A chance for repentance [closed]

[Wolfman 20]

Looking into the sky, Lus just grazed his fingers over his scars that cover his body. Running his fingers down the one that scared his chest, he just thought back to his battle with a young redhead who scared him. He swore vengeance on her for this, and by god he's gonna get her. His hands shake as he lifts his arm to his face now. Another scar went down his face. From the tip of his dome down to his jaw line rests a scar that will never fade. Shaking his head, he stood up. His black hair waving in the wind as he looks towards the city of Radansath and the building known only as the Citadel.

His last visit was an upsetting one. He had lost to that redhead, in a gruesome manner. His blue optics searching the area as he sees many people walking around. The children at play as the adults work. Wiping the dirt and grass off his pants, he just closes his eyes and lets out a heavy breath. Opening his optics, he just walks towards the city again. This time, taking note of everything. He saw the same blacksmith hard at work with a hammer in hand as he pounded something into shape. ''I may just have to pay this town a visit to get some rest and relaxation when I can'' he says to himself. Walking through the town, he sees little kids around kicking a ball around. A smile on his face as he knew they were the future of the world.

As he looks around, he spots an inn. Looking at the name, he saw it was quite busy this time of day. People coming in and out, even getting thrown out. A small chuckle escaped his lips as he turned to the building that was his destination. ''This time I will do my best'' says the man as he took his right hand up and grasped the crucifix around his neck. ''I promise you mom, I will do my best to find the man who killed you, This I swear.'' the man says to himself as he looks up the building. Taller then anything he's ever seen, it had to stand at least maybe fifteen to twenty stories tall. Windows built in at least five feet apart around the circular building. The oak doors stood roughly twice the size of Luscious.

Letting a deep breath escape his vocals, he just pushed the doors open and just got a cold chill down his spine as a gust of cold air blew past him. His body hair standing on end as he walked in, closing the door behind him as he looked around.

The place was full of life now; humans, elves, ogre's and even dwarfs walking around. Some in armor and some in barely anything. Shaking his head, he had no room to speak. All he had on his body were his pants, not even shoes. Looking toward the desk, he saw a free monk up front. Brushing his way past everyone, he walked to the monk.

''Hey, I'm here to put in a challenge. A random person to fight, just someone please.'' He says closing his eyes as he puts his hands on the counter, tapping his fingers on the wood; a sign of impatience. The monk just smiles and looks to the young fellow. His gray facial hair neatly trimmed as he looks around; his brown robe obviously a couple sizes too big, Lus could see it touching the floor.

Unlocking a gate behind the counter, he walks out, closing the small gate behind him. ''Follow me young sir. I think I have the perfect spot for you.'' says the monk, his voice as coarse and weak as the man looks. But Lus knows first hand that the monks here can revive the dead and even heal the wounds.

Following the monk, Lus just takes a deep breath as he walks down the hallway, a few paces behind the monk as the hallway just gets brighter and brighter. More and more rooms were empty this time around. A shiver down his spine as the monk stops in front of a door right on the corner of an intersection.

''You already know the rules. You pick the arena and we supply the combatant. Good luck sire and may the best one win.'' says the old man as he walks away. His robe simply dragging on the ground.

Pushing the oak doors open, he just came towards an open field. Trees are the main thing as Lus' eyes look around. He saw plants littering the floor, flowers all over and even small critters, nothing dangerous from what he saw. Just small field animals, nothing larger then an ordinary house cat from what he could see. The grass felt moist and cool on his feet as he just smiled. Looking to the sky, he could see the sun clear as day. Not a cloud in sight. Smiling, he just walked towards one of the trees and put his right hand against it.

''I hereby dedicate this fight in honor of my mother, Teresa Lynn Bane. I love you mom.'' says the man as he closes his eyes as a single tear falls from his optics. Wiping the tear away, he just stood there. A smile came across his face as he looked towards the sky and saw a dove fly over head. He knew then that his mother heard him; doves were her favorite birds. Grasping the crucifix again, he just unclasped it from around his neck and just put it up on a nearby branch and just stood there. He knew his opponent would be coming soon, just not knowing when or from where.



Here is a clear example of what the field looks like. http://www.loudounwildlife.org/Images/grassy_field_BRCES1.jpg

[Cydnar]

Cydnar entered the arena with simplistic and determined strides from the lower end of the meadow. Like a tigress stalking her prey, he moved through the tree line shrouding the door and broke out onto the meadow, covering his eyes from the sun to catch a glimpse of the great slope before him. The gentle breeze smote his nose and swooned over him with the pollinated atmosphere of summer, and the sound of birds festooned in the branches behind him and mammals scuttling in the sea of grass rose before him.

"Blasted nature," he muttered, taking his time in Radasanth and the nihilism of it's people a little too much to heart. He plucked one of his sword canes, the indomitable Freya from his belt and clenched the crystalline tip in the palm of his hand. He used it to steady his advance and moved out up the slope. The lime green and liviol branches soon faded away into a bright and clear sky, almost opulently splashed with distant birds; eager carrion to trick the eye.

Today, Cydnar required one last sacrifice of himself. Tomorrow, he would be set free from his mental shackles and the scars in his mind burnt into existence in his conflict with Xem'Zund, tomorrow, he would travel to Haida, where no gods dared go, and no mortal wandered. His final encounter in the Citadel for a long time, he greatly hoped, would be a savage test of will, steel and speed, as much as any great battle throughout the annums of history.

When he arrived at the centre of the meadow, he steadied himself by placing his right leg forwards and straightening his left, like an explorer mounting a tree trunk to observe his new imagined kingdom. The breeze fluttered his deep purple robes and shimmered over the black panels of cloth hat divided the traditional Salthias garb into it's dual-toned stitching. As he scoured the sea of emerald grass for a sign of his opponent, with a clear vantage point all around him lest an assassin find room to swing a dagger into his back, he thought of one thing, and one thing only.

"A chance for repentance, a longing goal for one so laden with personal sin..."

[Wolfman 20]

Taking a deep inhale, Lus' eyes cocked open from his spot; his opponent was here. Smiling, he bares his teeth as he stands up with a groan escaping from between his pearly whites. Putting his hands on both sides of his head, he turns it and cracks his neck. ''It's time to get this show on the road'' says the man as he steps behind a tree to drop his jeans. As the man drops his pants, he leans forward and puts the palm of both his hands on the tree in front of him.

Shaking violently, he falls to his knees as his newly formed claws trail into the bark of the tree. Closing his optics, he just groans louder this time as his body mass grows whilst black thick fur grows from every spot on his body. His legs elongating as pads form on the bottom. His face changing shape as a muzzle grows where his mouth used to be. His pearly whites growing three times their size to roughly three inches for the back teeth and five inches for the front fangs.

Throwing his head back and closing his eyes, he lets out a howl to signify his transformation was over. Walking from behind the marked tree, he takes a whiff of the air around him and snarls. Bending down on all four legs, he books in the direction the scent was coming from. Kicking grass and dirt up as he runs, his mind only set on his mother and this fight. Breathing heavily, the wolf stops suddenly as he sees a man standing about fifteen feet away from him. Huffing, he pushes off his front paws and stands up. Licking his chops, he just started to circle the man. Lus' white eyes locked on the man who wore a purple robe and leather boots as he held a sword in his hand. ''I'm fucked, again. Just my luck'' the wolf thinks to himself as he stands still. The grass under his feet as he snorts towards the man. Being foolish, he charged the man and once he got within range, jumped at him. His claws stuck out ready to strike. Going for a grab on the shoulders, he reaches out; hoping this works, he just pulls the man to the ground with him. As he hits the ground, he just jumped backwards; not once turning his back on this man.

Shivering, he just looks around as the wind blew a nice cool breeze around him. The trees and grass swaying in the wind as Lus' fur blows with the wind as well. At times like this, he hated being a werewolf.

[Cydnar]

The lack of foresight in Cydnar's heart puzzled him, for he expected the man to fight with blades, not the ravaging claws of some sickening self-transformation. He had encountered beasts similar on the plains of Raieran night, but they had been dead, necrotic cousins of the werewolf, far removed from the almost noble savagery of the lost yet proud race of beasts.

As the man reached for his shoulder, he pulled backwards, and they both stumbled and rolled through the grass like great stones down a cliff face. The lemon-scented rush folded out of the way, leaving two valleys cut into nature's mane. In a heartbeat, Cydnar pounced upright and at the height of his ascent, he brought his stick down into the ground with a heavy thud.

"Let us start indeed!" He roared, his cry accompanied by the click of a spring that powered the mechanism of his haematite blade. The silver sliver of metal leapt upwards and Cydnar caught it without thought, spiralled it around and brought it in parallel with his body; tip to the ground. He let the sheathe fall sideways and dissipate into the grass, embracing the cold hilt in his right hand with joy.

With spiralling motions, he bent at the knee and scythed away the grass around him; clearing a small circle only as wide as the reach of his blade. The cold swing of air around his limbs took away the fear and anxiety in his bones. With his preparation complete, he drew on the magical energies of the ether and set his eyes onto the werewolf. "Wolf and Snake - enemies in nature, enemies in life, enemies here today."

He roared, pulling back his jaw so that the long canines; less bestial and more hollow, revealed themselves menacingly. Whilst his senses recoiled beneath the torrent of magic in the Citadel, spoiling his appetite and the sensory advantage his gift gave, he had a more practical use in mind for the Fangs of Yrene - a present to the neck of his opponent, should he survive the torrent of strength the werewolf could no doubt unleash.

Without wasting any more time, Cydnar sprang forwards, pulled his blade up to his right and leapt. As he came down, he slashed from high right to low left over the werewolf's body; his eyes ablaze with fire, his heart with passion, his mind with rage.

[Wolfman 20]

His eyebrow raised as he just watched this man do a silly motion. What threw Lus off was his bravery. He charged the wolf, slashing his sword from the right shoulder to his left hip. Lus put his arms up in an x-shaped guard to lessen the blow. Sliding back five feet, he dropped his guard as the man stood there. Lus looked to his arms as they bleed drips for now. Snarling, Lus just let out a howl of agony escape from his maw.

Eyes flared with anger, he charged the man once again; this time he didn't jump. He stuck his arms out as he got within distance to try and disarm the man. Grabbing the man by his left arm, he just swung him around. Furious that he couldn't disarm him, he just stood there. He didn't need his arms messed up again so he circled the man again, keeping his eyes on the man.

Shaking his arms as the blood dripped, he just tried his best to ignore the pain. To no luck, the pain was like a hot needle scratching over your skin over and over. Closing his eyes for but a second, he stood still. As the blood dripped, it painted the grass with a crimson red that could tell a story if read right. Baring his teeth, he charged the man, slightly jumping from the mans right side to his left hoping to confuse him as he got in the mans face. Bringing a fist up, he brought it up in an uppercut style. Not caring if it hit or not, he just jumped backwards trying to stay out of range of that sword.

''This man was good, but how good is he really?'' He says to himself as he lands backwards with a thud as dirt gets kicked up around his padded feet. Breathing heavy, he just looks to the man. The wind blowing in every direction now just brought a stinging sensation to his cuts that made them hurt even worse now. Shaking his arms, he tried to shake the pain by getting more blood flowing to his arms in hopes that it wouldn't hurt that bad.

[Cydnar]

The rustling and jolting between aggression and wild abandon threw Cydnar off completely. He was satisfied that his prey was wounded, but less so that he threw only strength at him without any finesse. He danced away from his grab, and tossed his blade into a reverse grip and cut the blade into the small of his back, scraping it and coiling it against his hauberk to lash out like a snake's tongue if the werewolf came too close. The whip of air against his ear told him that his agility held up and he removed himself from harm's way with elven grace.

They circled one another, if only fleetingly, before his opponent sprang forwards and brought his devilish fist up. The Hummel could not bring his sword around to strike at the arm until it was far too late, and he felt the connection strike him like a heavy stone on the surface of a still, stagnant pond. The distant tree-line left his field of view and he gazed up at the sky as he went up, over and down into the grass with a thud.

Amongst the blades of lemon scented nature, Cydnar mumbled about childhood memories in a daze. It took several seconds to fade away before he could compose himself and push himself upright. His sword had fallen to the mists of obscurity somewhere in the foliage, and he looked about his feet for signs of his beloved weapon; a blade as much a part of him as his hair, teeth or soul. "A clever move, monster, but lest you become accustomed to victory, I shall tether you back on a leash of despair!"

He pushed out with the sorcery energies gifted to him by his god, and latched onto the aura of crystal that ran along the length of his blade. He pulled at it and the sword floated up out of the grass to his outstretched hand. Careful not to show his true colours to his opponent, the elf ran his free hand along his chin, already bloodshot and bruised by the blow, and made a visible show of clicking it back into place. He felt the grinding of bone and the stretching of sinew over muscle and shuddered. It reminded him of the danger present in every confrontation, in every moment of his servitude as a Salthias, a hunter of magic.

"Come," he taunted, spinning his blade about to point it level at the werewolf's neck. He pulled his left hand back and stepped half away from the beast, a valiant and pious stance made as if he were scorning with a turn from view. "Show me what you are made of, if something more resides in you than animalism and hate!"

Shining in the sun, Cydnar cupped his left hand and pulled it back to his side. With his own hate ironically charging his magic, he conjured a small fist sized sphere of black quartz, tinted with deep purple and umbra shades of violet. He let his hand fall gently away from it and span the sphere up around his head in a wide arc. The gentle hum of telekinesis mingled with bird song and breeze, the cantor of war.

He waited with his blade readied, hand bobbing with his own heavy breathing and eyes set like a huntsmen's dedication on his prey.

[Wolfman 20]

Watching the man stand up, he just stood there. Ready for anything, he just locks his voids on the man as he saw the mans sword floated over to him. ''Great, a magician as well. Fuck me already'' He says as he watches the man slip his jaw back into place. A shiver down his spine as he saw the man taunt him, motioning a decapitation maneuver.

Watching the man take his left hand and cup it, he saw something forming in the hand. Looking like a pitch black baseball sized orb, he stepped back as he moved his hand from the orb. Seeing it float over his head, it just turned into an arc. A shiver down Lus' spine as he watched the man who was not as he appears. Stepping back, he kicked up some dirt as he just took off away from the man. Looking for a tree, he just headed towards a small grouping of pine and oak trees. The grass under him just feeling as soft as feathers yet moist like a moist cloth. His arms dropping the crimson paint as he just hides behind an oak tree, he slows his breathing down. He wanted to know what that arc thing was before he went in, claws and fangs bared.

Stretching his claws, he cracks his knuckles with a loud 'crack' sound trying to put pain elsewhere on his body. His arms were killing him in terms of how much it hurt. He just peered around the tree and snorted. Looking to the sky, he spots a couple small birds in flight as they head into the distance. The sun as bright as can be beating down on the ground yet the wind brought a cool breeze with it as it covered the land. Watching the grass, he waited for his opponent to make his move now.

Standing in the shadows, he figured he would have an advantage here. His white optics closing every so often as he keeps his sight locked on the man now. Shaking mildly, Lus knew in his heart that he could not win unless he disarmed his opponent.

[Cydnar]

As the werewolf retreated, the tide of battle began to cessate, bobbing weakly before the Hummel as if tempting fate. The strange and curious and sudden loss of will perturbed him, for all intent and purpose, his speed, guile and strength would be no match for the opponent's brutality, surely?

"Come back!" He roared, baring his fangs and bellowing at the height of his lungs, "Come back, coward!" He mimicked the common-tongue taunt perfectly, his accent layered thick over the simplistic words to place him as a citizen of Dheathain cast far from home.

The dust trailed and settled, and then there was no movement asides the gentle circulation of the crystal sphere about his head. On it's seventeenth rotation, he glared at it as it caught the dim light and shone with inner malefic. He gritted his teeth and ran his tongue over the tip of the canines, and longed for the blunt impact of his projectile to herald the sickening, bone breaking end of this pitiful combat.

He pulled out his second blade-staff and dropped it, activating the spring mechanism with the heavy thud to the ground. He grasped the hilt of the blade as it pounced upwards and span it along with Freya in a pair of concentric circles. He knew that entering the tree line was foolish, but a fool's game was a survivor's gambit - time was too precious for Cydnar to waste.

As he ran down the slope, feet gushing up from the grass to net himself extra momentum, one thought, and one thought alone crossed his mind.

"For Manira..." He crossed his weapons, screamed, and drove his weight into the branches and foliage, dissapearing from the sun into the unknown cold of the woodland.