Training Grounds

[Lone Sniper]

(Closed to Izvilvin.)

Chris had to think long and hard when he wanted to make sure everything was in order. He had heard of the mysterious Citadel for a few months running, but been rather skeptical of the results. The ability to fight, and should you die be returned to life didn't sit well with the man from earth. Certainly not something he was used to seeing. Usually death was permanent, however, with Sivienna Mizami and her own use of Magic, he had been forced to accept the facts. The bluntest fact being that he was in a realm where science had no true hold, and Magic was the flavor of the day.

Wishing to test himself he oftentimes came into the citadel talking long and hard with the monks. He would often ask questions about how they could heal such impossible wounds. How these people resurrected the dead. He even talked to a few of the citadel regulars, trying to figure out the mystery. He would often see them enter, come out dead, and talk to them later, seeing that they were exactly as they were before they left, only with a new scar and a story to tell.

So when he realized he would need to learn how to fight again, he was keen on exploring the citadel. He wanted to find out as much as he could, and the monks were eager to help him. Sometimes they would question him in return and offer him a fight; still he refused, only wishing to investigate. However, as curiosity killed the cat, so did the Assassin's resolve wear down. Finally, he came for a battle.

Entering the citadel the monks smiled as they said, "And what questions do you have for us to day?"

"Is there a fight open that I could partake of? I figure I might as well get my feet wet," Chris replied calmly. His heart was racing as he said this. This was the unexplored, and he could see why the citadel goers loved it. Adrenaline junkies would thrill at knowing they could do as they pleased with no repercussions. As he waited patiently he tried to calm his heart as the monk looked at him surprised.

"I believe we can accommodate you. Do you wish to join a fight, or make a fight?" The monk asked as Chris thought about it. The distinction was important, as he had found out the first one to enter the citadel, was often the one to set the stage. While he wasn't sure what he would encounter, he decided it would be his own arena. He wanted the home field advantage, as he wasn't sure he could be prepared for something far more bizarre than he had already encountered.

"Sewers, dark and ill lit. Tunnels that move about randomly, obviously connected back to the center, a self contained Labyrinth with plenty room to hide. Can you do this?" Torin asked as he looked at the monk.

The monk smiled as he said, "Well, yes I can, easily so, enter the first open door, close it and close your eyes thinking long and hard about the environment. When they open, it shall appear before you, but be careful. The room is not a servant; it will include tricks of its own."

Torin nodded as he walked down the hallways. Slowly he made his way through them, until an open door showed up on his left. Entering it he closed it behind him and closed his eyes. Thinking of the environment he waited silently counting to ten before he looked and saw exactly what he had described. The eminent stench of mold, mildew, and excrement assaulted his nostrils. Nodding he moved into the room as he pulled his knife from its boot sheath. He would try to conserve ammo for now, until it was needed.

(Ammo Count: 7 bullets)

[Izvilvin]

The building was as grand as any other Izvilvin had ever seen, save for the greatest keeps of Alerar, which housed the military leaders. Large pillars of white stone jutted out from an elevated platform, from which great marble stairs descended to greet the Drow's old leather boots. He'd never seen a building so large, so intimidating in all his time in Corone, which in truth hadn't been very long.

He climbed the steps with care and a degree of nervousness, for Izvilvin wasn't quite sure that common folk were welcome in this structure. Yet his curiosity could not be contained, and he soon found himself within the lobby of the Citadel, observing something that could be described as a horde of warriors. The sheer volume of conversation was surprising, considering that from the bottom of the steps Izvilvin was unable to hear a word. Every which way he turned showed a different race, a different type of warrior, an exotic weapon.

Perhaps a posting for mercenaries, this was? A building of that nature didn't need such immense size, surely, even if it was always so busy.

Before he could contemplate it any further, the Drow was whisked aside by a bald human about his own size, who began to speak to him rapidly in some unknown language. The monk seemed to understand his confusion almost instantly, and spoke Drow next, just as quickly. "You desire a matchup, warrior?"

The words were too soft to be considered accurate Drow, but it was passable and Izvilvin understood it all the same. "A matchup?" He replied in his comparatively perfect hold of his language, still completely unbalanced by the whole experience.

"You've never been to the Citadel?" Asked the monk, and despite the nature of his question and the fact that he could have made a mockery of the Drow's ignorance, his tone was genuine and kind. It brought a smile to Izvilvin's face, though of course it was hidden by that familiar leather mask.

The monk continued, assuming the answer. "The Citadel offers magical rooms for combatants to practice battle in, to train or engage in mortal combat. Unlike a typical coliseum or other establishment, we monks are endowed with the ability to heal, or even resurrect injured fighters."

This brought a shocked look from the Drow, who couldn't fathom such ability existed and was not sought after tirelessly by wizards of all kinds.

The monk's speech was not broken by the surprised expression. "Only we have this power, and we use it to offer a place for warriors to practice. So do you want to be matched up?"

Izvilvin didn't like the expression, but he nodded anyway. The idea that these monks could revive the dead was baffling enough in itself, but despite that, the Drow desired to try this strange way of practice. Perhaps he could learn something of the culture in Corone and further his love for the region.

He was escorted past the other warriors -- human, elf, orc and troll alike, none of which gave him a passing glance -- and was stopped in front of a wide door of brown oak. It was unremarkable compared to any other door Izvilvin had ever seen, and there were many of them lining the hallway leading deeper into the massive structure of the Citadel.

The monk opened the door for him, exposing a portal that Izvilvin had to struggle not to step away from. It was a swirling magic that gave him a strange, uncomfortable feeling. "It is safe," said the monk as he beckoned Izvilvin to proceed. A trusting look of faith passed from the Drow to the human, and Izvilvin stepped through.

A moment later the rank stench of putrid, dank garbage filled his nostrils. He could feel the sense of rottenness, he thought, though such a thing was not possible. The smell was all encompassing. Izvilvin felt as if he were swallowing sewage every time he opened his mouth.

That and the uncomfortable dizziness the portal had given him proved too much for the Drow to handle, as he vomited onto the ground next to him.

It was a vile place. Who could visit a building like this Citadel if the arenas were so poorly taken care of? And how anxious the warriors in the lobby had seemed. Were they all new, like him? They must have been, if they were so happy to be on their way to this. Certainly, this room could not be considered magical, as the monk had deemed it.

He finally surveyed the area, or what he could see, anyway. Now it was all grimy stone walls and pipes, but Izvilvin had spent a century living in a deep cave, and his eyes soon adjusted to the darkness. The platform he stood upon led all the way down a long passageway, but he could only see so far into the distance. Another platform was on the opposite side of the passage, but in the middle was steadily-running water, that upon closer inspection seemed to be the source of the smell.

Pipes were above him, an eternity of them that seemed to cross in every possible direction, most of which led to walls he could not see from this distance. Looking straight ahead, Izvilvin observed several dark passageways that would undoubtedly lead to more, similar ones in a never-ending maze of darkness.

He drew two of his five iron sai. They were heavier than they should have been for their size, but Izvilvin was comfortable enough with the weight. He kept to the darkness and crept as silently as he could down this starting passageway. His understanding was that another warrior was in this very area.

The hunt began.

[Lone Sniper]

As he scanned his surroundings he thought about what he would have to do. It was an old joke that assassins toiled away coming up with ten ways to kill someone upon entering a room. The busywork of a fool was what they truly called it. However, in this case he could almost count up the number somewhere about five before he groaned and covered his nose protecting himself form the stench.

Down the pipes and through the sewers he heard the sounds of retching and drew his gun instinctively, despite the knife held in his hands. As he scanned the area the gun swept over before his mentor's words filtered into his head. Scan the area thoroughly, you miss something important, and you will be screwed over later.

As he looked about the area, he moved slowly trying to remain silent as his boots hit the ground. Evenly he turned his gaze about the room, as his professionalism kicked off and he was once again the cold blooded murderer. His eyes fixed on the pipes a second as he nodded figuring a few things out. This was so similar to the sewers of New York.

He sighed in relief as he holstered the gun. He wouldn't need it for now, but if it was similar to New York’s sewers, he would be able to get an advantage easily. As he moved about in the dark tunnels he tried to move silently to keep his location a secret. Moving slowly he began to hide in shadows as he went, trying to locate movement. His eyes narrowed as he began to get acclimated to the diverse situation, the river of sewage looking like a good spot to end off an unwary opponent.

As he began to scan he stopped in a shadow using his dark colorings to hide as he took advantage of the situation. As he raised an eyebrow seeing the pipe network over the river of Sewage he grinned as he though to himself, Perfect.

[Izvilvin]

Were he focused on that sort of thing, Izvilvin would have been glad for his dark skin as he slowly moved along the wall. Surely that characteristic would aid him in such an environment, and help was just what he needed. He was gripping his weapons tightly and held them stiffly up near his chest, preoccupied with the need to remain as quiet as possible. The Drow rounded a corner after a long check of the passageway beyond. Keeping his back to the stone as he'd been doing all along, Izvilvin continued to move silently along the tunnels, the splashing of the water flow doing its fair share in covering up whatever sounds his feet made.

The stench was in the back of his mind now, though he still cringed every time a particularly nasty smell passed under his sharp nose. He was focusing on the noise, or rather, the lack of noise in the sewer system. All he could hear was the rushing water.

It frustrated the Drow, but there was little he could do to mend it.

So deep was his focus, and so intent was the Drow on trying to hear something, that he bumped into a figure in the darkness. The shock was enough to make him cry out, bringing one of his sai to bear and driving it as hard as he could toward the dark figure, whatever it was.

The main prong of the Drow's iron sai stabbed straight into the sewer wall with such force that it snapped right off, clanging to the floor. Izvilvin dropped the now useless remainder of the weapon, and felt for what it was that he'd bumped into. As he let his hand explore its surface, he deduced that it was naught but a large pipe that protruded from the wall.

He felt foolish, and secretly hoped these Citadel monks were as capable with repairing weapons as they were with healing bodies. Now he needed to move, to get away from the area where he'd stupidly let his nerves get the best of him, for surely the noise he'd made was enough to draw attention his way.

But Izvilvin didn't make it far down the passageway before he stopped and pressed against the wall again. He was too nervous at this point to continue on in comfort. For a seasoned warrior of a hundred and twenty seven, Izvilvin was becoming a foolish coward in the face of this Citadel. It was so foreign and strange to him, and even the idea that he could be revived if he died made him feel better.

So he stood there in silence, drawing a new sai into his empty hand.

[Lone Sniper]

He heard the cry the sound of metal upon stone and yet nothing. He was too far removed; this told him much as he looked once again at the pipes over the river of sludge. Moving about slowly so as to not be heard over the sewage he sighed as he idly began to play with his combat knife. Finally sticking it into his sheath he tried to get a good look about the area. The pipes seemed to be positioned carefully as it they were to run water through the area.

Looking out over the river he thought about the pipes knowing his back was fully exposed. He frowned before he reached into his coat pulled the glock and leveled it behind him in an act of pure paranoia.

And that’s all it was...

As he saw nothing around him he carefully unprepared the glock for firing the click of the hammer being put back into a resting place resounding through the area. The arm holding his gun hung loosely down as if he was bored. He was here to fight and still no one had shown up. The sound of metal against stone however, implied someone was there. As he looked about he could find no trace of this person.

As he moved he turned as he almost walked face first into a spider. Immediately backpedaling he cursed, "Mother fucker!"

He was certainly not going to win any stealthy battles like this, and as he tried to calm his heart he swept the gun about trying to re-secure the area. He was foolish to think he could be so nonchalant about things, and as he saw the spider begin to climb its webbing he sighed as he said softly, "Torin, you moron, just a spider..."

[Izvilvin]

Ever slowly, ever cautiously, Izvilvin moved on. The sound had not been far away when he'd heard it, and for all he knew it had been a simple click of the pipes, yet something told him it was more than that. He was a little bit more relaxed now, as if all of his tension had been spent in that one outburst only moments ago. His hand still rang with pain from the impact, but the Drow was able to ignore it.

He tried to forget he was in a magical room within a building of war, and amazingly, it helped him to focus. This was battle, and though Izvilvin considered himself multitalented, this was where he was supposed to shine. Drow were trained extensively in their youth for this very sort of situation, and as much as young Izvilvin -- young in Drow terms -- tried to separate himself from his youth in Alerar, he found himself recalling the more important parts of his training.

His first priority was to stay silent so he could not be found. His first mistake had been focusing on listening, when he should have been listening, looking, and learning the battlefield, memorizing which passageways led where, and what the limits of the area were.

He vowed to do that from now on, but for now his opponent was close. The scream of surprise had confirmed Izvilvin's belief that he was closing in on the other, but he could not celebrate victory just yet.

The Drow's white-mopped head slowly peered around the next corner. Rather close by was the back of his opponent. All Izvilvin could make out about him was that his hair blended well with the darkness. Cautiously the Drow stepped around the corner and approached. Killing a man from behind in a battle such as this could be viewed as cowardly, he supposed, but he knew it was the man's own fault for being so careless.

Izvilvin's usual approach to quickly killing a man was to sneak up from behind and whip one of his weapons around to stab the throat. From there, it was a quick, brutal twist to rip a man's esophagus out and kill him. As he got close enough to attack, this is precisely what he set out to do.

[Letho]

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