Fateless

[Karuka]

((Closed to Izvilvin))

As soon as she'd recovered from her battle with Josh Cronen, Karuka walked back into the area of the Citadel in which dreams were shattered and legends conceived. For once, the area was fairly empty; perhaps other areas of the Citadel were more popular this day, or there were little coincidences that forced the denizens of Radasanth to remain away.

Or it could be the hour. It had been midday when she'd stepped into Cronen's arena, and she was sure it was growing late by now, even though she couldn't see outside to gauge the time. Most people would have had their fight, taken their defeat and gone home to nurse their pride, but Karuka wasn't most people. The red-head asked the nearest monk for an arena, which he granted her despite the hour and the slim chance that anyone would come to fight until the morning.

In a different time period, she'd have shied away from the Citadel entirely after knowing what it meant. In a different time period, if she'd needed to use the Citadel at this time of night, she'd have trusted that the right person would come along. But in this time period, she was trying to learn how to use her new daggers in the safest way possible.

In another time period, she'd have despised taking up a sharp weapon against another soul. But this wasn't another time period. That time period had ended three days before, at Ragnarok. She'd lost her gods, her faith, her magic, and with them, her best defenses. So she needed a way to survive.

She was shown into an arena, barely noticing, at first, as she went from a torch-lit hallway into an open air scene.

The blades of grass bent beneath her boots and sprang back up again, softly swishing against each other. It shot up from the ground wild, proud, and indomitable, virgin hay hitherto untouched. It came up to the red-head's chest, and was hemmed in only by the vast expanse of forest that bound it in on either side like a solemn warden. It was uncomfortably similar to the meadow abutting a forest that Karuka had spent many days of her childhood enjoying. It was a fond memory, but she wasn't home. Without her faith, she had no home, and nowhere to even begin looking for one.

The sky lay flat from horizon to horizon, gray clouds veiling the sight of the huge blue bowl that as normally inverted over the earth. It was a somber day, more than anything, and aside from the redhead, nothing moved or breathed. Animal life was as abundant in this field as faith was in Karuka's heart, and it leant a melancholy, almost despairing feel to the air.

Suddenly there was a crackling sound from up ahead, and the scent of smoke stung at her nostrils. A fire was impossible, there were no sparks to light the hay, but as she looked up she saw it; a burning hut made of wattle and daub. She began to run toward it, only to hear piercing shrieks of people dying in agony. Before she could get too close, however, a lancing pain slammed through her head, making her drop her Nihon staff as she crashed to the ground, crushing the sweet-smelling grass beneath her.

Across her vision blurred faces, forms, and flames as an entire village burned to the ground; she heard the death wails of men, women, and infants alike. She didn't know what it meant, merely saw it as vividly as though she were experiencing it. She choked and gagged on the stench of burning hair and flesh, even as the pulsing agony of the vision kept her pinned where she lay.

Finally, the visions subsided and the pain lifted, and Karuka sat up, releasing everything she'd eaten that day onto the roots of the yellow hay. A drought of water from her goatskin cleared her mouth, but not her senses, and she stumbled forward a few paces before collapsing to the ground again in a sitting position. She was lucky that no one had come...she didn't know what had just happened or what it meant, and the thought put her ill at ease.

No thought of the impending battle entered her mind in light of this new event; she just cradled her head in her hands, attempting to make any sense of what had just happened to her and breathe in some clean air.

[Izvilvin]

As he thought back, the nights at Jya's Keep when Izvilvin forced his eyes to watch the horizon were sorely missed. Now he fought to keep them closed, wanting badly to rest. The last few days had been taxing, the product of an assassin's attack that filled Izvilvin in on the reality of his situation; Scara Brae was no longer safe. It had taken two days for him to gather his things, reclaim his horse from the forest refuge he had left it in, and make his way to Corone.

Radasanth was the worst place to try to avoid detection, but it was the only port with a wide enough network to get Izvilvin a ship to Alerar. He didn't want to risk it yet, so the drow had partaken in the Citadel, fighting a human named Seth Dahlios who'd put up a good fight. Now he lay in the moonlight, an ebony figure against a marble slab on a ledge, lavender orbs sweeping thoughtfully over a diamond sky.

He closed his eyes, tried to recall the image of a naked Rheawien that he had burned in his memory years ago. He remembered it perfectly - her milky skin, the battle scars that covered her torso, sharp half-elven features, but with the rounded cheeks of a human. It was a picture he'd remember for centuries to come, he knew.

His eyes opened again, rolling back in mild frustration. Thinking of the past only made him more restless, so he rose and took up his weapon belt. He was minuscule against the massive wall of the Citadel, casting a long shadow into the nearby hall. He would partake again, if only to pass some time.

+++

Izvilvin's appearance in the arena was subtle, a simple ripple in the atmosphere accompanied him. He walked two steps into a field of chest-high grass before putting his hands on his hips, listening and watching with the intensity of a seasoned warrior. A century of experience lay behind his watchful eyes, a database of different sounds, smells and visions, providing the warrior's mind with quick explanations that gave him reassurance.

Strands upon strands of long, yellow plant surrounded him, follicles in the flesh of the world swaying in the summer breeze. Dry and rigid, they cracked when he bent them, but sprang back upright as he passed them by, as rebellious to his hand as he had been to Step's. Izvilvin's eyes looked through the grass, searching the ground for surprises, but they found none.

His ears strained for signs of movement, but all he heard was the chorus of a million strands of grass, dancing and singing together like a percussion orchestra. He could hear the world, but it had nothing to say. The only sound it made was that solemn weeping. Or was it just a whimper?

Izvilvin tried to isolate the sound, so faint was it to his sensitive ears, but the whispering meadow made it impossible. It was foreign to this environment, though, that much he could tell. Another unusual noise, the sound of Damascus swords escaping their sheaths, suddenly rang out.

Mjolnir crackled, white lightning dancing up and down its blade. Icicle, the silent partner, calmly spawned mist. Izvilvin didn't adopt a fighting stance, merely began to turn in a slow circle, eyes and ears alert. He had spent too much of his life fighting to think he was at risk for an ambush, but the drow sensed he was not alone.

[Karuka]

The soft crunching sounds of grass underfoot might have alerted Karuka to the fact that her silent meadow was no longer hers alone, but the echoes of her disturbing vision rang too loudly in her head for that. Even after witnessing the undead ravaging Eluriand at Ragnarok, the chaos she had seen was more than too horrible to believe. Worse was the fact that she couldn't quite convince herself that whatever had just happened was a wave of paranoia.

When she was little, she'd had frequent nightmares of horrible events. Some of them she heard of afterwards, others she never heard of again, and one or two she'd witnessed. They had stopped after she'd learned how to read her runes. Her mother, she remembered, would have episodes of panic, after which she wouldn't talk to anyone for hours on end. She remembered that her mother had given up the runes not long before her brother Cael was born...and that the episodes had begun immediately after that.

The O'Sheean Birthright. We're born with the ability to see the future...and if we don't seek it out, it seeks us out...in very horrible ways. Technically, she was O'Fay - the daughter of Faylinn. But Sheehan had been the first...and all the first born daughters since her, five generations before, had been heir to her gift...and her curse.

Karuka's head was clearing, and she let out a soft sigh when a sudden loud crackling caught her attention. She glanced up at the overcast sky, but it was still too peaceful to have sent down a bolt, and she couldn't smell the crisp scent of rain in the air. That meant one thing; she had to get up and fight.

Her hand instinctively went to her right side for her staff, but landed only on grass blades and sharp thistles. She'd dropped her staff, and couldn't see it in the endless sea of grass.

I didn't come here to fight with my staff. I came here to learn how to fight with these...daggers.

Karuka slipped to her feet, and saw a figure about ten meters away with his back to her. He was far to her left, almost out of her field of vision, and turning slowly toward her. She turned toward him, plucking a stray burr from her hair.

It was a svaltar, or, as the other dark-skinned Elf she'd met had called himself, a Drow. He had the same alertness to him as she'd seen of Kor, but as he turned to face her more fully, she saw none of the malice, none of the evil, none of the sheer determined hate. Only experience, alertness, and determination. Maybe there was a hint of kindness somewhere in there, however little of it she might see this night.

He wasn't here with the intention of causing pain for the sake of it, that much she could see in the sharp amethyst eyes. He was here because for some reason, he needed to be. Maybe he had something on his mind, maybe he needed to train; but his reason, like hers, was very personal, she felt. As though whatever agony was going to happen in this grassy field was only a side effect of what had brought him here to begin with, rather than an active desire to hurt anyone.

She nodded slightly, noting the swords in his hands, their tips just poking up over the top of the grass. Her hands went to her own daggers without drawing them. His grip seemed natural, while hers still felt clumsy. She was going to die here, she was sure...but what was one death here? Or one life anywhere, for that matter? What did it matter, live, love, hate, or die? What did it matter at all?

"You're here," she said softly, acknowledging both his presence and the impending fight. She didn't know what else to say...she felt incredibly weary for some reason, as though the vision had taken from her all the energy that her healing earlier that day had restored. She needed to learn how to fight, and she realized that...but all of a sudden, she yearned for the empty blackness that would bring her rest.

(bunny approved)

[Izvilvin]

The wind calmed as Izvilvin came full circle, his peripheral vision catching the human against the pale yellow, a stationary figure amongst the gentle sway of flora. As he squared his shoulders to face her, the wind died completely, exposing the dry arena for what it was - uncomfortable.

With the grass no longer manipulated into dance, the meadow was soundless. Not with an imposing silence, the kind that came over one during a truly frightening moment, but with one of serenity. Only because of his keen hearing could Izvilvin hear the gasps of the woman, and her gradual reclaim of steadiness. There was something about this place that neither of them understood, a history of peace that kept it blessed. Ironic, then, that the faithless Karuka found herself here.

He looked over her with intrigue, mindful that she was doing the same to him. She looked young, though Izvilvin's ability to gauge a human's age was limited; they changed subtly with every year, it seemed. She looked like the young warrior, Khalxaen, Izvilvin's first ally in Corone in the days after he left Alerar. Similar scarlet hair, similar shaped eyes. Karuka lacked the pale skin and crimson irises, however, along with several notable characteristics that the young Khalxaen never realized were so alluring. The drow imagined he was more than a hundred years Karuka's senior.

The human before him was unlike most Izvilvin had met. Her features were almost elven, including a pointed chin, thin nose and high cheekbones. It was an intriguing appearance to a warrior who rarely took the time to evaluate the faces of people he saw. So very intriguing.

She spoke then, and Izvilvin responded with no more than an acknowledging nod. Her inexperience betrayed itself in the way she stood, as if it was her first time in the Citadel. His eyes grew more focused, a subtle sign that if Karuka wanted even the slightest chance, she needed to fight off the sudden gloom that had taken hold of her. To engage Izvilvin Kazizzrym in battle required intensity to match his own, anything less was suicide.

The grass bent and swept against itself as he began to walk forward, bringing noise to the arena once more.

[Karuka]

Predatory was the only way that Karuka could describe her dark-skinned opponent. It was all she could do to not let her attention wander back to the clouds or the whispering grass. She idly wished that she'd wandered into the forest. She was more familiar with forests; she knew how to walk one and how to use one. But she hadn't. All she had was a field of thick hay and an advancing wolf stalking her.

She glanced down to the two daggers that were likely to be less than useless against her experienced foe. They'd proven useless against Cronen. Why not just let Izvilvin have his punching bag and get sent back to the healers?

It matters.

Why?

Because if it didn't, you wouldn't have bothered getting out of bed. Because the next time you run into someone like him, it's not likely to be the Citadel. Because you really do want to live.

I...do want to live.

"All right, then."

Karuka drew her daggers, mythril blades humming softly on their wooden sheathes. She'd learned better than to hold them downwards in her battle against Josh Cronen, and so flipped them around, letting the blades gleam white in the soft light.

She looked back up, focusing fully on Izvilvin now, eyebrows set together over eyes that sparkled with a flinty resolve. She straightened up, throwing the weariness aside for now and stepping forward to meet the predator on his own terms.

"All right, then," she muttered.

The grass was thick, too thick to just stride through; one had to pick up one's feet to keep progressing. That would be hard to think of in battle, too hard. There had to be something she could use to turn the field to her advantage.

Dance.

Irish dance had been long used to train warriors in how combat footwork could be utilized. It would consume more energy, but it would keep her moving, keep a rhythm, and keep her feet up.

As she came within the edge of the reach of his blades, she slashed out and into his sphere of existence, testing his guard before letting a light hop take her just out of range. She knew she was severely outmatched...but damn if she wasn't going to go down fighting.

[Izvilvin]

The drow watched the woman carefully as he swam through the grass, not focusing on any particular part of her, but her entire being. The slightest twitch could betray an opponent's move, and the first telegraph of an attack provided him with an advantage. Though she appeared inexperienced, Izvilvin had been fooled before. It all seemed reflect back on that half-elf.

Surprisingly, the human seemed to bolster her resolve, coming to meet him midway. The sudden challenge stirred an excitable brew in Izvilvin's chest, and he clenched his teeth in his mouth. Their difference in weaponry already put Karuka at a great disadvantage, a fact she likely knew already as she threw out her first attack.

Icicle, in Izvilvin's right hand, lifted with perfect aim and great speed, slapping the dagger with all the might that the drow's wrist could muster. It was only a half-attempt to disarm the hand, but the real display came as Karuka tried to retreat. With uncanny agility, Izvilvin rushed forward against the grass, then walked along the bended stalks to keep himself in range.

He didn't press onward to attack, however. He resumed his informal stance, hands by his waist and swords pointed upwards. His eyes, nor his expression showed signs of smug satisfaction.

Grass pushed against his limbs, surrounding the drow entirely, like a black speck of dirt in a blonde head. Mjolnir crackled, and as was typical, Izvilvin took it as a sign.

He took a step forward, though it didn't better his options at all. Mjolnir rose and fell, a streaking bolt of lightning that slashed down in a wide, diagonal arc that offered plenty of opportunity to dodge. The step forward had been to give Karuka a chance to counterattack, for surely she'd dodge the simple slash.

If her tentative approach was a ruse to hide her real skill, it'd probably be revealed now. If not, Izvilvin was dealing with a woman who was in the Citadel to practice, a common motivator. Regardless, he wasn't going to take it easy on her for long. He, after all, hadn't learned to be a capable warrior through gentle nurturing.

[Karuka]

She'd been wrong. He wasn't a wolf; he was a cat, and she was the little mouse that he'd play with for as long as entertained him. His charge brought no attack, and his attack had no intent. She was a toy, nothing else, and for some reason that sparked anger in her. He hadn't even tried to disarm her, and for that reason, hadn't succeeded. Her fingers were too long and strong to give way to anything less than an honest attempt. Her will burned too brightly to accept less.

She regretted leaving her staff behind; she was less a helpless creature of mismatched abilities with that in her hands. From the first time she'd picked up a crude mop on her visit to the Liviol Sanctum, she had been served well by that sort of weapon. A mop had held up for a while against pirates, and until she got her Nihon staff, various sticks had come to her aid. But maybe she really could learn something new here, without it, at the hands of her capable and merciless instructor.

His crackling blade swooped down as he stepped in, and either to her fortune or her damnation, her anger drew her forward as well. A lithe step and a bounce carried her through the sea of grass to the outside of Izvilvin's slashing arm, her own left hand blazing an arc toward the Dark Elf's jaw. She wasn't aiming to stab, although her hand gripped her dagger tightly. She wanted to feel bone on bone, flesh on flesh. She was not going to be toyed with, she was going to be fought. Even if it killed her.

Again.

Her punch carried so much force behind it that it turned her toward him in a split second, and her right hand, previously idle, slashed at the Drow's left arm. It wasn't a half-hearted attempt, like his slap had been. She'd been subject to the residue of one of her own bolts once, and that had been more than unpleasant enough to tell her that no matter what, she wanted to get hit with that about as much as she wanted someone to gouge out her eyes with a spoon.

The wind, which had fallen silent, now picked up with a vengeance, roaring down through the field from the distant mountains. It pulled at her hair, making it dance and sway, it made the blades of grass beat against each other and against the two warriors, and it brought on it the scent of rain. As though to confirm that, the sky started darkening rapidly and thunder rumbled angrily. Nature was lending her own fury to the showdown between Karuka's sheer will and Izvilvin's sheer skill.

[Izvilvin]

Predictably enough, Mjolnir soared harmlessly past Karuka, who went on the aggressive in a surprise maneuver that brought her clenched fist forward. A veritable expert at telegraphing his opponents, Izvilvin's head followed Mjolnir's arc, ducking beneath the punch as he scurried forward. Despite his swiftness, Karuka's dagger bit into his left bicep, just below the cut of his armor.

He twirled without slowing a step, dragging Icicle behind him to mow down a half-circle of grass, providing him with some room to move. As fluid as the swaying flora, Izvilvin brought his swords around into an offensive posture, Icicle pointed forward from a position above his head, Mjolnir parallel to it at chest level, arm fully extended. The Drow didn't acknowledge the wound he'd sustained.

A drop of rain fell onto Mjolnir, evaporating in a tiny puff of steam at impact. It was followed by more, until Izvilvin became aware of the wetness on his face. He was staring into her eyes, but was attuned to every movement she made, completely and utterly focused.

He came forward once more, fainting right and instantly cutting to the left, driving Icicle forward in a dipping, diagonal stab that wove in for Karuka's gut from on high. He stopped his run instantly and from his left flashed Mjolnir, slashing once at shoulder level, retreating, and once more toward the knee, with brutal accuracy and speed.

A flash of lightning accompanied his second slash, and a roaring thunder rolled over the hills. The rain collapsed in full force, heaven's floodgates broken wide open by the echo of Izvilvin's strikes.

[Karuka]

He was fast...so incredibly fast... As soon as she saw the blows coming they had almost connected. She stumbled awkwardly back from the slash at her gut and batted awkwardly against the blow toward her shoulder before she even realized that the real attack was against her right knee. The flash of pain was nothing compared to the flash of agony that nearly knocked her down afterward, but Karuka endured it silently.

She gritted her teeth, continuing to stumble back as the heavens broke and shed their fury. For each step backward she managed with her left foot, she was forced to lurch backward with her right. She could barely feel that leg anymore, it was all fire, only fire. She could feel the heat coursing from the knee down as the merciless pelting of the rain froze the rest of her small frame.

Desperate to keep some distance, she grabbed the throwing knives on her belt, one in each hand, and flung them at him, cold steel hornets intent on destruction that the red-head didn't expect to happen. Too fast. He's just too fast.

She'd been right in not comparing him to Kor. Kor had been a wanton and unstable force of destruction. Before this man, though, the forces of nature bowed. She'd stepped into something larger than she could handle, and for the first time since she'd been pulled to Althanas, she was being forced to acknowledge it.

The grasses grew slick and heavy with rain as she continued making her retreat, hopelessly outmatched against this trained killer. Who else would visit the Citadel so late on a restless evening?

All of a sudden, her foot caught on something, and she fell backwards, hard. Immediately she started scrabbling for purchase, trying to stand despite the leg she couldn't feel and her knowledge that if she just gave up, she'd probably receive a quick death. But she was a Celt, a great granddaughter of a Berserker, and she'd been through so much worse that she wasn't about to give up without a fight.

A bolt of lightning shattered the dark skies behind the dark form of her opponent, illuminating his blades and hair just for a moment, making him seem more like a demon than a man. For just a moment, Karuka's breath caught in her throat and she couldn't deny the fear and the urgency that she'd been fighting in her own heart.

At that moment, another bolt of lightning split the air, and along with it came a roar louder than the thunders as a pair of gigantic paws stepped up to either side of the red-head. It was a real monster, as tall as three men at the shoulder and as hungry as an army. It saw its target, it smelled it despite the numbing rain. Its tail twitched, and it shook off gallons of rain that had already accumulated on its liviol-blue fur.

With a snarl that bared its huge teeth, the Guardian Cat of the Liviol Sanctum launched itself at Izvilvin.

[Izvilvin]

The constant deluge of rain battered the field restlessly, heavy drops trying in vain to beat the grass into submission. Indomitable as the flora was, the wetter it got, the harder the struggle was to once again stand upright. Karuka's slow descent into defeat seemed to make her a subject to the same rule.

Mjolnir's fresh coat of red vaporized in the heat of the blade, and Izvilvin took slow strides through the cold, wet field to stalk his prey. He needed no convenient bolt in order to spot the look on her face, as his eyes pierced the coming dark as easily as they did the light; it was a look he had seen many times before, the look of fear as one saw their immediate future. She was right to fear him, to think of him as more than just a man. He was drow.

Stumbling back, Karuka fired two throwing knives in his general direction -- sloppy throws. Izvilvin's blades flashed in the space between them, knocking both projectiles off into the endless sea of grass, his movement making the swords seem lighter and thinner than they were.

For the first time since leaving Step, Izvilvin felt like a killer. It wasn't a dreadful feeling, oddly enough, but an alchemic mixture of purpose and determination. Where most ex-assassins might feel regret or disgust toward their past life, Izvilvin saw it as the first time his existence had a purpose. The Citadel had a way of bringing out the past in him, of reminding him that once upon a time, he had stumbled into Scara Brae and killed a score of human guards in the name of the Scourge.

His feelings were halted at the sight of the feline, though, and while its appearance was shocking, Izvilvin could only think of one thing: he could not outmaneuver a cat.

With no time to formulate a plan, a strategy or anything of the sort, the massive beast lunged at him. Instinct took over as Izvilvin dove left, deep into the grass, hearing the delicate landing of the summoned beast as it pivoted toward him. The drow spun just in time to meet its second pounce, slashing Icicle blindly toward its form. He felt the resistance of flesh, but the cat still swatted at him. Izvilvin turned, making it a glancing blow, but though his armor protected him, it could not dull the force of it. He was pushed violently away, nearly falling against the muddy ground.

The cat paused to stalk about him, its sheer size making Izvilvin feel like its tortured mouse. He locked eyes with it, raising both of his weapons as the creature let out a challenging roar. The drow matched it and rushed forward, feeling the cat was now the only thing between himself and victory.

[Karuka]

"Mal...chadan..."

Karuka had left the Liviol Sanctum some two years before, and had never expected to see its great beast again. She'd just been carrying around the little statuette she'd found among her belongings as a reminder of all that had happened. And yet...apparently now that she needed him, the beast was drawn inexorably toward his totem, and to her aid.

I'd have been a much easier meal...

As the cat attacked the drow and kept him occupied, the red-head glanced to her feet to see what had tripped her up and found that she'd come all the way back to her staff in her retreat from the demon assassin. Reaching forward to grab it, a little shape caught her attention. The cat had dropped a Liviol leaf not far from her.

She grabbed it, tearing it open and smearing the thick balm over the throbbing wound. If it had been on fire before, now her body was consumed in an inferno as the pain escalated far beyond anything she'd ever felt before. She couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't even feel the rain pelting the heavy grasses against her.

As the pain died down, she opened her eyes again while picking up her mythril daggers and putting them back into their sheathes. Whoever this guy was, he deserved better than her clumsy attempts with knives.

As he charged the cat, it raised a massive paw to swipe at him again, but he'd been fading for several seconds now and was gone before it could connect.

Karuka took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of wet grass and trying to get a feeling for the artificial land beneath her. The fight was hers once more, the cat had stayed only for long enough to give her a second wind. It would have to do.

She stood back up despite the protest of the squelching mud, picking her staff back up before she looked back at her opponent. Her blue eyes were no longer afraid, but cold and determined.

"I am Karuka Eithne Tida O'Sheean, daughter of Faylinn O'Sheean. I am your opponent." The announcement was made over the howling winds, and despite the fact that she was more than a little waterlogged, the Irish lass stood tall and proud. She was storm-born, and it was high time that her actions reflected that.

She hoped she'd put up a better fight now, with her more familiar weapon. Second chances were rare enough, and she knew better than to hope for a third.

"Malchadan" translates to "curses," but here it is used purely as an expression of shock and amazement.

[Izvilvin]

Izvilvin pivoted right and prepared for attack, the mop of hair on his head framing his fierce expression, but the cat lost solidity as he approached. By the time he slowed, then came to a stop, it had become a misty vapor that was washed away by the rain.

He scanned the area again until he saw Karuka, immediately observing that she was determined once more, overcoming the wound that Mjolnir had inflicted. He saw iron in those frosty eyes, but met it with his own penetrating stare. She declared her name and her heritage, seeming confident with the weapon she now wielded. Izvilvin did not return the greeting, didn't see the point, but gave a noticeable nod and dedicated her name to memory - at least for the time being.

In a sense it was like starting again, though Karuka no longer had the disadvantage of not knowing the drow's skill. He would have been concerned with her new weapon, perhaps, had it not been a staff. With two weapons and his developed ability to wield them, Izvilvin had no doubt in his mind that he would overwhelm her with rapid, poised strikes.

He had grown deaf to the wind and the rain, numb to the pain of his wounds, focused in a way that only a warrior could be. The drow approached his human nemesis once more, lean thighs pushing aside the grass separating them. He would not let her get away again.

Lightning struck and Mjolnir crackled, he was in range once more. Wagering that Karuka had grown weary, he slashed high and left with Icicle, low-right with Mjolnir, and then brought Icicle up high in a smooth, quick arc to strike high-right at the side of her skull. Izvilvin's real skill came not in the opening attacks, but in the moments after.

[Karuka]

She could see the triad of attacks coming in at her a little slower than before, now that she was more accurately acquainted with this drow's style of fighting. She'd have to use that advantage to its fullest, since her knee was still complaining and the intense pain from the wound and its recovery had drained her normally robust energy reserves.

As the frosty blade came in at her left, she snapped the end of her staff down while bringing the other end to bat the sizzling one up and away. Then as the sword in his right hand came at her head, turning the rain above her into sleet, she whirled her staff hard, trying to keep his weapons at bay and possibly disarm him.

As she did so, she stepped forward, pressing in. The slick grass parted around her feet, the raging wind tossed her hair about furiously, sending drops of water flying every which direction as the two started their battle anew.

Something within her felt truly primal at moments like these, as though the fire that had burned in the spirits of her ancestors had found no cause to dim in her. The rest of humanity and its weakness be damned, who cared about the weaklings the men of her world had become? SHE was the fire that it had sent away before it could die entirely, and she would BURN, and her foes would burn in her wake.

She lashed in with the right end of her staff, trying to slam it into the drow's neck. She wanted to let the fire free, but she knew better. She needed to keep in control, keep seeing what was happening before it did. She welcomed the rain and its chill, for even as her skin grew pallid in response to it, her blood grew hotter in response to the battle. If not for the rain, she would be a creature of pure instinct. And she would be dead.

[Izvilvin]

Izvilvin, too, rapidly developed a primal feel as the fight raged on. Each clang of a Damascus blade against the staff pumped more life into him, gave him the adrenaline he needed to keep his arms and legs moving, striking. His approach was different than hers - she repressed her instincts, using a tactful method, and his was one of pure animalistic response. So many times his years of training hadn't been enough, and what always saved him was the sudden, unexpected turn of the blade that didn't fall into any category of armed combat.

Her parries were swift and well measured, powerful, but not enough to overextend the weapon. Izvilvin's response was fluid, as he allowed his enchanted weapons to ricochet at angles, keeping the impact from numbing his hands. The sounds of battle were deafening to his sensitive ears, but he didn't even notice the pain.

He let his passion seep from him, escaping his body with every elegant movement. Like steam from boiling water, Izvilvin's battle lust rose from his body, almost tangible in the way it was personified on his face. He had become a melting pot of years of training, a century of total self-reliance, and sheer instinct.

She stepped in and the drow welcomed it, more comfortable dealing with the staff in short range. Almost immediately Karuka took advantage of a lapse in his attack, coming forward with her staff. He ducked the blow but moved forward toward her side, pulling Icicle along for what he planned to be a hilt-deep stab that would bury the icy blade deep in Karuka's belly. The slickness of the ground only made it easier for him to move.

If it didn't happen, though, Izvilvin would pivot around the woman as quickly as he could, fall back a half-step and bring Mjolnir down in a diagonal slash at her shoulder.

[Karuka]

Karuka had seen too many faces twisted in primal rage to not recognize it in the man in front of her. It was a warrior's face, something to worry about in any one, but most especially when it appeared on the face of a real warrior. It had been a long time since she'd seen anyone who fit that description better than this Drow who had made his way into the arena without a word, not even in answer to her formal challenge.

Karuka slammed her nihon staff into Izvilvin's ice sword, hearing a deep thik as the force of the collision notched the wood. She shoved back, twisting with him as beads of ice formed up and down her water-slick weapon. The strain traveled up her arms; he was stronger than she was and she was weary from the other fights that day.

The problem came when he stepped back. Without any pressure to push against, the dull pain that had persisted in her knee flared up violently and she lost all feeling throughout the leg. She saw her opponent seem to grow suddenly, and the grass that had only brushed her elbows now lashed viciously against her face.

Without any time to think, she whipped her staff around, forcing through the dense meadow hay that separated her and the drow, bending and breaking it as she saw his crackling lightning sword plunge for her without even the slightest hope she could get her staff up in time to block.

The slash sliced off the muscle of her shoulder and upper arm, laying bare the bone while it sent a painful shock throughout her body. A grunt escaped her and she gritted her teeth, choking back the cry of pain that threatened to rise up out of her. She looked up, eyes blurry from tears of pain, tears that ran down her face in unison with the half-frozen rain. She could barely see, but she could feel the blood that had splattered onto her face and was currently spurting from her shoulder and staining her clothes.

It's over.

It couldn't possibly continue any longer, and she could yield and probably be given quarter. But she had never yielded a day in her life, and she wasn't about to start here and now.

Dropping her staff, she grabbed at her mythril dagger with her left hand and shoved up on her good foot, trying to lurch into a standing position. She was no threat, and he probably knew it as well as she did...but she'd at least be able to say that she went down fighting.

[Izvilvin]

((Bunny kill approved. Thanks for the battle!))

The rise and fall of Mjolnir was like the gavel of a judge, sentencing the indomitable Karuka to her fate. She turned with him, following Izvilvin's pivot and bringing her weapon to bear, but he was a half-step and a full swing faster. The Damascus blade didn't slow as it lopped off a large portion of her arm, severing the flesh as easily as its heat evaporated the rain. Blood pitched violently against the yellow grass, quickly washed away by the rain.

She fell with a stifled cry, her weapon faltering in the middle of the blocking attempt. Fighting back tears of pain, Karuka looked up at him, their eyes locking for what must have been the hundredth time. Her orbs had lost none of their determined luster, though they were beginning to shine with the dawning realization of defeat. She had the soul of a warrior, this one, the fire that brightly survived the storm.

He was tired, hurt, but stood tall. Izvilvin saw the similarity between them, the undaunting need to survive, to persevere. If not for her humanity, Karuka had what it took to live a century in the caves of Kachuk, had the ability to discipline herself to overcome her bodily limitations. It showed in her now as she tried to rise, tried to lift the falling rain on her shoulders as if each drop weighed ten pounds.

Their eyes never separated as Karuka drew her dagger, trying to rise and lunge at him once more. Defenseless, the woman could do nothing against the upward arc of Icicle. At once the life in her eyes disappeared, along with the rest of her head, as the sword cut cleanly the spine that connected it with her shoulders.

It had all happened so fast, yet Izvilvin felt he had been staring into those jeweled eyes for hours. The threat eliminated, he felt the pain of his wounds rush him at once, hardly dulled by the numbing cold of the rain. It took all of his will to overcome the concussive headache the cat's swipe had given him, but he did. Slowly, he regained his balance.

Icicle's blade was caked with blood, human blood that had frozen on touch. Slowly running Mjolnir along it, the heat melting the red fluid away, Izvilvin let the battle embed itself into his memory.

"You fought well," he said, and meant it.

[Zephyriah]

Finally, the judging! I want to apologize to you guys though, since I said this would be done Wednesday. I like to stick to my word and I feel like crap when I don't. Nevertheless, here ya go.

Fateless

Karuka Tida = brick red
Izvilvin = lavender

STORY

Continuity ~ 5/10 – 6/10 You both did a nice job of stating your purpose for this fight, tying recent background and previous character history into this thread. However, Izvilvin gets the slight nudge here simply because I felt that his overall reasons for partaking in this bout were stronger than Karuka’s. Anytime deeper history is woven with a battle, it deepens the fight and makes it more meaningful.

Setting ~ 7/10 – 6/10 Karuka was the initiator of this battle, so it is not surprising that she fared better in this category. However, it is not an easy thing to pay attention to describing the setting and interacting with it in some shape or form throughout an entire thread. Karuka did a very good job of pulling this off. Izvilvin did well here too, but did not take it to the level that Karuka did.
Now, as good as I felt you both did, I feel that you both could’ve pushed setting interaction even farther. Karuka, you mentioned a burning hut in the beginning of the thread, which in turn sparked horrific visions. Incorporating this somehow in the fight would’ve definitely netted you more points. If you’re going to make mention of something, be sure to utilize it in some way rather than simply letting it fade in the distance. Izvilvin, the grass was tall and the skies were dark. Utilizing these aspects more would’ve strengthened this category for you. When dealing with setting, always take what is given to you, and bring it to another level.

Pacing ~ 7/10 – 7/10 Both of you did well here. Seasoned roleplayers feed off of one another’s posts and I felt that both of you demonstrated that in this battle.

CHARACTER

Dialogue ~ 5/10 – 6/10 Very little was actually said here, yet because of this, this category goes to Izvilvin. Through his limited knowledge in the various languages on Althanas, he spoke through his actions, reacting silently to Karuka and his surroundings. Karuka pretty much did the same thing, but the circumstances of the battle better fit Izvilvin.

Action ~ 5/10 - 6/10 You two did well here, however, Izvilvin gets the nod. Both of you play your characters very naturally, but in this thread, I felt that Karuka’s usage of the staff after the summoned cat dissipated was strange. Normally this would’ve been nothing more than a substitution of weapons, but because you stressed dagger training as the main reason for competing in the Citadel, I thought Karuka would’ve stuck with them to the end, especially with her being a person who doesn’t give up on anything.

Persona ~ 7/10 – 5/10 – Karuka really shined here, with her going through a full range of emotions from the start of this battle until the very end. The switching between feeling confident, feeling fearful, and then back to feeling confident were done really well.

WRITING STYLE

Technique ~ 5/10 – 6/10 While it is clear that you two are seasoned writers, Izvilvin’s style of writing painted a better picture of the world in which you two were creating.

Mechanics ~ 8/10 – 8/10 I might’ve seen two or three spelling or grammatical errors out of the whole entire thread. You both pay good attention to detail, using those very important things called “spell checking” and “proof reading”.

Clarity ~ 6/10 – 7/10 Both of you were clear with your writing for the most part. But there is one thing that you both should take note of, even this is directly geared towards Karuka. If you decide to make note of things that pertain to our world, make sure that you explain what it is. You mentioned Ragnarok several times and I had no idea what that was. Never assume that people know what you’re talking about.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 5/10 – 6/10 I like the effort that you two showed in this thread, especially Karuka’s will to put more effort into bringing the setting to life and Izvilvin’s reason for doing battle at the Citadel. Although this was an average battle, I didn’t get bored and was able to read it pretty much straight through.

TOTAL ~ 60/100 – 63/100

Izvilvin wins!

EXP Rewards
Karuka Tida receives 750 EXP
Izvilvin receives 2,750 EXP

GP Rewards
Karuka Tida receives 115 GP
Izvilvin receives 120 GP

[Witchblade]

EXP and GP added!