'O Hallowed Halls...(Closed)

[Elthas_Belthasar]

(Elthas ~V~ Quentin Boone)

Recovering from a previous battle, Elthas Blethasar found himself in one of the medical wards if the grand structure. A few weeks had passed since he first ventured into The Citadel looking for refinement in his training. Elthas was getting dressed in his full combat gear when a cleric approached him. The clerics were gifted in the healing arts and could mend injuries and even prevent death! Elthas always admired the skill of The Order to cheat death. Elthas stared at the female cleric as she approached, his eyes narrowed cautiously. His last opponent had thrown him a sound beating and Elthas's ego was still quite bruised. Elthas assumed that the girl would have more bad news for him. Setting the last button of his shirt, Elthas acknowledged the cleric.

"What business is there this hour?" Elthas asked.

"You lost your last match I was sent here to inform you of that." The girl said. "Furthermore we have reset your chamber for use." She added.

"I have business to take care of with my superiors. I will probably not be here much longer." Elthas said grimly, his expression was a hard one.

"There is always time for one more match." She said. "My superiors will not allow you to leave until you've taken care of this matter."

"What matter? I am still trying to recover." Elthas said, his annoyance clearly growing.

"Why your next match of course." She responded in a matter-of-fact sort of way.

Elthas growled audibly and made a motion to leave.

She placed a strong hand on his shoulder.

"Don't leave. You are paid for this work." She said carefully so as not to overstep boundaries.

"Fine." Elthas added. "I have some time to kill. Who is this warrior that I must do battle with?"

"I cannot reveal his name but he has made an official request. He wants to use the very halls of The Citadel to do battle in a real combat scenario." She said.

Elthas raised an eyebrow. "He is willing to risk death?" Elthas asked.

"He is." Then she tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Elthas. We cannot interfere until it's over."

Elthas sighed.

"Very well. Show me to him." Elthas walked out of the medical ward.

***

Twisting and winding in every possible direction, the halls of The Citadel was a modern wonder. The architectural design of The Citadel always amazed Elthas but when he wandered to the deeper sections of the structure, the edifice became less of a building, and more of a living being. The blood of warriors and magi fed The Citadel's hallowed grounds. And in some ways, it was an organic entity that was constructed for war. Elthas walked along the comfortable carpet, the colour of it was royal blue. Paintings were etched upon the surface of each wall he looked at, and these paintings depicted The Demon's War, and The War of the Tap. Elthas was escorted to the lower levels of The Citadel. The reason being was that they could not place bystanders in danger.

It was a long hike, but they finally made it to a somewhat large room that had four equally sized pillars. The ceiling in this basement section was considerably high. Statues were visible that were made of stone, brass, or other forms of metal. Some of the statues were of famous Heroes, and Villains, that came through the bloodied halls. Even this part of The Citadel contained it's share of mural paintings. It was well lit despite being several floors underground. When Elthas was escorted to the very center of the chamber, The Monks that did the escorting surrounded the combat space. Exits and escape routes were immediately cut off.

As Elthas walked with The Monks they explained the rules of the match up. Death was possible. His opponent was willing to risk all, and the identity of the foe raised a deep sense of curiosity within Elthas's heart. When the final destination was reached, Elthas stopped as the female cleric touched his forehead. Elthas did not feel anything out of the ordinary, but simply watched and waited. His excitement growing with every passing moment.

"Think before you act." The cleric said. "This is for real. Just remember that." Then she turned around and walked to her fellows to observe the battle.

Elthas felt his heart racing. He drew his two combat daggers and moved into a fighting stance.

It was all or nothing.

[Quentin Boone]

Despite the now-waning hang-over that Quentin was suffering from, he knew that he had to carry out Sei's request. The Serenti Invitational was a prestigious test of ones fighting ability, and there was likely to be a substantial monetary prize at the end of it. That was motivation enough, but having remembered his actions towards the Avatar of Alerar, Quentin knew he was lucky to emerge unhurt. To refuse such an advantageous request would surely displease the Mystic further and the rough-clothed mercenary might not emerge as lucky if he ever saw the man again.

To help fund the journey to Serenti, Quentin had decided to have a quick fight in the Citadel before leaving. Entering the great building, it was as though the healing powers of the monks filled the air; with each step the hangover seemed to fade, and when the monk who guided Quentin through the labyrinthine corridors placed his hand on Boone's shoulder, the hangover disappeared completely. The walk to the arena of battle was a long one, through identical narrow corridors that were adorned with murals and tapestries and well-lit with ample candlelight. It was a pleasant, if silent trek through the Citadel.

The monk never spoke, despite having a friendly face, and after nearly half an hour of walking, stopped in front of a deceptively tall, thick wooden door. The monk opened it, and as Quentin placed knuckledusters on his thick, calloused hands, the mercenary stepped over the threshold.

The row of monks caught Quentin's attention immediately and he clenched his fists before realising who they were - matches here could be of any sort, but the monks did not involve themselves. Then the grandness of the large basement-hall hit home; the high ceilinged chamber was supported by four massive pillars that were uniformly grooved, and as Quentin followed them upwards, he caught sight of the scenes painted directly onto the grey-orange stones. He ignored the statues and murals - similar artefacts were found throughout the Citadel and as such did not hold the same wonder as the painted ceiling.

Putting his mind back to the matter at hand, the six-foot-three-inches tall fighter stepped forward, a temporary opening in the line of monks closing behind him as he closed in on the opponent. Small clouds of dust floated around heavy black boots with each of Quentin's steps: these lower halls were rarely used so a small layer of dust had settled over the months. The heavily-muscled brawler stopped about ten feet from the elf standing before him and ran fingers through both his hair and short beard, clearly he wasn't overly worried. "So, yer mah 'ponnent, huh? Hope ya ready for a beatin'."

Quentin flexed his fingers and raised his hands in a relaxed manner as he shifted his feet a little. Looking the elf up and down, Quentin's mind was already gauging potential attacks and how to counter them. Hopefully, he'd make short work of the elf.