Cavern Catastrophe (Open)

[Solomon]

The heat was unbearable. The broiling lake of lava slithered around the stem of the platform as it made its way through the mountain cavern. The fumes of brimstone, and the sulphur in the air formed a stench that was almost lethal to the body.

Wiping his hand across his forehead Solomon began to wonder why he had chosen such an environment in the first place. I want a challenge! He had said to the monk. I want to feel the pressure to win, and win quickly or perish in the attempt He shook the sweat off his hand and heard it sizzle as it touched the stone he stood upon. He was twenty feet up from this cesspool of molten rock, yet the heat was all trapped inside the cavern’s dome. He’d slowly cook from all of it.

He threw his gi top to the side of the stone platform where he stood. The weight of it had tripled from all the sweat it had absorbed. However, throwing it away did very little to cool him down. The heat conquered him nonetheless. He hoped an opponent would show up soon. If he had to wait too long he'd probably combust where he stood. He'd been given water to take into the arena, something he was very thankful for, yet only until his opponent arrived. Once they were ready he had to throw the bottle into the lake, and that is when the match would begin. Once the bottle went up in smoke, the timer was set and the platform would slowly crumble away as the lava began to rise. Rise and not stop until one of their bodies had been cast into it.

Taking another swig from the bottle Solomon closed his eyes a moment. If he wanted to win this fight he had to keep a clear mind and not let the tension defeat him. When you get too frantic or anxious you loose your calm and when you loose your calm you're open to anything they throw at you. Ironically, the phrase that came to Solomon's mind in the end was...

"You can win this. Just don't loose your cool."

[Stranger]

Bayd Sorren. How he wished he could use that name. But truth was not a luxury he could afford, he needed to keep himself out of the public’s eye, but he also needed to find some way in which he could test himself. Someway that he could train and make himself stronger. The most recent message from his brother had revealed that he wasn’t strong enough to follow the path of his brother, to tread the same steps.

It also hinted at a place that common people went to all the time, a place that every warm-blooded male was sure to go, a place where no one would take notice. It was a massive obsidian ziggurat that held such promise, its tremendous reputation and high traffic, its mysterious monks and wondrous environments. Even more it was in Corone, a place so diverse a god could walk down the street and no one would take notice.

As he walked through the streets he blended in perfectly, he looked like any farmer that came to the market to bring hawk their produce and bring in some spare gold. As he walked into the citadel he stood out a little more, but only a little. Coming up to one of the monks, he was addressed before he knew his own words. “Sir, we do not allow spectators. This is a place of battle, not a theatre for the weak.” It was insolent of the bald headed monk, who dressed in even plainer clothes than Bayd’s tan ones, to tell him what he had come there to do.

“I am here to battle. I do not care who, or where.” His voice was completely even, it showed none of his thoughts, to anyone else it would have seemed that it was Bayd who had spoken first, he was direct and too the point without elaboration. How the lower class tended to inflate their words, give themselves some greater measure of purpose or appearance of wealthy disdain for the common. He had purpose, he knew what it was, what others knew of it was irrelevant. “Very well, I have a man ready to fight as we speak, but you may want to consider the…”

Bayd cut him off before he could waste any more breathe, for he would hear of no conditions. “Take me to him.”

It was abnormal for people to be so uncaring about something that could possibly kill them, even if it was for only a moment. “Very well, it is no concern of mine. This way.” It was an afterthought, muttering “Sir,” as he walked down the dark hallway towards the large oaken door through which the battle was to commence. He couldn’t help but feel a bit of apprehension, it was the first time he was facing someone to the death, he just had to keep telling himself it was just like sparring with a partner. Only this time someone died.

As he passed through the door he came out on the other side into the boiler that was their arena. Behind him the door faded to darkness leaving just him and his opponent standing on a rough stone platform, plumes of steam rising from the molten river flowing beneath them. Focusing his own eyes of lava on his opponent, Bayd was unsure whether they would commence immediately or if this was one for introductions, but he wasn’t eager to kill. If it would get him to his brother, his own qualms meant nothing.

[Solomon]

Solomon looked onward as his challenger entered the area. There was a brief shimmer of light that broke the depression of the cavern as the door was opened. Solomon hoped he might get to feel a cool wind from the hallways before they began, yet it never came, and the light was snuffed out as the two were sealed away inside.

They were here for battle. Solomon stood strong and ready, as though he had been staring down his opponent for hours and awaited an attack. His breath came slowly in through his nose and filled his body with the same hot moisture that dominated the cave. There was something about this place, something about the feel of it all that made Solomon eager just to fight. The fires below seemed to kindle up a passion for battle that he hadn‘t felt since his training days. The sweat that glazed his body, and the hair stuck to his face reminded him of all the fierce fights he had endured in his days. He had always thought of his ability to fight as a gift to defend himself. Today it seemed it was just a desire to use it all.

As his opponent came away from the door and took his place on the arena, Solomon could see a similar fire in his eyes. He was just barely shorter than he was, and carried an iron staff with a sharp blade. Solomon continued to stare him down, to get an idea for his size and speed, what sort of trickery he might be hiding within himself. Something he had learned here in the Citadel was that people were hardly ever just as they appeared. This one had one of his eyes closed. Yet whatever the reason was Solomon did not know.

Solomon locked eyes with his opponent, still breathing deeply and in control of himself. He took in the last bit of warm water from the bottle he had been given, and drained away the little bit of energy it would give to him . He licked the moisture from his lips, yet found it only to be the salts of his own sweat.

"Did they tell you the rules?" Solomon said, holding the bottle out in front of him, preparing to toss it in. "This place falls apart. Lava will rise until one of us has been thrown into it. Last man standing wins. You hear?"

[Stranger]

“I hear.”

He hadn’t considered it before and it bothered him that it bothered him. He shouldn’t have been afraid of falling into the fire, it was just part of the surroundings, he should have been sure he would win and it would be his opponent who fell in the lava. He would win. It was an absolute, he couldn’t allow himself not to. He couldn’t allow it anymore than someone could allow themselves not to be bound by gravity.

“It won’t come to that. The molten rock shall have no place in your death.”

Drawing his blade, Bayd was ready for battle. He didn’t have time to postpone; the environment had been set for speed, do or die. He knew it, and his opponent knew it. The feel of the iron was comforting, it’d been textured for grip, its familiarity made him feel better with himself but something wasn’t right. His hands were sweaty; they felt like they were slipping from the bar and made his knuckles white. He seemed to be unable to control his body fully, his eyes darted to the edges of the platform and he was sweating profusely, and not because of the heat.

From years of training with military discipline and structure, Bayd knew better than to lose himself in the fight. If you were too eager your opponent would get the best of you, if you held back you lost the ability to attack. It was essential to remain patient, when an opportunity presented itself you took it, you created your advantage and you pressed it. To destroy an opponent with as little work and as much skill as possible was the warrior’s virtue, but men were not virtuous, they had to work for it.

His weapon was large, it gave him a great reach and power with its size but it lacked the balance of speed most weapons are designed to attain. It was taller than he was and weighed almost as much, it could crush men and dreams beneath its blade but it took the same from the sloppy. Walking cautiously at his opponent while keeping careful footing on the uneven stone, Bayd came within range and gave a swift twirl of the staff-like weapon, its edge whistling as it spun through the air. Continuing the twirl he brought it above his head and let it pull his body along in a controlled spin, his feet grinding against the floor, and shooting forward towards the enemy with the entire length of the blade spread out horizontally and flying at great speed and force, a path set to cleave his chest straight through.

It was one of his simplest and strongest attacks, he’d broken many of his foes weapons in training with this maneuver, each bore their own marks on the blade, deep trenches etched into its surface that spoke worlds of the agony weapons wrought upon each other. With luck, that agony would be shown to his enemies so that they may leave marks all their own.

[Solomon]

An answer came from the man. Solomon gave a short bow of his head, customary, just to show this was only a match. No hard feelings in the end. Each of them were aloud to beat the other into oblivion for the sole sake of learning something new about yourself and becoming even greater. It was wrong to hold remorse for something that happens here. If they beat you it was simply because they wanted it more than you. In the end you left the building without a scratch.

His thumb silently slid along the glassy neck of the bottle. The green flag of the match. Even the bottle had sweat upon it from the memory of the water it once held. Gently its beads rolled down the glass and poured out along the crevices between the bottle and the grip of Solomon’s fingers.

What are you waiting for Solomon? Get this show on the road!

Finally prepared for whatever the battle may hold Solomon shouted out with a huff of breath and tossed the bottled over his shoulder. He pushed away the thoughts of preparation, ignoring the clanking bottle as it skidded down the rocky walls behind him, and he brought his mind into the fight. He put himself into position, his hair flinging the droplets of sweat as he moved his left leg forward and further out to the left. He stood very low and strong in a forward stance as his foe made his own weapon ready.

The man brought the spiralling shaft of blade up over his head and came toward him with all the precision and control of an enclosing serpent. Whoever this was he was sealed in here with obviously knew his weapon well. Solomon was not dealing with just anyone. This man practised on his days off no doubt. He knew how to kill Solomon before he even took his first step toward him. This was a smart move on his behalf. Solomon could dive to the sides and circle around him, but if the man dipped the blade as Solomon did, he just might catch him with it. The stone was big enough, but was there enough distance between the two of them now for Solomon to make it.

"Impressive." Solomon muttered, the blade coming closer and closer. He didn't like dipping into his energy skills so early on in a battle, but he needed to push this man away. With the heavy staff over his head evading this attack wouldn't be that easy. Taking the energy he had gathered he let his eyes ignite in great blue lights and with a shout he fired two bolts of light energy at his enclosing opponent's abdomen, hoping the pain would knock him off balance.

“Fatal Vision…” He called out as beams blasted from his eyes.

[Stranger]

The first attack was always a risky move. It was fact, something that could not be helped. Many a man had fallen to its lure and Bayd was no different. He lead strong and put himself out there, now he would pay the price.

His opponent began to crouch low to the ground, preparing to go under the blade as it whistled past him harmlessly. It was a decent move, it put him in good position to counter, he didn’t need to worry about getting the shot in, he could take his time and go for the kill and it would still succeed. Victors were always bold, it was a quality that was shared among heroes and admired among the lay and cursed by the failed.

These were the outcomes that passed through Bayd’s head, his conventional and tactical mind that processed the soldier but not the man. He never took into account emotions, motivation, or in this case anything beside the normal. Before the blade even reached near his opponent, he had a blue blast of light fired into him just beneath the ribcage. His world shook with the excruciating pain; he could feel his skin shred and the muscle underneath twist in agony as the beam easily penetrated his clothing. It was the first time he’d received a real injury, something that wasn’t meant to teach but to undo. It was a brand new experience and it was etched upon his memory forever, every detail of it even the smell of his own burnt flesh and the metallic scent of blood.

More out of surprise than anything he loosened his grip on his weapon, he managed to regain his grip on it but he lost the power and somehow managed to turn it so that the best he could do would be to bludgeon his enemy with the flat of the blade. He knew he needed something more to beat his opponent, it just wouldn’t be enough.

Instinct more than anything caused his hurting body to take action. Knowing that a fiery death was still something that could be achieved, he recaptured the significant momentum of his still flailing weapon. Bringing his second hand back in front and grasping the hilt as close to the blade as possible he brought it back behind him and upwards and allowed his own body to be thrust forward instead. His foe appeared ready to move and he needed only deliver a powerful sliding kick to the man’s frame and he would surely be sent sprawling off the stone platform. If that didn’t work then they were back where they were currently.

His movements were costing him, a sharp gasp spurting from his mouth for each breath he took as his sides sent shooting pain throughout his torso, each heartbeat causing another small spray of blood to gurgle out of his side. Energy though it was, complete cauterization of the wound had been impossible.

The plan had been to defeat his opponent in a straight up fight, kicking him from the platform wasn’t something he’d normally consider a true victory, but a laser eye blasting foe wasn’t something he’d normally consider a true opponent.

[Solomon]

As the burst of power left Solomon's body his vision was suddenly blurry with colours. The blast never failed him. It was the simplest, yet most accurate energy skill his people passed on. His father was adamant about him learning it even before he could walk. He had been perfecting it for all his youth, and now that he was in his prime he had made it a force to be reckoned with.

The beams worked their magic, crashing into this stranger's body and writhing him with pain. Solomon stayed at the ready, preparing to move in and take down his opponent as he was stunned. leaning back in his crouched position he prepared to spring out at him with his left elbow raised in defense and his right arm punching hard in the chest. The elbow would stop him from coming down with his weapon while he landed the heavy blow, backed by his leaping force, and he would surly knock him to the floor.

When Solomon pushed himself forward, before his feet even left the ground, the man did something he did not expect. The beam injured him alright, but instead of falling back he used the sudden burst of feeling to thrust himself forward instead. It was as though the beam recoiled throughout his body and the force of it transferred into his arms and weapon.

Solomon didn't even have the time to think his regrets. He was lunging forwards as he saw the iron blade come down on his raised arm. The blade was turned on its side, to his fortune, yet as his arm pushed into it, the edge found his flesh and carved down to the top of his wrist. His punch lost its intensity as the pain sent a wave throughout his body. He landed heavily on his knees. The hand that had been used to punch now snatched at the iron shaft and he pulled his arm from the sword.

He was at his opponents feet. If he could get control of his foe's weapon he might be able to take him out from this position without getting another slit in his skin.

[Stranger]

The sword-staff was a dangerous weapon. Its size and purpose made it deadly no matter who wielded it, falling over it could cleave a man in two. As much as he wished to do that to his opponent and keep his weapon he had little choice, Bayd was outmatched and needed to act fast. It could not be allowed for his weapon to fall into enemy hands.

His initial swing had been interrupted and he’d tried to recover it to his advantage, but only managed to graze his foe for little consequence, enabling his foe to grapple at his weapon. The man had surprising strength; he seemed to pull with a great deal more strength than a man of his size should. It was an impossible thing, he was trained as warrior and knew the value of a weapon. He couldn’t allow himself to be disarmed.

“I won’t. I won’t lose. Not this way.”

Out of sheer determination and adrenaline, he almost felt like he was winning the metallic tug-of-war, it was a fleeting inspiring moment that passed without realization. His feet slid over the stone floor slowly, each second giving more ground, his opponent forcing him towards the edge. Just past the edge plumes of steam were rising out of the fiery liquid that was coming closer and closer to overcoming the platform, once it did there would be no winner, only two dark smoke clouds would remain.

If they kept this up the fire would undoubtedly consume them, their flesh catching fire purely from proximity, their flesh would boil and combust and they would feel every bit of it. There was no choice left to him, and so Bayd released his weapon and quickly backed away, the farther he was from the edge and his opponent, the better. There was no plan, no method for attacking, only the fear of scorching heat.

There was only one possibility left. He was wounded, he was disarmed, and his foe wasn’t. The man was stronger than he was, had his weapon, and had special abilities. It all lead to one obvious outcome. “Finish it.”

[Solomon]

The iron was getting warmer and warmer as the molten currents rose beneath them. Solomon's right fist clasped the metal and he pulled the weapon downwards, just under his arm. Solomon could tell by the look in the man's eyes he was surprised at Solomon's strength. Solomon's size alone would give the impression of great strength, yet he carried even more than the eye would assume. It was his proud race he could thank for that. The Xry’s always practised great strength through the conservation of bodily energy. Similar to how they used light energy as a weapon.

He locked eyes with his foe once more. This time measuring his power of determination. How long could he keep up the fight for his weapon? How badly did he need it? The was a sudden tension between them as the stranger pulled back with all his might. The heat under him, and the pain in his arm had Solomon panting aloud to disarm the man. He wasn't ready to give it up. If he did the man would surely cleave him from this position. Solomon countered with his own might, a feeling of victory coming over him in a grin as he did so.

You always have strength in reserve. His father's lessons played through his mind. When you run out of strength, you can dip into another passion, or feeling, or even take the pain given to you and force it out as energy. You always have a little bit of strength left. So long as there is breath in your body.

With the grin of victory still on his face Solomon yanked his body back and pulled on the weapon. His adversary had had enough. He released his prized weapon and escaped from the edge where the lava climbed the stones below them. Quickly he escape to the opposite end of the stone in defeat.

Solomon stood up slowly. His arm dribbling with the blood from his injury. The salt from his body found its way into the exposed tissues and gave him a nasty sting. He rewrapped his hand around the iron bar where he could grip it steadily. The fray and increasing heat left him short for breath. He looked across the stone to his opponent, holding his weapon and thinking about his wounded arm. There was a look in the stranger's eye that seemed different that before. He was not afraid of Solomon, he was not hiding a swelling temper, but there was something under his skin that bothered him. Although Solomon couldn't place it with his finger, he had an idea what might bother him.

There was a great feeling that coursed through a person when they were winning. It was a feeling of reassurance, it kept you patient, and it 'kept your cool' so to speak. That was how Solomon felt right now. He felt as though the victory for him was within arms reach. Yet with each feeling of victory there was the feeling of loss as well. Perhaps that is what he saw in his opponent. The counter to his feeling. It was not anger or fear, but perhaps anxiety. When you know you're being outmatched, you can't help but feel a little helpless. Everything you do is made in vain, and sooner or later you begin to realize that the enemy has an advantage over you. In this case, Solomon had this man's primary weapon. A loss he most certainly would feel.

Or so it was guessed. Solomon could only assume this was the case based on how he felt when put up against someone who was beating him and showed strength to spare. It was aggravating. Probably the best way to put it. How much fun would it be for Solomon to bully him throughout the match, then force him off the platform? Where would the fight be in that? You never grow as a warrior unless you feel the need to go beyond yourself. Only when faced with a grand challenge would you feel like that.

"You cut me." Solomon held up his bleeding arm to his opponent. He threw his forehead to either side to fling the hair out of his vision. "Your strong. I'm enjoying this!" Solomon cast the weapon across the stone and let it slide along to his adversaries feet. He wanted to beat his opponent alright, but cutting him down with his own weapon was bulling, showing off even.

As he stood, waiting for the next move, the lava gurgled up and burst out like a loud belch just behind him. The platform quaked as a section of stone was devoured, sending Solomon diving forwards and to the right to escape it.

[Stranger]

He watched, watched with agony, the slow movements of his opponent as he prepared to slay Bayd. He readjusted the weapon in his hand, he wasn’t being outright, he was taking his time preparing to kill. Bayd was defenseless, he should have known better than to have a single weapon. Always have a backup plan. Always. It was one of the first lessons his father taught them, the ways of a warrior. Armed to the teeth and carrying a hundred times your weight in armor and slaying foes without mercy. Of course, Bayd decided to be rational and utilitarian, bringing only his main weapon and traveling light. All of his decisions came back to him the end, this time it was for the worse.

To his surprise, his foe threw back the weapon, the metal grating noisily against the stone as it clattered to his feet. Looking down on it, his face revealed his obvious surprise, his face agape in frozen confusion. And then it dawned on him. His foe was playing with him, proving just how much better he was. He would give the weapon back and then beat him down, then let him have another chance, and another, and another. When he tired of Bayd, he would simply cast him into the fire. It was a cruel thing to do, but Bayd was glad for the second chance nonetheless.

Grabbing the weapon quickly, Bayd took his feet and got back into fighting stance. He watched as his opponents footing gave way, consumed by the lava, and he spotted his chance. His foe was stronger than he was and he needed something, he’d failed to kill in an outright fight and he wouldn’t fail twice, he needed something to give him an edge, or take the edge from his opponent. This edge was his opponents dodge.

Placing the blade over the top of his left arm, he moved at his opponent with the blade sticking towards him almost like a giant lance, and Bayd ducked his right shoulder back and lunged forward with his left thrusting the weapon towards his foe and down, simultaneously pressing vertically against the absolute bottom of the hilt with his right hand. It wasn’t a common maneuver and it was difficult to do, but when it was executed precisely it was beyond deadly. The blade was stabbed low to the ground and would be brought in a sweeping upward motion that could split a horse, often rending the enemy and sending their pieces sailing through the air away from the attacker.

Given the incredible difficulty of the attack, Bayd letting the blade slip slightly so it wasn’t precisely lined up with the swinging angle wasn’t a very bad mistake, if nothing else the force he put into it would hurt.

[Solomon]

Solomon landed roughly. The stone itself was as hot as a frying pan against his bare skin. The wound on his arm burned against the stone and sputtered out blood, the only thing a wound would ever do. The pain of it shook Solomon as he tried to get up, but the heat of the stone was too frightening to fall back down.

Solomon was propped up on his knees when he heard the stranger's footsteps coming for him. The sound of it alone made Solomon's heart seize up in fear. The man had his weapon. Solomon was on his knees. He had hoped the man would at least allow him to get up, but it was apparent the man wanted him dead. That was the point. Defeat your foe and escape the fire below. That was how you won this match.

Solomon just barely got to turn his head before the sound became the attack. The blade swooped up at him like the scythe of Death himself, and although Solomon's agility was superior to his opponent's he did not have enough time to get away.

The tip of the blade dug into Solomon's lower chest and made a rip in his flesh up to his collar bone. As the force pushed him back the blade just missed his neck, but nicked him on the chinbone and cut him once more. He fell backwards. The blood seeping out of his chest and chin and the open flesh searing in the heat. His bones were now exposed to his foe. A victory many of his opponents had never been able to gloat over.

He got me... Solomon's voice echoed in his mind. I was still down…

Never expect mercy from an opponent. His father had said to him after a late night sparing match. Whether in training or in life or death matters. The fight goes to the man who wants to win.

Then why should you show an opponent mercy? Solomon had asked him, rather confused by the justice of fighting.

Because if you die, you'll die with honour.

"But I don't want to die." Solomon whispered aloud what he had said to his father. The attack had done it. He fell backwards from the stone, tumbling over the edge. In a feeble attempt he gripped the broiling stone. His hands clawing at it as though it was his only chance at life. His wound screamed at him to let go and end all the pain. His boots dripped away as he failed the struggle to keep them away from the inferno. Why didn't he just let go? This was only the Citadel, you couldn't die in this place. Why not end the misery?

I want to win Solomon thought, his mind nearly growling the words as he struggled on the edge of the platform. Quivering with the pain he stopped himself from falling but that was it.

"I want... To... Win..."

[Stranger]

Bayd saw with joy as his attack struck, it wasn’t the flawless finisher he had hoped, but it had landed. By a master’s standards the attack was terribly sloppy, its execution poor, and it lacked in many areas. But Bayd wasn’t a master, and for his skill it was pretty good, he’d cut his opponent deep across the chest right down to the bone and even sliced his chin. As suspected, the attack managed to push his foe away and sending him sailing off the platform.

At least, it looked like he’d gone off the platform. Striding across the heated stone slowly, listening to the hiss of his blood boiling as it dripped from his side onto the superheated stone, Bayd was dismayed by the sheer tenacity of his opponent. He’d put his all into that attack, the man should have been split in two or been sent sailing out into the bubbling river of lava, but he still managed to cling on. If the man regained his footing it would surely be over, Bayd tried too hard in his last maneuver, the wound to his side had been slowly clotting but his actions tore it open and stretched it, made it even worse than before.

Approaching the edge, there was a choice to be made. He could end this. He could simply strike the man’s arms and let him plunge to his death, this course was the one that he must take. People came to the Citadel to win, they came there to fight and attain victory, they didn’t come there to give second chances or be dutiful and virtuous. He could see his foe, struggling with all his might to keep himself on the edge, to not let him give into the rising fires.

Bringing the blade to about waist height, Bayd wasn’t in the best condition but he knew that he could do this with little trouble. Turning it sideways, he gripped the hilt firmly and began to lower it towards his opponent. As the blade neared, he slowed within a foot of contact, and the blade shook, but just for a moment. You took the high road that I cannot, for that I am sorry.

[Solomon]

"I want to win..." Solomon's words trembled in his throat, his chest writhing with every breath. The fires below were so intense his heavy boots were now a boiling mess dribbling off his feet, which he struggled to keep away from the fire. Every time he tried to get his feet up his arm and his chest could not handle the pressure. This was it. He had failed to achieve victory.

No matter how much he convinced himself he wanted to win, perhaps he could not in the end. Maybe, despite all his training and all he had learned in his many years, maybe he was not good enough for battle. He could tell himself he wanted to win, he could force himself to want it, but did he really mean it? To what ends would he go to achieve this victory? Would he let his foe overcome him for the sake of a noble death? Or would he fight without relent, until his body had turned to dust.

What was the answer? What makes a fighter perfect?

The heat, the pain, and his opponent had all gotten to him. Solomon watched the stranger, who's name he hadn't even known, ready his blade in his hands. Solomon's struggle was fruitless. Even if he tried to get back up, he'd not even make it halfway before he was split in two by the blade. He couldn't trip him, or disarm him from here for his arms were already in use. They were the only things keeping him alive.

Then it struck Solomon. He didn't waste a minute after the thought had come, and immediately he gathered the power his body still retained. The energy flow that built up his very being. His will power, his spirit, his soul itself. He was still alive, and so he was still able to fight his opponent. That's how he was trained, that’s how he would fight. Never give up. If your opponent had to win, they'd have to kill you. Do not let them kill you! If there was breath in your body, there was still strength enough. Perhaps Solomon wouldn't leave with his life, but maybe his opponent wouldn't either.

Solomon's energy glowed inside him in all his pain and rage. His adversary stood right before him, and lowered his weapon for the final blow. He was about to learn a lesson of the Xry's. Never get close to a Xry when they're facing the end. You may not live to tell the tale.

As his foe stopped his blade, right before Solomon, he shouted with all that was in him and saw nothing but tainted blue. The Fatal Vision attack, what he had started out with now ended just as well. He hollered from deep inside him as the fury poured out through his eyes, pointed directly at the man who had reduced him to such a state. His body grew cold as the powers left him, and the energy that had been keeping his feet out of the lava was gone.

Still firing at his opponent, not stopping until everything was gone, his feet burned away in the lava. Solomon's hollers became shrieks of pain and his beams turned away as he fell back and into the abyss of flame. There was a moment of unreal pain, all around Solomon, as the lava ultimately destroyed him.

How can they fit me back together? Solomon thought as his energy became still, in the solace of his death. There's nothing left of me. His own voice became silent, and he sank down in stillness and in death.

Isn't there? His inner mind spoke to him. Think again! It took Solomon a moment, after hearing the voice, to figure out what had happened. When he realized he still had the ability to ‘think‘ he knew he was not dead. In fact, he could feel his body, it was all still there in one piece. The lava wasn't hot where he was, it was nice and cool.

Solomon opened his eyes, only to find himself surrounded by cool waters. Somehow he had fallen through the lava and landed in this water, which seemed to actually nourished his wounds as he floated there. There was a sound behind him, and Solomon turned to see the Monk he had spoken to, watching him through a large glass window. He bowed his head to Solomon and pointed to a patch of light just before him. This was the exit to the arena. The match was over and he had lost, but MAN did he feel good about it.

As Solomon swam on toward the light he continued to think. He hadn't given up the fight. He fought the man to his own ending, not letting an ounce of strength remain in his body. Like the racer that crosses the finish line, then collapses on the ground in proud agony. Whether he won or lost didn’t matter at this point. He had done the very best, and not betrayed his morals to do it. He may have lost the fight, but he didn't lose himself to the fight. Perhaps that's what his father was trying to teach him all those years.

[Stranger]

Just as the final strike that would cast off his foe to the molten rock was about to strike, his foe gave everything he had. From his eyes bright blue beams shot forth, the same attack that had wounded him earlier. His opponents aim had been immaculate, how could not be when he had only to see his target for precision, and the blue beams struck Bayd square in the chest. The beam lasted much longer this time, it wasn’t a sudden rapid piercing that the first had been, no this was worse. The beams burned through his chest, much larger beams than before, and they seemed to burrow through his flesh and caused extreme pain.

He first heard the shouts of his foe, the man exerted all of his energy into this attack and would be utterly spent, and his foe fell into the lava and was slowly incinerated alive his shouts turned to screams of pain. The sound filled his ears, whether they where his foes or his own, Bayd did not know. His opponent fell backwards, the beams left their place and slid up his shoulder and into the air just before stopping, his torn shirt sliding off his bloody chest where the beams cut it. When all of his foes body had gone from sight, Bayd knew it was not he that screamed. His mouth had been agape in a silent scream of his own, paralyzed by the pain. Finally exhaling what he could, his eyes widened in surprise as a thick trail of black smoke left his mouth. When he tried to inhale, a new and greater fear gripped him. His burnt chest heaved and convulsed as he tried to gain some miniscule breath to keep going, the fear far outweighing the pain.

In front of him a door once again appeared, just as he had entered, and he struggled through it knowing he could live on the other side. Passing through the door he was once again in his room, accompanied by a monk in brown as well as two in blue robes. The ones in blue immediately began to heal him, holding their hands towards them as they magically rebuilt and repaired their bodies. Although he was extremely relieved to breathe again, he did not fail to notice the symbols on their hands although the meanings escaped him.

Walking out of the citadel, Bayd Sorren now knew the true reason he had been sent there. His brother hadn’t meant he needed to be taught more, it meant that he needed to change. The life he was trying to live wasn’t the one he was made for, to follow his brother he would need to kill without mercy, without hesitation, he would need to be more diligent and more ruthless, there was no room for mistakes and the man he fought wasn’t as strong as the men he would need to fight to rescue his brother and that man had nearly killed him. True, he had one the match, but had it not been in the citadel with healers nearby his quest would have come to a sudden and pointless end, and that was something he couldn’t allow himself to do.

[INDK]

I’m really pleased by the way that both of you worked on this climax. You guys had much better interplay with each other than I’ve seen in threads with vets who have RPed with each other before. For an open thread, I think you both deserve special kudos.

It’s a tie! Ties are like kissing your sister, only with getting EXP

Solomon

Total Score= 59 This ended up being a bit lower than I would have anticipated when I started reading it. I think this was some good work. Expect 60s and 70s soon.

Introduction – 5 This was a relatively generic introduction, which doesn’t always end up bad, but if you’re not going to tease an interesting plot, you have to tease something else that is going to make your thread interesting. A provocative setting, or perhaps even a promise to test out some unique strategy. Perhaps you would want to find some way to start halfway into action. You did a good job here on the plausibility aspects, but I just really didn’t feel your character’s tension. If you had elaborated on that, it may have strengthened your introduction as well.

Setting – 5 The setting was creative, but I would have liked to see more interaction with it outside of the climax.

Strategy – 4 My problem here was that your battle strategy seemed very generic. Given the setting, you could and should have been much more creative.

Dialogue – 6 You need to work on having dialogue that is purposeful. Saying nothing is better than saying something irrelevant. This score is not a count of how many good clichés you throw in, but more than that. Your body language is great. If you’re saying things that way, you don’t need to be verbal, lest you feel you’re not explicit enough.

Character – 6 Your showing of character here was mostly centred around the climax. That wasn’t a problem, given this thread, however, if you had planned to show off how honorable your character was here, something earlier that revealed how honorable he was might have helped. In the middle of a battle, I wouldn’t want you to go all Freudian on me, I could care less what he feels about girls who broke his heart, but there are ways you can use the basic construction of your character to add drama to the climax.

Rising Action – 6.5 You did well here. This battle took a toll on Solomon, and you portrayed him very realistically, in a way that I wanted to root for him. Well done.

Climax – 7 Quite possibly the strongest part of the thread.

Conclusion – 6.5 The dialogue in the conclusion struck me as a bit off, but otherwise really well done. The way you played this off the climax was great.

Writing Style – 7 I don’t really have too many problems here. You can take more risks and try new things. Your basics are very solid.

Wild Card – 6 This was fun. You showed some real flashes here that suggest you can be a much better than average writer. Keep it up.

Stranger

Total Score- 59

Introduction – 6 I think you did a really good job here in introducing your character. You had a very fine line to walk here, because you had to introduce your character to the reason, while maintaining his mysterious motif. It was provocative enough I wanted to read more to learn about your character. However, you could have done a better job with the setting.

Setting – 4 Merely telling me what the setting was isn’t enough, especially when I have that from your partner. In a battle, I look for different things from the person who arrives in the setting when compared to the person who makes the setting. Since I have a basic idea of what the setting is from your opponent’s post, I don’t need you to regurgitate it. Perhaps you could have worked a bit more on subjective aspects of the setting. You walk into a place covered with lava and say “ho hum, now that’s a nice place?”

Strategy – 6 I liked the way you tied character and setting together.

Dialogue – 6 I liked the way the dialogue changed here from grandiose to few words as the battle progressed.

Character – 6 See strategy. I also felt your character was very well put together. Your work in the climax was also quite strong.

Rising Action – 5 This flowed along pretty well. You were judicious of the information you offered. It was always informative and never long winded.

Climax – 7 Really good work by both of you.

Conclusion – 6.5 See comments on Solomon’s conclusion.

Writing Style – 6.5 Normally, I would have given you a seven here, but I felt you were a bit weaker than Solomon and I wanted the score to reflect that. You both write clearly, he just did a much better job of infusing his writing with tension.

Wild Card – 6 I like your writing as well. You guys both seem like you’d be fun to RP with.

Spoils=

You each get 436 EXP + 100 Bonus EXP and 100 GP
So…

Solomon receives 536 EXP and 100 GP
Stranger receives 536 EXP and 100 GP.

[Thoracis]

Rewards Added!