Good Things Come In Small Packages (OPEN)

As his wandering had taken him to Radasanth again, Fenn figured it was about time that he check out this Citadel he had heard so much about.

Last time had been here, he had not had quite the confidence he needed to approach the place. Now, padding through the streets atop his hulking direwolf Daugi, the boy was ready to test his mettle. It wasn't hard to locate the Citadel. It loomed over them as a gigantic obsidian shrine to battle. Daugi trotted up to the great building with a short "Wuff!" of approval at its majesty. The little Fae patted her on the head and slid off her back. Wait here, for me. he told his mount with a firm flutter of his hands. She agreed only after sticking her head through the doors a moment to sniff for danger. Evidently the only thing it reeled of was sweaty men and old people. Yawning, the wolf flopped over for a snooze just outside the building, her tongue lolling contentedly out of her mouth.

Sighing in relief, Fenn strolled past her and into the building. Here, in these great halls, Fenn could fight the strongest of the strong if he so chose.

The tiny Fae was well aware that he was not the strongest of the strong. He felt fragile and unprotected as he padded through the stony entrance, watching in wonder as warriors of far greater caliber than he went off to their battles -- ones even they might not win. A chilly wind swirled around Fenn in glee. The feeling of smallness only made him more determined to try his hand at the Citadel’s challenge. If he would not be mighty, then by his own damn divinity, he would be clever and quick.

And in all honesty, he needed a reason to test his ice attunement. He couldn't rely on Daugi to protect him all the time. The horrors of the world needed to know that he could whoop their asses any day!

Not long had passed before a bald monk garbed in the robes of the Ai’Bron order approached the wandering Fae. He crouched down in front of Fenn and spoke softly, as one might address a child. “Are you lost, little one?” the monk asked, kindly extending a hand. Fenn shook his head and produced a messily-written note from the folds of his cloak. Puzzled, the monk accepted it, brushed off the frost, and began to read;

I AM HERE TO FIGHT. DIRECT ME TO AN ARENA AND SET ME UP WITH A SUITABLE OPPONENT. THANKS!

The monk seemed startled by the request. He glanced back over at the childish inquirer, taking in his unearthly green eyes and tapered ears. That was normally what tipped off anyone to Fenn being more than an ordinary urchin. “If you are certain. This isn’t for the faint of heart.” Fenn nodded resolutely in reply and thumped his chest with a tiny hand, ready to go. Hesitantly, the monk led him down a series of hallways and directed him to a door. Once opened, it revealed a faintly humming, pulsing portal. Dabs of cool colors swirled on its glossy black surface. The way the Ai’Bron went about their magics was a mystery, and the portal was a curiosity to the Fae. Fenn glanced back at the monk, who nodded at him and watched as he reached out to touch it with his left hand.

As soon as he did so, the portal enveloped him in its ethereal mass. With a soundless gasp, Fenn found himself thrust, breathless and stumbling, into an entirely different place. An entirely different world, even.

It seemed to be night in the chosen arena, as the first thing Fenn saw was a starry expanse spread over the world above. A thrilled shudder ran through him and his bare feet sank in the thin snow spread over the grass. Tall fir trees sparsely dotted the landscape, lit by moss patches that glowed a deep and delightful green. Fenn's frosty freckles sparkled in the light. But there was something even more breathtaking about the place; it was but a small island in the sky, entirely untethered from the world. Fenn ran over to the edge a moment and peered excitedly into the abyss below.

If this wasn’t some sort of a hallucination, he wondered where such an ethereal place might exist.

Taking a deep breath, Fennik collected himself and wandered back into the trees. There was a sleepy, still feeling to the island. To most, the total silence might have been unnerving. For Fenn, it felt like a reflection of himself, and each breath of the quiet brought him a clearer head. Not a bad way to kick this off.

A broad boulder with craggy texture marked the center of the island. Fenn strode toward it and clambered onto the top. There he waited for his opponent to appear, his breath quick and nervous. What sort of challenge would this be? It was fairly certain that Fenn would have some sort of initial advantage in the fight; he found that most people were reluctant to slay a child. He'd better come up with a proper strategy of some sort for when that advantage faded. Taking a deep breath, Fenn loosened up and grinned, looking down on the glorious arena arrayed out before him.

This ought to be good. He loved new experiences.

The Telgradian, wrapped in his white greatcoat, awoke to the sound of the hollow rumbling of rickety wooden wheels of a wagon, and above it all the thundering crashes as tons of brass, iron and timber bounced on the bumpy mud throughways. Groaning softly, he wiped a sore hand across his eyes, and blinked several times.

Opposite him, Storm Veritas slept soundly through the racket. Finery stained with whisky clung taut to his frame, and the Telgradian chuckled to himself as he remembered how he had picked the electromancer up half an hour ago from the High Tap after an all night binge. He envisaged a frail version of him staggering into bed at what would be nine in the morning (by the time the Brotherhood's transport reached the city proper).

The contrast between their lifestyles couldn't have been more different. Whilst Veritas spent his free evenings out whoring, drinking and gambling his almost limitless supply of money away, Shinsou was getting in his rest for his early morning training sessions at the Citadel. It didn't bother him, however. It wasn't that Storm was lazy or didn't care about his position in the Brotherhood; it was just that he simply didn't need to train as hard as the Telgradian. He was a natural born killer that possessed immense power, whereas Osiris had to maintain a strict regimen to stay in shape and keep the chasm between them to a small gap.

Lucky son-of-a-bitch. Guess power comes naturally to you, eh? Fine with me, as long as we're watching each other's backs. I'll just need a bit of extra work to hold up my end of the bargain.

The Telgradian turned his attentions to the outside through the horseshoe shaped gap in the rear of the cart, where the ivory canvas peeled away. The villagers, slowly stirring to the break of a new day, could be heard pacing around the dirt tracks around the wagon long before they came into sight. Every now and then another bump would send the wagon into recoil, and the resulting bashing of metal and timber would drown out the chattering of neighbours and friends. Then 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 pointed at the men, husbands and fathers, and waved them goodbye, wishing them well for the day ahead.

"We’re approaching the Citadel gates. This is your stop, Executor Shinsou!”

The Brotherhood driver’s voice was shrill and loud as he tried to make himself heard over the horse’s hooves and ambient chattering around him. Shinsou collected his belongings from the lip of his seat, and clapped a hand on Storm's sagging shoulder, making him lean a little to the left as he bellowed out a snore from his comparatively small lungs.

"Good talk. See you back in Whitevale."

As Shinsou exited the wagon with a smirk, 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, proceeded into the famous stronghold.

***

Familiar blue tendrils still flickered at the edges of Shinsou Vaan Osiris's vision as the swirling, funnel shaped portal collapsed around him and thrust him into what could have easily been mistaken for cold Salvaric air. Over the peak of his thin nose, he judged the two foot gap between the lip of the portal and the snow-capped clearing and stepped down perfectly; his foot pressing, for the first time, into the soft white beneath him and sinking a couple of inches as the grass underneath collapsed under his weight. Shinsou’s soft, golden eyes wandered about the skyline to survey the arena sprawled out ahead of him. The first thing he noticed was that the Telgradian was surrounded by curling wisps of cloud that accented a starry night sky; one that looked like an ocean of diamonds.

The second thing he noticed was that the place he was stood was an island, hovering many hundreds of feet above what he assumed was the void where the edge of the Citadel's creation reached its physical limit.

Immediately, a chill jolted up the Executor’s spine. It wasn't the cold that caused it, though. The Telgradian had been immune to the effects of even the harshest Salvaric winter for quite some time now thanks to his training with Shira. He remembered how he used to make sure to wear a thick, grey wolf-skin coat over his traditional attire to keep the warmth in, but that was before when the chill cut through him as sure and true as any blade. Now, as the the saliva whetted his mouth and dry scents of pine and ice wafted into his nose on the cold breeze, his simple white coat sufficed and that shudder signified something else entirely.

The presence of another.

On first glance, the "another" seemed to be a gaunt, wispy blonde child that seemed to be swallowed up by a cloak. He seemed to be inspecting the area, either for assurance of quality or scale. As Shinsou approached, slightly underwhelmed that his opponent appeared to be a mere child, he saw that the boy's ears were tapered off to a point like elven or fae lobes. A pair of bright green eyes turned to face him, and a layer of frost glistened on the boy's face, or so it seemed.

This, I wasn't expecting, The Telgradian mused, But you know as well as anyone that appearances can be deceiving.

"A fine choice for an arena, boy," Shinsou said, gesturing to the entirety of the island, "But forgive me. I was expecting someone a little...older."

As he sat on his rock and waited -- thankfully, not for too long -- Fenn had one or two second thoughts about this foray into the arena. Maybe three.

His will faltered for a few brash seconds after his designated opponent as strode in, white coat trailing behind. "A fine choice for an arena, boy," the golden-eyed man said, his sonorous voice ringing clearly across the clearing. He walked with an uprightness that Fenn had seen in only one other person before; Vincent. Shit. "But forgive me. I was expecting someone a little… older."

Fenn shrugged and brushed a stray curl away from his eyes, a smooth movement that hid his uncertainty well enough. Already, a million thoughts were running through his head. How did fights work here, exactly? Was there a custom exchange of witty banter? Should they introduce themselves? Maybe it had been rash to take the leap into these sorts of frays without any study first. Too late to change his mind now. The man seemed to expect a real reply, but unfortunately, Fenn had no words to offer, and all-too-common problem for the boy. He dragged his finger across the smooth stone to create a swirl of frost that served as a quick slate for his thoughts.

WOULDN’T ANYONE?
AM FENNIK GLENWEY. YOU?

A grin danced on the man’s lips; he introduced himself with a gentlemanly dip of his head. “Shinsou Vaan Osiris.”

Fenn gave a curt nod while studying the man intensely. That was a name that rang faintly familiar to his ear, much like Ulroke or Freebird did. Thus, it stood to reason that Shinsou was probably someone cool enough to be discussed by the Tarot, some strange and terrible living legend.

It figured.

A second was spent ruminating on his own strengths; he could climb, he had some magic, and he was well versed in the art of fleeing. Lovely. All those skills fit comfortably on one hand. Meanwhile, this confident giant was packing a fucking sword at his side! And he didn’t exactly look dimwitted either. Truth be told, Fenn had been expecting a brainless brute of some kind.

That’s okay. Nothing he can do to me in here would be permanent, and nothing I do is permanent. Right? he reassured himself, standing up from his perch, cracking his knuckles. A deep, shivery breath was had. Shinsou was alert now, his golden gaze bright, his hand to his sword. He was just as ready as the boy. And yet, he seemed hesitant to strike first. I wanted to learn to defend myself. So, now’s the chance. I faced a dragon and walked away alive, so I’d damn well do my best here. Let's begin!

Snow whipped up around Fenn like a shroud. Sharp-scented pine needles, cones, and twigs were scattered into the air. The boy's typical dumb bravado returned, if only for a minute. His bright cloak was removed with a flourish and a grin, cast aside on the rock besides him. Without the streak of green he blended in to the sudden storm much better. Fenn jumped off and vanished into the white that swooped through the area, his movements muffled by snow, though it couldn't muffle his pounding heart. He tapped into his innate affinity for all things icy, hoping it would cooperate with him for this fight. It responded by tickling his fingers with a rush of frost. A few chunks of blue ice burst into being and hovered in the air over his open palms, just itching to be flung in the right direction -- this strong man’s kisser.

Time for some blunt force trauma!

As the enigmatic Fennwick disappeared behind a screen of snow, Shinsou spared one last moment of bewilderment for himself. His target here today was just a child. How was he meant to fight a boy, even in a place like the Citadel? Constant conflicts with powerful and dangerous opponents, grown men and women alike, had trained him to hold the natural hesitations and doubts one experiences in battle at bay for so long. Perhaps his wanderings had taken their toll. He had grown so accustomed to a certain class of enemy that the charm and innocence of a mere kid had thrown him off canter.

Suddenly, Shinsou's frost covered head jerked violently back and a searing pain above his right eye brought him swiftly back to reality. Before he had even recovered from the recoil of whatetver it was that had hit him, a second blow struck him square in the mouth. Throbbing pain eminated from the bruises that followed, and a small trickle of blood could be felt oozing from the corner of the Telgradians lips. At his feet lay two fist sized chunks of ice; one of which was stained by a little crimson.

Son of a bitch, that hurt!

A feeling rose rose from the depths of his stomach; a feeling like one who had forgotten how to write finally remembering how to form prose. Connections formed between mind and matter and violent impulses seized control. This person, this supposed kid who had caused him to hesitate momentarily and had now drawn blood, deserved nothing less than his undivided attention.

You came here for a fight, kid. I'll give you a fight!

Shinsou exhaled his frustration at the pain of in his face in a stream of cold steam. Unchecked annoyance served no greater purpose. Clearing his mind of distractions, he began weaving particles of ice into a swirling cocoon. The snow all around him still masked the Fae's movements from him, and the child's power wasn't registering on his senses, but it wouldn't matter. Shinsou knew the true nature of his power, and he knew what to do next. Pine, fir and snow warred in his nose. Shadows shuddered through the snowscreen, interrupting the light from the moon overhead. A maelstrom of wind and blizzard resonated through his ears. But his mind settled as he became the aggressor.

In an instant, the Telgradian knelt and released a circular shockwave woven in solid, dehlar strength ice. It spread from the epicenter of where the Telgradian stood and blew away the swirling storm of white that had masked Fenn's movements. He couldn't see the kid, but Shinsou was hoping that the boy was still within twenty five feet of him with his feet on the deck. That way, when the crest of the crystalline cold hit the ground underneath the child, the small opponent would be welded to the ground, unable to move. That was the plan.

As it travelled, the dangerous ice flash froze everything between their positions, sending splintered shards of ground fizzing through the air. The sheer cold from the attack alone could have stripped flesh from bone.

As he watched the attack unfold, Shinsou wondered what was more dangerous; the enemy one knew, with power and strength one can measure and fear, or the hidden power at the fingertips of an untested opponent?

Wow! He actually hit something!

So this was what warriors spoke of when they said they enjoyed the rush of battle. This was unlike anything Fenn had ever experienced, a hot-blooded exhilaration cascading through his veins that left him wanting more. Normally, he fled away from danger mere moments before it could snap him up and gnash him between its teeth. The boy bounced on his heels in a flurry of excitement, which intensified the whistling storm beyond the intensity he needed it to be. It became difficult to see Shin in the white as well, but he could just make out his cutting figure through the moonlit veil of snow, standing still in (perhaps) some momentary bewilderment. That would only last so long.

Fenn’s heart quickened as he ducked behind a tree, his jittering palms pressing to the rough bark and frost-crunchy moss, trying to think out his next move. Should he throw ice again? He should throw ice again. That was the only weaponized trick he really knew, wasn't it? But, it wasn’t powerful to knock out Shin on its own, no matter how hard he threw it. A plan was starting to form in his mind. With it came a nasty grin. All he would need was the chance to lure his soon-to-be pursuer to the edge of the island...

He flicked out his left palm, willfully conjuring up another solid chunk of ice from thin air. When he jumped out from behind his cover, prepared to attract the warrior’s attention, he was greeted by a very different sight than expected. The once-blinding snowstorm was now dark with shadow. An abrupt rumbling trembled in his ears.

Out of the storm plowed a force of ice magic much greater than anything Fenn could summon, a solid wave that crushed the base of the trees it touched and sent them toppling over. The glowing moss extinguished. The weight of the attack even swept the boy’s blizzard away in its wake, leaving nothing but the few, frightened flurries that danced directly over him. Fenn’s ears flicked back and his eyes widened in terror. His own piddly ice chunk dropped from his grasp, forgotten, as he threw his hands up in anguishing, barreling from the advancing wall of ice at top speed.

Fuck! FUCK! Holy shit! He hadn’t counted on his opponent having ice on his side too!

For a brief hopeful moment, it seemed as if the surefooted little sprite might be able to outrun the spell. He had a decent headstart on his side. Even so, it closed the distance between him in seconds, nipping in utter uproar at his heels. The final reach of the ice caught Fenn by three of his toes, yanking away his momentum and slamming him face-first into the snowy grass. His nose hit the frozen ground underneath. When Fenn pushed himself up, sticky black blood bubbled freely from his nostrils, and it was white-hot with pain. Too sensitive to even touch. The sour taste of blood gummed up his mouth.

When he cast his gaze above the wall, there was Shinsou. The man had leapt on top of the ice, hastening his way over the slick surface and around fallen trees, towards the very visible Fenn. Shinsou did not look very happy about the crimson that dripped from his mouth. That hardened scowl was downright terrifying. His advance was as determined and sure as that of his ice wall.

Holy shit holy shit this is a real fight this is what being hunted feels like-

Pain was very quickly overridden by Fenn’s natural instinct to get-the-hell-outta-there. Snorting and hacking up another spat of blood, he twisted over and focused on his trapped foot. His hands frosted over uselessly as he pried at the ice, his nails scrabbling against the frozen bindings. It was about as tough as metal. This would take a moment by his reckoning, and it was probably going to take a layer of skin with it...

Instinctively, the Fae reached for a different kind of magic than his attunement with the ice. He fluttered a spare hand in front of him, tracing magic into the air through his fingertips. A cold wind wrapped around him, and snowflakes twinkled and glommed together into a bright new visage.

Standing in place of Fenn’s vulnerable form was the spitting image of a sinuous silver dragoness as large as a harecat, all looping coils and six flapping wings. Pale lilac eyes bored into Shinsou. It was the spitting miniature of an Ice Wyrm that Fenn had met once when trying to pilfer from her hoard; Nippariess the Northern Reaper. His conjuration was flimsy, providing no more protection than a barrier of silken cloth, holding no more capacity to harm than a hanging painting. With the first attack to hit the beastly guise, it would falter and leave him exposed once more.

A soundless growl stirred within Fenn. But, Shin won’t know that, will he?

As Fenn crouched to free his foot from the steely ice, his illusion crouched too, albeit more fiercely than Fenn. As he attempted to wrench himself free, he put a snarl upon his face, a snarl which his illusion mirrored. His best hope was that the shock of the dragon was enough to distract Shinsou for a moment.

All he needed was enough time to break free and dash his way over to the edge...

This was set to be a fight of many surprises.

Fennwick, the fleeing boy, called upon his next magical creation with aplomb. As his small fingers danced and weaved in the air – a series of motions that glistened in the moonlight – he summoned what was either a transformation or some sort of living ice armor from thin air. Though not particularly large, the resultant ice dragon was intricate and would have been almost beautiful, had it not been created for the sole purpose of destroying the Telgradian. As if to emphasise this point, the lilac eyes of the dragon narrowed into slits and glared at its foe, snarling to signal its apparant displeasure with him.

Shinsou couldn't lie to himself; the kid clearly wasn't what he had first appeared. Being able to conjure this type of magic or make this sort of transformation wouldn't have been easy even for experienced mages, let alone a small boy. For that, the Telgradian afforded the Fae a modicum of respect. He remembered how difficult it had been for him when he first arrived on Althanas with his power stripped from him, trying to cope with all sorts of ridiculous situations. People were trying to kill him with bolts of lightning, crush him with psychic energy and confound him with hellish illusions. All of those were a regular occurance.

But that was a year ago, and Shinsou was now was a much different animal. There was no question of his power, but to stay on top the Telgradian needed to be hungrier to win than his enemies.

And, by the gods, did Osiris have an appetite for winning.

As impressive as that form looks, will it stand up to Enpera Kurohitsugi's might? Let's see what you're really made of, Fennwick.

The killer instinct that had helped him to co-leadership of the Brotherhood bubbled to the surface again and Shinsou began drawing from the well of dark power within him. A portal the size of a water wheel tore open behind him, its frayed electrical edges ripping at the arena's structural integrity and its black and purple energy burning the oxygen in the air, emitting a smell of scorched ozone and a metallic taste. Within seconds, an arsenal of fifteen dark lances hung halfway through the gateway; their razor sharp tips glinting in the night and their smooth, slender shafts of dark matter crackling with pure arcane power.

Shinsou could feel the sheer force of his assault immediately as five of the lances burst forth from the portal towards the dragon. As the spears tore past him, their electrical snaps clicked next to his cheeks and inflamed the skin. This dark matter spell was a hallmark of his; an angry, volatile attack forged from pure power, and it was still capable of hurting him as much as his opponent without the proper due care and attention. As the Telgradian brought his hand back to his side, a jagged smile crept upon his lips.

Game over, kid. Thanks for playing.

No matter how hard he tugged or pounded, Fenn’s foot remained stubbornly stuck within the ice. From within his illusion, the world outside had a tint to it, as if Fenn was peering out of a tent of sheer gauze. What he saw was not good.

He thought he might have detected a glimmer of something warm in Shinsou’s gaze. Whatever it had been, it was overshadowed by the eager smile that shot across the approaching warrior’s lips. It made Fenn stiffen. Not scared by the dragon? Shit, he IS a legend, isn’t he? What’s he doing now- oh fuck. A purple… circle-y blob thing scratched into behind behind Shinsou, radiating magic potent enough for Fenn to feel its magic brightness even from as far away as he was. The whole thing cast the area in an unholy purple glow. From the rift, fifteen slender bolts of similar appearance slid into view. Fenn flattened himself to the ground with a squeak. The Glamour responded by imitating his fright, jerking back with wide eyes and flared nostrils.

Thirteen of the lances whizzed just over Fenn’s head, aimed for the center and head of the dragon-guise rather than its base where he lay. They pierced the thin threading of the rearing illusion as a needle might cloth. It tore and flailed, disintegrating around the holes. Fenn could feel the keen spark of lightning as they passed, his hair standing up on end. A sharp and sulfurous taste hung in the air even after they the forest behind.

The other two were less luckily aimed. One pierced the ice just before Fenn, partially freeing him from the prison that hindered him. It also pierced his big toe.

The pain was as if a lightning bolt had just lodged itself into his foot and shot a thousand searing volts into him. Fenn jerked into a sitting position from the shock of it, the last of his Glamour torn asunder by the blow. A split second later, the last energy javlin speared into his leg with such force as to shatter him out of the ice completely. The light little Fae was blown completely off his feet. Frozen, acrid-smelling air stung his raw skin as he was thrown across the battlefield. Branches snapped, Shinsou abruptly fell into the distance behind the cover of trees, of which he smacked against like a pinball during his flight. Little cushioned Fenn from the hits he took as he tumbled about except the moss and his arms flung over his head. Eventually, he came to a rolling stop on the cold, hard ground, still spasming from the pain. His momentum had propelled him all the way to the other side of the island.

He let out a deep gasp, small hands curled into fists. Sharp pain stabbed his chest at each inward breath.

Note to self; oppoment is not easily startled. That dragon… maybe just made him eager to hit harder.

Fenn took a moment to hunch over and bleed out into the snow, hugging his arms to his chest. His leg was seared and shredded pretty badly. Tears blurred his vision as much as faintness did. Who was he kidding with this? There had never been a chance for someone so underwhelming as he to come out triumphant in the proud walls of the Citadel. His initial burst of battle lust had petered out. Coughing sprayed sour blood from his mouth. He was in pain. He was out of shiny new tricks. And his mobility was crippled to shit right now. As much as he wanted to win this and prove himself to… well, himself, Fenn couldn’t quite bring himself to raise his head from the snow and rock. Halfheartedly, the boy took mental score of the fight so far.

His own injuries: A broken nose, infinite bruises, a more-or-less useless leg, a hurting chest, and he supposed that “still spitting up blood” meant something unfortunate had happened to his internal organs after landing. He was very bad at dying.

Shinsou’s injuries: Maybe a headache? He was much worse at dying, a very impressive man indeed.

A spark of anger lit up inside the boy’s chest as he took another harsh breath. What would Daugi think of this? Scared for him, probably. His mind reeled back to the times she had come forth to protect him from danger. Fenn pushed himself into a semi-sitting position, his jaw clenched and his eyes smoldering. He came here to prove that he could protect himself for once. That he wasn’t always going to be the one to get kidnapped, or thrown across the room like a rag doll, or incapacitated. So that maybe next time he would be the one protecting her. Regardless of the strength of his enemy, was he just going to give up after the second attack?

No. Ooze was wiped from the corner of his mouth. If Fenn was going to come out of this the winner, he would have to do it very quickly. Otherwise, he was going to be blasted into gooey chunks by that shadow-electric-energy-whateverthefuckitwas magic.

With his leg in the state it was, standing up was probably not an option. Fenn didn't even want to try putting weight on it. Instead, he wriggled out of his shirt -- the cold didn’t bug him anyway -- and hastily wrapped it around his leg in a way that could only loosely be called a bandage. It hurt like hell, sending shudders and gasps through him, but it was necessary. Even if he lost, he didn't want to to be by anything so mundane as blood loss! The once white fabric rapidly soaked ebony with his blood. Soon as his excruciating makeshift medical care was complete, he painstakingly crawled to the very edge of the island. Nothing but the hard rock underneath the soil and the unyielding abyss greeted his eye when he peered over as he had done when he had first entered the arena.

Would tricking someone into the deep do the job? It was all he had. Heaven help him if one of Shin’s magics enabled him to fly...

Once more, Fenn dug inwards for his magic. It was ailing alongside his mental and physical exhastion, but it was still there. Snow frothed itself into existence again. It swirled across the ground and wove through the trees like searching tendrils. In all likelihood, Shin would be able to use it as a guess as to where Fenn was -- but only a rough guess. A pair of ice chunks reluctantly materialized over his bloody frostbitten hands. They hovered with what little energy he had left to maintain them.

All he had was what little determination held his tiny body into a sitting position. He wasn’t sure what he would do with them. Cast them against the rocks for misdirection and lead the man the wrong way, off the cliffs? Pelt the man so that he’d fall off entirely? Miss and give away his position, incurring Shinsou’s swift wrath?

Only one way to find out...

Shinsou watched his powerful magic utterly dismantle the draconian ice form in front of him, before freeing the young Fae from his icy trap with the collateral damage caused by the remaining spears. The Telgradian, who had not had time for a haircut in weeks, brushed his long brown hair back behind his head so that the tangled mess would no longer obstruct his view of Fennwick stumbling about the snow, injured and desperate. A curious expression carved itself across Shinsou’s snow-dusted face; the kid had taken one of his most powerful attacks and yet, despite the calamitous wounds that had been inflicted on the young child, Osiris could see no fear in his eyes at all.

It was then that Shinsou saw something in this boy entirely different to anything he had seen before. Not a look, or a feeling, or even his actions. It was something that oozed determination. Or was it desperation? Whatever it was, it reminded Shinsou of that moment from his childhood; the moment he became a man.

I stood in a daze, gripping Enpera tightly as I could within my grasp. I remember my hands gripping the hilt so hard that they went chalk white. My cracked lips pounded back and forth heavily with every painful breath. I can’t forget that feeling.

His golden eyes flashed quickly over the red markings in the snow that marked the Fae’s labored movements. The Telgradian started to move in but, as he took his first steps, Shinsou suddenly stopped dead as a flurry of snow once again whipped up about the Fae, among foliage that now entangled itself around them both, and once again obscured Fennwick from view. The whorls of white snared the young boy in a thick plume, one that prickled Osiris’s skin with the cold shards of hard snow that whipped him from almost every direction.

Enpera was much too big for me. Shit, I was only a boy, and the bastard thing weighed me down so much as I tried to run. Bearing the brunt of that blade was like hauling around a god-damned crucifix. I remember wincing in pain every few seconds from the cramp I was suffering. It was in every muscle in my arms and legs.

Yeah, I remember. I struggled to follow Riisa through that thick white fog from the flames of the of the Jal Shey attack. I watched our greatest warrior as he seemed to dance before my eyes in slow motion. Then, I got sucked back into real-time. The sounds of screaming and roaring fires suddenly jumped back to life, surrounding and choking my senses. Then, they appeared; three Jal Shey assassins phasing from the thick smoke like phantoms. Their hissing drowned out everything around.

Shinsou dropped his blade by his side. The boy, concealed once more, seemed to be running out of steam. As the vortex of snow tussled them both, no projectiles or spells were forthcoming. Was this really it? Had the Fae already exhausted his arsenal?

"Do not face them, child. Your father would never forgive me! This way, we should make for the forests!". That’s what Riisa said to me. I wanted to fight, but all was a blur. Together, we dived from the roads and into the thick forest edge. There were hundreds of the bastards, perhaps even thousands crawling over the city's vast architecture like a swarm of locusts tearing apart a season's crop. As I struggled to follow Riisa through the trees and foliage, what angered me most, even as powerless as I was and despite being armed, was that not a single Jal Shey had raised a sword to me. They were only interested in Riisa. They deemed me not worthy of battle. To suffer the deliberation of tormentors as despicable and amoral as the Jal Shey made me burn inside with a blinding fury. After that, I was determined to kill every last one and die fighting, if I had to.

After what seemed like an age, the snowstorm cleared a little. Within, a pair of icy lumps hung limply in the air. The backdrop was of the bloodied Fae; eyes steeled, expression focused and despite being in immense pain, still holding control over his magic. He was clutching onto everything with every spare drop of energy he had left inside, adamant that if he could do only one thing within his power, it would be to survive this encounter as long as he could.

He would die at the hands of the Telgradian before he’d let go.

Being in the Citadel that would hardly be a problem for either of them, but this encounter had provided Shinsou with food for thought. Osiris had seen something in Fennwick within ten minutes that he wouldn’t have been able to find in most men if he had years to spare.

“Are you afraid?”

The words had barely left Shinsou's mouth before a fierce look leapt from the prostrate kid. It was one thing to lose to someone, but quite another to have their courage questioned, even in a place where death was a feeble restraint. Shinsou drew his thin sword Shira, making no sound, simply swooping his arm left to right to carve a V in the snow next to him.

“You’re not afraid of me, not really. I’ve seen fear, real fear, in men’s eyes before. To not be afraid of the kind of power I wield; to not be fazed by the sheer weight of the task ahead of you in continuing to fight me takes courage. But courage isn’t enough. You need to temper courage with experience and skill. You have some skill, but lots of potential. No experience, though. You need a teacher. So…”

There was what could only be seen as a look of interest in the Telgradian’s countenance as he surveyed the results of his work; there was satisfaction he had defeated Fennwick, but now his curiosity was piqued by the frost mage’s potential. Why, though? It wasn’t to serve the Brotherhood, or even himself.

Perhaps it’s because I wish I could have been like him in that forest with Riisa…

“…after we conclude our business here, come back to the Citadel tomorrow with that same steel and i'll help you become something far greater. If, of course, you have what it takes."

A labored, mystified nod. A final, merciful blow. Darkness, and loss.

~ § ~ § ~ § ~

During Fenn’s stay at the Citadel, the pallid grey of stormy weather had set into Radasanth, like tea left steeping too long. Fenn wasn’t a big fan of rain. Downpours left him not just drenched but also iced together uncomfortably when it inevitably soaked through his cloak. Still, it suited his inward-looking mood as he plodded his way around. Each heavy splash through the puddles pooling between the stones left floating crusts of frost behind, brittle as he. People staring out at the rain gave him curious looks from within the warm, dimly-lit interiors of their houses and shops, a rare quiet figure caught out in the gloomy drizzle.

It mattered little. His mind was elsewhere.

Daugi had trotted behind him, nudging him in the back every so often in nagging concern. She had no way of knowing he had put himself into the “dangerous” situation of the Citadel’s arena -- it left no mark on him, no blood nor injury -- but she understood that all was not well with her boy-pup. He scuffed his bare feet on the stone as he walked, his head was lowered, and there was a thoughtful expression on his face that didn’t quite belong. Even stranger, his hands were solidly in his pockets for the entire walk. They didn’t leap out to rifle through open store displays, the discarded litter, or other’s belongings. Sometimes, he gave her a distant scratch under the chin, but it didn't much ease the wolf.

Fenn had been expecting the commanding warrior to smite him on the spot. Yet… Shin had taken the time to talk to him before claiming victory. And not condescendingly either. The boy kicked aside a rusted can absentmindedly, wincing as the metal stung his toes. Though he felt a bit sheepish about being so thoroughly trashed, the idea of heading back to the citadel the next morning seemed palpable enough.

“…after we conclude our business here, come back to the Citadel tomorrow with that same steel and I’ll help you become something far greater. If, of course, you have what it takes."

Curiosity swelled in his chest. He wiped solidifying beads of ice off his brow and arms. What did it take? What was it he would be taught? Fenn was still a little uncertain of what more he had to offer, besides the faint determination to prove himself able to rise to the challenge.

The boy and dog stopped. To their left was a little back alley cracked between two buildings, haphazardly protected from the rain with tarps. It was an odd spot that he sometimes would stay at when in the city. Cheaper than an a night at an inn, and perfectly comfortable for someone with no qualms about the chill nip of the wind. Fenn discovered the nook somewhere between his third and sixth visit. Radasanth was a place one passed through frequently when traversing Corone, after all. It was a good place to fish for supplies, enchantments, and unguarded wallets.

Fenn hopped onto a tangled mesh of ropes that served as a hammock. Daugi huffed rolled over on the ground next to him, oblivious to the pooling water. There the boy hung, thinking. He wanted to know what this Shinsou had planned for him. That was it then. He’d return the next day.

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If you’d like, we could finish this thread off and do the next training-fite in 4.0? Or we could transfer it.

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