Baptism of Combat (closed)

[Sorahn]

Sorahn set foot once again on the cool marble floor of the entrance hall. The great wooden doors creaked shut behind him, echoing loudly in the massive room. His bare footsteps hardly made any sound as he confidently walked toward the monk behind the counter, taking the time to look around the room and take in its sights once again. It had been a long time since he had fought in the Citadel, but the memories came rushing back. He had fought many epic battles here. He won some and lost some, but each had served its purpose in crafting him into the strong warrior he was now.

But being a warrior is not a destination. It is not something that can be attained. It is a process; a constant vigilance in practicing abilities and maintaining strength. He had returned to the Citadel to ensure his skills remained sharp. His battles in the Dajas Pagoda had served this purpose, but his activity there had fallen recently, and he could feel the weight of physical and mental atrophy.

Finally he reached the clerk. He was a small man, dressed in the traditional brown robes of the monks, with a hood casting a shadow over his face. He was writing in an enormous book which was filled with names and places and some other things Sorahn didn’t understand. The clerk looked up at Sorahn.

“You are here to sharpen your skills, are you, Lord Sorahn?”

Sorahn smiled. His appearance was one not soon forgotten, and he found that most people he met remembered him quite vividly. Even in the melting pot that was Corone, his white fur, tribal markings, large swept-back ears, and black horns were rather unique.

“We have a room prepared for you. Right this way.” The monk told him just as he opened his mouth to respond.

He followed the monk through the labyrinth of corridors lined with doors. He remembered these halls well, though he never failed to get completely and totally lost by the time he reached his room. He wondered if the monks had designed it this way specifically for that purpose. The monks were quite brilliant and none new the true extent of their power.

Just as he thought this the monk abruptly stopped before a plain wooden door. “Your arena is prepared for you. Your opponent shall join you soon. Good luck, sir.” And with that he was gone, disappearing down the endless hallways.

Without much hesitation, Sorahn twisted the knob and pushed open the door. He found himself standing on the cobbled back streets of some city. Rain poured down on him in force, soaking him to the bone and filling his ears with a steady rushing noise. He looked around to the small quaint shops and rooms above. The street appeared deserted; lit only by the fluttering flames of the oil street lamps hanging high on their posts, shielded from the heavy rain by sheets of glass.

Sorahn shook himself, sending water droplets flying in all directions from his wet matted fur. It was futile, and instantly he was dripping with water again. Normally he found rain showers very refreshing. He didn’t mind being wet. But this particular rain was heavy and oppressive. He felt weighed down with it, unable to escape the constant pounding.

I hope my opponent arrives quickly.

[Mad_Hatter]

Riyah gazed up at the enormous wooden doors and shivered. The blinding rain plastered her long, thick hair to her cheeks, forehead and back and her soaked clothes chilled her to the bone, but it wasn't the cold that sent a shiver down her spine.


What the hell are you thinking, Riyah? You are willingly walking into a fight with an unknown opponent who you have no quarrel with.


"I need the money and I could certainly use the experience" She answered herself out loud, hoping that the sound of her own voice would be reassuring to her. It wasn't.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and pushed open the massive, wooden doors. She did not hesitate before entering. The heavy thudding of her boots on the smooth marble floor seemed to echo off of every surface and the thundering of the doors closing behind her was deafening. She tightened her grip on her scythe, straitened her back ,and strode through the hall with long, purposeful strides in a miserable attempt to appear more confident. In the center of the vast room was a small desk piled with various books and instruments. As she approached the desk, she was surprised to find that the man behind it was not sitting down as she had assumed. He was no taller than her shoulder and completely bald. He was dressed in plain brown robes, his tiny spectacles sliding down his bulbous nose. Riyah licked her lips and tucked her hair behind her ears. She started to apologize for the pool of water now forming under her feet, but the little man held up a hand to stop her. He still did not look up, but continued shuffling through papers. Finally he looked up to reveal shocking blue eyes. He spoke softly.


"We know who you are and why you are here, Riyah. If you will please follow me, I will lead you to your opponent." he explained in a formal tone and turned, motioning for her to follow.


Riyah looked around the spacious, empty hall as he said the word "we" and wondered who he was talking about. She tried desperately to keep up the thinly veiled facade of confidence, but with every step she took she could feel her resolve fading. The little man lead her through corridor after corridor passing door after door, each new set of hallways more complicated than the ones before. Riyah stayed close behind the monk and absentmindedly reached out a hand to let her fingertips graze the smooth stone wall.

Why am I so nervous? Its not like I have never been in a fight before.

But she knew it wasn't the act of fighting that frightened her. She was quite capable with her scythe when she needed to be. That was it. When she needed to be. Did she need to be now? Wasn't this just a senseless fight? Riyah had never instigated a fight before and she certainly had never fought someone just for the hell of it. Why, in the world, does such a place exist just for the sole purpose of engaging in battle with someone you had never met? or at least had no argument with? She couldn't answer the question and despite her obvious distaste, she knew it was her curiosity that made her continue. She'd heard this place existed, but had never even seen it before today. Come to think of it, she had never even known anyone who had seen it, let alone fought here. It was just a legend; a story told between families in her small farming community. Or so she always thought. What would...

But her thoughts were interrupted by the quiet voice of the monk. "Here you are, Riyah. Good luck." he gestured toward an average looking door in front of them, turned gracefully, and hurried back down the corridor.

Riyah's heart was beating so fast she was sure her opponent could hear it though the door. Her grip on her scythe was so tight that her knuckles had turned white. She fought back the fear building in her throat, stepped toward the door and turned the knob. She opened the door quickly and stepped through, shutting it behind her. A torrential down pour soaked her immediately.

Great. I was just starting to dry. Of course its raining in here too.

She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and walked forward, trying to see through the heavy rain. A few small shops speckled the edges of the street and the slick cobblestone pavement glistened in the dim light of the flickering lamps. There didn't appear to be anyone here. There was no sound other than the constant drumming of the rain. Under normal circumstances she would have loved a town like this. It reminded her of the times her mother would take her and her brother and sisters into town. Riyah sighed. She didn't like thinking about her parents. How could they just abandon her like that? Disown their first born? She could feel the anger welling up inside her, slowly replacing the fear of battle. She heard a noise behind her, barely audible above the rain, and she spun quickly around, gripping her scythe with both hands,the renewed anger at her parents radiating from her every fiber. She realized then that she didn't have to be angry at her opponent. She just had to be angry. She squared her shoulders and stared into the rain, indignant and ready for a fight. Her nostrils flared with every breath as she anticipated the meeting. She was ready for this. She no longer cared weather she won or lost. This was going to be fun. She spun the scythe once in her hand, noting how familiar the action had become. She squinted into the rain where she could just make out a shape, and as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she first gazed upon her opponent. Her eyes widened in surprise as she took him in.

[Sorahn]

Sorahn carefully scanned the street below him. In the time spent waiting on his opponent, he had gracefully scaled the buildings and now sat perched on a rooftop. Like most warriors, he did not like surprises, and wanted the best possible vantage point to view his foe’s approach.

He squatted on the roof; his stance reminiscent of an animal crouched in waiting. His bare feet dug into the slate tile which covered the roof, slick with rain. His tail swished impatiently as his sharp eyes skillfully searched the silent street. The pounding rain hindered his vision and drowned out his delicate hearing with a constant droning. His face turned to a slight grimace in frustration, but his keen nose suddenly picked up the faintest new scent.

Lightning flashed in the distance. In the brief light Sorahn caught sight of a small figure below. He focused on it intently as the thunder rumbled softly. From this distance he could only tell that the figure was slightly smaller than he was, and definitely armed with some pole weapon.

A slight grin broke on Sorahn’s face, and he quickly leapt forward and slid down the roof on the wet slate. He flew off the edge and landed hard on the cobblestone street with a thud. Immediately he saw his opponent turn to face him as he stood. Sorahn, like most Ranoans, held honor above even life, and as such he had never begun a fight without introducing himself and starting with a level playing field.

He casually walked toward his challenger, granting him the ability to see more and more details. He always studied his opponents; piecing things together to get a better idea of their abilities and styles. She was female and held a scythe. He could tell she was in good shape. Her muscles were fit. She held herself with confidence, but he could tell something was off about her. She seemed slightly nervous, if only beneath the surface.

A novice.

Sorahn struggled to fight back the feelings of arrogance. Overconfidence is the quickest way to defeat. He was always taught to be diligent and prepared, regardless of his opponent, which had proved to be wise words on many occasions. He tried to remind himself that snap judgments were often wrong. He must always be prepared.

“I am Sorahn un’ Rohnahmeh.” He said simply when he had finally reached the girl. “Have you come to fight me?”

He always found these introductions to be awkward, so he kept his words to a minimum. Warriors speak much better with their blades.

[Mad_Hatter]

Riyah’s mouth fell open slightly as she stared through the torrent at the strange being approaching her. She had never seen anything like…it? Him? There were so many different races in the world of Althanas that she knew the day would come when she came across a being she had never seen or heard of, but nothing could have prepared her for this. His body was similar to that of a man, though he had a feline-like face, large ears and was completely covered in white fur from head to foot. He had intricate black markings covering most of his body that can only be described as tattoos and, as he drew closer she could see the swishing of a long tail behind him.

What the hell is that?

The shock of his unexpected appearance slightly stifled the anger that was building while thinking of her parents. She shifted her weight and bit her lip anxiously. She knew better than to show any signs of fear to an opponent, but she was thrown off guard at the sight of him and, hell, she was nervous. He was very muscular and had a distinct confidence about him that suggested he was far from new to fighting; the weary look about his face displaying years of battles. She was sure he had seen and done things she had never even dreamed of. A stream of doubt began working its way though her thoughts and she began to question her decision to do this once again; her thin shell of confidence waning with each step that brought her opponent closer. She closed her eyes momentarily and tried hard to swallow the feelings of complete inadequacy that were now bubbling to the surface.

Riyah, what, in the world, did you get yourself into?

This was not the first time her impulsive nature had gotten her in over her head and she knew herself well enough to know it would not be the last.

Oh well, It’s too late to back down now.

Not that she ever would have. There is one thing Riyah most certainly is not and that is a coward. Frightened or not, she would fight this fight to the end and gain everything she had to learn from the seasoned veteran, or die trying.

He was almost directly in front of her now and she noticed that he strode with an unusual ease; not arrogance exactly, but the easy sway of someone who had done this many times before and had a natural confidence in his abilities. He stepped gracefully in front of her and introduced himself.

He’s…introducing himself to his opponent? At least he’s honorable.

Riyah shifted awkwardly and swallowed before she spoke, hoping her voice didn’t squeak as she feared it would. She cleared her throat.

“I….I’m Riyah….Arie of Corone.”

God, did I just stutter? I might as well kill myself now and save him the trouble.

Despite her appalling introduction, she stepped forward cautiously, gripping her scythe with both hands. This was it.

[Sorahn]

Sorahn smiled as the girl introduced herself. She stuttered, and her nervousness was becoming apparent. Again Sorahn had to remind himself that looks were often deceiving, and even this could be an elaborate ploy to lower his guard. Still, he was charmed by her attitude.

“Well it is nice to meet a fellow Coronian.” He said as pleasantly as he could, nodding slightly.

But they both knew why they were there, so he spared no more words. Suddenly, his black spear appeared in his hand in a cloud of smoke. It was a menacing weapon, with two long, curved blades on either side of the point which seemed detached from the main shaft. The entire thing was covered with ancient Ranoan writing and gave off an aura of darkness. It was the weapon forged from his own pain and suffering by Ronah, the god of all Ranoans.

The blade whirred as he spun it in his hand. He slid his leg out into a comfortable fighting stance and brought the spear to the ready. His casual demeanor became much more serious as he readied himself for battle. His whole body became heightened; his muscles ready to spring into action at the slightest thought. His senses were growing sharper as adrenaline began to flow through his veins. This was what he was bred for, and it was where he felt at home.

He nodded once more to Riyah, ensuring that she was ready, and leapt into action. With one strong push off the wet cobblestone street, he took off in a run and quickly closed the distance between them. Using this momentum, he lunged toward her with his spear. Then he spun around and sliced with the blades. Quickly he assumed a defensive stance, preparing for counter attack.

It was an introductory attack. He was feeling his opponent out, but already he could feel the all-too-familiar feeling of being locked in battle. His heart was beating fast; his breath heavy. This was his purpose.

[Mad_Hatter]

The awkwardness of the introduction slowly dissipated as Riyah prepared for the first attack. She took a moment to asses Sorahn once again, his quite confidence looming over her like a dark cloud. Again, she was struck by his unusual appearance, but it was his stance and the grace in which he moved that left her awestruck. Every movement was thought out; deliberate. She let her eyes quickly scan his tribal markings as realization washed over her. He was a warrior. Not a mere soldier like the ones in her hometown, but a true fighter, born to defeat. Her heart pounded in her throat and she had to stifle a nervous giggle at the absurdity of this pairing. She idly wondered if the monks always paired a first time fighter with a seasoned veteran.

Maybe an initiation of sorts?

She shook the thought from her head just as Sorahn spoke again; a pleasantry that was better suited while being introduced over tea than here, in a battle arena. It sounded strange and out of place in this situation, yet Riyah admired him for his courteousness, a trait that seemed all but forgotten in the city. She inclined her head in response, before taking a more defensive stance, her scythe held out in front of her.

A back spear appeared out of nowhere in Sorahn’s hand, unlike any she had ever seen, which no longer surprised her. The sound it made as he spun it in his palm was oppressive. He lifted the spear, pointing it at her. He nodded once and she did the same to indicate she was ready. He instantly sprang to a full run, taking only a moment to reach her. He lounged with his spear, but she caught it with the handle of her scythe, and knocked it to the side. He spun quickly around to slice her with the blades on the end of the spear. Riyah leapt sideways quickly; narrowly escaping a full blow to her side, though she wasn’t quite fast enough to avoid it altogether. The sharp blade sliced into her right arm just as she turned to face him again. Riyah gritted her teeth, spun in place, swung the scythe over her head, and directed it at him with the full force of her strength.

She knew then that it was impossible for her to win this fight. She felt honored to be here. She had much to learn.