~An Oath.~

(Note: Open to one level 1-3 fiter. Just looking to fite for fun. Nothing too extravagant or mind blowing...I'm just itching to fite. I'm using my new version of Elthas for this after my recent reincarnation with him. Thank you all for understanding.)

The handsome Elf looked at the structure of The Citadel before him.

There was history in that building, and some of that history belonged to Elthas. I have to get stronger...I have to practice the teachings of my Father more. Elthas was a Forest Elf, and his kind still lived in Concordia Forest preferring the trees comfort to the hustle and bustle of the city of Radasanth. Elthas considered that very carefully. I am in a place built by all Races...for the worship of the battle. The Thayne of War are served here. In some way, Elthas felt at peace being in front of the grand structure. It was comprised with architectural styles of all of the prime races of Althanas. It's highest spires seemed to touch the sky itself...

Elthas looked up considering the possibility of ever walking up that high...to touch the very heavens themselves.

Elthas listened to the crowd that was always gathered near The Citadel. Some were mere fanboys and girls following their favourite Citadel goers. There were heavy hitters like John Cromwell, Storm Veritas, Madison Freebird and many others. Elthas wondered where he stood with the likes of all of them. I am here to test my level of skill and improve it. Like my Father before me. Elthas returned his eyes to their normal level, instead of looking up at the spires of The Citadel. In front of him was one of The Monks of The Order.

They seem to always appear at just the right moment... Elthas nodded towards The Monk with respect. The Monk's robes were simple which showed that the fellow was probably a novice or an apprentice. However, Elthas noticed the man's round and Human ears. A Hume... Elthas smiled at that. "Greetings, sir Monk."

"Ah. Son of Belthasar." The Monk said casually. "It has been some time since your battle with Mr. Black Shadow."

That was his name...? Elthas had a peculiar look on his face but shook it off.

"Did I say something wrong?" The Monk asked.

Elthas shook his head. "No. I just didn't know that was his name." Elthas had a name at that point. One day, Black Shadow...I will have my revenge. Elthas looked at The Monk. "I'd like my usual room. I want my opponent to be able to configure it to their liking though."

"Any requests for an arena?" The Monk asked.

"No, my opponent can wing it." Elthas tipped his fedora hat towards the Monk. "I'm looking for someone of equal skill level in my tier bracket though."

"You know...my uncle knows your Father." The Monk said carefully. "I can arrange a meeting with him later on if you want to speak to my uncle." The Monk added as the two walked into The Citadel's halls.

"My Father..." Elthas repeated. "I've not heard from him in some time since The War ended." Elthas stopped walking for a moment and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I am looking for any information in regards to his current where about. I am afraid that something might have happened to him during The War." Elthas said.

"I will help you find your Father in anyway I can." The Monk said truthfully. "But first...the show must go on."

Elthas nodded and started walking again with The Monk. They were take care of the needs to satiate the hunger that The Thayne of War held. The need for consistent bloodshed and war...battle. It was the way of things in Corone.

(Feel free to create the combat arena, I will roll with whatever you set up, I only request to keep it simple!!!)
(Note: Guys Shelby has taken this thread up please nobody else post in this I will have more open fites in the meantime up soon for you guys!!!)

"What an honor it is! It is rare that I meet your kind here anymore."

Josette Hawkes regarded the monk with an expression bereft of emotion. The tendrils of awe and wonder that licked at her upon entering the famed structure died away, as did any bubbling nerves. The disgusted voice that berated her for showing up at all quieted. Even the confusion that the comment sparked was shoved deep within her; she had always been skilled at hiding such things. Her kind? Did the stranger mean female? Young? Human?

"What do you mean, my kind?" Delivered in her low, rich voice, the demand rumbled like thunder. It was not a mere question, but a challenge, hinging entirely upon what the man would say next.

The monk, it seemed, recognized the sharp chill in the woman's tone, and in her icy blue eyes. He loosed a simple shrug, the motion nearly lost beneath the heavy robes that draped his thin frame. He answered easily, "a newcomer. I do not recognize your face."

Below her iron breastplate, something in Josette's chest loosened just a fraction. There would be no judgment, then, were she to believe the man's words. Had she had time for such trivial emotions, the knight might have been embarrassed by her demand, and the conclusions she drew.

With a slight incline of her head, Josette confirmed, "Yes, this is my first appearance at the Citadel."

She offered nothing else in the way of explanation or motivation. Not one to mince words, the monk mused, hiding his amusement just as thoroughly as the mask of apathy the knight wore. It was his experience that first-time competitors made quite a bit of noise, either blabbering nervous nonsense, or spouting their intentions to be the most powerful in all of Althanas. The latter, of course, was nonsense as well. The fact that this woman remained stoic interested him, but he could only guess at the significance of it all.

"What is your name, then?" he asked of her.

"Josette Hawkes."

The corners of the monk's lips turned downward. "Hawkes? Do you have a father who-"

She cut him off with a sharp, "No," a slamming door that blocked any route for further discussion.

Again, the bald man shrugged. "Fair enough," he said plainly, though he filed his observation away for later contemplation. Now tasked with finding her a partner, he gave her a more thorough look-over. Iron armor indicated lack of outward wealth, and perhaps experience, as a more seasoned fighter would have upgraded. Still, the armor was well-worn, despite obvious attempts to care for it. And the stunning golden blade that hung at her hip further complicated his assessment. The monk sucked on a tooth as he considered her for another moment. Then, "I have a challenger for you. He's given you the chance to craft the arena. What is your preference?"

"I have no preference," she told him, "so choose what is typical here."

Her answer was a shake of his head. "There is no 'typical,' here," he explained. "Every single battle can be different. Many choose open fields, forests, caves, halls, castles..."

His voice trailed as he saw the first flare of emotion light her face. A devilish smile curled her thin lips, a startling change to her previously stony demeanor. "I really do not care for castles."

It was a castle that she entered a short time later, but that smile only grew as she surveyed her surroundings. The woman found herself in a dining hall, the sweet smell of spiced ham still wafting on the breeze. The breeze, she noted, which spilled in through the large portion of the wall that was no longer standing. The grays of dusk poured in through the opening, a waning moon hanging among the emerging stars. Shattered stone littered the floor, crumbling in great heaps just inside the hole surely made by some sort of projectile. A projectile, she further deduced as she watched the fires lick the tapestries, which had been set aflame before launch.

The wooden chairs were shoved back from the table, which had been overturned amidst the chaos. Glass goblets lay in shards that glimmered beneath the wild flames, still red with the forgotten wine. As Josette moved toward the hall's entrance, the toe of her boot sent a discarded apple skittering across the stone floor. A castle under attack, she thought with satisfaction as she watched the fruit careen into the opposite wall. How fitting.

In the dining hall, Elthas was sitting on one of the comfortable chairs. Off to the side and listening to the explosions that assaulted the castle. Elthas had his eyes closed for a moment and was singing in the tongues of his people, The Forest Elves of Ruild. Elthas had his fedora hat on the large table in front of him. His eyes wept openly as he cried for the folks that were lost in the siege. Elthas sang for the people of the castle the lost souls who would undoubtedly suffer for all eternity after the terrible battle.

The song was mournful and sad, every word pronounced carefully and with exquisite practice. Elthas sang the mournful song, the final rites of an entire town. Though Elthas was by no means, a Priest, he knew the ways of his people. They honoured the old alliances between Men and Elves. Elthas opened his eyes when the woman appeared in the chamber with him. He wiped his face clean of the tears that freely flowed.

"It's funny isn't it?" Elthas got up from his chair and looked at Josette for a long moment. She was beautiful and had lush hair. That feature was the most prevalent of her. Her raven coloured hair. Elthas nodded. "I trust The Monks sent you?" Elthas asked. He bowed gently in her general direction, Elthas remembered his manners. "My name is Elthas. Son of Halm Belthasar." Halm was a legendary Hero of his people and a soldier during The Civil War. Elthas was looking for any and all information to his current where about which is what lead him The Citadel in the first place. He was trying to retrace the last few steps of his Father's adventures and locate him.

Elthas looked at the woman before him. [b]"I'm not one of those blood-thirsty monsters. I'm just here to train and get better so I can survive in battle and protect what

The man's voice was deep, though not gruff. There was something melodic to the way he spoke, and while she had not heard his song filling the room before her arrival, his talent would not have surprised her. Still, regardless of the smooth way with which he spoke, the mere sound of him startled her. Josette's hand was firm on her sword's hilt before he finished his greeting, and it remained there even after he concluded. How long had he been sitting there, among the shadows cast by crumbling walls and dying daylight?

"Elthas," she repeated, her own voice a low hum in her chest. She studied him before she went on, drinking in whatever observations might be important in their battle. He stood a few inches taller, and carried what she estimated to be fifty more pounds, carving an intimidating figure. He wore ornate daggers, a sharp contrast to the massive blade that hung at her own hip. His armor, too, was drastically different than her own; her opponent appeared to opt for thin leather rather than thick iron. Despite it all, he still struck her as a formidable fighting partner. She even knew of his father, for even someone who was home-schooled, and poorly-so, could name the Civil War hero. Only his lingering tears complicated her assessment, their salty, criss-crossed trails glimmering in the light of the burning tapestries.

The knight gave a polite nod, as much acceptance as it was greeting. "Josette," she informed him. "I am also here to train." Not here to talk. It was odd - he was odd - and the momentary calm that his words had created shattered as the elf moved toward her. He was still speaking, but her mind, her body, had switched into combat mode. Josette drew her sword from its sheath with a metallic hiss that seemed to echo in the chamber, and when the motion did not dissuade him, she lunged.

The sounds of the battle raged outside, touching his sensitive ears.

Elthas considered the irony of the situation at hand...his opponent was a handsome woman and she would make a decent bed partner. But now was not the time to think of such matters, his mind had to focus on the battle at hand. Thoughts of his battle against that man...Black Shadow...touched his mind for the briefest of moments. Why had that man come after me like that...? Elthas thought to himself and a shadow seemed to cross his handsome and youthful face. He studied the woman as she spoke she had form and technique. A moment after she finished talking, she attacked.

Elthas heard a name spoken...Josette... He made a mental note of the name and would offer to buy her a drink after the match was over.

Regardless of who would emerge the victor.

Elthas knew that women could be equally as strong as men could...his culture was different and had different cultural biases than the Hume culture it seemed. When she attacked, Elthas reacted quickly, drawing both of his ornate daggers. The pommels of his daggers were ordained with the Belthasar symbols. Engraved by their blacksmiths. Elthas used his reaction time to narrowly avoid the skilled attack. I will have to stay on my toes here... Elthas did not want to think that he had to severely harm the woman before him. It was not in his nature to mar something so beautiful. As he moved his body opposite the direction of her attack, Elthas countered.

In mid-stride, his boots barely making any sound, the lithe knife wilder acted. He took both of his daggers and swung them down hard, but elegantly, in a flashy strike. The target was the side of the woman's iron blade. He noticed that the sword was well crafted and likely of iron quality. We are at least on equal footing... Right away, Elthas's mind was a storm of thoughts of strategy. Thinking back to the teachings of his Father, Halm Belthasar. Hopefully this all comes together now... In his youth, he'd spent days and nights training with his Father and other students in the Belthasar martial tactics. In that school, Elthas opted to master the knives of his people.

He hoped his nights and days of studying the martial tactics would pay off.

Now was the time for action...not words.