Our fathers fell first...

[Canen Darkflight]

(Closed to Falling with Style)

-

His trusty old tobacco pouch slung around his neck, and a neatly rolled, nicely smouldering cigerette dangling from the corner of his lips, Syrion Darkflight registered his name at a kiosk outside the Citadel, near the main path, then walked the short distance to the sprawling curvature of the main building. As with every time a new visitor came to the mighty Citadel, he felt humbled as he walked through the white marble columns on the ground floor, something he experienced every time he entered one of the most historic and important buildings in the world.

The Citadel was the largest and probably most influential building in Corone. Established by a cult of monks, it was the only building to have survived and repelled a demonic invasion that had torn Corone apart at the seams, and contained many artifacts and relics dating back entire eras. Indeed, some said the Citadel was invincible, that it couldn't be destroyed.

As the Khaian entered the great main hall, halberd slung over his right shoulder, he considered why he was here. Strangely enough, as each footstep took him deeper and deeper into the vast, almost hive like innards of Radasanth's greatest building, he couldn't place a reason, and each step made him more and more unsure.

It wasn't the love of the fight, he knew that. Syrion, with his boistrous approach to heated situations and a less-than-subtle attitude towards fighting, could start a scrap in an empty room without even breaking a sweat, so the Citadel would seem a pointless and almost inappropriate place to fulfill such a primal instinct when the real fighters of the world were shacked up in the run down taverns of Radasanth. No. To him, the attraction of fighting in the Citadel was too deeply rooted for him to fully recall, like there was just a natural part of him that needed to be there.

I wonder... Syrion thought as he consulted the layout of the Citadel's interior in map form, handed to him by one of the monks. ...Did the people of Corone build the Citadel because they anticipated a war, even before it occured? It's such a magnificant building, after all...

After glancing at the map, the young Khaian turned left, to the long, columned corridor that would take him to his destination. Every inch of fllor space was exposed, leaving no place to hide a secret room above ground or a hidden staircase that could lead underground. Even though the Citadel did not need these things, the mysterious aura that tugged at Syrion's soul in this place told him to pry, mainly out of sheer curiosity.

"Ah, Mr Darkflight..." A cheery, red cheeked monk approached from another corridor, observing a clipboard with some parchment on it. It was a while before he looked up. "We haven't seen you around here for some ti-....oh..." He paused, a look of confusion sweeping over his face. "I do apologise, sir. I was told Mr Darkflight would be here. Are you lost?"

"Are you retarded?" Syrion retorted. "I am Mr Darkflight...Syrion Darkflight, the challenger?"

"Err...Oh, my apologies again sir. I got confused. I thought you were Canen...never mind. Allow me to show you to your arena..."

Canen...





(unfinished, to be edited later.)

[Falling With Style]

The Citadel, eh? mused the young woman, stepping out of the portal.

Curiosity had led her here, that and the promise to test her skills. What little she knew about the place pointed her inevitably towards it, a particle caught in the well of a far larger object. She knew she'd have to come here eventually. It was just how nature worked; the bearing falls into a funnel and either disappears instantly down the center, or orbits it for ages before finally, inevitably, accepting its fate.

You're being obtuse again, the young lady told herself, relishing this revelation somewhat. Her thin mouth parted in an inexplicable grin, smiling without logic or reason to do so. She wouldn't let herself not explore a place like this.

And what a place it was! She pictured waves of sound and light propagating at regular angles off the marble entry hall, from the regular clop clop clop of shoes on a polished marble floor to the way the bright sunlight filtered through windows and through her rusted red hair.

"Right this way, madam," smiled a monk thinly. Had she been looking around? Never mind.

"Righto!" she grinned, eager to prove herself for no adequately explored reason. The old monk, tied up in a brown habit, gestured towards the gyrating mirror where today's test would doubtless take place. Her eye flicked upwards towards the monk, who simply shrugged and asked for her name. Name? What's in a name? she thought, and gave it.

"Alcyone," she replied, and stepped into the mirror.


Right, that's my entrance post. I'll leave the terrain up to you.

[Canen Darkflight]

((OOC: I trie getting you over PM but my sucky connection fails me. I hadn't actually finished my first post, so once i've edited it I will edit this one to be the arena description and my in character writing. I apologise for that but I was getting sick of Althanas lagging out on me.))