Pick up the sword and fight the horde! ((Open to (M)ANY!!!))

[Letho]

A bustling Citadel was seldom an uncommon sight. Tacky show-offs, heroes-to-be with naïve gleam in their eyes, greenhorns with delusions of grandeur, battle-hardened graybeards with faces of worn leather, cloaked rogues with shifty eyes, they all prowled the halls of the mysterious, black ziggurat in search for that one thing that would satisfy their most recent want. Some found the fulfillment of their dreams in the magic of the Citadel arenas, those few moments of fame that broke away from their bleak existence. Others had those same dreams shot down by someone faster, stronger, more cunning. Someone better. But most were attracted by the sheer lack of natural order, because only in the Citadel one could let his violent side run rampant and evade the usual consequences that such a behavior usually brings. That was why Letho Ravenheart was here.

Fighting for the newly founded Corone Empire wasn’t everything it was cracked up to be. In fact, in the last couple of months the only blade that the Marshal used was the silver letter opener that fought against the eternal threat of all desk employees – the paper cuts. The top brass didn’t trust him enough to put him on the front lines yet; he was, after all, still a turncoat in their eyes that abandoned the Ranger’s plight and joined the tyranny he fought so hard against. So instead of leading a cohort or two against the rebels, Letho was stuck with a muddy training camp and a bunch of good-for-nothing recruits that scarcely knew which end of the sword goes where. The only one who still fought with him was Myrhia who waited him in their manor, always ready to talk his ear off for something he either shouldn’t have done of didn’t do in a timely manner. The Citadel was the patch on a broken leg; it wouldn’t solve the problem, but it provided some help against the monotony and lethargy.

And it was especially clamorous within its halls today. It was not every day that such a high-profile visitor showed his face in the Citadel. Most of the people heard twofold stories of the Red Marshal, his Highwaymen and his eventual change of sides, but few ever really got a chance to see the man that was the talk of Radasanth. He was a hero to most, villain to some, and familiar to all. Today they all got their fill.

Walking up the abundance of stairs that led to the Citadel entrance, Letho Ravenheart marched through the bombardment of looks and whispers and stepped into the contrasting coolness of the interior’s shade. It was cold within these walls, always so frigid that it felt like you were stepping into a stone prison, about to serve forty-to-life. In such a grayish scene, the ceremonious scarlet armor of the Marshal looked almost like a brassy insult. The glass scales of his armor, as hard as those of a dragon, shyly reflected the dim light of the main hall in every possible shade of red, concealed only by a crimson cape and an assortment of weapons on Letho’s back. The scales ground against each other and the armament clinked and clanked as he made his way to the counter. His heavy, decisive footsteps commanded the volume of the room, quieting it down a notch with every pace. By the time he stood face to face with one of the monks, the sound was outlawed from the room by the curiosity of those populating it.

“Marshal. It’s an honor,” the cowled monk said, his tone and his bow respectful but little else. There had been far too many famous faces in these halls for these evokers of illusion to be intimidated easily. It made Letho smile. He was tired of everyone bowing their head and moving out of his way as if he’s a mountain giant. “What can I do for you today?”

The answer to that particular question was the most coveted piece of information in the room.

“I, uh... I need something to stretch my muscles,” the Marshal responded, leaning onto the counter a bit. His voice seemed to echo across the room for a full an eternity after it left his mouth before it died down. “Nothing fancy, just a good fight to make sure that sitting behind the desk didn’t rob me of my prowess to wield a sword.”

The monk nodded. He must’ve heard such a request for an umpteenth time in his career. “Any particular wishes? A certain scenario, perhaps?” he asked, dropping his eyes on the tome before him, rummaging through the list of arenas.

“One. Make it so I have a decent amount of company.”

“And how much... company do you wish to have?”

Letho allowed a thin grin, a mere crack in the iron stringency of his bearded face before he responded.

“How much can you muster?”

***

After the usual procedure of walking the walk and talking the talk, Letho passed the door that stood between the cold reality and whatever fantasy these monks could conjure. On the other side, a strange sight greeted him. He found himself standing on the top of a massive step pyramid made of stone not so different from the one that formed the very walls of the Citadel in the real world. But that was as far as reality went here. All around this construct was darkness, as thick as ink and twice as empty. There was nothing out there. There was only the pyramid and the man on top of it. Letho walked to the edge of the rectangular platform and took a gander down the side of the pyramid. He expected to see some company climbing those stairs any moment.

[Storm Veritas]

Twin dimples pressed deep beneath his cheeks, bright teeth popping out to present a smile that he could not even attempt to stifle. In all his days of slaughtering Citadel sheep, he never thought the name that popped up on the overhead slot would be Letho Ravenheart.

At first, he was skeptical. Storm had looked long and hard for the man-beast, the incredibly powerful, monstrous yet self-righteous Ravenheart, who carried himself with a swagger of almost unfathomable power. Their past was storied, legendary, and almost boring by now; Ravenheart’s power was simply too much, he was too awe-inspiring strong; he simply couldn’t be stopped by man, beast, or machine.

Fortunately for our villain, he was none of the three.

Everything about him felt good today. He was tall, lean, and athletic, with his hair slicked back across the top of his well-tanned head. He was clean-shaven, with a pressed shirt and new cufflinks. His shoes were shined and pinstriped pants meticulously tailored.

Typically, he dressed so well because he knew his hands would never need to get dirty. His power had grown in leaps and bounds. His capability was not short of God-like, and Storm wouldn’t hesitate to tell someone as much. His days of sneaking around, lurking in the shadows were done. He himself was a monster now, and the knives at his hips had become little more than decorative in the wake of such a metaphysical awakening.

That said, he knew his hands would get quite dirty today.

“I read Letho Ravenheart. I hope this isn’t some fourteen year old imposter. You see the marshall march through?” Storm talked to the attendant with a condescending air. The suspender-donning buffoon had too much to say. Veritas assessed that the countertop wasn’t the only item sporting wood as the attendant beamed.

“Oh, yes, sir! That is Letho – THE LETHO RAVENHEART – as I saw with my own two eyes. He marched right through door number one over there, and he’s bigger ‘n stronger than ever!”

A grimace. He didn’t like hearing this, yet he had to at least acknowledge it; Letho was certainly an incredible adversary. Letho was everyone’s hero, the big and strapping and brave. So honorable as all these plebeians thought, for they didn’t know Letho like Storm did. They didn’t share the same history with the madman behind door number one.

The buffoon continued.

“I have to tell you, bud, between me, you, and the lamppost… I wouldn’t go in there if you paid me to! Not for all the tea in Alerar!”

The ridiculous dialogue forced Storm to roll his eyes, as he considered the prospect of dark elves sipping tea and glanced at the torchlight over the attendant’s shoulder. The man was an anachronism, it was certain; but what universe would send this moron as their representative?

“Well, lucky for all of us you’re the ticket-bitch, then. Put 100 gold on Storm Veritas to win, and make sure you lock the door tight behind me.”

He had shut the attendant up quickly, a gaping, shocked look upon the spectacled 50-something. With that, Storm produced a small handful of change, and slapped it up against the chest of the balding imbecile. The coins jingled as they crashed on the cobbled floor of the Citadel foyer, and an annoyed attendant stooped to scoop them up.

By the time he stood back up with a bet-voucher in hand, Storm Veritas was strolling through the gate to Door Number One.

He wasn’t warmed up, and didn’t need to be.

He’d been ready for this for years.

[Witchblade]

She’d been spending less and less time in the walls of The Citadel as of late. It was strange. She used to frequent these halls all to often and now she found herself a stranger among the faces in it, a nobody that was neither recognized nor cared about. Fame and fortune were not high on her list, but the halfling certainly enjoyed the look of fear that crossed the faces of the would-be heroes in this place as she passed them by. Yet it seemed that was no more, at least for now. Barely anyone had paid her any mind as she’d ambled up the steps and through the doors, into this cold palace of stone, and she had done the same to them. No one that she had seen had peeked her interest, no one seemed like they could give her enough of a challenge to even bother with them. So she’d bided her time.

Away from the crowds and the boisterous calls, threats and boasting she stood, with her back pressed up against the stone and cold seeping through the thick layer of her cloak. With her hood drawn up and the darkness it enveloped her in covering the majority of her face and leaving her as just another shrouded warrior in a crowd of many. She waited and watched, looking for someone. The halfling had all the patience in the world and today found herself without a lack of any. Even as the hours seemed to tick by and nothing caught her interest.

Then he walked into The Citadel as if he owned it. At first she thought he was just another overconfident warrior strapped with shiny armour and carrying a myriad of intimidating weapons. Then she realized who it was and her sewn lips pulled slightly at the corners, turning into the slightest smile.

Letho Ravenheart… well I never…

She could feel The Malice stir within her mind; crawling through the darkness she had placed it in. It whispered beautiful things to her about battle and blood, destruction, murder and chaos, things that she loved oh so very much but usually tried to control. Things that she didn’t have to hide here of all places, where death was nothing but a state of being that could easily be reversed. Her crimson eyes watched him as he first talked to one of the monks and then moved onto one of the many doors lining this place. It seemed that every single pair of eyes within the walls of The Citadel were on him, awed and amazed by his very person. It was quite disgusting. He was only a man after all and though he may be strong, all men must die someday.

Witch contemplated joining him in his little battle, but she found herself a bit reluctant at first. He would definitely be a challenge, but with someone as famous as him in the arena there were bond to be a number of other people also wishing to join this battle. Crowds weren’t necessarily her thing; after all, The Cell hadn’t gone too well for her.

It was the next occupant of that room that actually made Witch push herself from the wall and began making her way over there. Her form easily cut through the crowd and made it there just as one Storm Veritas opened the door and slipped inside. She hadn’t seen him since she’d lost to him in the last tournament she’d entered and to think, she’d find not only him but also Letho Ravenheart in The Citadel on the same day. Quite an interesting set of events.

Without pausing she walked passed the attendant and grabbed the door before it had even fully closed, then she stepped into the opening and was overcome with darkness.

[Edward Judorne]

It wasn't every day that Edward had the time to make it to the Citadel. In fact, he almost never went there anymore. It was a Luxury He could normally only dream of, what with all the evil to fight in the world. Today was Special, though. He was visiting Corone anyway, in order to pick up some goods, and he thought he may as well head in to the Citadel for a good workout.

As he climbed the stairs, Edward frowned. He was remembering how a lot of times, the citadel had the bad habit of matching people up with other people of thier strength and skill. Problem was, Edward truly needed a workout. Something that could really impress on him the importance of fighting his best at all times.

"Good day to you, sir." The attendent said to him.

"Hey. The name is Edward Judorne. I'm here to fight in the Ctadel. What you got?"

"Let's see... We have a few things open. A ninja with a major disposition, a dogboy who is new to the Citadel..." The attendent trailed off for a second, trying to hide the fact that he was naming off a match that would spell certain doom for Edward Judorne. Unfortunately, Edward realized right away what he was doing.

"Wait, what was that last one." Edward asked, angered that the attendent would try to hide an option from him

"You don't want it. You'll get slaughtered in the blink of an eye."

Now Edward really wanted to join for some reason.

"Don't tell me what I want and don't want, I am looking for a challenge today, not some measly opponent that doesn't know how to brandish his weapon properly. Besides, If worse comes to worse, the Citadel staff can always revive me, if I remember correctly."

"It's your funeral. Room one will open momentarily for you." The man sighed, realizing he would be unable to Deter the half-elf.

Edward slipped into room one and as he climbed his way to the top of the pyramid, he hesitated briefly. There was no point in charging in. If these three were as powerful as the attendent had hinted, he would likely be ignored at first because of how little a threat he posed. Still, he stood ready to dodge anything that approached him, just in case.

'After all,' he reminded himself 'You can never be too careful'

[The Barbarian]

It’s like dominos…

The barbarian smirked as he watched one fighter after the other walk through the door labeled as One. The first two seemed to share something, as the second’s body language was full of eager destruction. The third had a peculiar target which appeared to be the second and finally the fourth…

…the fourth was just an idiot.

The wall Tyrael had been leaning against had been the same the girl was sharing (he had eyed her up quickly when she passed by him to perch as he was) and now he did a similar push off of it and smacked a large hand on the counter top. He looked down at the shorter man who had been still shaking his head and grinned like a wolf.

“I suppose…you want that same room?� He sighed.

“Bet yo’ ass I do. Looks like it’s gonna be fun!� The warrior chuckled.

“Would you like to share a funeral with that last man as well?�

“Nah, just use ma’ body to fuel a fire. Neva’ liked small places much.� He laughed as he left the front desk and strolled over to the door. He’d been bored all day and after leaving a small town where he’d been beaten in a drinking game against a dwarf, he felt a good round of clashing metal and severed limbs would do him good. Nothing like killing or being killed to get the blood pumping.

He paused at the door, decided on which weapons he should keep. The first three seemed pretty strong, so a bit more maneuverability might do him handy. He dropped his bastard sword at the door and motioned for a passing monk. “Keep it safe, ya?� The monk nodded and Tyrael drew a deep breath. His muscles bulged and his glowing eyes were shining more brightly than ever.

Been quite a while…let’s see what I get!

He stepped through the door and found himself at steps of a pyramid which looked like they could be another part of the Citadel. The only tip off that he was really somewhere else was the lack of sky, sun, trees, or anything else interesting. Just a big pyramid which led to a flat top. He looked over his shoulder and saw nothing but pitch black darkness. Curious, he held his fist out and focused on the ring on his finger. The jewel sparkled and a concentrated beam of light shot forward, exposing a three feet wide circle.

What appeared to be clawing, hissing, silently screeching, and twisting demonic creatures all stopped what they were doing and eyed the barbarian. He stood frozen, not out of fear, but out of knowledge that blinking might set them off.

He dropped his fist and began walking up the steps.

Ya….not getting close to that wall of darkness.

Once his last foot touched the top step, he cracked his knuckles and neck and looked at the fighters. The fourth still looked like an idiot. He almost felt bad until the idea of throwing him against the wall to see what might happen entered his mind.

With a grin, he closed his fists and said, “Yo.�

[Zephyriah]

My head was truly in the clouds.

For some time now, I found myself aimlessly roaming the capital of Corone. Trekking through the Radasanthian streets had always evoked memories of the glory days of my childhood. The wondrous times, in which I walked with my father and his paladins throughout these city roads and to the Citadel, adorned in white garments that were pure as snow, and black masks that raced the hearts of many people who we graced with our presence. Blades equipped with battle experience, having been baptized in the blood of our enemies were always strapped to our backs, ready to be commissioned for combat if the need arose. Yet most of the time they simply implanted fear in the citizens, which caused seedy, unsavory individuals to think twice before trying anything that could cause them to lose their lives.

Our solemn demeanor though, was always perplexing to them. Many eyes of admiration and contempt fell upon us, for surely they wondered where we hailed from. My father during his time was a star at the Citadel, boasting an undefeated record during his tenure there. However, he was stringent as it pertained to concealing information about where we were from, since he didn’t want to bring unhealthy and unnecessary attention to our hometown, his precious city of Rune. “These men are all ruffians,” He would often say while resting his hand on my shoulder as our boots beat the roads. ”Rune is too pure for the likes of these men. We come here to do battle and establish our dominance. Nothing else.”

I invariably rolled my eyes at father’s slightly esoteric statements. It was always about protecting, upholding, and cherishing Rune with him. Staying obscure in our remote corner of the continent constantly doused gasoline on my fiery indignation since we received very little respect for the work that we did. Monsters ran rampant through the plain fields and forests and we acted as exterminators of these horrid creations, thus providing a safer passage for people who traveled. But did we receive any compensation or even acknowledgment? Absolutely not! Father said he didn’t want it, but his love for competing in the Citadel said otherwise. Clearly my old man wanted people to admire and respect his talents at some capacity otherwise those long trips to Radasanth would’ve never been inked into the agenda so frequently.

“You foolish old man....” I often felt myself getting choked up whenever I thought about him, despite all of my efforts to prevent it. He was my hero, the one that I always looked up to. No matter my many flaws, Father constantly had my best interests at heart.

A tear managed to roll down my left cheek, prevailing against my tightened facial muscles and my strong desire to NOT exhibit any emotions over the matter. Yet instead of opening the floodgates of my tear ducts and proceed in bawling, I drove my fist into the wall of a nearby equipment store as I passed by.

“What am I doing? I can’t keep acting this! Pacing through these streets, allowing sorrow to rule over me! Father would’ve given me several lashings for mourning over him after all this time!” Stopping for a moment, I realized what had to be done. Honoring Victor Ablione was much better than mourning over him, and the only proper way to honor him was through his beloved Citadel.

A wide grin plastered across my face. The legendary battle fortress was just around the corner. Unsheathing my blade, I spun it in the air before hoisting it over my shoulder in an act of blatant and arrogant showmanship. I was already well known throughout Althanas for my strength and cockiness, even to the point where small children emulated me when play-fighting. People who had been following me halted wishing not to be struck by the sword.

“How long are you guys going to follow me?” I laughed, turning fully around to face them. There were easily over one hundred people locking their eyes on me. They were no threat though, as they were nothing more than simple city dwellers that obviously knew of my fame. However, several blocks north, Radasanthians preoccupied with something else were rapidly moving about as if the city was under attack. Walking amongst them, I was baffled at how I didn’t receive any initial reaction. In fact the Radasanthians didn’t even seem to notice that I was there.

“What is going on with them?” They were particularly boisterous. Men and women no matter their social class were joyously conversing with one another and quickly moving in the direction of the Citadel.

“Mom, did you hear!? Letho Ravenheart is fighting in the Citadel today!!” A young boy screamed up towards a window. Moments later, his mother bolted out of the house and ran with her son in the same direction that many others had ran to.

“Letho Ravenheart? Is that so.....” People often spoke of the skilled Marshall all throughout Corone. They considered him a valiant hero, one in which you’d read about in a fairytale. It made me sick to my stomach every time that I heard such stories about him. “Surely he isn’t as great as everyone is making him out to be!” Angered, I now started running towards the Citadel like everyone else. The crowd behind me followed. The faster I moved, the faster my unintentional and unwanted entourage did, yet my thoughts circulated around Ravenheart, and some of the absurd things that I’d heard people say about him in the past.

“Heh, the Red Halo of Corone!? That’s ridiculous!!”

Arriving at the highly populated fortress, I fiercely pushed aside all who were in my path. My rudeness sparked irritation in them, but it was swiftly quelled as they realized who I was. “Z..Zephyriah? Is that THE Zephyriah!?”

My “entourage” chanted my name vociferously, which in turn caused many others to do the same. It wasn’t that these people were actually in favor of me, but rather they were driven by the excitement of Letho doing battle with someone as strong as I was. I read the newspapers from time to time. The occasional columns where people would list several of Althanas’ Finest and write what warriors would have a match of epic proportions if they ever crossed blades in battle. Many times the names, Zephyriah and Letho were placed on the same line item.

As I made it to the lobby, I could still hear the roaring crowd chanting outside.

“I know Letho Ravenheart is here. Tell me where is right now.” The tone in my voice was sharper than any two edged sword. Sweating nervously, the monk appeared as if the stress of such a big event was getting to him. He found no compassion from me however.

“Are you slow? What room is he in!?” The blade was now at his neck.

“Room One! Room One!” His boney index finger rattled quicker than an infant shake-toy as he pointed in the direction of my destination. Lowering the blade, I sprinted off toward room number one. My heart began beating rapidly, pumping exhilaration into every corner of my being. It’d been a long time since I felt like this.

“Father, I will continue your legacy here, but it will not be in obscurity. Instead, I will bring your strength to the light for all to witness, respect, and admire!”

[Karuka]

Karuka stretched out lazily, raising her arms to the sky before shaking out her long red hair. It was a beautiful day in Radasanth. The sun shone brightly, little clouds frolicked in the sky, and the birds twittered and chirped from what trees there were. Scents of fresh bread and roasting meat filled her nostrils, and the sounds of people chattering, secure, filled her ears.

She wasn't needed to go off on some adventure or other. There was no one she needed to defend. Dheathain had been nothing but trouble for her, and for once, she was glad to be back in Radasanth. She could just have a quiet, peaceful day for once.

She was wandering in the Citadel district, not because she particularly wanted a fight, but because she'd spent so much time there the last time she'd been in Corone that the great ziggurat simply felt like home. She didn't plan on going in. She'd really have liked one day of peace.

The sight that drew her in was the image of a familiar face making his way up the steps. She'd have recognized that figure anywhere, even though it wasn't terribly uncommon. But she thought she recognized, from almost a year before, the figure of Storm Veritas. She'd had an interesting few days in Fallien with him, and was looking to say hello. In all her time on Althanas, she hadn't had even one reunion, and the yearning to see a familiar face trumped even her desire for a moment's peace.

Veritas had already vanished into a room by the time Karuka made it up the stairs, but the sight of another familiar face made her do a double-take. Sure enough, the pale figure slipping into a room was the half-vampire Witchblade. That made Karuka hesitate. She didn't dislike Witch, but she had some particularly bad memories connected to her.

More my fault than hers, granted. I suppose it can't hurt to see her again, too...

She chuckled at a remnant of her old naivety. Of course it would hurt, this was the Citadel, after all. She'd have been foolish to think otherwise.

After finishing with a short, stocky young man, a monk approached her.

"Miss Tida, it's been a couple of months since you last graced us with your presence."

She looked back at him, a slight grin on her face. "And here I am, back and better than ever. How's the roster look today?"

He looked down at the chart and almost sighed. "There's the usual, of course...and then the unusual."

A frown wrinkled the skin between the red-head's eyebrows eyes. "Unusual?"

"Letho Ravenheart requested a room with company. So far, Storm Veritas, a 'Witchblade,' and an Edward Judorne have accepted his challenge."

"Storm and Witch..." Karuka gently tapped her staff against the ground. Two familiar faces in one room, as well as the famous Letho Ravenheart. She'd heard of him, of course, he was one of the few names that you couldn't wander Corone without hearing, but she'd never had the opportunity to see him. She'd never heard of Edward Judorne, though, but she assumed he was the short, stocky man that had just been sent into the room.

"Is there space for one more?"

The monk's eyes widened. "You've asked for death in here before, but honestly? Ravenheart is a good man, but he is powerful. He will not be holding back. Storm Veritas and Witchblade would both turn you inside out for the fun of it. I've already sent one man to his certain doom inside...pick a battle you can win."

The Irish red-head grinned, her refusal to capitulate strong as it had ever been in one of the most charming gestures she was capable of.

"It's not about winning. It's about saying hello to old friends. That room?"

As Karuka started off, sliding into the arena, the monk sighed. Free-for-alls were such a pain to clean up.


~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Karuka climbed the eternity of steps to the top of the pyramid, pausing for a moment on the top to catch her breath before looking around with a slight grin. But what she saw made her adopt a more somber attitude.

This was not a happy reunion for the others...no. The air around her bristled with hatred and malevolence. This was definitely going to be a deathmatch, and the titans would probably eliminate the weaklings first.

She was outmatched. She was outmatched a hundred thousand times over. But she'd asked to come in here. She'd be stuck until she died or the fight ended, and she'd probably die long before the fight ended.

All she could do to acknowledge this was shake out her hair once more and set her feet as she moved away from the edge.

All right, then.

[The Writing Writer]

The sound of grinding teeth filled Jacob's head. The sound was quiet in the ears of the world, but in his head, it drowned out all other noise. The people that surrounded him, bumping elbows and exchanging sweat, flapping their jaws, sending saliva into each other's faces in bursts of mist were all drowned out by the sound of bone against bone.

There was little Jacob could do. The Mad Poet was overwhelmed with bloodlust. He had watched six warriors of all different calibers enter one room. All sought after the same prize. Victory over the seventh. The seventh warrior, Jacob had not seen enter, but Jacob knew who he was. The people couldn't stop talking about it. The Great Letho Ravenheart was apparently the host, and Jacob knew his tale well. He was a poet after all. It had once been his job to write songs about people like the seventh. People like Letho Ravenheart. They called him the Red Marshal. The Red Halo of Corone. Such titles were not given out lightly.

The Mad Poet's eyes jerked spasmodically. He was beginning to lose himself. He had to enter the room. As the birds need the sky and the fish need the sea, he needed to enter the room. There was no alternative. His skill in battle was of little importance. He simply had to. Now! This instant! He had to...RUN!

The Writing Writer took off into a mad sprint, his eyes wide, his tongue hanging limply from his mouth. He panted heavily, laughing maniacally as he did so. The thought of so many fierce opponents in one room together was intoxicating, maddening. He had not been this excited in a considerably long time.

Jacob dashed past the monk outside the door, paying no mind to his commands to stop. No force in nature would keep Jacob out of that room. He flung open the door, and stepped into the darkness.

(>-.-)>-------<(-.-<)

Once inside, Jacob gazed up at the towering structure before him, it's grey, cracking stones ever so meticulously stacked upon one another. It was nice yes, but not nearly as awe-inspiring as what surrounded it. Black. That's all there was. It was a poet's wet dream. He would never have to buy ink again.

But that was neither here nor there. Jacob tore his focus away from the darkness and began climbing the steps of the pyramid. As he clawed his way upward, he fantasized of the battle to come. Of titans clashing and blood spilling. His heart pumped with enough force to break through a dam. What fantastically horrid images of gore awaited?

[Letho]

One by one they appeared, faces young and faces aged, faces gentle and faces haggard, the kind and the frowned and the insane and the queer. And amongst them was a familiar visage, a pale face of death that Letho knew far better then he wanted to. Storm Veritas was the negative of the Marshal, an awry reflection enveloped in darkness instead of light. The rogue mage was a menace, always out to fill his pockets with blood money and fill the lives of others with sorrow. The run-ins between the Marshal and the outlaw have become a habit by now, but it was still a surprise to see his nemesis amidst the adversaries that the Citadel’s monks so abundantly provided. Not necessarily a bad surprise, though. After all, Letho came here to do some fighting. If he knew anything about Storm Veritas, he knew that the vicious man would give him a run for his money.

Of others that materialized, the Red Marshal knew only as much as his eyes could assess. The woman with the lips sown shut looked like she had a chip on her shoulder as big as the pyramid they were standing on. She obviously meant business. The huge husk of a man that offered an odd word of greeting looked like he meant business too, albeit in a much less subtle manner then the shadowy dame. The elf with the full-body blush didn’t seem like spectator material either. There was a fire in his eyes that seem to drive him forward. Letho registered this detail, the way a sage registers a valuable piece of information and archives it for later usage. This was not a man one should leave behind his undefended back.

Letho’s eyes continued their perceptive sweep over those gathered. A redhead was hard not to notice. Of all that stood before the Marshal, she looked the least like she belonged here. Not only because she was a woman, but because she lacked that violent line that everyone else seemed to have somewhere on their face. She almost looked like someone who needed protection. A quick reprimand of his mind later, that spoke of wolves in sheep’s clothing, and Letho was able to deter his mind from such conclusions. The lean, graceful man was the next one his eyes beheld. Another combatant that looked like less of a threat and another caution sign in his mind. It didn’t take the strength of a titan to stab someone in the back. The last amongst those that showed up for the reckoning had an air of lunacy around him, his eyes windows to a home where the light was on and someone was definitely there, but that someone was running up and down the stairs and banging his head against the wall.

All faces and details considered, Letho Ravenheart felt inclined to make the first move. He was, after all, the one who asked for this company to assemble. His eyes went back to Storm, clashed with those cold greys that made wordless promises of pain and anguish, stood against their cunning gaze. Storm was the main threat here. The man didn’t look like much of a fighter, but he was bestowed with a deadly combination; magical power and wits as sharp as a razor. Those two could overthrow sheer might any day of the week.

Keeping his focus on Storm, his eyes on as many as possible and leaving those he considered the weakest behind his back, Letho made a move towards the center of the platform. The silence from back in the Citadel’s main hall was back, enhanced by the surrounding blackness, making his footsteps uncannily loud. His gauntleted hand went up and above his shoulder, brandishing a spear unceremoniously. One handedly, his arm pointed the prevalida tip at the man who embodied everything the Marshal fought against.

“As you may or may not know,” Letho’s rumbling voice began, his eyes to breaking away from the jet black man as he lowered the spear at his side. “I am Letho Ravenheart and I bid you welcome. If any of you wish to exchange pleasantries, you’ve come to the wrong place. Let us not waste the time and effort of the good monks of the Citadel. This place is created for a battle. Let us not disappoint.”

[Lavinian Pride]

It had been months since the incident in Reven, since she had been irrevocably changed into a monster that clung to darkness. She had walked the areas of Radasanth following her leave of Lavinya. It wasn't home, it didn't feel like it, and Darith understood when she didn't take Seth's place amongst the thieves. She made herself a nest in Radasanth, making sure not to kill and mainly traded with a butcher, a few romps was all it took along with the promise to allow for future romps. It sickened her to be used so, but it got her blood to sate her hunger. Kid in fact had been a godsend in that respect, gathering the blood before she would even awake for the evening.

However, today was different. With the help of Kid, they managed to keep to the shadows as Sarah moved to the Citadel. Animal blood, while able to quench only went so far, she needed human blood form time to time, or she would go mad from the redundancy. However, few people fought at night, which brought about the problem. The answer was clever but also rather ridiculous. So when the monks opened the barrel to let her out after Kid's explanation, she was more than slightly embarrassed.

However, upon explaining the situation they understood all to well. This wasn't some kind of showboat attempt at fame or glory; this was a pragmatic approach to a difficult situation. While they knew Sarah for the few fights she had, they also knew her heritage, which had made it somewhat tense explaining to the monks just why their shipment of flour had been replaced by a girl in a barrel. They did however; offer her more than enough chance. They offered her something far better than the one on one engagement. They offered her the ultimate blood sport.

And they offered her Letho.

Now, technically her beef with Letho had been over and done with awhile. But she had never gotten a chance at him. They had never truly fought, despite the fact that there were more than a few tense moments between the two. After all she had nearly stolen Myrhia from him, only to find that she loved him too much. Perhaps it was jealousy that someone so similar to Seth in so many ways got the happy ending, while she was stuck playing Queen Bitch of Althanas.

So when Letho began to bravado and speech, she rolled her eyes as she stayed back, down a few steps on the pyramid. She'd join all too soon, but not before she'd had a chance to gauge him, it had after all been months since the incident in Reven, and she was not stupid enough to assume Letho had simply stopped training and fighting all together. She needed to scout out his strength, see if he had gotten it back, or whether he was still weak. If that was the case, she might have him on pure speed alone. If it wasn't the case, she'd have to be wary, as one blow would finish the fight.

She did however recognize a few of the figures from the Cell and the Brotherhood. Storm Veritas was the prominent figure, as was the vixen with a sewn mouth that had killed both her and Seth in the Cell. There was a red head that seemed to be out of place despite the fact she was armed with twin daggers, a few kunai which she recognized form her time as Seth, and a solitary staff. Then there was another man who also seemed like a no name seeking fame.

Then she saw Tyrael.

Now, she had seen him maybe once, but he had stuck with her mind despite all she had been through. So when she saw him she ducked down immediately crouching and considered the situation. Would she have to fight him? Maybe, could she though? That was the question. They had been in a tight spot a long time ago, and Sarah had relied on him, only to find out how good a soul he was. Could she without guilt attack and possibly kill him? It didn't matter that he would be back, it would be a breaking of trust. Perhaps she could disable him, not let him take out Letho, but either way, she knew the answer would not be forthcoming. As she crouched she waited as the speech came to a close for the sounds of battle.

She had after all waited a few years, what was a few more minutes for her chance?

[Storm Veritas]

I should have known that we couldn’t dance without attracting a crowd. Not every day that people get to see THE Letho Ravenheart die.

He gazed about the arena, trying to make sense of what had just happened. From different doors erupted a plethora of assorted Althanian All-Stars. Witchblade, whom he had narrowly defeated many months ago, looked refreshed and strengthened. She was a crazy bitch that was actually more sadistic than Storm. She was tortuous and loved to inflict pain. One poor sap also popped out next, his eyes wide with disbelief. Storm decided not to concern himself with the lad, thinking he would probably dive back through his portal and save his own skin, were the young man smart.

That must be… Tyrael!?

Indeed, the hybrid man-angel popped through another portal, peeking about ominously. Storm had heard a few bad things about him, but hoped that he wouldn’t slow the track to attack Letho. As Storm inhaled and considered the assembly, another new face emerged.

You’ve got to be kidding me…

None other than Zephyriah Abilone appeared. Zephyriah and Storm had tangled swords before as well, a storied battle that left Gisela in ruins. Later, the two had teamed up to fight together, a terrible force when working side by side. Abilone was great fun, and Veritas was praying that the red-faced monster would either keep a safe distance or aid him in this fast-brewing war. Either way, he would certainly not ask for trouble from the gigantic beast-thing.

Now Storm sighed, with Letho, Witchblade, the boy, Tyrael, and Zephyriah, there was going to be some infighting. He strategized how to sic Zephyriah on Witchblade when the soft hum of another portal popped.

You’ve got to be shitting me… oh no…

What are you doing here? Get the f*ck out of here! It isn’t safe!

It was Karuka. The gorgeous, sexy little red-haired vixen he had become smitten with in Fallien. His lust was fairly obvious, and his affection more real than any he had felt for a woman on all Althanas. This wasn’t the lust he shared with Natalya, or the wild sexual tensions mixed with some other Amazonian princesses. He actually cared for Karuka, and hoped his affection wouldn’t betray him. If he could only keep from glaring with those sad eyes upon her, and not show to protect her, he would not expose the massive weakness that had just been forced upon him.

Another young man emerged by the outskirts of the giant Ziggurat. Storm disregarded him. This was going to be him and the Ravenheart, and Letho was on the move.

Walking towards the center, Storm sauntered with a genuine swagger. He was cocky, brash, and knew one thing that Letho didn’t; his control over the metals that were so abundant about the arena would all come in handy for him. His hands hung slick around his hips when he walked, staring straight through the gaudy ball of muscle that was traipsing forward at him.

“Ravenheart, you silly asshole. Looks like you’ve gone and brought sand to the beach!”

Without another word, Storm braced his feet and fired a huge bolt of electricity across the center of the platform. It arced gracefully and drove directly towards that huge spear that Letho carried so proudly. Wooden staff or not, Storm smirked at the very thought of holding onto that staff when the thunder struck.

And if you let go, I could make use of it. One pull through the electric field and I can shish-ke-bob some of these little peasants around here before they get any cute ideas.

[Edward Judorne]

Edward looked around at all the combatants. As long as all the strong ones ignored him and the weak ones underestimated him, he could survive for quite a while. Heck, even if there was a strong person who underestimated him, he'd be fine. Right now, though, there were only two concerns he had, Zephyriah and the man who was acting friendly towards him.

Edward looked over to Zephyriah, who had helped him out more times than he could count. How was he going to take out a beast like that when the beast knew him as well as Zeph did? Only one answer popped in to Edward's head. Let your presence be known, and keep him on the defensive with the distraction of trying to figure out what you are planning. that would create a weakness that anyone could take advantage of.

"Hey there, Zephyriah. Glad to see you are alive and well. Been awhile, though. Too bad we couldn't have met under different circumstances, though. You realize, I won't hesitate to fight back, if need be." Edward said aloud.

Ok, now that Edward had done that much, he turned his attention to the man that greeted him.

"Back at you. Is there something you want from me besides a beating?" Edward said with a sly smile, pulling out his rapier and readying for the man's attack.

Everything suddenly came to a stop as the ringleader announced his name as Lethos, but that was neither here nor there. The battle was underway.

Letho and another man were fast at it, but what truly scared Edward about that battle was that the other man was using a tactictic Edward himself had used all too often. Letting the foe's metal be a lightning rod. Great, another strategy fighter was all Edward needed. He may as well be doomed. He needed to let the strong weaken the strong first. Turning back to the man who greeted him, he started mocking him.

"You gonna attack, or what?"

[Witchblade]

One by one they filtered inside. They appeared in the conjured world of the Citadel seemingly ready to do battle and possibly die in this place of make belief where death wasn’t real and the pain of the wounds inflicted upon one’s body was merely a fleeting sensation of the mind. She would be surprised if half of them knew what a real battle was like and what it felt like to crush the life out of someone, slowly, just to enjoy the look on their face.

At the top of the pyramid they stood, surrounded on all sides by blackness so thick and enveloping that even her eyes could not penetrate it. It was a fitting scene really, a beautiful scene. Amongst those that had appeared, she recognized two other faces, one of whom she had no name to place upon. The woman had merely been a contender in The Cell, one who had rather roughly tried to get in her away from her chosen adversary at the time. She knew nothing else about her and cared to know even less. She was just another face in the growing crowd that seemed to slowly trickle upon this plateau. The other woman was none other than Karuka, a strange, spunky little human that she’d found herself travelling with in Dheathain some months ago. It had been an experience, one she was not ready to repeat. The halfling had nothing against her and even consider her an ally to an extent, but their time together had been…trying.

Upon her arrival, Witchblade noticed the sudden change in Storm’s demeanour. He tensed, his body became agitated and his eyes sought hers in a way they had passed upon no other. Not to mention the sudden turmoil within his mind was hard to resist peering into. Apparently the lightning mage was more than just allies with the woman, very interesting. Though Witch considered her an ally, this was The Citadel and if need be, she would not hesitate to use that against Storm. After all, it was high time she paid him back for that loss.

None of the others she knew or recognized, though the man with red skin seemed rather intriguing and quite strong. He also seemed arrogant and too sure of himself. She would not blindly turn her back to the others for even the weak looking could strike an undefended target, but they were not her real purpose here and so as long as they left her be, she would leave them.

As the words of the great and shit filled Letho Ravenheart rang throughout this place, Witchblade found herself barely even listening. They meant nothing to her, actions spoke louder than words. Once they finished, the battle quickly got underway and her choice target immediately engaged Letho. A stream of bright and nearly blinding lightning raced across the platform from Storm’s outstretched hands and towards Letho’s spear. If he didn’t drop the weapon or if he could not dodge the electricity, the halfling had a feeling there would be one less fighter standing in this ring. But rumours of Letho’s great strength left little doubt in her mind that the attack would not succeed, unless of course the rumours were just rumours. But seeing as how many people had filtered in this place just to participate, she knew there was some validity in them.

Witch herself had quite a bit of weaponry upon her person, which made her pause. Storm could and would use that against her, but she knew that though his electric touch was quick and quite deadly, if she got close enough to him she’d have the advantage. Unless he had improved a great deal since the last time they had fought, she was still quicker and stronger than him, and once she got in close enough to her prey, there was only so long they could hold out against her.

Keeping an eye on the other fighters, the halfling began a slow series of steps, taking her in a lazy circle around the right. One that would hopefully bring her around to Storm’s unguarded back. If Letho could keep his mind distracted just enough with their battle, than she would have no problem getting behind him.

[Karuka]

She saw Storm’s eyes start to sweep past her as she popped up, and then caught them as they latched back onto her. She caught the shock and the touch of anguish and concern. All she could offer her friend to reassure him that she was at least as tough as the last time they’d met was a quick smirk, calm if not confident, before he turned his attention to the titanic Letho Ravenheart. She understood, if he allowed himself to focus on her, he’d be vulnerable. She’d die in a few minutes, and probably meet up with him later. Now that he knew she was here, he’d doubtlessly want to catch up with her later.

Probably best if he fights among the titans and lets those less than legendary duke it out among themselves.

She saw Witchblade start to move toward Storm and Letho, and was uncertain what to do. Should she anger a potential ally for the sake of a friend?

It will be chaos in here in moments. Everyone will want to fight into the swarm, and something will distract her, or him.

She, too, let herself take her focus off of the centerpiece of the arena, looking around. There were new faces; a red elf, a monstrous man with a confident smirk, and a woman with brown hair and eyes. HOW she could see everyone on the top of a pyramid without any sort of lighting in the midst of an intense darkness briefly confused her, but such was life at the Citadel. It didn’t matter. What did matter was that there was something very familiar about the woman, although Karuka had never seen her before. Karuka never forgot a face, either.

Eyebrows drew together over sun-kissed blue eyes as the red-head tried to figure out what it was about this woman. Suddenly, a ghostly figure seemed to surround her, a figure that Karuka hadn’t seen in a long time, but would have recognized anywhere.

"Dahlios…"

The image faded, but the resonance remained, and she looked at Sarah more closely, tilting her head. She may have been leaving herself vulnerable, but if anyone tried anything, she knew that she’d have enough warning to dodge. The O’Sheean birthright could be as much a blessing in combat as it was a curse any other time.

She couldn’t be his mother, she looked too young. She couldn’t be his daughter, she looked too old. A cousin? …No…

"Sister." That was the only explanation, and she turned a little more toward Sarah, ignoring the commotion from the rest of the arena as long as she was, in turn, being ignored.

"You’re Seth Dahlios’s sister." It was less a question than a statement, despite the fact that the woman nearby bore little resemblence to the man that had been at her side during a pirate raid. The daggers at her hips only seemed to confirm what she already knew. There wasn't any telling whether or not the fact that she knew Seth would help or harm her against this woman, but that hardly mattered. Death was unpleasant, but temporary.

[The Writing Writer]

The crackle of thunder snapped the Writing Writer out of his blood crazed frenzy. Only then was he able to weigh the reality of his current situation. He had stepped into the gauntlet, and he would have to be on his toes if he wished to make it out with all four limbs in place.

Lightning was zapping, blades were drawn, the party had been started. It was a spectacle to behold already, and it had not even been five minutes since Jacob entered the room. Although it seemed not all were joining in on the fun.

The three who appeared the most threatening had already begun their dance. Letho took a defensive stance, whereas the mage took the offensive. What was most intriguing however, was the third warrior, the baleful woman. She stalked the mage, patiently waiting for an opening. In terms of raw power, Jacob was not sure how she faired against her male counterparts, but in terms of tactics and strategy, she appeared to be most qualified. The mad poet deduced that avoiding her would be his best maneuver for the time being.

The re- the red? Odd. The red elf had yet to make any notable action, and the red haired girl just strolled off towards the edge of the pyramid. Maybe she was suicidal? It was of little importance. If she was, that was one less person Jacob had to worry about.

The only other person who seemed to be taking any sort of battle stance was a short, scrawny, half-elf, decorated in frilly clothes holding a rapier, which in comparison with the other weapons being wielding looked much like a very thin butter knife. This man seemed a bit out of place, and would be an easy target if Jacob could catch him off guard. As of right now the frilly half-elf faced a giant of a man, which only seemed to dwarf the nobleman further.

As the mad poet considered his options, an intriguing memory clicked in his broken mind. It seemed that no one had paid much attention to him, if any at all. Perhaps not a kettle tipping error, but it may have been just enough.

Jacob stepped back slowly down the steps of the pyramid. He knelt down low and peered over the edge, just enough so that he could see. He would watch, and he would wait. An opening would present itself, and when it did, the mad poet would not let it pass him by.

[Zephyriah]

The atmosphere was saturated with weaklings, much to my surprise. It would’ve been in my best interest to spend a little time reviewing the details of this match but in my haste, I failed to do so. Had I taken the time to do that I would’ve learned that this wasn’t a one-on-one bout, but a ridiculous free-for-all. Many individuals from all over met at the top of this step pyramid in an attempt to scratch the revered and immortal flesh of Letho Ravenheart. Just gazing upon these fools incited a chuckle on my part. Three females were present, an obviously lost red-head, a sadistic looking sewn-mouthed wench, and a foolish one that did a terribly poor job of hiding. Her light footsteps were easily picked up by these elven ears of mine. As for the men closest to me, they were equally unimpressive. There was a vagabond donning nothing but worn and torn pants, a big-for-nothing fellow, and the weak Edward Judorne. “Pathetic faces, left and r—” My lavender eyes set upon a one time ally in the distance. “Storm Veritas. Heh, well at least I know now that I won’t die from boredom!”

I recalled the time in which we teamed up and took on Thoracis and Max Dirks. Storm was certainly no slouch when it came to the art of combat, but even more alarming was that he was extremely cunning, somewhat familiar with my fighting-style, and he actually had the capability to provide somewhat of a challenge, unlike Judorne who had uttered something irrelevant to me. I simply scowled and paid him no further attention. We might’ve embarked on several adventures in times past, but I wasn’t worried in the least bit with regard to his abilities. “I can cleave Edward’s head off in one clean swoop at any time I desire. He’s nothing that I have to worry about.”

It was at this time that my train of thought was curtailed due to the commencement in action, as Storm had already begun attacking Letho. This couldn’t have happened in a better way and at a better time, for it would provide insight into Ravenheart’s strength. But to remain idle like I’ve been up to this point would allow one of these frail kittens to catch me off guard and strike me down as a tiger, thus delivering to me a shameful death. Being the battle hardened warrior that I was, there was no way that I was going to let that happen.

“Storm is already on the move. I suppose I should start things up as well.” Gripping my sword tightly, I dropped into a low battle stance, ready to spring forth and attack had one of my enemies confronted me. However, none of the lesser beings seemed that eager approach.

“They’re all scared.”

This was perfect. Father had always spoken about the power of intimidation and how it was more effective than any blade could ever be. “To have possession of the mind is the power of intimidation.” Victor Ablione couldn’t have uttered a truer statement than that in my youth. But once fear had been established, one had to go on the offensive and deepen that fear. So, with a loud grunt, I transformed, letting the crimson flesh that wrapped my body turn white and scaly, and my hair blacken to a hue that matched the infinite darkness hugging the edges of the step pyramid. Wings sprouting out of my back allowed me to take flight high into the air, which is where I would have the advantage.

It wasn’t uncommon for an underdog to surprise a prodigy though. Therefore, I concluded that it’d be best to snuff out all hope before any confidence could be obtained among the weaklings. Taking a deep breath, I began accumulating a large amount of light into my mouth. The strange ambient light that shone down upon the pyramid had properties of the sun, as I could feel my strength increasing by the second.

When I reached my limit, I set my sights on several targets below.

“The Red-Head and the Hiding One. Let’s start with them.” With a clamorous outcry, I fired the intensely hot beam down at the two women. The goal was to wipe them out in one shot, but if that didn’t happen, then the destruction that would come from the blast would certainly damage the pyramid structure and offer added difficulty as far as maneuvering went. Such an aftermath would only make destroying the insignificant ones all the more easier.

[Lavinian Pride]

As she remained back crouched and waiting she saw the red head turn. Her eyes fixed squarely on her. One of the few people to actually look back she cursed under her breath as she was found out. Her hand went back to reach for a thorn when the name drifted across the pyramid to her, amidst the growing chaos of Storm Veritas. The fact this girl knew she was a Dahlios was bad, very bad. If that name got thrown around, she'd be in deep shit.

What compounded it was she went further, she professed that she was Seth's sister. At that moment everything went red. Her anger exploded without a thought as she pulled the Thorn and sent it sailing right at the Red Head. Seth Dahlios was a touchy subject for her, and for the girl to so openly proclaim her birthright enraged her to no end. She knew not how she came to that knowledge, but she somehow had.

That however, was not the problem. Cocking her head she heard the flap of wings and rose her eyes up, towards the rising form of one Zephyriah Albione. How she had missed him in the fight, she did not know, however it was clear she had, and the mistake nearly cost her. As she saw him wind up that large sword of his she cursed and jumped back with unnatural speed. Here she was off guard, here she was going to die, if not for the fact that she had already jumped off the staircase and onto the sloping stones of the ziggurat.

As she slid down she crouched low as the beam struck, spreading stone shards through the air. Checking herself for mortal wounds she grumbled as she picked a few stone bits from her flesh. He would regret not killing her silently, as soon as she got finished tearing those god damn wings off him. As she drew a thorn she looked at the Elf and cursed, too high for a good shot, despite her considerable excess in strength.

"Figures I have to deal with Seth's adversaries, perhaps I should just paint a huge target on my back and get it over with..." She muttered under her breath. She considered pulling on her vigor, but kept it, as far as they knew, she was just a fast human, no need to show her fangs yet. If she remembered, there was a few rumors about Zephyriah being a priest, and she desperately wanted to keep her unholy powers a secret, lest he one shot her to hell.

As a few of the scratches began closing up she moved about the pillar to get a new vantage point before she bounded up the stairs again, not even bothering with her original point of ascension. Today would prove interesting, but she would have to feed, it had been three days since the last feeding and with a start in blood loss, she gave herself a few more hits before the hunger would begin to overtake her. She had to avoid that at all costs.

Reaching up on the tower she considered hauling back and launching a thorn at Zephyriah, and smiled, she knew just how to piss off that idiot. As she threw, she moved to throw it close enough to the body, that it looked like a gut shot, only to aim right for the wings. Tear a hole, drop the bastard, and she would tear him apart. She only hoped the arrogance she remembered held long enough, because she would only get one chance.

[Letho]

“Predictable.”

Between Storm’s smarmy remark and his opening attack there was just enough time for that single word to pass through Letho’s mind. For all his guile, the mage always seemed to commence the battle with the same move. He did so in the finals of the Serenti Invitational and he did so in atop of the dark tower in the land of Nyd, and today he wore that old hat again. The buzz and crackle of the charging didn’t precede the attack as it did in their previous encounters, but the arc of lightning came to existence at the magician’s command all the same, sizzling and laden with scorching death. No man or beast could outrun the speed of that white light. Not unless they had a head start like Letho.

Using his prevision due to familiarity with Storm’s modus operandi, the armored Marshal was on the move a fraction of a second after his opponent. He pushed his left foot out, pulled the spear back and outstretched his hand towards the electric projectile just in time to greet it. The magic of the attack struck the dragonscale, but was immediately contested by the immunity of Letho’s gauntlet that endured the craggy coils of energy that wrapped around his fingers, his palm, his wrist. Several jolts passed through the enchanted gauntlet, tormenting the flesh below, but most of the attack was efficiently absorbed, turning into naught but a line of pale smoke that billowed from the open palm of Letho’s hand.

“I thought I told you once before that you need some new tricks, Veritas.”

There was a grin accompanying those words, almost a smile of a man that was where he needed to be, doing what he was born and bred to do. Peace and prosperity were fine and all, but a soldier needed a sword in his hand and a battle to fight to fulfill his purpose. And that was why Letho was here. Simply playing his role in the greater scheme of things. Just like the rest of the motley assemblage.

All around the mismatched pair in the center battles were commencing. The loony versus the rapier wielder. The transformed monstrosity versus a pair of dames. Well, a dame and a strumpet, as it turned out. The other woman that Letho hadn’t had a chance to notice up until now was none other than the sister of Seth Dahlios, working her way to equality with her brother in both infamy and deadliness. It seemed that this particular Citadel battle managed to gather the good, the bad and the ugly of Althanas in a single arena.

And when it came to deadly women, one of them seemed to circle around Storm like a wildcat with its raging eyes on the prey. If she were to engage the mage at the same time as Letho, the battle would’ve surely become rather short-lived. Double-teamed and forced on a defensive, even a smooth operator such as Storm would easily take the fall. And Letho didn’t want it to be easy. He had it easy for far too long. So instead of allowing the mysterious wench to aid him, he pulled the smoking hand back, retrieved a dagger from the scabbard at his hip and sent it spinning. The blade whizzed past Storm, missing him by a good yard before it continued its trajectory towards the skulking woman. It was no more than a warning shot, though, precise but lacking deadly force. If she was a fighter worth her salt, she’d be able to parry it.

“You wait your turn,” the words of caution clarified the purpose of his attack, but Letho knew they could scarcely deter the woman. If anything, they would only provoke her further, making her set her crosshairs on himself instead of Storm. In any given scenario this was a foolish move, but this was the Citadel. The only possible consequence was a faux death and scarred pride. A nasty headache at worst.

“Not the most popular lad, are we?” The words were directed at Storm now, just as was the spear that came moments afterwards. Scales gritted against scales as Letho made a move forward, the full body armor seemingly doing nothing to slow his advance. The prevalida tip came from above, the single-handed thrust aimed at the black heart somewhere beneath the classy attire of the varlet that donned it.

[Karuka]

Not a yes, not a no, just a dagger thrown at her face. It was probably "yes, now shut the hell up." It didn't take much effort to bat the projectile away with one tip of her staff, but as soon as she had, she realized that wasn't the worst of her problems.

A fore-image of the searing wave of intense heat followed a growing light above her head, and Karuka charged closer to the interior of the arena, dropping into a tumble as the stone floor where she'd been standing crumbled under an intense barrage.

She looked up, seeing the Red Elf hovering above the arena, too high to hit with a kunai, even if she could have been sure that she'd throw it on the right path.

She'd landed conveniently near the man that had addressed that Red Elf, so she let her glance dart to her left, where he was standing, facing the Big Man. While she doubted that the Elf had any sympathy for the Man with a Rapier, and she didn't figure he would be useful to anyone, an ally was still an ally.

"Hey, big guy! Incoming!"

With that, she leveled her staff at the Man with the Rapier and lashed hard, aiming to throw him into the titan he'd just challenged. Best to get him out of the way now. Hopefully the red elf would come down soon, and then there'd be a chance for a reckoning.

If I could get over to the other side of the arena, it might be safer nearer to Storm...and maybe even Witch, despite the fact that it looks like she hates him.

[Slayer of the Rot]

Wheat-gold, late afternoon sunlight filtered in through the smudged window panes of the Black Leaf, causing Dan Lagh'ratham's auburn hair to shine like dull fire. The bar was empty save for the titan, a smaller man with outstretched hands, and the lazy formless phantoms the dust made in the light. Bringing a cigarette to his lips, his other hand laying next to a tumbler of scotch, Dan stared, unmoving, at the dozens of whiskey bottles behind the bar.

The smaller man was Brendeth, Dan's once right hand man and essential slave during Audeamus' time. Brendeth was a small and easily intimidated man, and he never particularly seemed to fit into the bloody world of murder and crime he'd tried to enter. Luckily for him, Dan had taken interest in his abilities enough to take him in under his protection, or at least as protected as one could be under an insane murdering cannibal. But times had changed, and when he'd disbanded Audeamus, Dan had at least helped the man open his bar. It didn't take long for the business to flourish, however; along with whiskey and a comfortable atmosphere, the Black Leaf offered information one couldn't get anywhere else.

Handing him Meredith's ribbon that had been left behind in her flight from the cottage, Dan sat back and sipped scotch as he watched Brendeth tie the ribbon loosely around his lips, sit back, close his eyes, and stretch his hands out once more. Anyway who was unfamiliar with the proprietor of the Black Leaf would think that at first, he simply had snagged a few strands of a spider web on his fingers. The filaments were a breath thin, barely in this world, but a moment later, they began to solidify like a spirit making its impression on the world. Thousands of thin, gleaming red wires hung in the air, sprouting from his flesh, and as a few of his fingers clenched, a brass lockplate appeared in midair, the wires extending from the keyhole. His fingers moved delicately, pulling in ways that each of the threads appeared to move of their own accord. Brendeth sighed after a moment.

"I can't find anything about her in Alerar."

Dan sighed and drained the tumbler completely with a sharp snap of his wrist. If Brendeth said there was no trace of his daughter in Alerar, he knew no amount of his own searching would turn anything up. It was what had made the man such a valuable asset to the Saraelian and Audeamus as a whole. Brendeth was capable of psionically scrying the minds of any man, woman, or child of any continent for any information he should need. With him, they'd uncovered secret shipments, guard placements, and a motley of other things. Drawing in a deep breath, the lockplate began to ice over and darken to mimic old iron, and the threads turned a light blue, like fresh snow in the moonlight. After a few moments of manipulating the threads, Brendeth perked, and looked at his former master.

"I...I think I have something, mister Lagh'ratham. Someone I used to know. An alchemist."

All but one of the threads vanished, fading away. Brendeth pulled on the remaining thread and a door of old, faded oak, banded with riveted black iron, appeared around the lockplate. As it opened, Dan could see within a table with numerous glass instruments glowing in red torchlight before a tall figure interrupted his line of sight. His posture suggested severity, and even the slight paunch that pushed against the belly of his red wool robe didn't take away from the effect. The top of his head was shaved, leaving a trim ring of black hair, and the Saraelian was reminded of a hawk when looking into the man's face. Nevertheless, he was on his feet in an instant.

"Tell me," he spat, drawing up close to the alchemist. Nevertheless, the older man simply stared up at him and looked back to Brendeth, seemingly unconcerned.

"What is it you're wanting? I was in the middle of puzzling out an equation for a new serum. "

"This man's daughter. Maybe a little over four feet, skinny thing, red hair. May have done some strange things with shadows...?" The alchemist frowned for a few moments and Dan stood, unmoving. Brendeth made some reeling gestures with his hands, and finally the summoned man's eyebrows arched.

"Oh! Oh, yes. I think I have something you might be interested in. But - " With that single word the alchemist was off his feet, his head thumping against the threshold of Brendeth's door. The Saraelian hoisted him effortlessly into the air, and the black blade of knife was held dexterously between his thumb and the man's neck. Now the calm nonsense feel of a strict schoolteacher was gone from him, replaced by the look a frazzled and very scared scientist.

"Listen Lagh'ratham, nothing comes for free. Everyone pays Brendeth fro the info he finds and I need something from you. Scratch my back...and I scratch yours." The knife vanished and Dan dropped the man to the ground. Despite his panic and declining fitness, the man caught himself before falling undignified to his ass and brushed off the front of his robe.

"The serum I'd mentioned earlier. I'm missing a component. “The alchemist stepped back through Brendeth's door for a moment then came back, handing Dan a stylized crystal vial. ”I need a hero's blood. And not some foolish young intrepid boy with his father's sword. I want the blood of a man who has achieved great things." Dan scowled, and the first name that came across his mind, he dismissed immediately. Given the word 'hero', every Althanian would think of the Starslayer, Devon dan Sabriel, but no one knew where he had disappeared to. The other name was...Letho Ravenheart.

Brendeth must have read his mind for the weathered oak door slammed shut and vanished as the lockplate changed again to brushed chrome, and numerous silver threads appeared from his hands, working rapidly. One separated from the rest and Brendeth pulled back on it as a dark stained trakym door swung open. Beyond, the Citadel loomed, the portal falling in its shadow. "In there. Room one. Good luck, mister Lagh'ratham. I'll keep the psion-thread attached so you can find him as quick as possibly." Dan nodded, palming the crystal vial for a moment, and then stepped through the door, moving across the cobblestones and then up the Citadel's stairs.

It didn't occur to him that he hadn't shifted his appearance at all. Before, he had barely been recognized by the people until he made a display of his titanic strength, but the scar that marred his face made him all too recognizable. In the corners of his eyes he could see the ones that noticed mouthing his name, but in the big picture, they could have been nothing but white air. Dan cut through the crowd just as easily if he'd been brandishing Bhidyate, following the silver thread straight to the door of the first room, threw it open, and lunged inside.

Dan Lagh'ratham found himself hanging in darkness.

The black of the air around him lacked the bright glow of starlight as night would, and within a moment, he realized that he was simply hovering in nothing. He barely registered the humming of a portal depositing him into the fray of room one, summoning the Dread Moon. The huge, curved mythril blade appeared under him, its sharp edge pointing down to the ziggurat, the arch of his boots settled against its back.

There were more than a dozen warriors here, clashing with steel and lightning. Dan knew only a few of them by reputation, and only one of them through personal history. The whore, Sarah Dahlios that he'd cleaved with the Rotslayer some time ago in the Citadel. There had been a time where he would have obsessed over his anger with her, but she meant nothing to him now. She was an ant upon the pyramid, scrabbling across it's face away from the oral blast of destructive light emitted by the scaly white winged beast that had sit it's sights on her and another.

Finally, Dan fell across the crimson figure of Letho Ravenheart. Hanging in the darkness, seeming to float on a sliver of the moon itself, the mythril glowing despite a lack of light, the Saraelian watched the marshal for a few moments. The one he recognized as Storm Veritas on word and rumor alone launched an enormous bolt of electricity. Without disappointing a single person, Letho dealt with it in a manner that reminded Dan of swatting a fly; fast, efficient, and simple. Crouching as he descended, wrapping a hand around one of the grips of the humongous curved blade he stood upon, Dan came to a conclusion of the marshal.

'Nothing to worry about.'

Drawing the Dread Moon up by his side, Dan's feet touched lightly against the pitted dark stone of the pyramid with such little sound that it would not be heard over the din of the others. Briefly, he noticed the woman who he knew as Witchblade over Storm's shoulder as the marshall drew a dagger and flung it with his message to her. Disregarding her presence, as she posed no benefit or threat to his goal, he draw his blade up and drew in a deep breath. A black mandarin collared coat appeared on his shoulders, it's tails settling still from his descent as he lunged forward, sweeping the huge blade down at Letho's back. Even with the armor on, the pressure itself would break some of his ribs.

"Letho Ravenheart. I'm here for your life and your blood."

[Witchblade]

All around her battles seemed to be breaking out. The red skinned elf engaged two of the other women in the arena, who had already been fighting amongst themselves apparently. That fiery little redhead could possibly hold her own against him for a little while, but he seemed to be more than powerful enough to take her and the other female out. Not to mention he had the advantage of the air at the moment, an advantage she didn’t really feel like taking away from him. The less people in the arena and the less people focusing on her, the better. She wanted her chance at Storm, but apparently there was someone in this place that did not.

As she had expected, Letho had more than easily dodged the electric energy arching through the air towards him. Yet he had done in it a way she had not expected. Instead of merely side stepping the attack, he had absorbed it into his gauntlet. The lightning dissipated as if it had never been. In its wake there was only the smell of ozone and burnt hair just tickling her senses, and neither of them were very pleasing. The only noticeable effect on the gauntlet itself was the smoke coming from the piece of metal, which otherwise appeared no worse for wear. Keeping her eyes upon him, she watched as his hand moved to his hip, retrieving a sheathed dagger.

He sent the projectile flipping through the air and her eyes caught the trajectory easily. It wasn’t aimed at Storm, but instead it flew right passed him and onwards towards her. Apparently someone didn’t like to share and the words that followed the attack confirmed just that. Knowing she could use a number of fancy and pointless things to stop the dagger before it even reached her, the halfling merely stepped away from it and allowed it to pass her by. There was no point in allowing her enemies a glimpse at what she was capable of, especially this early in the game. She had progressed since she had last fought Storm and she had a few new tricks up her sleeve, but she didn’t want to reveal those yet. If this Letho got her way though, she wouldn’t be able to reveal them at all.

Narrowing her crimson eyes from within the darkness of her hood, Witch watched the human’s next moves as he thrust his spear towards Storm. It was quite the powerful thrust, with a clean angle right towards the heart of the lightning mage. For someone wearing such cumbersome looking armour, he was more than nimble. Then again, she supposed someone of his renown would be at least a fraction of the strength mentioned in all of his tales. And if that were true, armour like that would barely slow him down at all and provide the protection that he would need. But she could already see the breaks in it where a small dagger with just the right aim would be able to sneak in and pierce the flesh. Not to mention he wasn’t wearing a helmet and his neck was completely bare and exposed. By The Thayne how she would love to rip into the flesh of his neck. To bring down the great Letho Ravenheart would truly be a feat.

But Witch had no such dreams of grandeur here. If it happened, so be it. She was only truly after Storm, of course it was growing ever clearer in her mind that she may have to take out Letho in order to get to her chosen prey.

With her fast reflexes, the halfling quickly retrieved one of her many Titanium throwing daggers from the belt around her hip. Parting the material of her cloak and allowing her arm to emerge from the darkness, the halfling was about to pull back and send the dagger flying was an unexpected face emerged upon the playing field and drastically changed things.

Dan Lagh’Ratham…

He was her old leader from when she’d been part of Audeamus, back before he had torn the clan apart and then disbanded it. He was also the original owner of The Rot Slayers, which was currently strapped to her back and hidden from view under her cloak. Her hand stilled as he announced his presence and his apparent want for Letho’s attention. Perfect timing. Now she would not have to have waste her time and energy by fighting him herself, she could just move right on to Storm.

[Edward Judorne]

Things were getting too crazy, too fast. but one force stood out over everything. The airborn Zephyriah. Edward had only seen this transformation once before, that he could remember. The airborne beast had his sight set on a pair of girls. And it appeared one of them had decided to fight back. It was a futile effort, really. Edward was pretty sure the knives she threw wouldn't be able to make it to the flying goliath without a little help, which he was happy to provide.

Edward quickly calculated the angle, trajectory, and timing he would need for his next attack. As he was calculating all this in his head, he saw the redhead barely dodge Zephyriah's blast attack. She had landed near him, and he paid little attention to her at first except to note her position, but when he saw her attacking him, he knew what he had to do. Quickly, he dodged to the side, and shot an electrical missle into the air, it hit the woman's throwing knife directly from behind, propelling it forward yet again towards Zephyriah's wing, This time with a ton of force and an electrical charge. He knew it would only ground Zephyriah, at best, but that was the plan. Afterwards he spoke to the two girls Zephyriah was attacking.

"What say we call a temporary truce until this guy is down."

[The Barbarian]

The blast that slammed into two parts of the arena momentarily broke Tyrael’s stance, forcing him to bring up an armored forearm to shield himself from some of the sharp debris that was sailing in the air. As he brought it down, he saw the rest of the battle beginning to roll to a nice steady pace. The man who’d just taken a bolt to the hand was put on his “To kill if I survive long enough and he’s missing a leg� list and he returned his attention to the rapier guy.

Hahaha, nice.

Tyrael grinned as the red haired vixen sprang into action. He reached over his back and grabbed his titanium battle axe, relishing its weight and how he’d slam it into this small man. As he did however, he caught a glimpse of a very familiar girl.

Sarah?

Worry for her safety wasn’t his problem. The concern was for himself. He knew she was a good soul, at least towards the barbarian, but this was a Citadel fight. They’d all be revived in a timely manner, so death wasn’t an issue. He was just curious to see how serious she’d take a fight against him if the moment occurred. Gripping his battle axe tightly and pushing away the thoughts, psyching his mind into combat mode, he focused on the man who’d just shot out an electrical attack into the sky.

Wasn’t at Tyrael. He didn’t care much where it went.

Probably towards the monster in the sky, but even that wasn’t a problem. The warrior’s reach didn’t go that far, so he had to take his chances as they arose. Although his people were full of honor in fights, roaming Althanas had taught the barbarian that such thinking could get you killed pretty quickly. He sprinted quickly over the dark surface, careful not to trip on the broken rubble that lay strewn about his path. The distance was short, but his sudden speed had made it almost a hop, skip, and jump away. Berseker was truly a great ability, having increased his movement by a nice percentage for ten wonderful seconds.

He’d reach his target in three.

In war, surprise is yo’ best weapon.

He swung his battle axe in a horizontal circular motion starting from the left, refraining from making loud “Haarrrgghh!� noises and whatnot. Those stupid roars only gave away your position. As it swooped over his head, the axe came around from his right side aiming for the center of the rapier guy’s back. He was apparently busy speaking to the ladies, hoping for a truce.

Don’ challenge a bigga’ guy an’ then turn yo’ back on ‘em. That’s a rook move. He thought with a grin.

[The Writing Writer]

So much had happened in but a few moments. The red elf had transformed into some ivory beast and was now flying high above the battlefield, blasting energy out of his mouth. Now that was some seriously bad breath.

All puns aside, Jacob was beginning to see who he should avoid and who were prospective opponents. The flying one was out obviously. He wasn't sure about the red head just yet. The man with the rapier had revealed that he possessed more than a butter knife and was not quite as unfit for battle as he appeared. Jacob dared not attack any of the three power houses currently locked in battle. Nor did he wish to try the new comer who, at the moment, appeared to have the drop on Letho.

Jacob scanned back to the right, and as he did, he noticed the large man making a move on the much smaller swordsman. The big one certainly didn't play around. If that swing of his axe connected, that little guy would be cleaved right in half. The beauty of the situation was, the giant had inadvertently turned his back to Jacob, and left himself wide open. Jacob's toothy, twisted grin was worn proudly on his face.

In an instant he was up and running, sprinting fast at the back of the barbarian. Not too fast as he could lose his footing on the many pebbles now strewn across the battlefield, thanks to the elf monster's energy blasts.

As Jacob grew close, he tried hard not to laugh at what he was bout to do. It was a rarity to get humor and efficiency together in times of battle. The mad poet was now just a few feet away from the over-sized behemoth. Jacob brought back his right leg and kicked with all his force, directly between the big man's legs. If he really was a man, he was in for a nasty surprise. If not, the mad poet hoped his foot wouldn't get stuck...somewhere else.

[Zephyriah]

The destructive heat blast had produced thick smoke that billowed like a nocturnal campfire having been agitated by gasoline. Had not the gaseous substance dissipated shortly after, it could have provided concealment, yet at the same time it would’ve made it very difficult to see my enemies especially from this vantage point. Knowing the location of ones enemy at all times was critical, especially in such a large-scale battle like this one. Senses had to be sharpened to the best of their ability otherwise dullness would lead to death. Fortunately, I didn’t have to spend time dealing with uncertainty for the smell of blood had not risen to my nostrils, which offered me the confirmation that I needed.

“They’re like roaches….” Closer examination was in order since I was still trying to be thorough and careful as it pertained to checking on the status of my prey. But before I could descend just two feet, the female that’d originally been hiding adeptly threw a dagger up at me. Before it even came within ten feet though, the blade began its descent, falling victim to the snares of gravity. “That was a pretty good throw,” I thought, surprised at the woman’s knife throwing proficiency. “There was only one person that I knew to be that good with knives. Seth Dah--” Yet before I could finish my thought, the dagger reversed its direction!

“What is that!? Is it some kind of enchanted knife!?” No, it was quite the contrary as the strange lightening snapped on the blade, which appeared to be serving as its power source. Immediately, I raised my sword to counter the fast approaching dagger, but the speed and force that came equipped with it was much more than I anticipated. At first, I assumed that this clever tactic spawned from the woman, but that changed the moment I saw Edward with his arms extended in my direction. “The Electric Missile. Quite the little strategist aren’t we Edward….”

The consequence of such carelessness was that the knife grazed my left wing. This wasn’t nearly enough to take me out of the air, but I purposely struggled, making it appear as if I were fighting to stay airborne. I intended to fall below the platform of the battleground so as to be beneath the eye level of everyone. Just before I hit the middle of a set of stairs, I flapped twice to break my fall, yet not enough to discredit the show that I was putting on.

Back when I’d first arrived, I noticed that there were openings at various locations on the step pyramid. Climbing up to one that was about thirty steps below the battlegrounds, I stealthily snuck into one. The darkened paths seemed to tunnel from one side of the pyramid to the other side, for I was able to see the ambient light of this somber world gently kissing the other opening. “Since I entered this tunnel, that Red-Head, Edward, Big-for-Nothing, and the knife throwing woman should all be above me in the general vicinity.” Grinning, I sheathed my blade and rubbed my hands together in excitement. Creating three rings of fire, I burned them onto various spots on the ceiling of the tunnel, one in the center, another closest to the entrance that I came through, and the last closest to the opposite entrance.

Upon leaving the tunnel, I flew as low as I could to the base of the pyramid, making sure to stay hidden. Everything was set in motion with the fire ring detonators being in place and ready to explode upon my command. Circling about a quarter of the way led me to land quietly on one of the long stairways closest to Letho and Storm’s position. I had no intention of taking on Letho until the weaklings were destroyed since they would only get in my way otherwise. This hiding spot was simply cover for the wholesale destruction that would soon take place.

“Time to end this!” And as I lifted my left hand into the air, the explosions detonated, being accompanied by the sounds of crumbling rock. The plan was to implode a part of the step pyramid so that the weaklings who were in the area would fall to their deaths in the darkness below. Their shrieks and cacophonous cries were soon to come.

[Edward Judorne]

Edward stared at Zephyriah. his act was near flawless, but there was one thing Zephyriah may still not have comprehended, Edward's smarts. The wing was only nicked, and that kind of hit was definately not enough to take someone out of the sky. Especially if that someone was Zephyriah. He was definately up to something, but before Edward had a chance to figure out what, the man he taunted attacked him. Without enough time to jump backwards out of the way, Edward instead ducked the attack. The man was more than a bit big, so it made ducking an easy task. Suddenly, an explosin came from below the pyramid. Edward fell down towards the abyss, but lucked out as he was able to grab onto one of the ledges and swing himself into the inside of the pyramid.

It was somewhere in this place that Edward was sure Zephyriah was hiding.

"Yo, Zeph. You should know by now that simple tricks like that won't work on me, but I do have to thank you. You gave me an idea on how to take you and the others down. Thing is, I doubt it would work as far as me surviving it. Now come, Zephyriah. You want to take me and those two girls out so badly, come face us you coward!!!"

Edward couldn't believe what he just said. he had just asked for his own death. His whole fate hinged on whether the others agreed to his truce or not, either way, he was determined to do some major damage to Zephyriah. As usual, he had a plan.

[Letho]

For the briefest of moments, Letho Ravenheart was certain that his attack would connect and that it would be that easy to defeat the vicious Veritas. He would spit the man with one attack, yank the spear out, skewer the cowled woman with another, dance the dance of blood until the darkness shied away in front of his stellar performance. He would be the last man standing on this fictive pyramid made of stones. He would the king of the hill.

And then somebody dropped a boulder on his back.

Or rather, it felt like somebody bludgeoned him across the back with a flail that had an anvil for a head. No strength could defy such an attack and his knees gave in momentarily, slamming his armored body against the smooth tiles of the platform surface. Such was the force behind the attack that the stone below him cracked like a slab of ice and several shards of Cillu glass that protected the swordsman’s body broke off upon collision. Some of Letho’s bones would’ve probably cracked and snapped as well before the sheer force of whatever avalanched down on top of him, but the Lawmaker and the Vorpal Blade crisscrossed at his back provided an efficient dampener against the strike. All he had to deal with now was the sore back and the wind that was knocked out of him. And, of course, the growing number of adversaries that were out for his skin.

The most recent addition, the coward that blindsided him with a thunderous slash across the back, made a claim not for his skin, though, but rather his life and his blood. A big claim for one that didn’t look much like he’d be able to support it. Pushing himself up to one knee, the fallen Marshal cast a grim glare over his right shoulder pad, acknowledging the latest addition to the arena chaos. There was but one impressive feat about the man that came out of nowhere and spoke with brass and that was the monstrous crescent blade in his hands. In his years of adventuring Letho Ravenheart wielded swords of all shapes and sizes, his six foot gunblade being the most exotic amongst them. But this weapon was unlike anything he ever encountered. No wonder it sent him diving in solid rock. If not for his arsenal, surely it would’ve dug into the flesh of his back.

“I’m quite fond of both, boy,” Letho responded, still on his knee, still normalizing his breathing. There wasn’t much time for palavering, he knew. He was currently between two fires; the mysterious stranger on one side and a murderous acquaintance on the other. It was only a matter of seconds before he got scorched.

“But if you’re so keen on claiming them...” The statement was paused to make room for a rising, pivoting motion and backhanded swing of the spear that was still safe in the clutches of his gauntlet. It was aimed low, at the knee of the man in black, and continued its sweeping arc as Letho’s body gyrated. Completing the rising motion and the one and a half revolution, the restored marshal finished with a slice at where his opponent’s face should’ve been if his initial strike connected and sent him stumbling. If not, it still procured a safe distance between the combatants. Taking several cautious steps back with his eyes on both Storm and the unknown foe, Letho rotated his shoulders in unison, making the bones below crackle with sweet pain of bones sitting back in their proper place. He held the spear shaft at half point, parallel with his outstretched arm that pointed at the man in an ornate coat. The sentence that was left hanging in the air prior to his counterattack finally got a chance to be completed.

“...take a number, because the queue is getting longer by the minute.”

The momentary standstill, filled with clashing eyes and calculating thoughts, seemed to be reserved solely for their portion of the battlefield. Elsewhere, someone put quite a display of fireworks, scorching a portion of the pyramid with fire and making the entire construct quiver. But Letho didn’t concern himself much with that. He had plenty on his plate without looking for more trouble elsewhere. It seemed that trouble had a way of sniffing him out in a timely manner.

((Vorpal Balde mentioned in this post was bought here (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=5608&page=2).))

[Karuka]

Karuka had been trying alternately to take in all the chaos happening around the arena and focus on what applied to her. It didn't seem that anyone in particular was after her; she couldn't even see the Dahlios sister anymore, the red elf had slipped below her line of sight, and everyone else had someone else to fight. She'd never seen a battle that went on in this manner, and she felt much like an outsider looking in. It was quite horrible, the hatred and sheer determination to destroy life.

It was the same sort of determination she'd seen in real combat around the world. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, she had to admit to herself. At least everyone would be healed after this calamity.

Suddenly, the temple started trembling beneath her feet, and she could hear shards of rubble from the red elf's first attack clattering on the surface of the stone mesa. Even before she could see what would happen, the red-head started moving off of her spot on the danger zone, charging straight toward the cluster that seemed to focus around Storm and his adversary. It wasn't the best or safest place to be, but if she'd wanted to be safe, she wouldn't have set foot in the arena to begin with.

The ground behind her exploded brilliantly, shoving debris up before sucking it back down. The force of the explosion shoved her forward, and to avoid landing flat on her face, she curled around her staff, landing on her shoulder hard enough to bruise it and rolling forward too fast to control. She could just hope that she landed among allies, because the only way to stop right now would be to lay out and risk getting crushed.

She felt herself slowing after several yards, and stumbled to her feet practically between the only two people on the pyramid she knew. She offered a terse greeting, not sure how they would react in the face of their current situation.

"Hello Storm, Witch. Good to see you've been well and how funny to see you in this hell-hole."

This was the danger zone, in the thick of right where any sane person wouldn't be. She could feel the hairs on her neck standing on end. Even against one of the people in this area, she'd have been dead in a matter of minutes if she was lucky. Now she could just hope they'd still be too engrossed in each other.

Or I could run and try and find the red elf...or I could just accept my death and meet up later.

She knew she wouldn't, though. A tiger fighting in a dragon's den was damned, but it would still fight. And it still had the same audacity as a rabid squirrel fighting the lions.

[The Barbarian]

Even as the fifth second ticked away in his head and the man ducked quickly under his strike, Tyrael had heard the creepy looking guy sprint towards him. What he wasn’t keen on was the nut kick he wanted to do to the much bigger adversary.

As Tyrael’s body momentum was carried with the swing of the axe, his speed was still much in effect as the sixth second passed and he took a step forward, ready to keep his swing going and switch all body weight to let it slam into the guy’s face, effectively removing his jaw from his skull.

What happened was the explosion.

He never got the chance to switch weight distribution and instead got a kick in the ass. Grunting more from annoyance than pain, he staggered forward and quickly jumped as far as his muscles would allow, using his increased speed for the last two seconds he had of it.

The blast actually helped propel him in his destination, keeping him top level and away from the darkness below. He’d lost his grip on his axe mid-flight and as he landed in the classic tuck-n-roll style, he heard it scraping a few feet away from his head. Getting up as quickly as possible, coughing and spitting a little blood from the inside of his cut lip, he grinned.

This is gettin’ interestin’.

He stooped to grab his axe and surveyed the arena quickly. Four people fighting on the other side, away from the ruined half of the black surface, the one in heavy armor appearing to have his hands full. He sniffed and decided that would be like walking into a lion’s den naked and slathered in cow’s blood. He had better things to do with his very short lifespan here.

Returning his attention to the hole and the mysterious fighter who had done this, he put his fist forward and used his ring to brighten up a small area. Instantly the figure of the taunting man came into view, hiding like a snake in the grass in some kind of tunnel system within the pyramid. He let the light go, and looked over the edge of the steps, seeing the crazy monster guy near the bottom, seeming to be waiting for death cries from Tyrael’s fighting group.

Hmmm…not a lot of choices…What ta’ do… what ta’ do…

Normally during his wars he’d been a mercenary for, he could lead a few good men into battle against a particularly difficult enemy. Solo made things more complicated, especially when you had assholes taking ball shots at you. He considered jumping into the dark tunnels and using the advantage of surprise to hack blindly until his eyesight adjusted, but felt that the man down there already had that going for him. Taking down the monster alone seemed stupid since he could fly and just shoot him down with energy blasts. And the group of veteran fighters would likely swat him away like a big, slow flying bug in there path. Goddamnit. I could really use a ranged attack.

Unfortunately for him, his angelic sword, Azurewrath, hadn’t felt like bestowing him with such power yet. Becoming a savior for a race of people wasn’t all it was cracked up to be; they hardly ever said in the story books of how long it took to get all the nifty tricks and spells. It was a chore rather than an adventure. He suddenly wondered how long the vets that were off in their own little world had been working at all the awesome abilities they had up their sleeves.

All of his thoughts in reality occurred in the span of three seconds. When he snapped out of his inner tangent with himself, he sighed and then drew in a deep breath. He was stuck. He had placed chess a few times and felt exactly as he did back then. Any move at this point was a bad one.

Putting his battle axe in a slight resting position with the top of it angled slightly towards the broken and raped battle ground before him, he clenched his jaw and listened intently.

Time ta’ play da’ waitin’ game.

[Zephyriah]

There were no death shrills, but only the sound of demolished stone rolling and bouncing uncontrollably off of the side of the step pyramid. “Argh! They’re still alive!? How hard do I have to work to slay these weaklings!?” My wool colored, scaly fingers clutched the great sword tightly in direct response to my escalating fury. Being strategic, cautious, and careful had its advantages, but one thing that it didn’t do was produce quick results. The kind of results that a swift swing of a razor sharp blade would manufacture. I was an experienced warrior that received my greatest joy and satisfaction when engaged in a duel where reflexes and instincts weighed heavier than espionage and tactics. The latter definitely had its place, but my patience was approaching the point in which it would no longer tolerate the latter and its slow coming solutions.

“I should just destroy this entire place and bring everyone down!” The thought was tempting, but severely unrealistic. Producing such heat and energy would exaust me to the point of being thrown into a coma. Such a risk couldn’t even be seriously considered when battling so many opponents. However, my objective to collectively bag up the weaker enemies in death was proving to be quite unsuccessful. Matters were only made more frustrating the instant I heard a familiar voice echo through one of the many tunnels piercing through the step pyramid. “Ugh…and of course Judorne is still alive….” His persistence and unwillingness to die was more irritating to me than any of the other lucky contestants. What he lacked in raw strength he made up in sheer brilliance. Too many times had I witnessed the power of his great mind on the perilous escapades we went on. If there was anyone that I needed to be a tad more cautious around, it was him.

Therefore, I chose to ignore his taunts and newfound bravado. Killing him in close quarters as would be the case in the tunnels would be a simply task, but it would possibly be at the cost of my own life, since Edward wouldn’t have revealed his whereabouts so openly to me if he didn’t have a legitimate reason for doing so. Nevertheless, the battlefield became smaller with my last efforts and thus Edward and all other parties concerned would eventually come together in an amalgamation of mass chaos.

The issue currently at hand though was the well being of Letho. Having been stationary for several minutes, I listened intently to his grunts, groans, and heavy breathing. “He’s being overwhelmed.” As great as he might’ve been, there were far too many powerful Althanians throughout the world that were more than capable of challenging the Coronian Marshal, especially Storm Veritas and the strong looking newcomer. Biting my lip in indignation, I came to an exasperating realization. “I’ve got to help Ravenheart. With these warriors all zeroing in on him, he isn’t going to last.”

Since my upcoming altercation would be a close-range style of combat, I reverted back to my original form. The power of the Dragon Drinker was more robust overall, but in close quarters the larger size and protruding wings only served to be vulnerable targets rather than assets. The next string of thoughts pertained to the make-up of the battle between Letho and his assailants. When I had been soaring through the air, I took note of the two powerhouses fighting Ravenheart from all sides, while the wily, stitched-mouth woman patiently moved about, waiting for her chance to attack. However based on her pacing, she didn’t appear to be after Letho but rather Storm. This played out beautifully since Veritas would be forced to not only keep an eye on Letho, but also this peculiar and somber woman. The real problem was the newcomer. He carried the same air of intimidation that I carried, which meant that the weaker warriors would do all that they could to steer clear of him. “I suppose he’ll be my new target then.”

Wasting no further time, I sprinted up the stairs with great haste. The newcomer’s back was toward me which would allow for the utilization of the element of surprise. Letho had swept low with his spear, having already taken the initiative of assaulting the man donning the black coat. Turning his attack into a double team however, about halfway into Letho's attack I instinctively dashed forward and slashed toward the hamstrings of the new warrior, letting my momentum carry me some distance away from him and several feet near Letho. Stopping in my tracks, I didn’t even check to see if the attack landed, as my concern was to establish my position with regard to the hefty Coronian.

“This isn’t even close to being fair to you Letho. You won’t last very long against these two by yourself, which is why I’m going to help you,” My lavender eyes locked onto his, showing sterness but lacking the hostility that I would've had if I'd gotten the chance to cross blades with him earlier. “But do understand this. When we’ve taken care of these men, as well as the vermin around us, we’ll have a proper duel where your experienced blade can be exercised by mine. Hopefully you won't be too banged up for that.”

[The Writing Writer]

Jacob laughed uncontrollably, pointing towards the barbaric man, after his foot crashed into the giant man's giant rump. It had not been his intended target, but it was good for a bout of maniacal laughter or two.

However, as the mad poet lost himself in his own entertainment, he felt a rumbling beneath him. He looked at the stone beneath him to see it begin to glow with orange light. The stone suddenly had become like a stove, and Jacob scrambled away from the hot stone in what very well could have been the most comical way possible.

As Jacob fled, the stone beneath him errupted in a fantastic explosion of stone and flame, sending the mad poet into the air and across the battlefield. He crashed into the stone hard, tumbling wildly for a few yards before coming to a very abrupt hault.

Just about every inch of Jacob's left arm was in pain. His left shoulder had been the first part of his body to meet the hard stone after his momentary existence as a bird, and it hit hard. The mad poet's eyes gazed upon his limp left arm in disappointment. His shoulder was out of place. Very out of place.

He sat up, cradling his left arm with his right. He took a deep breath and bit down hard on his bottom lip. With a quick snap, crackle and pop, his shoulder was back in place. Jacob groaned in agony. It hurt more than he thought it would.

The mad poet rose to his feet and scanned his surroundings quickly to orient himself. The red head was nearer to the mage and the woman who apparently took a very serious vow of silence. Letho was battling it out with the newcomer and the mage. The red elf had apparently decided against taking out the weaker warriors and had gone off to aid the Red Marshal. This was good, as Jacob no longer had to worry about being incinerated by an overly hot mouth beam.

The frilly half-elf was missing. Jacob couldn't see him anywhere on the battle field. Perhaps he had fallen into the abyss after the ground had been blown apart. Jacob could see the barbarian standing near the edge of the pyramid, gazing down the slope. Jacob saw an opportunity to attack, but that would be too predictable. It was just what they expected!

Jacob made his way over to the barbarian slowly, careful to make it known that he was not on the attack. Jacob stopped at the side of the barbarian and turned to him, smiling his creepy, toothy grin and waving politely.

[Storm Veritas]

He was surrounded by chaos, the type of wild maelstrom that made for the most interesting off battles. Letho had fired a spear across the bow, more towards the one lingering behind Storm than at the sinewy mage himself. For all of his talk of creativity, Storm could see through the trash-talk. Letho was the aggressor, and Storm was ready. Any weapon in the beast’s hands were lethal, but there were only so many ways one could strike with a spear. Lunge, swing, throw. The lunge was simple and elegant, as the swing required too much grandeur. It was more of a favor than anything else; taking a swing at the adversary lurking in the shadows.

Storm deftly hopped to the side, watching the metal tip sail past him. His body was razor-wire tight, his reflexes better and faster than ever. He was ready, but opted to step back and watch for a second window rather than counterstrike. Maintaining range between himself and Ravenheart was a wise decision, even if it meant he would “just” resort to those paltry electric bolts that could stop a man’s heart. He noted Letho stepping back, an unspoken break in their clash. The collision would be there, he figured. Battle between the two was inevitable.

That said, there were other fish to fry.

And why bother with this big bastard first, anyway?

After all, since the arena had erupted so violently, it didn’t look much like he wanted to tangle antlers with the largest just yet. It made him too much of a target, too vulnerable to secondary attacks.

So pull away, and leave your back to Letho? Does that sound like a good idea?

Indeed, the devil he knew was better than the one he didn’t, and he decided to turn face about to the lingering Witch. She was conniving, and powerful, but she relied heavily on those who underestimated her. Storm Veritas would not be so easily rused. Women about Althanas had a fancy way of alluring men into the false hope of physical dominance with a flash of cleavage or some extra leg, but somewhere deep down Storm knew that they were ninety percent ball-busters.

“Thought you’d sneak up from behind me like that? And I haven’t even shown you that trick personally…”

A smile wrapped across his face at the buxom bitch, whose cackle sent a shiver up his spine. She had the eyes of white fire, and looked to be more than ready to take on a powerful assault. Storm couldn’t notice much in the way of metal baubles, bangles, jewels or armor that he could manipulate; no steel corset he could use to squeeze her like an anaconda. She would be trickier, and require old-fashioned elbow grease.

“Just as well you sneak up, whore. I’ll sleep better knowing the bitch I killed today had it coming.”

His hands were lightning fast, even when they weren’t firing those concussive bolts. They were quickly coiled about the twisted kriss daggers, just longer extensions of the dangerous weapons his bare hands would be. The daggers could end a life in the blink of an eye, with a simple razor-slice across the throat, leg, or bicep. Storm had learned the keen points to strike to make them bleed.

He moved forward with a swift, steady gate, four smooth steps and then he pivoted. His spinning assault was elegant in its simplicity; he ripped his right elbow hard across where he thought her stave might stand to block, and his left hand would fire the kill strike beneath her ribs. With any luck, the blade would catch a lung, let the air out of her sails, and let Storm return to the hunt for Letho Ravenheart.

[Slayer of the Rot]

"You know, I think that position fits you, great hero," Dan said with a sneer, his tone thick with mockery. "Groveling and scrabbling across the ground." Throwing his head back, he let out a single sharp, loud laugh, and then considered what to do next. The tales of the marshal had been apparently greatly exaggerated. The Letho Ravenheart he'd heard of would have simply grunted at the blow the Saraelian had landed across his back. Getting the hero's blood was going to be a decidedly easier task than he'd first thought, and the concept of victory and getting the alchemist's information just made his smile all the wider. Dropping down so he sat on his haunches, face close to Letho, his smile had all the humor of a heart attack.

"I think the audience would love to see you bleed, and bleed, and bleed."

Dan launched into the air, preparing his next attack; and suddenly realized the intelligence in his decision to get off the ground. Not only did Letho retaliate, sweeping his spear with incredible skill and precision, another man, initially unrecognized appeared, dashing forward and swinging a greatsword across the space where his legs would have been.

The Saraelian's spiteful smile vanished. He had been meaning to propel himself downward with a strong magnetic push and split the marshal's skull with an axe kick, but now he hovered in the air, bobbing ever so slightly as the tails of his ornate coat waved gently in the unseen magnetic field around his body fluctuated.

"Zephyriah Ablione?" He recognized the red-skinned hybrid elf on word alone, and knew he was more of a menace than Letho had so far presented himself as. The hybrid clutched in his hands a greatsword of what appeared to be adamantine. Despite himself, his eyebrows arched appreciatively at the craft of the weapon. Dan's distaste for the intruder characterized itself as a severe scowl and the compulsive tightening of his fists, until his white, bloodless knuckles stood out with startlingly contrast to the featureless darkness that surrounded the ziggurat. He had released the Dread Moon and hung behind him shining, over his shoulders like a crest in the magnetic field's sway.

"I've got no business with you, prick. So...shoo. I'll deal with you as the situation requires but right now you're nothing but a nuisance. I came here to cut out the good marshal's heart. I have no use for the dirty blood in your's. Do you even know who you tried to cut down? The name's Dan Lagh'ratham. The Red Beast." With a strong downward jolt, the Saraelian quickly shot back to the ground and lifted a hand, aiming the flattened palm and splayed fingers at Letho.

The air and the curious light around the arm began to ripple and blend with movement, increasing in speed with each step he took to the marshal until, reaching over his shoulder to grasp one of the handles of the floating Dread Moon, he released the blast. Nearly unseen in the black air around the pyramid, the concussive force shot across the short gap with Dan close behind it. He lunged at Letho, swinging his titanic sword-axe in a wide arc, seeming to ignore the long reach of the man's deadly spear.

[The Barbarian]

“Easy pal.� Tyrael growled as he saw the creepy guy slink towards him.

Things had gone from bad worse in a matter of seconds. First off, he never really noticed the woman with the stitched lips until she was attacked, and he instantly recognized her as a member of his clan, the Gol’Bron. They had never exchanged pleasantries, but he knew she was no one to be dealt with lightly.

And now she was going to have to pit her guile against that of the man who had been intent on killing Letho only a few minutes ago. Whether he should jump in or not seemed to be his biggest question, since he knew both of those fighters performed on a level he couldn’t even begin to fathom at the moment. One day, maybe.

But today was not that day.

“Hey! I said back da’ fuck off!� Tyrael roared at the still slinking skinny, sissy looking man. He gripped his axe tightly and turned to face this annoying pest. “Ya wanna mess with me!?�

In the back of his mind, Sarah came into view. He hadn’t seen her since the initial energy blast from the red elf guy and now her disappearance concerned him. Was she already dead? Stuck, slowing bleeding to death under rubble? Maybe she fell into the wall during the underground explosion, leaping for safety, tumbling down the rough, stone steps where the creatures on the other side of the void had gotten a hold of her…

From the lack of noises they could make and the fact that they hadn’t attacked Tyrael in the first place tossed that last one out of the idea box. They must’ve been mere background scenery placed there by the crazy monks of this Citadel. He’d known them to be having quite a sick sense of humor. Old stories would have to be remembered for another day, since he could see the creepy look in the wiry man’s weird eyes.

“That fuckin’ does it!� As the man waved and grinned, Tyrael charged at him, axe hung low at his right side, skimming above the debris silently. He brought it up at a diagonal slash, aiming for the hip to the right shoulder. Unsure if it connected, he followed the course of the titanium battle axe and kept the momentum going, bringing it over horizontally from his left shoulder and over to the right, swinging hard for the man’s ribcage. The circular motion he created from this second attack would increase the speed of this strike and hopefully get rid of the freaky sonofabitch.

I gots’ enough ta’ worry abou’ withou’ this asshole followin’ me around. The barbarian thought with extreme frustration.

[Edward Judorne]

Edward sighed a sigh of relief and looked around when he realized that Zephyriah wasn't stupid enough to take his bait.

Edward decided to examine his options. He could try to knock some of the other players out of the running, but he needed to save his strength in case one of the big dogs attempted to break away for another attack. He could attempt another truce, but he had already seen how well the first one was recieved. He could wait for someone to attack him, but... Wait, was there anything stopping him from doing just that? Not really. If someone broke off from the pack of big dogs, Edward would know. The crazy unarmed man and the tall muscleman were exchanging unpleasantries. The red-head might still attack him, and the other female that was under attack was nowhere to be seen, so Edward just climbed out of the pyramid and watched the battle of the titans unfold, being extremely careful to keep an eye on his surroundings at all times.

[Witchblade]

Things were getting worse the more she stood by idly and waited for her chance to step in. Explosions were going off all over the top of the pyramid and chunks of rock were flying in every direction. Normally the halfling was no so… quiet in the midst of a battle, but here she patiently waited her turn to strike. When Dan distracted Letho and Storm was left out and in the open, she thought she’d have it. She thought that maybe, just maybe she could get him while his back was still turned, apparently that did not seem to be an option at this point in time. Especially when one spunky little red haired human rather unceremoniously dropped in on them right in the thick of things.

Witch said nothing to her for the time being though, Storm was already on the move and seemed to be paying very little attention to the human.

Smart, very smart.

He was attempting to ignore her and try to not give away the fact that he knew her and cared about her. How sweet. How pathetic. How utterly pointless. She had already seen the look in his eyes and the change in his face when he’d first perceived her presence. There was no going back from that, no matter how much he passed her by without a second glance now.

Smirking, she watched as he eyed her up, looking over her body for most likely possible things to electrocute her with. She had plenty, the problem was he most likely couldn’t see them since her cloak wrapped around her body and threw most of it into shadows. The largest of which was resting upon her back and it just so happened that the original owner was currently fighting the man whom had started this entire altercation, an altercation that was beginning to remind her more and more like The Cell the longer it went on. Good, she’d enjoyed herself rather thoroughly in that battle, even if she had lost. Winning and losing wasn’t always what mattered though, sometimes it was just how much blood you spilt.

“Now, now, Storm. There’s no reason to throw around such harsh words so early into our reunion. I haven’t even given you your welcome present.�

The smirk turned into a large smile that pulled and stretched her lips, distorting it into something grotesque looking as the strings that bound them dug into the flesh. When his body moved, she watched and she calculated, trying to decide just how he was going to attack her first. He pivoted and turned slightly, the muscles all along her legs and her arms clenching and tightening as she watched him spin around before her. She held no weapons in her hands yet, as she felt no need to give him something to aim for with that electricity of his. She was more than capable of tearing him apart with her bear hands.

His elbow passed by her unhindered and nowhere near her body. But when the blade of his dagger headed towards her torso, she reacted. Feeling like proving just how strong she had gotten, Witchblade decided against merely stepping past the attack or deflecting it. Instead her right hand shot out from the darkness of her cloak and her leather-clad fingers wrapped around his hand and stopped it dead in its tracks, inches before it would have cut through her shirt and into her skin.

“This bitch doesn’t go down that easily, human.�

Shifting her hand, she moved to wrap her fingers around his wrist instead. The small, thin digits began to squeeze rather abruptly and held enough strength within them to easily crush the small bones of his wrist, leaving his hand completely useless to the mage.



((This feels borderline bunnying to me, if you have a problem with it Storm let me know and it can be changed.))

[Lavinian Pride]

Everything went to hell around her. As she threw her knife, despite her vampiric strength it still could not reach the form of Zephyriah Albione. Then when she was getting ready to catch the knife she saw it fly up and clip his wing, missing the meat of the skin webbing the draconian wings. Growling in frustration she saw him take a swan dive and hit the ground, a cloud of dust resulting. Narrowing her eyes, she heard the taunt from the boy as he egged on the murderer, and she was about to call warning when the explosion happened.

Were it not for the fact she was already dead, she might have been gone. As the rubble cleared she found herself inside the pyramid, pinned under a rock, feeling as if she had been crushed almost entirely flat. Grunting softly she growled as she tried to push up, hoping that the internal bleeding would stay just that. She didn't need the blood to stay where it was, just inside her to keep her going. As she grunted she tried to crawl out form under the rock, sighing as she only managed a little farther.

She'd take awhile to get free.

Sighing as she laid prone face down she remained still, knowing anyone to check her for a pulse would find her dead. She could possibly hold her breathe forever, and that made her situation perfect. No drowning, no suffocation, just bide her time. As she remained still she hoped some sap would come. With her legs pinned under the rock, she had no fulcrum to lift the stones. If someone could just clear them off, she’d thank them the best way she knew how...

...a quick trip to the monks.

Her plan set in motion she could only hope she wasn't bleeding. If she was, this was going to get ugly, very fast. No control led to rather barbaric acts, and while she might feed and get free, she was guaranteed to end up out of the fight as fast as the red head she had attacked. Remaining still on the ground she mentally felt impatient, Come on you bastards, who's going to be chivalrous or smart enough to confirm the kill...either way I want out of this damn place...

[Letho]

It seemed that everybody had a rather unique reason for wanting to bury something sharp and pointy into his flesh. With Storm it was habitual rivalry, making them no more than a pair mongrels barking and biting in a daily struggle for their side of the alley. With the cocky, hovering bastard – who oh so ostentatiously introduced himself as one Dan Lagh’ratham – it was an almost irrational thirst for blood, as if Letho had done something to draw upon himself the vendetta of a madman. And then there was yet another unfamiliar face, that of Zephyriah Albione and his uncanny, almost chivalrous sportsmanship more fit for a jousting arena then a Citadel battle deprived of rules. The rose-skinned elf offered his help at a price of a duel, offered to help him out of a frying pan before tossing him into the fire. Different agendas, but a common goal: bringing down the legendary Marshal. If only they had the wisdom to see how different the truth was from the myth.

The truth was that once upon a time Letho Ravenheart could cater to their desire for spectacular duels and colossal clashes. Once upon a time his fist could shake the very foundations of this illusionary pyramid and his sword would move with speed and might unseen in either man or beast. Once upon a time he would’ve been able to fend them off by the dozens with but a twist of the blade and a piercing stare. But no more. The monumental force that he had once possessed was gone, sapped from his system by the purge that brought Myrhia and him back from vampiric unlife. It took everything away from the illustrious swordsman, everything save the name of a man of repute that was no more. Well, that and the stubbornness of an oak.

It was that stubbornness that brought him to the Citadel today, that undying flame of spite that never surrendered, never backed down. Even if circumstances robbed him of something that had long been an essential part of him, his pride demanded for Letho to fight on, to endure, to adapt, to improvise. Tear the man down to the very basics and you’ll find him far more resourceful and innovative then he would’ve been with full power at his disposal. That, at least, was the thought that the Marshal needed to believe in. Otherwise, he had no right to stand amidst these titans of Althanas as their peer.

Before he got a chance to respond to Zephyriah’s proposition, Dan Lagh’ratham and about five tons of his blind arrogance took the initiative, charging straight at the stationary Marshal. In the unnatural, dim light of the arena encompassed by blackness, the magic in the aggressor’s splayed hand was blatantly apparent. Unlike the projectile it produced. Letho expected some sort of a lightshow – pansy magics always seemed to produce something glittery and extremely annoying – but instead witnessed naught but a faux attack of the crescent blade. He was just about to duck below the follow-up when the pansy magics struck. Even though his right boot was behind him and rooted in the stone below in an extremely defensive position, the invisible force still caught him by surprise. Prepared or not, there was little a man could do against an unseen attack save taking it on the chin. The spear was knocked out of the Marshal’s hands, rolling harmlessly through the fresh rubble and into the newly made hole in the platform. His balance was shot, the concussive force sending the muscular lawman stumbling backwards. Dan the Red Beast brought his crescent blade in for the kill.

Reflexes and about a thousand battles worth of experience kicked in. Without as much as a flash of a thought, Letho’s empty hands were on the move, crossing at the forearms and extending at the flank just in time to meet the fast-moving blade. A man of more finesse and dexterity would’ve rolled back, evaded, but Letho was a bludgeoner to a fault. Pussyfooting was for pansies at any rate. Dan’s blade landed on the ‘V’ made by Letho’s forearms, the power behind it forcing the soles of Marshal’s boots into a short skid before the attack was fully neutralized.

“He strikes like a damned ox,” Letho thought as he stood face to face with the youth, the crescent sword still pushing against the metal and dragonscale of his gauntlets. It was the first time that Letho was on the receiving end of such unhinged might and with only a fraction of his own to parry it, suddenly Zephyriah’s suggestion didn’t seem like an unacceptable option. A bit humbling, perhaps, but it was still better than being cleaved in half. Citadel or no Citadel, an experience such as that left some haunting imagery in your memory. He had to get out of the weapon lock first, though.

With the blade momentarily stopped, Letho pushed back against it with as much strength as he could muster, procuring himself just enough space to fire a backhanded punch from point blank range across the face of Dan Lagh’ratham and spin away out of the reach of his weapon. His left was on the move momentarily as well, brandishing the Vorpal sword from the scabbard on his back. Shaped like a hand-and-a-half sword which the Marshal favored amongst all weapons known to man, the blade seemed rather unremarkable, no more than a paltry product of some mediocre blacksmith. But behind the plain outsides lay a trump card that Letho didn’t want to reveal just yet. After all, only bad card players and morons revealed their hands before the final showdown.

“A temporary alliance, you say?” he asked the white-haired elf. Of Dan Lagh’ratham the Marshal knew only from official reports and hearsays that stated he was the one behind the Bazaar raid along a lengthy list of other criminal activities. He and his Audeamus filth. But Zephyriah was a mystery to Letho, an unknown factor in the equation. He could be all about honor and pride and swordplay, a man of true virtues. But then again, he could be a shrewd backstabber, out to blarney his way to a free sneak attack. The world definitely had more of those then champions. Still, with Dan breathing down his neck and Storm still in the game, the not-so-legendary swordsman could use a helping hand.

Looking at the scolding fire of Dan’s grays and wondering what drove the beast behind them, Letho grinned as he often did in face of assorted dangers and offered a resigned response more to himself then the red elf.

“Why the hell not?”

[The Writing Writer]

It seemed that gestures of kindness were not welcome in this arena, consumed in darkness. Of course Jacob was not actually offering kindness to the overly muscular oaf, it was simply the Writer's way to be unexpected. Such was one of the many after-effects of losing hold of one's mind. Rational thought was often over-shadowed by paranoia and pure jibberish of the mind.

The Writing Writer, however, had achieved something most who had the brain sickness would never be able to accomplish. He embraced his madness, adapted to it and came to understand and even relish in it. Like gazing into a broken mirror, the picture was not always clear, but the Writer had become used to that and had learned to get by with the bits of truth he could see.

One truth he was very aware of, was that if the axe currently slicing through the air headed towards his body connected, he would no longer be able to participate in this fight, and he was enjoying himself far to much to allow that to happen.

" Such filthy language you see fit to speak.
And so quick to attack one who appears so weak.
What you have in muscle you lack in the brain.
You'll see your error when I make your blood rain. "

As the blade drew near, Jacob pressed back with his right leg, propelling himself backwards, avoiding the first strike. But just as quickly as the mad poet had evaded the barbarians attack, another came, and this one was much faster. Jacob landed on his left leg, bending it as he did so, barely managing to duck below the second swing of the axe. Just as soon as the axe passed over Jacob's head, he sprung forward off of his left leg, charging at the barbarian. With all the force the mad poet could muster, he brought up his right arm to strike at the barbarian's jaw. As he did so, Jacob jumped in the air, extending his reach, increasing his chances of connecting. The Writer doubted that his aggressive opponent had a glass jaw, but even a giant couldn't simply shrug off such a blow.

[Karuka]

It seemed that Storm and Witchblade were each lost in their desire to annihilate the other; her greeting had gone completely unnoticed. She doubted that either would notice her until and unless she got int the way, and she wasn't quite that close that they could attack her without her knowing about it.

She let her attention wander a few yards away, to the trio of the Marshal, the beast in the uniform, and the red elf. A gentle vision overlaid the last, showing the dragon beast that had tried to kill her and had likely blown up the part of the structure where she'd been standing. She could feel anger twitching the muscles in her jaw and knew that if she didn't neutralize him now, he'd probably pose a threat later. But she didn't have anything on her that was even likely to get close.

As if in answer to her intense desire for enough power to decimate her enemy, a loud roar rumbled through the arena, over all the other din of battle. Four huge paws slammed down upon the cracked and battered stone mesa, the front two positioned carefully around the red-head whose distress had summoned it there.

The feline stood as tall as three men at the shoulder, whorls and rosettes of black dappled liberally over its glossy blue coat. It snarled as it saw its target, the Red Elf. It was hungry, it hadn't been able to eat its fill in months. Armor wasn't a problem, strength only less so since he was several tons of solid muscle, teeth, and hunger.

Without considering the lives of the Marshal or the Demon attacking him, the beast pounced, claws two feet long hooking out as he attempted to batter at the trio and rancid breath contaminating the air as he snapped down at Zephyriah, looking for a tasty little morsel to start with.

Watching the beast she'd befriended at the Liviol Sanctum, Karuka couldn't help but grin a little at the sheer grace and beauty of him on the hunt. There were few creatures so utterly magnificent on any world, and it was always awe-inspiring to see him.

[Zephyriah]

A series of front rolls, aerial cartwheels, and back flips awarded me momentary refuge from the onslaught of powerful attacks by the one named Dan Lagh’ratham. The shockwaves stemming from his near invisible projectile as well as the brute force that accompanied each of his swings created massive craters in the already shoddy and dilapidating pyramid structure. I found myself standing at the edge of one of them, having run the risk of falling into one earlier. Had the powerhouse been aiming for me, he would’ve surely caught me, if not with the rippling hand blast then with the element of surprise that came packaged with his large figure and crescent shaped blade. His appearance certainly made one assume that he was strong, but not as strong as he was showing himself to be.

“His strength is very impressive. However,” My eyes narrowed as I observed him trying to overpower Letho, who had halted the progress of the crescent sword by crossing his gauntlets and catching the blade in between them. “His swordsmanship is barely average.”

A yawn escaped my mouth. I’d been through too many battles with beings of all sorts that possessed unnatural strength and almost always, that was their only asset. Having immense power dulled whatever proficiency they might’ve had with weapons or any other device, which of course left no other skills that were of great consequence.

Lifting my blade in an attack stance, I patiently waited for my opportunity to cut Lagh’ratham down. It was actually possible to launch forward and get a quick clean hit, seeing how my own strength was great enough to swing my massive sword as if it were a mere dagger. But the key was to not get in Letho’s way since we'd officially formed our alliance. He’d managed to fend off Dan’s attack and stood ready, as if calculating how to attack depending on what the enemy did next. He had the eyes of a seasoned veteran. “What are you planning Ravenheart?”

However, all attention that’d been devoted to my new ally and our enemy had been completely lost upon the emergence of an enormous feral tiger, having been summoned by the timid crimson haired woman. My eyes shift upward at the beast’s head and saw that its large eyes were locked on me.

“So it seems that you’re not as weak as I thought you were,” I shouted over to the red haired woman albeit without taking my eyes off of the new threat. “No wonder you were able to survive my last two attacks.”

Any lesser man would’ve coward at the sheer size of this animal, but fighting such fiends was commonplace to me. This was Rune paladin business. As a young boy, father always took me along with his platoon to slay such beasts that terrorized nearby towns or highways.

“Can this get any easier?” I grinned, diving forward and rolling afterward as the gargantuan paw missed me, slamming into the stone battleground and leaving an enormous claw print in the already weakened platform. Reacting as quickly as I did was extremely timely, for had I delayed even the slightest, those two feet long claws would’ve effortlessly sawed through me like hollow lumber.

Easily transitioning from a roll to a run, my forearm tightened, pumping electricity throughout my sword. Electrical tendrils hung loose, ready and willing to lick at anything it found attractive. Creating distance from the beast though took first priority. “By the look of this monstrosity, I won’t be cutting through that thick body anytime soon.” Thoughts of the Dragon Drinker came to the forefront of my mind. Transforming again was certainly a possibility, but there was no guarantee that this beast wasn’t fire-resistant. For all I knew, the heat of my blasts could’ve made it stronger! The same held true for electricity, but if that failed, then the recovery wouldn’t nearly be as taxing as if I brought forth the Dragon Drinker and started rampaging.

Therefore, I quickly surveyed the ruined terrain. There were metal bars jutting outward and upward at various locations. Latching the electric tendrils on the three that were closest to me, I loosened the bent steel beams and vertically connected them together via the electricity, thus creating a crude extension of my blade. The tendrils were ten feet in length, while each beam was roughly the same in length as well.

Now possessing a long-range whip of sorts, I slammed the linked weapon down toward the back left foot of the tiger, just being within 40 feet of it. This attack wasn’t done so much as to inflict physical pain upon impact, but rather to electrocute it via the metallic beams. If it proved successful, then I would have gained an important advantage over the carnivorous monster.

[Edward Judorne]

Edward watched as the battle of the titans got somewhat lopsided again. Zephyriah seemed to break off from the fight to fight a giant beast that had appeared in the sky, leaving the guy he befriended to fend for himself against the other three big players in this game. Edward thought about helping one of the major players, but he knew he wouldn't last long. Suddenly something caught Edward's eye a bit further down. He carefully made his way back inside the pyramid.

There in front of him lay the girl that owned the knife that he had helped to reach Zephyriah. She was trapped under a rock, and Edward thought for a bit about lifting the rock off her before realizing that she wasn't breathing. If she was breathing, the dust underneath her mouth would move outwards when she exhaled. The fact that she wasn't breathing made moving the rock off her legs pointless in Edward's mind. After all, he would have to make himself vulnerable while he lifted the heavy rock off her legs. Edward decided that with the big beast out there, it would be better if he stayed inside for a bit, so he sat down on the rock on the girl's legs waiting for things to calm down.

[Lavinian Pride]

She was cursed...

So close to the blood of the one she wished to drain. One of the weaker ones, however, there was no confirmation of the kill. Nothing to say that he even wanted to look at her beyond the cursory glance. It was frustrating as he continued past her, well out of effective strike range. This was not why she was cursed, no, she was cursed for one gods be damned reason...

...he was sitting on her legs.

She could not arch back, even as flexible as she was. She could not even reach him with a thorn from her position. He was content to sit there as well, making the frustration tenfold. How in the hells was she suppose to ambush someone who was lucky enough to move to the one spot she could not ambush? The gods hated her, it was that simple. If she moved, she was toast, more than likely to be impaled by the boy in fear of the unknown. He had probably identified her as dead from the lack of her shoulders moving.

How he could be so lucky escaped her, but she knew one thing, she wanted his blood, even if she had to blow her cover. Still, the boy couldn't have gone unnoticed. Surely he would attract someone else. Perhaps then she could spring her trap, and use their blood to recover any she lost. It was maddening to be forced into the passive role, but the corpse she had played, and now she was married to the proposition of sitting there.

Remaining still she waited and had to bide her time further, perhaps she should have tried to get out from under it. Still she waited, as she felt the rocks beginning to press down upon her legs, with the weight of the boy a constant reminder to how close her snack was. She was so frustrated, she wanted to kill something.

[Storm Veritas]

Her power was immense, and it pained him to be stopped just short of cleaving a nice trail across her throat, a single red line from which she could leave this terrible portal with such speed and grace.

Good God…. Bonecrushing bitch…

He felt the bones in his arm as they were pressed close, an uncomfortable pain that he would have to end soon. This woman, the witch… she was very strong, although physical strength held little regard in the concerns of those who wielded magic.

Physical strength, he always thought, was simply a waste of talent. Storm would never fully understand why someone with physical power would bother to trifle with those who wielded magic. It was shoveling sand against the sea; inevitably the near limitless strength of the magic-driven would win out.

Just like today.

With a smile and a sneer, he glanced up from his wrist. Time for talking had come and gone. He wanted her out, off the platform, and nothing like a direct hit from a bolt of his own brand of furious thunder would do such a thing. With a spin of his wrist, he was able to break the hold, rolling backwards and away from the hulking woman. He felt the crumble of rock underfoot, realizing that his precarious perch was less than safe, and that perhaps he should be more careful in his escaping enterprises.

“I always make things too complicated…”

He was oblivious now, disregarding those about him and what they did. His focus was absolute, the wringing pain in his forearm a doubtless reminder of she who would not be trifled with. There was no Letho now, no Karuka to worry about, and the sexy Lavinian one and Zephyriah and the rest… they were in some impossible background. This moment would belong to the Witch, who would pay for such insolent behavior.

Whore…

With that, he reared back, his right hand still grasping firmly of his beloved dagger. He raised the hand behind him and above his head, as if to fire the blade in a throwing motion. At once, the metal lit up bright white, a blinding, impossible white, so full of energy that it looked the part of some brilliant crystal.

Bringing his hand down, he thrust it in the direction of the Witch, who was only paces away. Oblivious to those that circled around him (and no doubt were plotting his own downfall), Storm watched as the deathblow was sent forth in the form of an incredible white arc from the edge of his knife. The Witch would have to die today, one way or the other.

[The Barbarian]

((OOC: Been waiting on The Writing Writer to contact me on AIM to discuss the bunnying, but he hasn't so far. I'll just post this and if there is anything that doesn't fit well, let me know via PM or AIM.))

The punch that followed from two quick dodges was rather lack luster. As it connected with Tyrael's lower jaw, causing his head to move slightly, he dropped his axe and growled, "Time ta' Break ya."

His strength doubled and he grabbed the man by his triceps, lifting him off the ground and squeazing hard. He was about to tear both limbs off with a sadistic grin on his face when he heard the roar of a beast echo throughout the arena. The woman with red hair had unleashed a monster of a cat at the red elf and it seemed extremely hungry. Knowing this was a golden opportunity, he chucked the skinny man away towards a part of the arena still intact, somewhere in the direction of the opponent who was resting on a rock.

For a split second, he saw what was the head of Sarah, but the debris that was flying around the arena obstructed his view and a clear confirmation was impossible. It looked like she'd been crushed by the very rock the man was taking a break on. Anger fueled his power, but he knew she was most likely dead already. Not many people would live through such an unfortunate predicament. He'd have to make sure she was properly avenged for the man's insulting gesture. How could you really park your ass on a dead woman?! Tyrael would even feel weird doing something so perverted. A split second later though, his head was back in the fight and he made his move.

Quickly and smoothly, he picked up a large piece of dark broken stone more than half his size; the weight felt around six to seven hundred pounds, which was well under his thousand pound lift limit. He hurled it at the elf who had just finished dodging the rabid beast's attacks as they came in a flurry of teeth, claws, and rage. The barbarian thought he looked like a clumsy ballet dancer in battle gear, dodging so many attacks so quickly yet without nearly as much grace as the woman's pet attacked.

His increased power sent the projectile sailing through the air with deadly accuracy and destructive power. If it missed him, it would be heading in the direction of the man assaulting his Gol'bron member, the woman with stitched lips, easily breaking any bones it came in contact with.

I ain't gonna be botha'd by these guys no mo'e!

[The Writing Writer]

The clash of bare knuckles against an apparently iron jaw sent a jolting pain up the mad poet's arm. He immediately grabbed his wrist, rubbing it to sooth the somewhat astounding pain. It seemed,however, that Jacob would not have time for sulking. A low grumble vibrated his ear drums, calling his attention back to the barbarian, who was already on the offensive, seemingly unscathed by the Writer's attack. Perhaps the mad poet should invest in some strength training.

The virile barbarian took hold of Jacob's scrawny arms, lifting the pale young poet off of the ground. It wasn't enough that Jacob was being man-handled, no, the barbarian also saw fit to crush the bones in Jacob's arms, which could be heard crumbling under the vice like grip of the barbarian. All was seemingly lost. Jacob hoped that at the very least, his writing arm could be reattached.

And then lady luck graced the mad poet with her generosity. An earthshaking roar came seemingly out of thin air, no doubt garnering attention even from those outside of the soon-to-be-legendary room number one. Jacob was not really concerned with what could possibly produce such a roar, whatever it was, it was just another way Jacob could die horribly; another one atop hundreds more. What did concern Jacob was that it had caught the barbarian's attention, and was apparently a bigger fish than Jacob, seeing as how the barbarian tossed Jacob quite promptly, if a bit violently back into the proverbial water.

Jacob's body sailed through the air like a rag doll, crashing to the floor of the pyramid and tumbling several feet. This was familiar. Jacob's body slipped into a crevasse forged by a fiery explosion that occurred only moments ago. He fell into the darkness of the inner pyramid; the only distinguishable figure being the half elf who had disappeared earlier, resting on a stone. If the half elf did not make a move, Jacob's body would collide with his, no doubt leaving a bump or two on the half elf's frilly head.

Bunnying approved. Obviously.

[Letho]

“Well, that certainly wasn’t there a moment ago.”

Despite Dan’s indisputable power, a larger threat seemed to enter the fray. The behemoth was certainly a sight behold, more so because the thing took over roughly a quarter of the entire platform and there wasn’t really a part of the arena from which you couldn’t behold it. It was all roars and growls, the way all beasts are, clawing at the solid stone as if it was mere dirt as it sniffed out its prey. The only combatant who could afford the luxury of not being threatened by the beast was the redhead that Letho initially disregarded as rather harmless. She clearly controlled the beast, and given the fact that she didn’t enter the battle with it at her side, it was safe to assume that the oversized cat was a summon. And there were two ways to deal with those.

His part-time ally picked the first option, though he wasn’t given much choice in the matter. The furry goliath came straight at him, forcing the elf to some quite impressive acrobatics. “A spry fellow, that Zephyriah,” Letho thought as he observed the display, making a mental note of that particular characteristic. Should this battle ever reach the conclusion that Zephyriah Albione desired – a duel between him and the Marshal – Letho would need all the leverage he could find. And there was no better advantage in a battle then knowing your enemy.

However, there was a lot of work to be done before such affaire d'honneur could take place, and it all started with the elimination of the conjured colossus. With its eyes, claws and fangs set on its agile prey, the beast seemed to disregard other targets. One tracked mind... It was a common trait in such creatures, and more often than not the reason for their downfall. If it wasn’t completely consumed by the idea of chomping Zephyriah, it would’ve been able to notice a pair of eyes that were dead set on its master.

The truth was that Letho Ravenheart hated hitting girls. No, that wasn’t correct. Letho Ravenheart didn’t hit girls. It went against every possible principle he upheld, went against the honor he clung so tightly to, and he categorically refused to do so regardless of the situation. And even though this was the Citadel and wounds were as real as last night’s nightmare, he felt sick to the stomach at the thought of attacking the summoner. However, there was no other way. Unlike Zephyriah and Dan, Letho had neither the strength nor the speed to contest the beast head on. He had to play it smart, strike not with a hammer, but with a needle straight through the heart. So he did.

Stepping over his morals, the Marshal switched sword hands, bent over and picked up a discus-shaped piece of rubble with his right hand. It was a pretty easy shot. Even in his weakened state, there was still plenty of strength in those bulky muscles of his to fling the projectile with deadly force, and there was still enough precision in his eyes to make it hit the target. He hesitated for but a moment, a last plea of his ethics to cease the attack, but he shrugged it off. His body rotated once like that of an athlete before he loosed the stone missile. The irregular jaggedness of the rock didn’t help the aerodynamics, but the trajectory was still straight enough to send it darting towards the torso of the redhead. He didn’t aim for the head. There was enough force behind that shot to knock out a grown man, let alone a woman. And besides, the lass had too much of a pretty face to be torn off by a piece of rock.

Before his attack had a chance to connect, however, the ground shook as if the gods of this unholy place had something against Letho’s belligerency towards a woman. The entire pyramid vibrated as if there was earth beneath it and it was suffering a quake strong enough to threaten the structural integrity of the edifice. Stone slabs cracked and debris crumbled to the tunnels below as the building atop of which they fought started a slow, rumbling descent into the accepting arms of inky darkness. It was a slow motion, but as inevitable as the tide, shrinking the arena gradually with each passing second and devouring the lover levels of the step-pyramid.

It was a call. The battlefield demanded a victor, and there could be only one of those.

[Slayer of the Rot]

Dan's head snapped hard to the side as Letho's fist thumped soundly across his jaw. For a brief second, his concentration faltered, and the enormous crescent blade vanished from his hand as he blinked, lifting a hand to his face. Blood dribbled past his lips; the marshal had knocked one of his molars loose. Even lacking the power he'd heard of in stories, Letho Ravenheart certainly knew where to hit a man to make it hurt. It was a shame though, that what little pain Dan did feel from the throbbing ache that would have grayed most men's vision only served to annoy him, like a mosquito bite. The Saraelian heard metal hiss as it was drawn from it's scabbard, but looked up in time to see his target turning away from him, to look at what he perceived as a greater threat than The Red Beast.

"Do not turn your back on me, Ravenheart!" He thundered, though he couldn't say he exactly blamed the marshal for his concern. The titanic cat that the red head had summoned even managed to put him on edge, before he managed to remind himself there was still far for him to go. Sleek, powerful muscle rippled beneath it's smoothly shining fur, and the light in it's told him that it was hungry...and no hybrid elf was going to quench it's gnawing hunger. The beast was already on the hunt before Dan had summoned a large shield and a heavy suit of armor onto his frame.

The Saraelian cut his admiration of the summon off as he considered his next course of actions. The red elf was deftly taking care of the enormous cat, and Letho was moving, slinging a disc shaped stone towards the woman's head, perhaps hoping that dispatching her would save them from the death of a beast's slavering jaws just so they could be delivered unto a death of a clean blade. 'Killing the woman would be a hell of a lot easier than killing the cat,' he decided, moving instantly, lunging forward, bring his knee up against his chest as he sailed through the air, the tails of his coat flapping like dark wings as he soared over the marshal's head.

All the discus would manage would be to send the red head into living, breathing darkness. No, the summoner's bond with the beast had to be severed with blood.

The Saraelian landed hard, and a jagged crack raced away from his outstretched foot. It darted across the ground, and once it had reached the red head, the ground rumbled for a brief moment before a nest of wickedly sharp stone spires erupted from the ground below her. They were intent on ripping her apart, shattering her bones as he blood ran to release such a sweat, delicious smell that Dan couldn't simply help but grin from ear to ear. But if he smiled it was quickly wiped from his face by a wide eyed look of anger and surprise.

The stones were moving, and not of his will.

To be more exact, they were sinking. First, they shook as though a giant's foot had tramped upon them, but now he could feel their movement, through the very soles of his feet, he could feel them vanishing as that insubstantial darkness consumed them. It wasn't an enormous amount that disappeared, but with the rate they the pyramid was being swallowed, it wouldn't be long before nothing but darkness remained. Dan turned his stone gray eyes away from his feet to meet the marshall's dark brown.

"I won't fall into the dark. Not yet. I haven't finished what I came to do. I won't let those god damn monks make me lose her again!" The Saraelian was moving again, but gone was his mocking, cold attitude. Now he was all fury and sharp edges as he descended on the marshal. An axe of mythril was in his other hand, and he positioned the shield between himself and Letho so that it was no hindrance to himself, but if it was needed, it would be used. Dan swung the axe in two hard, quick chops, both aimed for his neck.

The Saraelian's eyes had become like the sleek, summoned cat's; empty,yet at the same time, hungry, full of rage and blood thirst. Exactly like a beast's.

[Summary: I figured this would help, I'm going to do this from now on.
Dismissed Dread Moon.
Summoned Delyn Full Plate and Mythril Great Axe.
Attacks Karuka Tida with Terramancy, creates Piercing Stone Spikes.
Attacks Letho, two strokes of the axe to the neck.]

[Edward Judorne]

Edward was looking up at the battle taking place way above the area he was safely sitting in. Well, semi-safely. Edward was usually pretty good at taking in details, but today he managed to miss two of them.

The first detail he missed was that the woman he was sitting on was still in the fight, and the second detail? Well...

As stated before, Edward was watching the many fights that were going on above him. When The huge, bulky looking person threw the unarmed insane fighter, Edward payed more attention to the bulky fighter, figuring that either the man he threw would come charging back in at the behemoth or the man was taken out of the battle when the big man tossed him. Because Edward was focused on the gigantic one and therefore made his second oversight. The skinny man fell right on top of Edward, who was on the stone on the legs of the woman who owned the knife that Edward had helped reach Zephyriah.

When the man landed on Edward, it forced his left arm to hit the rock he had been sitting on. It honestly was pure luck that had blessed him this time. It likely would have been his spinal column hitting the stone had an earthquake not thrown him off-balance. Edward fell off the left hand side of the stone, around two feet away from the Lavinian. Do to the angle the unarmed man fell from, the man who managed to ambush him had landed on the opposite sid of the body, and likely landed two feet away as well. Picking himself up from the observed Edward saw out a hole in the wall that the arena was sinking. This meant Zephyriah had an unfair advantage over everyone else, as he could easily hover above the pyramid and watch as everyone else fell away with the pyramid.

Suddenly it occured to Edward that unless he moved, he'd likely end up the first one lowered into the darkness. As Edward made his way toward the hole in the wall, a piece of the ceiling fell on the rock that the dead woman was trapped under, with the resultt being that the rock Edward had previously been sitting on was shattered, and the ceilling piece slid off to one side, freeing the lavinian.

Hope that this all makes sense, I was falling asleep while posting it. I do know Witchblade has wings, but keep in mind Edward doesn't. I also would like to point out that I may have bunnied a bit, however, if anyone wants me to fix that, I'll be happy to.

[Zephyriah]

My peripheral vision caught a furious blend of crimson and black as it dashed some distance away from me, stampeding toward the innocent looking wench who’d summoned this thick fur-coated monstrosity. Initially it’d taken me by surprise, but upon turning towards it, letting my eyes examine it closer, what had originally been a blur turned out to be none other than Ravenheart and Lagh’ratham. Every part of their bodies screamed intensity and a desire to see to it that the feline threat was dispelled. Such tactics were what I intended to implement at the outset of this new and fresh chaos, but the tan-skinned witch was wise in sending her ally against me.

I scowled though, watching the stone that Letho hurled cut through the air toward the summoner’s abdomen. “He’s truly a noble type. His code of honor will get him killed! In battle women and men receive the same treatment. If a blade is going to strike the head of a man, then it must also strike the head of a woman!”

Dan seemed to have the proper perspective on the situation considering the lethal intent that his body language emanated. “He’ll see to it that the red-head is taken care of.” That inevitability however did not do anything for me at the present time since I still had to be cautious of the ferocity of the overgrown tiger. But the maniacal shrieks of another battle contestant seized my attention. It sounded as if it belonged to the insane looking shirtless man. From time to time my eyes set upon him as he scrapped all over the battlefield, doing whatever his frail body could to inflict pain on other competitors. His hopeless tenacity was amusing, and would've kindled laughter had misfortune not suddenly captivated my focus, hurling me into a brand new problem.

“What in the world!?” Sailing towards me with unreal speed was a massive chunk of the pyramid that looked meteor size in the infinite blackness. “No time! I’ve got to move!” Without even determining whether my last efforts had caused pain to the monster, I immediately dropped to the floor. Due to the rock’s speed though, I couldn’t completely dodge it as a portion of the crude stone hit my right shoulder, which was enough to inflict pain but certainly not enough to detour its flight.
Adrenaline surging through my body made it seem as if I’d escaped the stone’s judgment but that was nothing but a lie. A rather large, throbbing black and blue bruise appeared. Movement of the arm was still possible, but once the adrenaline subsided, that would no longer be the case.

“Him……” The prodigious man that I’d deemed Big-For-Nothing was the aggressor. By the recent turn of events, one would’ve thought that I had been the one to initiate this battle royal since foes were coming for my head left and right. Even the terrain despised me! The new batch of earthquakes that were starting to bring me down along with this structure was proof of that.

“He’s dead!” Fury swelled within me, but I knew that I had to be wise as to how I would implement my counterattack.

Vigor, an old paladin technique that my father taught me long ago would be the key in this predicament. Tightening every muscle in my body, my adrenaline skyrocketed, completely removing any pain or fatigue that I was feeling for the time being. Veins exposed themselves over every bulging muscle. Now rising to my feet, I clenched the great sword and ran in the direction of the rock thrower, resembling the dark crimson blur that’d consisted of Dan and Letho.

Looking down at the unsteady, serrated pyramid platform, there were many new entrances to the tunnels that were not created by me, but rather the earthquakes that continued to shake the pyramid's foundation. Disregarding the precarious state of the structure, I leaped down into one of the unnatural openings, carrying my momentum as I landed. Clearly, I was fully aware of the distance that was between my opponent and I when I was on the surface, calculating it out to roughly twelve feet. When I traveled that distance through this tunnel, I halted.

“This will be the end for that insignificant roach!” Though I was several feet beneath the large enemy and certainly possessed the element of surprise now, making my move with haste was pivotal, since unlike the last time I made my way through the tunnel system, I no longer had the luxury of environmental stability.

Jamming “Nothing” quickly into the shoddy tunnel floor, I began glowing and turning white. Then with the passing of mere seconds, my body disappeared, traveling upward through the craggy edifice only to reappear in a geyser of white light, springing from right beneath my opponent’s feet. If everything went according to plan then the instant I materialized, the massive enemy would be treated to a swift slash to the neck, which would hopefully send his head rolling down the pyramid and into the darkness.

[Lavinian Pride]

As the rock crushed the other she remained silent as the stone shattered setting her free. As she lay there holding her breath, two men fell from the floor about her. One was the man who had sat upon her, the other an unknown. Finally she acted her unholy speed and strength kicking in as the sounds of metal upon metal resounded through the crumbling pillar. Her voice was thick with anger and frustration, "Just couldn't check the body, had to be a god damn lucky bastard didn't you!" She stabbed at the man that had frustratingly sat upon her legs as another dagger was pulled, both thorns, as the girls had been lost somewhere in the ensuing chaos.

Even as the pyramid began to topple around her she pushed on, trying hard to get that snack she craved, the blood of a human, or anything sentient for that matter. She wanted blood, and fast. Slashing at him time and again she pushed herself to moving as fast as possible, if only to destroy the upstart who had escaped her wrath previously. She was angry, and ignoring the other man completely as she sought to unleash everything she had at killing the boy.

Even if he survived she was dedicated to making sure the victory was hollow, instead of going for vital areas that most would think, cutting viciously at arms legs, hitting muscles and attempting to cut tendons. She wanted him to suffer as she unleashed her hail of attacks, even tempted to use her vampiric vigor to overwhelm the boy. Still she didn't, she sought instead to try and merely kill the boy, as she was wholly dedicated to that goal.

Zephyriah flitting about in the sky could wait, she wanted to feast now...

[The Writing Writer]

Jacob's bruised, partially broken body tumbled down onto the body of the half-elf. from there, he rolled off of the large stone he rested on, and finally met with the floor.

Pain. Jacob's body throbbed in agony. His arms and legs lay limp at his side. He breathed slowly, weakly. He had grown tired. Clearly the mad poet was unfit for open battle. He felt somewhat frustrated with himself. Surely more damage could have been done on his part. More punches thrown, more hair pulled, more skin torn, but no; there he lay, helpless. It was pathetic. Jacob grew angrier still at his own weakness. Was this all he could do? Would his mark on the world be not in blood, but ink alone. The mad poet's eyes grew heavy, and slowly closed. He was tired. Perhaps, it was time to rest...

No. He would not fade away into darkness. He was not of wax, he would not glow, he would burn. And so he did. Jacob first lifted his arms, pressing them against the cold stone floor, pushing hard. Dust clouded in his face as his breath grew heavier. Slowly he rose. First up was his head, then his torso. Soon enough he was on both feet, and standing firmly. He gazed leftward to see some woman on the attack towards the half-elf. Tempted as he was to strike at them while their attention was elsewhere, Jacob had something else in mind. If the flame of his life were to be extinguished tonight, he would not let himself fade away. He instead would burn out in glorious flame, so bright the whole world would stop and marvel.

The ground shook as Jacob quickly made his way out of the pyramid, running steadily in the opposite direction of the half-elf. As he emerged from the tunnel, the ground continued to shake. Jacob wasn't sure what was happening, as the ink-like blackness that surrounded them obscured any orientation, but a sense of foreboding lead him to believe that he needed to act quickly.

Jacob scrambled up the steps of the pyramid and once again gazed upon the chaotic battlefield. Seeing such things was like seeing the pages of a story book come to life. Only in his mildest of dreams had he seen such things. Most of his dreams were of much more sinister things, but this was still pretty amazing. I mean, giant cats, lightning shooting mages, flying swordsmen and even red elves? Jacob wasn't sure that he wasn't dreaming anymore.

And then he saw him, his target. Jacob saw the oafish man who had nearly crushed his arms earlier. His back was turned. Jacob knew that at this point, defeating anyone was but a hopeful thought. He instead intended to inflict as much pain as he could before his end came.

Jacob rushed at the barbarian, running as fast as his legs would carry him. When he drew close, Jacob leapt into the air, arms spread wide. If he met with his target, he would gnaw off his ear. If not, he expected to be thrown somewhere yet again.

[Edward Judorne]

Edward turned back to see the dead woman he had been sitting on back on her feet. she was bitching at him about not checking to see if she was dead, or something like that. He was pretty sure he knew what she was really pissed about. Her attacks came a bit too quickly for his tastes, and though he was able to dodge the brunt of her attacks, her unwillingness to let up was leaving hime with quite a few scratches on his body.

"I did check, You were not breathing for the longest time, and as far as I know, if someone is not breathing, they are dead. No exceptions. Besides, this is the citadel and you are not my only opponent." Edward took a second to think about what he had said.

"So, you are already dead, huh? " Edward said as he recieved yet another cut on his arm. Edward hated to do use any more magic, but his mind was made up for him as she continued toward him, every once in a while giving him a shallow cut. She was a bit too fast for edward to keep up with, but Edward knew that he could turn her speed against her.

Edward saw her weakness and exposed it immediatly. When attacking in a blind rage, the last thing you'd expect a sane person to do is lean into your attacks, and though she had more fighting prowess than him, and she was controlling the flow of this battle, Edward was pretty sure he could get a range advantage on her if he only used one arm to attempt to reach her.

"Remain dead, woman!" Edward said as he lunged towards her, taking some really deep cuts in his left arm. If his plan worked, he'd be shooting an electric missle at her forehead point-blank. Even if that didn't kill her, it would at least give Edward time to draw his weapon with his one good arm. On the other hand if she dodged his grab at her forehead, he would be in a bit of a bind, but he'd worry about that when and if the time came.

As usual, if you have a problem with my post, let me know, and I'll fix it. Also, although it's kind of pointless this time around, I am going to try to get into the habit of listing off the people I need to post before me. So here we go:

Lavinian Pride
----
Yeah, short list, I know. Told you it was near pointless this time

[Letho]

There was something seriously wrong with Dan Lagh’ratham, whoever the hell he was. Somewhere in the man’s head the neurons must’ve short-circuited, making him stuck on a violent loop where hysteria and dementia reigned hand in hand. The intensity of the words he spat at the Marshal and the fervor with which he moved was nothing short of demonical, unearthly, and deadly personal. He acted as if the two were archenemies, old acquaintances that went at it yet again just to answer the call of bad blood. Letho would’ve expected such a display from Storm Veritas, or Seth Dahlios were the Lavinian present. But this was somebody unfamiliar to him, a stranger with inexplicable thoughts of bloody murder and little else.

“Perhaps I dispatched of some of his companions in crime.” This wouldn’t be a surprise; during his tenure as a Corone Ranger, Letho Ravenheart had one of the most impressive records when it came to apprehension and execution of criminals. One of them could’ve easily been Dan’s crony or smart guy or whatever they called themselves these days in the criminal milieu. The swordsman wanted to ride this train of thought a bit longer, but there was no time. The mad man was on the move again.

Leaping as if the gravity released its hold on him, Dan darted overhead with disquieting ease, landing between Letho and the red-haired conjurer. His first attack was directed in the opposite direction, though, away from the Marshal and towards the woman Letho reluctantly tried to knock out with an improvised projectile. Unlike him, there was no reluctance in Dan, only vehemence bent on vanquishing the redhead. The collision of his foot and the stone platform conjured some fancy terramancy, sending a forest of spikes at the summoner. Seeing such an overkill move almost made Letho sorry for the chunk of stone he tossed. But he wasn’t given the opportunity to lament. Next order of business for the feisty man – who by some miracle now had completely new gear, together with a very menacing looking axe – was dealing with his initial target.

Dan was little more than a bull provoked by a red piece of cloth by now, crying out something about a woman lost before he charged. His movements were unhinged, overextended, his feet stomping the ground as if the dead stone did something to offend him, his hands choking the shaft of his weapon. And his eyes... They were windows into a room overtaken by insanity, offering a peek into the infernal fires that tormented the man’s mind. There was no doubt about it; something was definitely wrong with Dan Lagh’ratham.

His attack was straightforward and thus telegraphed, way too easy to anticipate to an experienced eye, but it came with such haste and might that it nearly caught Letho unprepared. The Marshal saw it coming, he just failed to process in a timely manner how fast it was coming, how quickly the safety perimeter has fallen, how easily such a huge weapon moved. How slow his movements were now, when he was robbed of his titanic power. His legs moved his armored body a step back, both his hands bringing the bastard sword into a parry only to have it swatted away like a stick with the first slash. His reflexes tried to get him away from the second one, but he was too slow, the axe and its raging wielder too fast. The edge caught him in the process of recoiling and ducking, tearing through his cheek mercilessly. A fraction of a second later and the gash would’ve split his head in twain.

His gauntlet went to his face instinctively, cupping over the side of his face only to get filled with the crimson of his gushing blood. His tongue tried to inspect the wound from the inside, touched the sliced cheek and backed away in fear to punch right through the bloodied side of his face. And there was pain, of course, the piercing, flaming kind that seemed to spread to his eyeball, his ear, his neck, making even blinking taxing.

There was a silver underlining to it, though. At least now when he wins, he’d be able to literally smile from ear to ear. Well, to one ear at least.

“Have we crossed paths and blades before, Dan Lagh’ratham?” Letho did his best to ask, pronunciation made excruciatingly difficult by the injury. He took the hand away from his face, shook the blood off and let it pour down the side of his face freely. He’d need both hands for the next barrage for certain. “You act as if you have quite a grudge against me.”

Curiosity was only half the reason for the query. Yes, Letho wanted to know the reason for the senseless hatred of this man, but he also wanted to buy some time for Zephyriah to return. Honorable or not, there were times when a man had to admit that he had his back against the ropes and this was one of those times. Even though he hated to admit it, Dan was stronger, faster, and though he lacked finesse in his attacks, he scarcely needed it. He was a bludgeoner just like Letho used to be, as unstoppable as an avalanche.

Around and below them, the descent into the nothingness continued, the dark devouring nearly one third of the pyramid by now. As if the shrinking of the arena wasn’t enough, the blackness encroached from the fading levels, reaching for all those within grasp with deathly tendrils.

[Karuka]

The beast Karuka had summoned felt the sting of Zephyriah's attack, but all it had served to do was make him angry. Another loud roar shattered the stillness as the beast rounded on his quarry, swiping at him with a furious paw. But the elf had already jumped away, and so the beast's attack merely met a chunk of boulder that had been spinning towards his prey.

It spun with enough force to hurt, and he snarled. Now that the red one presented no threat to his mistress, he was free to choose his quarry as he saw fit. The desire to continue to chase after his prey and choose something close conflicted in him, but he was soon spared the necessity of having to choose.

Karuka had been watching her magnificent beast, rather than the battle. If she was a normal woman, that would have been the source of her death, but as Letho threw his boulder and Dan's earthen spikes shot up from the decimated ground beneath her feet, she "saw" them coming. She'd had the ability for some months, long enough that she didn't even question the sight anymore, and just leapt away.

Her movements carried her much closer to Witchblade and Storm, but if there was anyone in the arena that she "trusted," it was the two of them. She'd spent time with them, fought beside them, fed Witch's baby dragon and laughed at camels with Storm. They were her friends, and besides, entirely engrossed in killing each other.

As the spikes went up mere inches from her and the chunk of rock Letho threw spun over the area where she'd stood, she looked once more to her titanic blue feline, willing him to turn and attack the duo that had wanted her gone. She'd had no qualms with them, and if they hadn't attacked her, then she wouldn't see any reason to wish them ill.

As though responding to her very desires, the Guardian of the Liviol Sanctum turned toward Dan and Letho, teeth bared as he prepared to kill. He didn't care that they were already locked in combat with each other, that just made them so much better prey.

He raised his massive paws, bringing them down repeatedly to bat and claw at the two. He could feel the call of his sanctuary pulling at him to come back, but he was hungry, and so he kept up his rapid and brutal attack.

Karuka just watched it all. They had their hands full, everyone, and right now she was just an observer, watching the battle and the tendrils that tried, sea-monster like, to drag people from the temple to the ever-closer darkness. She'd have to watch out for those. She'd not go so gently into that good night.

[Witchblade]

It didn’t work. The spry little human was able to twist his wrist out of her grip and roll away from her, giving him that much needed distance that he craved so much. That one he thought would protect him from her. He was after all not a real close combat fighter; he was just another mage sporting electric fury. It was disappointing really that she had not heard the crunch of bone beneath her grip as she’d tightened it. But she had seen the look on his face, the flicker of discomfort as the pain set in. She may not have broken his wrist, but she doubted her attack had done nothing to it. If bruising and swelling was all she had accomplished with that simple move, then so be it. She could live with that, she could handle that. Would his pride let him do the same though?

All around the two of them things were getting rather intense in nature. The fighting would only escalate from here until the weaker ones were eventually defeated by those stronger. They were of no concern to her though, all she wanted was Storm. But she kept a wary eye upon those that ventured too close to her, just in case they decided to try something while her back was turned, but for the most part they seemed to be ignoring her and Storm and their battle, which was perfect for her.

She watched as he prepared his next attack on her and the moment that he reared back his arm she knew what was coming.

Lightning...

He was planning on killing her in one swift and easy move, thinking that she would go down so easily. Thinking that she was just another human he could slaughter like the masses he already had. Such a beautiful mistake it was and one she would enjoy teaching him the lesson to.

As she felt the muscles along her shoulders and her legs tense in anticipation, the halfling noticed Karuka coming in much closer to her and Storm, escaping a volley of attacks thrown her way. She was surprised the human was still alive in all of this; then again it appeared she had grown in some strength since she had last seen her.

Keeping her face stoic, Witch turned her main focus back to Storm as she began to move. Slow so as not to draw very much attention to it, but she moved nonetheless. With a brilliant light that was nearly blinding to her eyes, she watched as he brought down his dagger and released the arch of lightning stored within it. It crackled and tore through the air, bent only on one thing; her death. Not surprisingly, she objected.

With a quick motion, the Halfling tensed her legs and jumped away from the incoming attack and right towards Karuka, who no more than a few feet away from her. Grabbing onto the shoulder of her one time companion and ally, the halfling used her strength and threw her towards the attack that Storm had planned to kill her with.

[Lavinian Pride]

That obnoxious brat of a warrior began to roar at the veiled insult. His perceived pride sought to atone for his rather thoughtless display. He spoke of not wishing to check, of her already being dead. He ran his mouth as much as Seth loved to. A character flaw she had no patience for. As he fought to deflect, his single sword kept up with the twin daggers, only netting her nicks and flesh wounds. It was frustrating, and while the anger fueled the fire that kept her aloft she was rather sick of toying with the boy.

She felt her dagger connect suddenly as the boy pushed forward, seeking his death, or perhaps something more. She was completely unsurprised by the sacrificial attack all things considered. Those of less honorable fighting styles often sacrificed a long term injury, breaking bones and nearly dying to kill an opponent. She knew this of course, because Seth himself used such a style, when he took vicious attacks from her, only to stab Ebony and Ivory into her calf and bicep respectively. Still she reacted without any fluster or wasted movement, as a thief should.

Had she not been Seth, had she not fought Seth, perhaps she would have been shocked by the self sacrificing tactic. However, having mastered that style of battle as she gored into his left arm, he reached out, and she saw the electricity arcing through his fingers. Twirling she saw his hand go right by where her forehead was. A savage grin crossing her face as she said, "Poor baby, your little parlor trick didn't work..."

Drawing upon her unholy vigor she moved faster than before, if it was even possible. Her speed increased to thrice that any normal man she had encountered could muster, and with it her daggers moved swiftly. One went for a stab right between the third and fourth rib of his back, aiming right for the lung. Even then her assault continued as she sought to draw the other knife about his neck, in an effort to expose his vocal chords to the world about them, and give them a view of the area.

She was dimly aware of the arena collapsing about her, but she didn't care, there was a hole above them, and if the pyramid did collapse she'd still have enough vigor to jump through to the ceiling before her blood frenzy would over take her, she merely needed a pint to sate her hunger, and retain her sanity, surely the boy would provide more than enough.

Vampiric Rush activated, as fast as three times a normal man. Good Luck Edward.

[The Barbarian]

((Bunny approved by The Writing Writer))

Tyrael didn’t have the luxury of watching for a few extra seconds as to where else his rubble projectile would end up, since the red elf who had barely got hit in the shoulder was rushing him very quickly.

Suddenly though, he disappeared underneath the arena and into the tunnel system below. This new predicament made him a little uneasy. Well, a little would be a huge understatement. He was shitting a brick. The battle all around the area was going insane with giant cats, flashy powers, and huge swords from every direction. Focusing too long on any one pair of fighters could spell certain doom.

Tyrael took a few steps back, still nervous about what the red fighter might be up too.

Suddenly, as if on cue with his fears, the dark stone floor a couple of feet in front of him lit up brightly. He tried to hop back, knowing this was some form of attack, but tripped on a jagged rock and stumbled instead. The elf appeared out of thin air, obviously slicing with his great sword for a killing blow. What happened instead was a deep gouge in Tyrael’s right pectoral muscle, starting near the center of his chest to the tip of his shoulder. He spun backwards in pain, struggling desperately to stay on his feet.

And then the oddest thing happened. The skinny, creepy man kissed him.

Suspended in mid-air, the sneaky man who he had thought he had gotten rid of was face to face with him, his rough lips pressed against Tyrael’s own. With the pain raging through his body, he barely had time to register how unmanly this situation was; then it flooded through his senses all at once. He moved his neck away sharply and then wondered why he was even floating in the air.

On that thought, the airborne man was hoisted by a dark, thick tentacle higher into the black sky and then pulled off roughly below the horizon of the arena stage.

He has ta’ be gone now… Tyrael thought miserably.

He glanced over his shoulder and quickly figured his chances of surviving the fight. He was bleeding heavily, energy was seeping out of his body at a steady pace, and now evil monster tentacles were going on a rampage. Forcing a grin and facing his opponent, he lifted his good arm and pointed it straight at his face. His breathing was hard and lacking rhythm, but he refused to die like a coward.

“This ain’t ova’ yet!” He roared. He coughed up a bit of blood, wiped it away with the back of his hand and continued, “This is just a flesh wou-”

Without being able to finish his words, a thick tendril spun around his waist and another latched around his left shoulder and armpit. He was yanked quickly into the air and released. For a second he thought he was going to fall four stories and die like a clipped bird. But the tendrils grabbed him by locking his knees together and twirling him around like a toy. At no time during this did he scream in terror, because he was too busy gritting his teeth in agonizing pain. His blood was raining all over the stage, now gushing from the wound from the great sword. A tiny grin cracked on his face as he wondered who it might be hitting, maybe splashing them in the face or getting in their hair.

The world became darker, not quite as sharp as he remembered it. His limbs were becoming numb and deathly chill ran up his spine.

Fuck.

He knew his life span was being cut dramatically now and as he was finally pulled away from the sinking pyramid and down into the darkness, his final thought was, This is crap.

[Edward Judorne]

Edward's left arm had been rended beyond recognition, and the woman wasn't letting up. If anything, she was even more deadly. Something had clicked inside her, and she had gone into some sort of berserker mode. She was moving a lot faster as well. Normally Edward could have used this speed to his advantage, but something told him that she was in complete control of her speed.

Edward jumped away from the woman as soon as he noticed her increase in speed, but despite this, he still managged to sustain a shallow stab to his ribcage. The other knife came within a hair's width of slicing him through the neck, and forced a tiny drop of blood to trickle out. Despiite being able to almost evade her attacks, he was starting to realize, he was going to be unable to handle this lady on his own, not unless... No, Edward wasn't about to commit suicide in order to take out a mass group quite yet.

Although he had already lost all feeling in one arm due to underestimating her attacks, and he wasn't about to risk losing use of the other, plus the fact that black tendrils were coming out of the sea of deepest black
, Edward still had a few aces up his sleeve. He was pretty sure he had figured out how to escape with his skin mostly intact.

As with any plan there was a certain amount of risk involved, but he'd rather use a plan that had a chance of keeping him alive than use a plan that guaranteed he'd die sooner rather than later.

In order to successfully pull this plan off, though, he first needed to get outside the pyramid and to higher ground, lest the darkness take him away.

Dodging the woman's attacks as best he could, and attempting to stab her hand any time she attempted to grab him, Edward made his way to a hole in the wall and stepped out of it before climbing to higher ground He also made sure she kept her distance by occasionally swinging his rapier in a wide arc at a random height. He was not yet bothering to do anything about the injuries that he had sustained as he led the woman up the pyramid.

"You know, I couldn't help but notice that the very first person you attacked was Zephyriah. Unfortunately, that may yet be your undoing. Life's funny that way, you know. Even the smallest details matter." Edward said to the woman as he dodged and blocked more of her attacks.

Despite how many of her attacks weren't hitting him, his legs and chest were still quite worked over and, as stated before, his left arm was just ruined. If this onslaught were to go on much longer, he may as well be dead. He needed to initiate his plan now. Edward shot his last electric missle at Zephyriah, hoping against hope that Zeph would try to take him out quickly, so as not to be distracted by the small fry any more.

"Yo, Zephyriah. Catch!" Edward yelled as the electricity sailed through the air.

Edward turned back to the insanely fast lady.

"You want him so bad? Then go get him, because it seems that you two are going to have to face each other before taking me out. If you don't then whoever takes me out will likely be attacked by the other person."

hope I didn't bunny to much.

People I'm waiting on:

Zephyriah
Lavinian Pride

[The Writing Writer]

It was close. Jacob's revenge was at hand. He could taste it on the tip of his tongue. Already he could imagine the taste of the barbarians blood, warm and tasting of iron. He was only seconds away, when a very cold chill seemed to engulf his legs.

The unnatural cold quickly crept up from Jacob's ankles, and soon it covered the entirety of both of his legs. It pulled at him, slowing his movement through the air, eventually haulting him completely. Frozen in mid-flight, the writer was helpless. The cold had reached his arms now, and in the corners of his vision he could see a strange darkness enveloping his body. Fear itself seemed to grip the Writer, as even his own madness could not repel the demons within the cold. They taunted his thoughts with insults and discomforting inquiries. Jacob was no doubt at his worst now.

And then it happened. On top of being completely helpless in the air, shivering, the barbarian turned just at the right time to make the most horrid of situations, an awkward one to boot. What transpired could only be described as a bloody, wet man-smooch; most unpleasant. It seemed the darkness that took hold of Jacob had a sense of humor, as it seemed to have waited for the kiss of death before removing the mad Poet from the arena.

In one swift movement, the darkness pulled Jacob away from the disgusting embrace of the barbarian's lips, and into the ink-like abyss that consumed this forsaken battle-field. Jacob could see nothing, could hear nothing. He felt cold, and tasted blood, but that was all. Could this be death that embraced him? Had the blackest of angels granted this mad man peace of mind, with the gift of expiration? No, Jacob was not that lucky.

His eyes batted open and he felt the warmth of life once again. As his vision focused, Jacob became more aware of his location. Sitting up and gazing about his surroundings, Jacob was sure that he was back in the Citadel. The hooded monks surrounding him were a clear indication of that. One monk moved forward and spoke.

" Rest my child. You are the first to have exited room number one since the battle began. "

Jacob became angry. The first one? That meant that he had been the weakest of them all. Even weaker than the half elf with the pointy stick. His eyebrows arched and his teeth gritted. Clenching his fists in frustration, Jacob slammed them into the bed in which he lay.

" Feel no shame in your defeat, my young friend. There will be more battles to come. You are not yet ready to face opponents of such a caliber. You must crawl, before you can walk. "

Jacob grumbled in annoyance, shouting at the monks.

" Save your words monk, they are waisted on me.
To preach to a mad man is as preaching to a tree!
I heed not your words and learn not a thing!
Begone from me monks or my fists I shall swing! "

The monks bowed politely, as they always did, and exited the room promptly. Jacob rested his head on the poor excuse for a pillow, and welcomed the sandman's embrace. Perhaps in his dreams he would find solitude. Perhaps, there would be calm, quiet. In his slumber, the voices tended to be silent, and that alone was a fine enough reason to sleep forever, if only he had the brass.

Closing post.

[Slayer of the Rot]

Blood painted the advancing darkness red in a jet that spurted from the wound his axe had torn. A sound of wordless joy burst from the Saraelian, and he lunged forward with inhuman speed, a multi-faceted crystal phial appearing in his hand. Dan flung his arm into the gruesome cascade before it could spatter upon the ground, coloring his gauntlet crimson. He stumbled to a stop a few feet behind the marshal, holding the vial up to his face.

Something about the little decanter felt wrong, and the uneasy feeling that stewed in his gut was beginning to show on his face.

He had been aware of something strange about the phial as soon as it had been given to him. When he held it, it felt almost as though he had two throats; the smaller of which could only be slaked with blood. Staring into the pooling liquid, Dan was aware of the familiar feeling of being parched. The sort of thirst that came to you with the white hot sun overhead and cracked, bone dry alabaster soil underfoot. In the back of his mind, the realization slowly dawned on him; it simply wasn't enough. The pained, tight, sand dry feeling of drought in his mouth was the alchemist's way of letting him now just how much of a hero's blood he needed.

"How greedy is the prick?" Dan growled, completely ignoring the marshal now as he struggled to shake blood from his gauntlet into the mouth of the phial. A few more drops dribbled in, discoloring the crystal with pink smears, but that longing refused to vanish. The Saraelian spat and cast a vicious glance over towards Letho as the man spoke, then looked back to the collected blood.

He was going to need more.

"No. We've met before, Ravenheart. i don't bear any particular grudge against you aside from the fact you stand between myself and something very important to me." He almost considered explaining his blood lust to the marshal, but shunned it almost immediately. It was none of the man's business to begin with, though he supposed it held some degree of romance to it. The father willing to do anything to find his daughter. Even if it meant killing. Especially if it meant killing. The phial vanished from his hand a moment later and he brandished the axe, jabbing the weapon at Letho under a growing sneer.

Dan opened his mouth to say something and had it shut as a massive paw slammed into his body driving him to the ground. He rolled to the left, dodging a second blow, and then kicked against the ground. Sliding across the stones, the Saraelian slapped a hand against the zigurat's ground and spun his legs under his body, forcing himself up through raw strength. As skidded to a halt, he turned on his hips and launched the axe at the enormous cat. The enraged look on his face expressed his thoughts clearly; interruptions were not to be tolerated.

A silver talisman appeared in the palm of his hand, it's chain wrapped around his wrist. Briefly summoning a knife, he sliced a clean, quick cut across the heel of his hand and let his blood drip across the amulet, invoking it's effect even as he began to move. The leather straps of his heavy delyn armor creaked and groaned as his muscle mass bulged, a fire washing through his limbs with newfound energy. His gray pupils became reflective slitted gold, and his lips drew back from hunter's teeth. Drawing close to the Guardian the redhead had summoned, Dan suddenly dropped in a crouch, thighs bunching power, and launched through the air.

Sailing over the cat's silken back, the Saraelian finally summoned yet another weapon; a curved delyn buster sword, which he swung as though it weighed as much as a bird's wing. The strokes fell towards the guardian's back before Dan landed behind it and dropped to one knee, swinging the sword out one more time in the hopes of severing the beast's huge leg.

[Summary:
Threw Mythril Great Axe at Karuka's Cat.
Doubled strength using Lion's Rage Amulet, currently capable of exerting and lifting a force of 8 tons.
Summoned Bhidyate, executed three full strength slashes on the cat's back.
Attempted to sever the summoned Cat's leg.

[Karuka]

The cat batted the axe aside as it flew toward him, right before he faded to nothing and disappeared. The call of his home had finally pulled him from the side of his summoner. He'd done his best while he was there, but it seemed to not have been enough. The little red-head was on her own now, in the middle of a den of lions.

Karuka, for her part, "saw" the hand coming for her shoulder far too late to move away from it, and found herself sent stumbling over the relatively intact floor. She didn't have the time to wonder why she'd been grabbed before the crackling snake made contact with her.

It was pain beyond anything she'd ever felt. Sh was simultaneously freezing and burning, and her body was ten million points of agony as the electricity coursed its way up and down her slender body. She wanted to scream, but she couldn't breathe; she wanted to move, but couldn't do anything but twitch helplessly under the brutal onslaught. She kept seeing, alternately, brilliant flashes of color, the deepest blackness she had ever known, and faces, snippets from the past she'd experienced and events she'd seen.

Finally everything went black for her as the sheer force of the electrical onslaught fried her brain and made her heart beat so hard and fast it literally exploded within her chest. But the body kept twitching violently until it disappeared from the arena...

[Storm Veritas]

Regardless of circumstance, nothing made him feel more threatened than the threat he couldn’t control. No man, beast, monster, or village could scare him, because the concerns he held over life upon Althanas were fleeting at best. He had spent time, he had made his mark, and his days were numbered anyway. To die in some great battle, worthy duel, or full-scale debacle like this would have been a good way to exit stage right anyway.

But she makes you so f*cking weak.

Karuka had ruined him. He couldn’t understand what it was about her, and though he had tried to speak reason to his heart, the ticking thump of his lifeblood would not listen to reason. Some piece of charm or spark of innocence had him absolutely smitten, and to show such emotion in battle was the beginning of the end.

Witchblade had seen this. She had to have. There would be no other reason for the savage she-creature to throw Karuka in the path of his bolt. He saw so much in this, and had experienced similar fate before. With Letho, in the depths of worlds now long forgotten, Storm had witnessed his own power and brutality kill a woman he then loved. A terrible déjÃ* vu, and Karuka’s twisted frame went spiraling below.

There is time.

His eyes met with Witchblade again, a promise to her that he would see to an end. His lips twisted in untold anger, a fury the likes of which he had never before felt.

“You will DIE, whore. I will not rest. Today you have sealed your fate.”

He longed to lunge at her, and finish the job. He knew he could do it. His power was almost unprecedented, and the combination of his venom and his ire would drive him to be invulnerable. He would fight without fear, reserve, or hesitation.

…but not today.

There was no time to kill. The only one that kept him here was slowly falling to the depths below. Storm stopped caring about Letho Ravenheart; the mighty self-hero would always cut a wide profile. He stopped caring about Zephyriah, or Sarah, or any of the other legends he could enjoy feeling twist upon the end of his blade.

He dove, a senseless swan-dive, plummeting rapidly to the depths below. He spotted Karuka in freefall, a limp body spread lengthwise and falling slowly. He swooped to her and scooped her in his left arm, her limp frame collapsing over his shoulder. A mighty push of polarized force pressed an electromagnetic field below him. The base of the structure was iron-heavy, and it allowed him to press back – to slow down. His fall to the chasm below was controlled, and the location of the two seemed impossible.

All the while, there were two thoughts which raced through his brain. The warmth and passion he felt for the nearly-dead one in his arms, the one he had saved and would work to bring back. Conversely, he felt an untold hatred for the Witch. As hot as the desire for Karuka burned, Storm felt a nearly boundless wrath.

Witchblade should have prayed for Karuka, he thought. Should his loved one not come back from this assault, then the Witch would pay with her life. He would seek her out, wearing the soles from his very feet if need be.

A deep breath, as he held the one he loved and realized he had left the battle unfulfilled. Did he love her as much as he loved the prospect of avenging her? Wouldn’t her death be a little sweet, in that it would resurrect the monster?

The question stirred inside him.


-end-

[Zephyriah]

In the violent struggle of survival that raged on atop the broken, blood stained ziggurat platform, it was quite clear that the tide of battle was changing. The massive barbaric man’s flesh yielded to the power of my blade as it reluctantly received a sizable gash across the chest, which easily cut through my victim's worn and torn leather studded vest. Blood squeezed out of the fresh wound like water out of a punctured hose. The spraying liquid was a beautiful sight to behold, the blessed first fruits of my hard and agonizing labor. Even the scatter brained shirtless man enjoyed the gushing warm prize, having lunged himself at the wounded man in pure sadistic love. They were a strange pair, surely two individuals that I wanted to spend as little time around as possible.

Ironically, that wish was granted. The ominous black tendrils of the deep depths exacted their judgment on the weaklings, hoisting them with amazing force. These unruly tentacles even desired me as well, violently whipping and lashing at my legs. Instinctive agility was summoned from within me as I jumped, flipped, rolled, and spun away from them. I was provided a moment of rest when the tentacle attack had suddenly stopped. Each muscle in my body was tense, not knowing when the next onslaught would come.

Slightly hunched over, I panted heavily as I tried to take in as much air as I could. Seeing the two lovers whipped around and torn apart opened my eyes to the reality of death that surrounded us all. My fellow competitors were the least of my concerns at this point since intense tremors and supernatural things sought to pick us all apart one by one. Strangely, I actually became……..nervous. The feeling of my heart beating quicker and the increased sweat dripping down all over my body agitated me. Plenty of times did I stare death in the face and offer nothing more than a grin. So why all of a sudden was I scared? But then it hit me.

Doubt.

As much as I wished to shun it, there was a part of me that wasn’t fully sure that I could win anymore. Had it just been a titanic clash between Althanian legends with nothing else to interfere, my excitement would have produced an unshakable confidence that would’ve driven me to victory. But how in the world was I supposed to fight against merciless, magically conjured demon tendrils that were superior to any of us in every way?

Thoughts of father once again came into my mind. He was well known during his time at the Citadel for a specific reason. Fear never took up residency in him. No matter the situation, he always fought with a clear head, completely devoid of any emotion that had the potential to hinder him from achieving his goals. In battle, his blade was law and his body the mouth of a god. Whatever his mind instructed his body to do, it was done without hesitation. In essence, death came to his enemies merely by his thoughts.

Clenching the great sword, the the truth of my inferiority to my father became frustratingly glaring. The strolls through Radasanth took on new meaning as I realized that the man I deeply respected was the man that I desired so deeply to surpass. I had all intentions of honoring my father back when I entered this battle, yet instead entry into this death realm did doing nothing but shine a bright light on the shortcomings of a lesser Ablione.

“I have to pull myself together!” Thinking any longer about this was going to lead me into insanity. Therefore, I scanned the remainder of the battlefield. Death was contagious, for after the murder of the barbaric individual and the shirtless one, the infection swept over to the opposite side of the platform, seizing the red headed woman and Storm Veritas of all people. I had no idea how this happened, but simply caught my one time rival lunging into the black depths after the still body of the summoner. It was such a shameful way for him to perish, but having the cords of love drag him into oblivion meant that there would be one less obstacle for me to overcome.

“Good riddance.”

The once crowded battlefield was quickly thinning, which was essential to making my desired bout with Letho a reality. However, as luck would have it, adversity made certain that it had not forgotten about me yet.

Out of nowhere, a roach that should’ve died a long time ago resurfaced to take me on. Screaming at the top of his lungs and launching his all too familiar electric missile in my direction, I let the obvious attack pass by me just enough to where I could snag the tail end of it by the electric tendrils that still licked my blade. The tentacles latched onto Edward’s missile, and then with every bit of strength I had in me, I spun around and launched the fool’s own attack back towards him.

“Have you forgotten who you’re……..dealing with," I said, in between heavy breaths. "Since when did you think that attacking me……. would do you any good!?”

The electricity engulfing my blade dissipated at the same time that fatigue had once again set in. Vigor could no longer sustain the adrenaline that was surging throughout my body, which in turn permitted the large bruise on my arm to inflict full pain on me. The injury I’d received from the colossal chunk of stone was worse than I thought. Holding the great sword which had normally been an effortless task, was beginning to take its toll in unison with my fleeting strength. If the rest of these roaches weren’t exterminated quickly, then there would be no chance of Letho and I crossing blades for one final showdown.

For the sake of Victor Ablione........no, for the sake of my own pride, I had to win.

[Lavinian Pride]

Blood

The voice rang through her mind as she let out a feral growl. Her demeanor changed immediately as she scrambled after Edward in an attempt to feast. Her cuts and scrapes no longer bled as she sought the liquid that existed in abundance before her. Lost was the suave demeanor of the Lavinian. The sultry tone of her voice forsaken as a feral rage overtook her. She was no longer Sarah; she had to feed, and now. Already the fight was taking its toll as her flesh began to wither and decay for everyone's eyes.

She was undead, she was an abomination, and now everyone knew it, as she ruthlessly advanced on the smaller man. Her rush of blood spent. While still faster than normal and stronger than normal she favored her claws and fangs as she leapt forward to attack the man known as Edward Jordan. The feral cry of rage was inhuman, a cry of lust and fury.

Blood

The voice commanded her. It was the sole reason for her existence. It taunted her by showing her clearly. Her vision had turned red as it seemed everything was in a bloody haze. She ignored everyone around her as she clawed at Edward, who had turned to talk to her, even as Zephyriah sought to turn his own projectile back upon him. Perhaps Edward had expected the unfortunate turn of events, perhaps he had expected the assassin to turn on the girl who had sought him out previously.

It didn't matter of course, for now Sarah had smelt the boy's blood, had scraped bits of it out of him, and she wanted more, she wanted to feast. Her world was the boy before her, and if she had been coherent, perhaps she could have heart the quickening beats of the boy's heart, seen the look on his face as he sought to do something. Still, she was a monster now, gone was the civility she had shown him.

Blood

That was all that called to her now…

[Edward Judorne]

Edward couldn't believe it. The woman was still attacking him. Had she lost it? He was barely able to force her to keep her distance with his rapier, and considering her speed, even that appeared to be a miracle.

Zephyriah was rushing towards him as well, and to top it all off, he had his own electric missle tossed back at him. Yet despite all this, he still had a plan.

Edward knew that despite it coming back at him at a faster and more powerful pace, it was still his own relatively weak projectile. He knew even before he threw it, that it wouldn't do anything more than get Zephyriah's attention, but that was the plan. So far, all he had done was outlasted peopl, and he saw no reason to stop now.

Seeing as how he was pretty sure Zephyriah hadn't amped up the electrical missle, Edward jumped towards it, (away from the berserker chick) and caught it's electrical charge in his rapier, taking quite a few slashes to his already injured arm in the process.

Immediately after he caught his own deflected projectile in his sword, Edward started slashing at the woman again, in an attempt to keep her at a distance while replied to Zephyriah.

"Of course I remember who you are. You are Zephyriah, the undefeatable warrior that has almost as much strategic sense in combat as I do, but today you appear to be in bad form. You are injured, but by no means does that mean that I think I can beat you. I would never be so delusional. Do you honestly think I'd be stupid enough to challenge you when I'm in the middle of combat? The way I see it, you could squash me like a bug at anytime. That electric missle was meant to get your attention, and that's it. I need your help, and you might be needing mine, too. You could refuse, and kill me yourself, but would you really be able to defeat her, by yourself, in your condition? What about the others? Would you be able to defeat them as well, without a little help? Think about it. I couldn't defeat you, even if I were a backstabber, so how about we team up for a bit?" Edward said, hoping Zephyriah wouldn't turn down the offer. If Zephyriah did, Edward would have to resort to plan b.

Zephyriah, if you choose not to take Edward up on his offer, let me know over PM, I need to discuss what Edward's plan b is so you can bunny it into your post.


Also, if anyone has a problem with this post, just PM me, and I'll fix it ASAP.
--------
People I'm waiting on.

Zephyriah
and, to a lesser extent,
Lavinian Pride

[Letho]

Letho knew a number of people that seemed to constantly be out for blood, angry boys that walked the world with a grudge against everybody and refused to man up, or men embittered by the hard knocks that life procured for them. Dan Lagh’ratham added a whole new, literal dimension to that expression. When Letho’s wound spouted the crimson life liquid, the deranged man did his utmost to collect as much of it as possible. Marshal thought that his adversary needed it to put some curse on him, some evil magical voodoo that required blood, but all Dan did was mutter something to himself and put the mysterious vial away. There was probably a reason for such an action, for his vehemence in general, some fine print that nobody was able to read, but Dan wasn’t keen on elaborating. And even if he were, the pace of the strife disallowed any kind of palavering, because even as the words were exchanged between the two, the battling continued.

The summoned colossus changed targets and Letho was relieved that he wasn’t on the far end of those claws. Dan seemed to have little trouble dealing with the beast, though. The pulverizing attack seemed to barely scathe him, serving only as a provocation of his belligerency. Once again he countered with some fancy acrobatics, proving that his agility was a fair rival for his brutal strength. Instead of the axe that tore a hole in Letho’s face just moments before, there was a humongous, almost comically large sword in his hands at the end, and the beast was no more than a nightmarish memory in the minds of the surviving combatants after its attack.

Letho wasn’t necessarily impressed by the size of the weapon, but his mind warned him to proceed with caution. It was quite clear that weight and bulk of the armaments meant little to the hands of his opponent; in his hands they acted as if they were as light as rapiers or daggers. But at the same time, his mind urged him to make his move. Against such a powerful foe and weaponry with long reach, being defensive was like trying to stop a sandstorm with your bare hands. So Letho took the initiative.

A mere second after the continent of fur and muscles was gone, the Marshal charged at the victorious Dan Lagh’ratham. It wasn’t an unhinged, reckless motion, but rather a calculated, almost graceful approach, closing in on the man’s flank. Letho’s sword cut low and shallow first, so shallow in fact that the tip of his blade made a zinging, horizontal arc almost a foot short of Dan’s flesh. It was an obvious fake, no more than a decoy meant to make his adversary recoil. The bastard sword continued to move with fluidity, a pair of hands leading it into a diagonal upwards follow-up aimed for the groin tendon. It was potentially deadly, but not a deathblow. No, Letho saved something special for the grand finale.

The conclusion came in a form of a thrust that came from above, aimed for the heart that Dan probably still had somewhere in his chest. The attack was simple, straightforward, almost predictable. The blade, however, was deceptive. Using the unique ability of the Vorpal Blade, Letho made it change shape in mid-strike, disrupting the coherence of the plain-looking metal momentarily. Instead of a straight blade following a straight trajectory, the sword metamorphosed in a shotel (http://www.oriental-arms.com/photos/items/62/001162/ph-0.jpg). The curve of the blade was meant to circumvent any kind of parry. The tip was aimed at the soft spot in Dan’s armor, just below his armpit, seeking passage to the man’s ribcage and the throbbing muscle beyond it.

The ever-changing pace of the battle was lost on the monotonous degeneration of the arena which by now claimed over two thirds of the pyramid. The darkness was shrinking the plain construct more and more with each second while gradually increasing the tremble that shook the swallowed foundations of it. The stone surfaces cracked more often under this increased force, opening holes in the ground that proffered a chance for a freefall to defeat and faux death. Stalwart footing wasn’t something that all could afford; it became the prerogative of those solid enough to cope with the constant trembling.

[Zephyriah]

Of all the things that could possibly happen within the confinement of this unpredictable, chaos plagued battle stage, I would’ve never expected that the lowly, physically weak Edward Judorne would be offering me assistance! Had the degradation of our surrounding atmosphere deteriorated his brain in the process as well? Had this mental malfunction been the sole cause behind him previously attacking me, and now even boldly stating that I’d be wise to accept his aid?

What insolence! So many images of the short fellow’s demise raced through my head with blinding speed! If the blood witnessed in my mind’s eye could be converted and poured out into this realm, it would’ve spanned the length of the ruined ziggurat and ran wildly down its stairs and declining slopes. Each finger that clutched my great sword was just a mere thought away from lifting the blade in such a way that Edward’s body would be severed in two clean, bloodied pieces of meat. But strangely, I refrained from enacting the short films of my brain, having thought of another plan.

“This feels like déjÃ* vu,” Tilting my head, I glanced down the battlefield pass the brunette woman and Edward, seeing if Ravenheart was still alive to help when the opportunity presented itself later. “I suppose you’re assistance……would be beneficial. You and I have faced many challenges and obstacles together. Why would this be any different?”

Casting a stern look over to the savage woman, I thought about the best way to proceed. This momentary break allowed me to catch my breath and regain a small portion of my endurance that I’d lost having put excess strain on my body with my last attack on the now deceased barbarian. The pain from my injury still sought to make sure that I did not forget its presence, but that was an inconvenience that I was just going to have to deal with for right now.

“At the rate that this pyramid is crumbling, chances are that I won’t have the opportunity to test my strength against Letho if I mess around with these two insignificant whelps. Yet Edward asking for a truce was perfect, although unexpected. He clearly needs me more than I need him, so I’ll play this little game for a little bit. But when the time is right…………”

Pondering the results stretched a grin across my face. “You should’ve died a long time ago woman. Quite frankly, I’m astonished that you’ve outlived some of the other more capable combatants. Perhaps it’s the luck of a foolish Dahlios. Hmph! You must really be related to Seth.” Grunting, I dashed as quickly as I could toward the female enemy, trying to ignore all discomfort that I was experiencing. Coming within several feet of her, the great sword was swung horizontally and then instantly followed with an upward diagonal swipe. My legs were still functioning well, so balance wasn’t a concern. Yet the dual blade strikes didn’t have a much velocity as I wouldn’t preferred, due to my ailments. Nevertheless, with the strength that I did have left, there was no reason why it wouldn’t be enough to take her down.

[Lavinian Pride]

Her skin weathered and aged, her body aging with each passing moment as she had long since used up her blood supply. She was heading for the afterlife one way or another, but still, had she any shreds of her former Self she would have recognized the threat that Albione presented. As he slashed at her he cut her cleanly in twain, her body hitting the ground. Were she mortal again, perhaps she would have stopped there.

But such was the curse of undeath.

Using what little energy was left in the dying body she reached forward, clawing to get at the new competitor. She wanted to feed, she had to feed. She would stop at nothing to do so. She reached out to grip Zephyriah's leg only to be caught in the arc of the diagonal slash. Her head neatly severed from its body. As soon as this occurred, the body burst into flames, and she was dead. Perhaps the monks would revive her later; perhaps they would leave such an unholy abomination to the grave. It did not matter, she was dead, and her part in this battle was over.

~*~

Kid looked worriedly over the pile of ashes. Sarah had been dead perhaps an hour or two while the monks considered their options. She meanwhile held the flask of blood prepared to shove it into her mouth as soon as she returned, if only to prevent her from rampaging in a blood lust. She remained still watching the ashes as the monk came in. He put a hand on her shoulder as he spoke softly, "You know child, the way you stand vigil over her remains, was she your mother?"

Kid shook her head and said softly, "My mother was killed when I was young. They usually do it when the parents are too old, so it breaks the children, makes them obedient."

The monk frowned before he said, "Then why is she so special to you?"

"She cared," Kid said simply as she turned and looked at the monk, "Could you please bring her back?"

The man nodded as he began the chant as he always had. Soon the body reformed itself, almost rising from the ashes. Kid waited a bit before the chest heaved into the air, as the spirit was returned to the body. As Sarah's eyes opened kid acted quickly, uncapping the flask. Before Sarah could begin moving Kid shoved the flask into her open mouth and tipped the flask pouring blood into the vampire's mouth. Sarah at first struggled, but upon tasting what she desired began to relax and enjoy the feeding, eventually taking the flask from Kid as she continued to drink.

The monk watched the scene quietly wondering just what drove this girl to be with such a monster. Still as he watched he realized perhaps there were some mysteries that would remain ever so. Turning to leave he sighed as he pondered the question of love and loyalty. Perhaps this is why he was merely a lowly member of his order. Still he doubted even his master could answer his questions on such a matter.

Sarah meanwhile had finished the flask and recapped it sighing as she licked her lips absently. She then looked at Kid before she sighed, "Perhaps I should train some more..."

"Why is that Sarah?" Kid asked softly.

"I'm weak, perhaps horribly so..." Sarah replied as she shook her head. Tossing the flask aside she shifted from the bed as she grabbed her satchel and gear she had left behind, before entering the fight. No fight against Ravenheart, not even a single drop of blood from what she had perceived as the inferior. No, she was weak, despite all the strength she supposedly purported.

[Edward Judorne]

Edward was feeling extremely tired and weak from rapid blood loss. That woman would have killed him if not for him convincing Zephyriah to help. Until now, Edward had been too busy fighting to assess his own wounds, but now that he had time, he realized just how bad off he was. Edward turned his attention towards the three foes other than Zephyriah that were left and spoke to Zephyriah quietly.

"You certainly proved me wrong, didn't you. I'm sure you can handle yourself... from here..." Edward's breathing became heavier as he spoke.

"I'm afraid... I'll have to settle... for fifth... place, but I'm not going... without... returning the favor..." The blood loss was getting to Edward, making it hard to speak. He had to keep the rest of what he wanted to say short.

"Fly... Zeph... If... They.. don't... survive... not... worth... your... time"

Edward stumbled away from Zephyriah and toward the other three. If he was correct, between Zephyriah's attacks and the darkness, the structure they were fighting on only needed a bit more convincing before it really started to break apart, and with his last ounce of strength, Edward was happy to try to provide it. When he was within a yard or so of the two fighting males, (Letho and Dan,) he carried his plan out.

Edward let out a tempest tantrum before falling to the floor, unconcious. Whether he was unconcious from using tempest tantrum or from blood loss was hard to say for certain. What is for sure was that the Tempest Tantrum was weaker than usual do to Edward's weakened state.

I'll let you guys decide whether Edward's final attack destroyed any of the floor. If it did, Edward fell thru into the darkness, If not, his unconcious body is still alive in the ring.

Also, I'm not sure where Witchblade is in relation to Letho and Dan right now, so the attack may not affect her.

Don't forget that even if nothing else happens, Edward's attack still sends electricity out in every direction (Think Spherical when I say every direction.)

Finally, I'll do my closing post when the winner is decided.

[Slayer of the Rot]

"Feh, too easy," rasped the jagged toothed Saraelian through his bizarrely twisted lips. That the Guardian had simply ran out of time on this plane certainly didn't register in the frenzied man's mind at the moment; he was perfectly content believing he had slaughtered it. The muscles in his face moved to smile, but the Lion's Rage amulet had already mutilated his face into a predator's point toothed grin. Seeming to revel in his victory for a few moments more, it appeared that he did not notice Letho as the Marshal charged him. Dan was too busy admiring his massive glassy black blade.

"Still here, great hero?" Dan's attention was upon the man at once when he was upon him, hopping backwards away from the short stroke. The tingling electric sensation of incredible strength seemed to leave him ignorant of the finer parts of battle, leaving him too blind to spot an apparent fake. The Saraelian's chest puffed as he arched his back, bringing the huge sword over his head. The stance he'd taken caused the second stroke to rake harmlessly across the armor he still wore, and a short, hard bark of laughter escaped his mangled mouth when Letho kept the assault up.

In his arrogance, he paused even, to wait to see the fruits of the marshal's labor, grinning at the useless hand and a half sword. It was nothing he couldn't swat aside. However, the shock was immediately apparent in his eyes as the blade changed in mid-swing altering it's trajectory. Dan's arms swept down, but already, the blade was punching through the vlince coat under his armor. It's widely curved point tore through tightly bunched muscle, and it felt like an invading icicle as his body tried to register the shock of being injured. Then, it cut into his heart, and at once, Dan became limp.

He slid away from Letho, the marshal's sword slipping out like a retreating snake, and with the wound gushing blade, dropped to his knees - and immediately sprang up, laughing. The enormous buster sword was gone, and in his hand was a simple combat knife, of the same dark gleaming metal. "Idiot," Dan spat, his voice still strange and rough, "have you never fought monsters before? I am not a human; I cannot be killed like one."

It was more or less posturing though. The wound wasn't fatal; there was little his body couldn't regenerate. However, it was something that was going to slow him down. The marshal had at least managed to cripple the beast, though if he'd manage to realize this as Dan lunged at him, jagged jaw cracked wide open in a battle cry, he had no clue. It was nearly more important to him than killing Letho, to let him know he'd crippled the former Audeamus ring leader.

Bits of broken stone clattered away from his feet as Dan's limbs lashed out, the left aiming for the marshal's shoulder, intent on holding him still. Even if he fumbled, he would instinctively try to snatch him again, like trying to snatch up a striking serpent. His right hand, clutching his knife, moved just as fast. The first blow aimed to rap his knuckles against Letho's side, hoping the very pressure behind the strike would shatter his ribs, even with his armor on. The second came slicing towards the marshal's throat, the blade aiming to carve an enormous wound, almost enough to decapitate him.

[Summary: Continued use of Lion's Rage Amulet, strength still Doubled.
Got stabbed right in the god damned heart.
Dismissed Bhidyate, summoned Combat Knife.
Attempt to grab Letho's shoulder to hold him still.
Aim a punch Letho's side.
Aim a slash across Letho's throat.]

[Letho]

The sea of black continued to rise around the pyramid until only the top platform remained, standing out like a deserted island on a moonless night. Death was claiming lives all around the battlefield, snatching combatants with ominous black arms and pulling them into the surrounding nothingness until only four were left standing. Life of Dan Lagh’ratham was supposed to be amongst the claimed. The brute was foolhardy, little more than a pretentious cockatrice showing off his feathers, so when Letho came at him, he put little thought into defending himself. The first two parts of Marshal’s combo did their job, setting his foe up for the final blow that tore through armor and flesh alike, eventually skewering the heart behind it. Dan went lifeless in an instant. No death shivers, no struggling, no questioning eyes looking up at his executor. Nothing. Just death that came with a whisper. Or at least, death that should’ve came.

Letho Ravenheart already half-turned from the kneeling corpse, quite content with the way he dealt with a massive threat such as Dan, when the man that was by all accounts supposed to be dead resurrected. There was no plausible explanation to be found for that, not even in the words that his rejuvenated foe launched. Letho had fought quite a number of both men and beasts and amongst that menagerie there was none that could survive such a blow. The heart was where it all began, where it all ended, the soft core of everything that was alive. Whoever could shrug off an attack at that part of him wasn’t a man, wasn’t even a carnal animal. He – or rather it – was an abomination, categorized in Letho’s mind somewhere between bloodsucking vampires and mindless wraiths. The fact that Dan wore a human mask meant nothing if the heart beneath it was obsolete, redundant, just another muscle in a body full of them.

There were words that the Marshal meant to spit right back at the face of his opponent, words that were supposed to give voice to his disgust at Dan’s despicable nature, but there was no time for them. If his adversary was driven by anger before the injury, he was consumed by it now, making the undying man take the matters up close and personal. Gone was the titanic blade that slew the furry beast, replaced by a weapon inferior in both range and lethality. It still didn’t stop Dan from coming at Letho with such vehemence and haste that the swordsman had no time to even put a sword between the two bodies. He took a step back instead, pushing off the grasping hand but his opponent repeated the motion, trapping his shoulder in an iron clutch. And even as those fingers dug into his flesh, a fist buried itself into his flank, smashing in a segment of the glass armor as if it was a mere window pane. The glass fragments perforated the skin, but they were a minor injury compared to the ribs that cracked and snapped before the might of Dan’s punch. The pain instinctively made Letho flinch and cover up the wound, but it was too little too late. More importantly, it made him lower his curved sword just enough to allow his foe’s follow up unhindered passage to his throat.

Luckily, fortune favored the righteous.

A wave of electricity swept over the pair, its tendrils crawling up their limbs like spiders made of lightning. It was just a minor shock, a jolt that both fighters shrugged off with little more than a second of repose and a painful wince. But that second was enough for Letho to drop his blade and trap Dan’s wrist with both of his hands. There was too much power in that blow to be stopped just like that, though, so the swordsman used the momentum of the strike, pulling it further sideways and downwards. This resulted in both of them losing footing and falling on the cracked stone, making a few rolls before they became static. And once they did, Letho wasn’t in a much better position than he was when the knife was coming to tear his throat apart. Dan Lagh’ratham was looming above him, all his weight bent on defeating those final couple of inches that separated the tip of his blade and the muscled throat of his opponent.

There weren’t many options left for the Marshal. Seconds separated him from death for seconds were all he had before he’d be overcome by Dan’s uncanny strength. He could already feel his muscles trembling, taut at their utmost and sending a clear signal that they were too weak to hold on. Up above, his executor peered down with a toothy grin, thirsty for the blood he was about to spill. Letho was beaten. Staring up at that face flushed with maddening anger, he knew it, and starting down at the injured visage below, Dan knew it as well. Without assistance, he’d be as dead as stone below them.

“Zephyriah!” the trapped swordsman managed to exclaim. He didn’t turn his head to look for the elf, couldn’t afford to lose focus on the simple task of holding on for just a moment longer. All he could afford was hope that his ally was close enough to hear him. “NOW would be a good time to prove your alliance!”

[Zephyriah]

The great adamantine blade developed a rhythm, having invaded the flesh of two enemies consecutively, thus forcibly removing them from amongst the living. The only remnant of their existence on this rapidly crumbling battlefield was their crimson life fluid that coated the sharp edge of my sword. The scent of my fallen victims blood gave off a peculiar smell, which amplified when gravity caused them to run down the length of the blade and mix together. However, the joy of having finally done away with the roaches of this bout conquered any displeasure I might’ve experienced.

Such elation only escalated upon observing Judorne sacrifice himself via a trump card maneuver that he’d clearly been saving for a dire moment. The electrical tendrils that I’d once utilized to strike the gigantic monstrosity were called forth again to guide the stray currents of Edward’s final attack into my blade. Each jolt was rather weak, which of course reflected the man that they’d stemmed from.

Coming within very close proximity of the now motionless prince of Sirvano, I stared down at his body with vile contempt. “Idiot! Who told you that you could compete with the titans!” Picking the small man up by the collar of his shirt, I violently tossed him down a decline of the broken ziggurat, watching as stalagmites manufactured from ruined sections of the pyramid ripped through his lifeless body as if it were merely paper.

Now, there were only three left, the strongest of the assembled warriors. I remembered the agreement that I’d formed with Letho, and upon hearing the Marshal call out to me from underneath the point of a dagger controlled by the powerful arm of Lagh’ratham, I immediately sprung into action, dashing to his aid.

“I will not allow anyone to stop me from getting my duel with Ravenheart!” Pain from my injuries ran throughout my body once again, making the excursion to the struggling two fighters a bear to deal with. But power still resided with me, and as I approached the entangled two, I pulled the great sword upward, preparing to sever the head of the monster Lagh’ratham. However, such luck was not bestowed upon me.

“What the…..!?” My arm wouldn’t move, but when I shifted my eyes toward my wrist, I saw that one of the ominous black tendrils had snagged it. With every bit of strength I had left I tried to break free of the strong grip, but it was to no avail. Another tentacle had joined its counterpart, latching onto my other wrist, swiftly lifting me off of the ground, swinging my body like a child swung a jump rope.

The desire to cling onto life prompted me to proceed in struggling, despite the futility of it all. I knew this was the end for me. There would be no victory parade after a triumphant defeat of the Coronian Marshal, nor would there be a resurrection of the Ablione name. Father’s greatness would not live through me. The heroic tales that parents told their children during bedtime would not feature the Ablione father and son pair. Instead, such a performance on my part would not even be remembered other than yet another competitor that fell victim to the dominant omnipotent clutches of Citadel death.

In order for me to reach the heights that my father had, I would need to scale many mountains, cross many blades, and sail many seas. The grandness of the task was overwhelming and discouraging, but I knew that giving up wasn’t an option at any time.

“My name shall one day be as great as yours father,” A smile crossed my face, as I closed my eyes and awaited my fate. The demonic tendrils continued spinning me until their foolishness ended. Two other tentacles joined in, with one grabbing both of my legs, and the other wrapping itself around my neck. The pressure was quickly felt around my throat the shallower my breaths became. “End it now! End it!!” I attempted to yell out, but my outcries sounded more like incoherent babbling.

Fortunately, the fiends seemed to be able to decipher my gargled speech. I began feeling muscles, sinews, bones, and skin rip and break until I………………

…………………………………

……….............

...........

.....

...

.

[Slayer of the Rot]

The ziggurat’s decomposition had sped up as more of the competitors were swallowed into the abyss, and Dan Lagh'ratham let out a hiss as he felt more of the stone swallowed up into the dark. That angry, thin sound escalated into a bellowing roar as Letho managed to find strength enough to seize his hand and push it away. The marshal forced his weight into the Saraelian as the remainder of the pyramid shook, and they went tumbling across the shuddering stone. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the black tendrils seizing the red skinned hybrid, and his frustrated roar gave way to a yell of triumph.

It was him and Letho at last. Hunter and prey.

The tangled two came to halt near the border of solid and nothing, and a tendril brushed against his cheek. Dan jerked away swiftly with a cry of anger. The clock was ticking, and the task needed to be finished before they were taken away in a tie. Beneath him, the marshal was breathing hard; he knew without reinforcements, the end was coming soon.

And the Saraelian knew it, too.

Dan sprang to his feet, his twisted grin becoming all the wider as he stared down at Letho. "Aww, isn't that just a shame? I was hoping to cut down that hybrid so I could see the hope fade from your eyes. But this is good enough for me! With this, she will be mine again! With this, the people will know to fear Dan Lagh'ratham, slayer of their great hero!" He threw his head back and laughed loudly. The laughter smacked of malice and triumph, of dark humor. Nothing could possibly make his pierced heart swell with greater happiness than seeing the fabled Letho Ravenheart broken at his feet.

"You want to see what happens to heroes, boy?" Dan laughed even louder and spread his arms as he felt invigorating power swell within him. Metal and cloth vanished from his body as his skin darkened to a dull, gray, cracked, and began to glow emerald. Glossy black horns erupted from his temples, and he looked down at Letho with burning green eyes. Broken stone, shivering on the shaking floor of the ziggurat rose and launched itself into one of his hands, solidifying into a spear. The illusion of enormous power was broken by a moment however, when his body shuddered with a harsh cough, blood spilling from his lips. The titanic strength was putting great strain on his wounded heart, even transformed. His grin returned though, and he raised the spear overhead.

"Too bad. You should have aimed for my neck. But it doesn't matter; vile pricks like me live forever!!!" Roaring with laughter, the Saraelian demon brought the spear down towards Letho's head.

[Summary: Continued use of Lion's Rage Amulet, strength still doubled (Exert/Lift force of 8 tons)
Entered Saraelian Form, strength doubled again
Aim two thrusts of the spear at Letho's head for the deathblow]

[Letho]

There was no help to be had. Like the rest of the competition, Zephyriah fell victim to the laws of the arena and was consumed by the animated darkness, leaving Letho with a crazed demon of a man and the sharp bite of pain that seemed to dig deeper into his flesh with each breath he took. This epic battle seemed to be over. With his ribs broken, his face torn and his muscles aching from the strain, even standing up was an impossible feat to achieve. The best that the Marshal could do was pushing himself backwards and away from Dan like a legless cripple, and at that point he wasn’t sure what ached more; his ribs or the pride bruised by the current position. Probably the pride. Unlike the physical wounds, the Citadel monks couldn’t heal that rotten feeling in his gut.

His foe seemed to have no such internal predicaments, other than his obvious lunacy. And why would he? His body was not stultified by the wounds that would’ve been an end of fiercest of beasts, but instead seemed to grow even stronger, as if it fed on the pain and anguish. Perhaps that was the fuel that enticed the metamorphosis that followed. With his skin graying to the color of steel, with his irises swallowed in the maddening white of his eyes, and with the devilish horns protruding from his skull, Dan Lagh’ratham became something that belonged in a nightmare, a boogeyman that shouldn’t have left the confines of the scary story for the gullible. And like all evil things that shouldn’t have been, he had a rant to go with his demented state.

“Vile pricks like me live forever!” he bawled as if the loudness of his voice would make the statement more true. That was pretty much all Letho heard of what was supposed to be the climactic speech of the victor and pretty much the only thing that mattered in the end. Because moments afterwards, while the words were still echoing in between the drum beat in Letho’s ears, Dan moved in for the kill. A greenish spear materialized in his hand and he brought it down with the fullness of his might. The Marshal managed to roll away from the initial strike, making the spear drill a hole in an already unsafe floor, but the follow up came too fast. It crashed against his chest, pushing through the armor by sheer force and puncturing the lung below.

Blood erupted from every orifice it could, the life liquid forced to find a way out of his body. His wounds, his nose, his ears, even his eyes seemed to bleed as he vomited out what felt like his soul contained in a gush of thick blood. And feeling the life leaving his body, Letho Ravenheart realized that this was more than just a defeat. This was destruction, a one-victim massacre. Not so long ago he could’ve stood against the likes of Dan as equal, but now he was vastly inferior, no more than a bothersome fly about to be swatted into oblivion. And he couldn’t live with that.

He put his body in motion again. Against the pain, against the blood loss, against all odds, Letho pushed himself up on his left elbow. His body was broken, weary to the point where he needed the full extent of his willpower just to keep up the rudimentary functions such as breathing and keeping his eyes open. But he dug deeper, somewhere beyond the limitations of the flesh and muscle and bone, somewhere where the laws of physics didn’t apply and where stubbornness and belief in yourself created that last bit of strength that you never knew you had. And it allowed him to properly conclude this battle.

“No…” he struggled to speak, what with the bloody goo dripping from his mouth and the fatigue knotting his tongue. “No, they do not. You just have to hit them harder than the rest.”

The words were spoken with such weakness and heaviness that they should’ve been the last sign of life from the Marshal. But they were but a prelude for the finale. Reaching out with his right hand, Letho retrieved the Lawmaker from its scabbard on his back, loading the bullet into the barrel with a flick of the wrist. The dehlar weapon was heavy, his muscles like jello, his vision blurred to the point where Dan was a blob of grey in the midst of the all-encompassing darkness. He could feel his arm shiver as cold sweat bathed his body. It was the dead man’s sweat, he knew, and it meant that firing time was already overdue. He steadied the gunblade the best he could and pulled the trigger.

He didn’t see the effect of his shot, couldn’t due to the fact that the recoil sent his body straight through the dilapidated floor and into the arms of blackness. For the briefest of moment there was pain, as if his entire body was being turned inside out like a worn glove, and then there was nothing. He was at peace.

***

Walking out of the Citadel wasn’t nearly as ceremonious as his entry and eyes that were on him weren’t nearly as impressed. They all expected to see The Great Letho in action, vanquishing his enemies with a swing of the Lawmaker and a cocksure grin on his face. Instead they witnessed the fall of one who was supposed to be untouchable, heroic. Godlike. “He ain’t so tough,” someone would whisper. “I could take him,” another added. Their words were like darts burying themselves into his back. Letho walked out of the Citadel at a hurried pace. Somewhere in Radasanth, in some random back alley that led from one nowhere to the next, his thoughtful walk was stopped in mid stride by a familiar voice.

“And where are you wandering off to, Letho?” He didn’t have to turn to know it was Myrhia behind him. Probably with her typically irresistible smile and eyes that wanted to melt their way into his soul. He didn’t want to see her now. He wanted to brood and contemplate his loss. He wanted to be alone. But she wouldn’t allow him. Walking towards him as light as if her feet weren’t touching the cobbles, she wrapped her arm around his elbow and restarted his walk. And for a long time, no words were spoken between the pair.

“I lost,” he finally said, as if admitting something that would forever put his name to shame, as if the admission would diminish him in her eyes as it did in the eyes of others.

“I know,” she replied without a pause. “What, you didn’t think that the news would reach me? The whole town is buzzing about the Great Letho Ravenheart fighting in the Citadel.” There was another pause, mostly due to the fact that he felt reluctant to say anything. So once again, she took the lead, feeling the heaviness on his shoulders. “So who did you fight?”

“Does it matter?” he replied, not certain where she was going with the question.

“Maybe. Were they strong?” Myrhia asked.

“They were pretty strong,” he admitted. He didn’t feel the need to elaborate on that and reveal the fact that Dan was pretty damn strong. Perhaps stronger than Letho had ever been.

“And did you put up a good fight? Did you give them a bit of ‘this’ and ‘that’?” she asked again, demonstrating a thrust and a slash with her free hand.

“Aye, I guess I did.”

“Then quit sulking. Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose. It’s just the way it is.”

It was the simple logic that he didn’t feel like opposing. He could try to explain to her all about the pride and the honor and the fact that Letho Ravenheart didn’t lose. A loss was not in his program, not in his vocabulary, not something his system accepted. But then she kissed him on the cheek and leaned a bit closer to him, and the storm clouds didn’t seem so gloomy anymore. After all, there was at least one person in whose eyes he didn’t lose respect.

[Taskmienster]

Pick up the sword, and fight the horde!


Take 2! So, I started reading this and was so into it I forgot what time it was most of the time. Though it wasn’t an overly amazing quest or an epic one on one fight between two great people, it was still very well done and captured my attention. I’m going to be leaving only a little bit of commentary here and there, but since the original which had more commentary was lost (stupid Microsoft and their crummy Vista) I’m forced to re-do this entire thing. I had only a little bit more to go when I lost the original, so I’m going to be doing this from memory. For this thread I will be doing a more ‘comparative judgment’ where your scores are based mostly against the other people in the thread. Since it is going to be receiving quest exp anyway, this should not be an issue… I hope.

Take that! It’s done…

Letho

Continuity 7.5
One of the better openings
Setting 6.5
Pacing 8
Dialogue 8
Action 8
Persona 7
Mechanics 7.75
Just a couple mistakes here and there
Technique 7.5
Clarity 8.5
Wild Card 8.25

Score | {Level} | (Post count)
[77 | {12} |(10)]


Storm Veritas

Continuity 7
Also had a rather good entrance and enough of a back story to understand the character.
Setting 6
Pacing 8
Dialogue 8.25
Action 8.25
Persona 7.5
Mechanics 8.5
Technique 7.5
Clarity 7.75
Wild Card 7.75

Score | {Level} | (Post count)
[76.5 |{9} |(5)]


Witchblade

Continuity 6
Setting 6
Pacing 7.75
Dialogue 7.5
Action 8
Persona 8
Mechanics 8.5
Technique 7.25
Clarity 8
Wild Card 7.5

Score | {Level} | (Post count)
[74.5 |{7} | (5)]


Edward Judorne

Continuity 5
Setting 6.75
Pacing 4.5
Dialogue 4
You tend to talk, waaaay too much in the middle of a battle.
Action 6.25
Persona 5
Mechanics 5.5
Please, PLEASE capitalize the beginning of every sentence and look over the post for spelling mistakes… there were multiple times when both happened.
Technique 4.75
Clarity 7
Wild Card 6

Score | Level | (Post count)
[54.75| {1} | (11)]


The Barbarian

Continuity 4.5
Setting 6
Pacing 6.5
Dialogue 7
Action 6.25
Persona 5.75
Mechanics 7.25
Technique 6
Clarity 8
Wild Card 6.75

Score | {Level} | (Post count)
[64|{2} | (6)]


Zephyriah

Continuity 8
Setting 8.5
Pacing 8
Dialogue 7.75
Action 8
Persona 7.5
Mechanics 8.25
Technique 8
Clarity 8.25
Wild Card 8.25

Score | {Level} | (Post count)
[80.5|{7} | (9)]


Karuka

Continuity 6.5
Setting 6.25
Pacing 7
Dialogue 6
Action 6.5
Persona 6
Mechanics 7.5
Technique 7
Clarity 8
Wild Card 7.5

Score | {Level} | (Post count)
[68.25|{7} | (7)]


The Writing Writer

Continuity 6
Setting 5.5
Pacing 7
Dialogue 6.5
Action 6
Persona 7
Mechanics 6.25
A couple times you misspelled words, and forgot to capitalize the beginning of one sentence.
Technique 6
Clarity 6
Wild Card 7

Score | {Level} | (Post count)
[63.25|{1} | (8)]


Lavinian Pride

Continuity 6
Setting 7
Pacing 6.75
Dialogue 7
Action 6
Persona 6.5
Mechanics 7.5
Technique 7
Clarity 8
Wild Card 7

Score | {Level} | (Post count)
[68.75|{4} | (8)]


Slayer of the Rot

Continuity 8.5
A little late to the party, but what a good storyline to join the fray!
Setting 7
Pacing 7
Dialogue 7.5
Action 7.5
Persona 7.5
Mechanics 8
Technique 8
Clarity 7.75
Wild Card 8

Score | {Level} | (Post count)
[76.75|{8} | (6)]

Rewards

Letho: 4450 exp |425 GP
Storm: 2625 exp |225 GP
Witchy: 2235 exp |200 GP
Edward: 1100 exp |210 GP
Zeph: 3500 exp |360 GP
TWW: 1100 exp |253 GP
The Barbarian: 1220 exp |192 GP
Karuka: 2410 exp |240 GP
Slayer: 2727 exp |275 GP
Lavinian Pride: 2050 exp | 265 GP

[Taskmienster]

Exp and Gp added

Lavinian Pride is now level 5!

Slayer of the Rot is now level 9!