Dry Blood[closed]

[Hysteria]

Something special…..

Words, simple with their statement, yet carrying a spark of excitement. It was the way he had said them that had captured me. Talen was not one for expressing himself with emotion. The child warrior was one of cold detachment or explosive rage. Sometimes, and rarely, he would show something else. Something akin to joy.

I loved and hated Talen, as he loved and hated himself. It had been nearly a year since I had left my life to follow him, and My Lord became that moniker. He was just as cold as ever, just as hard to read and harder to like. Sometimes I wondered about his time with the Ixian Knights. I knew that he wasn’t always so cold. He never spoke of it without sadness in his words, and those were few and far between.

So when we headed to the Citadel with those words, something different leading us forwards, I was hesitantly curious.

* * * *

The Citadel was as imposing as always. Large grey stones locked together to form the huge walls that rose into the sky as a symbol of man punching the heavens.

“Ana, come on,” said Talen with a flicker of impatience.

I tore my eyes from the impressive structure and followed Talen through the large double doors. Stepping into the inner hall my eyes adjusted to flickering candle light and what little sun streamed through the large stained glass windows high above me. Hundreds of humans and dozens of the other races were walking or waiting as the monks sorted through the huge numbers. Today seemed like it was busier than normal and I had to force my way through the press of bodies after My Lord’s small frame as he darted nimbly forwards.

I burst out of the crowd and paused to adjust my cloak that had been nearly pulled off. Talen had made his way towards one of the many corridors that continued the fighting rooms. I followed, and soon we found ourselves through a door and suddenly outside. I was never quite sure about the magic of the Citadel. Perhaps we were still inside trapped in some reality bending illusion, or perhaps we had been transported far from the Citadel.

The arena was relatively simple. A large sandstone platform sat bathed in mid-morning sunlight and surrounded by high public viewing seating of the same stone. I say relatively simple, as the platform was ringed with a large body of water that formed a clear blue iris to the platform’s pupil.

I took a seat in the stands, a lone black figure cast against the yellow stone. Talen walked along a small wooden bridge that had been lowered to allow the fighters to get to the platform. My Lord had dressed in his usual black t-shirt and pants and his pale skin and dark attire seemed out of place bathed in light. Like the child he was, his messy black hair caught and flicked across the light breeze. His face carried a smile, and I could almost believe it was real.

Show me, I thought, what’s so special?

[redford]

John was thankful that the armor coating his arms and calves provided some resistance to temperature, lest he bake in the heat of the day. It was a cloudless sky above the colosseum. He'd been calling it the colosseum since he discovered its existence as one of the more available arenas. His calves and feet felt as comfortable as his arms, though his torso felt the heat of the sun and his brow beaded slightly with sweat. Every once in a while, a gentle breeze would offer relief, but the walls that formed the backside of the stadium seating resisted any outside wind, if there was an 'outside' at all to the arenas formed of the Ai'Bron magic.

John often came to this particular arena, mostly because it was of the open sort; where anyone could come and fight at any time. Many times, on his days off, he would come and sit in the arena's bleachers, and wait for another fighter to enter the ring. Mostly he passed the time simply by staring at the blue ring of water that surrounded the giant slab of stone; but this time he'd snatched a piece of wood from the path from his house, and had been whittling it into a spike with a knife grown from his thumb. John had thought it odd at first, that simple weapons such as the one he held were now completely useless in his hands. He had once longed for the impressive skill he had with nearly every sword and shield and bow. His skill had at one time been unrivaled among the lords of Salvar, and though in times of darkened spirit, he longed for it again, simple acceptance had taken its place in his mind. There was no way to safely remove the armor, and there was no guarantee that he would gain anew his skill with weapons.

The arena was largely empty at most times, unless there were high-profile fighters. He was the only person in an arena that could seat tens of thousands.

John sighed pensively, tossing the sharpened stick into the water surrounding the arena. As he did so, he noticed a figure entering.

Upon further inspection, John noticed two figures entering through one of the gates in the arena, both small. One was a boy, who crossed the short moat into the arena, and another was a girl, who took a short flight of steps up to the front row.

John wouldn't have fought him usually, but he'd been waiting all morning for a new fighter and the boy could surprise him.

He stood, stepping down to the ledge at the front of the bleachers, hewn from the same stone as the arena. He placed a foot on the top of it and catapulted himself toward the arena. It was a long jump, but his height and the altitude of the seats helped him land in the arena and not the water.

He landed after the ten foot drop, drawing from his landing crouch to his nigh-eight food height. He stepped forward several feet, tossing his oversized shirt on the ground. They were hard to make, even harder to find, and he didn't want to lose another one to strange magic or odd blades. His armor extended to the upper half of his chest, and the armor of his legs moved up to cover just above his knees. He raised a hand toward the boy, pointing back to himself.

"John," he said, expecting a response.

[Leaf]

There was nothing.

Nothing, nadda, nowt.

For the faun farmer it sent a cold stab of fear into his heart. Like a lance of ice, burning with bitter cold, it shoved itself into his chest and sent icy tendrils running through his system, swimming down his veins as fast as blood was pumped, catching him in a still grasp of utter horror.

Oh yes, he could see 'nothing,' but it was not that nothing that disturbed him so, and froze his blood thusly. Instead it was something far more horrible, something far more inconveivable that snatched everything he was, that made him Leaf van der Terra, and store it mercilessly from his suffering still-living body. When he discovered that the presences of his beloved pigs were gone, it made him feel empty and void, like a being who in fact never was. For as long as he could properly remember they had been there, from waking to bedtime, always patient, always ready, always waiting.

Sometimes even in sleep. Sometimes all four of the brave warriors dreamed together, and when it happened, that was something truly wondrous to behold.

Wrenching his jaws apart, Leaf struggled violently at the harsh bonds that constrained him. There was a thick, hemp hood over his head, hence the 'nothing to be seen,' and his arms were stretched back and up as far as they would go, everything from wrists to elbows, the rope looping back and forth. His hooves, too, were bound, but he noticed there was a distance between them, a stretched of rope that meant he had about a foot of stretch between each one. Being a farmer it did not take him long to notice a hobble when there was one. But why a hobble when his arms were so purposefully and strongly tied so? Why take away his pigs but not take away his ability to walk completely?

More questions came to his mind quickly. Still consumed by the panic in his system and still frantically searching mentally for the pigs, several meaty hands suddenly grabbed him from all directions. Not gagged in any way, Leaf attempted to kick out, screaming, "where are my pigs?!" - but neither could he kick very far, and neither did the meaty-hand owners care. Instead they laughed with cruel voices as he stumbled. They caught him, managed to drag him onto his hooves properly, but in that movement they also shoved him forwards. Leaf struggled, tried to blindly lower himself to strike one of them with his hooves, despite the pain that gave to his uncomfortably bound arms. Yet all it did was cause more laughter.

Prodding him with the blunt end of some sort of stick or pommel of a weapon, the faun was encouraged to go forwards. And given his situation, it did not take anything much for him to comply. Though still of bitter heart and feverish mind, he went where he was bidden, with short paces as the hobble allowed. All the while he whispered, "Where are my pigs, where are my pigs?" They needed him, he was their father. And even though they were of mature pig years they still were beasts of basic instinct and no reason. They would never understand what was happening to them.

He was poked harder with the stick. Leaf went faster. And the light changed.

Even though the hood was thick, he could feel the alteration of darkness into brightness. He blinked slightly, breathing deep before squealing. His hooves went from feeling earth to ... was it sand, but it was hard. There was a moment, a pause, then the hood was drawn off to reveal the arena.

Leaf froze, his eyes adjusting to both the light and the shock and the terror all in one. His guards were still with him and they were pushing him onto a narrow bridge that led to a round stoney dias. Below the dias was a drop that had water in it, water that probably had drowned countless of innocent victims.

The faun shrieked, hating this, all this, the arena, the sounds, the yelling, the emptiness of his mind - where were they, who was doing this, disconnecting them ...? Again he struggled, trying to tear his hands from their bonds.

His guards laughed, bashing him around the head.

"Kill him," they pointed at a small figure who had just appeared in the centre of the dias. He was small, like a child, and wore a black cloak, "And you'll get to see your pigs again."

[Elite Optic]

Strange, if not a little odd. Yet entirely fascinating and intriguing at the same time. A magical arena that allowed duels and death that mattered not at all in the real world.

Elite’s imagination ran wild at the thought of the possibilities within such a place, and yet as he stood within such a structure, he hated it. Nothing of such power existed when he was alive, magic was such a rare thing, feared and admired at the same time. So few had attained it, the Elves alone held the most knowledge back then. The evidence he now stood inside of showed how things had changed. It showed not just how much Althanas had grown, but how much humanity had grown; for this was within their territory after all.

How can I be so unfeared here…

The problem plagued his mind, he had enjoyed being feared as he walked within the living, and yet around the border of the Citadel the attitude had changed.

Was it normal for a variety of creatures and races to enter such a place?

He could of rampaged and forced the fear upon them, but now wasn’t the time, he still had a lot to learn about Althanas and finding his place here was taking time. Even worse, he had yet to recover anywhere near his past potential, he felt so weak. As much as he hated the thought, this was exactly why he was here.

Practice makes perfect…

If he was to regain his former glory and become the fearsome knight of death he was in the past, he had to learn everything he had forgotten. This was the place to start.

The silent echoes of talking and laughter made their way towards him, dampened by the loud caw of his personal servant crow. The half feathered bird was as loyal as any servant could be, defiance was unacceptable. He respected the loyalty though, after all everyone from their world was someone's servant.

The long grey stone corridor was rather dim, the flickering burning torches allowed only a faint light, and Elite’s fearsome bony structure became ever shadowed. His bone rack of skulls tied up on his back, and his rusty cleaver sword rested calmly across his shoulder.

I must look glorious...

He enjoyed looking as scary as he often did, and he relished the idea that whoever was inside might shriek at his mere appearance. The light haze over the entrance seemed to blur the other side, the transition into the light, like clearing water from the eyes.

The bridge creaked and moaned under his weight as he entered, the arena before him now clear in view. He stood upright and admired the construction before him; the round room wrapping round in layers of rings. The first a raised platform of seating and steps, a wide range of space for many spectators, not that many actually filled it. The second a small inner ring that walled off the seating, dropping to a thicker deep ring of water that the bridge lay over for entry.

Then sat right in the enter, the circular sandstone arena, nothing but a flat floor of a yellowy coloured stone.

Who are these...things?

Three humanoid's stood before him, all tiny in his presence but still of varied height and stature. Was he here to kill them all? How would any of these minor beings be a challenge for him? Was he wasting his time here, was going to discover that even in his current state, he had no one to respect?

He took a long disappointed look at the shortest of the three, a faun. It had been a while since he had laid eyes on one of those, but if that was here to fight, then surely this was all just a big waste of time.

[Hysteria]

Talen’s smile grew as the first contender catapulted himself into the arena. By his actions, I reckoned he was and old hat in the Citadel. Few fighters announced themselves by name nowadays, but this fighter did just that. I was expecting Talen to go on the offensive straight away, but instead he followed tradition.

“Talen.”

My Lord stated his name, something that caught me by surprise. The challenger, this man, this John was big, surprisingly big. My Lord’s small form paled in comparison. However, a wise man once said that there was always someone better than you, bigger than you or more skilled than you. This became abruptly apparent upon the third entry into the fight. The creature was huge, half again the size of John the giant easily.

Both these giants overshadowed My Lord, and the Faun. The latter seemed completely out of place in the walls of the citadel. A leaf upon the wind, blown fearfully close to an open flame. I don’t think I had ever seen someone thrown into a situation so overwhelming. Still, it was not for me to judge the lives of others, I had my own experiences with loss of control and a few years ago it could have been me thrown into a ring like the little wayward leaf.

Talen walked with a slow, confident stride across the yellowstone arena. A pulse of light on his shoulder signaled his summoning of Snacks. The light hardened as it took the shape of a white raven. Snacks was the rather childish name for Talen’s familiar. The creature, oddly similar to that with the undead behemoth, acted as a second pair of eyes for Talen. For now it waited on his shoulder as Talen positioned himself between the two giants. He looked blissfully unaware of just how small he was. I knew this wasn’t quite the case, and my child-like lord has moved so that the pair would not fight against each other and leaving him out.

“S’adeen N’Jal” said Talen to the giant undead behemoth. The words, rarely uttered in the light of day, were a greeting from a follower of N’Jal to another. Talen was testing to see if the giant creature was a follower of the same dark god as he. I had to admit, it did seem like either the work of N’Jal, or some other dark entity that would allow such an abomination to exist.

Talen slowly lifted his hands out of his pockets as shadows rippled from his hands up to his shoulders. The dark metal that formed across his skin was that of his gauntlets. Like most things my gothic inclined master had, they were crafted out of black metal. In his right hand the shadows stretched outwards, forming his single sided falcon sword similarly black with the exception of the white guard.

“Shall we get this started gentlemen?”

Threads a go! Thanks for your patience Red, let's have ourselves a royal rumble

[redford]

A third combatant entered.

John cocked up an eyebrow at the shaky faun that entered. It was odd to have more than two combatants at this particular arena at the same time, unless there were some special event going on. He wondered what the rules of such an encounter were before an arm extended from the stark shadows of the tunnel into the arena, pointing at the boy he'd just introduced himself to. It was then quite clear who her target was. It was then that the fourth entered.

The shadows lengthened at the opposite end of the citadel from where the faun entered, and a creature of gigantic, if gangly, proportion entered. It was a skeleton, of a giant if John ventured a guess, given life by some lich or necromancer and loosed upon the citadel to test its prowess. It was huge, as giants (and their skeletons) were, easily over ten feet tall. Its head and shoulders were too big for its body though, and it carried a rack of other remains on its back. A thoroughly odd creature; something that did not belong on this mortal plane. John was surprised, both at the unusual nature of their fourth combatant, but also that there was a fourth at all. The boy merely turned to the skeleton and spoke in a language he did not understand.

John had wondered about the boy's presence, he was confident, dangerously so, either to him or everyone around him. He first thought the boy an aspiring mage, given arrogance by his above-average skill, but he had no robes, and lacked the flamboyant demeanor of a mage. It was possible that he was a rich son of a nobleman, arrogant due to his name; but even the arrogance of high birth was broken by facing off against an eight foot giant and a ten foot skeleton. That left the option of power. The boy may just wield such power that we seem insignificant to him. John mentally commanded his armor to cover his whole body, hesitating slightly as it covered his face, as he had not quite gotten used to the sensation. A flash of darkness, and he saw again, clearly as with his own eyes. The armor somehow covered his open eyes and mouth without disturbing the operation of either. How it did this was a mystery to John. He widened his stance and returned his gaze to the boy, who strode forward, an inky black creeping up his forearms, much like his own armor. The boy smiled at all of them. John was reminded by the words of a teacher of boxing he once had.

"Confidence gets ya a win, boy, but arrogance gets ya killed."

John's forearms knocked together, the seamless metal of his armor singing in the arena faintly as he readied a defensive stance. It was still unclear just who was fighting who in here, and he aimed to find out sooner rather than later.

[Leaf]

He felt a release as one of the guards suddenly cut away his bonds.

Leaf was then shoved, hard, against his back, causing him to stumble forwards. Something familiar was then thrust into his hand, and Leaf found it to be his trusty dehlar sickle, almost as large as a scimitar. Instinctively his figners grasped around the familiar handle, though gods knew that more than a year ago he would have spat at anyone for being demon-posssessed if they had suggested that one day he might do such a thing. The guards stepped back - Leaf saw them out of the corner of his eye as he whimpered still - and disappeared into the dimness of the oustide of the arena.

"If you want to see your pigs again," they whispered.

His pigs. His beloved childred.

Swallowing, the faun farmer, once never a warrior and now a champion of the weak, rolled back his shoulders to stand, although timidly, tall. Eyes darted left to right, capturing in the other individuals there - the giant of a man, a strange dark skeletal man, the child they seemed to all be angling towards. A soft warm wind picked up, spiralling over the roof of the arena in the round and caused small dust particles to dance in the timid sunlight. The faun stood, as uncertain as a deer watching a bison. That boy, apparently his focus, stretched himself to full height and asked whether they should get this started.

"I don't want to start anything," Leaf whispered, but he copied the giant anyway, leaning into the first fighting stance his half-sister had ever taught him. Crooked crone she called it.

Silence fell. Even the few members of the audience were still with contemplation, with aphrension at this apparent battle of the centuries. Leaf waited with baited breath, heart hammering, tears threatening to stain his face.

Do not cry, he told himself, Do not. Just concentrate and get this over with.

He hoped, at least, that these other fellows would do most of the dirty work for him.

Or perhaps that should be bloody work.

[Elite Optic]

Elite had actually missed this, standing before one another before the battle. The silence that often ensued was usually the most boring part, but even then there was something about it that made it, important. Yet, this fight appeared rather odd as only the young man seemed to know who his enemy was.

The confident strides of an formidable if not arrogant warrior walked before him, the young man seemingly creating his own bird, a brighter if not prettier looking version of his own. The half feathered wings of Elites loyal crow took to the air, lifting itself off from the arena to take a seat somewhere far from reach - yet his foe's remained seated comfortably on his shoulder.

Am I of such insignificance, not an ounce of fear or consideration for what I am. The slight flicker of his eyes, they suggest surprise at my appearance, but not fear and no caution of me.

Elite snarled inside, had the dead been missing from this land for so long it meant nothing. Was everyone here really that powerful? Was Elite insignificant now?

This world has changed to much for my liking..

Maybe it had, but as confusing an experience as this now was, he didn't shy from it. After all, irrelevant of what was to happen here, he would enjoy this moment, he would learn from it, and sooner or later he would be feared again.

“S’adeen N’Jal” The man spoke confidently towards him.

The words of the Thayne, N'Jal. It had been so long since he had heard such a language. After all these years the religion had survived. The only question was how much influence did it still have on the modern world. Elite's knowledge was found wanting, but for now it wouldn't matter, he never liked religious followers anyway.

I can't help but admire his boldness, but the last time a Thaynite greeted me I did cut his head off...

"Greetings..." Elite replied, lifting his sword ever so slightly.

The larger more armoured human held his aggressive stance and the faun matched his pose, yet they did seem unsure of who to engage. Maybe Elite could just fight them all, he hadn't spoken to anyone about this place, he hadn't agreed to use a ally from the living.

Decisions, decisions. I guess I'll let them make the first move, then I'll just chop, chop, chop! As long as someone dies, then it'll all be worth it. After this...battle. I'll do a little research to how the religions of this world have unfolded.

[Hysteria]

A single note sounded. John’s armoured form had called it forth, like a tolling bell signalling the start, or perhaps the end. Such things repeated so often I lost track. There was tension as the note faded, like pig fat it clung and stuck to the air. Oily and thick, it was about to be devoured by the fight. Like the callous fool he was, my Lord didn’t shy as each of his opponents took their stance. He seemed to bask in the attention, even if it wasn’t all directed towards him.

“Advance!” Shouted Talen as his small form leapt towards the undead giant.

Talen’s frame was so small compared to the giant. He was black and white; the creature was bone and rot. As my Master rose up towards him his body twisted, his arms shot out, sword pointed towards the bone giant as magic coursed through his body. Darkness leached across Talen’s exposed skin, its white ivory darkened by cracks of shadow. Then there was a moment.

Time is such a petty thing, at times drawn out and laborious, other times slipping through your fingers quicker than a blink. Sometimes when the body aligns a strange happens; time slows. Such skill is needed to evoke this that it is seldom experienced, but this was one just event. I watched darkness exploded out of my master’s form. It flowed out and lifted up towards the sky like a dark flower blooming. A moment it was darkness, then liquid and finally fire. My Lords red rose bloomed in magnificent cascades of fire twisting and curling over each other as they lifted up towards the undead giant in a wave of flame and darkness.

It took a few moments longer before I could feel the heat, by which time Talen had changed his direction. The flower continued to bloom and threatened to whelm the undead creature, meanwhile my Master’s dark image shot like dart towards John. My Lord’s form moved with immense speed, little more than a dark blur with sword outstretched, but this was not quite as it seemed. In his heart, whatever blackened rotted form it took, Talen was a trickster. The form shooting towards John was nothing. Just an image, just a shadow brought forth to draw the attention of eyes so that Talen could strike without warning.

Snacks burst from beneath the rose and turned his avian body up above the fighters while Talen’s body materialised behind the Faun. My Lord’s smile was a twisted snarl now; white teeth shining from out of an ivory face etched with obsidian. Talen’s sword was gripped with two claw like hands and brought up towards the Faun’s back.

With enough force to rend stone in half, the Prevalida sword would slice through the Faun like a knife through butter. I had seen it before, men in full steel armour sliced in two without a second thought. This was my Lord seeking to end the whimsical creature’s life in an instant… and I wanted him to. Dammit I wanted blood. This was an arena filled with monsters and I wanted to see blood.

One use of Ink and Dwagon to make the burning liquid.
Chat thread is here in case anyone wants to ask anything (like suggesting a change to post order).

[Elite Optic]

He could be accused of being stupid, but it was lack of care, maybe a lack of respect for this world and its occupants that would have him remain stood still. Yet this boy before him, was no ordinary kid, no normal human ready to fight toe to toe; this boy was something else.

Elites lazy relaxed stance was clear to see, like the top fighter awaiting to see who was worthy of his interjection.

He simply watched with no intention of moving. The Thaynite leapt into the air, twirling and twisting in an dramatic style of attack; he fired out a stream of black that escaped from his very body, an oil like liquid which in turn erupted into a great mass of fire.

Interesting...You are no human boy...

Any human could have feared the explosion of fire before him, the intense heat, the wide expanse of the very flames almost trapping him in position. Yet, Elite cared not, it was almost beautiful, and he admired the very skill and power to create it.

Focused intensely on the moment, he let the flames engulf his position, the very fire a mimic to his own burning eyes. He felt blind as he stared at it, lost in the first moment of the battle start. His large stature stepped back, his sword swung outwards as if to parry and then, he collapsed. His entire structure disconnected, falling backwards as his bones in their entirety cascaded into the ring of water behind him.