Old Habits Die Hard

Out of Character:

Open to one. Fite me, filthy casual. Four stock, Final Destination, no items, Fox/Marth/Falco/Capt. Falcon only

I really shouldn't be here.

Y'know, being a war criminal and all.

How long ago was it that the bounty was cashed in on my head and I was shipped to Eiskalt to be executed? You tend to lose track of time after they burn you at the stake twice and you accidentally discover that you're immortal now. And then, there was the whole business of being shipped off to Terrinore to be forgotten by the rest of the world, only to have a terrible storm crash your boat against the rocks and conveniently allow you to escape. And after that, there was a lot of hiding in the shadows, worrying that another bounty was put on you after prison officials figure out that their head count is one off where it should be.

And then there was some gathering of materials, bidding Diggs, Hedge, and my few remaining Crimson Hand contacts farewell, and retreating with my briarbane confidant Hyperion and zombified hulk of a bear Boris into the depths of Concordia.

We found a nice, abandoned fort days off the beaten path. A really good fixer-upper, with an intact tower that rose over the treetops and gave me a nice view of the sunrise. Plenty of space for the three of us and any other horrors that I might breed up in the laboratory. I found some stuff left behind by the Coronian Rangers, who must've used the ruins as a base at some point before or during the civil war, but nothing terribly useful or important.

It didn't take me long to lose myself in my work. It's amazing what you can accomplish when the world isn't breaking down your front door, accusing you of murdering half of everyone over here or creating a monster that destroyed everything over there. Months went by like days as I sent out briarbane to collect samples of various flora, fauna, and diseases to sate my curiosity and desire to experiment. I won't tell you exactly what I've been working on, of course. Every time I get excited about something, someone has to come along and ruin my glorious vision. You understand, I hope.

But even though I've been thoroughly enjoying the isolation and peace in my life, there are times that I get a little stir crazy, and I have some frustration that I need to work out by beating someone else to a bloody pulp. Today's one of those days. And so, I found myself at the legendary Citadel in Radasanth once more.

I really shouldn't be here. I know that deep down, every time I leave my little forest paradise I run the risk of being discovered, even though the last of my humanity burned away on that forsaken hunk of rock, even though I'm unrecognizable to everyone I meet. Call me paranoid, but I'd rather not run across anyone who might have a way to discover who I am and try to cash in on that knowledge.

The monks, if they knew who I was--and it was likely that they did--made no show of it as they showed me down the stone hallways that would lead to the room I'd do battle in. Bless them and their stance on neutrality regarding anything that happens outside these walls. We moved in silence, beams of colored light from the stained glass windows dancing across the dark fabric of my hooded shirt and mythril facemask with each step. I opted to leave my leather armor at home today. No sense in wearing it out when all of my cuts and bruises would simply be healed after the end of combat anyway.

The steel mace I kept at my side softly banged against my right knee as we came to a stop outside a reinforced oak door that looked exactly like every other one that lined the corridor. The Ai'Brone nodded towards it, and I gripped the handle with a briar-knit fist. Without another word, I opened the door to reveal the bright, shimmering portal that would transport me to a magically-constructed world where I could flay some poor fucker alive without consequence.

Home sweet terrible home, I thought to myself as I rolled up my sleeves and hopped in.

Out of Character:

Whoever takes up this thread can create the arena.

“This time, I’ve got something much more challenging lined up for you, boy. You see-”

The Telgradian, wrapped in his white greatcoat, couldn’t hear Sorian’s ramblings over the sound of the hooves of their horses. Shinsou was actually pleased that the traces and chains of the reins, the hollow rumbling of over eight hundred pounds of muscle, and above it all the thundering snorts of their mounts on the bumpy mud throughways were drowning the old man out. Why? Sorian was trouble, albeit necessary trouble, and had been that way since the day they had first met. He was an old man, with a short grey beard that had become thin and wispy in its later years, but despite this the ‘contract broker’ was still a powerful figure in certain circles. Shinsou had become acquainted with him several months ago, after Bane’s death, and had slowly integrated himself into Sorian’s “mercenary for hire” circle as a way of earning his keep and keeping himself fed. Sorian would select an opponent, negotiate some extortionate fee for the fight, and send Shinsou or Elite Optic out to compete.

Unlike his skeletal, blood-thirsty compatriot Optic, Shinsou wasn’t in this for the thrill of killing. Groaning softly as he heard fragments of words like “dangerous” and “strong” drift over the chaotic orchestra of metal and hoof, he wiped a sore hand across his tired eyes.

Yeah, yeah. Danger this. Strong that. I don’t really care old man. As long as you pay me, I’ll fight anyone in the Citadel. What’s the worst that happens? I get beat, and die horribly and in great pain, and then we do it all over again tomorrow. It’s a sad cycle here. I remember when fighting in Telgradia was to the death; a very permanent and usually quite horrible death.

Alongside him, Sorian droned on about Shinsou’s opponent through the racket unabated.

The Telgradian turned his attentions to the approaching stronghold, through the trees ahead where the road peeled away. Villagers, slowly stirring to the break of a new day, would be seen pacing in a steady stream up and down the dirt tracks snaking towards the Citadel on a day like today, where the sun was shining and the weather fair. Sure enough, soon they were in view; the farmers, carpenters, merchants, and their outriders, all of them to travel the sloping dirt trail ahead to the next village to ply their trades. Mothers held their smallest children and wished their husbands well for the day ahead.

“Simplicity in life must be such a wonderful thing, eh Sorian?” The Telgradian piped up as he nodded towards the workers, interrupting Sorian’s monologue. “It’s what we strive for!”

“What’s not simple about your work, Shinsou?” retorted Sorian, who stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Like any of these people, you’re going to earn your coin, are you not? Money that will put food on your table?” A sudden pothole almost sent Shinsou flying from his saddle, and the resulting clanging and clinking of metal drowned out the rest of the chattering of his partner.

The Telgradian frowned and his brow furrowed. “Firstly, I don’t own a table to put food on. I’ve been working out of inns for a year now, and it’s getting tiresome, so after this we need to discuss a pay increase. Secondly, I’m willing to bet your house, as I don’t own one of those either, that ninety-nine percent of the people on this road don’t work as glorified gladiators for a maniac who employs a half-tonne un-dead, unhinged monstrosity to do his dirty work for him.”

"Silence boy. We’re approaching the Citadel gates. This is it!”

Sorian’s voice was shrill and loud as he tried to make himself heard over the horse’s hooves and ambient chattering of people around him. As Shinsou dismounted, he suddenly felt a chill shoot up his spine as the shadow of the looming form of the Citadel swallowed them whole, and with that, the two of them proceeded into the famous stronghold.

The Citadel arena: The Royal Palace

The funnel wall of the Citadel’s portal snapped and crackled as the electrical substance it was made from bent to the monk’s every whim. Strange, tendril like anomalies morphed and swirled in front of Shinsou’s face as the arena morphed into focus. The Telgradian judged the two foot gap between the lip of the portal and what appeared to be some sort of stone path and stepped down perfectly; Shinsou’s foot pressing, for the first time, onto the cold, hard floor of this monk’s creation.

With an approving nod, the Telgradian surveyed the wonderful work that had taken place by the monks.

It was the exterior of the Telgradian Royal Palace.

The sparkling surface of a white marble path carved the extensive, frost bitten gardens in half, snaking towards the perimeter gate of the palace. It was covered with crispy hazel leaves, the kind that littered the ground on a bitter winter’s morning, and as his entourage’s footsteps crunched one by one over the walkway Shinsou cast an awestruck gaze to the approaching palace building.

Just ahead, that familiar silver gate stood at least three times the height of the ten foot wall on either side of it that encircled the royal chambers. It was topped with crystalline spires of Frach that glinted like stars in the low morning sun. The dome shaped structure was made of some sort of silver coloured precious metal. Finely carved statues adorned the edges of the gate around its massive iron doors. Shinsou had seen the decorations before, although he couldn’t make out any of the statues from memory. Heroically posed warriors, insignias of Telgradia and the royal family and assorted coats or arms were some of the more prominent statuary, breathtaking in their beauty and refinement.

As they approached the gate, Shinsou and Sorian exchanged no dialogue. There was no need to. The Telgradian, arriving at the entrance, pressed his hands against the iron doors and after a bit of a struggle they slowly crept open, flooding the hallway with a pillar of dawn light.

The Palace corridors and halls, much like the secretive chambers of the similarly designed Council of Five building that he had wandered years before, were as silent as a crypt. They were almost as dark and eerie as well. Shinsou waited for the heavily reinforced doors to close behind them, whilst Sorian remained stoic and unfazed by anything, his dreary eyes fixated on nothing in particular looked on. As they shut, Shinsou took a moment to investigate the monk’s replica of the building he had been away from for over ten years. Far over their heads, vaults and arches sailed up and converged in a classical array of royal embellishments. A row of shimmering Frach columns rose to the ceiling and created a walkway that extended past the end of the dome chamber in which they stood, which Shinsou believed led to the throne room. At the end of this avenue a white statue of a king, shrouded in robes of gold and red, loomed over the walkway with a single hand resting on a ten foot tall silver sword. The floor consisted of a myriad of marble slabs that led to a centre circle underneath the peak of the dome, from which all other passageways through the building were connected. Here, the flooring was laid in such a way that the emblem of the royal family of Telgradia was sketched out over the circumference of the room.

Just like the one in the Council of Five chambers... Shinsou thought to himself.

Shinsou once again led the way, walking a straight path between the columns with a silent Sorian in tow. The lay-out of this section of the building was similar to several of the other royal buildings in the complex; high, narrow windows of colourful stained glass, patterned to portray important events in Telgradian lore. They alternated with the pillars, dark with the lack of any background light. Under these, tucked into coves far into either side of the corridor, were strange pedestals that contained small statues of previous council members. Rows of lighted, scented candles flickered on top of tables positioned either side of these figurines. As he walked, Shinsou couldn’t help notice that the Palace’s inner chambers was as enormous, and as disquieting, as any other part of the main building from the outside.

“Where’s my opponent?” Shinsou asked Sorian calmly, but assertively. The Telgradian brushed a thread of chestnut brown hair from his face and allowed his golden eyes to fall ahead as Sorian stood motionless behind him. There was no-one here.

The first thing that hit me as I stepped through the portal--after the wave of nausea that I always got from the magic of the Ai'Brone--was the cold. I had been transported to someplace damn near frozen. The chill in the air quickly sucked the warmth of the Citadel's halls from my vines. I brought my hands up and began furiously rubbing my arms, hoping that I could warm myself up before the impending battle.

I knew I should have sprung for the temperature-regulating enchantments on these clothes.

The cold of the air began to creep into my mythril mask, stinging my face as metal touched flesh. I flung back my hood and quickly removed the damn thing, lashing it to my belt while cursing softly to myself. I brought the black cotton back over the top of my head in a vain effort to keep myself from freezing further.

The morning sun peeking over the tops of trees offered little warmth as I surveyed my surroundings. I was transported to the expansive front yard of a castle or manor of some sort. The stone building towered over me as I stood before it on a marble walkway littered with leaves. On either side of me sat mazes of well-tended bushes blanketed with frost. Behind me, gates crafted of silver stood open, implying that my opponent had already arrived. Ahead of me, a set of imposing, reinforced doors that led inside the castle.

I clicked my tongue as I continued to look around, my soft breath coming out in barely visible clouds of vapor. All in all, this arena seemed to be finely crafted, but not very inspiring for a battle to the death. Where were the spinning blades and spike traps to keep the combatants on their toes? Where was the slowly rising pool of lava or the hints of creatures lurking just beyond the light to give a sense of urgency to the proceedings?

This was the Citadel at its most basic. For my needs, it's okay, I suppose... The quality and craftsmanship the monks are known for is here, to be sure. But it's nothing I haven't seen before, fought in dozens of times prior, and died in the middle of many times already.

After this is all over, remind me to have a word with the Ai'Brone. Their newer members could do with a crash course in imaginative design.

Several moments passed by in silence, and there was no sign of my sparring partner. A chill crept up my spine as I stood on the leaf-blanketed pathway. I cursed again and began rubbing my arms even harder, but the chill didn't go away. I looked toward the doors at the end of the path, wondering how much warmer it would be inside. Hey, maybe my opponent was already in there, making themselves warm by the fire that was probably lit in a hearth somewhere.

...Right? Maybe? I supposed that I should actually check to see if they were inside the castle or lurking out here in the gardens. Slowly, I knelt down as two lengths of vines snaked out of my wrist and dug into the frozen earth. I bit my tongue and winced as the cold of the fabricated ground shot up my arm and shook me to the core of my being. I tried to push the pain out of my head and focus on finding whoever or whatever it is that I'm fighting today.

The rush of information hit me like a cannonball. Suddenly, I could feel the life force of every frost-covered tree, blade of grass, bird, and insect that called this magically-created place home. Their signatures were soft and hollow, due to their very nature. Once the maelstrom of signatures took shape in my mind, it was incredibly easy to push them away in my search for--

--There. Two human signatures, burning bright and incredibly real, deep inside the castle, standing side by side.

...Huh. Two? Really? So the monks saw fit to pair me off against a pair of warriors today?

No matter. I can bring my own friends to the party.

I withdrew my vines from the ground, and pulled back my left sleeve and whispered something soft into my forearm. My vines parted slightly, and two clumps of squirming parasites that took shelter from the cold inside me crawled out and leaped off me. No sooner than when they hit the ground, they were already burrowing into the frosty earth and sucking on its energy. Mere seconds later, a pair of vine clusters burst forth, taking humanoid shape as they ripped their roots from the ground. Before me stood twin briarbane, chattering away and hissing at each other and me while shivering in the cold winter air, annoyed that they were given life in such a frigid place.

"I know it's cold, my dears," I cooed to my new companions. "Let's get inside before we all freeze."

The glowing amber of their eyes traced lines in the air as they galloped towards the heavy reinforced doors of the castle. As quick as they could, they threw them open and raced inside while I walked up the three stone steps leading to the entryway. The doors closed behind us with a heavy thud, and the three of us began walking towards the battle that awaited us.

There was nary a sound as we walked, save for the rustling of vines and the soft cackling and chittering of the briarbane. I took in my surroundings as we moved--the interior of the building was just as meticulously designed yet massively uninspiring as its exterior. You had the various trappings and architectural design choices of innumerable castles: Towering tapestries, beautiful carpets, statues and busts of its purported residents with faces as hard as the rock and metal they were made from, and wonderful paintings lining the walls.

Very nice; but it's nothing special, nothing that I haven't already seen hundreds of times before. Seriously, monks. Step up your game.

It wasn't terribly long before we made it to an open area with a domed roof that rose several stories overhead, that prominently featured a towering statue of some old fart and his massive sword looking down on all who stood before him.

I yawned as I came to a stop at the end of the hallway. The twins slinked up on either side of me, hunched over and ready to pounce on the two figures that stood in the middle of the circular room. One was taller than me, a brunette with his hair pulled back in a tail and decked out in a nifty white long coat. His comrade was far older than him, with graying hair and a shabby beard, but a look in his eyes that told me he was someone I would definitely be mindful of.

The briarbane on my right gnashed its razor-sharp bone teeth, ready to tear into the soft flesh of the men before us. I laid a briar-knit hand on its shoulder, patting it gently to let it know it would feast soon enough.

Amber light flared from my eyes as I greeted them. "Hi," I said, my voice harsh and tinny.