Thunder Underground

[Miehm]

A cave? Seriously? It was a fairly nice cave, a high ceiling and broad, relatively open floor suited my style well, and the lighting, while unsettling, was effective. A large column dominated the center of the room, and it glowed with an inner fire bright enough to illuminate the soft white stone that made up the walls and floor. No entrances or exits, it was yet another one of the bizarre, supposedly magical spaces created by the monks that ran the citadel.

"Ozzy woulda freakin loved this place. Thunder Underground indeed." I pulled out my knives, and warmed up with a few simple cuts and moves. The dry stone scuffed under my boots as I worked up to my regular combat speed, and after just a few seconds I wound back down, not wanting to wear myself out before my opponent arrived.

"I gotta remember to find a Best Buy next time I hit the continent. Even freaking Iraq had Best Buys...." The silence was maddening, but I knew I wouldn't have to wait long, so I sung under my breath as I waited. "Your thoughts uncompromising, so simple patronizing, your image supersedes your soul..."

OOC: Closed to Raven Stetonalf

[Raven, Setontalf]

An empty pocket, the most depressing realization Crusoe had come across in his travels. With his funds running direly low, it seemed to be a realization that he would very soon come to. His father was only a few days behind him, still intent to kill, so it was obvious he had to use this time to make some money, and fast. If he continued and ran out of funds it was possible he wouldn't be able to continue running. If thay poverty arrived at an unfortunate time it could prove fatal. With so many 'ifs' clouding his head, Crusoe wandered the streets of Radasanth. So far he had learned very quickly that money was not an easy asset to gain unless you had connections, or some serious power. Lacking the former and surely falling short on the latter, he aimed his sights instead for some friendly violent competition in the renown Citadel. It was a place of bloodshed and courage that had stories reaching far north even to his old home. The boy had always dreamed of watching the battles, and cheering for the strong. Never, however, did he ever suspect he would be following a monk down those well-used corridors about to take part in a gruesome match himself.

The door that they stopped at was simple enough, a clone of every other door in the hall. Yet when the monk opened it, what lay behind was nigh impossible. The dimensions of the large cave did not fit at all inside the Citadel, nor allowed for the neighboring doors to lead anywhere. Ignoring all sense of logic and trying to remember both his own powers and the excuse, “Its magic!” that he had heard several times already, Crusoe crossed the threshold.

Immediately the door closed behind the boy and disappeared, leaving him in a vast chamber with no other means of exit. At the far end was a simple looking man. All indications pointed towards him being more of a hunter than a warrior, but still not a man he’d easily challenge outside these magical walls. With ease and familiarity Crusoe slipped past the barrier of normal sight, concentrating instead on the layers below it to inspect this room. Of course, the rigid stone was lined and intertwined with splashes of violet quintessential patterns, as Crusoe expected from a room described only by being magical. Yet, at the center where a large column of questionable materials reigned, a much stronger and more violent magical presence was held captive. A mischievous smile crept across the mage’s face as he saw potential in that swirling mass of energy that itched to be let free. Craved a release so it could carve fiery destruction into anything in its path.

Letting his eyes pull off the column he concentrated deeper on the man across the room from him. Crusoe saw that his jacket and clothing all seemed to be capable of hiding weapons and took note of it. Also a soft, alien purple wove throughout the deep green pattern of his strong body. Its discovery only helped to confuse Crusoe for it was not enough to indicate true magical prowess. Setting it aside with concern, the boy's eyes returned to the column, wanting to end this battle before it started and reap his reward.

His hands flashed out, unnecessary but helpful to aim his concentration on a small portion of the quintessential energies in the column and entrap them. Quickly Crusoe ripped the captured energy into the air; surprised as instantly the energy reacted, its violence growing exponentially. Tearing free of his control, all he could do was generally direct it at the man and watch as it exploded into a wave of flame.

The smirk grew on Crusoe’s face, thinking the attack almost overkill for such a simpleton as this man. He almost felt sorry for him, but money was money.

[Miehm]

"Yer shittin me..." I spoke it softly, but the wall of fire was massive, and I dove behind the nearest stalagmite, hoping it would be sufficient cover. A second later I rose to my feet, unsinged, and looked for my opponent. I had never seen whoever caused the explosion, but I knew it had to be one of those "mages" that seems to crop up around here so often.

My eyes drifted over the open area, and I noticed the very edges of the cave were now dim, as though the burst of flame had cooled the light at the center, and cast the far walls in shadow. Finally I saw him. He was fairly unassuming, looked like maybe a poor merchant or tradesman. That didn't change things. I was going to kill him.

The stone behind me glowed cherry red from the blast, but I didn't worry about that. I slipped my right hand knife back into its sheath, and almost instantly I had a throwing knife in my hand, sending it spinning across the cave, followed rapidly by two more as I charged towards the man who had been stupid enough to attack me.

[Raven, Setontalf]

As the wall of fire rolled over his opponent’s portion of the arena, Crusoe only stared in wonder at his creation. Although the energies inside the column had been very violent and destructive in nature, he had never guessed they would have been so explosive. Noting how very little of the energy he had released, the boy instantly dawned on the conclusion that if the column was somehow breached or destroyed, it would probably melt the entire arena; killing both competitors.

Unfortunately, as he watched the singed part of the arena, he saw no burnt corpse. Instead the man appeared from behind a glowing red stalagmite, angrily charging him. After it was too late, Crusoe noticed the thin knives flying towards him, and cried out as one slammed into his shoulder painfully. The force was enough to knock him onto his butt, letting the other two fly over him harmlessly. Panting heavily Crusoe stared at the knife was hilt-deep in his shoulder, in wonder at the pain that exploded through his body with each heartbeat. The man was quickly approaching, though, and he had little to no time to think through the pain clouding his mind. Unable to concentrate on the Pattern, he pushed himself to his feet and reached into his right pocket.

It took a few precious seconds of nervous fumbling in his pocket, but soon enough he felt the familiar cold steel of his long sword’s hilt. Pulling it from his pocket just as the man was almost within range, he shouted and held the blade in front of him with one hand.

“Die already!”

[Miehm]

"I'd rather not." My knife came up and across at eye level, looking to put him out of the fight fairly permanently. I saw the sword, but I wasn't worried. These "mages" never knew much more than which end was pointy, and even a basic look was enough to tell me that it was in bad shape, banged up, not oiled, and all around not looked after.

My right hand fumbled about at the hilt of my second knife, and I slipped the knuckledusters over my fingers, finally bringing my second major weapon in to play, and driving the heavy brass knuckles towards my enemies gut. He might be dangerous farther out, but now I was close enough to safely pummel him into the ground, and I intended to do exactly that, before he got the chance to retaliate.

[Raven, Setontalf]

Crusoe saw the dagger coming at his face and panicked, defensively lifting his sword up to his face. A loud metallic clang rang out throughout the cave as he felt the two blades bashing together. He let his breath out, without realizing he was holding it, surprised at his luck that he managed to deflect the potentially deadly blow. As he opened his eyes, getting ready to try to strike back, something that felt like a brick slammed into his stomach. Fumbling backwards and dropping his sword, Crusoe gasped, unable to catch his breath.

His vision cloudy, Crusoe slammed into the floor, the much stronger man standing overtop him with a grim seriousness. His mind was racing, adrenaline making his mind momentarily crystal clear, giving him a moment of pinpoint concentration. Without thinking he reached out hand out towards the column in the middle of the room and shouted.

“I’ll blow us both up then!” With a grin, he concentrated on the pillar but out of the corner of his eye noticed cracks that checkered the floor throughout the room. Lowing his vision to his feet, Crusoe saw that he sat in the middle of one of the cracked squares, and his grin turned malicious. Pushing past the pain he focused on one of the cracks and shoved with all his might, ripping the black pattern of the stone apart. Nothing happened at first, but then he saw the patterns unraveling around him. Staring up at the man who was ready to kill him, Crusoe smiled and moved backwards. Standing in the center of the square, unsure what would happen next.

Watching the patterns shatter, a massive sharp roar exploded out that sounded like a dragon. Followed by several ear-splitting thunderous cracks, the floor began caving in. The center of each square, each several feet apart, remained though as the pieces of stone flooring disappeared into the darkness below. Tall wide columns were revealed that had been holding the floor up, now the only ground the fighters had to stand on.

“I didn’t see that coming…”

[Miehm]

As soon as he threatened to blow up the both of us, I jumped back, giving him space for whatever he was planning. While his first spray of fire had been nothing special, I couldn't discount the possibility that he had a bigger pyrotechnic monstrosity in reserve. Then the floor started to shake and I had to really wonder what else he had up his sleeve.

Chunks of stone fell to the floor of the cave below, and I hopped forward again as the ground gave out from under my feet. I was right at the edge of the pillar, perhaps ten yards from my opponent, and I was pissed. "Seriously dude? Dropping the floor? The fuck did you get that much C4? I mean..."

I trailed off into a wordless howl of frustration, and kicked at a loose chunk of stone with my foot, sending it spinning towards the scrawny man like a heavy soccer ball, it was smaller, but heavier too, and just about round enough to fly like one. Getting hit with it would suck.

I stalked forward after the stone, moving slowly but deliberately towards this strange little man, keeping an eye open for new tricks all the time. Burn the stone, drop the floor. What next, drop the... Oh shit. The first though that occurred to me was that he might have a selective detonator. He could trigger the section of floor over my head to collapse on me at any time. Fuck.

I kept walking forward slowly, letting the tension build, and making him wonder exactly what else I had up my sleeve, which was unfortunately nothing. I had thrown all my knives, and all I really had left in my repertoire of tricks was some brutal and dirty close combat moves that would very much not work at this distance.

[Raven, Setontalf]

This time, Crusoe was paying attention to the movements of his opponent. Even though he was still concentrating a little on his surroundings as the ground fell apart. Unfortunately, the man was close enough that after the floor had shattered both fighters were stationed atop the same pillar. Cursing his luck that he hadn’t managed to put a gap between the two of them, the boy mage got to his feet quickly.

The movement had come just in time as a large chunk of rock came spiraling his direction. Yelping gently, he dodged aside, following it with his eyes as it crashed into the middle of the pillar behind him. Pieces of roll cascaded down into the darkness, ominously disappearing. Crusoe listened for the soft crash when they hit the ground, but it never came. Gulping at the prospect of an endless hole beneath him, he turned around once more, watching as the man stalked towards him with mean intent.

“That was quite rude, didn’t your mother ever tell you not to throw rocks. Else someone might throw a bigger rock at you!” A smirk dominated Crusoe’s face as he concentrated on the broken rocks on the ground, pushing his mind deeper and deeper into the workings of the patterns. The pain emanating from the dagger in his shoulder was throbbing but he held it out of his mind, looking deep into the intricate patterns sprawled out across the floor. With his mind, he pushed and pulled, twisted, threaded, and sewd together the black lines of the rock’s pattern until he had created one very large round rock before him.

Panting heavily with the effort, Crusoe lifted the rock with his mind. The mage closed his eyes, diving deeper into concentration. Grasping hundreds of tiny space lines and tying them together like a rope, he swung the boulder towards him. Gaping at it being only slightly below half his size, Crusoe let it go and watched as it swung on the rope-like pattern he had made, arching downwards towards his opponent at great speed.

“When the monks ask what killed you, tell them Crusoe Vein. Witch.”

[Miehm]

"Oh shit..." I jumped aside, feeling the boulder clip my shoulder anyway, spinning me around and throwing me to the floor, and probably breaking my nose. I ignored the pain and leapt to my feet, sprinting hell for leather towards him now, keeping an eye open for more of whatever the hell it was that he'd used to do that with.

I covered the short distance in maybe ten long strides, and lashed out with my knives, one after the other, settling into a rhythm of attacks that flowed rapidly from one to another, a pair of right jabs, followed by a left hook, and another right cross, leading into a brutal left uppercut. It was something I'd stolen from a videogame up-time, but it hadn't failed me the first time I got jumped, and it hadn't failed me since, so it was as good a time as any to trot it out. One of the blows usually connected, and if you got caught in the first couple, it was pretty damn hard to recover and stop any of the later hits.

The first two swings went just fine, but when I tried to move my left arm I realized it had either been broken or dislocated by the impact, despite the heavy padding my jacket afforded me, and I faltered as the shock made me stumble.