The Floor of the Sea

[Hailwing Of The Citadel]

(Closed)

Hailwing, the statuesque servant of the Ai'Brone, appeared suddenly in a flash of light. His heavy, stone feet hit the ground and sunk into the thirsty mud.

The marvelous construct of the Citadel monks remained transfixed, quite literally a statue of stone, for but a moment before an icy blue-hued aura surrounded him and then began to swirl about, surrounding and permeating him. He began to feel, began to breathe, and began to move. In short time, he was gazing at his own hand as it clenched repeatedly. He was back in the realm of the living, though confined within this Citadel arena.

He became aware of a constant hum, a sound which surrounded him and was accompanied by dozens of varied, but similar noises. Splashes, crashing waves, the splatter of liquids. Hailwing's yellowed eyes rose from his hand and took in the arena.

He stood on muddy, earthy ground that swallowed the bottom half-inch of his feet, in a circular battleground. More importantly, all about the perimeter of the circle were walls of water, rushing upward toward the sky as if held back by devastatingly powerful magic. He looked up as far as he could see, for the sun was shining down from above, but he could not estimate the tops of he aquatic walls. Droplets rained down upon him and the surface of the arena, and the roar of the vertical waves filled his ears.

It was as if he was at the bottom of the sea, with a drier circle carved out of it - the water around him tried in vain to reclaim the space, but was repelled and driven upward.

He tightened the armored vambrace on his left forearm and produced his glaive, that had been strapped to his back between small, leathery wings. He gazed pointedly at the blade of the polearm, before setting the butt of the weapon into the mud between his feet.

[Rehtul Orlouge]

“A test, you say?” Rehtul asked, as he looked up from the book he’d pulled from the wall. He hadn’t been particularly interested in the subject (something about the history of one of the more obscure fighting styles of the world), but had learned that keeping his head in a book would at least afford him some peace and quiet from the omnipresent source of puns that was the monk Ainley. He closed the book carefully and returned it to the shelf from whence it came and looked at the monk with a single brow raised.

“Yes, that is indeed what I said. Interested?” the monk asked as he leaned against the nearby wall, arms crossed and smile carved out just below his slender nose. Impatient fingers tapped against the large gray wall of the reading room as the young mage looked down at the floor, chin cupped between two fingers.

“Well?”

“Give me a minute,” the response came almost immediately, pushed through clenched teeth. “I can’t decide. I need details.”

“You’ll be fighting a statue, ancient and rugged. It’s been a number of years since it was last operational. Its name is Hailwing or something. Honestly, I’ve never seen the old automaton in action. I don’t know what you’ll be running into. All I know is we used to use it as a challenge, an attraction of sorts, for fighters the world over to test themselves.”

“I... see. Hailwing,” the young cryomancer muttered under his breath. “I like the sound of that name. Very well, I’ll see what it’s about. It may in fact help my research to face an opponent with as much history here as this one promises to have.”

“You think he’d be impressive, you should see some of our other regulars. Some real monsters show up here occasionally.”

“I’m not particularly surprised. Blood sport can attract people like that,” Rehtul shot back before heading out through the small oak door. A cold mist began to gather around his body.

“You know, I’ve begun to enjoy spending time here. I think I understand most of what the attraction is. I just have to make sure of a few more things.”

His footsteps echoed through the hallways as Ainley finally caught up with him.

“You... didn’t even... wait to hear the room number,” the monk barely managed to gasp out. “It’s number fourteen hundred and seventy-two.”

“Got it,” Rehtul responded as he disappeared around a corner. Though the monk knew where the young man was going, he didn’t bother following him. There wasn’t really much of a pun left for him to bother with when the opponent was so...

“Stone cold... damn, I wish I’d followed him now,” the monk whispered under his breath as he returned to his duties within the building. A low chuckle rumbled up through his throat as he considered the pun more. It would have been beautiful to see the anger on the kid’s face with that one.

Elsewhere, a door opened up in the space before the statue. Despite the fact that it had been around for hundreds of years, though, Rehtul couldn’t particularly say that he was impressed. The being stood at a height barely taller than the Mystic’s own, and wielding a weapon not particularly far off from the young man’s own preferred style.

What was more interesting was the arena that had been chosen. The two combatants would face each other within a ring of water about as high as the Citadel itself was tall. That alone would have been enough to floor the young man ordinarily, but the fact that none of the water had managed to really divert itself into their current field of battle was certainly intriguing. Hydromancy on that level would have proven impossible for most singular spellcasters.

The elemental mage held out a single hand and fanned his fingers, allowing the water to run up and around them. The small rivulets carved by his fingers, flowed up to the top, with none of the water, save for that attached to his own hand to pass through the barrier.

“Interesting,” he muttered under his breath before turning to his opponent. The being looked human enough. A pair of small wings was attached to its back and it had a vambrance on its arm. Nothing particularly over the top, in the young man’s estimation.

With a shrug, he held his right hand out to one side, gathering the surrounding moisture into his palm before allowing it to shoot out in both directions in the form of an ornate crystalline long spear.

He bowed to the being before him and smiled lightly.

“I am Rehtul Orlouge, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Hailwing,” he said simply as he planted the shaft of his own spear in the mud beneath his feet, mirroring the position his opponent had taken.

[Hailwing Of The Citadel]

Rehtul Orlouge appeared before Hailwing in a flash of light, stepping through a colorful magic doorway and into the arena.

He looked young and poised, dressed impeccably well and with a neat style of hair whose strands eagerly drank up the light of the sun. Hailwing did not make presumptions of his opponents, did not make the mistake of individualistic beings who called upon their prior experience to appraise others. This warrior had no such bias, and as he watched Rehtul construct a long spear of dangerous-looking ice, it was somewhat of an advantage.

A line of droplets hammered the ground between them. Were it not drowned out by the roar of the rushing water, it would have brought a gentle pattering to their ears.

"Well met, Rehtul Orlouge. I am called Hailwing, as you say."

To the warrior's left, a protrusion of mud broke apart and spit a mist of steam up into the arena. It was too far from either combatant to pose a nuisance, but its existence was hard to ignore. It lasted but a second or two before squealing and dying down. It appeared that there was pressure below them, struggling to escape to the surface through the earth they stood on.

"It has been some time since my last summoning," he said, though Hailwing had no real concept of time. "And I do not recall the last time I have battled polearm to polearm."

His brow rose. Whatever passed for excitement in the warrior was coursing through him. To Hailwing, it felt like anticipation and anxiety rolled into one, like standing on a precipice and being tempted to leap forth into the void.

"Would you care to begin," he asked, "or would you prefer I make the first move?"

[Rehtul Orlouge]

Rehtul too noticed the strange pocket of steam that had erupted from the sea floor, as that was all that he could surmise that this was. They were too close to something volcanic, and the young man did not like that one bit at all. Sweat began to bead under his clothes and on his brow. He reached up and wiped it with his free arm, letting the moisture soak into the arm of his robe.

“I would be happy to take the first move of this battle. Thank you very much,” he said. It was rude, after all, to turn down the offer of an opponent in a duel.

His opponent had been gracious enough to offer him the first blow, which he decided to take the being up on. He stepped through the mud beneath their feet carefully. The drenched dirt made sloshing noises as it attempted to relieve the young man of his shoes. A mutter of annoyance escaped his lips as he realized how much this fight was going to cause problems.

Within a few seconds, he found himself standing just a few feet from the person he had been brought to face. Without a second thought, he lunged his spear forward, hoping to catch the statue in the chest with his own spear. However, never one to allow such a thing as an uncertainty to be allowed, he reached out with his will and drew water from the ground itself as they solidified into a pair of ice spikes that erupted from the drenched ground, also looking to catch the being right in the abdomen.

With that done, he took a step back and frowned in concentration.

Your move, I guess.

[Hailwing Of The Citadel]

Adrenaline began to flow as Rehtul came in close, bringing his spear in for a mighty jab.

Hailwing took his left hand off of the shaft of his own polearm, and with a strong backhand slapped the dangerous tip of the weapon to the side. His vambrace's iron plate kissed the crystal with a loud ring, and sent an uncomfortable shock up to his bicep and shoulder.

He almost didn't notice the ice spikes, which could have ended the battle before it even got started. Having little room to maneuver with Rehtul so close, Hailwing had to dive to the right in a sidelong roll - the wicked barbs flew past and into the roaring stream, shot upward and harmlessly away, as the warrior got to his feet once more.

He was caked in mud, particularly his shoulders and back, but unharmed. Hailwing's left hand tensed into a claw-like shape. Mist from his forearm gathered here in an instant, gaining solidity and shape, freezing into a softball-sized rock of ice. He threw it at Rehtul, aiming for his head, hoping to knock him for a loop or out of consciousness entirely.

And he was behind that projectile as quickly as he could manage, his mighty glaive performing a circuit above his head for momentum, then driving down in a diagonal slash from left-to-right. Though it was a standard weapon, the power behind the blow could certainly drive the blade clear through Rehtul in devastating fashion.

[Rehtul Orlouge]

The young man turned on his heel just in the nick of time to see a chunk of ice roughly the size of a fist soaring toward his head, with its pitcher right behind it. It was an obvious trick, but on that the young man had been more than prepared for. He had seen nearly every kind of trick that could be thrown during a battle, and this one was one that he himself had used in many a battle. A somewhat evil glint came to his eyes as he focused his magic just a few inches in front of himself. The water from the surrounding area coalesced and solidified above the loamy earth beneath and formed the shape of a small, inch thick sheet of ice, just wide enough to catch the lobbed object in midair.

The small ball of ice crashed against the summoned wall, which quickly evaporated

Without a second thought, he snapped his hand back to the shaft of his spear and brought it hard up against the downswing of the glaive. Shaft smashed against shaft as the two warrior’s weapons locked against one another. The sound of cracking ice filled the air as the young mage’s weapon snapped under the strenuous weight of the metal weapon it was facing. It had succeeded in stopping the blow, but the young man felt that there was still more that he needed to do.

He flung himself backward, losing his shoes to the gooey mud beneath the two of them as a piping hot burst of steam erupted from between them, disappearing as quickly as it appeared. It smelled of sulfur. He could feel the slick earth beneath his feet, and immediately wished for a bath. From the steam, the air began to clear rapidly before misting again, just outside of the Mystic’s reach. A pair of small needles, roughly half an inch long, hovered in the air for only an instant before the young man directed them toward the being in front of him. While that was being taken care of, he simultaneously pulled the moisture from the air into his naked hands, forming a pair of small shortswords, which he lobbed into the air on either side of him.

His face was a mask of calm, though his eyes glimmered strangely, brows knitted downward as he focused. The swords on either side of him floated in the air as he pulled his small steel dagger from the sheath on his side.

This time, it will work, he thought as the twin blades circled his body like a pair of vultures.

[Hailwing Of The Citadel]

Magically talented, Rehtul was able to render Hailwing's projectile utterly harmless in just a second. Hailwing, the warrior creature, barreled in behind it.

Glaive crashed against spear, and the deceptively skilled Rehtul protected himself from the polearm's brutal blade. Hailwing grit his teeth and pressed forward, his muscles tensing as he took advantage of his leverage and drove on. He quickly shattered the crystalline defender, but the statue's mighty weapon did not come close enough to the young wizard to inflict any damage.

Hailwing followed the momentum of his glaive downward as it plunged into the ground, his left hand snagging the upper half of Rehtul's broken weapon. He continued right, pulling the glaive free just as steam exploded from the ground, driving him back in surprise.

Just as he moved to continue the struggle, eager to pressure Rehtul, he noticed the air about the fissure changing, adapting.

He realized too late what was happening. Hailwing began to sprint to the side, dodging the first projectile, but the second sunk into the flesh of his shoulder. A biting pain coursed through his arm - the needle was thin, but had torn through muscle and nerves to rest deep inside of him. The struggle to maintain a grip on Rehtul's weapon tip, held in the same hand, was tremendous.

But Hailwing grit his teeth and bared the pain. With any luck, the needle would melt shortly and help numb the injury.

Among the incessant roar of the surrounding water, Hailwing steeled himself and pivoted, right foot catching the mud and then propelling him forward. He registered Rehtul's accompanying blades - magically-driven, no doubt - and determined that he'd have to deal with them as they came. The glaive was held in his right hand, the majority of its length pressed against the small of his back to help keep it elevated.

His left still held the upper portion of Rehtul's shattered spear. Hailwing wound up and threw it as true as he could, considering his damaged shoulder. It was all too similar to his previous attempt to feint-out the young mage, he knew, but the warrior needed to get in close and maintain a distance which kept him from being picked apart from a distance.

When he felt he was close enough, Hailwing brought the lengthy glaive about in a horizontal slash powered entirely by his right arm, looking to gut the young wizard. The follow-through would bring it back to bear after a slight delay, if it did not meet the resistance of Rehtul's flesh.

[Rehtul Orlouge]

Another projectile flew toward Rehtul. This time, however, he knew what to expect from the living statue. With little more than a twist of his body, the broken tip of his spear flew past his arm, catching just enough of his sleeve to spin him back toward the being he was fighting. He could feel that he was in immediate danger and brought a single leg up to block the incoming blow. Screeching, unerring agony warped his face as he howled in pain.

The pain was unreal, unlike anything he’d ever experience before. He could feel the gash in his leg pouring blood. His vision faded and came back in intervals. He could see the red being soaked up by the brown of the mud under his feet as he struggled to keep on his feet. His calf was on fire. Blood speckled white peeked through the torn flesh.

The young mage choked back the bile quickly rising in his throat as he looked at the being who’d made the gash. Slowly, then more quickly with each step, he retreated, blades spinning around his body as his trembling hand held his knife steady. He breathed in slowly, then exhaled swiftly. His body stopped shaking as he brought the two floating blades by his side to bear. They stopped midflight, each floating just above his left and right shoulder.

“We’re not done yet,” he muttered under his breath as he extended both of his arms to either side. He winced and struggled to keep his shaking right leg under him. He’d need to get it healed soon, but with his opponent so close...

The thought went unfinished as he brought both of his hands up toward the sky. The swords followed suit, stopping as they formed a Y, perfectly positioned just past the tips of his fingers. He brought both of his hands down, crossing them over one another in the middle.

The swords in the air followed suit and arced down from either side. They crossed past each other only just barely, their blades barely an inch from the other.

He hoped that had bought him the time he needed, as he brought the blades back to circle his body protectively and dropped to his knees. He put a single hand on the painful gash that the being had left, hoping to at least staunch the bleeding with his magic. It worked, but only barely.

His face was a mask of concentration as he focused upon the wound, willing it to heal further.