Frost vs Fang (Redux)

[Jack Frost]

The smell of salt and fish filled the air as Jack stepped off a simple fisherman's vessel, pouring a few coins into the outstretched hands of an old man clinking together softly as they hit his palm. "Thank you kindly..." the man muttered, shaking slightly in the cold sea breeze. Winter was coming and soon and many people were struggling to gather up supplies for what seemed to be a long, harsh season. All around the two the docks seemed to be filled with activity, sailors and fishermen coming in and out of the bay, loading and offloading goods. Hauls of fresh fish were dumped into small carts and wheeled off to local mongers to be hawked off to the masses. The sun struggled to shine through the thick veil of gray clouds looming overhead, and already the residents of the town were donning coats to counter the climate.

Meanwhile Jack remained indifferent to the weather, wind gusted against his skin and he could feel its presence. He did not feel it's cold bite that would send shivers down another mans body however. As he parted ways with his ride wordlessly Jack strode through the town quickly, ignoring the activity around him. He wasn't interesting in the hurried cries of vendors, the songs of street performers, the smells of baked goods sitting out to cool. He couldn't give a rats ass about the town, in fact. He was here for one thing only, the Citadel.

In his line of work as a mercenary, death was a very real and constant threat. In the Citadel Ai'Brone monks practiced incredible magic that could allow two contestants to face of in mortal combat in any arena they could imagine and emerge unscathed. It was the ultimate form of training, if not pricey. With the changing of the seasons Jack would need to take more and more perilous jobs in order to make ends meet. Thus in order to evade the cold clutches of death he would need to get stronger, and the Citadel was the perfect place for it.

He found himself climbing a large set of stone stairs that led to a large set of wooden doors that served as the portal into the ornate building that seemed equal parts chapel and fortress. Everywhere he looked he found either grizzled looking fighters or men cloaked in brown robes that obscured almost all of their features. Finally he found himself standing in a large lobby devoid of furnishings save a large desk where an ancient looking man stood cloaked in brown. Scowling, Jack strode forward and cleared his throat.

"I would like to partake in a fight." He grunted. The monk nodded, and wordlessly scrawled something down in a comically large tome before him before gesturing him to follow as he began down a long, simple hallway filled with ornate wooden doors on either side of them. The two seemed to walk what felt for an abnormal amount of time before the monk stopped and gestured to the door.

"You are the first to enter the room." He stated simply. "Thus you choose the arena." Confused Jack opened the door to find the portal to be pitch black. He had never started the fight. "Simply think about where you want to fight." The monk stated bowing and backing away.

Jack too a deep breath and stepped through to enter, nothing. The room seemed like an endless void of nothing, pitch darkness without bounds or limits. There was no floor to speak of, his feet felt contact, but only the faint illusion of it, as if the shadows had formed a light shell for him to stand on ready to collapse under his weight any moment. He felt himself shiver involuntarily, and that worried him more than the boundless nothingness.

"Where do I want to fight?" He asked the darkness as he strode forward. The darkness replied with silence as the mercenary paced backand forth. "I have the home field advantage..." he mused, his words flowing off of his lips in a fog. "I might as well use it." he finished as he closed his eyes. He could sense the room around him as it changed around him. When he opened his eyes there was nothing but and endless sheet of ice and white sky save the door. A howling wind tore through the room as grin slid across his pale lips. Just the way he liked it.

[Sinovera Of Bloodmoon]

Cool, salty air brushed over the skin of the paled skinned Drow as she stepped onto the deck of a relatively small ship. The smell of rotten fish filled her slender nose, making her upper lip curl into a snarl. Strong smells had always bothered her, but with the constant unsteady rocking of the boat her sense of smell had been heightened. When they had finally made dock Sinovera had nearly flung herself off the ship and onto the calm, stable wooden floor of the docks. The second her leather boots touched semi-dry land her stomach settled and the dizziness in her eyes abated. The air still smelt of fish, but it had become a bit more bearable.

She had allowed herself to be seen without her cloak and found that very few people looked her way. Most had been busy with either manual labor, selling, or buying the fresh batch of fish that the boat had brought. Her mismatched eyes analyzed her surroundings, taking in the faint glimmer of sunlight shining through the fluffy gray clouds. She also noticed that she must have looked a fair bit odd in nothing but leather armour and a cloak. Many of the people in the dock area were dressed in layers of thick clothing to protect themselves from the chilly air. For as long as she could have remembered she had never been too effected by the cold. She tended to produce more body-heat than the average person.

She turned away from the bustling scene to find that the captain of her ship had been standing behind her. She looked up at his lined, tattered face to see that he had a smile gracing it. His entire facade showed the many years of work he had endured. She had found that the only thing that hadn't looked ragged upon him was the small, gold wedding-band that rested on one of his fingers. It was well taken care of, which could have meant two things. He often had it off and in a safe place so that he could find some tail whenever he made dock, or he constantly polished it.

“Here ye be, lassie,” he said with a rough, attractive voice. Sinovera stared at him coldly for a moment before allowing her full, black lips to quirk up into a smile as she silently brought her hand to her coin purse and fished a few gold coins. She first handed the ones that would cover her board, and then she added a few more coins to pay for the food that they hadn't charged her for.

“I thank you dearly, Captain, for allowing me to ride upon your vessel. I was at quite the loss as to how I was to arrive here, but alas, you allowed me to free my mind of such concerns,” she offered him a small bow as he extended his hand, causing him to frown.

“I keep fer-gettin' 'hat you folk don't like gettin' touched,” he dropped his hand and gave her a small nod of the head in return.

“'Tis not that we do not enjoy being touched,” she paused, offering him another grin. “My kind are simply raised to be as eloquent as possible. Physical touching is normally reserved for close friends and lovers,” she offered her hand to him, causing the older man to grin yet again, revealing his rotten teeth. He firmly took her slim hand in his own, much larger one and did three pumps before releasing.

“In any case, lass; I be hopin' that you find what ye be lookin' fer,” the old man said before turning to see a couple of his crew slacking off. “I'll skewer yer gizzards if ye don't get back to work!” He bellowed out as he walked away, leaving the Drow woman by herself. She found herself secretly wishing that the salty sea-dog would still be there when she found herself in need of transportation yet again.

It wasn't long before she began to make her way through the bustling dock-district. The noise was nearly over-powering to her ears, and the constant feeling of pudgy bodies sliding across her leather armour as she passed by was enough to put her in quite the foul mood. As she slid through the last few bodies she felt a slight pressure on her hip where her coin purse was. Her hand lashed out like a whip and wrapped around a small wrist. She kept a hold of her wiggling would-be thief as she walked out of the remaining crowd. She then turned to find that there was boy of twelve in her grip with a handful of her coins in his hand. She found that he had been quite emaciated. His tattered clothing hung off of him as he stared up at the fiercely beautiful Drow woman.

She watched his shoulders shake under her gaze and almost felt satisfied that she had frightened him, but in the end she released his bony wrist. “Be glad that I am kinder than most people you would steal from, child,” she said before turning from him. He was of little consequence to her as she had a, most likely, dangerous battle ahead of her. For years she had heard of the Citadel and it's grand appearance. She had also heard of the immense power of the Ai'Brone Monks, and how they could steal a person back from near death.

For a very long time she had been attempting to find a place where she could master her darker urges and keep them locked away during battle. She had found herself becoming covered in fur much too often when she was in combat. A place such as the Citadel seemed like it would have been the perfect place for her to practice control whilst in combat. She could already feel her inner beast stirring at the promise of combat, feeling the need to sink fangs into soft, supple skin.

Soon she found herself at the foot of the Citadel, looking up and the grand, ornate staircase before her. She swiftly made her way up to the doorway. She found that the door was open just enough for a person to slip through, most likely because of the chilly nip in the air. As she entered she found many brown-robed men walking around, and even more battle-hardened men and women, looking to fight just as she was.

After a quick cursory glance around the large hall she walked on until she found a rather large lobby that was devoid of furniture and warmth. The only thing that disturbed the silent stillness of the room was a gray-bearded man that sat at a beautifully made dark-wood desk. The only thing that was atop this desk, however, was just an ink well, a quill, and an overly large tome that had an array of beautiful colour upon it's leather binding. She walked forward, careful not to make a sound as she approached the elderly monk.

As she settled herself directly in front of the monk she softly cleared her throat to get his attention, “Greetings, elder one,” she gave a polite bow before continuing. “My name is Sinovera and I would kindly ask if I could participate in a battle?” She asked politely. When the monk raised his eyes from the tome, Sinovera found that he was void of emotion. He gave her a nod before rising from his seat with a remarkable ease considering his age. She quickly followed him down a hall that had many doors littering the walls. They walked for what seemed like an hour before they finally reached a door that was open.

“There will be an opponent waiting for you in there,” he said, motioning for her to step through the doorway. Sinovera nodded to him, giving a word of thanks before closing her eyes and stepping through.

The second she opened her eyes she found herself surrounded by a snowy white expanse. The sky above held little warmth, despite the clear sky. She suddenly thanked her lucky stars that she was resistant to the cold. When she did a glance at her surroundings she quickly spotted a tall figure standing about twenty feet from where she stood. She immediately tensed up and slid her hands to her daggers.

“Greetings,” she called out, waiting for him to make the first move.

[Jack Frost]

Jack eyed up his opponent for a moment, A woman...? he thought to himself as he drew his blade and bowed. "Greetings, my name is Jack Frost." he shouted so she could hopefully hear him over the howling wind. "And before we begin I would like to know yours as well." he rose from his bow and began to scan her features. Rather unassuming figure, not weak but not overbearingly muscular either. Nothing about her posed an immediate threat.

As the wind howled some more as he waited for her reply he though about the sheet of ice they stood on. Thick enough to hold them it would seem, but how much of a hit could it take before it cracked and shattered. A grin played upon his lips as a plan formed on his lips. The moment she spoke her name and charged he would plunge his sword into the ice cracking it into large unstable platforms.