AC: Round 2 - Group 6

[Revenant]

This thread is reserved for members of Group 6. The thread will open at noon on September 7th (Pacific time) and will be closed after two weeks.

Good Luck!

Group 6
Christoph
Zack Blaze

[Christoph]

All bunnies approved, except for children with allergies.

A sudden rush of images and sensations flooded Elijah's world. A bright light, a cool breeze. Men in robes and the feel of smooth stone beneath his back. Even half-awake, the Citadel veteran and former Pagoda Master recognized the minty taste of powerful restorative spells. Comforted by this realization, he let himself drift from consciousness, fleeing the memories of his previous trials in the Adventurer's Crown. Thoughts of the betrayals, sacrifices, and cruel premonitions of terrible futures scratched at the edges of his mind. He embraced sleep and let it all fall away, to contemplate another day.

He awoke to the smell of smog. The sounds machinery and many, many people filled the air. A city. He stood up and found himself on the rooftop of a tall stone building. A grey urban sprawl surrounded him, a sea of brick, iron, and flickering light stretching in all directions. Great black spires loomed over the city and plumes of smoke gathered into a thick haze in the red dusk sky. I know this place. This was Ettermire, the capital of Alerar and the largest city in the known world.

Elijah first came to the city after fleeing Salvar during the civil war two years prior. He'd found sanctuary from the religious agents of his homeland, along with opportunities for t a new life. Everything else grew from here – his career as a master in the Dajas Pagoda warrior's temple, his successful career as a freelance sorcerer, and his modest fame as a Citadel fighter. It was all possible because of the fresh start he found in this very city. It felt so strange to find himself back here so suddenly.

Below, horse-drawn carriages and strange steam-powered machines clogged cobbled streets alongside teeming multitudes of workers, dark elf and human alike, returning home. Soon, Ettermire would turn from a bustling metropolis into a dark and deceptively serene maze of dark alleys, forgotten tunnels, and unsavory characters. He used to love walking the streets at night, enjoying the sleeping city's unique intense silence – always charged with the threat of danger. Granted, the sorcerer doubted he was here for a stroll.

He felt something in the pocket of his chef coat. The old white thing had been with him for years; it showed as many scars as he did. It was tattered and threadbare, but he could never bring himself to throw it away. Too many memories. In the pocket he found a small roll of parchment wrapped with brown twine. He read it.

Amidst other treasures lies the weapon you lack, deep within a hall of blood.

He reached for his back, once again finding his sword gone. He sighed. Of course they can't make things easy. That sword, the Abyssal Blade, was the most powerful arcane relic he had ever owned. Without it, he felt almost incomplete. Surprisingly vulnerable. Still, at least he had a clue. He would find it in this “hall of blood.”

“This still doesn't make sense,” he said aloud to himself. “I thought the Adventurer's Crown was held on an island, yet here I am.”

[Zack Blaze]

“Have a theory behind that, actually,” Zack spoke as he walked up behind Eli, “The Island of Adventure probably has the same magical properties as the Citadel. Doesn’t surprise me, given the extent of Kenneth Stern’s powers.” He walked past the man he assumed to be his partner, placing a foot on the edge of the building and looking at everything below as a king would for his kingdom. “Zack Blaze.”

“Elijah Belov.”

“I know who you are, chef mage,” Zack turned around, smiling a bit now. His voice carried with it an admiration for the man before him, “One does not earn a reputation as a street fighter without hearing of your awesome fighting record.” He offered his hand to the wizard, a bright pearly smile across his face. Elijah cautiously offered his own hand, shaking with the youth as if forming an uneasy pact. His skin felt incredibly hot, like a man struck with some sort of fatal sickness.

Zack turned back to the city, the last strands of light slowly ducking beneath the horizon. The dark environment of Alerar made the boy feel as if he were supposed to be protecting this city rather than going on a makeshift scavenger hunt. He could smell the smoke coming from some houses down the way; hear the whirling machinations of the airships above. A slight chill took the air as Zack heard Elijah fiddling some sort of paper.

“What’s that?” Zack looked to the parchment, his eyes going over the words written within.

“A clue,” Elijah said, wrapping the paper back up once more. The boy couldn’t help but notice now exactly how tanned his new ‘friend’ was. It honestly made Zack question his own peach-like complexion. “We apparently have to find a hall of blood.”

Zack’s expression changed to a grin once more. He had spent enough time in Alerar to know just how shady the town was under the curtain of night. He rubbed his hands together, taking in the smell of the smoke with a new perspective. He inhaled the scent of Alerar’s inner workings as he pointed downwards. “Finding a ‘hall of blood’ in Alerar should be easy enough. The town is famous for underground fight clubs once the sun goes down. Luckily, Stern was smart enough to pair two great fighters together.”

The boy never questioned why there was now two of them rather than the four they had the previous round. Honestly, after his last adventure with the team he had secretly named ‘The Loser Squad’, Zack was surprised he even advanced, let alone gaining a partner with a reputation for defending himself. It was a nice change of pace.

“Well then, shall we?” Zack asked, looking to his partner expectedly. Surely, the great Elijah Belov had some kind of wind spell to glide them down to the street below…

[Christoph]

Elijah looked down, then back at his companion. His ally's intentions were clear. He smirked. Well, I see you have a flair for the dramatic. I think we'll get along fine. Of course, the fact that the other man actually knew him by reputation helped the sorcerer's mood. Best of all, his new comrade seemed to know where to go. Eli stepped to the edge and traced a quick series of glyphs into the air. The air stirred around them. He took the lead and the pair jumped from the rooftop. A strong and sudden updraft caught them during their descent, slowing their fall and setting them gently upon the street. And then they were off.

The last traces of color retreated from the sky as dusk turned to night. The air grew quickly and noticeably cold, though it felt rather comfortable compared to his homeland, Salvar. The city seemed to deteriorate as they walked. Abandoned mills and industrial workshops replaced shops and tenements. Cobbled streets crumbled away. As the they traversed this dark urban maze, nervous memories fluttered about the edges of Eli's mind: getting lost in twisting alleys, dangers lurking in the shadows. He reminded himself that he was no longer that weak and vulnerable youth from his first visit to Ettermire. It seemed even his psychological wounds left scars.

“Now, I must ask,” said Elijah as he followed behind Zack, “if so many fighting clubs exist in Ettermire, how do you know which one we want?”

“There's actually only one club in the city,” the younger man explained. “They just change location every couple of weeks.”

“How do we know where they are now?”

Zack paused at some seemingly random markings painted on a wall before turning down a side street. “There are ways.” For the next twenty minutes, they quietly traversed the twisting alleyways. The buildings on either side grew taller and taller; it felt like the walls were closing in on them. It made Elijah, a man raised in the open wilderness of Salvar, feel confined and claustrophobic. This entire decaying part of town did not sit well with him. It stuck out compared to the rest of the city, like a spot of rust on iron. Finally, Zack paused within sight of a seemingly random door, lit by a single lamp. Three large men stood in front of it.

“Here it is,” he said.

[Zack Blaze]

Zack looked to the lamp, at the odd symbol that seemed to be drawn on the glass with some sort of crayon. To the average passer-by, the lamp would be nothing outstanding, but to Zack’s allegedly brilliant mind, the light indicated that they had indeed arrived at their destination. Looking at the unremarkable door, Zack’s eyes shifted to the three men that stood guard by the entrance.

Three humans, all clothed in vary expensive fabrics. Their hair was cropped short, and their muscles were almost one flex away from tearing out of their clothes. These men were fighters, though ones who gained additional help honing their strength through various external means. They were figures that Zack had not met running in his circles, though to be fair, the youth’s job with Misery Business incorporated cut into his time of underground fighting. They covered the door as if their lives depended on it, all three with arms crossed, scanning the area for any undesirables attempting to come in.

“Let me handle this,” Zack said coolly as he approached the three gorillas in men clothing. He waved and flashed his charming smile, the nostrils of the closest guard widened, a new scent wafting into his nose. He looked at Zack with his green orbs, giving an assessment of the smaller man’s frames with just his eyes. After he finished looking the fighter up and down a few times, he waved the gentle-looking warrior off, as if shooing off a stray cat.

“Get out of here, little man,” his voice came out awkwardly, cracked as if he were still in pubescence, “we ain’t got time for no two second fights here.”

Zack raised an eyebrow at the bouncer, a tinge of jealousy slowly twitching his eye at the insult. “You misunderstand,” Zack said, trying to keep his composure as if the slur did not slight him, “My name is Zack Blaze, and contrary to what you may think, I am a very capable street fighter. In fact, I’ve fought here before. Hell, just a few hours ago I took out a dragon with my bare hands!” Zack raised his arms victoriously, showing off his toned, though by no means bulging, biceps.

“I said go on!” the bouncer raised his hand now as if to strike down the young scrapper. Zack lowered his hands in a ‘not so fast’ motion, trying to ease the tension between the two of them.

“You gotta believe me,” Zack spoke as the sounds of cheers came slipping out of the doorway. Apparently some of tonight’s matches were already underway, “Look, I’ll prove it to you. Me and my friend over there, how about the two of us take on you and one of your… masculine looking pals. We win, you let us in, we lose, well, I guess we’ll leave you alone.”

The three bouncers looked to one another before bellowing out a chorus of laughter. Wiping away a single tear from his eye, the head of the group nodded. “Alright little man, you got yourself a deal. Me and Tony versus you and your pal, out here, right now.”

Zack nodded, turning around to shout for Eli to come hither. The shout was cut short as a massive fist found its way into the spine of the fighter, sending him rolling towards his partner. His back pulsated with pain, and it hurt as Zack stood up and rubbed his spine. “Guess he meant it quite literally when he said ‘right now’…”

[Christoph]

What have you gotten me into?

It happened too fast. Two of the massive, well-dressed brutes lunged into instant action. One squared off with the reeling Zack while the other charged Elijah. With a few moments to prepare, the 'sorcerer-chef' could use magic to enhance his physical abilities to superhuman levels. The guards did not allow him that luxury.

His foe, a blond, square-jawed beast of a man, moved with shocking speed despite his size. Eli ducked just in time to avoid a ham-sized fist, which smashed into the wall behind him in a shower of shattered brick. He stepped aside and delivered punches to the guard's midsection. The former chef was no stranger to brawling, possessing considerable strength and speed even without the aid of sorcery. Yet, his foe felt like a stone pillar against his fists, and reacted about as much. The guard's second punch struck his diaphragm like a sledge, sending the wiry former-chef sailing back several feet.

He hit the ground hard, gasping for air. I've always been better with a sword than my fists. Still, despite his wiry flame, Belov was built lean and tough like whipcord. He jumped to his feet as his opponent charged and stepped back to dodge a kick. He lunged forward, driving his elbow hard into the brute's jaw. For the first time, the huge guard staggered. Eli seized the opening. Power surged through his hands as he thrust his palm into his foe's chest. Flames burst from his hand, igniting the guard's expensive clothes.

“You little shit!” growled the smoldering brute, ripping off his burning coat and shirt. His backhand effortlessly knocked the former-chef to the ground. “I liked this suit!” The man's bare torso was covered in strange runic tattoos that Eli recognized immediately: wards. Even in the city of science, men took the threat of magic seriously.

Elijah scrambled up and flashed a sardonic grin. “It's no big loss. Your temperament is better suited to loin cloths and bear skins, anyway.” He backed up as his foe advanced; the huge man's muscles rippled beneath his skin as though threatening to burst free. Belov focused his will, letting sorcerous energy surge through him. Even the guard's potent wards could only withstand so much.

Fire flickered about the sorcerer's feet. Tendrils of smoke drifted from his fingertips as his hands moved in smooth and rapid motions, forming occult shapes in the air as the very threads of reality shuddered at Elijah's touch. A blast of white flame erupted from his palms and exploded against his foe's chest. A metallic shriek ripped through the air as his magic overwhelmed the guards warding tattoos. The big man staggered and bellowed in pain and rage. Eli's grin widened as he gathered his power yet again. He never heard the third guard come up behind him. An unseen blow struck the back of his head, knocking his world into darkness.

“Damn mages.”

[Silence Sei]

While Elijah found himself busy with his opponent, Zack and his foe were already trading blows with one another. The boy would deliver a sharp jab to the face, only to be compensated by a fist to his ribs. His right hook would come in hard, once again aiming at his foe's features. The grunt's head reeled backwards, coming back just in time to recieve a swift roundhous kick to the side of his head. He growled, nailing Zack once more in his midsection, and this time the blow was more than enough to make the street fighter double over.

A hand came in the form of an uppercut, launching Zack into the air. His glance shifted over to his partner, grinning through bloodied teeth as he watched the chef set his temporary rival aflame. He landed on his back, the impact sending a surging pain through his entire form. His ribs throbbed in time with his heart beat, and his face felt as if he had slammed it into a tree. Regardless, Zack scrambled back on his feet, his fists clenched tight as he concentrated his efforts, focusing on the motions Eli had done to create the fire.

Zack sent out an uppercut towards his foe, hoping that his dedication to his craft would pay off. One good thing the boy had learned from being a mime enthusiast was that he picked up and hand signals rather quickly. A spark of orange launched from the knuckles of Zack, running across the ground to barely tap the bouncer's shoes. The large man's head had followed the pathetic display of power, looking at the small puff of smoke that rose up from his footwear. He laughed and looked back up, only to be greeted by Zack's hands clasped together, slamming into the side of his face. The double-handed axe apparently pissed the man off, for he stumbled backwards, let out what could best be described as a growl, and let out a sharp whistle.

The door flung open and two more similarly dressed men emerged from the club. Zack scowled, rolling his shoulders in preperation for a bigger fight than he had anticipated Looking over towards Eli, Zack was shocked to instead see a gargantuan hand before an inky blackness overtook him...

He woke up to the feeling of being slapped, his head jostling from left to right upon each impact. Groggily, he opened his eyes to look at his mystery attacker. A blue business suit greeted him, though the teen's gaze was quickly drawn over to the mane of cropped orange atop the man's head. His nose looked more like a beak, pointy and sticking out further than it should have. A small set of stitches rested under this man's left eye, though upon further inspection, it was merely a tatoo. While his body type was nowhere near the same level as his guards, the frame of this expensively dressed man was nothing to scoff at. To Zack's right, he could see Elijah stirring awake, hands and legs bound to a chair via a rope with various symbols written upon the material. A magic ward to keep the magician from burning through his entrapments. Clever Zack thought.

"Do you know who I am?" the voice came out as if this person was offended, tones of an accent Zack could not quite pin down spilling out of his mouth, "Do you? My name is Nonag. I run dis here joint. And you my friend... you and your pal are in for way more than you bargained for..."

[Christoph]

My head...

Elijah woke to a new voice. He could not move. He felt a heavy pressure between his eyes, a heaviness in his mind. More anti-magic. He opened his eyes and scanned his surroundings. They were in a dank, dark cellar room that felt like a cross between a sewer and a dungeon cell. A flickering torch illuminated the area and cast light upon their captor.

“Look, Norman or Nunan or whoever you said you were, I'm sure that you think you're a very important person in the rich society of... underground urban cesspools.” Their captor growled and turned toward Eli, as though noticing him for the first time. He continued unperturbed. “But you need to learn the same lesson I did over the past year.” His voice went cold and deadpan. “It doesn't matter who you are or how great you think you are; nobody will give a dragon's ass about you.” He expected to feel the back of Nonag's hand, but instead the fiery-haired man forced out a laugh.

“Matter of fact, I do know who you are, Mister Belov.” Their captor circled behind him out of sight. Eli perked up at the sound of his name. “I've heard a lot about you. In fact, some might call you my hometown hero.” Finally his strange accent clicked; this 'Nonag', as he called himself, was a Salvar native. Have I truly been away from home so long that I can barely recognize the accent anymore? Even tainted with Ettermire's underworld dialect, he should have noticed it.

“I appreciate flattery as much as the next man, but-” Their captor punched him square in the face. He tasted blood, but the pain barely registered; he'd experienced far worse in his life.

“You aren't,” Nonag spat. He stepped directly in front of the sorcerer, filling his field of view. He could see it, now: the slight slant of the eyes and the high Salvic cheekbones. “You're a traitor.”

Of course he's a loyalist, Eli thought. Aloud and in an earnestly somber tone, he said, “Perhaps I am, but not in the way you would think.”

“I don't care.” Nonag leaned in close, sneering. “I don't live there anymore, either. What really pisses me off is how you come to my joint and mess with my people.

Zack chimed in from the side. “If they'd just let us in, it wouldn't have been a problem.”

“Shut up!” their captor snapped, waving a dismissive hand in his direction.

“He is right, you know.” Belov tried to shrug, but the bindings held him too tight. “Regardless of your misguided opinions of me, I have no quarrel with you. You have something of mine here, and I simply want it back.”

“Ha! You're on my turf now, bud. You're mine, you hear me? Why should I give you anything?”

Eli smirked. “Well, it might help you transcend this Belligerent Villain routine you're pulling-”

“Shut your mouth!” Nonag shouted, backhanding his captive hard across the mouth but failing to wipe away the smirk.

“Laying it on a little thick, don't you think?” Belov flexed his tingling jaw. “What do you want, then?”

“You caused me trouble, so you owe me a debt,” their captor replied. “One way or another, you're gonna pay me back. So get comfortable. You're gonna stay right where you are until I decide what to do with you both.” Without another word, he left and slammed the door behind them.

“Well,” said Elijah after a brief silence. He closed his eyes and sighed, the confident smirk melting from his face like a frost at dawn. “That could have gone better.”

[Zack Blaze]

Zack's eyes shot a glare towards Eli for only a moment as he tried to wrestle his wrists out of his ropes. "What the hell, man?" Zack asked, his tone sounding more hurt than angry, "You're Elijah Belov, you could have fried all of those guys with a single thought! What happened out there?"

Eli replied with a carefree shrug, which did nothing but further the teen's anger towards him. "It happened too quickly. I couldn't react fast enough."

"That is a load of crap!" Zack shouted, no longer worried if anyone could hear him, "You had plenty of time to fight him, and I even got a good little brawl out of the deal. You had more than enough time to make sure we were celebrating over barbeque bouncer!" Zack's bound hands were clenched in anger now. First he had been given a team of imbeciles, now a magician on par with the greats who refused to flaunt his skills. "I mean, for Thayne's sake, do you even -want- to win this thing?"

"To be honest," Eli shifted his gaze towards the ground, "I don't know." He looked back up at Zack, who had his head tilted to the side as if asking him to explain. "At the end of my last challenge, I saw a glimpse of what might happen if I win. Divination, a potential future. It... wasn't good. I've tried not dwelling on it, but I'm forced to wonder if winning the Adventurer's Challenge is worth the risk."

Zack shook his head in reply to this. The teen spit on the floor, disgusted with his idol's lack of faith. "We control our own fate, Belov. Free will has never been an illusion, and the only people who can control what we do is us. It's why every great tyrant eventually gets overthrown, why a single person with a single voice can rise through the ranks of the Dajas Pagoda, and why we're going to win this damn tournament at all damn costs! I mean, the grand prize is the Destiny's Book! If you're so damned worried about your whole life being so linear, what better tool to use to correct it than a book that knows literally everything?" Eli's bound body posture shifted at this, becoming upright and proud. It seemed, at least to Zack, that Elijah had found his epiphany.

Zack threw his chest forward, shifting his bodyweight as the chair jumped forward a bit. He did this several more times until he was facing the man that he had thought of as someone to look up to. "I don't know what you're deal is, but you need to wake up and snap out of it. I am not going to get killed in an Alerar third-rate club that I've never even heard of." His bangs fell towards his face as he ranted. The boy puckered out his lower lip, blowing air upwards as hard as he could to put the stray strands back in place.

The door opened again, shedding some bright light over the two. Nonag, accompanied by one of the two bodyguards who were not scorched, walked over to Zack. The duo seemed unfazed by the teen's new position in the room, Nonag simply swinging the boy's chair back to its proper position. "Here's what's gonna happen," He said, speckles of spit leaving his mouth and finding a home on Zack's cheek, "You, pretty boy, since you wanna fight so badly, are gonna get your wish. We'll be keeping the scum here as collateral in case you try anything stupid while you're down there in my arena." Even as he spoke, Zack's eyes suspiciously followed the bouncer, who had walked behind the youth to release him from his warded bonds.

"It's not just your arena," Zack retorted, standing when his legs were free, "You just got luck of the draw."

"You wound me with your words," Nonag's fake sincerity was accompanied by his hand upon his heart, as if he had been struck by an arrow, "I am but a simple business man wishing to make a profit on one who would cause me so much financial pain. If you can last a little while against one of my boys, you and the chef are free to go. If you survive. Deal?"

Zack rubbed his sore wrists, his skin irritated from the rope, his blood circulating back into his hand better. The boy took a step forward towards Eli's chair, placing a hand upon the spine of the furniture before being rushed out by the large bouncer. "You just do what you can do." Zack said as the door closed behind him, a slight smirk on his face as he gave Eli one last glare, this one filled with a prideful arrogance, as if he felt he had done something amazing. In his mind, he had. The wards for the magic prevented Eli from setting fire to the ropes, his hands bound too tight to touch anything else. However, the chair the man was sitting on had no such wards.

And Zack had just set a small flame on the wood in an attempt to free his partner.

[Christoph]

The door slammed shut again, leaving Eli alone in the dark. A chaotic storm of thoughts swirled in his mind. Zack was right about him. He was Elijah Belov! Since when did he mope, or let the tides of fate sweep him away into an unwanted future? Whatever future held, he would meet it head on. Lesser men let destiny enslave them, but not him. When I win the Book, I will enslave destiny, not the other way around!

But first, he needed to break free – a difficult feat, given the potent wards that bound him. They pressed heavily against his awareness, all but smothering his magic. He despised this helplessness! Then he felt subtle heat beneath him. Smoke reached his nose. Faint orange light flickered from under his chair. Fire! The crazy bastard. Zack had sparked a fire. He needed only wait for it to eat into the warded ropes, weakening the enchantments that subdued him. Freedom!

The flame began to dim, dying on the chair's damp wood. Eli cursed. He gathered his arcane power and pushed against the wards, but he may as have tried to move a mountain or beat back the tide. If only his magic could touch the struggling flame... even the gentlest nudge would keep it alive.

Inspiration struck him. The warded ropes easily subdued the full might of his abilities, but what if he didn't need all of his power? Why push down a wall if he can squeeze through a crack? He focused, for once reining in his deep wells of arcane energy. He probed outward with the slightest trickle of power, a needle piercing thick cloth. And then his mind was free, if only a small part of it. Strange words slipped softly from his lips, a whisper within a whisper. As though responding to his voice, the dying flame sprang to life. Fire crawled steadily up the chair's leg.

Soon, the room filled with smoke. The ropes ignited. Elijah felt the suffocating wards weaken. With a final push, he shattered the enchantment. The sorcerer stood as the ropes and chair burnt to ash, leaving only a pile of smoldering embers at his feet. He stretched his cramped limbs and laughed. He was free at last from those cursed wards. He felt like a swimmer coming up for air.

“What's going on in there?” The voice came from outside his cell. “What's that smell?” The lock turned.

Now that's polite of him, saving me the trouble of blasting down the door. The cell door flew open and another large, though more poorly-dressed, man stepped inside. Elijah was ready. He punched the guard hard in the temple. The man staggered dizzily to the side; Belov kicked out his knee, sending the brute toppling over. He followed with a brutal knee to the jaw as his foe fell, sealing the deal. He knelt beside his unconscious opponent, patting him amiably on the shoulder.

Now I find the vault and hopefully my sword inside it. And pray that Zack's fight keeps these fools good and distracted.