The Test (Closed)

[TheOrganism]

((Closed to EI; I left the Arena to be your choice, but if you'd like me to create it just let me know via PM.))

It had been almost six months since Tyler’s last visit to Corone. Five of those six he had spent in Raiaera, under the watchful eyes of his mentor Lorenor. So much had changed for the man since he had left Underwood. The once virtuous vampire hunter was now a puppet. Flesh and bone being guided by the dark hands of N’Jal. He and his new family, The Forsaken, would usher Althanas into a new age of darkness, but first he had to prepare. He needed to prove to himself, and above all else N'Jal, that he wasn’t the warm and compassionate hunter that had set out on a quest of self righteousness so many months prior. He needed to ditch the only thing that tied him to the people he once swore to protect. He needed to lose his humanity.

That’s what brought him to the citadel. It lured him in like metal to a magnet. If he could prove once and for all that he was no longer the weak and tenderhearted humanitarian that had five months prior entered N’Jal’s Forsaken City, then the Dark Lady would have no choice but to grant him the title of Paladin.

Damn monks. He brooded as an exceptionally plump and pale Ai’Brone disciple finally made his way to the middle-aged warrior. It seemed like every time Tyler came to The Citadel he had to thrust himself into a world of waiting, time that he just couldn’t afford to waste anymore now that he had a purpose.

“What do you seek today?” The monk questioned in the same inquisitive tone that all of the Ai’Brone seemed to share.

Tyler paused for a moment to ponder the stupidity of the monk’s question, before finally giving an answer.

“Why else would I waste half my day standing around here?” Tyler asked. “Obviously I want a fight. I want to be plunged into an arena that my own mind can’t even fathom. Hell, by the time I leave here today I want to be so bewildered at what you’ve created, that I gain a whole new outlook on life.”

By the time Tyler had finished his rant, spit was drippling down his lower lip. He looked more like a blood thirsty fiend than the beasts he once hunted.

The monk didn’t smile or frown. For that matter, there was no emotion what so ever on his face, but he was going to give Tyler one hell of an arena. One he had been saving for just the right combatant. Today Tyler’s wish of being tested would come true. For better or worse, it was time for the man to finally find out what he was becoming.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

He couldn’t fathom what he was thinking, nor why he had done so, but yet again Jensen was standing within the ancient halls of the grand citadel of Corone. This place wasn’t appealing to him at all yet at the same time it kept calling to him. So far he found a hated foe in William Arcus, a demon host that twice attempted to physically destroy the enigmatic immortal. A mystic pain in the ass named Sei Orlouge that Jensen now served as a humble body guard when the man was out of his cave. The last name he added to the list was an asshole of a man, uglier than a snaggle-toothed bearded lady and twice as mean. His name eluded the knight of Apocalypse, but what he represented he didn’t forget; N’Jal, the dark mother.

A chance encounter while drunk led him to be used in a game to mess with a mutant freak, and Jensen only escaped that encounter outside the safety net of the Citadel magic by taking his own life by cutting his throat. It was painful to do, and his resurrection hurt like a bitch for the next few days, but he avoided being a pawn of the dark mother by doing so. All in all he figured it was a small price to pay to stay away from that bondage cult.

So why he decided to return to the place where hero’s are made confused even the immortal. In principle he hated the Citadel and all it represented. To the immortal he detested how people came to test their mettle in a place with no fear of death. The body couldn’t grow, couldn’t grow in a life and death situation if one knew he wouldn’t die. It was like the citadel took all the fun out of fighting to the bloody finish. However, despite all that there was one reason he had come.

No matter what he always found someone who entertained the immortal. A tasty morsel of flesh he could break in the crucible of battle with laughter and insults until eventually nothing remained. That sole reason, the one nugget of enjoyment was the only reason he kept coming back to this place. However this time he fund himself in a place he couldn’t fight out of.

Jensen stared at the monk in front of him, his patience being warn thin as he tapped his foot impatiently. Out of the many Ai’Bron monks in this building and he had to deal with the one who he insulted the other day. Before he got away with his arrogance, but today the pudgy man just shuffled papers with a bored expression as he turned his back to the immortal.

“If I said I was sorry?” Jensen thought out loud.

“Wouldn’t hurt, but I know you don’t mean it.”

“I’m sorry,” Jensen lied. The monk snorted at the knight’s blatant attempt to appease him. Instead he just lifted his quill and scribbled on a paper as his eyes looked to the dwarf behind the immortal. He waved the stuntling over and the man waddled forward with a pride at being allowed entrance into the citadel before the person in front of him. Jensen rolled his eyes sighing loudly as he watched another monk escorting some blood crazed man.

The immortal glanced back to the monk at the front desk and he saw how the monk was taking extra long to help out this dwarf, going over every disgusting detail of the dwarfs day before even asking what the hell he wanted to do. Jensen snorted lifting up a parting finger as he turned and shadowed the crazed fighter.

Let’s see what I get to play with today…

[TheOrganism]

Fifteen minutes later Tyler was at a lack of words. The monk had made him sign paperwork, led him to a vacant chamber, and gave him a few last pieces of advice. A process that was more of a routine than an unusual occurrence in the Citadel. However, he couldn’t help feeling shafted as he looked at the plainest battlefield his eyes had ever seen.

This is the best he could do? Tyler finally speculated while scanning the battlefield ahead.

Instead of springing to creativity, the monk simply gave Tyler a meadow. One long mound of grass, enclosed on all sides by a thicket of sprouting trees. For the most part the span of grass that made up the battlefield was devoid of brush. For that matter, it was devoid of sound also. The only thing it didn’t lack was sunlight, which was pouring down like rain. It entered through every crack in the flourishing canopy, but casted very few shadows. A scent lingered in the air that reminded Tyler of Raiaera.

The undead…

It was the last smell Tyler recognized before the silence was cut violently short by a chorus of ferocious shrieks.

He couldn’t see them yet, but he knew that smell. One that still made him curse himself for nose-breathing, with an aftertaste so foul it killed hair on contact, if that was possible.

“Son of a bitch!” He exclaimed, trying hard to exhale the poisons that had just climbed through his nose.

Without warning the arena turned three shades darker. The air filled with humidity. The sky blotted out by a pair of thunderclouds so thick that the hunter was surprised they hadn’t already burst and discharged their watery innards.

However, Tyler seemed unmoved. Unmoved by the lifeless howls that reflected off the trees. Unmoved by the sudden shift into darkness. Even now unmoved by the smell, which was barely gone from his nose. The only thing that mattered to him at this point was his opponent. His real opponent.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen was confused. A meadow and a forest. That was his arena. He had fought in volcanoes, he had fought in frozen plains, he had fought in a butcher’s shop. To be fighting in an arena such as this didn’t really make him excited for the oncoming fight.

A screech pierced the night sky, and Jensen’s ears twitched towards the sound of it as his head turned. He wrinkled his nose as a soft pungent odor filled his nostrils and he nearly gagged. Corpses was his only conclusion. Something dead was walking in this land.

That felt a little better for the immortal when he thought about how his brains could be eaten at any moment. At first he was afraid his only fear would be if a raccoon made an attempt to attack him. His hands dived down to his belt as his fingers locked around the metal holes of one throwing glaive and one throwing knife. He held them at the ready as he looked outwards seeing the darkness of the forest like an omen of ill intent.

He moved cautiously into the forest, feeling the fallen leaves that had dried up beneath his boots as they made a crunching sound. An owl hooted in alarm at this noise and another scream echoed into the night followed by the howling of wolves. The immortal jumped, laughing at this sudden thrill of noises that he couldn't pinpoint in the stillness of the night.

As he delved deeper into the woods Jensen felt an unearthly breeze cross his flesh and his skin crawled at its unnatural touch. He curled his lips into a sinister grin. He was starting to get behind what he had once perceived as a poorly thought out arena.

Into the darkness he marched, looking for danger as well as his opponent in the shadows of the trees.

[TheOrganism]

There were quite a few similarities between Tyler and his selected arena. The sudden skip from a sun radiated meadow to shadow enclosed orchard, resembled the change. Howls echoing off mangled tree bark, provided the sense of chaos. The fact that he hadn’t pinpointed his actual opponent yet, added the urgency. If all of those emotions were to be blended together and poured to life, they’d likely mirror Tyler’s inner thoughts.

One big clusterfuck, Tyler scoffed as he pondered his current predicament. The story of my fucking life!

After spending a few moments in thought he came to a conclusion. More of a game plan really. Tyler knew his chances of surviving were slim, if there were any at all. Instead of trying to survive, he would just go all out. Cause as much havoc as he possibly could before dying.

“Let’s do this!” He chanted at the first mangled head that popped from the surrounding thicket.

Moments after the first head emerged, it was followed by another.

And another…

And another…

Until finally Tyler was looking into nearly fifteen sets of opaque eyes. Fifteen flesh-hungry, spit dribbling mouths. However, the former hunter didn’t shudder. The only emotion that the grey haired man telegraphed at all was madness, and it was oozing from him like sweat on a Fallian afternoon.

“Let’s!” His eyes narrowed on the horde,

“Do!” His grip tightened around his scimitar,

“This!” He charged, his voice echoing from the core of the forest.

Seconds later Tyler’s steel blade met rotted flesh and deteriorated tissue simultaneously. His initial swing was so well placed that it decapitated the first zombie he came across. It was followed by three more hasty swings that would further stain the edge of his blade with the tainted blood of the undead.

No matter how many he managed to put down, two more seemed to pop up, filling the void. Instead of decreasing, their numbers were multiplying.

Hopefully my opponent is having a harder time than me. He thought while parrying the flesh seeking hand of a zombie from his face.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Steel cut upwards in a mighty arc, flesh ripping as dried blood sprayed out like dirt falling from the sky. The immortal moved swiftly backwards, his tongue held out lazily like a sycophant of battle as he eyed the numbers of growing zombies. He held one of his throwing knives in a reverse grip, twirling it between his fingers as he wiped the sweat off his brow. Seven zombies down and still more came. And endless supply of them it seemed that never tired nor ended. Jensen had always wondered what odds would be for survival and after the third zombie’s body hit the floor the immortal concluded it was suicide.

That still didn’t mean he wasn’t having fun.

A bubbling feeling filled his sotmach and went up through his chest as he let out a cry of laughter, darting back in with his punch knife blocking a clumsy blow for his head and using the throwing kife to impale the zombie in the neck. With the undead monster held at bay for a breif second Jensen took his punch knife and swung taking out an eye and half the brain in a dusty arc of more dried blood and other disgusting bile.

He danced backwards again as more and more zombies came, and he knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer. Looking to his surroundings Jensen came up with a plan as he turned and ran for the path way. There he saw a tree with a low branch, sprinting towards it as he pocketed his weapons and jumped catching hold of the oaken wood. He pulled himself up and then climbed higher into the tree until he felt relatively safe.

Zombies shuffled forward in determined steps, hands raised out to feast upon his blood for a chance to feel alive for a brief second. Yet they had no dexterity to their horde like shamble and when they approached his tree they began to claw at it like woodsman. True enough with their insane desire to feed they could all eventually chop the tree down, but Jensen wasn’t planning on sticking around that long.

He eyed another branch and began to go to work of jumping from tree to tree, moving in quick leaps and making daring bounds. At one point he miscalculated a jump, his feet slipping as he fell upon his stomach knocking all the wind out of his lungs. He coughed as he felt the zombies warmth near him, grasping and groping to get a hold of his flesh. Moving quickly he scurried up the branch, just out of reach as they clawed for him groaning into the still night while others wailed louder than a banshee at their impatience to feast upon a life source.

Jensen moved again, more cautiously this time as he climbed and moved from tree to tree, keeping an eye out for his opponent. At long last he heard a terrible war cry, something not undead but alive and full of energy. He moved towards the sound and at long last he found his prey fighting off hordes of zombies.

When stuck in a life or death situation the usual motto in these predicaments was always the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Yet Jensen watched him hack at the life forms with disdain and pure hatred, seething his frustrations with each attack. The immortal gazed upon the man and came up with a plan as he moved to the outer edges of the tree.

There he stood, plain in eyesight as he called out to the man, waving one arm. “Yoo-hoo! Over here! Hey, did you need some help, sir?” Jensen cried in a mocking way, his fingers slipping to his throwing glaives. He lifted them up, licking them as he did so and let out a boisterous laugh tossing them both at his foe.

“Here, catch!” he cried, howling in mirth.