Burning Off Steam

[Helm_Ortega]

((Closed to Sabatykos))

"Kraft..." The paladin muttered the name of the man who had inflicted the malady on him.

Even as he climbed the stone stairs to the Citadel, Helm could feel the burning in his muscles and the acrid feeling in the pit of his stomach, like a night of heavy drinking without a sound sleep to pass time through the rough parts.

It had been two weeks since the Greyguard had used a powerful 'geas' to send Helm away to mainland Althanas. The young knight knew only that his objective lay in the city of Corone, but the paladin had been given only the vaguest instructions, and every day that passed, he felt the toll of the geas being taken out of his health and stamina. His imagination terrorized him with thoughts of what was to come if he did not complete his near impossible task. For now, he seemed to be on the right path, enough so that his curse was not crippling.

"I don't even know what I'm looking for!" the youthful combatant thought to himself in frustration as he ascended.

Helm had spent the last few days in discomfort, living out of a small hostel in the city's core. He had no supplies, was running low on funds, and his search had turned up practically nothing. The only tidbit of information he unearthed was the fact that many adventurers in the city oft turned to a massive, dated stone citadel when seeking answers to spiritual and seemingly unsolvable questions.

Arriving at the staircase's pinacle, the knight was greeted by an orange-robed monk with a thin twine necklace sporting fist-sized orbs of wood, equally spaced around the monk's muscular neck. Helm regarded the older spiritual man with a degree of suspicion before speaking.

"So... We fight now? I guess?" the paladin asked, noting that the monk was unarmed, then eyeing his own sturdy warhammer doubtfully.

"Nay, persuer of knowledge. I am but a visionary guide of Ai'Brone. We are the architects, creating a pallet and venue with which souls craft a dominion to reflect both one's desires and fears," the monk responded patiently, bowing low.

"Well I know that, obviously, but... what do you ACTUALLY do?" Helm replied, trying to veil his ignorance in the face of the brightly-clad man's superior linguistics.

The monk smiled, ever patient.

"I make arenas, shaped by the thoughts of men and women such as yourself. Tell me what sort of theme or setting appeals to you, and I will create for you a battlefield," the monk stated evenly.

"Seriously? That's awesome!" Helm responded growing excited and temporarily shrugging off the weight of the geas. But then, a sobering thought occurred to the warrior. "These fights aren't, to the death, are they?"

"No," the monk began slowly which was beginning to agitate the paladin. He was not known for his equanimity. "All will be as it was before you began your battle, save whatever valuable life experience you gai-"

"Sweet, got it. So I want a room that..." Helm cut off the elderly old monk, leaning in and whispering his loosly forming idea. "Can we do this?" and "Wait, can I..."


---------

The paladin stood in the center of the cavernous cavity. A bead of sweat rolled down his chisled, tanned cheekbone, which he whiped off with a gauntleted hand. The intense dry heat assaulted him with wisps of smokey vapor that smelled mildly of eggs.

His perfectly straight, luxurious blonde hair waved defiantly in the heat, immune to such elements. He projected a combined air of eagerness and nervousness in his shiney steel breastplate, warhammer drawn and at the ready. He strained his jaw, barely concealing the excited chattering of his pearly white teeth. Any minute his opponent - he was told it could be anyone from vile demon to blessed archon - would walk through the archway before him. The ominous, black, stone doubledoors were twenty feet tall, framed by detailed stone carvings in ebony and alabaster of criss-crossing arms, seemingly in distress. It was creepy in a way that motivated Helm to be on guard.

Helm thought back to every horrific or romantic tale that began here, at these gates. On the portal was written a chilling phrase, which stood out in Helm's mind as ironic, for it was Helm's opponent who would enter through them.

The holy-warrior took a few long strides across the cavernous floor of hell itself - thick with heavy vapors of yellow and grey - and read aloud the inscription on the collosal, arching gateway.

"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."

[Sabatykos Maelstrom]

(It's perfectly all right dude no worries)

Meanwhile-

An errand lead Sabatykos Maelstrom to The Citadel. Typically, when he was there, he created worlds that mimicked what he knew to be "real". After the recent events which lead Sabatykos into the depths of The Pyre itself, the youth had returned from that inferno a changed man. Legitimately a man of his people, Sabatykos was now working for a Rancher that was located off Radasanth proper in The Radasanthia district. Sabatykos wore basic clothing, a black tank top, black denim pants, leather gloves, leather boots, and a travel pack. He also wore a belt with several pouches attacked to it. Adorning his face was a pair of glasses that was a decoration which never left it. Sabatykos also wore a brown fedora.

Wearing his hair as a interlocking mess of dreadlocks that were waist length, Sabatykos was a plain sight to behold. That is, if one considered the mysterious symbols on his arm plain at all. Runes that were the markings of his people, The Saenorakym Prime, they covered much of one arm. They had stored energy, but the youth currently had no access of said stored energy. Sabatykos held the parcel in his hand and walked over to the office that he was heading to. Chamber of Finances for The Citadel. The Citadel was still a business, and was helping to lead the industrial revolution through covert means.

Sabatykos knew this because his employers knew this. When Sabatykos knocked on the door, he heard people stirring within. A conversation of some sort. The door was opened from within, and it crept inward. An elderly Monk of significant rank opened the door. Sabatykos was familiar with such Monks, he had seen them before. Running parcels was not usually the thing he enjoyed doing most. However, his employers paid him well for the services and it was important to upkeep his growing engineering business.

"Ah, young Mr. Maelstrom was it?" The Monk asked. Sabatykos nodded in response. "You are right on time. We like it when our couriers are on time."

"Thank you sir. Here is your package. Mr. Reynolds sends his regards to you and your family." Sabatykos said. It was customary to be polite and business like.

"Yes. Mr. Reynolds. His farmstead is doing exceedingly well. One of the most prosperous farms in all of Radasanthia." Sabatykos only nodded in response. "Tell me young Sabatykos, how is your family doing these days?"

Sabatykos frowned at that, he did not like talking about his family after the recent event he had gone through.

"My family is doing well sir." Sabatykos aid plainly. He adjusted his fedora hat. He changed the subject, he did not like talking about his family. "Are there any parcels for Mr. Reynolds?" Sabatykos asked politely.

"Yes, but before we part with that, there is a small task I'd ask of you." The Monk said with a mischievous smile.

Sabatykos knew that was coming.

He sighed.

"Who do I have to kill?" Sabatykos asked.

"Nothing like that." The Monk said. "It's like this..."

***

And that's how Sabatykos found himself in front of the chamber in question. It was unmarked except for a simple note written in the common tongue. Sabatykos sighed when he read the warning. Why do cretins feel the need to show off in this fashion? Setting does not a man make... Sabatykos thought as he exerted his powerful muscles and opened the doors to the chamber within. Once Sabatykos entered he was locked within the spells that The Monks weaved. Seeing a fellow before him, Sabatykos put his backpack on the ground and walked towards the man. He really did not like fighting, especially after the recent events that had affected him to his very core.

"Hey there." Sabatykos said politely to the man. "My name is Sabatykos Maelstrom. I have been ordered to duel you. I hope you are prepared for a very long night." Sabatykos drew his primary weapon, an iron broadsword that masterwork in nature. "Very well then. Let us begin my friend." Sabatykos said carefully. He hoped this would not turn out like that time he fought against that kid, Alberdyne Cormyr.

[Helm_Ortega]

Helm had never possessed much of an imagination. When other children were busy playing knight and mage, Helm was polishing swords for real knights and learning the defensive placement of armored and spellcasting ranks.

That being said, Helm was disappointed at his opponent's bloodless reaction to the battlefield he and the monk had come up with. How could one not want to do righteous battle before the black gates that lead to hell's scathing belly? That phrase, "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here!" - it chilled him. The thought of the legions of evil inflicting pain and misfortune for all of eternity was too much for Helm's lawful sensibilities. What could be more dire?

The newcomer announced himself and drew his weapon, ready to do battle, all day if need be.

Helm turned his warhammer over in his hand in a three-sixty, acquiring a feel for his family weapon's weight after days of disuse. It was immediately familiar; well balanced, a bit heavy on the head-side to deliver a particularly sound impact. There were few times where the young knight had the opportunity to wield the fine, chromed weapon against a human opponent. At least, Helm assumed the man was human.

Standing just about as tall as the human knight, the black-haired man's tightly knotted hairstyle fell about his body in a way that reminded the paladin of the docks.

Helm gave Sabatykos a wide berth as he strafed the sword-wielding combatant, spinning his warhammer casually. He took comfort once more in how easily its haft drifted about his hand, as if magnetized.

"Remember brain, this is different than sparring. He's probably smarter than you, and maybe as strong buuuut, probably not," he reassured himself. "Hmm, he doesn't really look like a magic-user either."

"I'm Helm Ortega, paladin initiate and fantasy icon of fair damsels throughout the realm," Helm greeted the peculiarly dressed drifter. "Tell me, Mr. Malestrum," Helm prompted the man. The trained warrior circled his opponent, examining his equipment and posture. "I don't mean to doubt your prowess, but, that monk gentleman? He said that I should be expecting a warrior. Now that's a neat sword and all, but I can't help noticing that you don't have any armor. Do you think that might contribute somewhat to your loss today?" Helm said with a friendly smile, his feet side-stepping across the rocky terrain. "If you want to go pick yourself up a suit of chainmail or maybe a shield, I'll wait here."

[Sabatykos Maelstrom]

When his opponent paced around him, Sabatykos smiled softly. Though the man had a quick tongue, Sabatykos decided that he liked the man a lot. There was an honour in those words. Sabatykos' ears were pointed which was the sign of a halfling. Though at this point that was just physical appearance and little more than that. Sabatykos was just a standard warrior with no powers except for scientific knowledge. As he looked at The Paladin's initiate, he could feel an aura of kindness flowing from the fellow.

"Don't worry, I don't like armour, it slows me down a bit." Sabatykos nodded to the fellow. "Thank you for complimenting my sword, it was a gift from my Father." Sabatykos thought of something just then. "How do you want to proceed with this? I've fought here one other time." The scientist remembered his battle with Alberdyne Cormyr. It had proven a challenge, but his growing Reflex capacity was what had made the difference. He hoped that his reflexes would save the day here again. "Well how about this?"

Sabatykos said and suddenly attacked. The man had physique on the young scientist, that was true, but Sabatykos had fought before. He was no stranger to The Citadel's operation. Sabatykos would have to make sure not to hold back in order to stand a chance in the fight. Mental calculations of physics and other scientific arts coursed through his mind as he looked at his foe and prepared for the battle at hand.

He held his weapon in a low center of gravity. Before he would allow his opponent to strike first, Sabatykos launched a maneuver. He recalled his training against Alberdyne Cormyr, he didn't have to hold back then and he would not hold back at that moment. He did not have speed, but he had reflexes. That would be crucial to this bout.

His attack moved from the low-center of gravity as he moved from a downward-upward strike. His strike possessed basic knowledge of swordplay but little else than that. There was no finesse in those movements, in terms of power level, the two warriors were equal. Sabatykos shifted his body weight to move with the attack utilizing his Reflexes to their fullest extent. As he moved, he swung the weapon in a wide arch, the iron of his sword catching nearby torchlight. Sabatykos swung in an upward movement, holding his grip with both hands. It was a calculative strike, he suspected he would not catch his opponent with it. His broadsword did not have the reach of a longsword, but it was built thickly. It's masterwork nature would be enough to keep Sabatykos alive, at least that was his hope...