Wascally Wabbits (Closed)

[Rehtul Orlouge]

Rehtul smiled and brushed his hair out of the way of his eyes as he entered the Citadel for the first time in what seemed like years. He shook his head at the sheer size of the building once again as he entered through one of the large doors on the front of the building. He had only fought here a couple of times before, and the only bout that stood out in his memory was his last battle against a woman named Ruby, who he had fought on two separate occasions, once in Underwood and the second time here in the Citadel.

The door closed behind him, creaking ominously.

They really need to oil that thing. It sounds like the hinges are about to pop off, he thought with a bemused smile on his face. He walked up to one of the numerous desks dotting the landscape of the reception area of the Citadel.

As he approached the mahogany desk, he took a moment to survey his surroundings. The polished white marble floor was well-kept as always, reflecting the natural light from the large windows overhead. Rehtul couldn’t even begin to fathom the amount of wax they must have gone through every single day to keep the floors as clean as they did.

He looked over the desk to see a slightly gaunt monk with hair almost as long as his own looking back at him over the cover of a book, a single eyebrow cocked slightly upward. Rehtul had made a similar face at people over the course of his life, and knew exactly what it meant: “Are you going to stand there all day or do you want something?”

“Sorry, I was just admiring the architecture for a moment. By the way, just curious, but how do you all manage to keep the floor so clean when there are hundreds, if not thousands, of dirty feet passing through the halls at one time?”

The monk sighed and snapped his book closed before responding, “We don’t use wax. We use a very low key spell on the floors of the building to eliminate dirt and grime before it even touches the surface of the building proper.”

“That’s interesting. Even if it’s a low key spell, the amount of sheer magical power for the floor of the building must be immense,” Rehtul thought aloud. He then coughed into his hand and grimaced. “But I digress. I’m actually here for a battle. I don’t mean to take up too much of your time.”

The monk forced a smile and put his book down on the table with a practiced ease, fingers lightly pressing the cover before he fully lifted his hand and stood up. He motioned with an outstretched hand for Rehtul to follow him.

“Any particular desires for a starting arena?” the monk asked as they passed through a long, brightly lit hallway full of doors, which Rehtul knew lead to various arena spaces that he could only assume were created through some kind of massive magical system sleeping somewhere in the bowels of the Citadel itself. His father had been tight lipped about the work he had done within the Citadel, including his role in the healing magic that could somehow revive the dead without it coming down to being some form of necromancy.

The intricacies and subtleties of the magics used by the monks of Ai’bron were so clouded and convoluted that Rehtul was unsure he would ever know the truth behind how their greatest monument on the face of Althanas even functioned.

“I don’t really have any preferences. The Ixian Knights are experiencing a little down time due to some… complications,” he said as they continued their walk.

“Ah, so you’re a member of the Knights, eh? We see their type in here more often than we care to say. Here to work off some frustration, then?”

Rehtul’s eyes narrowed slightly as a cloud of mist issued from between his clenched teeth. “You could say that.”

“I see. I won’t probe any deeper. Let’s just… ah, here’s one. If you’ve been here before, you know the drill. Walk through the door and if no one’s there, wait. This room is unoccupied, so you’ll have to stew some before someone finds you,” the monk said as he walked off, chuckling at what Rehtul could only guess was some kind of inside joke. He just shrugged and walked through the door.

As the light from the transportation cleared, he looked around to get his bearings. He was in the middle of some kind of a prairie, dotted on either side by the outskirts of a giant forest. This seemed to be reminiscent of a drawing of the Raiaeran countryside he had seen in a history book he’d bought a few months ago, except for one small detail.

The grass continued to move around Rehtul as he saw hundreds of pairs of ears pop up around him. Long, rather slender ears that could only belong to...

A small rabbit jumped out of the tall grass in front of the young Orlouge. He instantly thought back to what the monk said before he walked in the room.

“You’ll have to stew a bit? As in rabbit stew? That wasn’t even a good joke…” Rehtul rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “Now my brain hurts from the level of stupidity some people will sink to for so-called humor.”

He looked around and scratched the back of his head, confused. What the hell was he supposed to do about all these innocent animals while he was fighting another person?