The Aislinn Chamber

[Amber Eyes]

She fell. Her feet hit something hard and soon she was flying. The mystic’s arms fell before her to catch the fall, and sharp pain radiated throughout her body as gravel imbedded itself in her flesh. She pushed hard against the ground, willing herself to continue.

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There were familiar faces in the dungeons, some she hoped to defeat, some she hoped to fight alongside, and some she hoped to avoid altogether. Kyla took it all in, swearing not to touch Arden unless given no choice. Not only was he a good man who was well respected within the knights, but Kyla owed him everything after he stopped her death at the hands of William Arcus.

When the barrier lowered the combatants began to square off before Kyla could adjust to the rainbows that filled the room. The mystic stood stunned for a moment as the crowd began to pile onto the steps behind her. The young mother played the possible scenarios in her mind, figuring her best shot would be to bide her time.

The girl made a mad dash for the cells lining the back wall of the dungeon, swinging open a heavy iron door and entering the space. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Arden making a move for Talen, a former teammate. She had no ill will towards the child-sized man, but even her own life meant less now than The Hound’s. For now though, the man seemed capable of handling himself.

Across the cell she noticed two players from the first round, a terrifying creature and a young girl. Kyla’s mind immediately raced with thoughts of revenge. If she accomplished nothing else in this battle, Resolve’s soul would inhabit Sophia’s Mane by the time the walls fell.

The girl stepped back, hidden behind the bars, but left the door open. It was unclear who might have seen her enter, but hiding was the least important part of her plan. This round would be different, Kyla would not be caught off guard.

On the steps Anita whispered, “So she’s going to hide in a cell inside the cell?” Her disappointment was obvious, her face showing clear disgust.

Emma smiled, “I think she has a plan.”

Ella sat with her brow furrowed, staring at her lap. Her voice was deeper than normal, tinged with anger and sadness. “I hope she dies already, she owes me a coin.”

[Warpath]

Flint stood in the dark watching the shadows move – bloodthirsty silhouettes feeling out the killing ground, looking for soft places to stick sharp things. As before, he only watched for the moment, eyes narrowed, arms tense. None of the shades had the reckless confidence he was looking for, the deadly self-assurance. Cronen wasn’t here.

The figures began to choose one another, circling like wolves, and the tension on the cell block grew into an almost audible thing: it was like somebody was drawing a dagger blade slowly across a violin string. Flint heard it in his soul, the coming of something bad, and then it snapped.

The darkness relinquished a swaggering shape in the peripherals of Flint’s vision, and the naked confidence in its body language gave him a thrill of fear – Cronen, he thought at first, but no. Shorter but still taller than Flint, narrower, coffee-skinned and decidedly female.

Resolve announced herself with a smirk, and Flint straightened his back and gripped his belt. He looked her over, and for an instant he considered taking a swing at her. The fact that she hadn’t done it already was a revelation, and it gave him pause.

“Well?” she said.

“Forgive me,” Flint said, in a way that implied he did not want or need forgiveness. “I am confused. I was not aware you were capable of waiting for anything.”

“Okay, if you’d prefer a broken jaw now instead of later, just keep talking.”

“There you are,” Flint said, smiling with something predatory in his eyes. “Perhaps it would be better…”

And then the brute was interrupted by a cold thrill humming up his spine, a chilly vibration struck by another familiar voice. He tore his eyes off of Resolve’s face, which was now mirroring the disquiet on his own, and he gazed into the dark. Dancing yellow balefires bobbed out of the shadows and solidified into reptilian eyes, set in a smirking visage.

“Aurelianus,” Flint said evenly. “A moment, if you please.”

The brute turned quite suddenly and crossed the block to one side where he had, at that moment, caught sight of a skulk slipping into one of the cells. He walked as if unaware of her presence, and then he lashed out and grabbed hold of the cell door, and with a furious twist he slammed the cell door shut with a thunderous metallic crash.

He couldn’t see Kyla Orlouge, nor did he even know to whom that briefly-glimpsed female silhouette belonged, but he spoke into the dark anyway: “My lady,” he said, “please make yourself comfortable. We will become acquainted presently.”

Satisfied that there was one less immediate threat, the brute stepped away from the now-locked cell and returned to Resolve and Aurelianus, each poised to strike out at the other. “Two of my very favorite people in one place,” he told them as he approached. “I cannot decide which of you to kill first.”

Bunnying approved, obviously.

[Hysteria]

The competitors entered the arena, my eyes straining to take in the varied, and frankly, confronting visages of battle. The barrier rose up in front of the crowd, and I was more than a little grateful for the protection it offered. The irony of being accidentally taken out by a rouge spell or bolt would not temper my death. My eyes flashed back up, crossing over the monster, the women, brutes and warrior. One of the women ducked into a cell, while an armoured man moved towards Talen.

The youth lifted his crossbow up towards the man I recognised as Arden, another Ixian knight. Talen's eyes were cold, a slight hint of recognition passed over his face, but no warmth accompanied it. He spoke, his voice shallow and slightly husky. He sounded annoyed and tired.

“Arden,” Said Talen, “Are you planning on attacking me? I'm not really in the mood for fucking around. I'll happily postpone a proper fight for another time. For now how about you follow my lead and we clean house?”

The uppity kid didn't wait for an answer. Arrogance seemed personified as he strode towards the bald warrior and horned demon, his feet clicking purposefully with each step. I find the next thing that happened hard to explain. Darkness seemed to leech off his body, seeping from his cloths and skin as if he was melting. I felt cold all of a sudden, the darkness seemed to draw in the light, draining it. The shadows started to wash outwards, their dark waves forming a foot high sea that filled a surprisingly large amount of the arena.

“Its good to see you Kyla.” Talen's words bit through the air, “But you are resigning yourself to defeat if you stay in there. You, me and Arden, thoughts?”

The words were directed to the woman who ducked into one of the cells, but his eyes were locked on the brute and demon. The shadows whipped up against anyone who approached whom he considered an enemy, a fact that I found out later. In that moment the woman Kyla and the man Arden were considered allies of some sort. Talen lifted his crossbow up and pointed it at the demon, a tiefling apparently. He didn't fire, just stood their watching.

The cell emanated with sudden squeaks of alarm. Rats poured out of hidden cracks in the floor and cells around the youth. Their little furry forms scurried across the ground; feeing the nefarious shadow magic. The ominous sign was punctuated with several larger squeaks and I could just make out a few small rats lying motionless through the shadow waves. They had their strength pulled from their body, what little endurance they had sapped. People would take longer to effect, but I was certainly glad I was shielded behind the barrier.

Talen's skill drains endurance for everyone within 25 metres (three posts to have significant effect), I've written it as being linked to the shadows, so if you move outside the circle around Talen you won't be effected. At the moment Aur, Flint, Resolve and Arden (if he follows) are within range, but Arden is not effected.

[Roht Mirage]

Astarelle didn't see the invisible wall drop, but she heard it. The rumble of the anxious spectators upstairs suddenly stilled as if an earthquake brooding nearby had jumped halfway across the continent. It was still there, of course, an ominous awareness in the back of her mind, but the sound of shuffling bodies took its place as the dominant stimuli.

This is it? Astarelle wondered. Aside from the youth that had faded toward the end of the corridor, she had only seen one other competitor; a Fallien woman. She might have not seen her at all if not for a section of bars that thrummed to purple-hued life at her passing. Resolve, the ball of last night's debaucherous memories told her. She didn't get the sense that she had inspired any vendetta in the woman. That, at least, was a welcome change from the familiar 'strangers' she had run into in the first round,

The woman disappeared into the shadows after the bars' bruise-toned glow faded back into darkness, but reappeared as she passed Astarelle. There was one moment of eye contact in which Astarelle could read nothing of the Fallien woman's intentions, which proved benign -for the moment- as she continued on. Those painted dots, though, traversing her desert-kissed cheeks like a line of snow-white freckles in military lockstep, stirred the memories.

~

Smoke hovered in the air, tainting the overpowering smell of perfume with an acrid aftertaste. Lights flashed as if the boisterous night itself was blinking a thousand times over. Whether that was the work of magic, engineering, or just the writhing shadows of bodies on the dance floor, the memory couldn't make clear. Roht Mirage -Astarelle was an old, inferior name- sat on a bar stool that reverberated with the bass beats of some bestial, throbbing music. The vibrations filled her body, tingling all the right places physically as her partner at the bar did the same for the cerebral side of her lust. Those grey-blue eyes whispered secrets and promises more sensuously than any poetry in tradespeak or fallien ever dared. Roht was enraptured, though her body hummed with the intent to make good on those promises. Resolve took a slow, luxurious drink of some dark, biting liquor in a short glass, then offered it teasingly. Their fingers brushed as Roht accepted and pressed to her lips the exact edge that was still warm from the desert temptress' own.

~

“Wow,” Astarelle whispered. In the last few hours, she had been accused of forcing a giant dangerously close to a 'mating session', as well as recovered her bracelets from a woman whose creamy white legs had enabled the theft during the mercifully-foggy evening, but that... That was a taste of home she wasn't sure even existed on her palate, though it did bring a heat to her cheeks that threatened to draw sweat.

With a shake of her head and an awkward chuckle in the back of her throat, Astarelle inched into the center of the corridor. She took care with each step, for the toes and heels of her shoes were reinforced with iron plates and only the soles would afford her silent passage. Unsure of what she planned, she looked in the direction that Resolve had vanished, but spotted only a large shape silhouetted against the torchlight of a gambling cell at the hall's end. Hands were raised and mouths clicked like baby birds awaiting a meal, yet the earsplitting wagers were muffled into nothing more than the staggered rush of a far-off wind. The bulk of what must have been two people side-by-side blocked out most of the light. I'm outnumbered if they both go after me, she thought dourly. Then, the edge of Resolve's silhouette entered the scene, and Astarelle realized that there were only two legs underneath all the bulk of the person she approached.

An ill-remembered sexual dalliance and a mountain of muscle that could undoubtedly tie her in a knot: that was not the way to go.

She turned to examine the other end of the corridor by the backing light of the other gambling chamber, but a sudden creak and slam of one heavy cell door caused every vertebrae in her spine to jump almost independently. Without thinking, she scuttled into the nearest cell and pressed herself into its back corner as if the light shafting down would burn her. Bury me, she cursed as she found her hands empty again. She extended both toward the open door and willed her staff back to her. It slid with only a scraping whisper as far as the opening, then stopped on a whim that tickled the part of her mind that wasn't focused on taming her rapid heartbeat. Though she could barely make out the long shape, she estimated that a quarter of the staff's length still extended into the hall, its exposed end almost touching the thick vertical bar that the cell door would latch onto should it close. With a hesitant catch of her breath, she lowered her hands. The staff would function as an iron-strong doorjamb should anyone try sealing her in.

Then, the dark shape of her first-glimpsed opponent moved past. Darkness welled as if to eat away what little vision she had, and a throng of bright-eyed rats welled up with it... and cried in pain. Whatever blackness had taken sway in the corridor was unnatural even to them.

What would Roht Mirage do? Astarelle asked herself desperately. No grand tactic came to her. That other self was a drunk-flirting, child-beating blurred shape in the distance, while Astarelle was just a woman cowering in the corner of the afterlife's depths, or some place indistinguishable. She willed her tattoos to roll until the darkest browns hid the brightest whites, then spread the dark mask over her exposed face and shoulders. After that came the difficult task of remembering how to breath.

[Amber Eyes]

She rose. Her arms aching from the cold. Her clothes were soaked through and the muddy water pasted the cloth to her skin. She could feel him in the shadows. He inched closer and once again she contemplated running.

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The cell door slammed shut and Kyla cursed under her breath. The thunderous boom filled the small space, bringing the girl back to reality. Disappointment clouded her mind for just a moment. Why aren’t people ever as stupid as I want them to be?

“Time for plan b, I suppose.” She whispered the words, a smile forming on her lips.

The mystic felt the shadows running through her and a solid form filled her right hand. The shadows of the dungeons seemed to feed her, offering her unlimited options. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of melding into the darkness. Just as she began to shadow step she heard Talen speak. The journey was cold as always, her body felt weightless, tied to the ground by only the tiniest of strings. Sophia’s Mane glowed, the souls of the room bringing the weapon to life, and the mystic tensed her hand, allowing the glove to release its claws.

“Its good to see you Kyla.” The mystic perked at her name. “But you are resigning yourself to defeat if you stay in there. You, me and Arden, thoughts?”

The girl’s heart leapt. She could ensure the survival of both the men she hoped to help while still accomplishing her own goal in the tournament.

In moments she was in the main chamber directly behind the brute who closed the cell door. She saw movement towards another cell, and taking notes from the burly man, she focused her energy on the door to the now occupied chamber. The mystic noted the staff sticking through the doorway, pulling it into the main room before forcing the door to slam shut.

As the metallic clang rang once again Kyla looked at her would-be captor. The mystic paused for the tiniest of moments when she noted just how large the man truly was. You aren’t alone in this. The young woman lifted her sword and brought it down with all her might. “I thought you’d never ask!”

[Resolve]

Resolve's nerves piqued upon Aurelius' appearance, her wiry form tensing as she forced herself to calm with slow, steady breaths. As glad as she might have been to see him, having both the tiefling and the brute at her disposal in a fight to the death, she couldn't allow the rage take over. She needed to keep her head.

As Flint stepped aside to lock a skulking figure into one of the cells, Resolve nearly laughed, recognizing the mystic's astral signature right away. After Kyla screwed her out of a clean kill with her teleportation in the last round, she knew such a move wouldn't prove itself particularly effective, but the notion was amusing enough. Still, she kept watch on the others in her peripherals, noticing another creep into one of the divisions as others collected in the hall. The smirk renewed on her lips as she kept vigilant, just waiting for someone to think they could catch her off guard.

And then Flint returned, offering an arrogant line which coaxed a sharp laugh from the exorcist. She braced her hands on her hips with a sashay. "Yes, kill me over him with Lune watching, that'll go over well." She could feel their mutual friend's presence nearby, a comforting, familiar warmth within the shadowy tangle of spectators.

Upon hearing this, the brute's composure flickered with nigh imperceptible question. She imagined him as a mirror of how she felt in the LCC, when she first met the man who'd stolen her closest friend. Who was Luned keeping secrets from now? She relished it with a gratuitous, premature sense of triumph, quickly severed by the sudden eruption of rats. They surged up with a flood of shadows onto the floor as if from an abyss, and with them came a strange sensation, one she couldn't quite place. This newer, inkier darkness settled over her skin like soot, dingy and ominous. Some distance behind Flint, she noticed the child spectating with an unsettling sort of patience, and she knew it was time to act.

But no –– she hadn't finished with Flint yet.

"I forgot, she didn't tell you, did she? Lune visited me during recovery, told me to say––" She faltered, noting Kyla's appearance behind him as if she could see straight through the hulk of a man.

Not cool. As far as Resolve was concerned, Flint was hers.

"Move," she warned Flint, perhaps a bit too late, and drew her own sword. Conjuring a shield of wispy energy, she charged the mystic, shoving aside the brute if need be.

Kyla owed her a good death, and the exorcist was determined to cash in.

[Arden]

Arden curled his lips into a cruel, sadistic smile. The moment Talen and Kyla turned their back to him he lurched into action. There was an urgency to his movement, but also, a determination instilled by biting his tongue for far too long.

“No thanks,” was all he said in reply.

He raised his right foot. He rotated with a snap of his heel. His cloak shrunk as he spun, shrinking with a whip of the cloth to shoulder length. He slammed his foot down to steady himself, and then shoulder charged the air. The pauldron, revealed to the dim light, flickered with umbra energy and came to life.

Ahroo!

A wisp of smoke darted from the mastiff’s head. It danced around Arden in a maelstrom of darkness, formed a hound that danced through the air, and then charged Talen. After a few feet, it solidified, dropped to the ground, and continued in a trundling, slavering gallop. Free of the beast’s burden, he immediately felt lighter, untethered, and unrestrained.

Ahroo! It growled, its teeth gnashing, its tail wagging, as it made for Talen’s right leg.

“I saved you once…,” he whispered, glaring daggers at Kyla’s back.

He had returned her from the precipice of death in the siege of Ixian Castle. There, she truly was threatened. If he had not plunged his blade into her chest, she would have died. Sei Orlouge would have hunted him. Jensen Ambrose would have tormented him for eternity.

He waved his hand through the air, fingers dancing, and fringe wavering in an unseen breeze. A blue light formed around his fingertips, signifying the presence of magic, and a sphere of silence formed around the mystic’s head.

Here, however, when his sword ended her life, it would only be a fleeting bout of suffering. He grinned. He charged. He raised his blade to thrust through her spine, and roared with canines glinting in the light every step of the way.

[Warpath]

Flint’s face went slack, and he resisted the urge to look toward the crowd. Had Luned seen him during the first round? His mind raced over his actions, dissecting them from a better person’s point of view. What monstrous things had he revealed about himself? He couldn’t recall breaking anything soft or helpless or undeserving, but had she seen him mangled? Had she watched him die?

The fallieni fighter was still taunting him, but his eyes flicked over to Aurelianus. Now the tiefling knew she was here, too. Things were becoming complicated, but his decision was quickly made. If the monks’ ability to resuscitate him was in question, Flint could not fall unless he’d somehow dealt with Aurelianus Drak’shal first. Resolve was the lesser of the two threats – she, like Flint, would protect Luned without reservation. This transformed her instantaneously from aggressor to asset.

Flint was tense, poised to lash out at the smirking guttersnipe, oblivious to Resolve’s continued taunts. It was only that tension which saved him. When Resolve suddenly snapped at him to move, lunging forward herself, the brute was already primed to action. He spun and twisted at the torso with speed and agility that defied his chiseled bulk, raising his left arm high and his right arm low on honed defensive instinct.

The she-mystic was committed to a dramatic, fatal downward slash – a forceful blow, but one that required a few more precious fractions of a second to resist gravity and then, afterward, to build downward momentum. Those instants were enough for Flint to swing his left forearm up and out to meet that executioner’s slash, aided by the momentum of his full-body turn. The singing edge of the young lady’s sword impacted the impenetrable barrier of Flint’s left vambrace, spitting sparks into the dark and illuminating both their faces for a blink of the eye.

There was no time for thought or tactics now. Flint relied on instinct tempered by foreknowledge. He had fought Resolve twice, and was a strong proponent of the idea that one truly learns the nature of a person by struggling against them – he knew she would charge into combat with the slightest provocation. His heart was quickened, but hadn’t yet had time to beat since the sword met his bracer, and already he lashed out with his right forearm with the intent to hammer the blade upward and aside while simultaneously twisting away and to the right. Ideally his attacker would be left off-balance, incapable of bringing her sword to bear before Resolve skewered her, and Flint would be out of harm’s way regardless.

Only after he was committed to the escape did Flint see an armored youth charging the swordswoman from behind.

The brute pushed aside the instinct to wince sympathetically. This was like to be bloody.

[Roht Mirage]

Unbeknownst to the adults, the “ferals” did have names. Private names, formed within the vocabulary limitations of the abandoned young, and always spoken in a whisper when the tall ones were around. These children knew who they could trust. It was a small group, both in size and stature.

While the majority of them climbed the railing to get a better view of their promised champion, a peculiar trio sat far back on the steps, heads together. Bash, Dog, and Pond had been the quiet ones ever since coming under Master Kotra's care. They weren't always that way. Bash once ran the gang in that long ago (to a child) time. Dog, Pond, and Coin were what the adults might call lieutenants, but they just called each other best friends. Then, one rainy morning behind a butcher shop, the new kid arrived. He gave Bash a lump on the head and claimed a fitting name for himself along with the throne. A week passed under the new leader until the old man found them -what remained of them- after a fight with an adult who smelled like shit and blood. He healed them, but Coin... They didn't talk about Coin anymore. They also didn't like to see blood.

“I hear the old man gives Lump candy. That's why Lump won't let us leave,” Bash whispered.

“I want candy,” Dog whined.

“Don't take adult candy,” Bash warned.

Pond, normally quiet, chimed in wisely. “Adult candy is a trap.” He shook his head warily, slapping droopy strands of hair against the others' faces. They had all suffered the indignity of the tub, but escaped near the end of the ordeal and were spared the trauma of Raylene's brush. Their long hair lay stiffly in whatever position it had dried. Dog had taken a nap on the lawn immediately, so his hair stuck all to one side and bore streamers of green.

“Hey!” Lump bellowed like a half-inflated balloon. He stepped onto the tier above them, boosting his height advantage. His girth also had an advantage; especially strange for a child of the alleys. “Look what I got.” He beamed a devilish grin as he brandished a coin pouch that took both hands to hold.

Dog and Pond stared in amazement. Bash jumped up, almost knocking them over. “No picking,” he hissed, “Old man's rule. You made us promise.”

Lump squared his shoulders. “I didn't take it,” he said, hugging the pouch as if it contained a week's worth of candy coin and a delicious secret. “Someone gave it to me.”

“You picked it,” Bash almost shouted, then shot a wary glance at the backs of the old man, the almost-adults, and the adult-loving little brother. They all seemed absorbed in the fight. “If you can break rules..” he finished as he walked away, his two friends at his heels.

Their leader called after them in a loud whisper. “I didn't pick it. I can even get more.” They ignored him as they disappeared among the forest of excitedly twitching knees. Lump pouted and kicked the stairs, then held the pouch behind his back and went to join the other Hawk of Zaileya students.

“This is embarassing,” Tabin growled high above him. The teenager was leaning dangerously far over the railing.

Clingy Dahvim had a hold of his pant leg. “But, she's nice now, right?” he chirped, “That's good.”

Tabin snorted in disgust while Master Kotra let out a contemplative sigh. Raylene, on the other side of the old man, seemed too distracted to hear them. “You can do it, Roht,” she whispered.

~

A ghost of a long dead prisoner was teasing her, Astarelle thought at first when the staff pulled away of its own accord. Then, the door slammed, and she jumped halfway up the wall. Someone's locking me in!

She slunk toward the door by way of the cold wall, trusting that her dark-brown camouflage and black clothing would keep her form discrete. Dust motes danced as she passed the shaft of light, hinting at her presence. She dared not doubt that, somewhere out there, there were enemy eyes adept enough to notice. Nothing shot at her, though, as she reached the door and pressed a hand to its solid bars. She touched her other hand to the covered mark over her brow, then pushed. The door creaked open. Blessed be our mother, she prayed in spite of herself, then chuckled in the back of her throat. Roht Mirage wouldn't care of Roh heard. Blessed be our bloody sand-blasted mother!

In the corridor, the young man from earlier was suggesting a truce with some others she couldn't see. She could barely even see the youth. Somehow, the shadows around him were darker than they had been when she stood there. He reminds me of Tabin, her mind chirped wistfully, reading some fragment of memory that she couldn't consciously recall. Whether due to his voice or his shape, it was a certainty that tugged at the freshly-sprouted guilt.

“No thanks,” came a doldrum reply. She couldn't pinpoint the origin until a beast sprang from the air. The armored form that had summoned it ran off in the direction of Resolve and the twice-wide man while the dog, a vile thing truly at home in this unnatural darkness, charged for almost-Tabin. Without any thought at all -Astarelle would have cowered and Roht would have enjoyed the show- she forced the door all the way open and burst into a run. The bars were strangely heavy, and her feet felt sluggish, but she forced herself forward without questioning it. The hound was so fast! She barely had time to recall her staff from the ground, let alone form a plan. So, acting on a whim, she levelled one end of the staff with the dog's approaching maw and willed sand to pour from the reed's pours in the form of a short yet wicked hook. A flicker of conscious thought told her to get into a dancer's ready stance, weight on her toes and spine limber, because -by Jya's left tit- was this partner going to lead.

Three Oliver Twists are making their way through the audience with sticky fingers. If your NPC "happens" to be in the way, all the merrier. Bunny them as you wish.

Hysteria, I'm giving you bunny permission, including her handling of Fido. Also, Astarelle is in the weakening field. Let the countdown to naptime begin.

[Hysteria]

I felt my hands tighten and my knuckles turn white as I dropped the stone rail in front of me. The first attacks were thrown and despite my reluctance to admit it, I felt a jolt of excitement.

Despite myself I felt the now familiar chill run down my spine. I was aware of my hands aching, I lifted them up and was surprised to see the white of my knuckles. I hate to admit it, but I was excited. The first blows had been thrown, the metaphorical glove thrown down. This was no butchery like the last fight, alliances were already forming, and crashing. I lifted my eyes back up to the scene, my hands finding solace resting on the stone rail in front of me.

“Wait what?” Talen's voice was higher than before, his face even looked a bit surprised. I remember a smug grin spreading over my face. The kid's stoic resignation was dwindling.

The youth twisted back towards Arden, the conjured hound bounding across the stone floor with feral intent. Talen lifted his crossbow, but it was for naught. A staff shot forwards and the hound latched onto it instinctively. The next part was almost comical compared to the heavy atmosphere of in the small hall of retribution. One of the other contestants, Astarelle came sliding out of a cell, hands grasp firming around the edge of her staff. She moved surprisingly gracefully considering, her feet slid across the ground as a slave to the hound's strength.

The hound moved to Talen's right, slowed but not stopped by the weight of the woman it dragged. I saw the briefest pause in the kid's actions. It was as if he took everything in within a glance. The potential ally, the fact that Arden had shunned his offer of acceptance, and the strategic opportunities of the slowed hound. The moment was over and the ground in front of Talen erupted in a spout of darkness. The shadowy tentacle, the same ones that had adorned his back in the last fight lifted into the air. It lashed out in a second, striking the hooked hound in a single powerful blow. The beast stumbled sideways, remarkably resilient against the blow. Judging by the force and speed, I'd say it would have been enough to knock out a normal man. Talen didn't miss a beat, he pushed off the ground, covering the distance in a second and levelled his crossbow at the beasts head. With that same cold stare he fired, embedding a bolt directly into its temple.

Talen turned slightly and looked at the woman Astarelle. The shadowy mastiff faded from sight, leaving the bolt barely visible on the ground. I was surprised when Talen picked it up, giving the woman an opening to attack him if she so desired. I could only thing that it was some gesture of trust. The woman seemed too shocked to act, at least for a moment. I chuckled to myself, it wasn't the first time that I'd seen a woman hide what she was thinking, and I hoped not the last.

"That was a real sand-spit move on his part. Shall we carve him a new mouth to apologize with?" her words made sense to me, if a little colloquial, but it was easy to see that the kid was confused.

“Yes?” he offered weakly, and for the second time during the fight I felt like cuffing him over the ear. There were few things I lived by, one was never turn down a woman's advances, even in a fight to the death.