Round 3: Christina Bredith Vs Zerith

[Silence Sei]

You have 2 weeks to complete this battle. May the best man win!

[Christina Bredith]

Christina’s journey was halfway to completion now. With each obstacle cleared, her goal became clearer and clearer, and she could see it ahead of her more clearly now than ever. It seemed, somehow, that each step was proving easier than the last, like a boulder gaining momentum on its flight down a steep hill. Just a few more, she thought, and nothing will be able to stop me.

Just between her and the heavy iron portcullis, a veil obscured her view of the arena. The monks liked to keep things a secret, it seemed, though she could hear the murmuring of the crowd outside well enough. Above that was another sound, deep and metallic and unchanging. It reminded her of the sound of a drawbridge being raised, only it must have been the longest and heaviest drawbridge in the world, because the sound had not ceased for so much as one heartbeat since it first drifted toward her.

Trumpets sounded their high, thin calls. The crowd fell quiet for a moment, leaving only the eternal sound of moving metal. Then a very similar melody added its notes, smaller and higher, to the overall chorus: gears were working within the walls to raise the iron gate in front of Christina, even as the chain mesh curtain was drawn aside. That was when she realized what the sound coming from the arena was, but by then, the sight was already filling her eyes.

There was no ground to be seen except for a giant, rotating gear, slowly making its turns. Its diameter spanned very nearly the entire pit, above which the crowd could be seen from their lofty seats. At least, some of them could be seen; the rest were hidden by the immensely complex network of gears that had been magicked into existence here, each one connected to a dozen others and those meshing into still more. Some were oriented vertically, forming walls and barriers of gnashing metal. Those lying parallel to the main platform formed smaller ledges, also rotating, some of them dizzyingly high. All were in constant motion.

As she scanned the arena from left to right and top to bottom, seeing nothing but gears upon gears in a giant ridiculous clockwork with no clock in sight, her stomach began to move in time with the gears too. Slowly turning, now upside down, now right again; she was glad she had not yet eaten today. How could she fight with such uneven footing? How could anyone? But of course, the answer was simple:

I don’t have a choice.

She could hear those smaller, higher notes again and realized that the portcullis was closing above her. As the only alternative was to retreat inside the tunnel and forfeit the match, she stepped down the nauseating staircase of gears before her. Each was turning in the opposite direction from the last, and by the time she reached the main platform, she felt as dizzy and unsteady as a fawn taking its first steps. The thick smell of grease and steam hung in the air around her like a fog, threatening to water her eyes and entice her stomach to dance once more.

But she had no choice. A few more steps, and nothing will be able to stop me.

[Zerith]

After the entire trip to get there, Zerith had finally reached the Serenti Invitational. With the ferry and the long walk that followed it was no surprise that one of the initial things the prince felt was relief. Yet as he thought about it, he eventually realized that he couldn’t quite relax now that he finally arrived. He still had a tournament to compete in and a fight already lined up in front of him. Although he wasn’t exactly thankful for the brief encounters he had with Solomon the monk and Teric Barton at first, his perspective had shifted now. It was because of them he felt more prepared a properly equipped for whatever his next challenge was. He couldn’t afford to lose now, not when it took so much effort to get to where he was now.

Standing in his holding cell with the iron grille blocking his entry into the arena, Zerith couldn’t help but feel the excitement rush through his body. Perhaps his feelings were attributed to all the times he spent fighting alongside Jensen Ambrose in the Citadel, as it would appear that the eccentric behavior of the immortal rubbed off on the halberdier and caused the Ixian Knight to bounce from foot to foot as he waited. Either way, the warder was eager to finally step into the arena and show then crowd what he was capable of. From there he hoped to use this first fight as a springboard and launch himself to the title of Champion. Then he could bring Sei’s army all the recruits they would ever need. Then he could finally sit back and relax.

The heavy, metallic sound that drowned everything else out reminded him of both the entrance to Ixian Castle and King Eric’s palace in Moriah. It was solid and loud, most likely caused by something both massive and strong. Even the trumpets and the mob in the stands couldn’t overpower it so they could also be picked up by Zerith’s hearing. He was barely able to differentiate the sound of the mechanisms that controlled the portcullis come to life and raise the gate that had blocked his way into the arena. Once the mesh curtain was moved aside and the match started, Zerith took his first few steps into his arena with confidence.

Yet his self esteem stumbled slightly when he entered the machine.

His first way he would have described his surroundings would be the inside of a clock. Incredibly large gears turned to a steady rhythm, with the largest of these serving as a base and primary level. Others rested a little higher, parallel to the main cog and would work as perfect ledges should the need to find higher ground come up during the fight. All of these were connected to vertical ones of various sizes and shapes and formed a single interconnected machine. When one moved, all the other moved simultaneously in perfect unison. Zerith couldn’t help but wonder if it all worked together to operate something else entirely. If it did, then he couldn’t even begin to imagine what it could possibly be.


Pushing himself to move forward and not be intimidated by feeling like a mouse in a clock, the halberdier nearly tripped over his feet as he tried to climb down the staircase of gears while each one turned in the opposite rotation from its predecessor. He landed on the main cog with a loud thud but managed to catch himself at the last second so he only fell on his hands and knees. Once he steadied himself, he slowly rose to his feet and instinctively adjusted his balance to account for the constant shift of movement, though he nearly feel again the first time the cog moved when he was completely upright. He finally bent over to retrieve his halberd once he felt comfortable. Once he had in his grasp again, he took a deep breath and finally felt ready to fight. He just had to find his opponent first.

It took only a few seconds until he spotted her on the other side of the cog. An attractive woman for sure, so much so that the halberdier wondered what she would have thought of the arena and the smell that came with it. To him it smelled of grease a grime, the stench that came with hard work and machinery and made a man proud of what he could possibly accomplish.

Shaking his head to clear the distractions, Zerith remembered why he was in his current predicament in the first place. He came to fight and to win at all costs. So with renewed determination he approached the other combatant with a solid stride and in perfect fighting stance. The sharp edge of Amenzanil already surged with power, issuing its own threat as electricity leaped and arced across the titanium.

[Christina Bredith]

To Christina, it smelled like toil. The overcoming of an obstacle. And beneath it all, a sweet, coppery scent anchored her through all the rest, cutting through the grit and grime. Refreshing, almost, like the tang of lemon.

To her, it smelled like victory.

Her opponent descended his own clockwork staircase uneasily; every bit as uneasily as she did, in fact, though she was grateful that he would never know that. He was a young thing, barely out of his teens unless she missed her guess, but his sapphirine eyes retained a vibrant youthful glow because of it. She stood across the great cog from him, draped shapelessly in her black half-cloak, as the arena turned slowly around them. It was easier to stomach if you thought of it that way. Christina drew down her hood to free up her vision; thick strands of strawberry hair tumbled loose and began dancing on the breeze, matching the rise and fall of her opponent's own brown locks.

Her opponent had his weapon at the ready, a promising-looking halberd with a bitter edge and a shocking disposition. She could already feel the factors playing through her mind unbidden: its length, the strength of its steel, the effect that strange enchantment would have on her strategies for handling the weapon. She waited for no invitation before adding yet another sound to the growing din: metal sang against metal as she drew Rosebite against its scabbard’s firm iron mouth. She couldn’t help but wonder if the runes engraved into her foe’s halberd were in any way similar to Rosebite’s own collection of odd gems.

“You must be Zerith,” she called out in high notes as clear as the ringing of a crystalline bell. Those carried well above the dull gnashing of metallic teeth that now surrounded them. At least she had heard the announcement of this one’s name, the monks having eschewed the cat-and-mouse game they had been so fond of for her previous battle. “I am Rosalyn de Havlan. I would ask about your intriguing weapon, but it seems I’m about to learn all about it first-hand.”

Unfortunately, besides his name Christina knew absolutely nothing about the man standing at the other end of their rotating world. She didn't like that; the only surprises she had ever liked, even as a girl, involved presents and large cakes, not blood and cold steel. They stood a moment longer to gain their bearings, comets orbiting the great star of combat, destined soon to clash. The crowd would not stand for the mere promise of a spectacle, though. First blood needed to be drawn, and Christina needed to dispel the blue-eyed mystery standing before her.

“Extend, Rosebite!” she called, and the sword obeyed, fracturing in several places across its length and extending into its whip form, which hung at her side like the limp tail of a scorpion. Then she started forward, bolting across the clockwork arena: she nearly stumbled at first, the metal floor threatening to come out from under her, but her body adapted quickly and each step found the ever-moving ground more easily than the last. Just keep your feet planted, she thought. Nothing fancy.

Rosebite was trailing behind her now like a bitter gray streamer, but as she drew closer to her opponent, she swung her arm in a wide arc. The energy tethers joining the blade’s segments snapped hungrily as the whip-sword’s full eleven foot sting was brought to bear on her opponent, coming in from his left in a cruel arc. How he reacted would tell her much. What he did after that would tell her everything.

[Zerith]

“It’s Prince Zerith,” the halberdier muttered.

The warder wasn’t born into nobility, so he wore his recent title with pride. His wife, Jasmine, was born a noble and never really urged people to use it when speaking to her. In fact, she would often lecture her husband whenever he reminded others to use it and remind him that he was only a “prince” because he married her. It was obvious that having a title felt like a burden to Jasmine at times while Zerith saw it as something to be respected and known.

Maybe all of the sudden renown that came to the noble was getting to his head. He was born a nobody, son of a couple living in a tiny village nobody in Althanas knew of. Now he was “Prince Zerith”, Captian-Commander of the Morian and General of the Ixian Knights. He was master of Sei Orlouge’s army and the public image of the Ixian Knights. People would recall face of the halberdier whenever they thought of the organization, not the telepath’s. So for “Rosalyn” to just assume that Zerith was indeed himself made the fighter feel insulted. She had to have either heard his name or seen a poster of him before in Radasanth if she was in Corone recently.

“ZERITH!! ZERITH!!” the crowd cheered above the two combatants. At least they still remembered and loved him.

When the woman drew her sword the general was unimpressed at first as he assumed he was just going up against another ordinary fighter with a simple arsenal at her disposal. Yet when the sword changed, that was when this stunning beauty really caught the halberdier’s interest. It seemed like the runes were more than just fancy designs, but if that assumption was wrong and the truth was that the sword itself just reacted to commands still made it unique. Up until that point Zerith only knew of one weapon that a similar trait. It was his halberd, Amenzanil.

As Rosalyn moved, the warder just watched as she darted forwards. She moved surprisingly fast despite the fact that she stumbled at first. Her whip followed behind her, flowing naturally like it was some sort of tail. Determination reflect shone through her silver eyes as she charged and Zerith braced himself for the inevitable confrontation that was about to himself. Grabbing onto his beloved polearm so he clutched onto it with both hands, Zerith readied himself to defend against whatever maneuver his opponent would open with.

Rosalyn swung her arm and Rosebite followed, striking out like a viper. Zerith reacted with instinct, and brought his weapon up to fend off the strike. Using the shaft as a shield, he watched as the blade’s segments wrapped around it. “You’re going to have to do better than that, Rosalyn,” Zerith spoke firmly. “I’m not just some dog you come at with a leash.”

As he pulled back in the polearm to try and pull the woman closer, one particular rune on Amenzanil began to glow a bright red and come to life a second later. The halberd was quickly engulfed in fire, burning brightly as the Ixian Knight slowly made his advance while trying to reel Rosalyn in closer through sheer strength. She would have to relinquish the hold her whip had on his weapon, or risk getting both burned and a jolted once Zerith pulled her close enough.

[Silence Sei]

Christina Bredith advances to the Quarter Finals!