Who You Gonna Call? (Closed)

A dim, cramped room with no windows; and that smell was back again. The floorboards wouldn't stop moving, slowly back and forth - like he wouldn't notice. The air was a strangling hand at throat, sweat-slicked leather stuck to chest. The bed squatted sharply in corner, waiting with lumpy arms and springs to stab; not again. Black strands in his face, black talons inside, always clawing for more. Something about that smell - but the door was silent. Good; silence was good, but that didn't stop those shifty planks. They knew, and a stubble-covered jaw cracked a smirk; having his intelligence insulted by floorboards.

The hand...gnawing.

Surely not his hand; leather wouldn't taste nice, moth's delight under coils and cloth. Someone laughed, but sharp blue eyes pinned down the walls, and that smell was familiar. Crimson squeezed the world, and the beat was its muse...brown, everywhere. Wood wouldn't flow red, but brown stained body but for black cloak. Planks bemoaned, like they ever helped him, legs pushed the ceiling down. A bloody gem atop corpses piled; now a dead bear flies. Misshapen drawers held aloft the melting light, but cloak choked more than air. Clever, but boards had warned, and the shiny leaf whipped up behind as walls spun.

Taste...No stars now.

A dim, cramped room with no windows; and a chair. Plynt poked poor craftsmanship. Sap dripped out; a curious thing; vest-pockets grumbled as teeth rained on tongue. The smell, the hand; there it was. Little rascal behind a peg-leg, the gloved hands held it; a simple seat was no match. Red, it was, at the wrist, but otherwise a perfectly good hand; shame, really. Had there been more...well, probably. Constellations caught between two worlds, and gritty teeth gnawed greedily. The tasting, warm enveloping bitterness, wet copper and satisfaction; shame. Named, but no more, slept first loss under hateful bed, slumbers now inside head, tasted all in guilty corners.

The door barked a knock, angry mumbled.

Steeled-toes slid slowly, leathered-fingers turned carefully, and light stabbed viciously, but with it came sweet sea air. Stale clawed while fresh embraced, pulled cowering into light by lungs. Deep breaths, deck swelled and sank, crushing crimson receded. Eyes adjusting, massive mast and scattered sailors swooped into focus. Deep breaths, and the world opened up into seagulls and coughs, grunts and groaning rigging, the salt on the air and the green horizon. Deep breaths, and the paranoia and anxiety slid away like water; for the most part. He was still quite aware of the severed hand tucked into his vest, and his stomach roiled at the thought.

"Nyadir?" asked a voice too smooth for the sea.

The swarthy sailor who sauntered up salty let his dull brown eyes linger a bit long on the large steel hilt over his passenger's shoulder, and the tall swordsman answered curtly. He nodded as the surprisingly pale man informed him they had arrived, a fact not evident by all the massive wooden frogs squatting on the lily pads of the delta, and the dual-masted flies drawn to them. Then, the man started rambling about a missing crew member, and the cloaked wanderer just tuned him out. After many annoyingly long moments the crewman left, and the dark-haired half-elf rested his bare elbows on the splintered railing and stared out over the water.

The many warehouses and piers of the delta drew back as the boat approached the shore, and hills of vibrant grass rolled off into the mountains. The groaning ship came to a lurching halt as they finally docked, and with a nod to the cautious crew the swordsman stepped down the boarding plank and off into the muddy gaps between squatting structures. Considering the tales of strife striking this little island nation, there were far fewer patrols than expected, and soon the road widened out into grass and sky. The air warmed as the wanderer walked inland, and dragonflies darted about the fields; it wasn't long before sweat flowed again.

For only half the day the swordsman had sulked in that cabin, a simple trip down to Radasanth from where they had stashed the airship, but still the thought-devourer came; and those incidents were happening more frequently. Just a little more money, a few more connections, and he would find it; anything could be found with enough money and power. As he walked, high hills sank into a lush valley, and grass was replaced with orchards and crops; the dragonflies disappeared. Above all this order stood the sharp spire at the heart of the city, its shimmering dome below overseeing the stone which stretched out to the wide walls wrapping the capital of Corone.

Security was tight, and many questions later the half-elf finally emerged into the bustling avenue. Despite the heat, the crowd poured down the smooth streets, and as he strolled deeper into the city he took a leather strip from a vest pocket, and tied his messy black hair into a tail. Wood turned to stone as the swordsman waded through the thickening throng to the heart of the city, and after acquiring some food and water he came to the great oaken doors of his destination. Tall halls covered in tapestries of courageous warriors past stretched tiled into the depths of the colossal Citadel, and the wanderer was led to a small side-chamber to await an opponent. Fading figures flickered on white walls for a while before another monk in earthen robes ushered him through an ornate door.

The cold stone floor held carved coffins along the cracked walls, struck a pale blue from the shafts of moonlight between the pillars. Desiccated arms grasped cobwebbed blades, and just inside the row of columns the high ceiling gave way by jagged edges to clear night and crystalline stars. The monk and door had vanished, so the swordsman shifted his cloak back over bare shoulders, and checked the dagger and spool at his belt. The rustle of leaves and gurgle of streams floated on the breeze, and vines crept in over the remaining roof of this old mausoleum. The thrill which Nyadir sought was already coming to him, and it was with anticipation he stepped out among the dead into the moonlight.

Elthas had arrived at The Citadel a time earlier, and was waiting for an opponent to arrive.

He was standing perfectly still in the empty combat chamber when the monks worked their arcane power. Elthas found himself in an old ruins...could have been any remnant of old Althanas. Concordia Forest lingered on the outskirts of the ruins. There were several old buildings, including a dilapidated old mausoleum. The ruined building likely contained secrets...the secrets of the old world. I am not here to unearth those secrets this time. Elthas thought to himself as a sad, melancholy breeze touched Concordia Forest and made leaves rustle. Elthas looked up at the night sky and saw the Heroes of lore present. Valentina Snow, Sei Orlouge, and many others of Althanas's greatest champions. Burned into constellations on the stars. Heroes of a different age of Althanas history.

Elthas steadied his gaze and looked away from the stars. His hood was up, the spectral mantle moving of it's own accord. The mantle...the darkness...was hungry. Elthas sensed someone approaching the ruins the moment they crossed his large sensory array. Once he knew he was no longer alone, Elthas willed himself to move towards the stranger. They are likely my opponent. Elthas thought to himself. The wraith carefully maneuvered through the old ruins and stopped near the mausoleum. His glowing eyes narrowed as he spotted the stranger. He did not know the man's name yet...only the fact that they were meant to do battle. Elthas began to prepare his mind for the task at hand, concentration and strategy flowing through it. The veteran knife user summoned his newly acquired weapons. Spectral blades manifested with glowing energy in his hands, unsheathed from who knows where. He rotated the two weapons. The blades elegant and curved, quite deadly looking.

Elthas lowered his hood at that point. He wore a fedora that was fashioned from old-world tailoring. It was tipped at a forty five degree angle, casting a shadow across his handsome face. Elthas prepared his combat stance, but did not attack immediately. He had never been the time to simply back stab someone without due reason. Elthas lowered his arms so that the spectral blades' tips pointed to the ground beneath. A strong sense of honour prevented Elthas from attacking the man right off the bat. Elthas favored honouring the old alliances. The alliance between Humes (Men-folks) and Elves. Old habits died hard...and his were especially hard to break.

Once Elthas began to carefully observe the large man, he began to notice features of the man.

Elthas studied the man very intently...there was something very familiar about the man's stature and physique.

Didn't I fight someone like that once before? Elthas recalled the battle against the titan-man John Cromwell. He'd won that battle physically...but it had cost him many serious injuries. I wonder if this big Hume is related to John? Likely not. Elthas recalled other battles he'd conducted in The Citadel. He was thinking about what sort of tricks and strategies the man before him would use. Elthas moved slightly closer, but kept a ranged distance from the fellow before him. Elthas, a Wraith, had a see-through physical body and a glow about him. He was also fairly tall and lithe. He was an unusually built Elf, there weren't many pure Elves that were built that exact way. Elthas stood in silence, staring at his opponent the entire time.

He wondered which ruins they had stumbled upon the entire time...

Wisps of web floated in the cool breeze, the sole performers on this silent stage, and the wary wanderer glanced among the shadows between carved columns. The dark simply waited, the wind ever-stirred; and now the familiar feeling of a stolen gaze caressed his mind. The thought was first dismissed as simple paranoia, but the itching possibility prompted a second search. The translucent edge of ...something lay idle upon the breeze, spied through pitted pillars and sundered stone; a few stealthy steps brought the hidden hole into view. A pair of sapphire eyes glowed back from within a black fog, its edges tinted violet in the cold moonlight. The uncertain half-elf wondered if he was seeing things, but his ghoulish guest just silently stared. Surely, it should attack, or speak. Perhaps something prevented its entry, through fear or force; something in the mausoleum.

Rusted iron and dented steel wrapped the withered warriors strewn about, and their scattered swords and shields fared no better; none of these cold corpses held anything of value. The dusty stone floor was smooth, and the columns sprouted only granite vines, nothing to indicate any ulterior purpose to this place. Though many fell here long ago, it was likely by mortal means they perished; none of their tools would be of much use in the face of un-death. Polished steel yet gleamed along one halberd's shaft, however, so the swordsman ignored the blade on his back, and walked over to heft this new ally.

It spun easily in his gloved grip, trailing the silky wisps of age, but still held a keen edge. Though the half-elf sharply studied the shadows, the creature seemed yet to move, a fact he confirmed with a few short steps. There again stared those glowing blue eyes; the creepy bastard. The wanderer tired of uncertainty, and held now enough energy at the ready to enact his enhancement, and triple his strength and speed. Surely, that would be enough to deal with this specter, provided he could kill it in time. Solid steel would have to do; hopefully stabbing the thing at least did something. Maybe the halberd would help after all.

"Is this a duel, or a hunt?" he called to the shade, voice echoing through the pillars as a smile crept onto his stubbled face.

"I'll be the predator, if you want."

"The fates are not kind." Came the deep voice...old Radasanth accent.

Elthas looked away from the approaching adventurer for a moment, his face fluttering in and out of existence. Constant flux. His body was surrounding by the darkness, but he could not yet control it. Elthas held his spectral weapons in the same deadly angle, ready to strike in the blink of an eye. However, he hesitated. The feeling of familiarity touched the wraith's heart. Have I met this one before...? Elthas was one of the old ones. His history going back to several ages of Althanas lore. Elthas's blue glowing eyes narrowed for a moment as he considered the situation at hand.

Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me. The man spoke, the accent rich with the modern baritones of the current historical epoch of Althanas.

Across the centuries...Elthas had learned quite a bit about the various structured battles of The Citadel. It had been a constant reminder of the failure that was The Demon's War. Elthas had not been present for that war, but he has present through out other historical junctures. The man stepped closer, Elthas did not retreat or move. He simply observed in silence. After the first words he spoke, Elthas spoke again. "This place is fitting." Elthas began. "Remains of ancient heroes are present." Elthas saw the charred armaments that the fallen used. Some were Elven make, others represented several of the prominent races of Corone. "A great battle took place here." Elthas said in a solemn voice. "There has already been much blood spilled on these hallowed grounds." Elthas spoke in the same serious tone. "A duel will suit me fine." Elthas was laying down the ground rules of the battle.

He always did favor taking charge of situations he came across.

The wraith wanted to see what the fellow before him was capable of doing...so he stood in place.

Ready to pounce at a moment's notice...

Unkind fates, indeed.

Things never went well when old ghosts started rambling about battles long-past, and the sonorous sounds that rolled from the wraith had the tone of grand halls on mountains tall, and tattered tapestries rotting in the wind. This talk of ancient heroes and hallowed ground didn't bode well either; many a careless fool lost their lives to trespassing on such places. While he listened, oily waves gnawed within, lapping static and a clenched gut. A cleansing breath and a moment of focus suppressed the mortal madman's dark passenger, though. After a respectful nod at the acceptance of the duel, he cautiously treaded over to another sizable hole in the mausoleum wall.

Lush grass bathed in the moonlight as the swordsman stepped out into the clearing, and he immediately noticed the two glowing blades held at an exact angle; their touch was undoubtedly no less lethal for their transparency. Beyond the ring of trees only scattered beams of moonlight cut in through the canopy, but among the rubble and remains the shadows were scarce. The cloaked half-elf turned to face his foe as he stepped out into the open, and held the cobwebbed halberd casually. Gazing again into those ethereal eyes, the dark corners of his mind swelled sharp; perhaps it simply sensed familiar un-death, or warned of menacing capacities yet revealed.

Stone sentinels gazed perched from the crumbling corners of the few remaining buildings, their folded wings chipped and broken. Time had not been kind to this place, but the sharp-eyed swordsman could forgive it; he was about to be unkind as well. The shaded specter still stood there, silent again after its ominous speech, and staring with deadly daggers at the ready; he doubted it would be an easy foe to fell. It shared a similar height with the half-elf, but lacked the buff build; perhaps that would be his advantage. The wary wanderer finally pushed the gathered energy into his enhancement and widened his stance, sharp steel whipping up into a two-handed grip. Sweat poured down his bare arms, but not just from the technique; as long as his newfound weapon didn't handle too differently from a spear, he should be fine though.

Deep breath drawn loud in one long moment, the halberd-wielding half-elf walked slowly towards the stoic specter. Relief spread through him as the overwhelming need to move abated, and the gutsy ghost seemed content to let him approach; a bit unnerving, that, but the swordsman stopped just in range. With the final step, he launched into a quick flurry to test his opponent's defenses.

Memories poured into Elthas's mind just then.

The halberd user attacked and Elthas could only focus on one matter.

Hylda Terrentius...the one woman he had ever loved.

Her image passed across his mind and he swore he could smell her...perhaps that was the reason that Elthas felt so detached from the current situation at hand.

The image soon passed and Elthas saw his opponent begin the flurry of his attack. He's quick...noted. Elthas thought to himself as he stood there calmly. The halberd weapon lunged at Elthas with deadly intent, Elthas did not react until he was certain of the capacity. His eyes caught it, the weapon tip blurred but his eyes were able to keep up. He had his own reflex capacity, one of his most advanced features. But Elthas was also a smart man. He was going to play this opponent for all he was worth. So instead of dodging, evading as he maybe should have...he stood there. The sting of the halberd piercing his spectral mantle. Elthas flinched, the blade tip touched his spectral body. But his reaction was a calculated risk.

Once the boy before him was well within striking rang, Elthas reacted.

Summoning the unnatural powers of his kind, Elthas was as a blur. He swung his left spectral blade downward in an attempt to intercept the halberd's shaft. It was a long weapon sure, but it's length was also a disadvantage. The flurry of attacks stung Elthas like a wasp and would have been deadly in his living form. Elthas's blade swung ever downward towards the halberd. Then, about half-way in the counter strike, Elthas suddenly lunged with his full speed at his opponent. He knew the weapon was not enchanted at that point beyond the current capacity of it's owner's skill set. He used his body's spectral power to it's full advantage. His right arm lunged forward with the glowing spectral blade as he aimed the secondary attack towards the man's forward shoulder.

Elthas's face was disturbingly calm and emotionless.

He made not a sound when he reacted, but the wind seemed to react to the two combatants...

If one were to notice the bladed tip of the halberd, they would see a glob of black spectral substance pouring down it's length...

Elthas could be hurt.

But he could also take the pain...

Like flickering shadows on a rough-hewn wall the wraith moved, unnerving and unperturbed by simple steel. Its feint flashed with speed equal to the wanderer's own, and the second blow had the half-elf leaning back in surprise as he whipped the back end of the pole-arm up. The cobwebbed shaft knocked away the lithe arm of the specter, but not before its baleful blade cut a swath through supple flesh. Though the long gash wasn't deep, it grew cold as the swordsman swiftly stepped back to reset his stance. A brief thought flickered to the blade on his back, but having the shaft to block with seemed like a wise idea.

The damn thing had reacted like it knew exactly where the blows would land, not to mention the obvious skill difference; his advantage in strength didn't seem so great anymore. The faces of granite gargoyles took on a mocking cast as confidence faded, lit and lounging by a jealous moon. An onyx tide swelled unbidden in forgotten corners of the mortal's mind, his stomach knotting as crimson crawled along the edges of the world. Prickling doubt descended on rotting silk, but cool air drawn deep banished the black ichor.

The swordsman's sapphire eyes sharpened as his reflexes doubled, though visceral imagery flickered through his head; unwanted help from an unnerving 'ally,' but useful none-the-less. Thirsting grass drank deeply the liquid shade which dripped from halberd's edge, a reminder of his leftover snack. Blood sat on his tongue all familiar, and the hunger crawled itching up his throat; a mere moment in the quiet night since backing away, but long enough. To the mental symphony of sawing bone and drowning screams steel soared, leather gloves gripped low on the shaft for better range. A few vicious thrusts ensued, the wary wanderer hiding behind the reach of his weapon.

Elthas was hurt and he knew it too.

He looked down and saw that spectral blood swelled out from the injury his opponent had inflicted with the viscous strikes. Elthas knew he could not relent. His spectral weapon bit the man on it's mark but the other blade did not deter the counter strike. Elthas moved in a sideways slide, willing himself to evade some of the rough impact from the flurry of attacks. The halberd's tip bit like the bite of some twisted abyss serpent. Though he wasn't a physical form, he was still capable of feeling pain and the damned thing...hurt like hell. Elthas was already a mess, but the strike he'd inflicted on his opponent was well placed. Break him... a piece at a time. Elthas thought to himself as he ripped out of the reach of the plunging halberd.

Son of a bitch is holding back... Elthas grinned at that point. Again, his mind focused on the battle at hand. I will have to out maneuver him if I am going to win this one. Elthas thought to himself. The last of the flurry of his second attack hit air since Elthas had moved. However, much of that second attack had also clipped the wraith as well. Elthas looked at Nyadir for a long moment as he reacted against the man's momentum. I have a few tricks in my arsenal I can use here...but what do I use? Elthas did not want to completely over power the fellow. The moon above, stared down at him, seeming to have a hunger all her own. Elthas stole a glance up at the moon, carefully studying the brilliantly shining stars of Althanas's night sky.

Then he returned his attention back to the man.

I clipped his shoulder...that's step one. Living blood dripped down the length of his elegant spectral weapons. They pulsed with dark energies, his body moving with tremendous skill. Elthas was on the move again, willing himself to move at best speed. The injuries the man inflicted on him hurt like Hell. I don't know why this injury hurts as much as it does... Perhaps the pain had to do with how relatively young a Wraith he was. He'd only been in that state for a few years standard Althanas time. Elthas moved in a arcing movement attempting to get around the back of the fellow. But that in itself would be difficult with the man's skill level. Elthas narrowed his eyes as he observed the man before him.

Again, there was a certain sense of familiarity with Nyadir. He could not quite place what it was...Are we kin? Elthas thought to himself. The man had familiar features of his physical anatomy and he could have sworn he'd seen them some place before. My head is playing tricks on me. Elthas thought to himself as he attempted to move around the man. He pondered readying one of his combat stances, but that would require concentration to prepare. He did not want to loose the battle itself. As he moved he could feel the spectral energies leaking from the wounds he'd already been dealt.

His facial expression was serious, there was a dangerous intent in the wraith's glowing eyes. However, the wraith was also hesitating. He did not attack as he moved...at least not just yet. He needed a few moments to gather himself and his thoughts...and think. Elthas was a deadly thinker, and a veteran of The Citadel. A few moments passed as Elthas moved, his sense of reality seemed to slow down. He knew he could have easily crept up behind the man, but he felt something was holding him back and wasn't sure why at the time. Elthas readied his spectral blades as he planned his next move. The pain...never completely faded and never let up...something about the pain drove Elthas to focus harder...

A wicked grin spread above blackened chin as the spirit slid sideways, but despite the crawl upon his spine the mortal madman matched the specter's smile. That crawl sharpened as the thing unnervingly flickered out of view, so the swordsman crouched as he drew in his last thrust. He hadn't known thrill like this since stealing the Aleran airship a few months back, and it was intoxicating. Though a twinge in his shoulder recalled the growing numbness, and the abyss ever-gnawed, he planted a steel-plated boot in the thick grass behind him as he began to turn.

Ebony hair sliced the breeze as the wanderer's head whipped to the side, steely eyes snapping to the spirit, and crimson runners raced crooked down his arm as he pulled the halberd ever-closer to the wayward wraith. The groan of great oak's sway rose as a canopied chorus, and droplets of sweat shimmered like gems stuck in a trail behind the nimble swordsman. His stance shifted as steel arced through the air beside him, eyes locked on the specter despite the sting of sweat. His attacks so far had been as effective as stabbing a puddle, but perhaps if he cut that black mist clean in half it would stop staring at him.

Stars shone through its shadowed shape from the deep night beyond, its glowing azure eyes two great galaxies in the constellation of a vengeful soul. It was an unusual sight for a smuggling run; if only more of them were this interesting. The swordsman drew in cool night air as he finished the turn and stepped into the slice. The steel halberd sailed up from below to the chest of the specter as one of its daggers flickered, and the cobwebs trailing the shaft floated up over cleanly cut metal as the blade of the pole-arm flipped off into the night. The wraith yet stood, silent and grinning.

Shit.

The expression on the wraith's face was consistent.

Externally, it appeared as a grinning death's mask but it was only a volatile emotion that the wraith was going through at that precise moment in time. His emotions were in constant movement, he was a kinetic being. As Elthas instinctively reacted to the man's attack. He wasn't entirely certain what had happened, only by instinct he'd reacted. Elthas sliced the haft of the halberd in half. It was purely a reactive action, he didn't even fully understand the why of it. Only that he'd seen the lunging attack at the last possible moment and that was the end result. Etlhas's eyes narrowed as he looked his opponent. He's panicking... The wraith suddenly had a thought occur to him. Is this the best that he can do?! The wraith felt sorry for the Halfling. Elthas's grinning smile was ever present as he planned the next part of the assault.

Only one thing left to do. He thought to himself.

The pregnant moon overhead stared at the combatants with her ghostly gaze as well. Elthas new he had his opening. To him, a few seconds was an eternity to plan. He accessed the terrible power of his spectral weapons, and suddenly attempted to lunge right at his opponent. The attack was one-fold. He aimed his left weapon right at the man's forehead and struck forward with all the speed momentum he could muster. He was attempting to stab the man's head with his spectral attack. The spectral power of his weapon would prove dangerous if the man had dormant psoinic abilities. Time slowed down for Elthas. In the back of his mind, he wonder what would actually happen in the next few moments. He unleashed the full power of the spectral weapon at his command, and would wait to see the results should his attack connect. His face, maddeningly and ever grinning.

The grinning...it would never stop.

Sickly shade sliced through the night like a bolt, and despite the desperate lean a sliver snicked his glistening brow. Severed shaft knocked the nimble arm aside as the wary warrior stepped back, shaking a few droplets from his forehead to clear the blistering rage; so sharp it had swelled. Seeking some advantage as he reset his stance, azure eyes alighted upon a dusty lantern near the mausoleum. Thoughts turned to the thirsting plynt nestled in brown belt, then turned some other colors and tasted funny; another quick head-shake took care of that. One gloved hand dove into his vest while the other flipped the halberd's haft up to hold it like a spear; the grin returned to gritty chin despite the chilling blaze within.

Skin crawled cold and prickly while owls questioned each-other in the nearby trees, and his grip on the succulent surprise recalled the hunger anew. The numbness now in his shoulder paled to that which rolled down from bleeding brow, but the wanderer did not waver. From leathered folds flew the stained stump of a severed hand, all fingers but one tied down with a bit of string. As it sailed through the air, a moonlit middle-finger unfurled like a flag on the breeze. Just as the delicious distraction reached the peak of its arc between the two warriors he hurled the halberd shaft like a spear right for the specter's chest.

The mortal madman sprinted cackling toward the mausoleum.

Pumping pistons in brown cloth, the swordsman's legs devoured the ground between him and his goal in a moment. By the time he had clipped the spool of wire onto his plynt dagger, steel heels were digging ruts into the crisp grass. All across his mindscape angles bent and smells discolored, and once steady things shifted and flowed, but focus remained. With flair the wanderer flicked the knife up into his hand and slammed it into the side of the lantern to break the glass as he tilted it forward. For a brief moment the oil that flowed over the metal simply vanished, but as soon as it dripped again the warrior reached up to the hilt of his bastard sword as he struck the dagger across stone and spun around.

Sparked to flame, green steel gleamed, broad blade bared as well toward the wicked wraith; surely something would kill it.

The halberd was suddenly thrown like a spear.

Elthas saw the attack coming, his eyes narrowed and he focused his eyes on the attack. The halberd sailed through the air, Elthas reacted quickly enough. Using his reaction time to great advantage, he sliced at the weapon with his spectral dagger. At that point, there was a crack as the spectral dagger sliced through the halberd and the two clean pieced fell to the ground. It was at that point that...

...Elthas did not see the madman's goal...he only saw as the fellow cowered away as a result of his previous action.

"Funny...I thought you braver than this..." But Elthas spoke to soon about his now markedly insane opponent.

Likely an affect of his spectral attack.

He has become more aggressive...I will remember that. Elthas thought to himself as he watched the man sprint off in amazing speed. He's fast...I have underestimated his skill level. Then something happened all at once. Elthas's eyes darted forward as the night air became ignited with a burst of flame. The Wraith could only watch the madman coat his own weapon with fresh fires. The lantern, still ablaze with fires, burst from the sudden friction that was tossed against it. Elthas heard a loud burst as the fire was used in such a way. Then, Elthas saw the glowing green plynt weapon. Son a bitch. He held back... Elthas rotated his daggers but something happened he did not count on.

The fires began to spread across the mausoleum.

Elthas noticed that the ancient oil served as a catalyst for the hungry flame. He'll kill us both! Elthas thought angrily. Desperation oft made madmen tip over the edge of the abyss. Elthas glanced at the flames as they began to haphazardly lick everything in their path. Elthas was ever mindful of his surroundings because of his training under the guidance of Seth Terrentius. Seth had taught him to be weary of certain aspects of the physical world...fire being one of them.

The Wraith was already on the move.

As he looked upon the crazy mortal, Elthas dashed off at a harsh angle away and around of the trialing fire. The oil was trickling quickly and somehow dripping all over the damned place. The ancient earth and old roots, skeletons, bones...caught fire right away. Elthas did not like how quickly south the situation had turned. I've awakened a sleeping dragon... Elthas thought to himself. He knew, he had to act. The blade of his spectral weapons craved for more of the sanity of the mortal before him. His mind is powerful...maybe I can use that against him. And so, Elthas formed a plan.

The fires spread with the lantern oil and Elthas moved away from the fires as fast as he could.

From afar, the old mausoleum would look like a massive fireball suddenly struck it.

Once Elthas had regained his footing, he struck. He'd worked his way around the fires and around the madman...or at least attempting to. The fire was spreading quickly and Elthas would have to be careful that he would have an escape route secure once everything was over. As he maneuvered, he suddenly attacked. He jumped forward...with the fires chasing him like an angry serpent...and prepared both of his spectral weapons. The true battle had started as Elthas decided to remove any hesitation he had of preventing the man's death. It would be unavoidable at that point. Elthas knew. He's sealed our fate and I will take him with ME! As The Wraith leaped through the air and towards the mortal, he struck downward in an attempt to connect with the man before him. His spectral blades glowed menacingly in the darkness as they waited to taste more of the man's precious memories.

And so it began...

The beginning of the end.

Fiery rage whipped up with the wind, long denied its chance to devour, and the prickling sting of black smoke was sharp and acrid on the tongue. The painful heat on his skin stretched the madman's grin, and as the cacophony of nonsense grew louder in his mind, he laughed. "He who speaks of bravery runs from fire?" the half-elf jibbed as his nimble, night-cloaked foe swiftly bore wide berth around growing blaze. Dagger dropped and spool spun before leathered fingers gripped tight the steel wire, and the flickering flames on porous plynt flared as the semi-sane swordsman whipped the weapon up into a spin. The crackling tinder grew to a roar as inferno spread, and the wavering world grew silent and red.

Despite the wicked wraith's speed, pathways through the shifting fires were few. As it darted down one, the half-elf faced his foe, and tilted his large bastard sword to the side for a backhand swing while the slithering specter neared. The surface of the madman's mind was a still lake as he waited for the right timing, but below murky things wrestled in a deepening cloud of black. Long hours waited with hunger unabated, time clung to the perceiver with a terrified grip; one to see, the other to be, until none were. The serene sense of simple madness sank like a comfortable cushion, all flat corners and torn fabric; damn bloodstains never came out. Still, walls of ice within and flame without crushed the one tiny, screaming point of calm left adrift on this writhing tide.

Another shake of the head cleared the mortal's senses as the poltergeist pounced; his wounds must be affecting him, some kind of magic. Through the pulsing crimson haze the wanderer's gaze latched onto those cursed blades, already stepping back and to the side as he readied his swing. The crumbling walls of the mausoleum glowed a shifting orange, a shade of flame that danced along gravestones and gargoyles, but deeper in the woods night claimed all light, these ruins a tiny spark in a black sea. As the specter landed, the side-stepping swordsman swatted at slender arms with the flat of his blade, and whipped the flaming dagger down at the wraith's side. The wary wanderer couldn't see a way out of the overwhelming inferno, but he didn't have much time left anyway.

Running...no...not running...leading.

The inferno followed Elthas like a hungry serpent.

I can see it in his eyes...he's lost all pretenses of sanity. I can use to that to advantage... Elthas was prepared for many things. Even his own demise, he'd walked through that maw before. As Elthas got closer and closer the man fell back on his elegant arsenal. But Elthas was prepared. Elthas swung forward with skilled swings of his spectral blades. His desperate foe lashing out with the bastard sword.

But Elthas was prepared.

The man hissed a taunt towards the wraith's general direction. Elthas heard it, but he didn't reply, he merely continued to press his perceived advantage. Elthas's own ectoplasmic body trailing behind him and somehow feeding the supernaturally lit fire. In a desperate blood fury, Elthas saw the face an old enemy in the face of his current opponent. His memories danced before his eyes, in his mind's eyes, like twisted phantoms of the past. Elthas fought through the visions, the torment of his past and then broke through it. The torment was caused as a reaction of the many injuries he'd sustained through the encounter against the mortal madman...

And Elthas continued to battle despite it all.

Through it all, Elthas fought the madman on equal footing.

The dance within Elthas's inferno became elegant and almost synchronized. Somehow, the spectral blades initial attack on the madman missed their mark at the wide and desperate swing of the bastard sword. Elthas did not relent. Heat and sparks of fire began to spread everywhere...throughout the chosen and hallowed battleground.

But Elthas did not relent.

As the two warriors fought, something else happened...

Elthas took pity on the madman.

Not because of any morality or honour that Elthas had, of which plenty existed...but because the man was badly hurt.

As Elthas realized that, he could not bring himself to finish the man off...

He took a step back and at that point he noticed how badly the fire was spreading. It was only at that point that Elthas considered how serious the situation was getting. Had the madman planned this? He wondered how insane the fellow had gotten at that point. But...Elthas could see it in the man's eyes. The man had lost all semblance of sanity. He's going to try to use depraved tactics...I'll have to match him...but I don't want to harm him any farther than he already is. Elthas thought to himself. He considered that for a long moment and that span of time was roughly a couple of seconds.

Elthas considered...but there was very little he could do at that point. The inferno around the contained area would likely finish them both off. Elthas was feeling the tremendous heat of the licking flames, and felt the first iotas of pain creeping up his spectral body. Despite that, he studied his opponent, having stepped back for a long moment. The smoke was spreading thick, and there was one thing that Elthas was waiting for. Smoke breathing would not affect Elthas too much. However, he knew that the madman before him had not planned that far ahead.

"Having a hard time breathing there...?" Elthas suddenly asked.

Steel turned aside, and aside again; like riding a drunken horse, and abandoned in damp places just the same. After porous plynt fluttered away, metal wire snipped clean, ducks and back-steps floated down the same wall. Soon stabs ceased, however, and flames dulled in disappointment. Stood there all sad, it did, wicked wraith wielding pity to slice. Not a blade to point towards he, never down to look, only up with fear. Sword stayed at searing side, no fool either to waste respite, though acrid and sharp breaths came. Words it gave to fall upon browning grass, the sly specter, words to taint and twist the tendrils twining, smoky lines to rise from cloth and leather. Whose skin blistering mattered not, robes and hands would mending descend, chanting interlopers to steal away sweet escape.

Gnawing now it slithered cold, and what light remained sank choking in bitter black. Despite roiling rage the walls of flickering orange faltered, content with their meal. The twinkling eyes of gods above beheld the desecrating flame, the descending madness, yet stayed their wrinkled hands in cold towers. Rotten fingers to prod and play, proffered 'gifts' to lesser beings, yet absent always from desperate calls; selfish and pompous, the lot of them. Such burning hate in waves it rose, to blot out searing flesh as cold it paled. No words now to throw into empty corners, false smiles to drip from screaming faces, only the smothering embrace of the void. No longer would the call, the demand, remain unfulfilled. A small smile found singed lips as crimson flooded sapphire eyes.

Encumbered forever by desire and ambition, a hunger still unsatisfied; the swordsman slumbered now in razor's shade, and so it tended house graciously. Something frail stood there gawking, dripping sympathy and restraint; disgusting. Blood should be flowing, to taste, and smell, and feel; this was entirely too boring. Scalding flesh and smoking clothes sated nothing, a succulent appetizer at best. Muscle shifted under blistering skin as it strengthened its pathetic host, using most of the body's remaining energy to maintain that half-hearted enhancement another minute. Swirling crimson eyes focused on the weak wraith, satisfied now that its form had managed some semblance of power. Its body was sweating what water remained to maintain the technique, which combined to equal a five-fold improvement of both strength and speed. The form would likely not last long at all, but sweet red would flow, and this man who thought to escape death would remember fear; the smile widened.

And it so happened, in a flash...the fight took a considerable turn for the worst. Elthas did not entirely understand what was happening...but there was a physical change visible in the eyes of his opponent. The smoke and the fires were not harming his opponent like they should have been. Something is wrong... Elthas thought to himself. And in that moment it all happened. Before he knew it, he blood-shot madman countered Elthas and managed to get a grip on one of his arms. Elthas looked on in pure disgust as his arm was suddenly ripped off! There was a temporary burst of near climatic pain as Elthas realized he'd lost a limb to the madman's attack.

Elthas did not scream...no...there was no time. The fire was consuming the entire mausoleum around the two of them. Fire ripped through stone, earth, and remains of fallen warriors of the past. Elthas saw that his arm was easily pulled off out of his deltoid region. The spectral energy splattered everywhere, a terrifying thing. As the madman ripped his arm off, Elthas only vaguely began to understand. I have underestimated you...it will not happen again. Elthas thought to himself, his face told all...Elthas had been hurt. Perhaps, in taking pity on the wretched madman before him...Elthas had sealed his own fate. It was at that point...Elthas realized a different matter all together. He felt pain...but it fueled something else entirely within him. Even as he witnessed his spectral limb burn up into ash. Elthas took on a considerably more primal position. It had not been the first time Elthas had suffered mind-numbing injury and pain.

It would not be the last.

Elthas gathered his spectral dagger which now howled for the man's memories...his living blood. Elthas narrowed his eyes and could almost taste the man's flesh right before him. A change had also occurred within Elthas as he lost his arm entirely. The change...where once there was pity for the mad wretch...turned into something considerably darker. A harsher reality was visible before Elthas and he carefully looked at the man as time seemed to slow down. He was within range to kiss the man if he wanted to, but there was time for another event to occur. The pain, made Elthas feel alive. He was no strange to pain he only needed to focus in order to punish the man before him. As he rotated his spectral dagger he saw the man prepare a secondary attack with the blade of his remaining sword. It was an elegant sword, a tool of death and destruction.

Not anywhere near as elegant as his spectral dagger was. The blade manifested the horrifying emotions that Elthas currently felt swelling up in his heart and soul. Not since the time he fought Xu Bellaparte, his old enemy, that he had felt such a seething hatred. In his mind he saw flashes of Xu Bellaparte in front of the madman's face. It triggered him to a point of near-insanity and beyond. The dagger was at the ready for slicing his foe to bits. Elthas had options, he could have used his super speed to great effect. But he wanted to make the man-wretch pay for causing him the physical trauma. It was at that point that Elthas realized a different matter...he reminded himself that he was in The Citadel. There were no allies...only enemies. There was no honour...only cold blood that would satiate the hunter of the Old Ones. The Old Thaynes. Elthas knew what he had to do. He would not only defeat the mad wretch before him...he would destroy him utterly.

There was no time to exchange words. He growled angrily at the madman, there was no time to think of honour and glory. He realized he had held back for a long time in The Citadel. Images of past warriors passed his mind...the big Salvarn, John...and others he had fought. Those images tormented his mind as he recalled how weak he was back then. "No MORE!" Elthas suddenly called out to the madman. "You've brought this on yourself!" Elthas felt a madness coursing up from the great beyond. The black depth of his soul...and at that point he did the unthinkable. He proceeded to stab the man with his spectral dagger...or at least attempt to stab at the madman's body. But he did not stop there. He proceeded to let himself go. And began to relentlessly stab over and over. And he would not stop. He wanted to make a pinata out of the man before him. He attempted to stab at the man from Hell's heart...releasing all of the fury that he had within...the fury to change the very nature of reality itself.

And so it began...

A fresh flame sparked in spectral eyes, and a malicious grin spread to see it kindled so, reason relenting so swiftly to rage. The thing halted its ignored counter-attack just short of severing the wraith's other arm, and welcomed the stabs like old friends. Warm pain rolled over its abdomen as it gripped the specter's torn shoulder, and gifted the steel of its blade to the wrathful wraith. Firelight flickered on the grim faces of granite gargoyles, and they gazed down solemnly at the pair of madmen swiftly stabbing each-other. A chuckle rose between the warriors, the dark passenger relishing in the sharp black streaks which suffused the spirit's aura. A fine evening it had woken to, with plenty of agony to go around, and a fascinating descent to witness.

The globs of shade falling from the specter's stomach thinned when a swirling blade caught the steel bastard sword, and clove off a few feet; inferior tools always lengthened the job. Though the stabs continued, the thing within paused to look at its weapon, before hacking off a misty black leg. The wraith responded by shifting its assault to more vital areas; reason wasn't lost after all. Despite the exceptional speed of its host, a blackened blade sliced open one crimson eye before gouging out a bit of skull at a shaky dodge. Without the slap of spectral hilts, its fleshy abdomen split open like wet cloth, and slick intestines slipped out into a soft pile at its feet. A wavering line of gore stretched between them, the same shore that had beached the plans of many who laid gasping in the grip of endless sky.

Small shifts kept the spirit's dagger from severing anything immediately vital, but its host's scorched lungs were beginning to fill. The wanton wraith's cackle had risen to outright laughter, joined by gurgling guffaws like a shared joke. That which dwelt avoided a thrust to the heart too narrowly, and was forced to use the last dredges of energy to stitch together a nicked artery as it resumed stabbing the specter. Dividing its attention between healing and harming was a paltry thing, enough time dead granted a multifarious nature. The lack of sufficient muscle-memory in its host lessened its speed advantage, however; the attacks on vital areas were still close misses. The twisted pair continued their mutual destruction gleefully, and fire raged through the mausoleum. Together atop ancient corpses, the dead fought to kill each-other, their horizons narrowed to the edge of a blade.

The spirit's progression into a cold rage struck familiar chords in the thing within, another slope to grasp at slipping, another dark to crush lungs sinking. To wailing drop beneath black waves, mind laid bare and tracked with dirty footprints from an endless stream of broken remnants, and whispered voices. The wraith would have company as it wandered the void, at least. Already, meddling monks mentally hovered, though despite its desire to witness their methods, they did not act. Swiftly severed tendons in one leg collapsed, the specter's seeking blade wandering with abandon again. The dark passenger dropped the steel hilt and latched its remaining arm onto the spirit, leaving its chest open as it sank to one knee and dragged its foe down with it. Blades rained on bare flesh as blood and black chunks spewed coughing, but with one crimson eye wide open and a gurgling cackle the thing began crushing and ripping ethereal chunks out of the wraith.

The two tore and stabbed at each-other with wild abandon within the engulfing inferno. Flames roared in a quiet forest, the long breath drawn with hallowed peers, and a shadow's tug upon the shade. Overlong its presence lingered, even as the fires grew black, tarrying on that twilight trail so worn. Slackened the grip as the crimson shore stretched, a slump to stab with rage unceasing. Deep drew the baleful void, a calling cold that settled like a soft blanket. Crisping meat slapped against a spectral hilt, a soothing massage to lull and sate. With a stretch and a curl the dark passenger sank, relinquishing its host to robed men relegated to revival. A fire burned deep in the forest, flickering fitfully past endless halls of trunken towers, rekindled where once walls of men blazed through the land to scatter the rotting price of greed. A fire burned in the forest, kindled now by reckless hate, to smolder in dark places, consuming just as much, but leaving behind so much less.

A fire burned.

Judgment

Story

Ebi: 18/30

Your opening post began on an intriguing note. I wondered, at first, what relevance the severed hand had and expected to see something of it later on. The same goes for the mention of the airship. There didn’t seem to be any story-related reason as to why Nyadir had visited the Citadel at first but then references to his “dark passenger” revealed a bit more to me. Between the issues of clarity I note later on, I gathered he seemed to be feeding his inner madman all the while. Whist you offer less diversity of plot throughout than Elthas, you also keep to one single line of thinking and tie it up nicely at the end.

The way you made use of the setting and your pacing was fantastic; not just in the haunting description but in the way you used the inferno to bring in an outside factor to the battle. You moved around well and made full use of the mausoleum where possible. The ending of the thread really brought everything together nicely here.

Elthas: 15/30

Again, there didn’t seem to be any story related reason as to why Elthas was at the Citadel. I noticed early on you made reference to structured battles in the Citadel as being a product of The Demon’s War, which piqued my interest, but then didn’t seem to elaborate on that any further which I see as a bit of a missed opportunity for you here. This became a bit of a theme for you. In the same post you also make mention of a “great battle that happened here”, but again didn’t elaborate.

This could be down to the fact that Elthas sensed that something that happened rather than having prior knowledge, but the grey area left by the statement felt lacking. One final note was the mention of Hylda Terrentius; I felt that after the previous two non-explanations that you would pull it around a bit but, again, an explanation of her relevance was sadly not forthcoming and I felt a bit cheated here. You did make up for it slightly by noting that Elthas believed his injuries hurt more due to his relative youth as a wraith, which was clever, but I finished the thread thinking you left more questions than answers. My advice here is this; if you are going to offer tidbits of plot, it is best to follow through rather than leave the reader wondering why you mentioned A,B or C in the first place if it bore little relevance to the fight.

As with Ebivoulya, you made fantastic use of the setting, although physically I felt you did slightly less than him. Your pacing was a little off towards the end too, I felt, as your posts became larger. The wraith is very suited to this sort of place and movement around the mausoleum was well done, but we went from breakneck combat to a fair bit of standing around thinking. That said, as I mentioned above with Ebi, the ending of the thread really brought everything together nicely here.

Character

Ebi: 18/30

It is clear from the start that Nyadir is dealing with split-personality disorder, one that he affectionately refers to as his “dark passenger”. This is a part I believe you played very well in line with what you perceive Nyadir to be. He is immediately wary of Elthas and as the fight progresses it seems his passenger takes over, taking ever more desperate action to try and defeat the wraith. Whilst I am of the understanding that Nyadir speaks only when he has reason to, which for me is a strong point, I feel you could do more to show us some internal thought processes like Elthas did. A lot of Nyadir’s musings tend to be communicated through complex literary devices rather than actual inner “dialogue”, so this might be a way of also improving clarity too.

Action here was constant and smooth. The strongest thing you had going for you was the outside of the box thinking when it came to using the flames, as well as the sharp, edgy attacks that fuelled the madman inside. He was going to try and kill Elthas, regardless of his form or function, and it was that thinking which kept the heart of madness pumping. Good job.

Elthas: 18/30

You mostly stay true to Elthas’s character throughout, placing emphasis on his nobility and good nature, but are swift to jump back and forth between extremes in posts fourteen and sixteen. Whilst I understand that, once pushed, Elthas can be a dangerous person to annoy the metamorphosis from “good Elthas” to “bad Elthas” did seem a little sudden. I’m taking mostly into consideration that he only just “realised” he was in the Citadel in the latter posts, which seemed odd. What I did though like was his use of internal dialogue to allow the reader to follow his way of thinking. Additionally, your conservative approach to external dialogue served you well here; it’s a fight, after all, and I wouldn’t expect to see too many rambling monologues.

Right from the outset you knew where you wanted to take the action and the only thing that inhibited you really was the sudden switch between personas. As with Ebi, it was smooth and exciting to watch you two go back and forth. You used your emotions well in this regard, allowing them to shape your character’s words and reactions. Wraith against madman made for an exciting battle!

Prose

Ebi: 21/30

Mechanically there were plenty of positives. There weren’t any obvious spelling errors or any real grammatical issues, but the biggest problem I had here was sentence structure and perhaps even overuse of specific punctuation. I noticed you are a fan of the semi-colon. This is inherent in your technique and the way in which you deliver your metaphors and similes. Whilst technically correct, there were other, easier-on-the-eye methods of doing this and whilst I didn’t mark you down for it in mechanics, it did affect your clarity slightly. The first half of your opening post was crammed so full of literary device that at times I was clinging to singular words like “planks” and “sea” to determine that you were actually on a ship. This eased as the post and the thread went on, in fairness.

I found your technique to be very unique and full of visualisation. Once the clarity issues subsided, I felt like you were pulling me into the world around you. Shorter posts with just the right amount of complex literary seasoning caught my eye and kept me reading. I thought your closing paragraph in the final post of the thread was sublime, although your last solitary sentence, “A fire burned”, seemed oddly placed given you said exactly the same thing a sentence prior. Perhaps this was a mistake that crept through?

One final note for fun: kudos for sneaking in some Pink Floyd lyrics from “High Hopes” on post fifteen, paragraph three. Being one of my favourite Floyd songs, it did not go unappreciated.

Elthas: 18/30

Although a vast improvement on other threads I have had the pleasure of judging for you, I do have to say that you were slightly (only slightly) weaker than your opponent here. Spelling mistakes were rare, but there were a few grammatical errors which slipped the net. “It’s” instead of “Its” was a popular one along with a few examples sentence fragmentation that crept in. That being said, your simplistic approach to your work really helped your clarity. Rarely, if at all, did I question what Elthas was doing and why. I was never confused as to his whereabouts or what he was trying to do in the heat of battle.

Your technique differs to Ebivoulya vastly, but your delivery of the writing itself is still of a good quality. Aside from being easy to follow, you make use of paragraphing in such a way that adds suspense to Elthas’s actions (post six being one example). That said, one piece of advice I would offer, and I said as much to Ayithe Solete in her most recent workshop, is to avoid repetition of a single word too much in a sentence. I picked out this from post twelve: “The fires spread with the lantern oil and Elthas moved away from the fires as fast as he could.” Perhaps it would have been better to substitute ‘fires’ for ‘flames’ here? I found the same issue when using Elthas’s name too much later in the thread; an issue not present earlier on when you switched between three or four different descriptions to keep things fresh.

Wildcard

Ebi: 6
Elthas: 6

This was a decent battle, with plenty of action and a peek into the inner workings of your characters. Good work!

Total scores

Ebi: 63
Elthas: 57

Ebivoulya wins!

Ebivoulya receives 1925 EXP and 115 GP
Elthas Belthasar receives 525 EXP and 80 GP!

All rewards added!