Fite me SirArtemis

[redford]

(Closed to SirArtemis)

There was a briskness to John's step that was quite unusual given his current losing streak in the citadel. Three straight battles he’d lost, all in dramatic fashion. Once with a sword, once with an arrow, and the last time he’d been defeated by a very unusual mage that had bested him with some form of fire magic before he could close the distance and land any actual blows.

But, for some reason he felt good today, though that certainly didn’t put a smile on his face or a laugh in his throat. The courtyard of the citadel was beginning to empty, seldom did people fight this late, and only a few gamblers placed bets here and there about their favored combatants. The sun was sinking over the wall of the citadel, it’s massive shadow painted across the courtyard and the surrounding forest, heralding the day’s end.

John’s boots clacked on the worn, cobbled stone as he made his way to a portal. A familiar figure stood beside it, waving to John as he drew near.

“Brother Jor,” John said flatly.

“Here to fight again, eh?” Jor asked, smiling. “You seem awfully chipper considering your recent fights,” he continued. Jor was one of few who could read him. Perhaps it was because since training with the monk of Ai'Bron, he'd received more blows from him than most.

“I have a feeling,” He responded. He glanced from the portal to Jor, then back to the portal. “I want-”

Jor interrupted him with a clap on his shoulder. “Come now, John! You have the same arena every time, man!” he looked up at John, seeming to hope that his joking would change his preference. It did not.

Jor laughed. For a man as skilled as he was, he certainly did not let the citadel’s bloody nature rub off on him. “Alright, I’ll take care of it, just make sure you win, right, or I’m gonna stop betting on you,” He finished, ushering John through the portal.

John lowered his head a bit to step through the portal, his eyes adjusting from the fading light of the courtyard to the other courtyard he now stood in. The sun hung high above, and it was warm. It felt not unlike a training ground. The courtyard was perhaps fifty meters square, and high-walled. The floor was covered with white marble, no streaks of discolorations to be found in it, save the ring. A ring of black stone, fifteen feet across and one inch high, sat in the middle of the place, a giant hollow ring marring the white marble. He stepped into the white stone within the ring, and slowed his breathing. His good feeling wavered a bit, but he was confident a victory would be coming, eventually. He had to keep fighting until he began to win.

[SirArtemis]

Artemis had seen plenty in his time; so much so that he wondered why he would ever bother to come back to the Citadel. Worse still, he now found himself there while yet another tournament went on. The Serenti this year waged on while Artemis sat out. He had had his share. Fighting for sport seemed barbaric. Still, it helped keep his skills sharp between more pressing and important battles; not enough so to encourage gambling though.

Thankfully, it was night and most spectators had settled in for some rest before another day of intense action. Some had gathered around in groups at the base of the massive and ancient stone structure, likely unable to sleep due to the excitement, and chattered away about some of their favorite moments thus far. One group stood relatively close to the young fighter, clouds of tobacco smoke billowing up and floating toward him on the breeze. Meanwhile, Artemis sat casually upon some of the many stone steps leading up to the entrance of the structure. He had spoken to a monk of the Citadel and simply mentioned a bit of practice combat, requesting an invite if something came up.

"Artemis!" a monk named Jor called. He knew the monk. He had seen him around on some of his visits to the Citadel across the years. "I have someone for you. He has had a streak of rough luck but there is a fire in this one. He'll give you what you're looking for." Artemis always wondered how the man kept such a jovial demeanor when working with so much death. Maybe the impermanence of it all kept things light for the man. His bald head accentuated the round features of his peachy face, and beneath the robe one would guess the man to be storing a few cupcakes on his hips. Not to say he was overweight, but he did not seem to be the most athletic or fit man among the crowd either.

Artemis stood, brushing off some dust from his backside and turning to the gentleman. "Lead the way, my friend," was all he said. He moved like a ghost up the stairs, not making a sound, and let his eyes rise up to the stars before they fell away to be replaced by stone ceilings.

Moments later, he was left by the door to the arena as Jor walked off. "Good luck!" the monk yelled out as he disappeared around a corner.

Artemis let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his short dark hair before shouldering through the door. As he entered a walled off courtyard, he couldn't help but grin at the bright white marble flooring. 'Imagine what this would cost if outside of these magical walls,' he found himself thinking. A smile spread across his face as he walked silently toward the man standing in the center of the room, eagerly awaiting his opponent. He prepared his enchanted boots for the surface and stepped over the ring of black stone that outlined the battlefield.

"Artemis Eburi," he introduced himself with a bow. "An honor. Any particular stipulations to our battle? I am open to anything that could pose a challenge. Keep it realistic though; after all, this is a fight." He took a deep breath in, kneeling down to graze his hand along the cold white stone, feeling the smooth texture of the marble. He smiled once more as he stood, his piercing blue eyes looking over at the rather large man across from him. This would be interesting if nothing else.

[redford]

His opponent, Artemis, looked composed, relaxed even, as he felt the stone floor. There was a subtle difference that John had begun to notice between those in the citadel who were cocky in spite of John’s size, and those who were proficient enough to know it didn’t matter that much; in fact, it only made him a larger target. And judging by his demeanor, he was experienced enough to know this as well. Two daggers sat at his hip, within easy reach. He knew not what manner of daggers they were, but they seemed to be quality work.

The man himself had sharp, almost angular features and armor that looked almost piecemeal in comparison to his masterwork daggers. Though, as he examined Artemis, he saw that each piece was of good quality and fit snugly against him. John felt a little under dressed in his soot-stained homemade tunic and trousers, which were little more than rags he’d sown together because he hadn’t found clothes large enough for him yet.

John stepped back to the edge of the ring, willing his gauntlets to extend their metal up to his elbows, coating his forearms in their silvery sheen. Spikes appeared from his knuckles, two inches long, as he brought his arms up defensively. A memory flashed in his mind of one of his teachers.

If your opponent must come close to strike you, use that against him.

Though it would certainly be nice to ask Artemis to fight bare-knuckled, John didn’t come to the citadel to box. He nodded to his opponent, bowing as well. John seldom extended the courtesy, save when it was extended to him as well. Few had respect for the fighting of the Citadel, too often grudges formed and festered in the arena.

“I am John,” he said plainly. “Use the daggers, I need to learn how to fight someone with weapons."

Artemis certainly didn’t seem to have any ranged weapons, but magic was about as prominent in Althanas as the trees were, so John stayed on his toes, sliding one foot back a bit in case he needed to dodge.

[SirArtemis]

“Daggers it is,” Artemis said with a smile. He drew his blades with one swift motion, glancing down to admire his own work. The black matte finish still gave him a tingle so deep he could feel it in his bones. The balance and weight of the blades was so perfect he had a hard time believing that they were made by his own hand. He felt pride; something he still didn’t quite recognize.

As Artemis lifted his gaze, he suddenly felt as though the man across from him held some odd familiarity to the young warrior. He recognized the soot covering the man's tunic and thought back on his forge; he'd lost count of how many times he'd left work looking similarly. They both shared the same eye and hair color of brown and blue respectively. One thing they certainly didn’t share was size; the man stood two heads taller than Artemis and roughly doubled his weight. It was unlikely they’d be confused as siblings.

Artemis moved toward his opponent, preparing for the introductory dance of any duel. As bodies moved, the elegant exchange masked with violent blows was in reality a respectful greeting of warriors. And so he began lightly, taking a quick step in and slashing from his right. As expected, the man easily lifted one of his large arms up to block the blow. Metal on metal – a sound any seasoned warrior knew well.

’Interesting gauntlets,’ Artemis found himself thinking. He admired the work. They were only of iron, but still well made. An elegant design, excellent functionality, and enough magic to add the versatility a warrior would need to stay alive.

He stepped out to the side, spinning quick and low to cut at the man’s legs. Again, as expected, he reacted well and stepped back in time to avoid the cut. Artemis rose to a spiked gauntlet sailing toward his face, and with a deft movement of his left hand, he struck at the gauntlet to parry it slightly and dodged the rest of the blow.

Artemis stepped away again, putting a few strides between himself and the warrior. Though mid fight, he took a moment to look up at the sky. He knew he was within the Citadel, but the power of the magic that saturated these walls never ceased to amaze him. He felt as though he were strolling through Underwood on a summer day. The sun beat down on his face. He closed his eyes briefly, taking in a slow deep breath to bring his full awareness to this moment and this battle.

As he opened his eyes, his body visibly changed and appeared more fluid. It was as though he had turned a switch within himself. Artemis’ training and experience gave him what he needed to succeed and stay alive. One of those lessons instilled in him early on was that the best fighters did not plan their movements. They trusted their training and instinct, relying on muscle memory and primal reaction to succeed. Making decisions took time, and used resources – stay composed, move, breathe, and stay alive.

His hands came up in front of him, blades pointed out wide. Knees bent, mouth closed, eyes focused. The sun struck the blades, yet not a single beam of light refracted from the surface. “So it begins,” he said as he propelled himself forward toward his opponent.

[redford]

Artemis struck with the matte black dagger quickly and precisely. It was almost spartan, his fighting style; there was no wasted movement, no swing that did not serve a purpose. They clashed again, and John gained a little more insight to Artemis’ fighting style. Of course, Artemis learned about John’s defense as well when he blocked the daggers.

An opening appeared, and John struck reflexively, his opponent parrying his strike just in time. Artemis leapt back several paces, looking up. John stood on his toes, ready to dodge if his opponent intended to use any magic. No magic came, however, and he simply looked up at the sky. How odd, John mused as Artemis returned his focus to him, changing his stance considerably. His movements were no longer sharp and precise, they were loose, almost sloppy as he twirled his daggers in his hands. They were still quick, but the style abandoned all of it’s rigid form. It was a controlled form of chaos, John thought, which made it unpredictable and dangerous. His eyes narrowed as he thought of a counter.

John slid his right foot wide and back, allowing his legs to bend a little more. The stance was one of John’s own design, intended to block only what was necessary, spending the rest of his energy countering and retaliating. Of course, he would need Artemis to come to him. He could defend well, and counter excellently, but quick movements and dodges were nearly out of the question. Two inch claws grew from the ends of his fingers as the spikes on his knuckles disappeared.

Artemis smiled for a second before lunging forward, swinging wide with his daggers in a flurry of black metal. He danced around John, it felt like he was striking everywhere at once and John was having trouble keeping up. John wouldn’t be able to defend against this forever. He looked for an opening with increased fervor, but Artemis was quite good, and the method to his madness wasn’t apparent yet. He pressed forward, and John took a long step back, attempting to put some distance between them.

John succeeded partially, opening the field a little before Artemis lunged forward again. John smirked as he saw an opportunity. He shifted his weight to his back foot, and aimed a strong side kick at Artemis’ chest. He was moving too fast to dodge, at least that’s what John hoped.

Pain erupted from his foot as he kicked, and as he brought his foot down, it had already begun to drip blood on the white stone inside of the ring. He growled more at the pain than as a result of it. He felt the blood flow from the wound, and hissed as he placed what little weight he could on his now-injured foot, wondering just how Artemis had managed to stab him, much less how he’d managed to push the blade through his boot, foot and out the other side. He wondered for the second time that evening if magic was involved. Artemis was just getting up from a knee as John looked up from the hole in his boot. Artemis was smiling.

He would need to strike first this time.

A long spike formed at the end of each fist and John sharpened them into makeshift blades as he pushed off his good foot to leap at Artemis, hoping to go on the offensive this time.

[SirArtemis]

This was the danger of his instinctive fighting style. After all, this was why he had come to the Citadel in the first place. To be the best fighter meant taking calculated risks without having to make the calculation. He would see if this one paid off. The battle had remained status quo, as Artemis had intended. His offensive was simply a feint to draw on the young warrior's preferred counter attacking style. He would goad his opponent into seeing a false opening and striking; and so John had.

As the big man kicked at Artemis, the skilled fighter deftly placed the butt of his blade against his chest and braced for the impact, ready to take the blow and knowing his blade's powerful enchantments would slice through the man's leather boot, flesh, and eventually bone like it were butter. The impact of a kick from a man that size would hurt, more so when concentrated by the butt of his blade, but it was just the calculated risk he was aiming for.

After staggering back, thoroughly winded, Artemis lifted himself up off the ground and smiled at the big man. Putting that much weight on one foot put the burly man at a disadvantage, and Artemis knew it. Oddly though, he seemed to decide to take the offensive despite his wound. 'Won't argue my luck,' he found himself thinking.

John lurched forward, using pure will to push through the pain that he was surely feeling in his foot. He swung at Artemis with enough force that the young man knew one strike to the head would lose him this fight. The first swing, a right hook, he dodged cleanly. The big man changed momentum surprisingly well and swung the same arm out in a backhand followed by a quick left hook. Artemis dodged all three swings and stepped back, but close enough to give the man the range he needed to keep swinging. Seeing his chance, John tried to jab with his right once more.

As he did, Artemis raised his left blade and activated its enchantment, running electrical energy through the dark blade and into the iron gauntlets the man used as weapons. The moment of shock left John stunned, and with the opening it created, Artemis made his move; he stepped in and slid his other blade right into the man's rib cage, sliding it into his left side just far enough to puncture a lung. During the blade's brief visit into the man's being, Artemis used its magic to pull at the man's life force, siphoning some of it back into himself and recovering from the impact of the kick.

The maneuver was quick and precise - the work of a trained assassin. So much so that before John had even recovered from the brief electrical jolt, Artemis was already a yard away from the man and ready to counter once more.

This was where John's will would truly have to come through. He was a wounded animal; Artemis a trained, seasoned, and well-equipped hunter. However, Artemis knew what beasts did when cornered and desperate, so he prepared for the worst.

[redford]

John felt sore all over, almost like he'd been bruised everywhere on his body. His left fist was still clenched involuntarily as he coughed, the piercing in his side much akin to an intense stitch in the chest. He coughed again, and this time he spat out blood, the white marble they fought on becoming more stained with crimson.

All of it’s mine, why is ALL of it mine? He asked himself, turning his attention back to Artemis. He didn’t even favor the wound on his chest anymore. John growled. He wasn’t bleeding out quickly, but if this kept up, he’d drown in his own blood before he bled to death. His situation was becoming more dire by the second, the only winning strategies becoming more desperate. He cursed in his mind again. No matter how many injuries he shook off or how skilled he was with his gauntlets, there was no avoiding the obvious disadvantage he had.

It shouldn’t be my blood on the arena, I can’t fight with these damned gauntlets!

John’s eyes narrowed as the pain fueled his anger, giving him an intense focus. He swung his arms wide, walking around Artemis, no longer limping. The pain no longer debilitated him because he had nothing else to lose. John was beat, and he knew it, but he’d be fighting until the end.

“Well?” He asked, the blades on his hands retreating in favor of smaller studs at his knuckles and thicker armor on his forearms. “Come finish it then!” He yelled, coughing blood from his bleeding lung. He waited for Artemis to advance for a finishing blow, but he never did.

Artemis took a step forward slowly. “Surrender is a legitimate option in battle. If you've learned what you've come here to learn, we can end this and call the monks in to heal your wounds. Sometimes it's the best strategic option,” he said.

John stopped, turning to face Artemis.

Yeah, well it’s easy to say that when you’re on top, John thought. Well if you won’t finish it, then I will.

John took a quick step forward, swinging his left arm wide at Artemis. He blocked easily, and a counter came but John had ceased to care. He stepped forward trying to get inside the swing, hoping to catch him off-guard, and brought his head down, smashing the crown of his skull against Artemis’ face.

Artemis stumbled backward, and John felt blood trickle down his arm. The gash was deep, and would likely hinder his movement, but he scarcely needed to move it much longer anyways. He took another step forward and swung at Artemis again. Before this was over, Artemis would bleed.

[SirArtemis]

Artemis dodged the punch easily, stepping a few feet away from the bloodied giant. 'This is ridiculous,' Artemis found himself thinking. 'This fight is one sided, but if he refuses to end it, then there may as well be a lesson in it.' There was no purpose for the warrior to continue with his blades, so he placed them into their sheaths.

"Let's make this more interesting," Artemis said as he clenched his fists. Though the man was bigger than Artemis by a large margin, this was a good chance to get some practice, so he stepped in toward the man and jabbed with his left. John slapped the hand down with his big paw. Another quick left and right from Artemis, and again the man pawed it down. John then spun on his still good foot and struck Artemis with a reverse side kick to the chest, launching the man back a couple of yards.

Artemis landed on his back and used the momentum to roll backwards before quickly coming to his feet, but John was already walking toward him angrily, completely disregarding his wounds; at least that was the big man's intention, but the collapsed lung was affecting him. He staggered, coughing up blood as he walked toward Artemis, and then wiped it away with his big left paw and kept walking.

The big man reached both arms out toward Artemis as though to grab him, but instead the nimble warrior ducked low and through to John's right. As he passed, he felt an elbow drop down and dig into his spine, knocking him forward an extra step. Again the big man, bloodied and all, turned and stormed toward his smaller opponent, staining the beautiful white marble beneath them with a trail of blood as he went. It was as though he were painting the ground like a canvas to memorialize their battle.

Artemis crouched and prepared to defend, but the sheer size of his opponent was overwhelming. John stepped forward and feinted with his bloodied right foot, lifting his knee into the air. Instead, he quickly stepped it down onto the ground, disregarded any pain, and swung hard with his left fist toward Artemis' abdomen. Though he saw the attack coming, there was enough speed and strength in the man's desperate attack for it to hurt, and it hurt! The studs on John's gauntlets perfectly paired off with a set of Artemis' ribs, striking them like a xylophone and sending a song of pain through his mind. He felt them break, and certainly felt them too.

Artemis staggered back and clutched at his ribs as a droplet of blood found its way onto the corners of his mouth with a cough. 'If a glancing blow can do that to me, I can't afford a direct hit. This man is on the verge of death and can still pull that kind of punch out? He's running on pure adrenaline!'

Artemis spit out the bit of blood that had formed in his mouth and looked up at John. He stood tall and proud, clenching and unclenching his fists. A side of his mouth curled up into a smirk, his teeth a mask of disgusting red from all the blood he had coughed up moments ago. He did not care; he began to chuckle only to stop abruptly at the pain from having only one lung and clutched at his chest, erasing the smile. This fight was not going to last much longer, but the two men in the arena were going to make it a good one. That much they seemed to agree on.

[redford]

John’s head swam with adrenaline and pain, leaving room only for the most instinctual strikes. The pain no longer debilitated him, it spurred him on as he struck Artemis in the side. Artemis stepped back, clutching his injured ribs. John refused to stop moving, lest he lose the adrenaline, it was the only thing that kept him from collapsing in pain. He walked forward, his breathing becoming more labored by the second. He was already not getting enough oxygen into his muscles, and soon it would show. His mouth tilted into a smirk.

You may be able to best me with your daggers, but I know how to brawl better.

John used his momentum and spun his shoulders, coming around with a back heel kick at Artemis.

The trick didn’t work a second time though, and as John came round with his leg, Artemis stepped inside the swing and John’s head snapped back as Artemis uppercutted him in the jaw. Pressing his advantage, Artemis stepped forward, trying to stay inside of his effective reach.

Bad idea, John thought, and as Artemis connected with a fist at John’s right side, he brought his arm down, pinning Artemis’ fist behind John’s armpit. John smirked, forming a backhanded dagger from his armor on his off hand, bringing it down at Artemis. He brought a hand up, and grimaced as the dagger pierced his hand.

John’s foot exploded with new pain, and he reeled backwards from where Artemis had stomped on his already-painful wound. Though awash in new pain, he smiled at Artemis. Though he’d lost the fight long ago, the damage was done. Artemis’ hand dripped blood onto the marble below as he clenched it into a fist. The adrenaline began to fade, and his muscles suddenly felt tired, his side stung again and he tasted more blood in his mouth.

He had already begun to see black at the edges of his vision, and his breathing was labored. John mustered his strength and will, and stood tall once more, clenching his fists tightly again as studs formed on his knuckles. The sun felt hot, his pierced foot now felt as if it were ready to slip on the bloodstained marble.

John attempted to steady his breathing, and was rewarded with a coughing fit. Blood came up in chunks now, the taste of blood refreshed itself as he bent over slightly, coughing up gobs of congealed blood.

This is bad. Of course, this had been bad long ago, but now he was starting to feel the suffocation of the blood in his lungs. It was only his own stubbornness that forced John upright again and pushed his hands up in a ready stance. Though, he seemed to be seeing less of Artemis than he had earlier.

John struggled to breathe again, and lost balance, falling back as his vision tunneled into blackness. He vaguely felt the back of his head smack against the marble, and his labored breathing, blood-starved muscles working for air-starved lungs, neither gaining purchase. It slowly came to John that he'd made Artemis bleed, and he thought it a win, even if it didn't seem like it. He was skilled with his hands, and maybe someday the skill would come for him to defeat Artemis.

[SirArtemis]

“Stubborn mule,” Artemis mumbled under his breath after the big man had collapsed. He flexed his hand, clenching through the pain of the fresh wound. Knowing it wouldn’t last, he found the pain almost invigorating. He needed to learn to push through it. After all, the more pain he experienced, the better he’d handle it if it were to happen outside of the Citadel.

A moment later, Artemis heard the door to the arena open and Jor walked in, shuffling his feet on the pristine marble surface as he approached the center, where blood bathed the white marble upon which they stood. “Excellent battle,” he called out, slipping slightly as he walked and then quickly recovering. “Very entertaining to watch. You have quite a bit of skill with those blades!” Artemis bowed slightly with respect for the compliment. “I’m curious though. Why did you decide to put away your blades and fight a man of his stature bare handed? Even with his wounds, surely that was a risk.”

“You’re right,” he agreed. “But then again, there may come a time when I don’t have my blades and have to fight a man of his size. What do I do then?” Jor shrugged at the question, and Artemis simply smiled. “I thought I might as well see what it’s like to try and strike someone of that size without weapons. Perhaps it will give me an incentive to train unarmed.”

“That is a valid point,” Jor agreed, kneeling down as he had finally reached John’s lifeless body. He looked down for a moment and paused, staring at the corpse. “It’s still so strange; to see people at their end, only to be fresh and good as new minutes later.” Artemis agreed with the sentiment, though was surprised to hear it from Jor; the man always seemed so distanced from that fact. The impermanence of this place was disorienting and jarring, and Artemis always wondered if the monks even noticed. “They look so peaceful sometimes that I almost would rather let them rest.” He looked up at Artemis with sad eyes, and then smiled half-heartedly as he placed a hand on the big man’s chest. His large body dematerialized into a crimson mist and faded from the arena, sent off to the medical ward for recovery. Though he would wake alive and well, the memories of the experience always persisted, and so there was a temporary disorientation after the battles. “Would you like me to send you to the ward as well?” Jor asked.

“I’ll walk I think,” Artemis answered. “It will give me time to digest the battle mentally and think on what transpired. These things always happen so quickly.”

“I understand,” Jor nodded, rising back up to standing. “If you need anything, just let me know. I can keep an eye out for more opponents for you if you’d like?” he offered.

“That’s ok,” Artemis said as he flexed his hand once more. “But thank you for the offer.” Artemis bowed again slightly, and Jor returned the gesture before turning on his heel and walking back toward the door, returning to the more jovial appearance Artemis was accustomed to seeing on the monk’s features. Once Jor passed out of the arena, he left the door ajar, and the wounded warrior walked casually toward the open portal, following the bloody footprints that the monk had left behind. “Might as well get this fixed up. I wonder if I’ll see John as he wakes.”

Artemis walked across the marble floor, his steps still silent due to one of his many magical items. He couldn’t help but shake that there was something notable about this man. Perhaps he’d have the chance to discover why before they both left the ziggurat. Then again, perhaps it would have to wait.