RE: =EC= Elemental Championship Finals


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10/28/2006 0:19:22

Guardian of Nekops
Member

"Fool!" cried Roch as he slammed his left hand down on the completed array, activating it. The Ice tiger had been quick to be lured into battle, but slow to actually attack him, the time required for it to speak and form its projectile giving him plenty of time to finish his transmutation circle.

Granted, the Crusher's timing had been less than perfect. Although he completed the transmutation of the three sandstone walls in time for the charging feline to be stopped by the tactic, the bloody disk of ice it had launched at him made it through his defenses and slammed into the breastplate of his armor. The weapon proved much sharper and much stronger than it looked, and cut deep enough into the steel and the chain mail underneath to reach his flesh, adding his own blood to that which was already so generously slobbered over the disk. Though the wound was small, a profound chill spread from it, reaching inches into his body in all directions.

Looking down at the disk as he stood, Roch tapped the part that remained outside the armor with Impact, using its great force and the vice-like grip of the gash is the armor to snap the weapon in two. After prying the rest of it from the armor and throwing it down on the ground, the Champion of Earth turned his attention to his trap.

The three walls Roch had transmuted from the sand were each as tall as a man and a full handspan thick. The one which had directly blocked the creature of Ice's path was not very long, but was connected on either side to walls at right angles to it which were much longer. The whole structure formed a three-sided box which would be too narrow to allow the cat to turn around within it by curling its body in the usual way, hopefully forcing its captive to walk out of it backwards... a very awkward way for the cat to move, and one which would allow the Crusher to catch it moving slowly enough to hit it with his axe. Moreover, the last he had seen of him, the Ronin had been somewhere behind the feline, making its situation even more perilous.

Raising the Gravity Axe high, Roch brought it down upon the shortest of the walls he had just made, shattering it into a cloud of dust. He threw himself through this without hesitation, and once again his weapon rose and fell, hopefully scoring a hit on the tiger who had been foolish enough to attack him on his own terms.

AQ	Post #: 51

10/28/2006 15:47:45

Art of Blade
Member

Nimra blinked.
She was, once again, standing in total and complete whiteness when she was, in fact, supposed to be unconscious.
Staring, she found the crying girl again. This time, however, her wounds from the exploding glass were covered in bandages, but her face was clearly smiling as she hugged another person. This other person was a woman, who looked like she could be the child's mother.
After seconds of staring, blinking, and further acts staring, something in Nimra's mind clicked, and she gawked.
If that girl was me, then is that... mom?
Suddenly, the little girl turned her head towards Nimra, and she felt... pain. Looking down, she saw that she was bleeding in exactly the same way the little girl was cut up by the flying glass.
Nimra fell to her knees, as she slowly realised what this all meant. She knew well enough that this was the first time in years that she saw the image of herself as a little girl, or even her mother, even in memories. Those memories were gone for the longest time.
But they were gone for a reason! Nimra shouted, there was nothing but pain and self-loathing from those memories! If I wanted to do what I need to do, I don't need unnessecary memories dragging me back! I don't need these memories to remind me of my cowardice as I watched you all... as I watched you all die...

---

Running after the disc, Berdin ran, making sure to keep a few paces behind it; if the foe reacted quickly to the disc, he didn't want to be taken out at the same time. The foe would deal with the disc, and would have to have quick reflexes to turn his attention to a puncing tiger. On the other hand, if Berdin was too late with his attack, then the foe would have plenty of time to react and the disc would be irrelevant. With that thought, Berdin quickened to pace slightly, but then something very sudden happened. Three walls popped up around him as the armored man slammed his hand on his beach drawings! He was halfway into the 'box' when he realized that he had to stop running, and Berdin covered the ground beneath into ice and clawed himself into a halt. The ice was a sticky sort of ice, not at all like the slippery ice that Nimra employed earlier, and made stopping a lot easier than using his feet as brakes on the sand.
Did I just think he was making beach drawings? Or drawing a plan of some sort on the ground? No, of course, he wouldn't do something so useless. That... was transmutation, Berdin thought, disgusted at himself for not recognizing it sooner. But he felt, no, knew that he didn't have much time until his foe makes the next move, and to avoid the next attack meant getting out of the three-sided box. He melted part of the ice he was standing on to make it more slippery, and started to slide himself backwards when, suddenly, the wall in front of him fell apart.
Damn! I have to react quickly! I have to...
In a quick, desperate sort of panic, the tiger shone brightly for a second as a second layer of ice was formed around the upper parts of his body, thick enough not to be ineffectual yet thin enough to be summoned in such short amount of time.
The Champion of Earth jumped through the debris and his axe fell down.
And then there was a healthy, rather worrisome 'thunk'.
Berdin stared as he saw that the axe made its way into his icy snout, the tip of the axe reaching all the way up to Berdin's eyes. And past the tip of the axe, one could see the effects of the sharp blade being wedged into the ice, cracks webbing all the way past Berdin's head and neck and going back as far as his tail, the cracks becoming smaller as it went further back. Small pieces of ice dropped off in small chunks randomly, and blood seeped through the cracks.
Despite the fact that he now had an axe through his snout and head, Berdin grinned. The axe had not gone all the way through his face and lower jaw, he noted, it's still there in my face... if the Champion was a lumberjack, then I must be a very tough tree. Heh. The strength of the Ice Lord is nothing to laugh at...
Blood dropped from every small opening on Berdin's body, mostly from where the axe had struck.
... but even the Ice Lord's strength doesn't stop this pain from coursing through my body. This... almost foreign pain that I have never felt before... it is a bad feeling...
As he stared at the small puddle of blood on the ground, his head forced to bow due to the weight of the axe that was wedged in his head, Berdin thought he could see Nimra in its reflection.
Hah...

---

Nimra kept staring, hugging her knees.
Why am I bleeding now? These were her wounds, not mine... what is this supposed to show me?
Those memories... they're gone. They're in the past. They don't concern me. They should not be effecting me!
Pause.
Is this meant to prove me wrong?
She frowned as the little girl continued to hug her mother.
... keep hugging her, little Nimra... she'll be gone soon. She'll be gone and she's never coming back and it's all your fault because all you did was hide and cry, hide and cry...
Nimra sniffed. See? This is why... this is why I don't care for memories, this is why I... I forgot the past. All it causes is pain...
She touched her wounds, the bleeding cuts...
But forgetting the past doesn't stop the pain, does it? It only makes one confused about where the pain came from.
And so we carry the wounds of our pasts, and we turn to the future to heal them.
Heh. Of course... and to think, I used the moment I met Berdin as an excuse to forget my past. I came to him for power, desperate, not wanting to hide and cry any more... and then I was frightened, frightened that despite how much power I'd get, I'd still be that little girl, chickening out at the last minute, hiding and crying. And when the ritual that was to bind our souls was complete, there was a moment of empty-headedness as I adjusted myself with the spirit within me, and in that moment I disregarded the past, threw it to the back of my mind, and locked it away, keeping only the memory of intent, the memory of purpose, going forward like a mindless soldier not knowing why he's fighting, as emotionless as a machine. I stopped caring for the reason of my goal, I stopped caring about human life in general, thinking... thinking that, it didn't matter what one did, it didn't matter who he knew, when the time came their strength will be measured and if he fails, he will die. And for a while, I called my family weak for this reason, and thought of them as nothing more than seconds that have already passed from my life. The only sign of me ever loving them is the fact that I am still going after the person, that blind-folded killer with the torn cape. And for a while, I used this way of thinking to justify the kills I've commited and to comfort myself, in case I die before I succeed.
There was a faint blue light, and Nimra stared as the cuts were healing, being covered with... ice?
She turned her head quickly, and stared as Berdin stood with her.
A minute passed, the image of the little girl with her mother resembling that of Nimra and Berdin.
Nimra smiled.
Heh... Berdin... my accomplice, my companion, my... friend...
Maybe you will help heal the wounds of the past...

---

The ancient magic of bonding one's spirit with another was considered by many to be forbidden. There was a very sensible reason for this, of course. Most practioneers of this magic went mad with the power of the other spirit, and sometimes the other spirit goes mad with the capabilities of the first. They fail to cooperate, and turn into what is considered by many to be an evil, mindless being, bickering with itself while mindlessly slaughtering hundreds of innocents.
Nimra should have been one of these people, going to Berdin for more power, more strength, she needed more, she needed more so she can kill someone... but, somehow, her road down life was different from the others.
Their bond was stemmed from the seed of anger and vengeance, yet it managed to bloom into a bond of trust and faith.
And, as several sub-par television shows will be quick to remind you, such a bond is stronger than diamond...

---

Berdin grinned.
He had forced himself to cover the wounds around his face with ice. He didn't do this to heal him, no, but to form the ice around a certain axe and cause it to be...
... stuck to my tough-as-ice face, Berdin thought. You're strong, Earth Champion, you're powerful... but me? I'm just desperate... I'm out here, enduring this pain for just one person... even though, yes, I need to save that person to protect my own hide, that's no longer the case. I'm ready to push myself and to know the full and total meaning of pain if it means that I save that one person who restored my faith in my own existence...
It's unfortunante, but one of us must die, and I'd rather that I kill you instead of the other way around...
Berdin gripped the iced ground, which was sticky once more. Ice formed its way up the axe which was embedded into Berdin's head, like lines upon lines of snakes slithering up the blade and around the handle. When it reached where the Crusher was gripping the axe, it sensed the heat of blood that was radiating through his armor and his skin and the ice became knife-like spikes, thrusting upwards regardless of whether the Champion had decided to let go of his weapon or not. At the very end of the axe's handle, there was a single, jagged spike of ice, like a spear.
Berdin winced. Blood continued to trickle down where the axe had made contact with his face, and the multitude of cracks along his body made it easier for him to melt.
He was approaching his final moments.
He lifted his axed-down head, ignoring its mighty weight, ignoring his cracking shoulders and how he's falling apart like a fragile ice sculpture, and looked at the Earth Champion.
He had a small wound where the disc hit him. But it might be enough.
Gritting his teeth, Berdin made one final leap, attempting to use the handle-side of the axe to stab through the wound.

There were many ways I could fail, Berdin thought, as he found himself leaping towards the enemy. The man could be so immensly strong, he could force the axe out of my head, causing the ice on the axe to melt... I'm at the end of my rope, I need contact with that axe to keep the ice there... the man could be quicker than I thought... heck, maybe I'll miss my target completely and stab his armor instead, who knows how tough that is... and maybe I'll be attacked from behind by the other man... hell, maybe my ice's as fragile as a pile of sugar and I never even noticed...
So many maybes... but... I have to at least try.

< Message edited by Art of Blade -- 10/28/2006 16:00:38 >

AQ	Post #: 52

10/29/2006 1:10:22

Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...

Ronin slid to a halt amidst the dampened sands of the Arena floor…there was no need to shadow further amidst the cloud, as the feline had sprang forward after Roch and made perfect positioning unnecessary. It was very tempting to follow directly behind the curious beast, yet he had chosen his movement for other reasons rather than rushing straight into the heat of blade to blade battle without care for tactics. Nay, such was folly in his mind, and folly meant death here. The moment would present itself to him soon enough, he was sure. And if it does not? asked Raikenin almost blandly.

Then I create my moment. You know well enough about doing that, don’t you? With a slight smirk to himself, he watched as the cat bounded forward into Roch’s trap. It was a clever enough bit of work, he supposed, but he was aware that no beast reacts well to being trapped in any respects or manner. So too was it now obvious how Roch worked any magic whatsoever. Alchemy. Powerful potential, yet entirely too unrefined right now. Given a few years…he might well surpass my best as things stand. Soon now, he felt it would be soon.

Not more than a heartbeat after the walls sprang forth from the ground with potent force, he heard the crash of Roch breaking through with Impact raised high. The warrior was decidedly strong and bold enough for such a move, and the worrisome crack as the armored warrior brought it down upon the creature born of Ice proved the effectiveness of the unusual move. Raikenin seethed within him, claiming that this was the perfect moment to strike, but Ronin choose instead to close his eyes to the sights in front of him and count his heartbeats.

He was waiting for the moment of clarity, that singular moment in combat where everything felt right and whole, filled with purpose. It took only five heartbeats for everything within him to merge together, to reach the perfection of inner peace. Slamming his eyes open, he dashed forward with surprising speed, leaving imprints in his wake amidst the moist sands. He leapt forward as he reached the edge of the icy ground, bringing his heels about in a forward flip before shooting them downwards at the upper spine of the feline. Whether by some chance of fate, or a blessing from beyond to reward his prudence, the tiger had chosen quite the ill-conceived notion of bringing its vulnerable back up to meet the blow as it tried to make a leap of its own.

Not that it mattered to Ronin, for whether or not the blow proved strong or weak, true or misplaced, his momentum carried him forth towards Roch. Twisting his body about in a second flip, he rose above the armored warrior and would pass over the man easily. Yet he was not about to pass up the opportunity to strike on the fly, even if his legs had quickly numbed from the mere exposure to the concentrated cold of the tiger-like beast. He swung Defiance with brutal force, the lethal hooked tips of the heavy, armor-rending claw seeking the major flaw of design that could never be removed from even the most massive plate - the slit which allowed eyes to see.

In an ideal world, the tiger’s back might well snap and Defiance would prove up to the task of taking Roch’s sight from him and peeling back his skull in addition to his helm. Even with the timing of the diving hawk, however, this was far from the ideal world. While the value of such timing might prove enough to further his cause and weaken these two foes further, only time will tell…as he himself landed behind the armored hulk of Roch, crouched and ready for whatever Fate had in store next.

AQ	Post #: 53

10/30/2006 0:07:38

Guardian of Nekops
Member

As Roch threw himself through the broken wall, he felt the spikes on the soles of his boots grind against a layer of ice beneath his feet as they pierced it, giving him excellent traction... too much, in fact. The interaction of the ice and the iron made him unable to drag his feet at all, forcing him to lift his feet uncomfortably high to clear the ice. In his frustration with this unpleasant development, he almost missed the point when his axe collided with the tiger's head.

The Champion of Earth looked dully at the head of Impact, stuck in the snout of his foe. There had been over five hundred pounds of force behind that blow, and anything with flesh, or... whatever, strong enough to stop a blow like that deserved a certain degree of healthy respect. It was only when the ice that made up the creature began to close over the broad head of the Gravity Axe that Roch's mind finished processing the situation, and by then it was too late to interfere.

Once it had frozen Impact in place, the ice shot up the weapon's shaft in dagger-like fingers of frost, seeking the Crusher's gauntleted hands. As hard and sharp as they were, they were no match for the steel and bent around it, encasing Roch's hands and the great axe's handle in inches of solid hoarfrost, joining back together at the end of the handle to form a long, jagged spike. The iron of the gloves soon took on the chill of the ice, infusing his hands with a numbing cold. Try as he might, no amount of struggling could seem to free him from the icy grip; he and his enemy were bound together by a double bond of Ice and Earth.

As the insane tiger grinned up at him through unedurable pain and tensed its legs beneath it for a jump, Roch began to think he had been wasting his time attempting to free his hands. The Ice cat was going to jump at him, using the axe imbedded in its head as a horn and trying to hit the hole made in his armor earlier. Although he was strong, the Earth Champion knew his strength would be no match for that of a tiger, especially one as extrordinary as this one.

It was only when the tiger began to forward at him that Roch noticed that his armor felt lighter than usual, by nearly a hundred pounds. As soon as he felt the change, he grinned behind his helmet as he realized what had happened. The feline's hold on the Gravity Axe was sufficient to trigger the weapon's power against it, taking the lion's share of the combined weight of both combatants from them and dividing the remainder between them, leaving them each most lighter than before. As a result, the tiger's lunge would be three times as high as it had intended, missing the vulnerable place on his chest by a mile.

As soon as his mind was put at ease upon this point, however, Ronin came at him flying through the air, apparently out of nowhere. It was his fault for paying too much attention to the tiger; he had allowed the competitor for Water to catch him off guard, and the sudden attack put him slightly off balance as well. The mage's claw raked across his helmet, catching on the eye slot and bending the metal there out of shape. Though the steel had loyally protected Roch's sight this time, the now larger opening would probably not be so defensible next time.

With the Ronin being gone from Roch's field of vision as quickly as he had entered it, the Crusher's attention snapped back to the icy feline frozen to the end of his axe. The creature's own overzealous jump was enough to carry it up over his head, but it was Impact's force and the strength of Roch's arms that would bring the creature over him and down to the sand in an arc tight enough to allow the warrior to keep his feet.

When the tiger was directly overhead, Roch shifted his feet apart into a steadier position... or tried to. In the excitement of the moment, he had forgotten the ice that held his spiked boots in place, and as a result was unable to keep his balance as he swung the burdened Impact over his head.

Overbalanced, Roch fell backwards onto his armored rump, then onto his back which screamed in protest at the jarring impact. He did, however, manage to keep the Axe of Gravity moving, and it carried its unwilling passenger into the sand behind him with a force approaching a thousand pounds.

AQ	Post #: 54

10/30/2006 1:02:20

xaxtoo
Member

Martin felt a rather weak tug on his beard which prompts him to look around a bit; finding no one, he went back to watching, but immediately after he resumes, another annoying little jerk brings attention once again away from the arena. This tug, however, was accompanied by a squeaky high pitched voiced that Martin had to strain to hear. “Excuse me sir, you are in my seat.” Finally, Martin looks down and sees a little kid dressed in clothes rather extravagant, gilded and laced with pink butterflies no less, looking at him with a face that couldn’t decide to pout or grin a persuasive toothy little smile that he knows got him everything he ever wanted from his parents.

Rather annoyed, Martin quickly looks around, more to check his surroundings than making sure he was the intended audience of the boy’s complaint, and saw as he expected, a crowd engross with the fighting and by the stairs, a pale man with a haggard face holding on to the railings for support, who obviously seemed to be the cheeky kid’s dad. It would be ascertained that anyone that he might have displaced before quickly decided to be more expedient to relocate than to argue over it with a giant. Finding no one that would object much to him bullying the little rascal, Martin picks him up and tosses towards the general vicinity of the wind pillar. To his surprise, upon arrive at the edge of the arena, the kid’s neck snapped against something invisible and he bounced into a sea of fervent crowd who couldn’t be bothered with a bright flying carcass and brushed it aside mindlessly. One guy, it seemed to Martin grabbed the poor boy’s shirt and wiped his nose rather hastily before tossing it away. With the spirit of the crowd infecting Martin, he caps off his bottle before picking up the hapless father and threw him against an area of the invisible barrier where he would bound to bounce back to Martin. As the man came flying back, Martin took a huge upward swing with his bottle and he watched with awe as the man landed dead on the pinnacle of the barrier. Inadvertently, Martin had invented the bird’s eye view, for, later, once the man had came down and revealed his experience to people, his enthusiasm of the story led to many future emulations. Needless to say, Martin once again resumes his sideways supine pose.

“Get your fried ostrich brains! Fried ostrich brains for cheap!” Upon hearing one of his favorite foods being peddled, Martin realizes that he should have been in the crowds the whole time instead of worrying over his safety down in the hazardous environment down below. Instead of waiting for the merchant to saunter and advertise his wares for every row, Martin sends a small gust that brings him within his reach. Picking the startled merchant up, Martin brings about a menacing glint in his eyes before taking the whole container from the merchant before placing one of the bows into his hands. Knowing enough to protest, the merchant quickly darts off firmly grasping onto the bow once Martin had let him down.

Finally turning his attention back to the arena, Martin was just in time to see the newly- transformed-ice-ballerina-into-freaky-ice-tiger thing get hit by the who Martin thought would be the least likely to succeed if not for his impenetrable armor, rotundo earth champion. Martin could feel him intaking a collective breathe of pain with the rest of the crowd. For him, the earth champion’s rather plainness compared to the others is a good of reason as any for him to cheer for him. Martin uncaps his bottle, takes a swig for a swing favorable for his champion.

Having adopted a champion, despite not having an avenue to bet any money on him, not that Martin had any, between gulps of ostrich brains and swigs of whiskey, Martin lets out cheers for earth champion, and hisses while the ice feline launches itself at his champion. Promptly, the hiss was replaced by a cheer as the cat sails right over the champion’s head, surprising the cat a no small deal. Just as quickly, Martin draws his breathe back as the water mage sailed over the champion’s head. Martin had inched way to the edge of his seat, for since the primary contact between axe and muzzle Martin had already propped himself up in his seat; now with the sudden mêlée of all the characters he almost falls off his seat as his champion takes a spill. Making a mental note to remember this date as a story for the road, Martin forms a funnel with wind and shouts into it “Earth Idiot, take off your helmet!” Helmets got to be the most superfluous pieces of armor for a blow to the head will give at least a concussion anyways and daze one long enough for a lethal blow. The tradeoff of vision for concussion is poor ancient warriors getting tricked by their blacksmiths: one reason hoplites had to line up and were only able to push and shove their enemies directly in front of them. An able warrior has to be able to protect their heads without needing to pad it with excessive armor with their wits and dexterity.

AQ	Post #: 55

10/30/2006 15:41:48

Art of Blade
Member

The following events, it must be said, was horribly confusing for Berdin, which is understandable considering the axe that was lodged in his face. One minute, he was about to jump and stab the Earth Champion in his weak spot in one, desperate swoop. The next minute, however, he found himself lifting off the ground much higher than he aimed for. And then a man's heel jumped off his back, which, while not knocking him down due to the fact that he's stuck to an arcing axe, managed to create more cracks in Berdin's ever-decaying body. In confusion, the possibility that he was flying crossed the bridge of Berdin's mind, but immediately fell over as Berdin found that he was descending towards the ground as the Earth Champion fell on his backside.
Berdin could see the crouching Water Champion, too, who had jumped over the Earth Champion's head earlier before him, and was in a very dangerous place between a falling tiger and the ground...

---

Kullshaik is a very small, yet surprisingly promising kingdom located in the mountains near the Skraeling Desert. They had wonderful culture, round roofs, and an army of people who were very skilled at jumping. Decades a go, this small kingdom had decided to start a military project up north, which involved the training of troops who were capable of combinging magic with melee attacks- for example, a fist of fire, or dodging a blow while blasting a stream of water. An individual would, of course, be able to fight in such a manner, but it would take several years, no, decades to perfect the balance between one's magic and one's physical strength. A small group of individuals were sent north, into the colder mountains, to research a way to effectively train large numbers of soldiers for such hybirdic combat. This small group of people formed a sort of "village", staying together and relying on each other while perfectly the training method that the small kingdom desperately desired. The village were, at the time, slowly becoming successful with their ultimate task, occasionally sending some of their results back to the homeland. As generations went by, the village became its own entity, not just a part of Kullshaik but an extension of it, forming its own little culture and general beliefs.
One of these beliefs held that, right before you died, you were "questioned".
You face your sins, not in the sense that one faces the physical representations created by man or the sense that they face every one of their actions, but in that they face themselves, the core reason of their sins and suffering. It was a sort of test, really.
Sometimes, men will deny themselves, holding on to a false image of themselves and their self-righteous manners. He lies to himself, and lies to others, spitting at them for denying and conflicting with his ideals. And as he has done to others in life, he would do to himself, drowning himself in his own lies, never repenting and never feeling guilt. It was men like these that ultimately faced Hell, the shakles of the crimes and false truths of his life bound to his wrists.
And then there were men who faced themselves and, instead of denying and turning a blind eye to his faults, recognized his sins and his actions. He understands why he has lied, or stole, or disrespected, or killed, and he repents. And eventually, as he goes through with the test, he finds more faults and recognizes them, and would say, "This is why I did this in my life" or "this is why I did that". And soon, he finds himself free of the burdens that he has worn in life, and would rest in peace in the next.
There were a few, special cases where the dead would, at this stage, come back to life. They would, of course, forget what they have seen, but in the back of their minds they would sense the wonderful feeling that a large weight has been lifted off their shoulders.
Of course, these were very rare cases, the children have been taught, and usually happens from a ridiculously lucky occurance in the living world where the person is, somehow, saved before he's "too far gone"...

---

As Berdin lost his blood, the coccoon of ice around Nimra melted.
It had become much smaller than it was when it started, and a close observer (of which there would be few, considering the cloud of alcohol) would see that the ice between the pillar and the covering were starting to seperate.

---

I'm flying through the air with an axe in my head,
Reaching for the ground, quite sure that I'm dead,
I wish I was tougher than something like lead,
But this elevation's fun, though, it must be said,
It's strange to fly through the air with an axe in my head...

Berdin was, indeed, soaring through the air with an axe in his head, but that was to end soon as he would meet to cruel, bitter embrace of the ground. The axe came down, and Berdin felt a shockwave of force course through his body, shattering the cracks together like cold, fragile teeth. Ronin, whose legs were chilled by Berdin's back, managed to barely avoid a larger version of that numbness by rolling and pushing himself to the right. Unfortunantly, there were factors of reality slowing him down, them being the scattered debris of the crushed wall, the fact that there was still another wall that wasn't crushed to pieces, and, of course, his numb feet. While enough to avoid being crushed completely by a full-body Berdin, he found that his left leg was being crushed by Berdin's impact upon the ground. There was, however, a slight rebound when the lightened Berdin-and-axe hit Ronin's leg, in which it found itself to be free once again.

As Berdin felt his head hit the ground, he laughed slightly, muffled by the axe that was wedged in his mouth. A picture of a runaway bunny crossed his mind as he closed his eyes...

Isolation is a terrible thing...
Trapped in that silly temple, surprised that there were still humans who could talk...
Funny how you, a human, a thing that I havn't even considered to be worth looking at, became... important to me...
Hah.
I apologize, Nimra... seems like I failed you...
But... I must say... before I'm unable to say more...
Thank you... Nimra...

Finally, Berdin "went to pieces", chunk after chunk of him falling into the ground, melting and becoming a small sheet of ice on the ground. But, interestingly enough, Berdin did not completely disappear. In place of a tiger made of ice, there was a strange, skeletal thing. It was like a child's stick drawing, or an incomplete skeleton: there was a thick spine and tail, four legs, and a head, and that was it. But, the extraordinary thing about it was that it was made out of pure, untempered ice, spiky yet elegant, shiny yet wild. There seemed to be many cracks in it where blood leaked out slowly. An explanation is required here: Berdin, in this form, ran on two types of magic, them being Ice and Blood. Where the Ice came from was obvious, but the Blood came from Nimra and other victims from battles past. Everytime Berdin was hit, or when he used some blood, they were extracted from the skeleton before being covered up by Ice. As one can tell, this strange preservative ice was "passed on" to Nimra whenever Berdin was in a spiritual state. As far as blood goes, Berdin could have done worse, the skeleton being a rather rosey-reddish-blue colour despite the losses during his short battle.
In unconsciouscness, Berdin lay, waiting for death as blood trickled out like sand in an hourglass.

---

Nimra's coccoon was sliding down the Ice Pillar, slowly.
Finally, as it hit the ground, there was a small noise, similiar to a bell being used, and the shell fell apart.
Nimra stumbled out, her body as blue as a blueberry, never moving.
On her face, quite unusually, was a smile.
It didn't suit her very well, but a smile was always nice to see on a corpse.

AQ	Post #: 56

10/31/2006 13:46:24

Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...

His leap had taken him slightly further than he thought he could manage, landing amidst a shifting pile of rubble and debris. Where his movement and attack not moments before were graceful, this proved quite the opposite. However, it only took the span of a few heartbeats for him to settle into a spread crouch…only to see quite the curious shadow being cast over his shoulder. Glancing upwards, he saw the shimmer of light striking ice before throwing himself hard to the right.

The very same rubble that had made his landing sloppy, however, fought him anew as his shoulder slammed into a larger chunk of sandstone. Even with a strong push from his numbed left leg, it robbed him of desperately needed momentum, and it was merely a matter of physics for the crowd to predict what would happen next. Though the bulk of his body was able to escape the ponderous slab of ice that was Berdin collapsing on top of him, his leg couldn’t clear in time. Ground underneath Berdin’s icy mass and the added force that Impact imparted, no mortal’s limb could resist doing anything other than what Ronin’s did. The bones of his lower leg shattered, shards twisting and grinding against each other to tear at his flesh from within. Several shards exploded outward from his skin, scarlet blood sluggishly seeping from the gaps created by their progress.

A scream of pure agony ripped from his throat, as the dislocation of his ankle went unnoticed amidst the sheer amount of pain throbbing into his awareness from his leg. Arching his back unconsciously, he managed to drag his leg out from underneath Berdin as the beast rebounded from hitting the more solid around his leg. Ronin! Inside his own head, Raikenin fought the tides of cresting pain to be heard. Yet his first cries were ignored, so shocked was the man. Kal-Kai-Vec! This is not the time! Hurry and you can end this!

“End this…?” seethed Ronin between gasps of pain. Gathering as much of himself together through the pain, he took stock of things. A pool of icy coldness was seeping out from Berdin, possibly dead already, but most certainly dying. Without having seen Nimra, that left only he and Roch within the Arena’s sands…and then he knew what Raikenin must have meant. I see, it will cost me more, but I will heal in time…

Rolling over, careful not to jar his leg overmuch despite that losing proposition, he clasped his left hand over the still icy slush surrounding Roch’s hands. Letting the Countermagic activate within the confines of the ‘marshy’ field of the Wisp, it proved to trickle into effect rather than burst forth to impotently try to rend Impact’s enchantments. Ronin knew he couldn’t dispel such magic, not with Sapphire, but maybe the momentary interference would be enough… Meanwhile, he drew his right arm across his body swiftly, resting the hooked ends of Defiance against the tortured metal around his helm. Thanks to his earlier assault, they were wide enough such that the claw could penetrate the eyeslit now, if it came to it.

In a pain streaked whisper, Ronin addressed the warrior once more. “Roch, lad, it is over. Surrender, and I shall spare your life…fight on, and I will be forced to end it. There has been enough lifeblood spilled already, and I would not like to add yet more.”

AQ	Post #: 57

10/31/2006 17:30:43

Guardian of Nekops
Member

Soon after he and the the Ice tiger came crashing to the ground, the Ronin of Dreams was on top of him, the wicked points of his claw mere inches from the warrior's unprotected eyes as he demanded a surrender. From the pain that ran all the way through the man's voice, the Champion of Earth knew it would not take much to reverse this situation; merely bringing his arms up and quickly pushing his opponent towards his feet would likely be enough, and Impact's head was likely to be freed from the feline's skull, making the maneuver mere child's play. Looking up into Ronin's eyes with a grin, he tensed his arms and back, trying to bring them up as required... to no avail. His armor was at its full weight, more than his weary arms and strained back could handle... there was obviously something wrong with the Axe of Gravity.

Ah well, he thought with another grin, I've still got my Alchemy. Pushing his left palm tight against the inside of his gauntlet, he activated the transmutation circle there, willing it to cause the steel of his armor to flow upwards and around Ronin, immobilizing him. When he did so, however, the Alchemic power seemed... confused, befuddled as it flowed through the array. Roch had never felt anything like this before; transmutations were usually instantaneous affairs, and the magical interference he was experiencing was quite uncommon. As it was, the metal had not yet begun to move, and would be too slow to stop the Water Champion, nay, just the plain Champion, at this rate, from making the finishing blow.

The fire went out of Roch's eyes as he realized there was nothing he could do to win at this point. "Blast it," he whispered under his breath, then said, "You win again, Ronin of Dreams. I surrender."

AQ	Post #: 58

10/31/2006 21:02:08

Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...

Ronin sighs contentedly as Roch takes the path of wisdom and discretion, surrendering once more after realizing how outmaneuvered he was. Taking ragged breaths torn by the throbbing pain of his leg, he gathers himself before answering the man again. “There are few who could learn enough in a single meeting to match me in tactics, Roch. You, however, learned enough to instill doubt in even my well-laid stratagems and quick witted maneuvers this very day. You have done well, and let no feeling convince yourself otherwise. I ask for no oath this day.”

Pausing to take another deep breath, he rolls over onto his back after releasing both grasp and threat from Roch’s frame. The intense shooting stars that exploded in front of his vision brought a growl to his throat, one which built in volume as frustration and anger at the wound built with it. Blinking away both stars and the hints of pain-filled tears, he sits himself up carefully in order to regard the sorry form of the ice tiger, Berdin. What skeleton remained amidst the slowly melting sheet of ice looked to be in an extremely sad state, stained splotchy purple as the blue-hued ice blended with the dulled scarlet of blood.

Looking between his smashed leg and the dying tiger, Ronin faced a decision that might well haunt him later. Reaching up with Defiance’s claws, he tore the strips of dream weave, exposing his chest. Upon the expanse of flesh covering his heart, there was an intricate patterned tattoo that Ronin had sworn never to use while wandering outside of his keep…for while he could not die spiritually, without this very tattoo, it would take painstaking centuries for his body to reform to a semblance of life. Reminded of the Bindings while looking at the tattoo, he regards the sight of the Pillar of Water for a moment and speaks softly. “We have a contract, through your avatar…I expect it to be honored shortly.”

Shaking his head of the thoughts of what was soon to come, he began scratching several arcane symbols in those damp sands and that portion of the melting sheet of ice that he could reach without jarring his leg further. “This is the last, I suspect, that I will be forced to this…” he whispers, as much for Roch’s benefit as simply to move that thought from his mind. Then, as he continued to scratch symbols that were hauntingly in overlaid triplicate because of the claw itself, he began a guttural chant in the language of his people. While the words, even if heard, would be meaningless to anyone else…the magic of the tattoo began to transfer itself and activate upon Berdin’s form.

While this may not be near as complete as it would work upon myself…stand and be healed. So to do I command you to find your Maiden, and return her to these Arena sands. You shall fight no more this day, such is the price of life. The magic would work slowly, most regenerative magicks did, in Ronin’s experience. Yet, with it, this magnificent and intelligent beast might still live for another day…

AQ	Post #: 59

11/1/2006 11:27:03

Art of Blade
Member

Blinking, conscience slowly returned to Berdin's skeletal state. He felt slightly shaken, as one could expect to be when waken up from a close encounter with Death (who insists that his name begins with a lowercase D, but no one seems to listen to him). A small, icy wind seemed to breeze through- in a poor attempt to make the event more dramatic- as Berdin stood on all four of his legs. He didn't bother to cover his body with the ice of identity; he felt weak, and staggered a bit as he turned his head to face the Water Champion... no... the Earth Champion was no longer attacking. The crowd made sounds that suggested that something was over, that a conclusion was reached. In the back of his mind, Berdin knew that the man that saved his life was the Elemental Champion. There were no other foes, and Berdin would not have dreamed of attempting to attack him now.
When Berdin spoke, the voice came from... nowhere, really, as if the voice's owner was merely surrounding the skeletal tiger instead of occupying it. And that ethereal voice, weak from recent pains yet strong for the simple fact that he didn't need to use vocal cords, Berdin said, "Thank you... I... hrm..." Uncomfortable and unsure of how to thank a stranger, a human who he only knows by title, a human who was his enemy a few seconds a go, Berdin suddenly bowed his round, featureless head with respect, and walked briskly into the cloud of alcohol, which was starting to whisk away with the passage of time.

Nimra was there, by the Ice Pillar, her blue face smiling in unconscious happiness. A laugh seemed to seep by Berdin's... lips? Ethereal lips? Space-time impossibility? Whatever it was, a laugh could be heard as the skeleton broke apart, leaving only blood. But the blood was acting strangely. It was floating, in the image of the skeleton, and while keeping that image it started to walk forward towards Nimra. Her cuts from earlier were all open, the ice that closed them prematurely having recently melted, and the figure of blood seemed to smile. As it walked it, it disintergrated, like an army of ants, marching towards the little cuts and closing them with ice as before. A few seconds passed, and a confused looking Nimra woke up from her coma with tired eyes.

She felt happy and relieved. She knew she lost the Championship, and she knew that she would know longer fight in this arena, and, somehow, she knew who saved her. She grinned. This wasn't things that she experienced.

Berdin? Berdin?
... Nimra...
Berdin!
Don't... shout...
Water-man saved your behind?
And yours too, and yours too...
Oh. That is true...
He's one of those kinder fighter. He's not the sort who defeats someone and rubs it in their face.
I guess we have to be thankful for those kind of people in this world, eh?

She experimented by twisting all her wrists and ankles, and when satisfied, attempted to stand up. She almost immediately fell over, as fatique took over suddenly. She knew why, though: summoning Berdin used up all of her blood. Even though Berdin managed to return the blood that he still had, it was still less than any human being could hope to live on.
Shocked, Nimra stoof up slowly, and half-ran sluggishly out of the alcohol cloud that covered the Ice Pillar. She looked around quickly and spotted a gate that was... crashed open. Possibly by a giant of some sort. Desperate for a means of her survival, she ran across the arena and through the gate, and as she made her way up the stairs she felt drained. She knelt down, and coughed heavily.

Argh, the only thing I need now is a miracle.

And suddenly, there was a bit of commotion in the crowd. Nimra turned her head sideways as she found people standing up and moving their arms to the side, as if moving something along. Earlier on, they were caught up with the excitement of the events that were unfurling in the arena, but when some of the audience members stood still for a second and realized that there was a corpse, no, two corpses among them, they made sure that they were not the ones caught with them. Suddenly, those two corpses were thrown on to the stairway, in front of Nimra. A boy and his father, both looking quite dead. They were also, Nimra noted, quite rich, but there were obvious signs of stolen possessions. Possibly, some of the audience thought it would be wasteful not to take valuables from those who didn't need it. She agreed, but found that there weren't any valuables left.
Suddenly, realization dawned on Nimra, and she turned to the audience members, shouting, "Are these two dead?!"
There was a general muttering of confirmation from those nearby.
"Good!" she replied, mostly to herself, and grabbed what she called the Father Corpse by the neck and, suddenly, plunged her other arm straight through his heart. He was freshly killed, it seemed, and the blood was not wasted. It seeped into her, leaving the old man shriveled. Some of the more soft-hearted audience members gasped as Nimra did the same to the Son Corpse. Colour seemed to return to Nimra's face, becoming as pink as it should be, almost pinker. She was not smiling now, but grinning, almost maliciously. There was a sort of excitement from drawing blood.

As she wiped off the blood from her arms, she met the stare of a young girl in the audience, who was frozen in fear. Nimra blinked, and tried to smile in a friendly fashion while waving slightly. The girl was obviously frightened stiff, and turned away immediatly.
They always do that when I try to be friendly, Nimra thought, frowning.
What now? Berdin's voice asked, in the back of her mind.
Pausing for a few seconds, Nimra thought, and shrugged.
I... think we should just keep moving. I'm... tired.
Did you know that this is a yearly event, Nimra?
Her face suddenly became distorted in horror.
Oh ye gods, no, dammit, no! Never! Ever! Next time I walk back in there, I will not walk out again. Like... a cokroach in a motel.

< Message edited by Art of Blade -- 11/1/2006 11:33:52 >

AQ	Post #: 60

1/2/2007 23:59:40

Guardian of Nekops
Member

The encouragements of the Ronin of Dreams fell on ears that were not ready to hear them. The words would return to comfort Roch another day, perhaps, but for now they had no power to soothe the pain of his failure.

As the Princeling lifted his claw and spell from Roch's eyes and weapon, the great weight of his armor was lessened so that the Crusher was able to move once more. Although glad of this new freedom, his only response at first was to sprawl out more comfortably on the red sands of the Great Arena, looking up at the blue sky through the holes in his ruined helmet. He had come close, unbelievably close, but he had failed. All of his work, all the work of those who had supported him and given gold that he might come here, arm himself, and compete... it was all for naught, lost in the great game that was the Elemental Championship.

It was not long, however, before a strange creature of blood walked between Roch and the sky, catching the warrior's interest enough so that he rose to a sitting position and removed his ruined headgear to see this miracle more clearly, curling brown hair and beard The skeletal tiger walked up to the half-frozen corpse of the Champion of Ice. Pity, thought Roch, that her life should be cut so short. But then, inexplicably, the great cat's blood flowed into her wounds, and she rose to her feet, alive again.

To Roch, the message was clear; there was life after defeat, life and a chance to win another day awaited him. He would go back to the mountains of K'eld Naer to gather money and supplies, then search all Lore for one who could teach him more of fighting and the art of alchemy... and preferably how to combine the two. Next year, he would be ready, and he would be victorious.

As that thought passed through his mind, the Champion of Earth felt a slight tingle in the air behind him, and turned to face it. There stood the vacant Pillar of Energy, a silent monument of Power untapped and brooding, angered at having been excluded from the fight this year. A force to be reckoned with in the year to come...

Perhaps, thought Roch, without quite knowing why, I will train for two years rather than just one.

With that, Roch the Crusher rose to his feet and strode out of the arena, leaving the ruined helmet behind in the sand. With the exception of a deferential, friendly nod to the new Champion, he kept his head held high.

AQ	Post #: 61

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