Round 1: Tobias Stalt Vs Hysteria

[Silence Sei]

Round starts May 3rd, 12:01 AM CST. It's Slayer Vs Shadowalker in this throw down! Good Luck!

[Tobias Stalt]

Gentle sunlight reflected off the sea below as waves crested gently toward the rocky shore. Tylmerande boasted one of the most auspicious industries in all of Corone: Pearl diving. When the light hit the waters just right, Tobias could vaguely see flecks of white and pink strewn across the ocean floor. It was a welcome reprieve from the horrors of frigid Salvar and the mystic monotony of Raiaera. While not a job, the impetus for him to visit the smallest barony in Corone was just as great.

The formal letter crumpled in his fist marked him as one of the few men invited to the most legendary contest in all of Althanas. "Are you ready, Tobias Stalt?" He turned to the avian faced Ai'Brone monk with a sincere smile. This sect of the enigmatic group was foreign to him and while cuturally similar to the Radasanthian sect, Tobias wanted to refrain from making a bad impression. "We have heard much of your exploits in the Citadel, and as such, we anticipate a spectacle from you."

"Ah," the Mercenary replied with a modest chuckle, "don't heap too much expectation on me, now."

"Your first match is just minutes away," the envoy continued, "may luck be on your side, and for better or worse, we hope you enjoy your stay in Serenti. We have made accomodations for the duration of the tournament so that you may enjoy the festivities and watch matches whether or not you are eliminated."

"I wouldn't worry too much," Tobias waved the monk off, and the ascetic stiffly bowed. "I don't plan on losing."

"Few do," came the rigid reply.

As the monk turned and left him, Tobias sneered. "Few do," he snorted, "bunch of pricks. I'll show you!" He spat over the cliff and turned toward the battlefield, a plain dirt arena with boundaries outlined by seashells. He listened to the faint rolling of the tide as it ebbed far below. With a soft sigh, he added, "I'll show you all."

He strode over the boundary and glanced around. The arena contrasted greatly from a Citadel battle in that the scenery was not an illusion, though he knew the monks could easily weave one. The crowd was surprisingly small, a few hardcore fans from the Citadel who migrated to Tylmerande for the prestigious event. "Present your invitation," the master of ceremonies called out in a clear voice as Tobias entered the fray.

As he lifted the missive to offer it, the parchment exploded into a confluence of heat and light. The Witch Hunter reeled from the blast and withdrew his hand quickly, his mouth agape. "Gods below," he cursed, but the speaker seemed indifferent to his plight.

"Tobias Ebericht Stalt, aged 27, hailing from the continent of Keribas! We welcome you to the Serenti Invitational!"

Cheers erupted in the stands. Tobias turned his gaze toward the opposite end of the arena. "If the bloody tournament itself is this over the top," he muttered, "I can't wait to see what kind of whackjob they've paired me with."

[Hysteria]

He plays games. Not just sometimes, it was always. Everyone and everything was a game. The only thing that changed was how seriously he took it and how violent he decided to be. Cold and hard, jovial and laughing, sometimes he could switch between them like a one of those fancy Aleraian lights. Then there was his disregard for life. I think that is what frightened me most.

My own life seemed like a dream as I sat there in the stands, the salty air washed over me, the waves crashed far below to create a backdrop of even rhythm. Everything seemed fake; as if a technicolour dream had been weaved into reality, or perhaps I had been thrown out. I was brought back to the present as a man elbowed me in the shoulder. H was trying to take his seat with arms full of nuts and cups of mead. It was obvious he was settling for the long haul. I had to wonder at how no matter how small the crowd, it was amazing how people arrived to sell something.

“Tobias Ebericht Stalt, aged 27! Hail…”

I turned my attention back to the fighting area. Area was probably the best word for it, a ring marked with shells didn’t seem right to be called anything more substantive. Stalt had entered, and I knew that my Lord would come soon as well. He had found out the day before that he was to fight this man. A few coins here, a quick punch to the stomach there, and information flowed like blood. Like the blood that ensured silence afterwards.

A large warrior stepped into one of the entrances. His body was huge and muscles, covered in leather straps that carried a dozen weapons. He stepped up to the monk and handed him a piece of paper, and the monk narrowed his worn silver touched eye brows.

“You’re in the next fight,” the monk said simply as he shooed away the warrior.

Behind him a small boy stood clutching a piece of paper and a grin from ear to ear. His skin was pale, his hair short, dark and messy. Yes, regardless of his form it was often hard to miss the traits that Talen decided to take. His smile was a good sign; I could handle that childlike playfulness. I hoped it held.

“Talen Shadowalker! Aged – er what?”

The monk glanced at the paper, but Talen had side stepped him and entered the ring. The crowd didn’t cheer as they did for Stalt, they laughed instead. Their noise drowned out the Monk as he stammered Talen’s age. My Lord lifted his hands in the air and waved in response just before flicking of his cloak with a wave of his hand, it shimmered out of existence as it fell. Underneath he was wearing a black t-shirt and simple black pants. The laughing died somewhat as the large dark sword that hung from his waist was revealed, along with the six spikes hung across his chest in a leather belt.

“With the fighters present, invitations revived, this fight is go!” shouted the monk.

My Lord didn’t speak, he just smiled. The pair were separated by the expanse of dirt within their seashell edged world, and I was right in assuming that Talen would stick to ranged combat. He had taken a sort of martial fighting stance with his left side forward the moment the monk had spoken. It was normal to share words, but I knew my Lord would not. He had told me that this was a rematch of sorts, and added that men spoke with fists. He waved away my comment when I pointed out he didn’t use fists, and he wasn’t a man.

So when my Lord took a step and slammed his right foot down; I knew he was going on the offensive. He thrusting a fist forwards, and with it a tornado of darkness. What few laughs that still emanated from the crowd were silenced in that moment. The darkness twisted and whipped, to then cascade together as an elephant composed of blackness that was suddenly galloping towards Stalt. I knew a bit about this particular ability of my Lord. It was a liquid of sorts, carved into shapes of his will and sent out with tremendous force. What was more impressive was that it would continue to follow Talen’s orders for a minute or two. It would change direction to continue to charge towards its target.

I was somewhat surprised on the large form Talen had picked for his opening attack. That ink could take on anyform, from a mouse to, well the elephant. It was clear that my Lord would not pull any punches as the fighters in the Citadel would say. The form kicked up dirt and grass as it charged towards Stalt and its trunk whipped around in silent trumpets of rage.

[Tobias Stalt]

"You," venom dripped from the word as it left his lips. Fire raged in his veins as Tobias stared his opponent down with vague recognition. "The form is different, but that power is the same. I know you."

Power flowed in those words, a declaration of hate. Though they drowned beneath howling winds, they dug deep. Nothing more needed saying.

The glint of icy Mithril shone as Tobias slid a knife into his hand. Unnatural power surged toward him with violent intent. Turbulence caused the world to tremble around the Witch Hunter as he stood fast. He sucked in a harsh breath as the force drew nearer and his brow knit together in concentration.

Dark and ominous, the maelstrom raced closer and shifted. Debris scratched at his flesh and tiny welts dripped crimson down his cheeks. The darkness writhed and took a new form, a gigantic beast the likes of which Tobias had never seen. It stampeded toward him in a feral rage like some hellbeast unshackled at last.

Tobias lifted both hands slowly as his lips moved solemnly.

Around the grizzled veteran, perverse power filtered out into the world and the air itself turned ill. Feelings of dread and hopelessness tore free of their living prison and converged in his open palm. The crowd wavered as intensity washed over them. Negative power radiated from Tobias as he focused his energies and met the dark force head on.
If the beast could scream, Tobias wagered he would drown in the death throes to come. The convergence of raw power built up in his grasp shivered wildly as the foreign darkness encroached, thick with anticipation.

Pressure bore down as he forced his willpower forward, two wicked incantations in full collision. He felt the sheer force of the power his opponent summoned threatening to rip him apart. His magic power seeped inward toward the heart of the monolithic monster, then exploded outward.

The enigmatic swordsman held his breath. Would his Spell of Unmaking be enough to save him?

[Hysteria]

I first met my Lord about six months ago. I was a different person then, trapped in iron yet I strangely felt freer than I did now. My Lord had come and taken me from the cage in a whirlwind of blood and chaos. It was not pretty what he had done, and I had been there to watch it first hand. He was the child then, rushing head long into something he didn’t understand. He had brought with him death and destruction, but Talen had fallen in his first go. He resurrected, and again unleashed death only to fall once more. The third time… it wasn’t pretty. I couldn’t help it as these images flashed through my mind. Images of blood, of death, and of my own cursed fate.

“Stop! Stop!”

I turned my eyes to the man next to me as he shouted to the air. He had dropped his food and drink to the ground. The nuts scattered across the wooden floor and the mead spilt around them. The mead and nuts mixed together, but I couldn’t see anything by the spilt blood of my friends flowing around their bodies. The man gripped his head with both hands as tears streamed from his eyes and he cried for the torture playing out in his mind to stop. It was then that I realised that he and I were not alone. Most of the spectators close to the edge were struggling with similar demons. It wasn’t the magic of my Lord, so it must have been the man he faced.

Focus Ana! You’ve endured worse than this! I repeated the words in my head and with force of will I managed to focus on the fight. I hoped that whatever nefarious magic was had been thrown into the air by Stalt would not affect my Lord as it had the spectators.

The last traces of the elephant burst outward and dissolved into the air as the nullifying energies of Stalt ripped it from existence. I wondered what it would have looked like from the man’s perspective. The giant animal of darkness burst like a balloon in front of him. Trails of black did break away to reveal the small figure of my Lord. Would he have been surprised to see the gun aimed at him? If he had truly faced my Lord before then perhaps not. The dark weapon was a manifestation of my Lord’s power. Once, during a conversation that was surprisingly earnest, he had told me that the weapon was linked to a fate he shared with the Ixian Knights. A blessing from the stars, but one that had driven him into darkness. It was high above out there beyond the sky where my Lord’s and my Mistress dwelt. She was imprisoned high above us, she was N’Jal

The rife was poised towards the man Stalt. The dark barrel was aligned with Talen’s eyes, the butt pressed firmly against his shoulder. The rifle fired and a deep thunk sounded. Through the air trailed green as the canister-like shot made its way towards Stalt. This poison had been taken from the queen of hornets herself: Madison Freebird. It was vile stuff, strong enough to clear a room in less than a minute. Those foolhardy enough to try and endure it soon found themselves on the floor, their lungs turning into a pool of mush.

I glanced back at Talen, but he had disappeared. I looked to the sky, and sure enough his form was high above the stadium. A black spot cast against the blue horizon. It looked as if he had shadow-stepped in order to get away from poison he had fired, but I thought he was escaping the mind magic. His breathing was laboured slightly, and I’d bet his skin shiny with a thin film of sweat. The horrors I had seen would be nothing compared to one that had danced with demons. Below, the poison’s effectiveness was in question, as the same salty breeze that moved its hand across the crowd might also sweep it away. It didn’t need much to work; a breath would be enough to damage someone’s lungs. What was clear though was this fight was not one that was friendly to those watching.

[Tobias Stalt]

Ethereal darkness splintered into raindrops that sank harmlessly to the dirt around Tobias. A harsh sigh released the air from his lungs and the Witch Hunter watched his enemy with wicked stoicism. The hellfire in his amber eyes found their match in the glare of an equally malicious firearm.

The mercenary wore a grim mask in place of fear. With a scowl, Tobias watched the deviant youth evaporate. The darkness around them deteriorated and left only one combatant in plain view. His snort drowned beneath panicked cries.

A shrill scream tore through the crowd closest to him. Further out, awe inspired shouts declared what Tobias already felt. "Up there!" cried a squeaky male voice, "look!" The onlookers were a chorus of bewilderment, tears, and terror. With deadly efficiency, Tobias armed himself.

Blood and sweat drenched his stern features as he trained his sight on the shadow walker. Intricately forged metal pointed accusingly upward and barked thunderously. Two rounds of varying size met in air. Vicious shrapnel peppered the crowd and a virulent bubble burst with a sickening pop.

Ghastly mist billowed outward between them and destroyed all visibility. The plague seeped outward and down, where it roiled toward those unfortunate enough to be seated close. Hacking coughs broke out immediately as people choked on the noxious gas. Blood mixed with vomit spewed from cracking lips and one man clawed at his face. Skin peeled away from sinew as he tried in vain to expel the toxin.

Tobias narrowed his eyes and waited for the cloud of death to wash over him.

He slowly lowered the weapon and closed his eyes. A familiar chill wafted over his flesh and Tobias grit his teeth. It was not strictly of Madison, but the sensation was distinct. The Scourge of Eiskalt had a hand in the craft of this deadly concoction. "And you would unleash that here," Tobias rasped angrily.

"Fucking suffer," the Witch Hunter bellowed as he probed with his power toward Talen. A subtle spike of magical energy raced through the world toward the assassin, where it would ravage any attempt at using magic.

It was time for the games to end.

[Hysteria]

Poison caught the air, pushed and pulled by the ebbs and flows of the wind. The shot had been impressive, although the canister was large enough that I could withhold any admiration I felt for this Stalt. The result of his action was not quite as bad as the chaotic magic he had unleashed at the start of the fight. The poison carried by the breeze entered the stands in a quite diluted form and people started to cough and wheeze. I thanked chance that my back was to the wind and it was those on the other side that suffered the brunt of the poison. It was however enough to trigger the crowd into action and many started to leave.

“F@%k this!” shouted the man next to me, “Those crazy bastards will kill us all!”

He pushed himself up and headed for the exit. The only reminder of his rotund form was the mead starting to soak into my shoes. The wet feeling would have to wait as my Lord faulted. I saw his rifle lift towards Stalt, but he didn’t pull the trigger. I could see his face, the smile was gone. It had been replaced by a grimace. Talen was troubled by the nefarious magic of the man he faced. His body pivoted forwards and he shot towards his target. It was suicide, but then he was learned in that futility. He let go of his rifle and let it fall away behind him. His hand pulled his sword from his belt with a twist he slashed it in front of him. The blade copied the movements, duplicating itself twice and sending the perfect copies of the prevalida blade arching through the air towards Stalt. I could tell that distance would be enough for the man to react, so this was not the attack Talen sought to draw blood with.

Talen’s form burst from existence as it twisted out of the physical plane and shot towards his target as a shadow. My Lord reappeared just in front of Tobias as the twin copies of his sword were about to reach him. I knew straight way that something was wrong. Talen was traveling too fast and too low. His body struck the dirt a few metres in front of Stalt. There was a thud that made me cringe as dirt and flecks of grass scattered around him. His reflexes acted on their own as he shoved a hand into the ground and twisted to come to kneel. His sword was pointed forwards, ready to fend off any sudden follow ups. It was only the pair of swords that Stalt would need to deal with. What was most disturbing was the wrenching sound as my Lord seemed to struggle to control his stomach.

This wasn’t the first time I’d seen Talen brought to his knees. He seemed to do it every other day as he launched himself into some extremely foolish endeavour. I also knew that this was far from over. I believe it was just last week I followed him to a large ravish party in which he had been hit in the face with a chair no less than six times. I didn’t mind this fool-hardy Talen and as I had said earlier, the child I could handle.

“Foolish tricks… Just biding time,” uttered Talen as his piercing blue eyes looked up through mattered hair. His face was streaked with dirt and his sweat-damp cloths clung to his skin. I thought I saw a glimmer in his eyes. Thaynes help me; he was having fun.

[Tobias Stalt]

Twin streaks of midnight black tore toward Tobias as their creator skidded to the dirt and struggled visibly. Two streams of crimson sprang from the Witch Hunter as Vlince tore and the images of black blade ripped flesh. If the emptiness in his amber eyes was pain, it looked eternal.

Shreds of cloth scattered on the wind and the cloak shrugged from his form as Tobias stared down at the villain before him. Deep gashes remained where Tobias was struck, rivers of life ebbing away over a lifetime of scars. Still the silent killer stalked forward. The pale aura around his long knife shimmered hungrily now that the enemy stood close enough to see it.

Mutual silence and agony formed a perverse bond between combatants. Though this tournament came with invitations and gladiatorial premise, both men were trapped in a killing game. Tobias took a ragged breath.

Blood poured from his lips as he coughed violently. He smeared it with his forearm, a lazy attempt to clean it away. The creeping death festered inside him. Tobias fought the urge to double over as his insides twisted in a tight knot. Hotter burned the flames of hate, stoked by the unabashed endangerment this man had wrought on the innocent bystanders.

With no regard for his own health, Tobias persisted death. Riddled with wounds and plagued by toxin, the fight had drifted from fairness and into a somber struggle. One foot in front of the other, Stalt did what any good soldier would. He force marched toward Talen.

Stumble, shudder, sink to the dirt. Tobias fell short of his goal, but he refused to stop.Only arms length separated the two men. "Just..." Tobias wheezed, as another mouthful of blood ruined his words. He spat the acrid gobbet away and crawled forward, "a bit..."

His determination burned stronger than his body. His eyes were reddened, bloodied by burst vessels. The familiar shiver of impending death crawled down the mercenary's spine. "Lives are not toys," Tobias chided sternly, like a parent to an ill-mannered child. He held a tense finger up and pointed at Talen. His labored breaths betrayed him as Prevalida and Mithril clattered useless to the floor. His gun and knife gone, Tobias struggled to remain upright.

His vision wavered.

[Hysteria]

Talen’s eyes flashed with excitement. I would have advised Stalt to keep his words to a minimum, but then I was sitting in the stands watching the pair of them fight to the death. They had left the realm of things I’d do quite some time ago.

“Foolish…” said Talen, forcing his laboured breathing to form words, “Lives are the only toys worth playing with!”

With a grunt my Lord pushed himself to his feet. His legs were shaky; his body was struggling against the unknown magic of Stalt. I knew as I watched him that he would not rest until he had developed a way to beat this magic. There would be feverish days and nights spent building a tolerance to hellish conditions that mimicked this nefarious ability, and I was sure that he’d make me stand by his side the whole time. Damned bastard Stalt: just die!

My lord looked so small out there, and so alone. Dirt marked cloths, his skin was even paler than normal and his breathing laboured. I thought Talen was going to cut down the man, his sword shook slightly in his hand, fatigue or excitement I couldn’t tell which. I doubt even a sphinx could answer that riddle. Instead of striking him down he lifted his free hand into the air. Darkness spewed forth to coalesce into a fist easily the size of a horse. This was another version of the earlier magic Talen had used, and it hovered above Stalt. A think dark tether joined the fist to Talen’s hand, but I knew it was unnecessary. I didn’t know why my Lord had decided to test fate by summoning magic when it seemed clear there was foul magic poisoning him each time he did. I watched as my Lord’s body started to shake and hunch. He pressed his sword into the soft earth at his feet to steady himself as he looked Stalt in the face. With a slight grin he brought the fist down.

It was that moment I knew why my Lord had used magic, knowing the effect it would wreak over his body. It wasn’t tactics, or foolishness that pushed him forwards. It was the game, and his determination to make a statement against the seriousness of the man he fought. This is a game, and I’ve won.

[Tobias Stalt]

His blood slicked lips formed a twisted smile as the end came crashing down.

Countless deaths in the Citadel had broken Tobias free of the fear of death. The pain grew insignificant over time, until only familiarity brushed hands with him at the brink. In place of that dread, the Witch Hunter opted to take action.

With impossible fluidity, a second knife of pure forged mithril slid from his back and stabbed toward Talen. Blood erupted from Tobias' mouth as he drove the toward the petulant child's chest. Talk was pointless now. Only action could speak to someone so wicked.

Tobias learned that the hard way.

Darkness struck Tobias with wicked force, and death blossomed from his maw again. The light in his eyes fled, replaced by the emptiness that came to collect him. Still, he managed to smile. Cold blue permeated the keen edged blade as it tore toward the Spellcaster's jugular vein.

Their gazes were locked, though Tobias could hardly see Talen now. His mocking expression begged the most sobering question of all: "was it worth it?"

His spirit was gone long before Cold would strike.