Cormyr Story-2 (Closed)

[Alberdyne_Cormyr]

(Dyne ~V~ Cydnar)

(Continued from here (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=19974). Thank you)

Why didn't you fight with all your might?

I tried. He was too powerful. Too fast. Too strong. He broke through my bronze shield!

Strength does not come from the vessel, but from the mind. You have a powerful mind, you just need to unlock your potential. You must not fail in this.

I must not fail...?

You play a role in the Grand Scheme. Do not forget that.

***

"Gah!"

Dyne stood up. He was in a bed of some sort, and there were people hovering all around him. There was a bright light in the room and a powerful smell of incense. Medicine and herbs filled the room as well. Oh I get it. I must have got my ass kicked by that guy. Dyne saw that he was bandaged up. Some of the more serious injuries would scar up for certain. The apprentice had a strong sense of vanity and pride, but he knew he had been out-classed. That's what hurt the most. The monks put me on to that.

Several of the monks were using their lay-on-hands abilities on the youth. He sighed at that. What do I do? What about my initiation into the Order? Dyne looked around feeling a tremendous headache. On a small table next to his bed sat his glasses and he could tell his belongings were in the room as well. He looked and saw them by a nearby chair. There was one female monk working on Dyne, and there was the monk who initiated this whole process.

"You!" Dyne called out to the veteran monk. "You're the one who--!?"

"Remember your place young Neophyte." The monk said. "You have passed the first test of the Order. You showed a great deal of resilience and potential. I put the papers in to Grand Master Akim and the rest of the Grand Masters myself." The monk tapped his chin thoughtfully. "You will be training directly in my ranks. I will be your supervisor in this matter. Your regular Master will be the one who has fought you in the past. MetalDrago Scorpio. He has agreed to assist you in your training in exchange for a simple service fee."

"What type of service fee?" The youth asked doubtfully.

"You must smith him Items of great skill and quality when you possess the skill to do so. You must not charge him or a member of the Order for any further training you will receive at the hands of the Order."

"Free of charge? Is that all!?" Dyne asked incredulously.

"Your initiation depends on this young Neophyte."

"I will agree to your terms." Dyne responded.

"I thought you might. By the way. My name is Renard. Renard Brogan." The Monk said. "As soon as you are able to, come see me. I will be in the entrance area of the Citadel. You are still in the Citadel in case you didn't know."

***

Once he'd gathered all of his belongings, Dyne proceeded to the main gathering area of the Citadel. There were warriors, magi, rogues, and other job classes still preparing to train in the Citadel as much as he was about to. Dyne could see representatives of every race on Althanas including some of the more bizarre races of the land of Keribas. And lands which were still not yet recorded on any known civilian map.

Spotting Master Brogan, Dyne walked over to his person.

"Master Brogan, you wanted to see me?" Dyne asked.

"Ah, young Neophyte Cormyr. So good to see you." Brogan was talking to several other individuals before addressing Dyne. One of the individuals was a Blacksmith, a Mastersmith at that. "I was just telling Bradford here about you. Your equipment has already been moved to the blacksmith's hall here in the Citadel. You will eat, breathe, sleep and fuck in the way the the Monks do." The monk said shrewdly. "We have already told your Clan that you now belong to us." The monk said calmly. "Do you understand everything I just told you?"

"Yessir." Dyne said. "So I will be living in the Citadel as well?"

"There is a dorm area so yes." The Master Monk said. "You will progress through the Ranks quickly if you go through your studies well."

"Yes My Master." Dyne said calmly. "What would you have me do first?"

"Go to Chamber Number 25 and await further instructions."

And the apprentice did as he was told without question.

^Note: You are free to come up with any arena you wish.

[Cydnar]

It would appear that I am scorned by Yrene, I am bound to his wrath and once more I find myself in the hallowed halls of The Citadel. It has been only four days since I returned to Donnalaich, yet here I am, the thrill of battle catching me and binding me in sovereignty. It is my new king, I its subject. Without this, I find myself tinkering in my workshop over idle thoughts and long forgotten conscriptions, or walking the grand walkways of the Under Dark in solemn contemplation, lost between the worlds to which I am parlay.

“Good greetings and salutations to you, Lord Cydnar.” I nodded politely to the humble monk, who welcomed my passing into the great foyer before the endless domes. What lay beyond, I could not guess, there we two types of man who entered such a place. There was the one who knew what he wanted and could create an arena, a suited place crafted to their will and in the modicum of perfection. Then there were those who did not, and threw caution to the wind. Mettle after all, was best tested under duress, under a veil of the new, the obscure.

“Good greetings returned to thee, Master Asrai, I have been informed by courier that I am to battle once again today, although I am not much fond of the method. Where am I to meet my opponent?”

“The same dome as before, although your foe has not set any parameters, no field of vision of landmark scorned. Do you wish to give instructions to the artisans, or let fate decide the nature of the land you are to fight in?”

Our discussion was humbling, our voices echoing out across the cold stone of the hall, bouncing on slabs of time worn granite. Somewhere in the lofty heights above, there chanted monks suspended by faith alone, their cantors and arias spiraling in faithful patterns of calming devotion, intermingled with choral battle chants and thunderous baritone arrangements. I looked up to watch them momentarily, thinking in discrete hurry about the question posed.

“I believe,” I began to reply, and dropped my head back to the Master’s eye, “that I wish only to say ‘Rapture,’ ‘Crystal’ and ‘Broken Earth’. What your artisans do with such words is entirely up to their creative impression, I will not impede on their creativity further; is that all there is too discuss?”
Asrai shook his head and returned to his scribe work, his quill I could see was made of an eagle’s plume, no doubt plucked from afar with a deft strike or through the natural turning of nature’s hand. The movement was graceful, and quite, and as I left his presence I thought of more simple pursuits, comparing the stroke of the quill to the stroke of a blade, both writing history but in opposite ways. My eyes adjusted to the dark of the long corridor, counting steps and doors until I arrived once more before the twenty fifth, my destination, our mutual meeting and our mutual exchange of Destiny.

It took a few minutes for the Door Keeper to appear, a low slung monk in a long brown robe of questionable cleanliness. He fumbled with a great knot of keys about his waist, trying several before arriving at the correct one, each false turn brought about a slur of mumbling and whispers.

Beyond, I knew our arena to be complete, and our battle decided upon. I adjusted the belt about my waist, ensuring my blades were secure and the long black and purple robes were unruffled, unbridled, perfectly set about my form. The first impression between two warriors was often crucial, you had to endure scrutiny before the pain; I had yet to decide which of the two was more painful, more excruciating.

The door opened and I peered beyond the dry stone frame. The land beyond was not one I had come to expect, the primer words had been interpreted in a divine scene of apocalyptical senses. A barren wasteland of ash, flat and endless was before me, great purple crystals glimmered in the bright daylight, like monoliths of ancient power set thirty feet apart in a random but somehow pre-designed pattern. Bolts of aura crackled between them, and a deep thundering crack and rumbled filled the air, as if an earthquake had been, or would be, or was enduring the motions deep beneath the crust of the dream world.

I stepped forwards, my boots crushing dust beneath their cautious progressions. As I neared the first crystal I reached out with my palm and felt the energy convalesce onto my fingertips, each minute bolt a temperate touch of ether. With a heartfelt smile, I knew the irony, if such a crystal had been quartz, such weapons and advantages I would have at my disposal, as to crush my opponent with the very ground itself – but this, I could see from its pallid and dual tone appearance, was not quartz.

We were not on a wasteland, but the first acres of the Null Plains. In our people’s tongue, it is the world beneath worlds, where the long discarded fangs of Yrene stand as basilisk statues, zapping magic from the air as it seeps down too deep, and finds itself in a magical place.

It was absorbed here, and channeled for eternity, energy reserves should the World Eater require it, and such a barrier protects the heart of Althanas from destruction. To fight here where the world and the True nature of all life met would be a true honour. “But what chaos would we unleash, should a crystal be disturbed, and the barrier broken?” I saw a vision of the earth breaking apart with vigilant fissures, and the heat and fire of the underworld rushing up to meet us in warm and unbridled enthusiasm.

“I relish this, let me meet my foe!” I smiled, and stepped further inside in search of whomsoever would be fortunate enough to meet my blade, and my curious enthusiasm for the discovery of the unknown.

[Alberdyne_Cormyr]

For a long moment, Dyne stood there alone with his thoughts. It was maddening torture to be alone like that when one was about to fight yet another superior opponent. The apprentice's weapons and equipment were repaired after the match with MetalDrago Scorpio. Thinking about the quality of his equipment, the youth realized that he had to learn more blacksmithing skills if he was to survive the life of war and hardship.

Darkness within the chamber number 25 was foreboding. Upon the simple stone floor was inscribed many symbols and glyphs that were used in the construction of the various battle-realms. For a moment, Dyne was left to his own growing madness. Then, after a time passed, there was a spark within the room and all the symbols on the ground lit up. Reality itself wavered before the youth.



I am sitting upon a world of chaos and destruction. This world looks like it might be the future. A future after Xem'Zund's dominion. A future I do not want. How long have I been living in this nightmare? The world was ripped apart by Xem'Zund's dominant world. Heroes of all walks of life rose to topple his dominion, but alas, Althanas fell.

It took many ages but Xem'Zund was the victor as all things were written during the Age of Prophecy. And now, I am given a small vision of the future that will be. I do not want it. How can I fight when I am so weak? I am powerless to protect anything.



Many pillars of crystals rose through the ground where cities one stood. Energy coursed through the air and the youth understood it was the world crying. From above, comets fell to the ground in the form of lightning strikes to punish the earth below. Dyne was still relatively close to the gate of the room whence it vanished and the illusion was complete. The youth vaguely recalled his battle with MetalDrago and how the very world itself detested his presence.

A pull. No, a presence of some sort. Turning his attention towards his opponent, Dyne saw a man walking towards one of the large crystals and examine it. Dyne walked over to the man dutifully. Looking at his bronze sword for a moment the youth sighed. This is my weapon. A weapon I have made with my own sweat and blood. Someday, it will cut the Thayne themselves. But...

"Until then I am stuck with this weapon." Dyne said to himself. He walked over to Cydnar Yrene. "I have wandered these fields for ages it seems stranger waiting for you. This is but a brief vision of a world dominated by Xem'Zund's wrath." Dyne looked around. "It is fitting that we must meet under such circumstances."

"The name is Alberdyne Cormyr. Neophyte of the Order." Dyne said proudly knowing that he had worked to achieve a matter of some importance. Entering the Order was not a simple task. "I look forward to seeing what tests you might bring!" And with that, Dyne readied bronze sword and shield, his eyes locked upon his opponent.

[Cydnar]

As I advanced, so did another, springing into my vision like a spirit assailant. He spoke, of things I did not understand, but the name struck a chord, as if returning to me from some unknown memory or lesson in the libraries of the Under Dark I had long forgotten. Xem’Zund…yes, I had heard that name before, at the heart of battle.

“This is no Thayne nightmare, child, this is the world beneath your feet, a place that exists in fable and reality, between love and hate. It is a fitting place, you are correct with that notion, but for reasons you could not comprehend.” I took a deep breath to steady myself, coming to a halt a hundred feet away, absorbing the tense radiance in the air, watching the lightning crackle all about us. “Perhaps you are right, maybe this lord you speak of will unleash the fury of the crystals upon the world, wreak havoc with magic too powerful for mortal coils. Let us hope,” I turned my right foot to one side, scraping the dust and bracing myself for a surge of energy. “Let us pray that we are not alive to see such a world, see such disaster.”

I drew Freya with a simple twist and pull, an inoffensive and unrushed gesture of beginning. The metal rung through the vastness of the arena plucked from legend, and as it faded, so did any notion of apprehension or worry. The boy before me was a plain human, no doubt training, or beholden to some secret order or talent I would not, could not guess. I would take him as he came, let his own arrogance and brash fighting and strength be the death of him. Such was the way of the Salthias, to punish recklessness and over expenditure. To repel the mighty gods with the smallest of blows, to fight with water and wind, against fire and earth. With a twist, the sword spins around and hooks up behind my back, held in a reverse grip.

“I am Cydnar, Knight and mage of the Hummel – allow fate to introduce you, so that I better know the name to call in the fury of battle!” I waved my hand to beckon him, before taking the hilt of Freya into my hand and wielding it as a main-hand weapon, a parrying blade to guard the veiled advanced of the main blade, fighting with the sheath of a weapon was a tradition many elves carried. I waited for him to make the first move, admiring the beauty of the chaos around us. With each crack of lightning, sulphur and dust filled the air. With every gust of storm bound wind, the taint of ash and death drifted on high.

This was a fitting arena.

[Alberdyne_Cormyr]

The dead cried out and Dyne could hear their call. Why is it that the Monks keep sending me all these weirdos? Dyne shook his head briefly as he kept his hood tight about his head. Standing nearby one of the giant crystals unnerved the youth greatly. His eyes watched them for a moment as he attempted to analyze a pattern of some sort between the bursts of energy. Soon though, he gave up on that endeavor to focus on the battle at hand.

Cydnar drew some sort of fancy weapon he had never seen before. Must be swords of Elven quality and make. Never actually seen 'em before this point, this will be most interesting. Dyne quickly analyzed that the blades themselves were made of the material known as Steel. Covering the distance between himself and Cydnar, Dyne readied sword and shield. His fighting style was still simple at best but he hoped for more refinement as time went on.

Dyne observed Cydnar's fighting position for any possible weaknesses. It seemed to favor the side of his body where the weapon's weight was largely drawn. Seeing this key element of the fighting style, Dyne gave credit to the man's exotic fighting style. This would be a most interesting fight. He'd barely had any decent sword-fighting experience. Seeing that Cydnar was waiting for him to take first-strike, Dyne obliged. The apprentice did not mind getting the chance to start the party off right. Dyne dashed forward covering the distance between himself and his opponent. He moved as fast as he could, which was not impressive for a man his size. At the last possible moment, Dyne jumped into the air with his weapon readied, and made a move to strike at Cydnar's side opposite where he currently held his weapon. Dyne attempted to make rudimentary calculations at the man's best speed. As he swung, he aimed his weapon in an ellipse like movement. He was hoping to catch the man's shoulder so that he couldn't effectively hold is weapon any longer.

[Cydnar]

I am not of the guild of brash swordsmen, charging into battle without a thought or care to the contrary. With a cold calculating statuesque stare, I gave my opponent once more the third degree, the level of examination usually only reserved for a Matriarch for her Patriarch; longing, dangerous, lusting. There seemed to be a modicum of power behind his youthful steps, invigorated brightly by the crackling energy and the slowly crumbling monoliths which held the world’s power at bay from the deep earth, the genesis of all things. Here we would dance.

It would be a beautiful and fitting ensemble for two warriors at the edge of the world. Somehow, the coincidences in our meeting, our matching of skill and our somewhat voracious knowledge of the deities of our world began to feel less like accidental, and more like a purposeful crossing of destinies. “Strike me down for speaking out of term young one,” I goaded, challenging the man to a duel of wit and riposte over the brutal exchange of silver tongued words.

I was somewhat glad that the human made the first move as I had hoped he would, as I had allowed him to. Such a rash move encapsulated his race’s erudite fancies with always being right, strong, and quick. I was taken by swift surprise as the blade came not to my own, but up and around and aimed to strike at the unguarded edge of my body. I stepped back with a small movement, like a dancer’s quick-footed encumbrance suddenly shod, brought the steel of Freya up and pushed sideways as the blade came to connect; if such a movement were to be successful the parry would chime out through the cavernous expanse of the dome. As I stepped back I spiraled with a hope, allowing weight to carry the parrying sword upright into the elliptical downward strike of Alberydne.

If not? I feigned the ability to consider such an option. Such a fast and reckless opponent could only serve to play into my hands, but for such a maneuver and chance to work, I must draw both blades; in doing so, I would unleash the might of the Salthias, striking as swift as the python and as deadly as the viper in a maelstrom of skill, tenacity, and cold calculated imagery.

[Alberdyne_Cormyr]

Temper well-forged now, the clang of cold-steel vibrated loudly through the air augmented by the sound of crackling energy nearby. Pillars of crystal-like rock erupted with the energy that they stored within. The earth below was barren, and cracked from the furious energy storms. Bolts of energy that strayed from their targets, which was often, burned the dry earth into glass that would rival the tempest of glass formed in Fallien. Piping hot, the air crackled with the intense heat that radiated from the energy strikes. Like a proverbial Hell on Althanas, it was a terrible place to be at.

However, that's not to say that the post-apocalyptic world was not without its share of beauty. Creatures flowed through the air that were drawn to the energy bolts. Parasitical organisms with many legs fed off the heat of the the crystals in some cases, causing the crystals to go completely dark and lifeless.

Dead voids of dark matter.

Slowing down around the young swordsman, Dyne saw that his opponent took up his blade and made a skilled movement. Meeting a combined point in the time/space continuum, the two blades inevitably locked. A loud sound came from the blades as the two warriors pushed their weight against either weapon, respectively. Dyne thankfully landed on solid ground, skidding a pace or three forward as he held onto the sword he wielded. Pushing his weight against the other man, Dyne saw that his weight class was far superior to the other man's.

Pushing his weight now, the youth took full advantage of his warrior's physique. He attempted to push down against the incoming parry, to give himself an opening. If it worked, Dyne had something ready. He would make a quick striking attempt at the man's shoulder, again, trying to clip the man of his precious sword-arms. Fed up with the Monk's insistence on sending him obscure opponents, the youth was determined to put the Elf in his place. Assuming no dirty tricks awaited him, Alberdyne Cormyr prepared to render the man's precious fighting style useless by attacking the deltoid regions one at a time. After all, without limbs, what good were swords?

[Cydnar]

Down the man pushed as the blade connected, and I felt his weight fall down upon me like a blitzkrieg, sundering my domination of the moment with ease. Succumbing to the motion, I tried to spiral backwards with a semi-doublet leap and settled my blades on opposite sides of my body to formulate spiraling defensive cutting sprawl.

Overhead, the lightning crackled between the monoliths of ancient, if imagined power, and shards of crystal fell away from their home to scatter like acorns in the wind on the dense obsidian floor. The portent was not well received.

The outward and sly strike at my sword arm, or at least the one the man perceived to be just was unexpected and struck. I stopped, facing him and with my right arm lifted to point the blade down at the man’s neck as his own weapon pierced the purple hem of my robe.

I felt no blood, no cold twang of regret and smiled. My movement had saved my shoulder, and brought the sword to the edge of my bracer, it’s cold and rustic design hidden beneath the traditional dress of the Salthias, the warrior. This, I knew all too well, was a lucky escape, although the chip on the hematite ore that formed by defence would require mediation and summoning to repair, time I did not have in this war torn world.

I leapt back to clear myself of the man’s impressive reach and in the air I leveled both swords arced inwards so that their tips crossed. The sound of my boots connecting with the floor flopped, and I grinned from behind blue yes, gleaming as they did in the twilight world.

“Come,” I said, challenging with a wry curling of the lip, “let us see you do that again, when I am more than ready to dance with the devil you weave through the air so fleetingly!”

[Alberdyne_Cormyr]

Catching a tip of something Dyne was pushed back slightly at the force of the impact against the man's armor. He had not expected the man to wear armor laced in his robes, clever one that one. Dyne caught his balance as he was knocked back several paces. Finally! Someone I can have a fair match with! Dyne thought to himself as he focused on the man's blue eyes.

Energy crackled through the air overhead, dangerously close, as the two fought. Dyne heard the loud thunder explode nearby sending dirt, debris, and fragments of energy up in a cataclysmic movement. Dyne had to evade the explosion lest he get caught up in the sudden burst and killed! The hop moved his body a few paces to his immediate right, and he landed in a roll, moved quickly forward a few more paces, and caught his footing. With that motion, the youth slid forward a few more paces and was now edging closer to one of the monolith like crystals.

Strangely, the youth thought about The Citadel as he looked at the crystal towers. For a moment, he could have sworn he saw a presence within the crystals. Something that was staring back at the youth and looking deeply into the boy's soul. Torment. The thought made Dyne grimace visibly as he wondered what sort of organism could thrive within such a monolithic structure as these crystals.

Quickly letting the thought fade away, the youth stared at Cydnar's position. Somehow, he'd managed to get several feet away from the other warrior which troubled the apprentice greatly. Dyne clutched his weapon and shield tightly, and prepared to charge forward towards his opponent. However, the more cautious side of the youth told him to walk instead of blindly sprint forward. Slowing down was going to be a problem, but Dyne decided that he would allow his hot-blooded nature to be governed for a few moments at least. Walking forward now, Dyne soon covered the distance between himself and his opponent. It was a deliberate tactic meant to test the patience of the other man.

Once Dyne was close enough, he examined the man's combat position carefully for any signs of weakness. His swords were pointing towards the ground which made the stance one with a lower central point of gravity. Dyne studied for a moment, and then prepared for his own tactics. Bearing his bronze shield in front of him, Dyne rushed forward with his full body weight once more. Focusing carefully on his movement, the youth stepped off his right leg, keeping himself balanced with is left leg. When his right foot touch the ground once more, he had covered some more distance towards his opponent.

Rotating his weapon in his hand, Dyne saw the one fatal flaw in the man's current battle stance. He assumed it was a flaw at least. Performing a wide overhand swing, the youth suddenly arched his weapon forward. It was a beautiful technique, meant to attempt to come directly over the man's two swords and spiral downward and hopefully into the man's gut. Once he was about mid-way with his swing, he suddenly bounded forward with his left foot, and proceeded in an attempt to catch the crux of both of his opponent's blades underneath his boots. If successful, not only would his opponent be disarmed, but his opponent would also be faced with a sword rapidly approaching his abdomen region. Dyne hoped for success with this maneuver.

[Cydnar]

My smile was weaker now; the man approached slowly, but surely, as if every footfall made the earth stand to attention in defiant agreement. Somehow, my stance and my technique were faltering beneath a wave of simple, strong, brutal aggression. In our lifetime, we are used to fighting a particular set of enemies; my typical foe is swift, like lightning scaling the heights of clarity. This man, a typical human, was altogether a different and fundamentally obscure man to gauge, to understand, to read. He brought up his blade from behind his shield, and as he advanced, in the ether, I pulled at strings unseen to all but me and conjured behind my back a small orb of quartz, densely compacted to be brittle and ancient, like the towers of power all around us.

The strength I thought so highly of did not disappoint, I did not roll aside or deflect the blow, instead letting the sword come down into the crux of my blades and allowing the force to push them down and outwards, my knees buckled with the motion. My plan was perfect, a feint attack to lower myself and allow the crystal projectile to strike like the cobra’s fangs from over my head.

What I did not count on, was the boot to the face.

Thuck.

In the miscommunication, what I thought was happening and what transpired were confused and blurred. My attempt to feint countered by his own feint. I felt the fool, and down hard I tumbled.

Backwards I felt myself fall and into the ground I went, dust and lightning skipping out across the vast expanse of the Citadel’s arena. Silence, my favourite accompaniment to life filled the air and slowly faded in the wake of my heavy breathing. A moment passed, one not long enough for a follow up strike. I sat upright, then flipped backwards with swords held sharply horizontal to either side. As I landed, I straightened my knees and rose to look at the man once more.

“That was,” incongruous “interesting, certainly unexpected.” I clicked my neck and moved my head left to right to ease the stiffness. There was no blood that I could see or taste or smell, but these close shaves with depravity and death were becoming ochre stains unique in form and as ever deadly in malice. “Strength is not often something that can be measured by the swing of a blade alone,” I ducked, and pushed the small fist sized orb of crystal forwards as fast as I could. The few feet of distance between us would allow him little time to react, but I had made the mistake of underestimating him once before, I hoped I would not do so again.

It whistled, I smiled, and crossed the swords as I knelt to form a diagonal cross in front of my knees. As I did so, a lightning cloud flashed overhead, at last, I murmoured, a good omen.

[Alberdyne_Cormyr]

Though he'd calculated the maneuver quite carefully, the lighting in the environment, and his own speed compared to the other man's was lacking. His swinging blade came down first and then the boot, somehow, ended up connecting with the man's face. What is the deal with this place, didn't I just aim for his swords with my boot? Dyne shrugged the thoughts off to the side having little time to react to the object that was thrown in his general direction.

Swinging forward, the apprentice attempted to recapture his momentum. He'd been thrown off balance and only half-expected his opponent to throw some trick through the air. In the back of his mind he cursed once he felt the surge of energy come from his foe. Dyne's eyes widened as the man's nimbus cloud seemed to fluctuate for a brief moment. His movement slowed down as the other man reacted in a much faster capacity. Dyne felt the entire world stand still as lightning flickered about him from the monolith structures.

The other man's reaction time was simply far superior to Dyne's. Dyne had not noticed the man's conniving plot. As he worked to regain his moment against the other man's movements, time seemed to stop. Seconds passed as he had time to think about where he was actually going to place is shield. Be it a combination of the mysterious energies around this newly discovered environment, or the man's own secret power, Dyne saw the projectile as it was thrown at him. Oh shit! Dyne thought to himself as the object was nonchalantly tossed in his general direction.

With his shield coming to position, the youth saw his life flash before his eyes. Then it hit him, hard. Only his superior muscle mass and physique saved him from permanent harm. Feeling tremendous shock course through his stomach, the unarmored youth was hit easily by the man's projectile attack. Bending over in a slight hunch, the air was knocked completely out of Dyne's lungs. He was now open to any follow up attack that Cydnar might send his way...

[Cydnar]

Another roll of thunder touched the heavens, and I stood upright and fertile in a land of death and carnage. The quartz had sundered the man’s concentration, stayed the juggernaut’s mighty charge, and somehow, left me underfed and feeling somewhat more capable following a wave of self doubt. Freya, my first born and most treasured possession fell limply to touch the ground in a twinned motion with the blade in my other hand, all the fight went from me. How could I strike a man injured and incapable?

This was not the meaning of fighting, of combat, of living I had hoped to find. “Get up!”

“Get up damn you!”

I spun both the swords around in a delicate and overwrought blade dance, one which dropped my right knee and pushed my left leg back to brace any weight as I leant back slowly. Cradled in such a stance, I kept the blades moving and used their weaving motion to channel another spell, the words crackling off my tongue to gain power in the electrified ambience.

“I will not strike you injured, nor will I defend you once you are regained and well, show me the passion and the miter of man, show me why we fear your kind!”

Both blades crossed and sparked, and the spell erupted, scattering crystalline dust up and around into a volcanic column of artistic expression. It held its ground as a declaration of my mercy, or what selfish notions I perceived to be such. I waited for the boy to straighten his back and strike at me once more, knowing my stamina would not last, but my speed, a tool I now saw to be most valuable in the application of the dance like and arcane Salthias style, would need to persevere and perform one swift and deadly and simple death knell – I had to terminate this meeting before I was overcome.

[Alberdyne_Cormyr]

For some reason, the amplified shard of crystal energy impacted the youth more than its intended purposes perhaps. Time passed whilst the youth coughed and attempted to breath the dirty air. Realizing that his opponent was allowing him to recover Dyne saw an opening. Even a weakness. He used his analytical mind for cold accuracy and purpose. Dyne stood in a position that was close to the other man, and he was already prepared to counter-strike. When the man released his taunting maneuvers, Dyne felt disgusted at his foe.

Creeping closer, Dyne fell to the ground now. If I can just keep him distracted, keep up the act...maybe, I can pull a win out of here... Dyne did not have the sense of honor and nobility that Cydnar had. Dyne believed in winning no matter how ugly, or how unprofessional his tactics were. He learned one thing about The Citadel: there were foes that would absolutely obliterate you with sheer power. I cannot limit myself to Codes, or Honour. Such matters do not keep a warrior alive. Only the blade does.

Dyne continued to cough with a combination of breathing the dirty air in, attempting to regain his breath, and mere acting. He was exaggerating the situation by then, and he knew it. Even though that was the case, the youth had gotten close enough to the man to enact his plan. He'd arrived just a second or two after the man's impressive display of power. Taunting me...the son of a bitch is taunting me. I'll make you pay. I swear...

"I'll make you pay!" And Dyne attacked. It was a perfectly coordinated maneuver. As he coughed one last time, the youth suddenly grabbed his sword, and lunged upward with his right side. The maneuver was meant to disembowel the Elf with all the rage, brute strength, and passion that Dyne could muster. He aimed the tip of his sword right at the man's heart, his own face was twisted with a certain fury. Dyne lunged upward and stood up quickly, readying his shield for any sort of counter the man might bring.

"Die you bastard!" Dyne yelled and let out all his pent up rage in that one glorious moment.

[Cydnar]

So the blade did plunge, it's strength and fury crushing my feeble defences. His advance was so pain stricken and war torn, I could do nothing but feebly deflect the blow upwards. It struck the corner of the hematite hauberk that protected my torso, and shattered it with ease, like a needle piercing a haybale in the autumnal fields of a valley I've only heard or dreamt of.

With a thudder, the blade entered my shoulder and connected with flesh. I took a step back, the confused and dazed man slumped onto my chest, half hanging, half hoping for wings to lift him on high. I smiled, although it was a smile laced with pain and fury and need for revenge. Was this fighting, was this battle? An ontological search was a difficult one, to question and reason oneself in such a manner is a paradox waiting to happen, waiting to sunder the mind.

A third cavalcade of lightning errupted overhead and for a moment, I stared into the man's eyes. He moved, and the pain jolted down my spine. My left arm, now imapled fell limp, and Freya fell like a moonlit star to the scorched earth.

"Death?

There is no glory in death human.

Héten nlyoth lórygú sïen nówingcí hénwó ótén ïeden!"

With a resurgent and last defiant push, I placed my free hand onto the man's right shoulder and pushed him free from my immediate vicinity. As he stumbled backwards, leaving his blade impaled into my shoulder, I brought about the long forgotten twin to the mistress of the stars and cut upwards across his chest diagonally. Then stepped sideways and spun around; the movement gave momentum to the blade as it spiralled around away and back, I lunged and brought it full speed with feline grace into the general region of the man's shoulder - an eye for an eye meaning literal retaliation. Two strikes that could tear a ghoul asunder, two strikes that carried behind them all the hopes of my people for the days ahead.

The lightning crackled, Yrene's monoliths hummed, had I finally earnt the World Eater's blessing?



The only glory is knowing WHEN to die!

[Alberdyne_Cormyr]

For a moment, he lost the comforting feeling of his weapon's handle. As he was pushed, Dyne's hand reached out for the weapon once more and he did catch it. With his nature as a street-fighter, the youth wanted to inflict as much harm to his opponent as he possibly could. Dyne knew he had even the slightest chance of winning the match. For that to occur, he had to capitalize on every mistake his enemy made. Whilst gripping the handle of his weapon Dyne, knew the end was near. Just give me a few more seconds, please! That's all I ask.

Just as the man pushed Dyne away, Dyne pushed on his weapon. He quickly shoved forward, and and then, with the same sliding movement, he yelled as he made an attempt to pull his weapon right out of the man's shoulder to increase the deadly wound he'd inflicted upon him.

Once Dyne's weapon was freed of the prison called the body, the other man was already moving with his counter attack. There was nothing, due to the proximity of the attack, that Dyne could do to avoid the attack. Instead, the youth attempted to shift his powerful body weight to a slight angle, so that when the sword came, the attack was not lethal. His foe's sword slashed at a perfect angle cutting through his feeble clothing.

Dyne saw the second attack coming. Already bleeding from the horrible gash across his chest, Dyne was already locked in his current position. The man's strike moved like a cobra snatching a rodent towards its imminent demise. Feeling his face cringe as the sword bit him once more, the strike disabled his arm. Blood flowed freely from the multiple gashes on his body, but the youth managed to hold onto the conscious realm of the Firmanent.

The strikes would have destroyed a lesser man. But, Dyne, a natural street fighter, was well prepared to micromanage such damaging blows. Moving his sword arm now, the youth prepared to take out the second arm of his opponent with a simple downward slash towards the middle section of the extended arm. A few simple movements had saved the bleeding man from certain crippling blows. The strikes were non-lethal, but one of his arms had been disabled, and it was his shield-arm. The shield fell to the ground, useless. Dyne's counter-strike was meant to sever the other man's arm into two clean pieces. After that, Dyne could do no more and would be vulnerable to the point of accepting his fate in the match.

Blood sprayed everywhere.

[Cydnar]

The guttural cut of his blade made Cydnar reel in the emotional splurge that cut his efforts short. Altogether too quickly the man had braced for the impact of his decisive and bi-lateral strike. The blood dripped down the blade at first, and Freya sang a Valkyrie song for the deeper enthrallment in death.

Dyne's sword pulled, wrenched and quickly came down with a last and bitter counter attack. Too concerned with the retraction of his weapon, the otherwise nimble Hummel gritted his teeth and felt the metal shatter the hematite bracer he relied upon for protection and strike a chord upon his arm. The pain transcended expectation and rocketed up his muscles into his shoulder; for a brief moment, he felt the pain of his earlier wound ascend to a new peak, then drop into lethargy.

"Hïtsë..."

He looked down as time slower, his sword in Dyne's side, and Dyne's sword in embedded in the quarry of fragments and bone shards. The force had shattered the upper side of the ancient armour, cut through his arm and fractured the bone, although the bloody mess hid the fact well.

Dyne fell, and so did Cydnar, one man to his doom and to a prone and everlasting night, the Hummel to his knees, exasperated and demanding the cold and calculated reprieve of the Citadel's healers. That, above all, was the greatest comfort.

The lightning about them crackled furiously, gathering above Cydnar's head in a maelstrom of effervescence. He looked up, and the last words he'd spoken echoed in between the pronged energy storm. He smiled, Dyne had known the right moment, and through that futile acceptance of a man's fate, he'd delivered a gambit. Dyne may have been the one to die, but it was Cydnar who'd been defeated and broken.

"All this searching for the unending answer, when all along it was the cut and thrust of a sword or wrenching swing of an axe that was the question," he chuckled.

He slumped further still until his gave way and slipped into abyssal night. As unconciousness struck, the monoliths and blackened obsidian that made up the requested arena slowly broke away from reality, rock and lightning falling upwards into the azure sky. The arena re-appeared, a cold and sandy brandistock blow delivered to the expecations of two more combatants in an eternal ocean of war.

The great doors swung open with a heavenly rattle, and through the dark opening the monks came, as they always did, like angels carrying the fallen to the realm beyond realms.

The thunder errupted and trailed away, the storm carried on elsewhere.



Shit



Spoils:

Ragnarok: A simple sword technique combining a quartz sphere attack concealed behind Cydnar's back or terrain and a spiralling double strike from a single blade and sheathe, or from both his blades. At present, strikes at normal strength and speed, but consumes two alloted uses of the crystal sphere as it gives surprise and the aid of striking twice at once. His aim with the sphere using this technique is one level lower than his current skill as written under the Crystalline ability.

[Visla Eraclaire]

A quick judgment was requested and I'm sorry that it wasn't quick. It will be brief. Questions may be addressed to me via PM or aim.

Alberdyne_Cormyr

Continuity 5
Setting 8
Pacing 4
Dialogue 7
Action 8
Persona 5
Technique 5
Mechanics 8
Clarity 5
Wild Card 5

Final Score 60

Cydnar Yrene
Continuity 4
Setting 7
Pacing 5
Dialogue 7
Action 3
Persona 3
Technique 3
Mechanics 3
Clarity 3
Wild Card 7

Final Score 45

Alberdyne_Cormyr wins, gains 525 exp, 50 gp.

Cydnar Yrene gains 100 exp, 25 gp.

[Taskmienster]

Exp and GP added.