It's Raining, It's Pouring (Open to One)

[Ashla]

Testing level six Ashla out. Open to one opponent!

Rain drops fell onto the bleak, rubbish ground of a ruined castle. Thunder roared above as a single person shielded herself in only a shawl and a scarf. She sighed and pulled her scarf off her head, allowing the rain to pile on top her thick, black hair. Goosebumps flooding over her skin, she closed her blue eyes for a long moment

Her clothes were soaked already. A black shirt with a dark blue front, a black pair of sweatpants, and a navy shawl that hid an oak shield and twin, iron butterfly swords. The weapons on her belt were easily noticeable. A steel longsword, a longknife between the sizes of a dirk and a shortsword, and a handheld crossbow all lingered on her belt. The other weapon strapped to her side was a damascus broadsword with a spiked pole hidden in the hilt. A small, steel dagger was inside the hilt of a small belt strapped across one of her legs.

She has some armor her and there. A sleeves, steel chainmail shirt was hidden between her black and blue shirt and her black undershirt. She had steel shoulder plates as well, and steel greaves on her legs.

As her boots made a squeaking sound in water of this downpour, she opened her eyes and gazed out to the moonless night. She reflected emotionlessly, "It's raining, it's pouring. The old man is mourning..."

She sighed as she looked around. It was like an old, Elvish fortress destroyed during the Corpse War. However, not a single remaining skeleton existed here. The girl pushed her thousand pound hair behind her pointed ears, revealing that she herself had some high elf blood. Recently, she'd spent a lot of time in Raiaera...

As she walked across the almost archaic ruined bridge, she clenched her gauntlet covered fists. The girl lowered her head in the pouring rain and stopped right at an archway that ended the bridge that would lead to a long abandoned courtyard, all stone and dead plant.

The girl lifted her head. It was very dark, but it was still very possible to see at the least. She blinked the rainwater out of her eyes and removed her shawl revealing her buckler and butterfly swords on her back. Her arm warmers werr doing little for her aside hiding the self afflicted scars on her right wrist, yet she kept them on for that exact reason. She pulled her drenched hand up to help clear the water from her eyes, but did just the opposite.

As she blinked rapidly, she sputtered, "I deal with snow and sand, not- pfft! - this stuff... Somebody's bawling up there."

[Devonus]

The rain star was not happy this day, Earlon bellowed in the harsh storms wind as he poured an ocean from the sky for sins long lost and forgotten. Perhaps such a sin had been wrought here. My leather boots squish loudly in the mud, the sickening feel of my boot sinking in reminding me of dung.

At least the scent is better.

Not that I could smell much as I approached the ruins. The message had come from the monks just the night before, left under a rock resting above my grave when I crawled my way from the dirt. After my last match in the citadel, I had left instructions with the monks to inform me of any matches that might match my desired attributes. I had designed the last field to take place in the red forest during the day, and though I had enjoyed the view I had not seen in so long, it proved to be a distraction. No sun was not meant for my eyes, even if magical and non-harmful, I needed darkness, but it was rare to find willing challengers to so easily walk into the black of night against an unknown opponent.

The note had simply stated that an opponent had come forward, and that sun light would not be an issue. It was true enough as I walked through the darkened arena. The sky above was dark and grey, no sign of relief for miles. It would do, though the constant damp pounding of the rain messed with my senses. Even agar, soaked through to the bone and walking but a few steps ahead, could be barely smelled on the wind.

And wet dog... or wolf.. is a hard scent to mask

The tall crimson wolf looks over his shoulder, an indignant shake of his head sending water careening towards me. He hated being thought of as a dog, understandable so. Comparisons of the three foot high, seven foot long crimson mass of bestial power, were indeed, ill informed.

I knew little of my opponent, save that they desired an arena such as this. I was mildly intrigued to see who desired an arena set in an area so similar to lost Raiera. Perhaps a kinsmen, so lost to the world as to pine for that which was now long lost. My pointed ears twitched beneath my leather hood, long blonde hair swept back and underneath the cloack, though the winds constant lifting of it did little to keep my hair dry.

The cool chill of the rain barely touched the remainder of me, my 6' 2” frame untouched by the damp sheet of rain pouring down. Leather was luckily naturally water repellent, and when properly crafted with the right oils and techniques, none better could be found. I was a vampire, a half elf, but above all, I was a survivor of that cursed wood Lindequalme, my leather would serve well. The arrows bow and staff hanging on my back however, did not fare so well, I could feel the added weight of the water soaking into the porus material It hung heavy, the quivers straps pressing through with enough pressure to make my shoulder slightly uncomfortable.

I pray they serve well in the coming fight.... though I believe half my arrows will be useless at this point..

At least the horse hair bow string was safely wrapped in a leather pouch, but I would need to see string my bow and that, would be a bother. Dirt and mud give way to cobble stone, and I step out onto a bridge. My feet still mush with clinging mud, and I struggle to see what lays ahead. An arch rises above the end of the bridge, perhaps the remnants of some castle or chateau, a figure rests some where at the opposite end, its hazy features defying even my eyes in the murky shadows of that downpour.

I kneel on the cold damp cobble stones, well trained hands plucking the string from my belt as I bring the haft of the yew bow before me. I struggle quietly to bend it and place the line, as Agar paces before me, Dark blue eyes locked on the distant figure. I grumble slightly as wet fingers slip as I try to run the line from end to end.

Of course, Earlon, frowned upon my endeavors. With a loud crack like thunder, the tense wood slips from my grasp and cracks down upon the cobble stone. If the figure had not seen me, she had certainly heard me.

I softly curse, and Agar growls slightly in disapproval, this was not going well so far.

Well rare wine never comes cheap... I hope they appeals to my palette better then the Hummel I faced before.

[Ashla]

At the sound of rough cracking, the girl's head snapped into the direction of the shadows. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to see who it was. The lighting rolled again, and briefly revealed two figures. The girl's eyes darted to see them.

One elf, one... dog.

She let out a "bleh" sound. "I'm much more of a cat person..."

The girl placed her hand onto the hilt of her broadsword, hanging in its belt. She proceeded with caution, slowly walking up to her opponent. The darkness in the courtyard stood between. The girl slowly drew her blue blade as she came up to her possible foe. She usually met powerful foes here who loved beating people to bloody pulps. Maybe this was no different.

Her damascus sword was the brightest thing to be seen in this forsaken battlefield. The rain fell down onto the young woman who tried to contain the shivers that erupted through her thin body. As she came up to her opponent, she snapped into action, taking the first move.

Recently, in the dawn of her short but violent life, this girl had experienced... a change... through a curse that sought to destroy her, she recovered her strength. Adolescent of power, she came out much more dangerous than before. The final heir of a close to extinct bloodline, this child was stronger than you'd think.

Ashla Icebreaker commenced.

In her right hand, she formed a needle less than an ounce heavy in her hand of pure, beautiful ice. She threw it towards her opponent quickly, then proceeding towards him with her signature sword swinging crusades. I will not lose this time.

[Devonus]

The figure at the far side became defined in the brief flash of lightning, she stood inspecting me, and my wolfish companion.

She is fair, young, some elf blood shining through in her pointed ears that gleamed in the bright light. Her black hair hung damply about her shoulders, draping across the shining steel shoulder pads she wore. Her legs also bore steel armor, as her lithe figure hurriedly approached. I was willing to bet there was more, but her head lay unprotected save a scarf about her neck. It was fitting she came bearing a noose already.

I smile with disdain, standing up as I finally manage to string the yew bow. I hang it upon the small bone hook on my back designed for it, and draw the oak staff held in place by leather straps. She was to close now for ranged combat, she would be on me before I could draw an arrow, not that it mattered.

So well equipped child. Whom did you bed to gain such items? Or perhaps their relics of your parents? You reek of false pride, your fair face wrought by a gods delicate hands left unprotected, while the rest of you lays wrapped in steel? You play at adventurer... and like so many who played in Lindequalme, you'll taste its bite.

She was not the foe I had longed for, I had prayed to taste the blood of the mighty this day. Regardless, I was not one to turn down a free meal, and she was fair and pompous enough, surely who her blood would be as delectable as her foolishness.

I grin even more savagely as I start to stride forward, lightly tapping Agar's head to stay put as I match her stride. A small chuckle dances at the back of my throat as her sword comes to light, some fool hearty love of fashion dancing In its design as it shined blue, a vanity piece no doubt.

With her other hand, small veins of frost appeared, then slowly became defined. A sliver of ice, well shaped, a small frozen dagger. Ice magic was but a parlor trick to many, I doubted this one was no different, ice wrought for combat was rare, never mind in one so young. As her hand lashes out and throws it toward me I run straight towards her, oak staff tucked in one arm and snugly pressed against my back, my free hand extended towards her and the ice missile. It would cut I'm sure, like glass upon bare skin, but I had handled far worse.

“You're a foolish girl, to think your wrongfully gotten toys and pitiful youthful pri...”

I gasp as the ice strikes my hand, a resounding thud echoing through my bones as it imbeds itself into my palm, sticking cleanly through the other side. Its frigid cold pours into my blood and bone, numbing what would otherwise be a very, very, painful experience. The hand twitches of its own accord from severed nerves and tendons, and my eyes narrow in suprise and disgust. The prideful girl had some skill with magic, then perhaps the armor and sword were bluffs to keep foes at a distance..

As she comes into range of the five foot wooden staff I plant my feet and pivot. The hand skewered by ice swings behind in tandem with my left foot, putting my forward momentum into a spin, carrying the staff with amazing velocity towards her unprotected head, its momentum and force even greater due to its heavy weight from being soaked to the core. It would not be as agile in my hands, and would probably later fall to rot, but now, its water laden form would crush a fair fools skull.

[Ashla]

Ashla smirked when the man's taunting words were stopped with the ice she successfully threw at him. With all the times she'd been walked upon, watching him writhing was worth it. Ashla halted her sword slices then to do two things. One, give him time to recover. Two, watch him suffer until he recovered.

Then she watched as he made his move. He swung an oak staff right at her. Piece of cake, she dodged in a flash. She tumble rolled out of the way, although in doing that she came out looking like she'd just come from a lake. The girl stood up and with the elegance being of royalty long ago taught her, pointed her blade at the elf.

She narrowed her eyes, "It's not a good idea to taunt me, sir."

She held her sword tight while she threw her pathetic looking shawl off. Light on her feet, blade grasped with the skill of a warrior, she entered into melee attacks again.

She had a strategy racing through her head. Of course, she had no idea who her opponent was or where he came from, so she would be cautious. She threw another set of ferocious but reformed swings at him, racing up close to where he'd have to block with his staff. The swings were only a distraction though.

Within the midst of these continues sword strikes, with her free hand she reached to the back of her belt and whipped her oak numchucks out. She aimed to take him by surprise, suddenly wrapping the black numchuck around his staff to pull it away. If this worked, Ashla suspected she'd only need to strike him down in a finishing blow.

The Icebreaker already had a disrespectful view of this man. He openly ridiculed her as a lesser being than himself. She'd met so many other people like him, it was getting tiring. Ashla's usual formula for fighting was "Get in. Get the job done. Get out." This was no different. However, growing darker daily, her fighting techniques were getting smarter... but slowly more cruel.

[Devonus]

I stood slack jawed for a moment as the agile girl ducked and rolled away, she was fast, far faster then even I. My staff swung through the air with a loud woosh, a normal person couldn't have dodged such a blow so cleanly, no, instead I was forced to re-evaluate my entire view of the situation. She was quick, she had ice magic that was truly deadly if used correctly, and I was beginning to doubt that the shimmering sword was truly a vanity item.

As if to reinforce my view, the girl quickly raised from her roll, lithe figure leering with fury as she pointed the sword at me. He was reminded of the pompous stance of so many a king or queen. Her whole being spoke of grace and nobility, of trained swordplay and magic, with that pompous air of one sure of her position.

Perhaps she is more worthy a sampling then I first thought..

I place the staff out before me defensively, braced for what blows might rain down from the fair figure. She skillfully advanced, sword swinging a fury of blows down along my staff. They carried little power behind them, but they came quick and furiously, scathing a line of nicks from end to end on the oaken staff. The onslaught seemed to have little end in site, and I felt the oak staff straining, the sword obviously biting deep and destroying it as I backed away under her skillful fury. I knew it would break under the strain at this rate, but before it could do so her hand slipped from behind her back.

Small shafts of black wood appeared in her hand, attached by chains that quickly wrapped around the staff. She was quick, insanely quick, and before I could register what was happening or brace to keep the staff, it was sliding effortlessly from my hands. He tirade of blows had stopped from the blue tinged sword, but I was now defenseless. Half acting on impulse I pull the still frozen icicle from my hand, gasping as pain quickly fills the void as the numbing cold leaves. Half frozen blood oozes from the wound at first before it starts to flow freely, the blood thawed free from the magical ice.

It drips to the ground forming a small puddle, and my free hand quickly grabs a small bag of seeds from my belt. I squeeze my wounded left hand, forcing more blood from the wound as I push power into the blood, before throwing the bag of unborn untained poison ivy seeds into the blood.

They cried in fear for but a moment, my tainted blood seeping into it as their fear turned to joyous exultation. The seeds were so glad, so proud, to serve... they were also now damned to wither and die but a day or two from now, but I need to escape, to survive.

They started to wriggle in the bag, vines coiling and writhing inside till it bursts. Small green tinged snakes flaked with red uncoiled across the ground, reaching for any near. I backed away slowly as the vines creep towards the lithe women. The ivy would not just restrain, nay, my cursed blood now coursed through it with hate and venom. Poison ivy was but a nuisance to many, some even were immune to its itchy rash, but not this. The oil in their leaves and skin danced with my dark purpose, giving it new life, new brutality. I had watched the skin touched by these blister and boil, puss filled sacks of hellish irritation that begged to be scratched, within moments of being exposed, and now it was growing rapidly, 10 years of existence coursing through their leafy veins as they grasped for way to grow upwards, programmed by their nature to climb ever upwards towards the sun, and the "princess" was the tallest thing to be found on the bridge.

Satisfied the vines would grow as needed, I retreat, quickly dashing back across the bridge, agar barking as I fly past, stepping into stride behind me. In this mud I would be easily tracked, there was no avoiding it, even for a creature such as me, but hopefully I could put enough distance to rethink what must be done.

Your a surprise fair lass.... a pompous royal surprise of power I long to taste upon my tongue..

Unfortunately the area around the ruin was sparse, only a few copse of tree existed, I quickly dash to one of them and kneel, it would take her a moment to free herself from the vines, and she would have to take her time hunting me, the rain and fog thick as it was. Fortunately it poured less vehemently under the oaks and yews I was now surrounded by at least, but they were few, I could clearly see through it to the opposite side where the clearing started again. If she wasnt delayed, I would most likely feel the sting of death soon...


(2bp used to explosively grow poison ivy, 1 more to enhance it and give it blister properties and enhanced itchiness, 7bp remaining)

[Ashla]

Ashla was quick enough to jump away from the plants, but they kept following her. The Icebreaker kept jumping back, but the rapidly growing plants commenced. All focus on her opponent was lost, she opened her hands as freezing steam signalled the core of her powers.

She slid across the dead world with the help of the rain and puddles. Out of her hands, racing out up to five feet to meet the plants, raw ice erupted out. As she slid, and she sensed the piling up, the plant gradually slowed. Ashla felt sweat trickle from his forehead. She only could use a certain amount of ice, and many pounds were being wasted on this monster of a brush. She stopped her skid, her eyes flashing between the coating of ice and her normal blue. She coursed waves through her beautiful creation. The two strongest weeds were suddenly repelled by explosions that halted the entire process. These explosions were strong enough to knock back a man the size of her elvish opponent.

Thankfully, those explosions and her pounds of ice were enough. Ashla released her grip, feeling exhaustion kick in. She had used at least fifty pounds of raw ice stopping the plant. It felt like she fought an epic war for the young Icebreaker.

However, her feat boosted her moral. I stopped it. I stopped it.

She looked around though, her confidence falling as quickly as it rose. If there was one thing she hated all opponents doing, it was hiding in the shadows. Even here, she was sure she felt his brooding eyes staring through her, waiting to ambush her.

Ashla had dropped her broadsword and numchuck when the plant erupted. She sighed, realising her most commonly trusted blade had been cast away. She reached to the two weapons hanging on her back and pulled out two butterfly swords. Rusted, iron playthings collected from a slain outlaw, these blades were at least in well enough condition to be used in combat. She only stood in place though, she despised these situations. These situations when her unseen enemy had all control.

Ashla was at the edge of her nerves, she pulled her blades into a tight, defensive stance, glancing around anxiously. The rainfall was stopping, a light drizzle remaining. Within this dark courtyard, Ashla felt so helpless. She hated to admit it, but all she could do was wait.