while well-armed, they took the time to set up in a semi-circle to divide his attention. Or try to, “Hate to say it boys, but I think you’re just a tad too late…” said Ronin to the mass of warriors. Then whispering silently to himself, he says, “Fury of the Beast, Break them upon the Shores of Fate.”

In its perfected circle, however, the grand wave threatened the caster just as much as it did any other living entity caught in its path. If the caster wasn’t aware of the dangers of their crafting, at least… As it approached ever nearer, Ronin took a few sprinting steps forward and away from the knot of encroaching warriors, before diving into the wave at a precise point. If anyone amidst the crowd could see through the frothing white water, it would appear to them that he more slid rather than swam through its width, until he reemerged in a slide. Resting in a low crouch, with his left leg far forward and his arms stretched before him and behind for balance, he rested at the ready, alert for any of the others to emerge from the wave…whether they be whole or in pieces as the fate of the ‘pocket warriors’.

AQ	Post #: 44

10/26/2006 3:57:57

Guardian of Nekops
Member

Although the Crusher had initially decided to keep his eyes on Ronin through the Pillar of Wind, it soon became clear from the noise that his attention belonged elsewhere. In fact, things seemed to be happening everywhere except where Ronin stood.

First of all, Wind's giant seemed to be making his escape, smashing his way through one of the locked gates. Odd, thought Roch, I don't even remember them closing the gates... then again, I've had a lot to keep me busy. Could have happened almost any time. The Champion, or presumably the former Champion, of Wind had thrown something large at Ronin as well, but Roch had little time to notice what it was. Although he was disappointed to see the giant go without having a chance to match Impact against his club, Roch's triumph at being one step closer to the prize was more than enough to compensate.

A second pillar of water had risen up in the center of the arena... Ronin's doing, obviously. As it was just a few spans taller than the Crusher himself and barely rose above the black cloud, his first thought was that the Champion of Water had summoned an Elemental or a golem of some kind. It was not long, however, before the pillar exploded outward and cleared the cloud, revealing a wave already powerful enough to destroy any mere mortal who got in it's way. Contrary to all he'd ever experienced about the way water worked, the tidal wave was gaining height and fury as it expanded out towards him... and Ronin. Upon realizing that the caster of this spell would have to cope with it as well, the Champion of Earth wasted no time before he returned his gaze to the master of the wave to see how it should be survived.

To his surprise, Ronin was preparing no wall or shield to protect himself from the oncoming wave. Instead, he was looking directly at it, almost as though seeing through it. He was readying his mind for something, making calculations in his mind. At once, Roch knew the man would swim through it. The Crusher could not do the same in his heavy armor, of course, but the Water Champion's intent told him all he needed to know. Looking back down to the array before him, he activated it seconds before the water would have swept it away.

On the other side of the arena, Arcadius saw the advancing tidal wave and decided that it was a very clear threat to the Pillar of Earth. Without hesitation, he charged towards the oncoming wall of water, Alcarde Spear held high. Just as the water reached him, he plunged his weapon point first into the sand, anchoring him in place.

Unfortunately, the wave was by this time twice Arcadius's height, and instead of forming a breakwater for the Tree of Earth the animated statue was pounded mercilessly into the ground under the powerful wave, which swept on unhindered to rip at the Earth Pillar's bark.

When Ronin's wave reached him, Roch was percariously balanced on a narrow pillar of sandstone only less than a span higher than the crest, his face covered in sweat behind the helmet. Lifting himself so far had been more difficult than he expected, and without the Lord of Earth lending his aid this time his escape had been a near thing. On top of all that, the muscles in his back had begun to ache, now of all times.

It was only when the water struck his fragile pedastal that Roch realized he had not escaped yet. The forceful inner ring of the spell shattered the stone, leaving the Crusher unsupported in midair. Be gentle, Earth, he thought, closing his eyes tight as he started to fall.

Surprisingly, it was the wave itself that saved him. Roch fell into the water well behind the crest, and the natural flow of the wave sent him backwards, towards the safe haven of the storm's eye. Although the twenty foot wave was not exactly gentle in how it set him down, it treated him much more kindly than a vertical drop would have. When the wave was done with him, he lay wet, hurting, weary and alive on the red sands of the Great Arena.

AQ	Post #: 45

10/26/2006 5:29:51

Art of Blade
Member

Rain, violent rain, fell down from the heavens. Not being a big fan of rain -especially the needly sort that cut through skin like that of the more-or-less dead man in front of her- she ducked and grabbed the standing corpse in front of her, using his body as a meatshield. Unfortunantly, it was not the most effective shield; several individual drops had cut through the thinner parts of the corpse, striking and pricking at Nimra. As each cut came upon her person, a small piece of ice had automatically covered over the small wound. When the rain stopped, Nimra gasped as she threw away the meatshield and looked up.
A giant water serpent had just crashed into the sands of the ground.
She breathed heavily as she attempted to take this all in as quick as she could, the cold and painful rain sobering her up slightly. She was now in a very painful state, as anyone who went to a mediterannean wedding would know. Her mind was trying to tell her such things as "Run!" or "Concentrate!" or "Notice the pattern" or anything else she has been doing for the last few years. On the other hand, her body was telling her to "Relax!" or "You don't need this!" or "You don't need the contents of your stomach right now, do you?"
She had answered to the last request by vomitting. There was so much going on with the alcohol and the battle, she could barely keep up. As she vomitted the alcohol out of her system, she also coughed a bit of blood. Wiping her mouth from all the sudden exits, she tried to stand up as her mind had attempted to drive away the headache and replace it with thoughts that she actually needed.

A serpent of water made a lot of rain and then crashed into the ground. Probably from the Water Champion. Because it was made of water, mostly.
She couldn't tell much else, otherwise, from all the blackness of the cloud.
Realizing this, Nimra did her best to run, or at least slide briskly, out of her little makeshift "ice arena" and out of the cloud, stepping on the sandy ground. She frowned as she wiped away the sweat and the blood and the vomit from her face, and attempted to look into the arena.

There was a great geyser.
And it was really, really big.

Well, Nimra thought... that's very... pretty...

She then remembered the water serpent's crashing descent, and realized that it was probably a second part of some grand spell. Gasping in shock, she attempted to create a large wall of ice in front of her, and as the particles and magic energies started to combine in its efforts to create a barrier, Nimra soon found that it was too late. The geyser... exploded. A large wave, nay, a tsunami crashed in all directions, which unfortunantly included Nimra's. She tried to think quickly, to think through the painful cloud that covered her mind, but by the time she had thought up a beginning of a plan, the waves had crashed into her, sending her flying in its rough path of destruction. As she rode the waves- not in the traditional, comfortable sense of the phrase, mind- she reached out for the Pillar of Ice with her free hand and managed to hold on to it. It then proved to be futile as she lost her grip and slammed into the wall before being sent backwards. Her bones felt broken, and she had many bruises on her body. She let go of the two weapons with her, the ball and the jai alai cesta, and crossed her arms in a sort of 'X'-guard position. The waves dragged her back, as it would, and Nimra once again tried to reach for the Ice Pillar. She suceeded this time, using both her arms, as injured as they may be, before the waves had a chance to pull her under it and crush her with its weight.

She knew that her muscles ached.
She knew that her bones cracked silently.
She knew she could no longer move.

She recalled the events of the Spike Arena, when the firey man... he made a very good shot at her, she remembered, impaling her at the side. The pain she felt from the ice that clumsily covered her large wound made her submit to Berdin's power, but apparantly, he didn't have much of a chance to do anything.
Smiling, she coughed as ice flowed from the Ice Pillar, binding it to her as ice swiftly covered her entire body. The water had continued to mercilessly crash into her, but she was safe in the knowledge that the ice was far stronger than it. It was, afterall, the ice of blood. All of her blood.

In the name of the Ice Lord, Nimra... what the hell was happening back then? I could barely even feel you...
I'm sorry, Berdin, I was just a little bit... drunk.
So... that's why...
Oh yes. You were very... unconcentrated. Ice spikes everywhere.
But how did you get drunk?
I... have no idea... but...
I understand. We must act now, lest it is revealed that our destiny is death.
I defy destiny. I am unique like that.
...
Berdin, you know I trust you, right?
...
All or nothing, life or death, heaven or hell, potatoes or curry...

As she blacked out, she thought she saw a mirror. And in that mirror was a small girl, crying over dead bodies.
She felt a pang of disgust.
She was no longer that little crying girl.
Frowning, she tapped the mirror in her attempt to get the girl's attention, but no response was made.
In anger, she clenched her fist and smashed it through the mirror, which suddenly exploded in both directions, cutting both Nimra and the little girl with several sharp shards of glass.
The little girl was bleeding. Nimra wasn't.
Nimra stood up. The girl didn't move.
And the image, fading away, disappeared.
It was, Nimra thought, very confusing... heh... if I get the chance, I'll have to think about what that meant...

... let's rock! Berdin, unleash!

The ice covered Nimra was totally and completely caccooned in her icy shell. She was a lot... bluer, if one attempted to look through the ice, but at the moment anyone who was looking at her direction would be staring at the top of the Ice Pillar.
There seemed to be a bright light, shining dramatically as a shape formed. It was tiger-like, only bigger, somewhat. Icy winds fluttered around him as he elegantly balanced at the top of the Pillar, his tail swinging back and forth.

"Hi," he said, his slightly rusty voice blowing through the winds to no one in particular.

Despite his, excuse the pun, cool demeanor, the physical form of Berdin, Spirit of the Ice, was uncomfortable. He discreetly attempted to test all of his limbs without making it too obvious that he was, in fact, feeling strange in this rarely-visited form. He wanted to look impressive for the first few seconds of his arrival.
His paws were almost magnetised to the icy pillar below him as he stepped down it in a vertical walk. He gingerly tested the large body of water with a single paw, ice forming around it. Satisfied, he almost jumped in, if not for the platform of ice that materialized beneath him. It would have been very useful, however, if not for the fact that it wasn't anchored to anything. The waves swept him back, forcing Berdin to leap off his platform (which proceeded to crash into the arena wall) and form another platform beneath him. Jumping from makeshift platform to makeshift platform, quickly and without giving the rough waves the chance to send him away. On a hunch which involved the logical thinking that the water was rushing from the center like a fountain and a sort of 'safe place' that the caster would be hiding in, Berdin sucked in as much air as possible and dived his way through the water, manipulating with some sharp, solid ice which cut through the strong, forceful water, and dropped down into the safe source of the waves, among the other two competitors. As he landed, he felt a strong pain in his legs. He growled, being unfamiliar with pain; Nimra usually took it for him. Its feline face was gasping heavily; it wasn't easy to fight the waves like a salmon. Licking himself, he saw that the Earth Champion and the Water Champion were, more or less, alive.

Nimra's blood was flowing through him so that he could fight... all of Nimra's blood, actually.
If he couldn't kill someone before Nimra freezes to death in her icy shell, then... they would both...
It was better if he didn't think about it. Licking himself, he also saw that he was starting to melt. He had only a limited time to kill one, or even both, of the competitiors.
"Hi," he said again. He would, normally, say more, but the combined effects of the drop's uncomfortable force and the fact that any other word would require more than one easy syllable stopped him from doing so.

< Message edited by Art of Blade -- 10/26/2006 11:28:50 >

AQ	Post #: 46

10/27/2006 1:33:16

Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...

Ronin shook out his grayed hair, sparkling moisture falling off in lazy arcs from the movement. It was times like these that he bound the hair in the first place, and he suddenly wished he still had the ribbon given to him by Jhenna if just for its comforting reassurance. Still, for the briefest moment, it appeared that the punishing wave had left none standing in its wake. Then he heard the not-so-silent crack of metal against hard-packed dirt. Looking over, he saw the prone form of Roch on the ground…only the subtlest of motions proving that the man was alive and breathing.

“ Hi, ” came a deep voice from somewhere beyond the man‘s perceptions. It was rough-edged, gravely as if unused in ages, and wholly different from any voice he had yet heard in this very arena. He whirled around quickly, his gray hair whipping around to settle over his shoulder. Then the voice spoke again, the same oddly toned greeting, drawing his eyes to the unusual source of the sound. What appeared to be one of the great cats, those alpha hunters of jungle, plains, and savanna; appeared to be sculpted of ice and preening itself near the center of the arena. At the very least, its nature belied the truth that the Maiden of Ice had not yet kicked the bucket…

“Well, well, well…this is a tad unexpected,” declared Ronin as he drew himself from the low crouch into a battle-ready stance facing the beast. Pitching his voice to carry towards the prone Champion of Earth, he called out a friendly warning with the slightest overtones of a pleasant surprise. “Roch, lad, if you aren’t completely scrambled like crab still in its shell…you might want to get up. Unless you perhaps enjoy wrestling with a cat.”

As soon as the last of these amused words left his mouth, however, Ronin turned stern and serious as he braced his stance to receive this new, potential opponent. His mind raced along the lines of possibilities, knowing well that cats naturally favored the pounce and quick swipes of their paws…and warning himself to expect the atypical just as quickly. Without a visible sign of the Maiden of Ice herself, it was quite possible that this icy feline could be a puppet and she the marionette. Hell, in all honesty, he didn’t know what he *should* be expecting from the feline, only what he might need to run into. Thankfully, however, his position relative to the other two kept concerns low, as he would be able to notice a flanking maneuver quite readily. Opening his left fist against the pull of the marsh-esque magic, he chose to wait and see.

AQ	Post #: 47

10/27/2006 14:29:24

Guardian of Nekops
Member

Hearing the Water Champion's warning, Roch pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and looked up at him with a smile which was, of course, hidden by his helmet. "Ronin," he said, a weay grin evident in his voice, "glad to see you're doing well." As he drew his armored body up to a kneeling position, he let the index finger of his left hand trail in the wet sand, leaving a clear line in the near perfect medium.

Looking around at the field, Roch noted that he, Ronin, and the Ice cat were caught in a standstill. Ronin seemed to hope that the Crusher would help him, or at least stay out of his way... well, he had better be wise enough not to count on that. As for the creature of Ice, water was dripping off its body like sweat; it was starting to melt, and would be pressed for time. Impulsive, perhaps. I can work with that, thought the Champion of Earth, his mind whirring with possibilities.

A plan began to form in Roch's mind, and as he worked out the details he began to trace a transmutation circle around the line he had drawn already. When the plan was firm enough in his mind so that he was willing to commit to it, he said, "I'm grateful to you for your mercy in Spike, Ronin of Dreams, but co-operation was not part of our contract. I feel I owe you a warning, though, so here it is: be on your guard. Don't count on me to aid you, or refrain from attacking you, from now until this is over." The array was nearly complete now, his mind ready for what he had to do. "And a word to both of you; if you want to stop me, now will be the only chance you'll have."

AQ	Post #: 48

10/27/2006 17:55:28

Art of Blade
Member

"You two from Spike?" Berdin chuckled, "then we all from Spike. Nice." He spoke each word slowly yet clearly, making sure that he formed his sentences with one-syllable words, as any of the others would be too confusing. Pausing and rolling another line of speech around his teethy-mouth, he added, "well, then, no hard job if now one chance to kill you!" Having said that, he growled, partly out of a sense of seemingly appropriate drama and partly out of annoyance at having to talk with his jaws. The words that rolled out of his mouth like American footballs were painful to both his mouth and, admittedly, his ears. Cold winds fluttered around him, serving both to dry him of his 'sweat' and to be a preliminary effect of his oncoming spell. "Your death be fast as winds! Be nice and don't fight it!" He stopped talking as a sharp-edged disc formed around his maw, almost fitting in perfectly while keeping its pleasantly round shape. Or, perhaps, the jaws were changing shape by careful melting so that the disc could fit. Either way, it was another weapon of ice. As the disc was quickly formed, Berdin closed his eyes and concentrated on bleeding...
It was painful, Berdin noted, to keep back the ice's tendancy to cover up all bleeding. No wonder Nimra doesn't use her blood a lot, he thought, there's a lot of will power involved in keeping back the ice's obsessive wound-covering. Nevertheless, he took a leaf from Nimra's book or a page from her tree or however the metaphor went, and caused his mouth to bleed upon the disc.
Berdin winced and grinned, as a small pool of blood dripped down like the sauce off a messy consumer of spaghetti and other similiar pastas.
"Catch!" he shouted, his voice further muffled by the disc in his mouth. Berdin breathed a stream of cold wind, serving to eject and propel the disc from his jaws, aiming it towards the Earth Champion. It was flying decently, Berdin thought, but realized that it may not be enough. As Nimra had done to the Light Champion, Berdin repeated, running after the shadow of his thrown weapon, paws ready to knock the bulky figure down and tear away at him with his razor-sharp ice-claws.

He has a lot of armor on, Berdin thought, but I must treat him like... like a giant enemy crab. And I must... I must attack his weak point... for massive damage. Perhaps, if I use his weight against him by leaping on him and making him fall on his back... then I could claw at that small opening which he uses to see with...

As he galloped after the disc with a certain chunky grace, he kept track of two things: the small, barely noticeable puddles of water that he left behind with every step, and the Water Champion, which he tried his best to avoid whatever it was he would do; even though the Earth Champion had told them both that they had only one chance to take him down, there was a multitude of things that the Water Champion can do that would severly injure, or even kill, Berdin.

It is foolish to forget about any foe on the battlefield, Berdin thought. Especially the ones you aren't attacking.

< Message edited by Art of Blade -- 10/27/2006 18:26:38 >

AQ	Post #: 49

10/27/2006 22:32:25

Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...

The words of Roch forced a chuckle to escape Ronin’s lips for a moment, due to both its naiveté as well as its refreshing honesty in this realm of combat and deception. Still, never had he implied to the armored lad that cooperation was desired between the two, the friendly attitude with which he spoke only extended to giving him a warning and nothing more. Although, being honest with himself, Roch may well find himself aiding Ronin unwillingly…as had most unwittingly done so by leaving him be as this round of combat had opened.

However, Roch’s thinly veiled threat was not met with any laughter or affirmations, instead causing Ronin to frown as he glanced over to the armored warrior. He was drawing in the damp sand, and while the figure might not be distinct at all given the distance, Ronin recognized the similarity of position to know that Roch was working his brand of magic. Yet the words of the ice feline caused him to pause rather than acting promptly, for Ronin vaguely recalled the feeling of chill embattled against heat…but was it the same? He did not know, and it bugged him long enough to let the feline make the first advance against Roch.

Still, this yet again worked in his favor, as it gave him just the moment he needed to assess his remaining capabilities. Unlike Roch, and presumably unlike the Maiden of Ice wherever or whatever she may be, he was relatively fresh and unharmed. Scratched and bruised, but nothing overly debilitating at least. His stores of magic, latent in the Runethread, was another story. He had siphoned much of its power into redoubling the potential within his prepared ritual spell, but there was enough left to possibly stretch out a spell of much smaller scale and a cantrip or two. Enough, perhaps, for his favorite counter magic…and then he had the plan.

He darted forth and to the side, moving into the fringes of the yet-lingering cloud and popping out again a few feet further along the edge. Continuing this method, effectively weaving through the edge to keep his opponents guessing as to his exact location at any given time, he moved to flank the icy beast from behind. Or at least position himself in such a manner, depending on how things played out. Each trip into the cloud nagged at his senses, the slightest tingling of a newly diluted multi-grain alcohol scratching at his nose. Smells almost like whisky, that giant has good taste apparently. A shame to waste it on a cloud, but I suppose its purpose was served well. Had he intended to stay within the cloud, he might have been concerned about becoming light-headed and uncoordinated…but his idea did not involve such.

Instead, as he kept his eyes on his opponents while inside and free of the wispy tendrils of Martin’s earlier magic…so much like the mists he had utilized in Spike…he focused a moderate amount of his will to gather and form his magic. It built slowly, almost sluggishly, as he shunted it to form on the open palm of the Wisp of the Morass, yet Ronin had begun to expect such things when that curious weapon of the Vish-nu shamans was concerned. The magic itself was indeed a favorite of his, a counter magic that ripped apart the magic in its path upon release rather than simply snuffing it. Made for some interesting reactions at times, and so he had branded it after the varying hues of a gemstone that had been popular with the Kindred, the sapphire. While he no longer had quite the energy to give it a defined area of effect, it would work quite well in a straight path, he was sure.

So, as he darted in and out of the cloud, he was left to wonder idly…will he need to tear asunder Roch’s work, or might the cat find itself turning into a puddle on the dampened sand. For while Ronin wasn’t sure of the former being even necessary, he was almost certain that the creature of ice relied upon magic of some form or another…

AQ	Post #: 50

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