The Ella Chamber

[Reine]

The thrust to the groin connected. She felt that sick sensation of the tip piercing through the flimsy cloth of his pants and into the soft skin it hid beneath, parting the flesh as if it were made of the water that surrounded them. Faelynn expected a scream, a yell--something!--but her attack was met with silence in the end. Not even a grunt of discomfort passed from the lips of the man in black.

That archer must have the pain resistance of a eunuch, I just attacked his twig and barries!

Even Seth Dahlios, with his immense pain tolerance, would be crouched over in severe agony, or at least checking to make sure he still had all his parts intact. Jared was probably cringing in fear right now. She doubted her boyfriend would let her near his twig and berries for the next week after she pulled a move like that. Well, if he could resist touching her for that long, which judging by his apetite, would not happen.

Fae began to think that somehow the attack had missed, but blood glinted on the end of Amalia a mere second before the torrential downpour washed it from metal.

When the thief stopped sliding, she found herself about two feet behind his back and quickly realized that the water level in their arena was rising and rapidly at that. She was practically swimming in her horizontal state!

Activating another of the enchantments on her boots with just a simple thought--thank you symbiotic relationship of awesome--Faelynn turned only to find the dull sheen of steel coming right for her. Green-gold eyes went wide. Instinct alone saved her from the brunt of the attack. She jerked her head back and the sharp tip, thrust hard toward her, slashed over her left cheek. Pain exploded down the side of her face as the blood spurted and flowed freely from the deep wound. A cry of alarm escaped her parted lips, but was swallowed by the ferocity of the storm.

Water slashed down her face, making it hard to see. She brushed it back and her hand came away pink and then quickly cleared as the rain washed it away.

"You'll pay for that." She growled loud enough for him to hear.

The soft planes of her face hardened, her eyes, normally dancing with light and amusement, turned dark with her anger and the throbbing pain that laced across her face.

Jumping up from the silty ground their arena floor had turned into, Fae tucked her legs up, then pushed down and came to rest on top of the thigh high water, well, more like hip high to her. She was on the shorter side. And it was still rising. Without the river slowing her down, she knew her opponent would have no chance. He couldn't dodge her thigh deep while she had the advantage of speed.

"When you do engage someone, don't toy with them." She once again heard Seth's words of advice. "Kill them as quickly as possible, you'll need all of your strength to survive."

Running across the top of the water, Faelynn whirled Amalia through the air and the rain. The curtain of water parted as she thrust the weapon down towards his chest. At the last second, she slammed her left hand into the butt of the spear and changed the thrust into an arch right for his throat, hoping to end him.

[Warpath]

He had come to see The Cell as a test, and the results were thus far conclusive. For one, Flint now knew that while he could jump far and high, he could not jump so far and high as to escape the pull of gravity. He came down fast, adjusting the angle of his legs as soon as his boots failed to meet anything solid. He had expected to slide along wet grass, but instead he glided into a deep pool of cold, murky water. This had been a lightly forested area not long ago, and so it was not at a uniform level – the ground was just slightly lower here, so the water was deeper. When Flint regained his feet, he found himself submerged nearly to the thigh.

This was a troubling development, the consideration of which was postponed for an instant when the ghost lashed out with another blade. Somehow acting on instinct, Skovik dodged away and waded into deeper water. At first he feared that his opponent was growing taller, but no, he simply wasn’t submerged in the water. Levitation then, Flint decided, but a closer look suggested that those transparent feet were in contact with the surface.

There was a moment’s pause where it seemed that Flint might not react to his foe’s charge, and then shots rang out. Flint tensed, expecting to feel the burning punch of bullets piercing his rain-slick flesh. Instead the invisible man faltered, and the brute capitalized.

He raised both thick-thewed arms overhead, bent slightly at the elbow with fists clenched, and with a roar he brought both arms down again – not on the invisible man, but into the water. His strength was such that a great dent appeared in the surface, the edges surging outward before the center rose up again to fill the displaced gallons. Flint repeated this assault on the pool furiously, over and over, which for all the world looked like a childish hissy-fit, until the dips and rises and ripples in the water reached his barely-visible foe.

Flint knew how difficult it was to stand in a canoe rocking on gently rolling water. It would take a being of incredible balance to keep his feet standing directly on choppy waters, rising and falling chaotically as these soon were. The brute needed only unbalance the lanky ghost, shake him off his feet. Once the shade was rendered helpless by his treacherous foothold, the brute could advance on his prone body and pummel the wizard to oblivion.

Flint wondered if the skulk’s blood and bones were invisible too, or just hidden behind a veil. It was a nigh time to find out.

[Dead & Walking]

Grond was hit by the staff which sent him into the path of the brute who took off his head and sent it flying.

Great, now I'm stuck like this till somebody sews my head back on. he thought as his head landed in the water and his belly fell backwards.

"A little help!" he called out, but no one could understand him. Just perfect.

(Grond is now unable to battle unless someone decides to pick up his head and reattach it to his body. Thus, he is figuratively dead. Though he will continue to groan for help the rest of the thread.)

[Tourneymant]

Barnabas wobbled on the surface of the water as the big brute in front of him splashed. This just isn't my tournament, he thought as he fell on his back, his body barely a paper thin amount of his skin covered in water.

[hoytti]

Sorish dropped his sword as a gun shot his hand that held it. He his hand would heal soon though, but as he thought about this he noticed that his enemy was about to try to take his head off with his arm. No way that is going to happen, Sorish thought as he raised his shield which took the blunt of the blow. However it also cracked under the pressure, which shocked Sorish. If he had hit my head I would have been finished! Sorish thought as he was flung back. He hit the ground hard and his shield flew out of his hand. He was disoriented and shook his head as he got up.

Sorish looked at his hand and noticed that it was nearly healed. He grabbed his knife. He would dodge then stab the man if and when the man where to attack him again. He then noticed that the water was choppy. Not that it really mattered. He could deal with that. It's still just water. His opponents however, probably might have a problem.

[Roht Mirage]

Astarelle knew by now that this “doorman” could not be overestimated. So, it was only with a tired grunt of confirmation that she watched the zombie lose its head and the giant recoil. “Breaker!” she suddenly cried like the memory had force. It was a name she had heard in Radasanth -back when lapses of memory were due to plain old boredom, not this madness- but had never met the man. Yet, the sliver of a memory insisted that that name and the man splashing down strongly before her, threatening to wash her over, were one and the same. The old white scar on his cheek teased the memory further. It was almost excruciating.

Breaker, she thought with a snort, recalling the crater, Of course that's his name.

The zombie's head splooshed a few paces from her like one of those obnoxious white birds at the Radasanth dock, mouth snapping for fish that, in this case, were nowhere to be found. She gave an unthinking sigh of relief when the sentient eyes disappeared into the water, and just as quickly, a short shriek when they resurfaced. Still alive?!

She raised her staff to bash the bobbing noggin as its eyes leered straight at her. The light rebounding off the rain-torn surface still rendered a convincing recreation of the glass fields, shining over the dislodged head as if it were all that remained of one man's successful noonday walk. “Like a sand-blasted Coronian,” she muttered, the staff frozen above her head. She swept it forward, slowly, and shepherded the head closer to her. The smell of rain washed away the smell of death, but her stomach still heaved as she placed tentative fingers against the dome of exposed skull and pushed it to the bottom. She was up to her chin in the turgid water when the creaking jaw finally met the muddy earth in a sticky, decrepit kiss. “Return to the mother from whence you came,” she said in the rapid staccato of her own language. It was as close to a Roht prayer as she dared while the goddess still hunted her.

She swished her hand through the water as she rose, and looked up at the imposing man. “Breaker,” she said loudly through the rain, “I- I remember someone pointing you out, saying your name. I don't remember where...”

Bury me, she sighed, pressing a dripping hand to her forehead as she used her staff to take weight off her throbbing hip. I must be a sight. Her shoulders hung low, like the relentless pounding of rain was taking its toll. Her artificially-propped figure had all the sensuality of sodden driftwood. A pool of filthy water rolled in the pert crevasse of her cleavage. And it looks like I messed myself... All around the limp skirt, a darkness spread. The sand had not survived her splashdown, not in a way to still be called sand. Yet, it wanted to return to the tattoo state enough to fight for buoyancy. It takes days to fix the sand in a new rest location. When did I have time to form the tattoos and make them so... permanent?

Astarelle shook her head. There were so many questions she needed to ask, and many more she was afraid to. Did I try to mate with you, too? came to mind. Blushing faintly, she picked the most pertinent ones and let them fly from dripping lips.

“Four things,” she said while actually holding up the same number of fingers. “One: What is this,” she gestured around as she tried to find a word, reluctantly settling on, “event?”

“Two.” She counted it down on her fingers. “How many people can see us?” The Ai'Brone had assured her that her identity would be a secret within their arenas. She couldn't hide the Roht mark upon her forehead, anyway, with her sand drifting around her in a slick.

“Three: Are the Ai'Brone going to revive us after, or are you all just lunatics who already dug your own graves?” The last part wasn't necessary. She blushed harder, but continued to her final point... meekly.

“Four: I can't swim.”

The zombie skull is "buried" in the mud beside her feet. Rest in peace.

[black shadow]

Black Shadow saw the spear, and slashed his sword down at it, trying to block the attack from entering his skull. The sword connected with the spear, causing it to fall lower than the intended target... Right through his heart. Black Shadow fell limp to the floor, and his body began to float. Blood spewed out the wound, and colored the water red. Black Shadow had lost his battle.

[Breaker]

Bodorson had spent the previous night putting a keen edge to Joshua's blades. He'd offered to do so in a moment of good will and remembered glory, when Cronen had broken news of his invitation to the fabled tournament. Unfortunately he had not remembered how many blades the retired Sheriff owned. Terech had toiled over his grindstone while Jacob jumped Stacia and their mentor to Radasanth for a night of fun and friends. Terech found whetting weapons far more enjoyable than social misadventures, but he had a crick in his neck from the long night's work. And when it came time to leave, Cronen had left half his bloody arsenal behind!

Suffice to say, Bodorson had experienced better days in his considerable lifetime. He loved his comrades though, and would never watch them come to harm. And so he climbed warily to his feet and ambled over to stop Jake from starting another brawl.

Stacia beat him to it. The petite woman pulled the half elf away a short distance and returned to the oafish men, smiling and simpering, touching their baggy bellies and marveling as if muscle lurked beneath.

Terech clapped Jake heartily on the back, chuckling at the lad's muffled rage.

He wants the lass too strongly for his own good, Bodorson mused as he returned to his pipe and struck a sulfurous match. Chip off of the Breaker, that one.



Cronen's left arm cleaved the zombie's head from its shoulders - clean as any guillotine. The shattering impact on the coral shield spun him and he corkscrewed over the fallen combatants and into the drink. He struck with such force the surface retched and heaved, and his right wrist snared in a split rywan stump. Even with his head underwater and bubbles bursting all around, he heard the untimely pop.

Fuming and fountaining, he stood up in the shallows. He'd wrenched his wrist free without trouble, but the hand was bent back at an angle. A nasty dislocation.

Even with unbreakable bones, sometimes something gave.

Josh tucked the spasming hand under his sodden denim-clad armpit, listening to Roht's questions. She knows my name? But how? Although he had a following amongst warriors of a certain cut, Cronen was not a name known across the south sea. Did someone send her after me last night? They couldn't have picked a more conspicuous assassin... but what if she's a spy?

He sucked his right elbow and shoulder back and set the wrist with grinding crunch. He roared without words, lungs emptying with such power the sound echoed off Ixian Castle in the distance.

The Coralian titan rose from the mire like a summoned Kraken. The serpentine sword was gone, the stalwart shield sundered at last, but the long-limbed warrior wielded a dagger as if inviting attack. Beyond its rain-beaten coral form, only the tightly-panted thief was visible, flitting above the waves like a shadow.

The rest of the combatants were fish in a barrel.

But Roht had piqued his interest. If she is a spy, I need to know who sent her... Cronen's resources in Corone were plentiful as they were private. He held influence at Ixian Castle, Chronicle Headquarters and Underwood Town Hall. If she's after something, I won't see what 'till she's close enough to take it.

"One," he hissed through the driven rain, "this event is no place for you. Two," he croaked as he crafted an ice poultice around his throbbing wrist, "there's more spectators out there than you could sling sand at. Three," he stepped behind her and spanned slim hips with broad hands. "You'll get to make more poor choices no matter how you die today." She squeaked as he compressed her abdomen between both palms, forcing his tortured wrist to work.

"Four... Jump!"

Roht responded far better than she had to the previous command, bending her knees and leaping as he flung her from the water's grasp. She arced through the downpour toward the deepest part of the Ella Pond - the crater marked at its depth by a leather-wrapped handle.

Cronen saw his next move as clearly as a premonition. The power had built in him throughout the battle, each black-booted step driving up the voltage. He'd seen it coming since the rainwater filled his boots.

Muck churned as he charged the Coralian, swinging a left hook that could level an anvil.

True to its sinuous style, the towering seaman slithered aside and stabbed a response.

"Gotcha," Josh gasped as the blade bit his ribcage.

Lethal electricity discharged from Breaker's body. It lanced through the mineral-rich water like chain lightning, seeking to strike anything living. It shocked Cronen even as he conducted it, shaking his muscles and sending his head back, mouth open wide to the gale.

The current died as quickly as it sprung to life, and Cronen's laughter rocked the dome.

Bunnying approved by Roht and Hoytti. Josh discharged a current capable of killing a being twice as hearty as the average human into nutrient rich (highly conductive) water ('Lighting Rod').

[Reine]

Well...that was surprising.

Fae thought as she felt the tip of her spear slide into the archer's chest. The thief had expected to slice open his throat, only the man had seen right through her first feint and batted aside her second attack, only to redirect it at his own chest.

Perhaps Oberon could teach him a thing or two about fighting.

At least during all their spars she had never once redirected any of his attacks back onto her body. Oh, she'd blocked quite a few of them rather poorly and made a few silly decisions of her own--like launching herself at him and ending up thrown onto some wooden crates--but this one took the cake and ate it too. Or, he ate the tip of her spear anyway.

Fae had never killed anyone outside The Citadel, and even in those hollow walls the sensation of her weapon rending flesh left her queasy. Thieving was her thing, her high, her sex. Ending another being's life was something she could only hope and pray to never have to do outside of these sanctioned battles.

Seeing the light fade from his black eyes, the weight of his body slipping into the muddy water, Fae shifted and placed both her hands on Amalia, ready to twist the weapon from it's sheath of flesh. At that moment, lightning danced through the water, a wave, a pulse of it. She gasped as it arched up the archer's body, through the dense metal of her spear and into her hands.

Fae watched as Seth removed the greaves from his arms, revealing a sick display of tortured, scarred skin underneath. The river of scar turning her stomach slightly, while also fascinating her at the same time.

"I held on to those daggers for too long once, guy electrified me."

She expected pain. No, pain would be pleasant, she expected pure agony. All she felt was a tingle, a not unpleasant caress really, as the electricity raced through her body and then out the bottom of her boots, dissipating into the water.

Releasing the breath she'd been holding, lungs beginning to scream, Fae wrenched her spear tip from the now very dead and slightly smoking corpse of the archer.

Just then, an ungodly scream pierced the roar of the arena. Fae looked up just in time to see a body coming right at her.

Oh for the love of--

She never even got to finish the sentence as flesh met flesh with a bone jarring impact. Something slammed into her solar plexus, knee elbow, head, she didn't know. Air whooshed out of her lungs and Faelynn, and who the hell just jumped her, went right into the water. Silt filled her eyes, stinging them. She clamped them shut and felt hands roving all over her, scrambling, nails biting, fighting in no effort to attack her, almost in a blind panic. Fingers touched her arms, her face, hell, the questing hands even grabbed one of her breasts in desperation. She pshed and scrambled in an effort to ward her would be killer off, because if she didn't get whoever this was away from her, she'd drown for sure!

Hitting the bottom, the thief touched her boots off the soil and pushed up with all her strength. She rocketed out of the water in a rush, her ascent stopping some four feet above the still growing water level before she came back down to land once more on top of it. Apparently, she'd pulled her assailant out too, a sputtering Roht Mirage who looked like a drowned rat with a black eye. The woman seemed to be quite uncomfortable in the growing pond and Fae wondered if she could swim. Her accent spoke of Fallien and Fae knew from experience most locals there could not. What she didn't know, was what the heck to do now.

"What the hell are you doing?" Fae yelled at her in Fallien. Or at least that's what she hoped she yelled. Her Fallien was passage at best, for all she knew, she may have just asked where the bathroom is.

Realizing the comforting weight of Amalia no longer rested in her hand, Fae frantically began scanning the depths of the murky water for her spear. She must have dropped it when psycho here fell out of the sky on her. After a second, her eyes caught the familiar shape of it lying in the mud and silt, right at her assailant's feet.

Just fantastic.

She narrowed green-gold eyes on the woman, contemplating her options.

[hoytti]

The knife hit the target perfectly but was electrified on contact. It may not have been as conductive as metals but the amount of energy in the mans body was enough to send the shock through the knife anyway which in turn, sent it into Sorish which then transferred it to the water which reversed it back on the man as well as sent it towards all other combatants in the water. Sorish shook uncontrollably as the amount of energy ran through his body, is brain functions shut down in seconds and his body still held the knife, the water continued to be electrified as he died. It would kill anyone who was in it or touched it probably for a long time. The rain continued to pour as the last of the energy sputtered out of the man and Sorish released his knife and sun to the bottom of the lake his rain created by accident.

(Sorish is dead and the water electrified. Rain will continue to fall till you say that the hour is up Sei. Good luck everyone.)