Cage Number Three

[Dissinger]

(Apologies for the long post, skip to the second section for relevant information. Liliana will not be involved in the fight beyond a bit of cheering/heckling and is my own character.)

Seth had heard of the Cell, and originally his plans had been to never step foot near the place. As he resided in Radasanth, he knew that most of the town was abuzz with information about the tournament. The scar of his left cheek was prominent as he merely relaxed in a tavern, no longer alone, as Liliana Ambria, a person easily considered his other half sat beside him. The two were one of the few customers in the tavern, and he was rather happy about that.

As he sipped his drink, she gently placed a hand on his shoulder, before she whispered softly, "You aren't going to do the Cell? You went to Serenti, and you went to Lornius, why not try this one?"

"I'm beyond meaningless displays of gruesome violence. Besides, Demon has been behaving himself, and I don't wish to push my luck. For all I know the Cell would turn into another situation where I come close to regressing," Seth replied blandly. It was obvious the reply was well rehearsed, and even more, close minded.

Liliana however pushed as she said, "So you're afraid?"

Seth felt a bit of his old pride well up in him at the stark accusation. However, he managed to keep it down well enough. As he looked at her he said softly, "You want to see me fight, is that it?"

"I've seen you fight, that’s not the question. What are you afraid of?"

Seth sighed as he averted his gaze before he said plainly, "I don't want to let you down. You are standing by me, and I appreciate that, but I don't take it for granted. I don't want to ruin one of the last good things in my life for some stupid prize."

Liliana giggled at the reply before she kissed his cheek, on the scar. He looked at her accusingly knowing full well she knew his feelings about that scar. It was almost as bad as the death mark on his chest, which she had played with more than her fair share of times. The point was she was pushing him into something, and what he didn't know.

"You going to tell me what you want? Or are you going to keep pushing until something happens?" Seth asked pointedly.

Pressing a finger gingerly to his lips she said softly, "I want you to prove to yourself, you have control. Fight it out, have some fun, don't let yourself become a monster. It’s that simple."

Their eyes met and for awhile it seemed a fight of its own was about to brew before he sighed and said curtly, "You're lucky I love you, or I'd have tossed you on your ear."

"You're lucky you're cute, or I'd have done the same," Was the sarcastic reply. Seth sighed as he shook his head and got up leaving a few gold pieces on the table. Moving quickly he went for the amphitheater hoping there would be room for one more...

~*~

...and regretting every moment of it. As he stood in the cage amongst the others he counted at least three people he had a major scuffle with in his lifetime. In no particular order was Hikari no Ashigaru, the Drow of rather odd abilities, who seemed to be eyeing the thief in distaste. Well some things never change, wonder if he still thinks he is the end all, He thought bitterly as he smirked and gave a casual salute off in the white Drow’s general direction.

The next person was a bit more recently engaged, Luc Kraus, the mage of elements, taking his strength from the forces of nature. This man had nearly killed Seth, and it was all Seth could do to keep the man off his feet. Still however, he knew he could beat Kraus, he had done so twice already, and that would not be a problem. The real problem however, lied in the third man he saw;

Shadar Logath...

At least that was what the roster called him. The name was one he had heard, and while he wasn't sure if it truly was that man, he knew he would have to be on guard about this brutal illusionist. He could put two and two together, and Yari's old drinking buddy or not, Shadar was a name synonymous with the crumbling Bandit Brotherhood's list of alumni. As he eyed the man carefully he sent out a taunt, and seemed to be awaiting the thief's reaction.

He never got a chance as a man dressed up in shadowy clothing befitting an assassin or stealth adept attacked Shadar putting him off guard. As Shadar recovered Seth frowned seeing the man begin to sprout legs like a spider. Grimacing he thought to himself, More illusions or what? Never can tell with this guy, better left to someone else...

"Shadar" was for the moment distracted with the shadowy man who attacked quickly. So he leaned against the side of the cage without a second thought. While most saw it as an act of cowardice or pride he merely waited, knowing someone would seek him out eventually.

From the stands Liliana watched seeing Seth's reaction, seeing how he was nonchalant and frowned. He wasn't trying, and it seemed that he wouldn't until he had reason to. A worthy goal, but the Cell was a carnal house, not a place of peace. Eventually the demon's tranquility would break, and Liliana would see what truly lied in Seth's heart.

[Cyrus the virus]

The measuring had been done. After a quick study of the others who populated the cell, Luc concluded that his powers were more than capable of bringing him through this struggle alive. Beyond those immediate thoughts, the mage was sifting through the spells he knew, organizing when each move would be most appropriate, and beyond that, when he should expose his true power. Undoubtedly, enacting a great whirlwind would bring too much attention to himself, so starting slow was his preference until the number of fighters had dwindled a bit.

His eyes were fixed upon the one who was opposite his position in the cage, a catlike furry of some type, who bounced a silly ball on the end of a string. Such stupid baubles these animals carry, he thought. His ire toward their kind was strengthened by his recent visit to Ost'Dagorlin, where he and a stupid, distracted cat-human had learned the basics of Song Magic. Truly, he wanted to ram the stupid metal ball down this one's throat, to relish the tortured meows of the ugly beast.

Luc thought to let the toy bounce off of his newly enacted barrier as it soared at him, but ultimately knew better than to waste a layer of the powerful spell. The mage, lucky to have been watching the furry creature when he released the metal ball, sidestepped the projectile instead of dealing with it magically, as his arrogant nature would have usually bade him do.

The red tint of the blade might have given away the fact that it was magical, as Luc's gloved right hand drew it from the beautiful sheath. That was a risk he was willing to take for now, and besides, plenty of warriors carried magical weapons. They were nothing a dragon's stash of gold couldn't buy.

He then ran, rather normally, across the center of the cell to face the cat creature, who was already under siege by another warrior. Luc's focus was so set on the furry that he didn't notice the spider illusion Shadar had enacted on himself, running carelessly under.

His next move might give away the nature of his powers, and Luc was all too painfully aware of it. Regardless of that threat, the mage thrust the Sword of Slykrit forward, and a great stream of flames erupted from the body of the weapon, tearing quickly through the air to reach for the cat and the nearby ninja. The magic brought an interested ooo from the audience, who roared approval at the attack.

Roasted kitten, he thought, repulsed by the idea.

((Attacking Arty and Komo))

[Arawn]

It’s begun, the pale drow considered with only a slight revisit of his previous eagerness, sick still threatening to rise up from his bowels.

He spat at the floor as if to rid himself of the oddly metallic taste of blood, seeming so real upon his tongue. The saliva on the stone ground was transparent, no shade of crimson anywhere upon it. Hikari needed to keep himself in the now. Perhaps he was culpable for Arawn’s crimes, but he had no control of his body in those moments. He was undeniably responsible now, however. It was at present that Hikari had any chance for redemption, if it could be had. Focus was by far his greatest tool in keeping the vampire at bay. A hub for his mind would strengthen his dominion, as it always did. The Cell served just such a purpose excellently. He had to keep his mind on the victory he had so desired.

His fellows did not target him in the initial stages of combat, which was just as well. Though unarmed, he had somehow deterred their gazes to seemingly weaker foes. This was the law of the wilderness at its purest. Enclosed in the steel-adorned ecosystem, individuals attacked whoever they believed they could honestly defeat, while others were forced to simply act and react to assaults on their person. Feeling himself the great white shark in a pool minnows, a smirk flickered back to his face. Once more, his pulse was quickening. This was what he had come for, the promise of great foes he could bring to beg at his feet. His dark orb-like eyes on his distracted opponents, the dark elf made his first move.

Raising his hands to the air, wisps of light appeared and began circling his white arms, glowing a rich yellow in evidence of their glowing source in the sky above. They gained speed quickly, increasing in number and spinning about the upraised limbs like so many photons accelerated beyond human speeds. Soon, his arms were no longer visible, hidden behind a cloud of yellow blurs. Next, he extended his arms before him and, with considerable physical exertion, he brought them together. When his hands came together, there was not a small clap, but the roar of thunder that echoed loudly throughout the cage as a yellow rift appeared in the air before him. His muscles bulging with the effort, he pulled the crack wide from its source at his fingers, opening it inch by inch. Finally, he forced an opening wide enough for his intentions and stepped back as he released it, a glowing yellow crack in dimensions suspended in front of him.

From the rift came two beings answering his call. They stepped out of their own realm without hesitation, the fissure of yellow light closing behind them and vanishing. Hikari’s breath was coming hard as he looked on his aides, the effort of breaching dimensions sapping his strength. They were naked and unarmed but for their natural weaponry, both composed of solid white light from head to toe. The first was an impressive griffin standing on four menacing claws, long talons agleam. It held its plumed chest out majestically and spread its wings wide once past the brilliant doorway, stretching its muscles. The second was an imposing minotaur. Once pushing by the griffin, its hoof pawed at the ground uneasily, bull’s head snorting as it looked around.

“Go,” Hikari said simply.

Without further command, his minions knew the will of their master. They were linked in such a way that words were needed as little more than guiding precursors to their actions. Turning around, they picked out their respective marks from the fray. With a hawk-like screech from its beak, the griffin took to the air, pushing massive amounts of wind behind its wings for lift. Flapping for vertical elevation at first, the beast then made to maneuver its way toward a harpy diving at a human below. It would not reach it until after it met the ninja, but that was of little consequence as the griffin extended its forelimbs out in front of its flight to rip the harpy apart. The minotaur, for its part, simply charged with its head bowed to allow his horns to pierce a human in the center of the cell some twenty feet away, running with a deafening bellow. The man’s back was to his glowing attacker, busy shooting fire at his enemies.

Satisfied for the moment, Hikari put his hands on his knees and caught his breath in half-crouched position, his eyes still on his foes and following his companions’ offensives. He had no chance to join them just yet, so he simply allowed the sun to replenish his stolen energy within the habitat now boasting an abundance of predators.

So far, my attacks are directed at Brigitte and Luc. I’m wiling to allow slight bunnying of my aides if you contact me with the details.

[Modrue]

The dark priestess of N’jal slowly drooped from the ceiling from an impossibly thin strand of silk. Her entire body was without clothes, just like the rest of the Dark Queen’s children. Her head turned this way and that, perceiving her surroundings yet not truly grasping them without much of her senses. The price of power and eternal life had been costly for the former wood elves, but it was nothing compared to what the brethren that had refused it had suffered.

She moved gracefully, for being an oversize cross between elf and spider. The sharp, talon-like claws at the ends of her arachnid legs tapped as they freely found a path among the ragged rocks and unsure cave floor. To either side of her, and especially above her, human sized sacks were tightly wound with the lackluster, gray silk of the spidermagi. Within them were the vapid, yet not dead, bodies of those that had attempted to move too far into the forsaken woods of Concordia. Slowly the bodies of the victims would be eaten away by the disease, leaving only a rancid sack to be sucked by the magi at their will.

No longer did the idea bother any of the Children of N’jal.

Through the caves the high priestess moved. She was the center of that cave’s particular infrastructure. Around her, from the shadows, more magi were ‘shifting’ out of the darkness and following her. Each magus, male or female, watched with a discerning and cautious eye everything that the high priestess did. One day it would be them that would take up her position, just one of them.

{“Move,”} the priestess hissed with her acidic tone as he passed into the dingy, ill-lit abyss that was the cave of devotions. Along the corners luminous mushrooms and flickering moss lit the small cave. It the most light the spidermagi of N’jal could stand for at any point in time. Without waiting for the others to fully push through the small entranceway the priestess scooped up the orb and began stroking it.

Through the ball she could see the world around their demonic marionette. It was crude, filled with the spawns of humanity, but most of all it was bright. Even through the dim, empty orb the light of the natural sun was at first painful for the magi. The ball turned and twisted in the priestess’ cautious hands, moving the picture in a wide spectrum. Through the crowd she searched for the ‘target’ that the Dark Queen demanded. He was not there. Instead, after calculated searching, the magus found what she had been searching for. The man was on the field of battle.

She focused in on the one named Hikari.
~+|+~

Modrue moved as the dust kicked up by the other combatants began to rise around him. He spit to his side, relieving himself of the dirt that had begun to settle onto his pallet. It was getting interesting with the minorities battling each other. As it stood, none had challenged the heavy demon.

He sighed to the fates that had led him to the tournament. To him it appeared that there would be no challenge if he stood there, none of the competition held the bravado necessary to fight him. The demon tapped the steel cage and watched the half-elf climb with spider’s legs to its pinnacle.

However it was the elven-kin that had caught his attention. For what seemed to be no more then a second his eyes had locked on the man, an intense desire to kill him was accompanied by it also. It was something that had been quickly stilled when he had opened the portal though. The steel chain of the arena was yet quivering with the thunderous roar that the man’s simple appearing spell had caused. Along with that his two minions of light appeared to be his means of defense, and an intimidating means at that.

Modrue chose a new route though.

With that voice still silent in the back of his mind it was the demon’s choice alone which target to attack. From overhead blades were being whirled around like children throwing rocks for fun. At the center of the melee was a weak human of sorts wielding a sword with a crimson tint. It was interesting, until the demon focused on his current target. It was the ‘stealthy’ human at the center, who was also targeted by the overhead mage’s attack. A quick thought and a snap of the demon’s fingers and his crimson eyes were aglow.

From beneath the man two shackles of shadows reached up for his feet. Modrue had been taught to fight by himself and by the Elite Order of Assassins, or the Brotherhood of The Banishment. Both ways he had learned highly valued the art of fighting at a distance, not being seen, but most especially surviving. With the man’s potential ‘lock-down’ in his position there was little hope for him to use agility or dexterity to avoid the blades and the flames…

[Artifex Felicis]

The grandmaster didn't know what he really liked about the tournaments. He supposed it was just the ability to beat the crap out of someone else, and have nearly everyone thank him and praise him for his actions. Despite most of his mannerisms, Leon was not a very peaceful man at times, nor did he have many qualms about fighting dirty. He would never attack someone in a fight from behind of course, but kicking sand and hitting below the belt were all allowed in his mind. That didn't stop him from getting annoyed when other people did it though, much like the brown man cruising for him and nearly close enough to strike.

The yo-yo missed the man with the glowing green aura entirely, though Leon could hazard a guess or two as to what it did. It was most likely some sort of shield, but from the way he dodged, could also be offensive and require concentration to pull it off. He did not have much time to ponder the curiosities of magic, not with the brown man so interested in skewering him with the rusty iron short sword. The boy's foolish grin remained on his face as he locked eyes with the green ones of his attacker.

There was a soft sound, unheard in the roar of the crowd as four claws were extended at the ends of one of his hands. He grew used to the familiar pain whenever he did it, welcoming it as he savior. He twisted and hopped at the sight of the sword on its way, the boy's impressive speed shining for a moment as he swiped, claws catching the iron blade and pushing it out of the way. He hit the ground hard, barely catching himself as he fell. He didn't want to alert that much attention to himself just yet, but he also wanted to make this war as long and enjoyable as possible.

There was a different sound from the audience right then. It wasn't the usual roar, or occasional whistle or cheer for the dodge he just performed, but rather one of amazement. The grandmaster's eyes widened as soon as he looked up. The glowing green man was pointing a red tinted weapon at him, but it was the flames rushing towards him that interested him. He did what any normal person would have done in that situation. The cat boy hugged the ground, lying as flat as he possibly could as the flame flew over him. Most of him remained fine, but this was one of the time when he hated having a tail.

He bit his lower lip softly, his hard teeth threatening to pierce his skin with just that. The pain remained even after he smothered the small flame that used to be on the tip of his tail, a shiny burn mark and a pulsing pain remaining. He loosened his jaw on his lip, instead grating his teeth and growling softly at the mage. He got to his knees, one of the strands of yarn wrapped around his hand loosening, and changing color to near the shade of the ground. It was a simple, but effective trick he would pull off later. Until it was time however, it would remain hard to see. He moved to the side as the stealth yarn kept track of where he went, going on all fours to make his form smaller and hard to hit. He stood, putting his back to the wall again before surveying the arena, pleased at what he saw.

It was absolute chaos. There were at least four or five fights going on at once that he could see, though he appeared to have been hurt the worst at this particular moment. Though in the end he knew that the burn would be trivial compared to what would happen to others. He looked from side to side, focusing on the glowing green mage and the man who attacked him before. The others were of no concern to the cat boy as of yet, though the spider thing was rather interesting. Leon tensed up, ready for someone else to come at him. The glowing mage wasn't a problem at the moment, not with the others focusing on him. Until something else happenned, he'd be content to just watch chaos.

[Cyrus the virus]

The stream of flames had died, but a thick vapor still clouded the caped one's vision when he heard the coming charge. Knowing he could not immediately see the result of his sword's labor, a scornful frown was upon the mage's youthful face when he turned to meet the coming threat, a minotaur of pure light. Luc could feel the metaphysical properties of the beast somehow, as if he could sense it the same way he felt the elements, and other tinglings of magic around him. That magical sense helped him to keep a grasp on what was going on.

He fumbled with the sword, sheathing it awkwardly and therefore giving himself away for the novice he was. Even though there were more pressing matters at hand, Luc couldn't help but feel stupid for the blunder whether anyone noticed it or not.

Regardless of how badly he needed to lay low for the time being, Luc had been growing impatient. His audience wanted to see magic and he was having a hard time holding back, even in these early stages of battle. So he gave in, hopping into the waiting wind as it carried him high and above the charging beast of light. He was fortunate that the gryphon had not decided to come after him as well.

The mage's eyes traced the bull's path back to a huge, impossibly white being. Luc couldn't classify him under any particular race from such a distance, but it didn't matter. Cat, human, drow and vampire alike would crumble in the face of his magic.

And then Seth, of course. How sweet that revenge would be.

Luc wanted to look back at the furry beast, to observe in grim glee the charred remains of the creepy little cat, but his eyes did not leave Hikari. Something about an attack from behind just annoyed the powerful mage and to annoy Luc Kraus was a bad choice to make, more so in a tournament where the objective was to pummel your foes.

The mage was growing bored with avoiding his useful, plentiful magic. What good was being Althanas' most flexible wizard when your strength was not recognized? He made the decision at that point to abandon strategy in favor of glory, knowing the audience would take to his magic like drunks to wine. "Have a taste for silly cantrips?" Luc yelled above the noise, taking joy in mocking the fool creature's attempt to hurt him. "There comes a time when a budding wizard needs to abandon such useless, worthless abilities, and adopt something more..." he paused. "Potent."

Predictably, Luc intended to use the word to suggest a taste of things to come. He lifted both hands, one after another, and dropped them as quickly as they'd risen. Long, thin javelins the length of his own body formed from the wind, bursting suddenly through the sky at the pale warrior below. He decided to leave it at two and see how the man dealt with the threat.

And then he'd proceed to impose his will upon this cell.

[Abenaki]

Fast... was the first thought that shot through Jada's mind as the cat-man flashed his claws and knocked away the warrior's first attack. It was the same thought that had crossed the warrior's mind when Xanith, his first opponent in armed combat, had deflected Jada's first onslaught in their previous battle. There were similarities that could be drawn between Xanith and this new opponent, perhaps, but Jada wasn't given much time to contemplate the possibilities there. For almost as soon as his strike was knocked away, a great stream of fire roared by on a beeline course for the man he had just tried to kill...

Acting on both reflexes and instinct, Jada turned away from the flames and dropped to one knee, his left arm rising up to shield his face from the intense heat. The stream of fire roared and died rapidly, leaving on the air a thick vapor cloud that hurt Jada's eyes and made it hard to see. For a few seconds Jada could do nothing but try and wave the cloud away from his face, praying that no one crept up behind him in the haze and dispatched him. A breeze drifted through the cage, dispelling the smoky vapor and restoring most of the warrior's visibility. Images of a roasted cat flit across Jada's vision, and he quickly turned to face the direction of the flames origin. They had come from the same place in the cage where the glowing man had been standing at the start of the battle, and Jada was afraid the man might be looking to press the advantage his surprising fire trick had given him.

Those fears turned out to be unfounded, however, as the man with the green aura was floating away on the same breeze that had served to dispel the cloud left by his previous attack. Just underneath the man was a large bull-like creature made of light...

"More sorcery." Jada spat, trying to clean the taste of smoke out of his mouth. All around him the battle was in full swing, and yet in places the fighting was not quite as fierce as expected. There were still a couple of combatants waiting in the background, watching the battle with keen interest. One was still nonchalantly leaning against the side of the cage, while a very pale man seemed to be watching the antics of the light-beasts, of which Jada could now see two...

It was then that Jada turned around to see just how much of the cat-man remained after standing in the path of a great stream of fire. Surprisingly, there was much more of the man left than Jada had previously imagined, although it was clear that the man's tail had seen better days. He was settled back now, watching for the next attack, his muscles coiled and ready to react. Behind him the metal of the cage was sagging slightly, as though a circular section of the barrier had begun to melt. The fact that the man was still alive was not only disappointing in a way, but it also presented Jada with a sudden dilemma. His whole plan for staying alive had been to lurk in the background, picking his strikes carefully. Engaging himself in a solitary duel with any one opponent didn't factor into that equation...

Everyone else seems occupied enough. The warrior decided quickly. And those who aren't are on the other side of the arena. He added, alluding to the two men not really taking part in any of the primary conflicts. In only a few seconds Jada's plan shifted from staying out of the way, to pressing his perceived advantage against the man with the tail. Dispatching one opponent meant that there would be less of them to keep track of as the battle wore on...

Pressing the advantage meant acting quickly so as not to give his opponent any real time to compose himself. Springing back to his feet, Jada charged across the short distance that had opened between himself and the cat-man when he had scrambled away from the flames. His arms were at his hips as he charged, the blade of his sword pointing away from his back. As the distance closed Jada then brought the sword up to his shoulder and then down, swinging down and at an angle as he came in close enough to strike at the cat-man once again...

[Dissinger]

His grey eyes took in the carnage as he watched with interest. It seemed everyone was pulling out all the stops and he was quietly snickering at the various displays of machismo. With the unleashing of the beasts from what he could only assume was a different plane of existence, to the flame attack that nearly singed Leon Timyon, a name he was vaguely recalling from the Grey Braves War. He was amused to say the least.

As he crossed his arms across his chest he held a hint of the old roguish grin. This was more entertaining than fighting of course. He saw a few people look at him, but no one really did much. They would look at him, then go after the aggressor. His grin became more full bodied. It was amusing to say the least at how people had no concept of stamina, but he would let them exhaust their tricks, that made it far easier when the fresh opponent came in to clean house.

As he looked at Shadar he could swear things were rather interesting. The harpy that accompanied him was attacked as was Kraus, and as he watched Luc retaliate with his own attack he had to say he was impressed by the whirling javelins of air. The elemental mage was certainly making his job easier by taking out one of the three nuisances. If Arawn were to accidentally die, it was no skin off his back. Waiting in silence he felt energy begin to stir up, and waited. Now was not the time, he would wait for this particular blow.

He needed more carnage more blood drawn for this trick to work. So as he waited patiently he stifled a yawn. The bloodshed and violence entertained only so long to a man who was beginning to critique his opponents, judging them on a scale as to who could be slaughtered, and who would require work. Immediately Arawn, Luc, and Shadar were at the top of the work list. Leon was getting there, and the ninja was starting to hit the bottom of the massacre. Right at the top though was a tribal looking person, who he knew would be dead if Seth even thought of focusing on him.

He pulled a lung popper from his belt as he began to clean his nails all the while waiting for someone to come at him. Until he was engaged he would wait, feeling the energy in his veins begin to pulsate humming an enchanting melody for the Lavinian. He merely held his ground waiting for a chance to strike like a coiled viper.

Liliana however was watching him and wondering just what was going on. Seth was merely watching the show, and not participating. She was certain that he would have been in there, killing as proficiently as he had back in Otaria, when he had put the thugs that had mugged her in their place. Watching she shook her head as she whispered to herself, "What in the hells are you thinking Seth?"

[chumley]

The hot-air balloon sailed over the wall of the amphitheater, obscuring the sun for the briefest of moments as, buffeted by the winds of this benighted world, it settled above the steel cage. Chumley chuckled as he looked down over the side of the wicker basket, a long cigarette holder lodged in the side of his mouth. For the twenty-first time (he had been keeping a record for his memoirs) he reached into his jacket and pulled forth a curled piece of parchment, stained with garlic juice and tomato sauce, and read the almost indecipherable script yet again:

Chumley:

Your old friend from the LCC is in another tournament being put on by the man-apes who populate this dirt-encrusted, brothel-filled, smoldering ash pile of a world. I believe you may have a score to settle, my popinjay of a pal. The rules say you may enter the battle, even if you have not registered, if you can fight your way past the guards. Please find directions enclosed. I hope you are well and that you are finding success in all your endeavors.

Signed,

Your Friend

"This Mr. Friend is certainly kind, if he does have an unusual name," Chumley quipped, tucking the sheet back into his jacket. "So, Guy, are we prepared for the descent?" The Calvinist minister whom Chumley had saved from a mob of raving papists, Guy Baptiste by name, whose favorite pasttime was hopping about in hot air balloons, nodded solemnly. He then began yanking cords hanging from the flame-spewing contraption above him, lessening the flame heating the air within the silk balloon, solemn all the while. Chumley supposed most of the Elect of God were often solemn, as befitted their blessed metaphysical circumstances, but he preferred a jolly demeanor. Why sip champagne when one could chug hard cider? (A question President van Buren had not been able to answer - to his sorrow.)

The basket lowered atop the cage, and Chumley nimbly leapt out, tossing his cigarette aside with great aplomb. "Thank you, dear Guy," he called out, "May Zephyr always blow his mild breezes at your back, and Jupiter spare you his roiling thunderbolts." Guy nodded, solemnly, and pulled a cord that ejected a merry toot of flame that lifted the balloon into the air. Chumley smiled, dabbing his nose with a handkerchief, and then looked below him. The cage upon which he stood had no spaces small enough for him to shimmy through, and even if it had, it was a long fall to the ground. "Mayhaps I should have put more thought into this..." Chumley muttered, searching for a depressed looking teenaged girl below. His search quickly ended, as his bright little eyes found Seth Dahlios below. Leaning down, Chumley directed a yell at the moody milquetoast.

"Hello down there, Dahlios!" He cried, "I heard you were the belle of the ball at your debut! Why, then, do you appear so put-out? Perhaps your drunken leprechaun of a father slapped you across your barbell tenement again, eh?" Chumley disliked insults, but that was the only way to deal with Irishmen who had no sense of honor and consorted with women who could only be described as the whores of Babylon. Shaking his head in disgust at the mere sight of Dahlios, he straightened up and tried to focus on something more pleasing. He directed his eyes to what appeared to be a pile of living excrement that was watching the battle from the stands and nodded approvingly. "Birds of a feather, as my father always said. Birds of a feather." A motion at the edge of the top of the cage caught his eye. It appeared to be a guard, dressed in the garb of a pantywaist, waving weapons that were no more threatening to our dear elephant than mere twigs.

"You, sir, are no better than a child slapping a hoop down the street with a stick!" Chumely roared, and began throwing rotten tomatoes at the guard. He sliced a dozen in half in mid-air with one swipe of his weapon.

"You fool!" The pile of excrement called, "Those guards are the best trained soldiers they could find! They're not pantywaists, and their weapons are more threatening to you than thunderbolts! Besides, a dozen are approaching you as you speak!"

"WHY WOULD I LISTEN TO A PILE OF DUNG?" Chumley screamed. Then he realized a dozen men in chain mail, waving halberds and swords that put Excalibur to shame, were standing around him, grinning darkly. "THANKS FOR THE TIP!" Chumley added, a bead of sweat appearing on his forehead. He turned his head skyward, and blamed the only logical cause of these troubles. "SETH DAHLIOS, YOU'LL PAY FOR THIS!"

[Komosatuo]

Chaos.

It was the only word that came to his mind when the events directly preceding his two initial attacks, unfolded. Unfolded in such a manner, that most, if not all the actions and reactions of the seven other combatants in the cage, were directed solely at him.

Sure there were a few people who had other targets in mind, but it seemed that most were either aimed directly at him, or were part of some after effect that would still, somehow, effect him. When he looked back on it, in the few split seconds he had to himself to gather his thoughts, he wondered how in the hell he had managed to survive.

First there was the flying creature he had initially attacked. Almost instantly after he settled himself into a defensive position, which he knew was going to be a totally futile attempt at protecting himself, the half-elf and the creature attacked. With a scream that would make a wailing banshee jealous, the creature took to the air in a fury of feathers. The half-elf soon followed the creatures attack, but in a very odd, very disturbing and very unnerving fashion.

He grew, legs. Spider legs to be exact. From his back no less. He then proceeded to climb up the cage mesh and center himself firmly in the middle of the ceiling and raise his arms up. Komosatuo knew, beyond a doubt, that for whatever reason the half-elf raised his hands, it was not to wave hello or to praise some god. That was when, in the moment that he was still coherent and sane enough to notice it, claws began to grow from the half-elf's fingers. That was when the clawed feet of the creature came abruptly into view and Komosatuo lost all sane and coherent thoughts, reacting instead on pure instinct and instinct alone.

He ducked.

At the same exact time, almost as if the man had predicted it, five razor sharp claws exploded from the tips of the mans fingers, straight towards Komosatuo's chest. Komosatuo reacted by instinct alone, just as he had when he ducked.

The clawed feet of the creature were just beginning to close on empty air when Komosatuo's own fingers closed around its ankles. He tensed his calf and thigh muscles, closed his eyes and heaved himself upward. The creature screamed a second time and beat at the air with its wings, using both its own power and the momentum from Komosatuo's jump to elevate itself higher. Had this been a one on one confrontation, Komosatuo would have cheered as the five darts imbedded themself firmly into the solid surface of the floor below his feet. But this wasn’t a one on one battle and where he would have cheered, he cried out in shock and fear instead.

A solid bar of liquid flame, gouging a path through the air, rocketed past the place where his torso had just been resting. First it was the creature, then it was the darts, and still further it was the flames. Three separate attacks, three separate people, one target. Him. Komosatuo began to wonder if he wasn’t prime target number one.

Barely a half a second after the darts had imbedded themselves into the ground and the flames had rocketed past, another attack found its way to his person. Or rather, the person that was currently being held onto by him, the said person. Komosatuo stared with his mouth agape as a white griffin, shining and shimmering like the sun itself, barreled through the air at a breath taking speed, straight the creature, and him.

The creature abruptly fell silent as a calm night, as if suddenly aware there was a greater threat than a meager human that had attacked her simply on a whim and then attached itself to its legs, and bucked as it tried to turn to face the new foe. Komosatuo, still trying to gather his wits from the darts, the flames, the screaming creature and the new glowing griffin, felt his grip on the creature’s ankles slip and was thrown quite forcibly into the cages mesh wall, his body hitting some six or seven feet above the ground. He bounced off the cage wall like a bouncing ball to paving stones and flew four feet out into open air, hovering for an instant above the chaos that was the cage. Instinct took over as he fell.

Knees tucked under his chest and his arms fully extended to his sides, Komosatuo rolled in a half flip, half somersault through the air and landed smoothly on the balls of his feet. It was almost like running on a wall and jumping off of it. Almost. This one involved his life, or his death. Where as the other, was just a classic stunt that could be used in a thousand effective ways to either save your life, or end it with style.

Seems to fit perfectly.

If there was one thing Komosatuo knew about fighting, which he knew enough to survive most cases, it was that it was a stupid idea to stay standing in one spot for too long. There were a few people in the cage doing exactly that, but he knew enough now to leave those few well enough alone. He needed to find a new target but first, he needed to find a place to settle down and catch his breath. Gather his wits, but mostly to catch his breath.

He spotted a nearby empty place against the cage and leapt up to run towards it. But instead of running as he had hoped he fell face first into the ground. There was a crack as something in his face snapped and he cursed when he felt a warm, sticky liquid begin to poor free from the new wound. He pushed himself to his hands and knees, tried to stand but instead found that he was unable to. His feet were planted to the ground, two shackle in appearance objects wrapped firmly around his ankles, restraining him from any movement. It was the beginning of another attack, he knew it as such because the shackles were meant as a restraining device. And restraining devices were meant, in battles, to hold someone still long enough to launch an attack without having to worry about them running away.

Komosatuo’s head shot up and his eyes flickered left and right, searching for the new threat was going to reveal itself at any second. He paid little attention to the thin red stream of warm liquid running down his face and soaking through his face covering scarf. Instead he found his attention riveted on the monestrous barbarian creature that had reminded him of a daemon, its eyes glowing a bright crimson and within the instant that his eyes met those he knew. The daemon was his attacker, that meant that the daemon was his next target.

He snarled and pulled two small fish darts from a conceal pocket in his calf, deftly maneuvered them in his fingers and in a swift underhand motion, sent them flying towards the daemon. Hoping, that perhaps with the break in its attention span, that its hold on his feet would break loose. Allowing him some much needed time to escape to a distant, perhaps less deadly, portion of the cage.

If not, well. . .if not, Komosatuo had a sinking feeling that those two fish darts would be the last things he ever threw, for a very long time.

((OOC: The bunny of Shadar’s Harpy was approved. Modure, if I’m not the target of your shadow shackle, please PM me and I’ll edit.))

((OOC::EDIT:: The respective edits requested by Shadar have been performed.))