Whispers in the Wind vs. Stalin For Time

[Christoph]

Congratulations for making it to the third round of the Tournament of Champions. Both teams receive four Fate Points for making it this far! The battle closes after 11:59 PM EST on May 8th. Good luck to both teams!

Arenas were arranged at random, and your prompt is as follows:

Your battlefield is the summit of a jagged, pine- and snow-covered mountain. The icy winds are almost as harsh and unforgiving as the steep cliffs.

[Petoux]

Not again!

The Earth started to shake until both Sara and Hopper fell into the river.

It’s over, we are going to drown.

Suddenly, the water turned into a vast blue sky, different from the first two times, full of white fluffy clouds. Somehow, they were flying through the air without the fear of gravity pulling them to Earth, and killing them both instantly.

What made gravity seem non-existent?

Sara took a better look at herself and Hopper. They were both in a transparent bubble of some kind as they continued to fly over the beautiful scenery. She began to see brief patches of green land below, until she saw a giant casing of water up ahead. The strange object protruded all the way through the clouds, which had to be miles up! Inside the bubble you could see the next arena …

What will it be this time?

As Sara and her teammate got closer, a giant waterfall crashed upon the bubble. Obviously this was a fantasy of some sort, none of this was possible in anyway. Suddenly, their speed increased dramatically to the point she was about to puke as they pummeled to the ground, perhaps to kill them instantaneously.

Sara couldn’t watch as she closed her eyes, waiting for the impact, but it never came. She was in a standing position now floating just inches above the ground. Their fragile bodies planted into the ground as she could feel the soft grass beneath her. The transparent bodies of the team reconstructed themselves to their original state. Sara looked down at herself, trying to verify if the state of her was back to normal.

Still an elf, the same clothing, a beautiful white dress, long maroon colored hair, jewelry galore all intact, her bow and arrows fully stocked and ready to battle once more … and last but certainly not least … my good friend Hopper, seemly in perfect condition.

The elf and the old man, her teammate, looked each other in confusion but didn’t say anything at first. Not knowing what to do, she trusted her instincts which told her to walk towards the bubbly mass. As she looked towards an opening in the clouds, she could see the waterfall that seemed to continue for many miles up, perhaps to even outer space! The water was beautiful, and got louder as they drew closer to the arena in site.

A feeling of walking many miles, she took a deep breath and entered the bubble, feeling it’s cold grasp upon her. Suddenly, the beautiful scenery replaced itself with the feeling of a icy cold wind on top of a steep and jagged mountain top.

Without much clothing on, Sara was getting quite chilly. She would have to move briskly to stay warm. Suddenly, a strange voice echoed in her mind ...

Why are you here Sara? You are here to win,you are here to dominate,you are here to prove that you are the best. BEGIN!!

Coming back to reality, she lightly shook her head to get herself re-focused on what she needed to do.

Off in the distance was their competition. She could see the same bubbly mass they entered appear and drop the opposing team into the arena, as the bubble disappeared into oblivion.

"Well Hopper, let's kick some ass!"

Bow and arrow ready to fire.

[Mikeavelli]

Falling
Drowning
Falling some more
Flying!
At least we're not all covered in blackness this time. Kinda've enjoying the view really

It was a dreamlike journey they took, lost inside their own thoughts.

'Hopper was enjoying the view afforded by this unique method of transportation. Far and away from his teammate, 'Hopper spent the trip laid back, taking in all the sights and sounds and, more to the point, making a mental map of the surrounding areas. Just because the fickle lords of this world saw it fit to give them transport between the various battlefields they had in store this time didn't mean the trend would continue.

At least, he tried. The entire journey he felt under a cloudy haze. Even crashing into the mountainside, an event Sara couldn't even bring herself to watch, barely even phased 'Hopper. He moved on, barely even aware of himself until the moment they stepped through the bizarre bubbly wall into their newest battlefield.

Their newest, ice cold battlefield. 'Hoppers reaction is predictable: "POWERS ABOVE IT'S SODDING FREEZING! I'd like to take whatever addle-coved piker what thought it was a good idea to 'ave us 'ere and..."

'Hopper trails off once he realizes that those selfsame powers in charge of putting him here are probably listening in right now, and impious as 'Hopper is, he's learned by now the right and wrong times to irritate someone infinitely more powerful than himself. Right now would be the wrong time.

No, after allowing himself that little outburst, his instincts take over,taking account of their battlefield and whatever strategies they might have to use. Finally, he takes the time to respond, "Aye, methinks we'll get the chance ta kick some ass this time. Remember though, we've had our victories as much thanks to luck as skill these past two rounds. I dinnae' think we'll 'ave it on our side so much this time. There's no cover up 'ere, trees don't start fer' a hundred feet or more by my view, an' it's too damned cold ta' even breath, much less fight."

Then, after a moment's thought, 'Hopper tossed his golden ring to Sara, "Alright, here's the plan, you remember how ta' use this, aye? Stay back while I charge in, It'll keep ye' from getting blinded when I use me sword. When they've got a face full o' sunlight, fill'em up like yer' trying ta blot out tha' REAL sun."

With that taken care of, 'Hopper drew both his own swords, and waited for the opposition.

[Saxon]

(Bunnying between Arsene and I has been approved for the entire thread.)

Silent black melted into violent white as Brom awoke to the roar of bitter winds as snow fell in globs from the heavens. Laying upon his back and buried three inches deep in snow, only the barbarian's face remained exposed to the savage storm that howled around him. It wasn't by chance that he had survived the sharp drop in temperature, but the hardiness of his race and constant exposure to the elements that saved him. The people of Salvar, though primitives who lived on the fringe of society, endured the worst that nature had to throw at them and they grew stronger for it.

Thrusting his hand upward through the mound of snow he was buried under as if he were climbing out of a fresh grave, Brom dug to the surface, pushing giant clouts of snow from himself until he was free. The blanket of snow, however, must be warmer than the air around it for when the warrior stood to dust himself off he felt a chill sink deep into his gray flesh and threaten to touch his spine. Only once he was sure that he hadn't contracted the killing cold did Brom try to take in as much of his surroundings as he could see.

Great larches whose boughs were covered in white littered the area like the fingers of giants who rested beneath the permafrost. Because of the temperature, easily twenty below, and the harsh climate it was obvious that there would be few signs of life, but Brom's practiced eye as a hunter caught the glimpse of fading tracks of a mountain ram. As the barbarian turned he saw the sheer, icy rise of a cliff that jutted out in crags that were almost like claws of rock, rarely support the hundreds of pounds of snow it typically bore let alone the living.

Stepping in the other direction, Brom saw snow then nothing but sky a few feet after that. Which could only mean one thing, and it put a small grin upon the warrior's face when he walked apprehensively over to the edge and looked over the side. Thousands of feet below crags stuck out, disappeared beneath the clouds and only once he peered far enough could he spot the end of a massive river dappled in ice floes that must have winded back to it's source.

The speed at which the snow was falling might have been alarming to those who weren't accustomed to being this far up a mountain, but Brom managed to take it in stride. Hundreds of thousands of pounds of snow would roll off the mountain in the years to come, but it came as a reminder to the barbarian's odd silence. Avalanches always a present danger, the warrior had spent time as a boy with his clan training himself to speak sparingly while upon a mountain. His people had called it "Mountain Talking" whenever they attempted to hunt for the goats that dwell upon the crags.

The sky was splashed with the pinks and purples that meant a coming dawn, and Brom began to notice that with every passing second the sky grew more pale and obscure. Which meant that a white-out was coming, something that killed more men than any storm or avalanche Brom had ever witnessed. It was subtle and could drive a man mad, but the barbarian knew that he would be in little danger if he found shelter fast.

Taking in the scenery one last time, for the first time in months since the beginning of this tournament, Brom felt at peace. "At home," he quietly corrected.

It was a welcome break from the other horrors and tribulations the warrior had experienced in the previous weeks. Right now, he was in his element, making it harder for the warrior to be rivaled while in his natural environment. But, while Brom walked about the small plateau on the side of that mountain, he quietly searched for his partner with the grim fear of what he might find if the Russian had been buried under the snow as well.

(Summary: Brom awakes to find himself buried in snow. Getting up he gets his bearings and notices a white-out is coming on top of the blizzard that already held it's grip upon the mountain. Now he searches for his partner.)

Killing Cold = Hypothermia

[Arsène]

The Russian winter had a reputation to it that many Europeans had heard. Unlike the watery fortifications of Albion that deterred all but Normans and Vikings, the Motherland allowed an enemy deep inside her womb. They enjoyed their victories as Muscovy troops fled the field. However, when frost began to harden the plains of Russia, the tides would turn. Russian soldiers, who had played dead to attack victorious enemy armies, began their true counterattack. Hitler had Moscow in his sights as previous victories at Stalingrad and Leningrad gave way to encircling tactics, and no more territorial gains would be awarded.

Winter was a sidearm to any true Russian soldiers; one which he employed with glee and skill to his advantage. And if Aleksey considered himself anything, it was a true Russian soldier.

The jagged mountain was a treacherous terrain fraught with a fierce frost and bitter biting winds. As the breeze kicked up and the blinding blizzard approached, the young soldier could only lean against a large pine tree with a smile on his face. It was a small copse by any means, with jutting roots and gnarled branches that created a makeshift roof of pine needles. Shelter was what you made it on the tundra; a lesson learned in basic training of any Russian training. It was hard not to get caught up in the whimsy of the moment. Aleksey, young and untested, could only imagine the excitement felt during Russia's 'Winter War' with Finland. The Finnish people, though fierce, could only hold out so long against the massive Soviet force.

The wind strung the soldier in every crevice of expose skin; but his woolen parade uniform and hat were suitable enough to keep him alive. Removing himself from the tree, he bent down to grab a scope of snow with his gloved hand. It was an old sniper trick, putting a handful of snow in your mouth lowered its temperature and made a person's hot breath less noticeable. Though uncomfortable, it was a necessity.

Through the break in the small forest, with his keen eyes not yet blurred by the furious storm approaching, he could see the outline of a large man in fur and armor. His partner, the barbarian, was only a few meters away. His rifle at the ready, he took a quick look around before trudging over to his partner.

The snow was clean and white in dawns light; it would be red at night.

[Petoux]

Fancy dancy writing this time huh? Two can play at this game! Good luck!

Sara smiled and walked briskly, taking a path that led around to the right, past Hoppers' side and out onto the mountain top. Ahead of her, the great many slopes of the mountain were a dim shadow against the greater upcoming dawn light of the sky. Beyond it lay a thousand miles of bitter cold on the rocky formation they stood upon.

She walked out onto a pale mountain stone, her best guess was that the ground was roughly 300 feet below them, the great muscular shapes of the mountain up ahead. Standing there, she thought of Hopper and what was to come.

It had told her little that she did not already know or suspect, yet, reading Hopper's words at this distance, she had, against all expectation, been impressed by his intellect, and had found herself wondering what he might have become if the tournament never started. And that thought had spawned others. Was it really his fault that he had become what he'd become? The destruction of his hopes at such an old age had probably traumatized him as a boy, yet could everything be accounted for that? What of the cruelty of his many jouneys, that twisted aspect of someone, or something else? Was that a product of events, or was it something natural in his childhood that, through circumstance, had been encouraged rather than controlled?

It was impossible to say. All she knew was that her herself had been lucky. Lucky to have Hopper as not only just her teammate, but also her good friend. Knowing in her heart that their connection to each other slowly grew as round by round, they continued to work together, two people fighting together, but as one solid force, anxious to conquer over any challenge that swings their way!

And then there were her own family...

She pushed the thought aside, then turned, hearing soft footsteps with her enhanced Elvish hearing just behind them.

"Hopper?"

"Let's go," she said at just the right volume and tone for only Hopper to hear, and not their enemies. "Today, we show them our strength. Today, we use their own fears against them. Today, we will reign victorious!"

Her face, silvered in the now daylight, was smiling strangely; it was Sara's secret.

A burrowing worm blinks in the sunlight
and pulls his eyes down over his eyes,
Earth's mouth steams. Deep voices grumble.
Time draws a jagged line upon the sand
in which the woman waits.

Sara's mom told her this strange poem whenever she needed extra strength to conquer something. She wasn't sure what it quite meant, but nevertheless, it was a powerful tool to use in any situation that lays ahead of her.

[Mikeavelli]

"I never told ye' why I came 'ere, did I." 'Hopper said, ostensibly talking to Sara, but his tone wasn't a question, just a lead-in to his coming story, "Not the real reason anyways. It weren't an old friend, asking me. Was an old enemy, and he was telling me."

'Hopper was walking forwards while he talked, towards the highest point of the mountain, where their opponents would no doubt also be heading, eyes scanning the mountaintop for any sign of life, "Fiend by the name o' Varsinax. . . One o' tha' most powerful an' evil bloods in the Multiverse, an' he knew it, too. Now, I probably could've slipped his noose when e' came knockin, But that's not 'is style. Said he'd be after everyone an' everything close ta' me, an' I cannae' do a thing ta' stop'im."

A little voice in the back of 'Hoppers head was screaming, you're getting distracted! Your opponents are going to surprise you, they're going to take advantage of your weakness! They might be sneaking up behind you even now! But he silenced it, he kept going, because if not now, then WHEN? "Is' always like that, too. Cutters followin' me, around me, dragged inta' things darker an' they ken deal with. It dinnae' matter iffin' I ken save meself, it always ends with me friends written up in the Dead-book."

He sees the opposition now, at the far end of the Summit, near the treeline. The for reminiscing was gone, his mind and body needed to be here, now. "So that's why I'm 'ere. That's why I keep telling ye' to keep yer thrice-damned head down, I know how ta' make it through this, how ta' win this damned tournament. But I want ta' win it with you still bein' a young, livin pain in me arse. Keep yer head down an' yer wits about ye'. This is about ta' begin."

Their opponents were some distance away, but his eyes were still good enough to pick them out even through the worsening snowfall. The cold was bad enough, and even 'Hopper could tell it was going to get worse. His goal now was to see to it that the battle ended before it reached a full-on whiteout, and the magic of those terrible masters of this tournament would take them far away from the gods-forsaken cold.

What else could he do? If his opponents didn't see him already, they would soon, it's pretty hard to miss when 'Hopper twirls both his swords into a backhand stance, and charges towards them like a billy-goat after a troll.

[Saxon]

(Bunnying you a bit, Micky. If you have any problems with it, let me know and I'll change it.)

Brom's gray, weathered flesh grew more and more cold as the blizzard continued to pummel the mountain with snow. The barbarian didn't even take more than ten steps when a shroud of white engulfed him and soon even his surroundings were swept away by the rush of white. It looked like the white-out had come in faster than he had anticipated, leaving the Salvarian to count on his memory to try and map out his surroundings before being blinded. A difficult practice to learn, and an even harder one to master, Brom thought as he trudged further into the wilderness.

The snow had rose above the barbarian's ankles, growing higher and higher with every passing second. It is almost if the storm was devouring the landscape, relentless and brutal until everything is buried. Though rare, these are the type of blizzards that had shaped much of Salvar's savage tundra during Brom's childhood. They weren't fond memories.

Hunched over by the bitter cold, Brom kept his head bent downwards as he stumbled across the shifting plateau, trying to remember where he had seen the cover of a nearby crag. He was so focused on his goal, driven by the will to survive that the Salvarian had nearly ignored the call of his partner, The Russian who was standing seven or eight feet from him.

"Brom!" Aleksy roared above the howling winds, cupping his mouth to amplify the message. The Russian watched as the barbarian turned in his direction and ambled over, his entire visage smeared in frozen snow as if he had been sleeping in the middle of the blizzard.

"Have you seen them yet?" The Salvarian rumbled, his voice so gravelly and hoarse that it wasn't very difficult to discern it from the gusts of wind.

Looking up at the barbarian, Aleksy shrugged and shouted, "No. I don't think they're here yet, because if they were they would've done something by now. Attacked or kept us apart maybe?"

Brom snorted as he pulled his furs closer to give him some warmth and said, "You might be expecting a pack of wolves instead of a pair of doe, friend."

Aleksy nodded, understanding his partner's meaning. The Russian could be giving these two too much credit, but one never knew just what to expect in this tournament. The last couple of fights the two had were testament to that. As Aleksy moved to say something, he suddenly fell over as a blur in the blizzard barreled into him headlong. The two tumbled head over head into the storm, soon lost in white.

Brom trekked after his friend, only pausing to draw cold steel as he tried to get a bead on where they might be. It was the screaming that led the barbarian to his partner's aid.

(Summary: Brom and Aleksy run into each other and after a brief exchange are attacked by Hopper. Aleksy is struggling with Hopper as they become lost in the blizzard, the barbarian following after them.)

[Arsène]

Sorry for the wait.

The Russian's heart warmed his body as his eyes caught sight of the barbarian he'd grown accustomed to. Brom was a towering man that the soldier often compared to a tank; an unstoppable force that infantry fled from in droves. As the storm began to roll him, his couldn't help but admire how well his partner fit into the environment, silhouetted as it was against the patchy forests and rocky crags that dotted the landscape.

Their pleasantries were barely finished before Aleksey was swept up in a furry he first suspected belonged to the godless storm. However, as he tumbled into the white abyss, he realized his opponents had made their move. His sword slashes were violently bright despite the harsh white that blasted the pair. As the soldier lost his footing, he was only saved by quick thinking and ingrained training. His rifle was firmly in hand as it deflected the volley of blows that fell upon him.

Just as the Russian was convinced he'd succumb to the endless assault of the charging enemy, the familiar shadow of the barbarian trudged through the blanketing snow, with his mighty blade in hand. It bought Aleksey just enough time to break away from the fight and roll to the side.

EDITED: To give Mike a chance in edgewise.

[Petoux]

Sara moved swiftly. Silently beneath the increasing daylight, the mountain mysteriously veiled in an oddly colorful light. From where she waiting in its prow, she'd turned and looked back briefly to see if anything was behind her she could use for a better spot. Nothing.

She had been in this tournament less than a few days or so, yet already she was half in love with all of the strange and wonderful arenas. Of all the places they had traveled to, none came close to comparing with this, she began to wonder who started this whole thing, how the void came to be, and how it crafted the physical characteristics that had permitted such a place to develop.

Sara, watching Hopper, saw how he suddenly “blossomed” in this new environment. Admiring him as she did, she had nonetheless thought him some-what dour, a deep and taciturn man, but suddenly things were “transformed” … a conversation could be heard not far from her location.

"Brom!"

Ah ha! There you are!

Sara readied her bow, making sure Hoppers’ ring that was given to her was secure on her finger, aimed towards the sound she made out. With her elvish hearing, she knew that she could get the target quite well, even though Sara could not see it.

Her fingers grasped her bow a little bit tighter, as she unleashed three arrows at the same time through the air. As they sailed above Hoppers’ head with a Whooossh!! noise, they headed straight for the sound of where their opponents would most likely be.
As the arrows drew nearer to the target(s), another poem came across her mind.

…

A seabird calls.
The unknowing one stands at the rail.
Peace. The circle closed.
The last word written.