Some Enchanted Evening: Madison Freebird vs. "Nienna Ar'fiel"

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Boom!

Crackle!

P-p-p-p-pop-pop-pop!

The pitch black night of the carnival was lit ablaze with a fireworks show. Dazzling shades of bright white burst across the sky in a blanket of intricate spheres and patters. Just about every ghost in the carnival stood mesmerized, each explosion drawing out a wave of oooh's and aaah's from the huddled spirits.

Sizzle...

Ka-boom!

Shhhhhh.... Crackle! Pop!

This would've been far more interesting had this place been in color.

I was sprawled on top of one of the many game stands that lined the midway, the cold metal roof chilling my skin through my thin vlince dress. My hands were locked behind my head as I gazed upwards at the fireworks, my imagination working overtime to translate the whites and light grays into real world colors. I had a lot of memories to work with--once a year, when my parents had an odd (read: compassionate) mood about them, they would take us into the capital city to see the spectacular fireworks show held on the anniversary of the day that Radasanth the Savior drove the demons out of what was then known as Teria. Now, that was what I call a show: Thousands of the entertaining explosives were set up and set off in such a manner that it was damn near an art form the way they danced across the Coronian sky.

So, as you could probably guess, I was a bit disappointed with this rather weak performance. But the ghosts didn't really seem to care--it was still something to them, at least.

Of course, my presence at the carnival meant that I had a battle to conduct. Nienna Ar'fiel, the notice from the Dajas Pagoda said. I had to guess that it was a challenger of Elven descent, given the apostrophe inserted randomly in the last name. It would be interesting to fight something that wasn't human or a furry for once.

Everyone knew that elves were better than humans at damn near everything. Faster, stronger, more intelligent, magically adept... Finally, a real challenge! Someone who could usurp me as a Dajas Pagoda Warrior, so I don't have to be at those fucking monks' beck and call whenever someone needs to get their rocks off via physical beat down.

Then, sadly, I remembered my win/loss record. Hey, I can dream of freedom, can't I?

The sharp thundering of the show echoed through my head as I closed my eyes and stretched out on the slanted tin roof of the rifle range--my favorite spot in the carnival aside from the bench at the end of the midway. Even if I wanted to lose, I still had to give this fight my all. I have a reputation to uphold as a Warrior. I am one of Althanas' elite combatants (for some strange reason), and I had to keep that image until the bitter end.

I chuckled slightly to myself as I imagined my opponent swaggering through the portal then immediately frying my scrawny ass with some sort of overpowered elemental spell. Or, perhaps they'd be some sort of mental hack, forcing me to impale my damascus play things into my heart and throat.

That would be an interesting story to tell at the bar later tonight: "Hey, want to hear about how I killed myself and lost my job? Yes, it happened in that order."

A small, bemused smile cracked my black lips as I waited patiently for the monks' portal to drop Nina or whatever-their-name-is into the carnival.

[Liquid Ice]

I couldn’t tell you why I was there. I didn’t really know what possessed me to step into that odd little building. Daja’s Pagoda, they called it. I wasn’t a stranger to commercial fighting, prize fighting, whatever you want to call it. Ashamed as I am to admit it, I did a little of that of my own while I was stuck in that “Facility for Personality Correction”. It had been little more than a prison for undesirables and sometimes the warden had us fight for his amusement. Winner got some trivial personal comfort. Losers got beaten unconscious by the guards and left in solitary for a week. A faint shudder made its way down my backbone at those memories but I did my best to keep it from showing. I hated prize fighting. I’d nearly vomited all over Blood Fox when I’d realized what spectator sport he was amusing himself with. Bad enough to be forced to fight, but to fight in that muck had to be unbearable.

I think it might have been guilt. Or shame. It had actually been a while since I’d killed anyone. Kivan and Drost had gone down easily enough. Vergo had given me some trouble, though. More trouble than an old spacer captain should have. I hadn’t been keeping up my training since I’d been expelled from HUNTER. Was I going soft? Was I… weak? To be weak was worse than death. Maybe it had been fear that had driven me to follow the rumors of a fighting circuit. I had been expecting something more like a dirt circle and jeering crowds. Seeing a somewhat sober building and warriors waiting patiently, treating each other with at least a modicum of respect had been unnerving. I’d paid my money, chosen a name from the list at random. I’d waited. I was shown a door.

As I stepped through the first thing I noticed was the total absence of color. I blinked several times to assure myself it wasn’t my eyes, brain or contacts that was misinterpreted things. When the colors didn’t return I accepted that there simply were none and began to look around for my enemy. I saw several figures standing around in what appeared to be civilian clothing. I could somehow see through them. I told myself this wasn’t unnerving. They were all looking up at something and I had just started to glance up to see what had their attention when an explosion of white light above sent me diving behind the nearest of the flimsy buildings that seemed to be set up around in rows. I pressed my back to the wall, which actually gave with the pressure and the whole thing wobbled precariously. I remained perfectly still, watching the translucent spectators.

None of them made a move to initiate contact, so I assumed none of them were my enemy. Since no one was charging in with sword upraised, I allowed myself a moment to prepare for combat. I rose to my feet, first unfastening my bulky cloak and letting it fall to the ground. I waited a moment to make sure I wasn’t ambushed, flinching at another airborne explosion of light. When nothing happened I began unfastening the buttons of Kivan’s shirt. I had no intentions of fighting in such ill fitting clothing. Especially not since even a six hour swim in salt water couldn’t seem to get the man’s smell out of the garment. The last thing I wanted was to lose an organized fight because I was distracted by the smell of a dead man. Once the silk cloth fell from my shoulders I unbuttoned the breeches and allowed them to fall as well. Dressed now only in the familiar HUNTER uniform, a form fitting coverall that ran from toe to neck, tight fitting black gloves and snug thigh-high black boots, I took a long step away from the pile of discarded cloth, keeping a wary eye out for my opponent.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Over the din of the fireworks, I didn't even know that the portal had already dropped off my opponent. Despite having seen better shows, I couldn't help but to lie on the roof of the game stall and watch the explosions dance across the nighttime sky. A sudden rocking of the poorly-built shack brought me back to my senses. "What the fuck?" I quickly sat up, disturbed by the movement. Carefully, I moved to one side, glancing downward to see what caused the disturbance. Nothing was there except the crates I used to climb up here. I crawled to the other side, seeing nothing but bland, gray dirt and a few pieces of garbage illuminated by another explosion overhead.

As I moved to the back side, I could hear the faint ruffling of clothes as they hit the ground. Fine place to go streaking, I thought to myself as I peeked over the edge. The first thing that I noticed was that the person was solid, living... Nienna Ar'fiel. She was seemingly unaware of my presence, preoccupied with discarding some overly baggy clothing that looked like they were designed more for men. I could've sent my wire out, wrap it around her scrawny little neck, strangled her until the monks saw fit to pull her out, and call it a day before the fireworks were over with.

A cruel smile faded from my lips as I decided against that course of action. Partly because it wasn't deemed fair in most circles, but the main reason was I wanted to see her struggle. I wanted to see the look on her face as I slowly drained the fires of existence from her eyes. I wanted to hear her plead with me, to get down on her knees and beg for her life.

As silently as I possibly could have--not that it mattered with the thundering explosions going off ever other second--I descended from the room, climbing down the same way I went up. Moving to the backside of the booth, I kept to the shadows as I watched the woman undress. Her hair was worn short and dark; and as I suspected, two sharp, pointy ears were jutting out of the sides of her head. She was a few inches taller than me; her body slender but not overly thin. Her skin was as white as snow. However, her clothes struck me as odd. It was like some sort of body suit that covered her from neck to toe. The only other two articles were a pair of thigh-high boots and a pair of gloves.

And people say that I'm not fashionable.

Nienna moved away from the pile of clothes on the ground, stepping towards the carousel that stood a short distance away. Her hair bobbed and swayed slightly as she started looking around the carnival, presumably for me.

Once again, I could've killed her right then and there. My right hand was gripped tightly around my dagger. I could've snuck up right behind her and slit her throat, or slashed across her lower spine and paralyzed her... She didn't appear to have any weapons on her, what could she have done to me?

And yet... Sigh.

I coughed loudly to grab the woman's attention. "Hey, over here."

[Liquid Ice]

I spun, hands rising on instinct. Where had she come from? Madison, one of the monks had called her. Little over five and a half, maybe five seven. Round a hundred if her race had standard mass. Dark hair, pale skin, thin frame. Dress. The flow of the material suggested something somewhat firmer beneath. Didn’t look like a local metal though. No obvious weapons. That meant small, hold out, energy or mental. All this information piled into my consciousness in an instant. I digested it with a blink of my eyes as I settled into a fighting stance. My left thumb bent to tap the sensor there and the emitter rose off the back of my palm, the four rods extending and bringing my shield to life. My right middle finger tapped the first sensor on that hand, raising the hidden compartment and rotating the blade emitters to their vertical active position. She already knew I was here so I tapped the second sensor with my index finger and brought the twin energy claws to life.

I couldn’t help flinching at another burst of the aerial lights. Their noise must have covered her approach. I didn’t like that she had manage to sneak up on me. If this wasn’t some kind of official duel I had no doubts she would easily have drawn first blood. That didn’t sit well in the tight knot that should have been my stomach. My right hand curled into a fist and relaxed almost compulsively. My left stayed perfect still only through hours of training and the knowledge my shield would respond to the motion and waste energy. It only had a short continuous charge as it was.

I wasn’t sure if there was some sort of protocol to the fight so I didn’t launch an immediate attack as my stung pride urged. She hadn’t attacked without warning so maybe I was supposed to introduce myself as well. Maybe the specters that floated around only half present expected something first, a notification the fight was going to fight. Overall my lack of knowledge about the situation easily outweighed my confidence in my fighting skills, so I switched my shield off and lowered my hands. I left the claws on, however, not trusting my read on the situation that much.

“I am Nienna Ar’fiel. I have come to challenge your rank as warrior.” I said somewhat formally. Not wanting to bow and certainly not about salute, I stood awkwardly for a moment. Finally I settled on the old Vastian cultural custom for speaking to a higher ranking warrior. Carefully tilting my right hand, and blades, away from my face I touched the heel of my right palm to my forehead. It was actually a sign of submission in our old almost animal culture but it would hopefully get my point across. Though if she actually managed to recognize the old meaning of the gesture I’d be surprised. Then again I doubt she would realize right away that my long, delicate ears were very sensitive, to the point of being a racial weakness. So hopefully she’d just think it was one of those silly “martial art gestures” I’d observed in the waiting room. Half of them had told me they did them to honor the warrior nature. The rest had launched into a explanation about "focusing their chi", whatever that meant. Honestly, I just wanted the fighting to start. I’d never been good at anything so formalized, I wanted the blows to come so I could just surrender to my instincts the way I usually did. Over thinking always made me nervous.