Fortress of Delusion

[Sweet Polly Oliver]

The sparrow rose on a thermal and soared up along the sandstone walls of the great edifice known as the Citadel. He flew up past a a seemingly endless wall of stone blocks. Eventually it seemed to the bird as though, instead of flying upwards, he was gliding along a long, flat surface, with occasional holes where the windows were. He had never seen such an enormous building in its entire life, and he was very old for a sparrow—at least ten thousand years old. He was, in fact, a god.

Passer the Sparrowfather enjoyed the sensation of flight for a moment more, took another circle around the building, and then paused near an open window. A yellow butterfly flitted past his face and he wondered what such a creature could be doing this far above the ground. More interesting, however, was the enormous crowd below. Hundreds of people milled about the streets of the enormous city, and a number of the crowded around the Citadel itself. It was hardly a surprise—the famous battle arena drew a crowd on any day, and today the weather was particularly nice. For a moment he suspected he saw a family with a picnic basket climbing up the steps to the great building.

Yes, just a lovely day trip for the family to the bloodthirsty fight pits, Passer thought sardonically.

Finally he found the person he was looking for: the little redheaded girl who was his sole follower. She was one of many tourists with their mouths agape, staring up at the building in wide-eyed wonder. The only difference between her and them, Passer snickered to himself, was that this was her usual expression.

If sparrows could sigh, he would have sighed. Instead he made a discontented sort of chirping noise. Oh well. Better go help her out.


* * *

Polly tapped a large, armored man on the shoulder and he turned around and looked at her in surprise. He had a big bushy beard and looked as though he might be from Salvar.

“Hey, hey mister,” Polly said. “You suppose that there’s the Citadel?”

The barbarian narrowed his eyes. “Well little lady, do you see any other enormous fortress-looking buildings around here?”

Polly looked around and checked. “No sir,” she said. “I sure don’t.”

The bearded man nodded at her and turned away.

Polly looked confused. “But he didn’t answer my question…” she muttered to herself.

“Yes, he did,” Passer said. The sparrow god fluttered down and landed on her shoulder. “That is the Citadel. Obviously.”

The two pushed their way through the crowd towards the front door. Most people didn’t give Polly a second look. She was a fairly average sized girl, maybe a bit on the small side. Although armored and well armed, it didn’t seem as though anyone thought she could possibly be a competitor. She just didn’t have an intimidating aura around her at all. She could have been wearing full armor with an enormous battleaxe, and she still probably would have seemed like the least threatening person here.

“So…why’re we here again?” Polly asked slowly.

Passer gave an aggressive little chirp. “So you can learn to use that little stick of yours,” he said, flapping a wing at her spear. “Against a real opponent. Not a bale of hay in the barnyard.”

“Oh,” Polly said. “Right.” She usually just went along with whatever Passer said. He was the god after all, not her, and usually his ideas worked out well. She was a little worried though. Passer left her as she entered the Citadel, saying that he didn’t feel comfortable in the building, and that he wouldn’t be allowed to help her during her match anyway. As she spoke to the brown-clad monk in the reception room a tiny knot of fear settled in her stomach. As that same monk lead her down corridor after corridor of the large building, that knot grew and grew until she felt as though she might throw up.

“Okay, just lie on this bed and relax please, miss,” the monk said.

“Ummmm, alright,” Polly said, hesitant. “Ain’t I gonna be fighting someone soon though?”

The monk looked at her oddly but nodded. “Uh huh,” he said. “We’re testing out a special sort of arena, though. You’ll be fighting in a sort of shared dream, not an actual physical location. We believe we’ve found an opponent well suited to your talents. Here, take this potion.”

Polly sipped the foul smelling green potion the monk gave her while he babbled on about dreamstate magic and lucid somethingortheothers. She finished the concoction and immediately swooned. So…tired…

She collapsed on the bed and was out cold in moments.


* * *

First there was void.

Polly floated in empty sleep for an indefinite amount of time. There was only nothingness, and then later sound. Some sort of music, but she couldn’t quite grasp what…

Then, a kick. The music shifted, became fast and ferocious. The darkness churned (somehow, in this place, that was possible) and then took form. Beneath her feet appeared cracked earth; above her head a blue, cloudless sky. This extended in every direction infinitely, as far as she could tell. She inhaled sharply and a dusty, old scent filled her nostrils—the air smelled like ancient paper. It all felt real…almost…

An enormous clock with at least ten separate hands and thirty different numbers flew overhead past her head into the distance. Well that definitely wasn’t real.

Polly found that she was wearing the same clothes she had when the monk had given her the potion: a plain shirt, vest and pants, and then her typical armor. Her breastplate had the silhouette of a sparrow painted on it as always. Each arm bore an iron gauntlet, and in her right hand she held the shortspear that was her weapon. On her head was perched an iron helmet.

She hefted the spear in one hand as a random tree sprouted, grew into a sapling and then a massive oak aged and shrunk into dust in the space of a few seconds. A lion popped into existence, roared, and vanished a moment later. This dream or whatever was sure weird, but it didn’t faze her much. She wasn’t a particularly logical person in the first place. Polly was the sort of person who saw in vivid colors and harmonies and broad ideas, not in numbers or logic. Fighting in the middle of this surreal landscape didn’t seem all that weird.

The only question was who her opponent might be.


* * *

The monks stood over Polly’s sleeping body and looked at each other seriously.

“Testing the new dream battling concoction, are you?” one asked. The other nodded.

“I gave her the drug and it took effect immediately.” Beneath them, Polly’s sleeping form stirred a little bit and she started to breathe quickly. “Hopefully there won’t be any…ill effects.”

“Ill effects?” the other monk said with a raised eyebrow. “I just hope it doesn’t kill her.”
Closed to Zerith. Basically, the arena is as chaotic and strange as a dream, since the characters are literally dreaming. Things are apt to change at a moment's notice in absolutely any way that you like. Basically think of battling in a Salvador Dali painting. :P

Anyway, let's have fun and good luck! ^^

[Zerith]

As the sun was just descending from its zenith high above Radasanth, it seemed like everything was running at a comfortable pace yet again. Tourists continued to congregate at the Citadel as if it was some sort of church, while fighters from all over Althanas still made the incredibly long journey to the arena in order to try and achieve some sort of lifelong dream. While many would only stick around long enough to endure a humiliating defeat, others would get to enjoy that sweet taste of victory. Some would find it to be some sort of drug, a captivating high that would wrap its fingers around those warriors and manage to pull them back to the action The Citadel offered them. One such person was leaning against the side of the building near the main doors. Beside him, a close friend kept him company.

The halberdier smiled to himself, watching the clouds sail by while his companion went on and on about something. Exactly what point the swordsman was trying to make had been forgotten not too long ago. As he casually brushed some of his brown curls out of his face, the warrior dressed in a burgundy traveler’s outfit pushed himself off the wall and finally addressed his dear friend. “I don’t really see why this is so important to you, Zevernus. Is coming here really that big of a deal?”

“I just don’t see why we’re here for a second time,” the fighter responded with an emphasized shrugging of his shoulders. “We came here yesterday, you fought that crazy, gigantic guy and ended up winning in the end. So you should already have what you came for,” Zevernus argued.

The swordsman did make a very good point, Zerith had in fact found what he was looking for then, but he personally felt disappointed with how that duel went. Whoever that assassin was, his behavior was erratic and his sanity questioned. Whoever thought that creating a chair out of ice was a practical move to make in a fight in the desert was clearly not all there. So this left the warder feeling like Shade was not challenging enough for him. Sure, the interference of the dark presence that possessed the elf was an absolute surprise, but the ogre still fell sort when it came to performance. This time however, Zerith would not leave until he felt like he actually had to push himself to his limit in combat. No, this time he would be sure to find someone that would make him fell like a victory would be one earned through determination, skill and testing his limits.

Retrieving his halberd from where he had leaned it against the wall, the warder just offered his friend an apologetic smile and lead the way into the actually building. “I’m sorry; I just want to feel like I earned a win here, but we could make this easy. Why don’t we just face each other in the Citadel, I’m sure you could pose more of a threat to me then that other guy did.”

The halberdier was answered with a sarcastic laugh from Zevernus, “Oh, that’s a real good idea there, Z. No thanks though, I choose life.”


* * *


“Alright then sir, you’ve been selected to help us test a new method of creating these battles.” A young, bald monk dressed in brown robes stood over Zerith as he sat down on a bed in what appeared to be some sort of infirmary. As the one monk went on to explain how this new system would help reduce the costs of healing the injuries of combatants by holding the entire fight in a dream, two other crowded around a small table and worked in silence. Zevernus stood beside the warder, arms crossed and obviously unimpressed with what was going on. The wide frown on his face was more than enough physical evidence to suggest that he thought what the monks were trying to do was absolute nonsense. Yet, not once did he try to voice his opinion, or make one of his sarcastic comments. Instead, he remained silent until the before the two of them finally finished, “All you have to do is take the potion these other monks are about to give you.”

Zerith replied by nodding his head, very much intrigued by this new system the Citadel was thinking of taking to the public. “So once I drink this, I’ll just fall straight asleep and get fighting?” he asked as the two monks finally approached him and handed him a clay cup filled with some sort of green formula. The odor it gave off almost made the halberdier feel like vomiting, and the liquid was so think it made it seem unlikely to drink out of a straw.

“Well, we’re not actually sure what will happen,” The stranger that handed him the cup reluctantly answered. “We will be taking a lot of notes and will be monitoring both your health and that of your opponent very easily. However, all we ask is that if for some reason you find that you can control the dream in any way to please tell us as soon as this exercise is over. Okay?”

“Sound fine to me. Bottoms up, I suppose.” The warder responded before he took another sniff of the concoction and then fought to control his gag reflex. He couldn’t believe he was actually about to do this, to drink some strange potion that was essentially just handed to him. Though the concept of trying something completely new sounded like it would be just the challenge the halberdier was looking for. So this was an opportunity that was too good to just give him, and it was handed to him by mere circumstances.

With a deep breath, Zerith downed the potion as quickly as possible and swallowed before his mind could order his body to reject the foreign substance. Zevernus spoke immediately afterwards, but by the time the sentence was completed, the halberdier was already asleep.


* * *


The darkness was consuming.

Floating in a black void, Zerith felt absolutely helpless, like a child in its mother’s womb. His mind tried to calculate the amount of seconds that passed by, but somehow he seemed able to keep his focus in the task. He could hear what he assumed to be music somewhere far in the distance, but the noise was too muffled to be able to identify anything particular about it.

He felt his body shift as he heard a war drum begin to beat violently. The tempo increased, the beat quickly becoming as loud as thunder. It didn’t take long before Zerith clamped his hands over his ears, feeling like his eardrums were about to explode. Then suddenly the beat stopped, and he saw the world around him revealed like scroll unraveling.

He stood on solid earth, the ground cracked in such a way he thought it looked like a spider web. Above him was just a blue canvas and no clouds, no stars or sun. Yet somehow there was something giving off more than off light for him to see his surroundings. There wasn’t really anything to admire though, as the barren earth only stretched out across the landscape as far as his eyes could see. This certainly didn’t feel like any sort of dream he had before. No, this felt like being trapped in some form of limbo.

Although he didn’t recall having his halberd with him when he took the potion, he suddenly found himself holding it in his right hand. The blade continued to crackle with electricity, bolts of it leaping and arching across the shiny metal. As he continued to examine himself, he was relieved to see he was wearing his usual burgundy clothing and he had all of his weapons and armor on his form. Smiling, he could now breathe a sigh of relief. At least he now he could be able to defend himself.

The wail of a baby’s cry caught his attention. Eyes widened with amazement, he stood in disbelief as he say a crawling infant take shape from dust and begin to rapidly age. He shifted to a small boy walking, then a young man beginning to jog. Within seconds it shifted to an adult sprinting before finally morphing into an old man bent over and using a cane of some sort. A sudden breeze brushed past the halberdier, ruffling the brown curls of his hair. As he reached the old man, the figure suddenly broke down into dust again and was quickly lost to the wind. It had to have been the strangest thing Zerith had ever seen. Now he was definitely dreaming, at least he hoped he was.

It was then that his sapphire eyes found who he assumed to be his opponent, due to the simple fact that the figure didn’t seem to be doing anything strange or unexplainable. She must have been standing at least twenty or thirty feet away from him, but even from that distance he could tell that she was a good deal shorter than him. Though he would admit she certainly seemed dressed to fight, with her armor already donned and her spear held tightly in her hand. Her red hair was what stood out above everything else at the moment, a very deep color that could probably match the same shade of Amenzanil. As he examined her, he raised his halberd up behind his head and onto his shoulders, stretching.

“I suppose it’s safe for me to assume that you’re to be my opponent? I’m just basing that off the fact that you seem to be the only thing here that isn’t out of the ordinary.” The words came out in a polite, yet professional manner. Although the woman seemed to be young, she definitely appeared to be a fighter, although the armor did look a little too big for her size.

Who knew, maybe she would surprise him with her fighting skill. If there was one thing he felt safe to admit, it would have been that if anything, this place would definitely be one full of surprises.

[Sweet Polly Oliver]

The man in front of her didn’t appear suddenly, but rather faded into existence. At first he was barely more than a shimmering in the air, then a ghost, then solid and real as she was. Or at least, he seemed to be so. It was difficult to trust anything in this place. Was this her opponent? He seemed to be wondering the same thing.

“I do suppose so,” Polly said. She gave a little false curtsey, holding up imaginary skirts and kneeling down. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name’s Polly Robinson, but you can just call me Polly.” Her voice was as friendly and formal as she could make it be—she wanted to make a good impression and seem like a serious contender.

Her opponent was dressed a little oddly—all in burgundy but for his belt. She wondered if that was the fashion in the cities nowadays or something. It seemed like an odd color for a warrior to wear; when you thought of intimidating colors you thought of black or red or maybe even white, but…burgundy? To each their own. She recognized the weapon he carried as a halberd—it was actually one of the polearms her father had trained her in. It made sense that the monks would match them up given the similarities in their weapons. The man looked like an experienced fighter though—that, Polly was not.

He’s awful handsome too, Polly thought nervously.

She began to walk forward, closing the gap between her and her opponent, but she was stopped dead in her tracks by a sudden sensation on her skin. Cold! It was suddenly really, really cold. She started shivering, despite wearing warm clothing and heavy armor.

It started snowing. Delicate snowflakes dropped from the clear sky and floated gently down to the ground. Somehow the light reflected on these and turned each into a shimmering prism, with the whole rainbow of colors reflecting off of it. Hundreds of these shining flakes fell and accumulated on the ground, turning the earth into a multi-colored field as the snow accumulated in drifts and piles. It was one of the most beautiful things Polly had ever seen, and she gasped in surprise and wonder, for a moment forgetting the battle entirely.

Then, the fact that a hostile man with a sharp object was standing only a few feet away from her pulled her back to reality. Focus, Polly, focus! she thought. She didn’t have any interest in striking the first blow, though. Better to see what her opponent could do, first.

Pretending to still be fascinated by the snowflakes, Polly subtly struck a defensive pose, one of the ones her father had taught her. If the other man attacked, she would be ready.


* * *

Two monks stood over a large basin of water, watching the match through dream scrying magic. A handful of others tended to Zerith and Polly, who now lay on cots directly opposite from eachother.

“Is it working?” one said. He was placing small ice cubes on the foreheads of both of the battlers, trying to stimulate the sensation of cold.

“It’s having some…interesting effects,” one of the scrying monks said. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he observed the dreaming battlers. This experiment was one of the more daring and innovative the Monks of Ai’Bron had tried in a long time. If it succeeded it could potentially open up whole new pathways for them. “Are the serums ready?”

One of the other monks nodded. From the deference he showed the scrying monk, he seemed to be a subordinate. “Yes, sir.”

“Very good. Let’s wait until the battle itself commences, though…it looks as if blows are about to be struck.”

[Zerith]

“Polly Robinson, is it?” the halberdier repeated, “I’m Zerith Dracosius, though you can just call me Zerith.” His headed tilted to the left as he watched the girl give him an imaginary curtsey, which looked quite silly when you realized the woman was wearing armor, and one of the hands that would have been holding up a skirt was also holding her spear. Yet there was something the warder liked about introducing yourself to your opponent. It was like a sign of respect, or perhaps it just seemed more professional. Either way, Zerith really did prefer it over the method of skipping introductions and getting straight to the fight. Shade was more of the latter, and look what that got him. Not only did the match end with him being beheaded by the halberdier, but Zerith now had no respect for the man. Although he could not put a finger on it, there was something about Polly that seemed familiar. Even though they had never met until now, she definitely reminded him of someone.

His blue eyes watched her carefully as she made her approach, a slight smile formed with anticipation to see what she would try to do. Yet before she actually tried to attack him, she stopped. Unable to figure out why she would suddenly freeze in her tracks, the halberdier was about to go on the offensive himself until it actually started to snow.

Looking up at the sky, there still wasn’t a single cloud above them. So for it to suddenly start snowing was unnatural. At least the chilly temperature that normally came with the fragile crystals was also present, becoming cold enough for the halberdier to repeatedly ball his left hand into a fist just to make sure he could still feel it. Although it was only for a moment, even Zerith was transfixed by the wide array of colors that quickly covered the land. At least until he dragged his leg across the ground and still saw that the dull shade of earth beneath still remained, it was then he realized that there wasn’t anything special about the snow at all. It was still just some special effect of a dream. One of the strangest dreams the warder ever had, but still just a dream nonetheless.

“Well if she’s not going to bother to commit to an attack,” he thought to himself as he noticed she still seemed hypnotized by the change in weather. “I might as well show her how it’s properly done.”

His hands moved, and began to twirl his halberd around in the air in a circle like he usually did. Round and round, faster and faster it spun, gathering more and more momentum. He could feel warmth flow into his arms again as they moved. Taking a deep breath and exhaling, he watched the warm air escape his lips before he made his approach. He stormed towards Polly, nowhere near as cautious as she had been earlier. The familiar sound of the polearm slicing through the air heralded the threat of the incoming attack. When he was examining his opponent for the first time Zerith had noted that Polly’s spear was still a couple feet shorter than his personal weapon of choice, so he hoped that he would be able to capitalize on his superior reach.

The remaining distance was closed very quickly, and once the warder saw that he stepped into that sweet spot of his reach, he attacked. Gripping onto Amenzanil with both hands, he spun around and brought the blade in a horizontal sweep directed at Polly’s arm, the same arm that currently held her spear. The titanium still crackled with power, making it clear to the girl that if it touched her, she would most certainly feel it.

It was time for Polly to receive her fist lesson from real fighter, and one with superior polearm proficiency.


* * *


“Yeah! That’s the way to do it, Z! You show that chick how to really start a fight!” Zevernus cheered enthusiastically as he watched the fight alongside the other monks.

“This is most interesting,” The monk to his right exclaimed, waving for another to join him and see what caught his attention. “Seems like the halberdier is trying to ignore the cold and went ahead to try and deliver the first blow.”

“Well that’s probably because that’s how Zerith does things!” the swordsman boasted. “The guy is one hell of a fighter and not to mention a prince now too, technically. Did you seriously think that rubbing some ice on his forehead is going to slow him down?”

The one monk who had inquired about the serums earlier, scoffed, “It doesn’t really matter, sir. Once the serums are injected into the combatants, that’s when the fight will really begin to get interesting. If your friend doesn’t adapt well to the circumstances, he may just disappoint you in the end.”

Frowning, the outgoing fighter gave the monk and quizzical expression. “Well, what exact are those serums supposed to do?”

“Well, let’s just say we think that when the time comes, it’ll level the playing field.”

[Sweet Polly Oliver]

Oh right, I almost forgot to say! All bunnying in this thread is of course approved over PM or whatever. ^^

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(='.'=)
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BUNNY X3

When Zerith’s attack came, Polly was ready. She parried the blow effectively, although with some difficulty—her opponent was fast. The attack forced her back a step and she immediately found herself the target of another swing, which she parried again with slightly more difficulty. Her enemy didn’t seem to want to give her a chance to attack—the onslaught continued on, blow after blow. Eventually Polly shifted her weight, feinted to the left and dodged, and finally managed to counter with a swing of her own. Zerith utilized his weapon’s longer reach and knocked her spear aside with no trouble at all.

As they fought, the landscape continued to change. The snow on the ground melted, and once again they stood on bare earth. No longer was it cracked and dry, however, but instead brown and fallow. Grass grew in a space of seconds, and then flowers, and then small trees. Soon they were fighting around saplings and small shrubs. Everything smelled fresh and green and alive. Things weren’t happening quite as quickly as they had been before, but the dream continued to change at a rapid pace. Polly had little time to absorb any of this, though. She was too busy just trying to stay alive.

It was clear that her opponent far, far outclassed her in skill, agility, and strength. Polly got the impression that he could have ended the fight a long time ago if he so desired—she was being played with like a cat and a mouse.

“You’re…good,” she grunted in between exchanges of blows. Her opponent smiled grimly.

She sighed inwardly. She was going to lose, there was pretty much no doubt about that. What had she been thinking, coming to the Citadel to compete? She wasn’t an experienced warrior! She wanted to be a great hero like her father, but that seemed hopeless now…

Distracted, she wasn’t paying enough attention to the fight. Her dodge was just a little bit too slow, and Zerith landed a nasty cut on her upper left arm. For a moment her vision clouded as her brain only received large amounts of pain. She clutched her arm, and her opponent pressed his advantage, forcing her to fall backwards onto the ground. The blade of Zerith’s halberd lay poised at her throat.

It is strange the things humans will notice in times of trouble. Although Polly should have been focused on how her head was about to get chopped off, what she was thinking about was how they were suddenly fighting in a forest, with enormous trees surrounding them in every direction. A yellow butterfly the color of butter landed on her chest. It was very pretty. At least that could be the last thing she would see before dying, right? All this went through her head in the space of a second or two. It’s amazing how fast you can think when you’re about to get decapitated. The words ‘I resign’ formed on her lips.

“Polly! If you can hear me, don’t give up! The monks are about to do something, I’m not sure what, maybe it’ll help!” came the disembodied voice of Passer the sparrow god. Polly’s eyes widened in shock. What? Where was that coming from? Was she imagining it? Zerith looked confused too, though, as if he was hearing something as well…


* * *

“What is this bird doing here! Get it out!” the head monk shouted. Passer flitted out of his reach and over the scrying pool, examining the battle as it unfolded. He wasn’t sure if she could hear him or not, but he thought she probably could—their connection was more psychic than natural, after all.

He’d snuck in behind Polly with hopes of watching her match, and had gotten more than he bargained for. The monks appeared to be conducting some sort of bizarre medical experiment—he was fairly sure she hadn’t consented to that. Although who knew, the girl wasn’t the brightest pencil in the apple tree, she might have agreed to something without knowing what it was…

“No time for that, we’ll deal with it later!” another monk shouted. He was carrying a number of needles attacked to sacs of fluid or something. Passer was a bird god, not a doctor. “It’s time for the injection.”

One of the monks rolled up Polly’s sleeve and jabbed a needle into her arm; another did the same with Zerith. Passer noticed for the first time that both the combatants were strapped down—and it was a good thing they were, because as soon as they received the serum they began thrashing and seizing in their beds.

“Is that supposed to happen?” one of the monks said frantically.

“No, I, um, I don’t think so,” another said. “I definitely don’t think so.”

Passer squawked at their stupidity but had no time to pay attention to the monk’s conversation. He turned his eyes instead to the pool reflecting the events of the dream, which seemed to be getting strange indeed…

[Zerith]

So perhaps the missionary was not just a little puppy with a stick afterall. Zerith had originally looked at the youth's appearance and assumed that she lacked the skill to wield her spear. Yet, when she managed to bring up her weapon in time to deflect Amenzanil, that was when the prince finally saw that there was much more to this girl, like the mass of an iceberg hidden beneath the water. However, the force he put behind the blow was enough to send Polly staggering back a couple steps. So he seized the initiative and attacked again, and again. While he would have shown restraint normally, frustration and anger managed to slip past the halberdier’s armor and sink their claws into him. He was frustrated that he had come all this way only to be paired off with a mere novice and angry at the belief that there really wasn’t anything he could possibly learn from the little whelp. He had wanted so much more from this second trip to the Citadel. Instead, the only thing it gave him was disappointment.

The setting changed at an incredible pace. The barren land was filling with life, rich green grass sprouted quickly, saplings turned to giant trees in a matter of minutes. It was like watching a dense forest that had taken hundreds of years to grow normally to instead develop from start to finish before your very eyes. The forest carried that rich scent with it and breathing the fresh air felt incredible. The scenery around them was majestic, demanding to be watched with awe. However the noble was far too occupied with delivering his onslaught of blows to the girl to be distracted by the mesmerizing dance their dream was performing.

Finally, she did what he expected her to do and made an error. As punishment, the halberd’s blade bit into the flesh of her arm and was finally stained with the crimson fluid. It was a trade, the coppery taste of Polly’s blood for a quick electrical jolt from Amenzanil. Perhaps it was a harsh way to learn an lesson, but hopefully the woman would not need an explanation of what would happen if she screwed up a second time.

The wound was apparently great enough for the missionary to abandon trying to fight back, and instead compel her to tend to the injury. Seeing that he obviously had the fight in the bag, Zerith pressed further and knocked Polly backwards, landing flat on her back on the forest floor. Before she could even order her body to try to climb back upon its feet, she was staring at the sharp point of Amenzanil, and the disappointed expression in the halberdier’s face.

“You have potential, Polly. All you need is better teaching.” The warder spoke in a calm, professional manner. The yellow butterfly that landed on the maiden’s chest rose from its perch and softly descended upon the blade of the halberd. Though the instant its delicate legs touched the titanium, the electricity imbued into the metal surged through the fragile insect immediately. Its wings seized for a moment and then a second later it fell off of Amenzanil and landed back on Polly, unmoving. The poor creature could not have possibily known the power hidden behind the weapon and now it was dead because of it.

Raising his polearm with both hands, the noble prepared to deliver the killing blow, and Polly began to fear she was just about to end up just like her pretty little friend.


* * *


“What the hell do you mean you didn’t think this was supposed to happen!?” the swordsman yelled as he took tried to restrain the halberdier when he began to thrash around widely. “I thought you people knew exactly how these things would work!”

“It’s not like we didn’t have any idea of the possible side effects!” One of the monks replied as he studied the health of the dreamers. “I believe this is just a minor side effect that should wear off in a minute or two. Until then, all you really need to do is restrain your friend to be sure no harm comes to him.”

“Yeah, right,” Zevernus thought to himself. “You idiots should just be grateful Jasmine isn’t here to see what’s going on. Otherwise she’d probably have all of your heads for this. Not to mention mine too.”


* * *


Just as Zerith was about to bring his blade down upon the missionary, the earth began to shake violently. It was as if the great Thayne, Hromagh, was literally stomping his great feet down upon the ground the two were standing on. Beneath him the ground trembled so greatly that the halberdier actually dropped his weapon from his hand and staggered backwards as he feebly tried to keep his balance. Some of the trees feel over, and after the prince tripped over an upturned root, he retreated to cover his head and pray to Draconus that the Ancient would be his shield during this ordeal.

The whole experience was terrifying, as the warder had never been in an earthquake before. So for that brief minute or two, Polly was forgotten and the battle was put on hold because Zerith’s survival instincts kicked in and all he could focus on was his desire to see another day.

The fight would just have to wait until the earthquake subsided before continuing, but with his halberd lying beside Polly and far out of his reach, the noble would quickly see that he didn’t really have the advantage anymore. Unless of course, he could discover exactly what the monks did when they told his friend they would level the playing field.

[Sweet Polly Oliver]

The earth shook as though an army of giants was marching across it. Then it fell apart.

Polly watched in horror as, all around her, chunks of earth fell into nothingness. Those that remained seemed to be floating islands over a vast emptiness. She herself lay on a square about four feet wide in each direction—and at least that seemed stable. Everywhere else holes were appearing.

Eventually, after how long she couldn’t say, the shaking stopped and she hesitantly stood up. Then she gasped in wonderment. The arena had transformed into an enormous checkerboard of sorts. Squares of earth about four feet wide were interspersed with empty space that dropped down into white nothingness. Polly looked over the edge of her own platform and saw clouds moving underneath but no land. She gulped and felt a little sick to her stomach.

The only way to travel now would be diagonally—just like checkers pieces. Polly wondered for a moment if she’d have to jump over her enemy to win the battle now, and then laughed at herself for even considering it. That was just silly.

For some reason, the square Polly stood on now had remained grassy and living, but the remaining squares all seemed to have turned to white or black marble. She peered around for a bit and saw that Zerith was a few squares away. Her arm was still bleeding, and hurt terribly, but she tried not to think about it. In fact, it was fairly easy not to think about it, given all the strange and distracting things happening now.

Look down, she suddenly thought. Wait, what? That first thought certainly didn’t originate in her head. Just look down! came the thought again. Polly did. There, in the grass at her feet she found a tiny metal statue of a bird—a sparrow, specifically. She picked it up and it felt surprisingly light.

The statue shook itself off, spread its wings once or twice and gave a metallic sounding chirp. “Well this is strange,” it said, in an unmistakable tone of voice.

“Passer!” Polly exclaimed. Then, more confusedly: “It’s you?”

“Sort of,” the little metal sparrow said. “Not exactly. You’re in a dream, after all. It’s more like when you’re dreaming, and you meet someone you know in the dream, but it’s not really them, it’s just a copy your own mind made up. Understand?”

“No,” Polly said. She was completely confused. “Why are you all metal-y?”

The fake Passer ignored this comment. “Look, I’ll make this quick, because you’ve got a battle to win, but essentially the monks just injected you with a serum that should have upped your power like crazy,” he said. “Your body knows this, but your mind doesn’t, so I’ve been sent from your subconscious to explain.”

Polly nodded and pretended she had the slightest clue what he was talking about.

“Just do this: focus your energy into the head of your spear,” the metal bird explained. “And hurry! There’s not much time!”

“Settle down!” Polly said. She did as he said and focused with all her might on her spearhead. As she did this, it began to glow green, and she laughed with delight. When she did this, the green light vanished.

“I said focus!” the bird exclaimed. Polly didn’t remember the real Passer being quite so bossy—although, on second thought maybe he was…

She focused her energy once more in the point of her spear. The green glow grew and expanded until an aura surrounded her spear head. “Now slash with your spear!” the metal Passer shouted. Polly slashed, and a sudden sharp gust of wind blew out from her spear in the direction of her attack. A loud booming noise accompanied this, and her ears rang for a few moments.

“Excellent!” metal-Passer said. “Air magic! My work here is done.” Without a further word, the bird took off and flew away.

Polly giggled. This new magic thing was awfully neat. She tried it again and produced the same effect. Then she paused to catch her breath, suddenly drained of energy. Apparently magic was more sapping than she’d thought. All around her, butter colored yellow butterflies rose up from the ground and flitted about her. One landed on her nose and made her sneeze. Ah-choo!

She looked up once more to the platform where Zerith stood, and wondered if he’d obtained some sort of new power too. Hmph. Well, whatever, it didn’t matter. She was now determined to win this battle. Why? It wasn’t for her own benefit, for honor or glory, or for the reason why she was supposedly here—to get stronger. No, it was for a far simpler and arguably childish reason.

It was to avenge the life of a butterfly.


The ability Polly received from the monk's serum is as thus: she can produce a gust of wind and a sonic boom with her spear by focusing energy into it, but she can only do this once per post without becoming tired.

[Zerith]

While the earth trembled, the noble did peek out from beneath his arms to see exactly what was going on. It was very difficult to actually figure out what he was watching, given the angle of his viewpoint, but as far as he could tell sections of earth were sinking. Some of the ground beside him crumbled away, which made the halberdier yelp with surprise and try to grab hold of the grass beneath in some silly attempt to stay safe. How he would do so, he had no idea. Though the strange act did make him feel a little better. That was, of cource, until the grass receded back into the soil which then turned into solid marble and left a scared Zerith to fend for himself.

When the shaking finally stopped, the prince slowly raised his head up reluctantly for fear of what he would possible see. Astonishingly, the forest was gone, and the wide expanse that stretched as far as the eyes could see was confined to borders that the halberdier’s blue eyes could now clearly identify from where he rested on his knees. Hesitantly, he rose to his feet, thinking that at any moment the ground he stood oe would fall into the abyss below as well. It was only when he finally stood fully upright that he realized that for some reason, the dream changed their arena from a forest into some sort of checkerboard. What where those monks thinking? Did they expect the prince to hop from square to square to try and reach the far side, only to yell “King Me!” at the top of his lungs?

Well that was just not going to happen.

The halberdier looked around for Amenzanil franticly, scared that his beloved halberd had fallen into the void. To his relief, it didn’t, but the bad news was that it was lying on the same square Polly stood on. “Damnit!” he cursed, extremely frustrated at his current predicament. Here he was, forced to try and fight on a giant checkerboard, and the one thing that would help him the most was practically in his opponent’s hands! He just was not as skilled with his other weapons as he was with his polearm, not to mention this also gave Polly the advantage of having greater reach now. He felt robbed. Having come so close to winning only to lose his weapon of choice and have to face a radical change in the environment? What possible thing could the warder have done to get such bad luck? Accidently kill a butterfly? Surely, it had to be something else.

A heavy sigh escaped Zerith’s lips as he drew both his sword and serrated dagger, knowing that he really did not have any other option. Well, not if he wanted to win at least. It was a gamble, knowing that he was only of average skill with a sword and that Polly probably outclassed him now. Yet as much as he really wanted to complain about the circumstances, part of him did recall that he asked for a challenge. So maybe somehow his subconsciousness knew this and created the earthquake and checkerboard in order to make things difficult for the noble. Yes, it was an absolutely ridiculous concept, but somehow it made perfect sense.

At least that’s what he was telling himself in order to convince himself he was not crazy.

Taking a brief moment to stretch his arms and roll his shoulders, the prince tried to get back into a better train of thought. “So you’ve experienced a couple twists and turns, So what? You can handle this.” He grinned as he spoke to himself. “You wooed Jasmine away from Prince Raelyse and even managed to defeat an army of a thousand with only a hundred and fifty behind you. So how could a young woman possibly think she stands a chance against you? Just relax and take your time, Zerith. You’ve got this.”

“Yeah, I’ve got this” the halberdier verbally repeated with a nod. His drive to win rekindled, the warder stepped forward diagonally to his left onto the next square and began to approach Polly to continue to duel. All he really needed to do was draw her out and away from where she currently stood. Then once he was certain she had come out far enough, he planned to quickly try and circle around her so he could retrieve Amenzanil.

After that, he was fairly confident the fight wouldn’t last much longer.

[Sweet Polly Oliver]

Polly could not believe her luck. Right beneath her feet lay her enemy’s weapon—the magical glowing halberd that had nearly killed her and had shocked that poor yellow butterfly to death. There it lay, as still and deadly as a viper waiting in the grass.

How did I not notice that before? she wondered. She put it down to the more pressing distractions that had taken her attention; the talking metal bird, for instance.

For one moment, she had the bizarre urge to throw down her own spear and pick up the halberd instead. She could probably wield it just as effectively; her father had trained her in the use of all sorts of pole-arms, not just spears. Imagine the look on Zerith’s face when she used his own weapon against him!

After a moment, however, that urge passed. The look of the thing made her nervous. It didn’t seem evil, but it did look powerful, and it certainly possessed strange magic that she didn’t understand. For all she knew it was loyal to its master, and would turn against her at the last second, biting the hand that wielded it without its permission. No, there was a far more satisfying way to deal with the thing.

With one movement, Polly kicked the halberd off of the square and into the cloudy abyss below. It fell out of sight, without making so much as a clanging noise when it hit the bottom. As if there were a bottom. Polly suspected that falling off one of these squares would mean falling into one of those dreams where you’re falling and falling and never hit the ground and then you wake up…except in this case, she supposed you might not wake up at all. She gulped. Polly wasn’t afraid of heights, being the servant of a god of birds and all, but nonetheless she made her way around the checker squares very, very carefully. The marble was incredibly smooth and almost frictionless, and she had to fight not to slip. It felt like walking on ice.

Eventually, she and Zerith stood facing each other, with one of the holes of the checkerboard in between them. Polly saw that he was now wielding a sword and a dagger. She wondered if he was as powerful with those as he was with the halberd. If he had half as much skill with those weapons, she was probably doomed. Something in his stance suggested otherwise though, or maybe it was the glint in his eyes that suggested some emotion other than the total confidence he’d possessed earlier. Was it fear?

Poly thought it just might be. She stepped one square up and to her right, and Zerith stepped in the opposite direction. Once again they faced eachother with an empty square in the middle. Polly continued walking counter-clockwise, and Zerith did the same, so that they ended up going in a full circle, each chasing the other, each running away from the other. It was unclear who was doing which.

Frustrated with this game, Polly backed all the way to the edge of her platform, and decided to do something very brave and very stupid (a combination that often seemed to describe Polly’s choices). She sprinted as fast as she could across the square and then leaped across the gap, pushing downward with her spear towards her opponent. She looked like a wasp diving from above, stinger pointed down.

As she jumped, she saw with relief that she was going to make it over the gap. What would happen next, however, was anybody’s guess.

The second stage of the fight had now begun.

[Zerith]

Any hope Zerith had of retrieving his weapon vanished when he watched Polly realize that she practically had it in her own hands. The noble’s first thought was to try and charge her in an attempt to steal her attention before she would do something she would regret. However, getting from one point to another on a checkerboard wasn’t exactly easy or straightforward. Still he tried, quickly advancing from square to square while keeping his balance. Occasionally there was a moment where the prince felt like he was going to fall into the void, but after taking a second or two to stop and regain his sense of balance, the feeling disappeared. Though despite all of the effort he put into reclaiming his beloved halberd, he found himself still a few squares away when Polly did something he was afraid she would do.

She kicked his polearm off the platform.

“NO!” he roared, the hand that clutched onto his sword reaching out as if Amenzanil was just within his reach. The halberd meant something to the warder, as it was a memento of the first adventure he ever had on Althanas. It was his trophy to mark that victory he had back at the fortress in Scara Brae, and ever since that day he had practically abandoned using his sword and instead took up his polearm. He took care of it like how a child took care of a pet and he even had it enchanted at the bazaar. In return Amenzanil was finally beginning to show it’s real potential, the one and only rune Zerith was able to use was proof of that. Yet now Polly had practically ripped it out of his hands and threw it into the abyss like a piece of garbage, and the halberdier had even tried to reach out with his mind as if he could take hold of it by sheer willpower alone.

Strangly enough, that’s exactly what happened too.

Although neither one of the two could see it, Amenzanil somehow froze in its decent just below the cloud cover. A small part of the warder’s mind could almost sense it was there, just like how he could sense his wife’s presence when they were within a certain distance from each other. When he felt surprised and disbelief, he could feel his invisible grip on the halberd loosen and it start to fall again. Yet he managed to refocus his mind like a laserbeam and was pleased to feel his halberd begin to hover again.

“Interesting,” he thought. “Seems like if I can keep focus on it, I can control it. Maybe there’s still a chance I can retrieve it?”

From that point on, Zerith played defensively. Every time Polly stepped forward a square, the prince retreated one. Slowly, he was beginning to circle around the missionary and getting closer and closer to the platform she kicked Amenzanil off of. It didn’t take much longer for frustration to make its glorious appearance on the maiden's face, an obvious frown taking shape on her round visage. She had a perfectly good reason to be ticked off with him for avoiding the confrontation, but he knew that if he wanted to guarantee his victory he would need his halberd. While he probably could manage to deal with Polly with his sword and dagger, he still really preferred Amenzanil when given the choice. And as long as Zerith could keep most of his attention on his polearm, he still had the freedom to make that choice.

Polly’s patience finally ran out, and she backed to the edge of the square she stood on to attempt something really stupid (Though Zerith would have probably done the same if he was in her shoes). Anticipating what she would do, the warder made a break for the platform he had his heart set on reaching. He sheathed his sword along the way, and only looked back once so he could throw his dagger at the missionary in an attempt to distract her, though he would have considered it a bonus if he actually managed to harm her. Arms held out to either side, the prince moved as quickly as his feet could take him and he literally thought he hopped from square to square in some places. When he finally did reach the grassy platform, Zerith almost didn’t stop in time and skidded right to the edge to teeter on it for a moment. Thankfully, he didn’t fall off. Instead he managed to take step back, though his eyes couldn’t help but look down to see where he had nearly found himself going.

Turning around, he watched as Polly was quickly making her advance. Her eyes showing a large portion of annoyance with her prey and a small pinch of anger, probably thanks to the dagger he threw at her. It was like she was a small, puffy little storm cloud waiting to thunder down on him with everything she had, and it was quite amusing to see. He flashed her a smile and brushed away some of his hair out of his face, “Sorry there, Polly. It was worth a shot.”

“Alright, I just hope this actually works.”

Reaching behind him and off the platform, the halberdier reached out with his mind and imagined pulling Amenzanil back into his hands. His smile lingered as he could feel the halberd began move according to his will. Up and out of the clouds it traveled with enough speed that it was like some unseen hand was tossing it back to him. Polly wouldn’t have known what her opponent was doing, or what he was being so smug about. At least, not until she finally saw the polearm re-emerge from the behind the edge of the square and back into her line of sight. It actually worked, somehow Zerith had been able to reach out with his mind and bring his halberd back to him, and he was overjoyed.

After taking hold of Amenzanil once more, the prince relished in the feel of his hands on the crimson wood. As if it too was happy to be back in the hands of its owner and eager to get back into the fight, a single rune blazed to life with a bright red glow. As Zerith took a step towards Polly, the rune worked its magic and the Akashiman Redwood was quickly engulfed in flames. All the while, the noble continued to smile as he made his way forward to collide with the maiden and her spear.

Now things were going to get really interesting.



The ability Zerith recieved from the serum the monk infected into him is as following: He can somewhat control objects with his mind, though it requires alot of focus to maintain. The larger or heaver the object, the more it drains him. If he tries to throw an item through the air, it can only travel at a speed equal to someone merely throwing it.

[Sweet Polly Oliver]

Oh, come on, Polly thought to herself. Just as she’s about to get the upper hand against this guy, his weapon flies out of nowhere and it catches on fire? Now that just seemed unfair. The stupid monks were out to make her lose! Polly childishly ignored the fact that every development of the battle thus far had been in her favor. It just wasn’t fair! Her face turned the color of a cherry as she got angry at the ease with which her opponent continuously foiled her.

She vented her frustrations on the battlefield. While previously her slashes had only the ferocity of a sparrow’s peck, she now fought with the cruelty of a crow, the heroism of a hawk, the grace and dignity of a heron. Well, maybe not so much that last bit. The slippery marble surface made it hard to get traction, and both contestants found themselves slipping and sliding and fighting just to keep balance. In fact, this didn’t even feel like marble anymore, it almost felt like—

Ice. Polly looked down and saw that the marble platform had turned to ice. She wondered if her subconscious frustrations had brought this about, or if the monks were just being tetchy.

Polly stepped from the ice platform they stood on to one ahead and to her right. Zerith followed her. As soon as she touched it, she knew it was a mistake. The ground here was unbearably hot and glowed red—as though there was a fire warming it from underneath. The two combatants exchanged blows a few times here, and she found herself trying to avoid both fire from his halberd and from below. The heat grew unbearable. She quickly stepped to another platform—and almost slipped and fell. Another ice platform.

Arrgh!

Zerith chased her, and slashed at her with his halberd once more. She deftly deflected his blow but was knocked off balance. With an almost comical pinwheeling of her arms, she fell flat on her butt.

“Owww,” she whined, feeling frustrated. Now she found herself in almost the same position she’d been at the beginning of the fight: on her back with Zerith’s halberd pointed at her neck. Fear knotted in her stomach as she prepared for her imminent defeat.

Before Zerith could strike the final blow, however, something happened that caused both of them to pause. A yellow butterfly landed on Polly’s chin. With that reminder, Polly knew what she had to do. Her spear had clattered to the ground beside her so she focused her energy into her right hand—which almost immediately started to glow green. Zerith stared, apprehensive but apparently too confused to finish her off.

Polly shoved with her right hand, unleashed the air magic, and a strong gust of wind blew at Zerith. There was a huge booming noise, and her ears rung. Then she tensed. Either this would work…or she would probably lose her head.

[Zerith]

Clang!

The familiar sound of Zerith’s blade against Polly’s spear tip was music to the prince’s ears. It was a melody that brought that thrill and excitement of battle to the warder’s spirit. Although he was not sure exactly what it was about fighting that made him feel so alive, he had always found himself unable to resist the way it pulled him in and dared him to put his life on the line. In some ways, perhaps it was because Zerith felt like he wasn’t really suited for anything else. Besides, he had managed to survive living the life of an adventurer for years. So the fact that he was still breathing after all the encounters he had been through must have been fate’s way of telling him that fighting was one thing he excelled at.

Over time, his skill with Amenzanil increased drastically. At first he was just a boy around the missionary’s age, swinging a giant polearm in a fortress during a single lesson from a captain who probably thought the youth wouldn’t live to see the next day. Yet now he was so close to perfecting his technique and fighting style he felt almost sorry for Polly. Here she was, probably at a skill level similar to when Zerith was first getting used to his halberd, trying to go toe to toe against someone that she knew outclassed her. She did put up a good fight and was certainly trying her hardest, the noble admitted. Not to mention she still definitely reminded the halberdier of someone. When he figured out who it finally was, he inwardly chuckled.

“She reminds me of the young me,” he realized. “This amusement I feel about her naivety must be what others like Rheawien felt towards me.”

Attacking again, Zerith struck with such force that he knocked the girl down and found himself a single swing from another victory once again. “I’m sorry, Polly. I only hope you learn something from this,” his voice spoke solemnly. Amenzanil rose to the heavens, still bathed in flames of crimson and crackling with electricity as it prepared to end the duel in a swift blow. However a sudden surprise counter by the maiden would prove to be just enough to prolong the battle a little longer.

A green glow enveloped her hand, a similar glow to the one he noticed her use not to long ago. Even then he could feel the wind she commanded, and recalled the loud boom that followed. Though now he was far too close to her to possibly dodge what was coming. So instead he braced himself, putting the deathblow on hold and instead shielding himself with his arms and Amenzanil while he turned his head to look to the side. He pulled it off just in time, as a second afterwards he felt the sudden gust of wind push against him.

The booming noise made his ears ring, while the wind proved to have more than enough force to push the prince backwards on the icy surface. He could feel his feet lose their traction, and begin to slide backwards towards the edge of the platform and to a sudden drop. “Shit!” he thought, “I can’t let myself be beaten by a simple trick like this!”

What happened next was strictly due to it being the first thing Zerith could think of. From the way he held his head to the side, he noticed the floating platform that nearly touched the corner of the one the two of them were currently standing on. Without a moment wasted wondering if it would even work, Zerith reached out with his left hand toward the hot, red surface and grabbed hold of his with his mind. Mentally, he placed an invisible hand over it as if it were a piece of paper or a plate. Then with a sudden pull of his arm backwards and behind his back, the platform moved as if it were a piece of a sliding puzzle. It worked beautifully, as now instead of a checkerboard pattern, three squares stood in a row. The warder willingly dropped his guard afterwards and welcomed the force of the wind, allowing it to have its way with his mass. Naturally, it sent him staggering backwards. Except now instead of falling into nothingness, Zerith merely stepped back onto another platform, and then willing retreated onto the third square, another icy surface.

Although he was extremely pleased with himself from coming up with such a brilliant move, the halberdier was determined to not allow this duel to go on much longer. He had given Polly more than enough time to have her fun and enjoy the little clash, but he believed it was about time the fight should come to an end. Taking a deep breath, the noble decided it was about time to use the old skill his father had taught him. So reaching down deep inside, he tapped into his inner reserves and unleashed all the strength and agility he felt he could muster and hold for a few minutes. If luck was on his side, it would be more than enough time to ensure this duel ended in his favor. Though he would show some mercy to the missionary and end it quickly for her. She did remind him of himself after all, so he really didn’t want to make her suffer. Otherwise he felt like he would just be kicking his own ass mercilessly.

Zerith charged as fast as he could, and within seconds he found himself at that ideal range he loved so much. By this time Polly had already climbed to her feet and picked up her spear, and as he imagined she would, she stood tall and prepared to face him head on. “You’re brave, kid. I’ll definitely give you that,” he told himself as he swung, bringing his flaming polearm in a vicious arc with as much force as he could. He really would end this quickly and in a definite manner. First, this initial strike would hopefully cut her spear into two pieces. Then when she fell back in surprise, he would bring that deathblow he had held back twice already, but without reserve this time.

Hesitation on his part had made this fight last much longer than it really should have. Although it was certainly a difficult lesson to learn, he would teach her that mercy wasn’t something one should expect to be given. At least, not in a real fight.

He could only hope she wouldn’t resent him for this, and instead actually take it to heart.

[Sweet Polly Oliver]

One smack of Zerith’s halberd and Polly’s spear was shattered into two pieces. Those pieces fell to the ground in front of her and she watched, stunned. Everything seemed to slow down, and then became frozen images in her memory. The triumphant look on the halberdier’s face as he dove in for the final blow. The way her feet slipped on the icy surface as she struggled to flee, and then ended up falling backwards. How she braced herself for impact as she fell, but never felt any, just more and more air as she tumbled off of the platform. Her opponent, getting smaller and smaller in the distance as she fell down and down through the clouds.

How long Polly fell, she couldn’t say. She would later swear it had felt like hours, maybe even days. At first there was little but white fluffy clouds, thick as cotton and cold as mist. She fell and fell, tumbling and turning and twisting until she wasn’t even sure which direction was up and which was down. The surroundings were so monotonous that eventually she wasn’t even convinced that she was falling at all. Maybe she was floating, hovering still in a white void of clouds and coldness. She shivered.

Eventually, however, things came that broke the monotony. A turtle swam past her, barely larger than the size of her head. It calmly made its way past her, swimming as though through water, and then disappeared into the distance. It was followed by a tiny elephant that stood maybe to Polly’s waist, which skipped after in the same direction the turtle had gone.

Well, then.

Things were calm again for a long time. Just how long is impossible to say. Then a pink glow appeared in the distance, which grew and grew until it became a person. Or at least, sort of a person. More like an almost-person than a person, really. It was about Polly’s height, and looked like a child’s clay molding of a human being, with disproportionately long arms and legs the shapes of tubes, and no neck, just a semi-circle that sat on top of its torso. For facial features it had only two black dots which she assumed to be eyes.

“Who are you?” Polly asked.

It is not a who, but a what, the being said. Its voice was surprisingly high pitched. There was an element of sadness to it as well, though. It is a robot.

“Is ‘it’ you? What’s a…a ro-vot?” Polly said. She was completely confused. What did this have to do with the battle at all?

A robot is something created by humans to do a job. This specific robot’s job is to tell the future. It has come to tell you a prophecy. The pink creature stopped walking and stood directly in front of Polly, staring her in the face.

“What?” Polly said. That was about all she could manage. She was cold and scared and in a strange place and quite possibly dead. She did not need pink golems telling her fortune. At the same time, though, some amount of childish curiosity had been awakened in her. This thing was very, very weird. Polly liked weird things.

It will tell you the prophecy now. The prophecy is:” the robot said. It then began to grow—exponentially so. It went from Polly’s height, to twice her height, to four times, and so on, until it filled up the entire sky. Polly gasped simply at the enormity of it. Its black eyes gazed into her own, and when it spoke it possessed a deep solemnity it hadn’t had before. Its voice was as huge as it was now, as big as mountains, as big as planets, as big as galaxies. It was a voice that sounded as though it had been to the beginning of the universe and returned, and was only wiser for the journey. And it said:

Everyone you know will one day die.

Then the robot exploded into millions and millions of tiny yellow shining butterflies, which swarmed across the sky like infinite glowing suns.


* * *

Polly woke up.

“Why am I strapped down?” she asked. “Is the fight over?”

A monk rushed over and unstrapped her, then helped her to her feet. “Yes it’s over,” he said. He sounded worried, and he looked Polly up and down with concern. “Zerith won. Would you like something to eat? Maybe a drink of water?”

“Some water would sure be nice,” Polly said. She stretched herself out a bit and realized that for some reason she was very sore, even though she thought she hadn’t technically fought anyone for real.

“That was a pretty good job,” Passer said. She realized for the first time that he was perched on the edge of the bed she’d been laying in.

Polly sipped slowly on the water the monk had brought her slowly. “You were watching? Did you see the end of it?” she asked, her tone of voice urgent now.

“Yeah. A bit weird, wasn’t it?” Passer said noncommittally. He didn’t sound overly concerned. He could be like that, sometimes—no imagination whatsoever.

“But what did it mean!” Polly said excitedly. “I didn’t understand! What was that thing? And the butterflies? Surely it all had to mean something!

Passer looked at her as if she’d grown a second head. “It was just a dream, Polly. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”


This is my concluding post. No spoils requested.

[Zerith]

The missionary’s luck finally ran out. With a single blow, the prince cleaved the wooden shaft of the spear in two. Disbelief clearly shone on Polly’s face as she began to realize that she probably never truly stood a chance against the warder at all. Like a viper, Zerith lashed out a second time with Amenzanil. The electrified blade sliced through the air with ease, focused on beheading the young girl right where she stood. In the end though, his halberd would not get the opportunity to add another name to its list of people it had killed. No, apparently Polly’s clumsiness would prove to be just the thing needed to save her life.

Her slip on the ice was anything but graceful, but as she fell off the platform and into the abyss, the titanium flew by above her harmlessly. The noble’s sapphire eyes watched her small form disappear, and he immediately rushed to the edge of the slippery surface to see if she had somehow managed to grab onto something. Sadly, all he saw were the clouds and knew that somewhere down beneath them Polly was left to whatever fate awaited her. Zerith had achieved another victory, though this one didn’t particularly feel earned. Unlike his battle with Shade, he felt like he was robbed of a win at the last second because of some accident. It felt empty, almost hollow.

As he stared down below, the white clouds quickly darkened until they eventually turned black. Thunder boomed again, and the platforms began to tremble as they shifted back into marble. Moving simultaneously, the squares grouped up tightly together to form a singular, much larger surface. Despite all the changes to the arena, the halberdier remained where he was, looking out at dark clouds with a blank expression on his face. It was if he was stuck in a daze, unsure what to do or how to act.

“So that’s it? The mighty halberdier turns out to be the last one standing? I’m disappointed” An unknown male voice said aloud, his tone rich with sarcasm.

The sudden noise awoke Zerith from his stupor immediately, and the warder spun around to see who the hell could possibly be speaking to him now. His eyes widened in surprise, as they took in the features of who he saw before him. Neck length silver hair was combed neatly around a face so divine it must have been crafted by Romus, and grey eyes looked upon the noble with mild amusement. With a physique that rivaled Zerith’s, the man was dressed in the most fancy and expensive clothes one would probably ever see. In his right hand, he leaned heavily on a jet black cane adorned with an icicle shaped decoration. His smaller than average lips were curved into a narcissistic grin.

It was none other than Raelyse Kastira Obscura Salidan VII, Prince of Myrusia and Grander of the order the halberdier was once a member of. Once upon a time Raelyse was the one blessed to have Jasmine Matrino as a lover, and he had successfully convinced her to believe he loved her. Yet that all changed when her warder finally decided to act on the feelings he had for her as well and managed to woo her away from the Myrusian. The last time the two met, the halberdier had left his Grander with a black eye and probably a hurt ego as well. This time though, it seemed like Raelyse was in perfect health, and just being in his presence was enough to make Zerith fear him greatly.

“How…how is this even possible,” Zerith asked in absolutely disbelief.

“It doesn’t really matter,” Raelyse replied as with a nonchalant wave of his left hand. “Though I do see you’ve been keeping yourself busy. Last I recall you were just a lieutenant in my order, but now you’re a prince. I guess you must have decided to marry my dear Jasmine.”

Frowning, Zerith grinded his teeth together. “You leave Jasmine out of this, How she is doing is absolutely none of your-“

“She is most certainly my business, you mutt.” The Grander quickly cut him off. “Did you honestly think I would just let you take her away from me and walk away? Hardly, I claimed her long before you showed up.”

“So what’s supposed to happen now then?” Zerith responded. As the confrontation continued, the black clouds that surrounded the two of them began to twist and take shape. Air turned into solid substance, and after a few minutes the two men found themselves standing in the courtyard of a dark, gothic castle. High above them lightning danced in the dark sky, and thunder continued to boom loudly. Upon the tall walls, grotesque gargoyles statues observed with cold, empty eyes.

Raelyse laughed softly and brushed a couple strands of silver hair off his face. Slowly, he began to approach the warder and didn’t bother to hide the visible limp in his stride. “This is where it gets fun. I thought it was only fitting that the new Prince of Moriah be allowed to try and defend himself against me, the Prince of Myrusia. Though I doubt you’ll last long. I’ll crush you and have your lovely wife back in my bed by dinner.”

Anger surged through Zerith’s veins with such newfound intensity that he began to grip onto his halberd so tightly that he was afraid his fingernails would leave indents on the redwood. “Like hell you will, Raelyse. I’m not afraid of you.”

The Myrusian scoffed, a malicious gleam in his eyes, “You fear everything. After I fry you to a crisp, I’ll make sure Jasmine suffers for all the heartbreak she caused me, with interest.”

“NO!” the halberdier roared and charged forwards as fast as he possible could. Another bolt of lightning streaked across the sky and then it suddenly began to pour with rain. With Amenzanil held high in the air, blade continuing to crackle with power. The Morian prince fully intended on cutting the self-absorbed Grander in half. “My wife and I have come too far to have our dreams shattered by someone like you! I swear to Draconus I will cut you down this time, Raelyse!”

Breaking out into another fit of laughter, the Bladesinger raised his left hand towards the warder. In an instant, electricity coursed though his arm freely. “You’re good, Zerith…” A lightning bolt leapt out from his hand with a flashy display of power, striking the warder in the chest and sending him flying backwards a second later. “..But me, I’m magic.”

Thunder roared again through the rain. Though now even that was drowned out by Zerith’s screams of agony.


***


“How the hell could you possibly not know what do now!?” Zevernus screamed at the monk he had by the collar. Not far off from the two of them, an unconscious Zerith continued to shake violently and scream louder than the swordsman ever heard in all the years the two had known each other. “The girl woke up, didn’t she? So tell me why the hell is my buddy here still stuck in the dream!?”

All the other monks were either crowded around the basin to see what was going on in the dream, or around Zerith himself to either restrain him or figure out what was going on. Not a single soul had an explanation as to what was happening. The duel was technically over, Polly was awake, Zerith was officially declared the winner and the experiment had been a great success. Yet now something catastrophic was happening, the prince was somehow not waking up when he should have been. More importantly though was the fact that the dream had suddenly and drastically shifted into something resembling a nightmare. Monks watched helplessly at the image of Raelyse continuing to electrocute the halberdier.

Meanwhile, Zevernus was terrified. With no idea what to do anymore and unable to help his companion in anyway, the swordsman’s fears were quickly getting the best of him. “What will happen if he doesn’t wake up anytime soon?” He asked the monk he held in his hands. When the monk's respone was to only look down at the round and remain silent, it was then the foreigner’s greatest fears were confirmed. He dropped the monk immediately and ran over to the basin, pushing two monks aside in the process.

“WAKE UP, Z!!” He yelled as loud as he possibly could while he held onto the bowl with both hands. For the first time in a long time, Zevernus prayed to all of the Greater Thayne. Which one in particular wasn’t important to him, all that really mattered was if one would actually answer him or not. For if his words couldn’t reach Zerith wherever he was, then chances are only a god could help the warder now. So with his eyes shut tight, and ears doing their best to tune out the noise around him. Zevernus prayed as hard as he could that somehow Zerith would find the strength to get up and fight back.

Yet the nightmare continued to drag on, and Zerith’s screams only grew louder and louder...


Concluding post. This was fun, good battle.

Spoils requested:

Telekinesis: Although he isn't sure what the monks did to him, or how this happened. Zerith had somehow developed telekinetic abilities through his time spent as a guinea pig. Using his mind alone, the halberdier can manipulate the objects around him. The smaller or lighter the objects are, the less it drains him. However, should he try to hard. Zerith will suffer from large headache and dizziness. At his current level, he can only manipulate objects of a maximum weight of 100lbs. If thrown, they only travel as fast as if they were normally thrown.

[Silence Sei]

Polly/Zerith

STORY
Continuity (10)
7/7
Polly- You did an excellent job of telling where we were in Polly’s story. She had a reason for being there (even if she didn’t like it much) and I knew it from the get-go.
Zerith you did a good job here too. Again, it made sense to me why he was there, and how he got to that point.

Setting (10) ~
7/6-
Polly- You did a great job here too. I felt like the beginning of the thread had a perfect amount of setting. Towards the end it began to become less clear. Watch how often you change the setting though, as it slightly distracted in a couple parts.
Zerith you were strong in this area, but I got less of the environment from you. Maybe it was simply that Polly took the forefront and you didn’t have as much to work with though. Towards the end you began to use the environment more, bringing this score back up.

Pacing (10)
7/7
The pacing in this thread was good, though I did start to get tired of…”oh I’ve got herl” Pause. “And now we start over..”

21/20

CHARACTER ~

Dialogue (10) ~
8/7
Polly defiantly shone here. Your interactions with Passer were entertaining and as realistic as speaking to a bird can be.

Action (10) ~
5/8
Zerith really took this category. Polly did well, but Zerith’s actions were defined well, with a couple of exceptions.

Persona (10)
8/7
Both of you were strong in this area, though I must admit Polly’s feelings with the butterfly really are all that won this one for her.


21/22

WRITING STYLE ~

Technique (10) ~
7/7.

Mechanics (10) ~
6/5
Polly was strong here. There were a few mistakes, but nothing that made me re-read. I did catch several uses of words like ‘wouldn’t’ and ‘couldn’t’, I understand that this is a personal style choice, but it is one that will hurt you on the rubric.
Zerith, focus on re-reading to catch mistakes. Your writing was good..but some words were left out which made it really hard to read.

Clarity (10)
8/7
Again Zerith, just a few points I had to re-read things, though I didn’t take much because I’ve already deducted for this in clarity.
Wild Card (10) ~
8/8
I’m not going to give one of you over the other in this case. This thread was a ton of fun to read, and I am looking forward to Zerith’s follow-up.

29/27

Totals

Polly: 71
Zerith: 69

Polly gets 1500 exp, 150 GP

Zerith gets spoils approved pending RoG, 375 exp, and 75 GP

[Silence Sei]

Exp-GP added.

Polly Leveled, G.