Give and Take

[Breaker]

Closed to the four warriors recruited here. (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=22127)

The Ascended stood in the center of the bustling Citadel, still as the portraits of Legendary Heroes which adorned its vaulted walls.

He waited.

Around him Ai'Brone Monks accommodated warriors of every sort with the efficiency of ants gathering sugar. The odor of sweat and fear, anticipation and dread, rose off the fighters and mixed with heady smoke wafting from bronzed incense holders. Together they gave the air a narcotic flavor. Studying the paintings as hearts raced and nerves stretched all around him, the Ascended savored the smell like a fine wine. He understood that he fed an addiction each time he visited those hallowed halls. But the Citadel seemed like a code he could use to decipher some recent events.

Two months prior he woke up, naked and drenched to the bone during a storm in ghetto in Radasanth. Suffering from temporary amnesia, he spent a nightmarish night racing about the city re-discovering friends, acquaintances, and enemies. Since then entire years worth of memories had surfaced in his conscious mind. But not all of them came from his life. Many seemed like they belonged to a variety of ancient Althanians. Others were the dreams of recollections of his time spent existing as pure energy, flying with the Queen to whom the Ai'Brone Monks prayed, the Eternal Tap.

Maybe that's what pulled me back here here. All the magic in the air.

As his past continued to blossom in his long-term memory, Joshua Cronen had learned to trust his instincts. To walk where his body wanted without thinking. And so he stood in the entry hall of the Citadel and waited for something meaningful.

"Glad to see you're back from your vacation," said a light, musical voice.

A small monk stepped out of the mass of moving bodies, arriving with the poise of a statue beside the patient martial artist.

Josh examined the monk, and as he cataloged the Brother's fine-boned features, a torrent of memories flooded the surface of his mind. Images and names of many warriors. Many previous visits to he Citadel. The sweet taste of victory. He had talked at great length many times with this monk, for the more he looked the more he recognized the lacquered fingernails and almond shaped eyes. And the clean minty smell the small man carried like a staple of simple hygiene.

"Medsan," he said the name and blinked. "Couldn't keep myself away, it seems." He followed his old friend down a narrow hall away from the clamor of the main chamber, until he could hear the whisper of the monk's habit and the soft metallic report of his own footsteps.

"There are so many things we need to talk about," Josh said, not quite surprising himself. He had become habituated to his subconscious staying several steps ahead of the rest of him. "You have no idea... the things I've seen! And just being here, it's like a puzzle in my head that's almost finished. You can help me with the last few pieces. I think... I know what everything I do has been driving towards!" The martial artist saw the small smile on his companion's face and slowed his excited breathing, mimicking the other's stillness.

"We will evaluate what you know and what you think you know, both together and independently." Medsan said enigmatically. Torchlight from an iron sconce flickered in his wise eyes. "But first, re-evaluate your fighting ability. That is why you came, is it not? To test the mettle of your new vessel?" With a grand sweeping gesture the diminutive monk indicated Cronen's pale body, and then a plain oaken door.

Josh examined him for a moment, as if searching for an agenda hidden in the folds of his burlap habit. I can be as covert as you and the whole monastery, he thought, but tangentially wondered if it was a good idea to match wits with a High Brother of the Order.

"Unless you've got Letho Ravenheart in that room," he smirked, recalling the visceral excitement of facing the Marshal in combat during the Cell, "then I doubt it will be a very tough test." Like part of a mantra, Josh reached back and re-checked his weaponry. Three daggers, two made of delyn and one prevaldia, sheathed across his broad belt. A short spear pointed downwards from a comforting shoulder harness. Medsan shook his head and smiled knowingly.

"You forget how much experience we have when it comes to making battles challenging. I always have a few tricks up my sleeve Joshua, even if you can't see them." The monk placed a soft hand on the polished brass knob.

"Well I wouldn't want to traumatize anymore of your warriors. But I'm sure I can trust your judgment." Cronen twisted from the waist, one way then the other with increasing speed until his core warmed and his spine popped from bottom to top. "I've been staying out of trouble, setting a good example, since I got back. I won't pretend it isn't a little boring." He drove his right knee up until it touched the underside of his chin, then his left, expanding the incredible range of motion in his hips. The high-stepping exercise continued to the outside, points of his knees nearly tagging his temples, as he rotated his wrists to prepare the joints. "I guess you really do know me as well as I know myself." Cronen dropped into a full squat then launched straight up, rotating so he landed standing on his hands. He repeated the explosive movement until blood pounded in his ears and his whole body tingled, muscles lusting for further exercise, skin moist with warm-up sweat. The Ascended smiled and tipped his old friend a wink.

Medsan opened the plain door, and a blinding light pulled Josh inside.


*


He stood in the center of a circular room surrounded by white and black fire. It crackled magically, liquid and sourceless to the untrained eye. It's heat scratched at his face and hands but the stone floor cooled the soles of his bare feet.

Medsan wasn't kidding about the sleeves...

Josh looked down and found he wore a traditional Akashiman gi, white as fresh snow with sextuple-stitched seams on the lapels. A crimson belt held the garment shut around his waist, knotted in front as if by his own hand. The weapons he carried in to the Citadel and his enchanted boots had vanished.

The stone floor was polished marble, so smooth he couldn't find the grooves of tile or the markings of carving. It bore a yin-yang to match the shades of fire blazing around the giant symbol. Josh rotated on the spot, certain he could see his ghostly reflection in the swirling fire, and inhaled sharply. Directly behind him on a simple iron stand perched his dehlar bastard sword, in all its chipped and bloodstained glory. A traditional red tassel adorned the handle to match his belt. Not too difficult to determine which monk did the decorating. Josh shook himself like a wolf, feeling renewed respect for Medsan. The clever tactician had supplied Cronen with the weapon he least liked using.

My opponent has a lot to live up to. Josh rested one hand on the cool hilt of the horizontal sword and placed his other palm flat of the blade. The yin-yang must have some significance. Balance. The past, the present, and the future. His plans could wait until after Medsan's test.

Sweat dripped down the thick collar of the gi. The fire consumed his thoughts as he breathed the scalded air and entered eternal meditation.

[Arden]

There are two lessons in life. Both are intracellular and intertwined with destiny and fate, with cliché and irony, unexpected development and utterly predicted unravelling. You come across these twins when the time is right, but you always leave the arena of education refreshed and renewed.

Some, however, would be broken by the revelation.

As Arden Janelle eyed his opponent, he drew on the innocence in his lack of experience compared to the one named Breaker. He had witnessed the carnage he had wrought in the Cell whilst cheering for Duffy Bracken, and swallowed back his fear that one day, his target and destination would be the elephantine skin and quick footed riposte of the man before him.

Lesson one, was how children learn.

He had learnt his errors quickly, but not capitalised on them, and now his punishment was to be Duffy's lap dog until the end of their own private war.

Joshua Cronen it seemed, had learned every lesson going, and took them utterly to heart. The calmness and stern grimace of serenity on the man's face unnerved Arden even more, and he clenched the dagger in his hands to steel his thoughts to the task at hand. The swirling majesty of the symbol beneath his opponent's feet mimicked his own private intuition and lesson.

Lesson two, was how children fail.

Blank had failed too many times to not have learned of this the hard way. The one thing he appeared to have over the titan before him was experience in failure. He expected to lose, without a shadow of a doubt, even with the favour splayed against Cronen in a team brawl, he could not remotely hope to surmount the odds.

He walked forwards into plain sight and calmly spoke.

"Good day, Mr Cronen. I am the first of many, a lesson learned hardest they say is one you only learn after you miss it being taught."

Without pausing for thought, he tossed the Bandit Brotherhood dagger towards his opponent and hoped whatever psychological games the monks had implied strongly he should use would work. It felt odd to be the 'teacher' for once, even if the air of superiority his tanned physique and auburn hair captivated was a mockery of the legend before him.

[The Soulforged]

"The daggers? How do you find them?" An aged monk asked of Seed.

"Expensive. Can I pawn 'em for cash?"

"I am afraid not. Now, please follow me."

"Drat," Seed muttered as he played with the two deyln daggers he had just been handed. They were incredibly well-made, perfectly balanced; a master's work. With a soft chuckle he twirled them playfully, one each hand. He briefly wondered how many mouths could be fed if he sold the pair of blades, and wondered how many more mouths had instead been silenced eternally by the two glistening weapons.

He placed the daggers in the back of his belt, and did as he was told. Through a dimly lit hallway he followed the old monk, torches barely lit his way. The stone echoed as it was stepped upon, a soft testament to a craftsman long since gone.

"I thought I was suppose to fight someone. You know, hack-and-slash, blood-and-guts style? Isn't that what this place is all about? Perfecting our skills in a non-lethal environment, so we can be more lethal in real life? Hey, how many murders have practiced in your hallowed halls? A hundred? A thousand?" Seed asked as he gently ran his hand over a torch's flame. The fire flickered softly, mimicking the motion's of his hand.

"Your opponent is just ahead. You are aware of what to do?" The monk said softly, completely ignoring the question. He then motioned for Seed, who had been following several steps behind, to come closer. The two had reached their destination.

"Uhhh yeah. Stab the guy til he drops. I wrote it all down actually. Just in case." Seed began to pat his pockets. "Uh oh. Did I drop it somewhere? Word of advice, never trust a free hooker. Wait...that's a contradiction, isn't it?"

"Tell me, Seed Vicious, what do you see?" The man, again ignoring Seed's question, asked as he pointed towards a wall. No, it wasn't a wall. It was a sheet of glass, painted glass. Upon closer inspection, it was a circle of two colors. Black and white. Seed studied it closely.

"A whirlpool?" He offered. The monk shook his head.

"Two tadpoles then," He responded. "Two horny tadpoles, chasing each other's asses."

The monk gave him a stare. Seed stared back.

"Don't judge them. They're horny."

"It is the yin-yang symbol. It represents balance. Completion," The monk said softly. Seed let out a snort, but the monk continued, indifferent to the noise.

"Light and dark, cold and hot. Two opposites that cannot exist without the other. Were there no dark, how could there be light? How would we judge what is hot, had we nothing to compare it to?"

"Are you going somewhere with this?"

"Chaos and order. The other must exist for the sake of its opposite."

"Oh ho! I get'cha!" Seed laughed as he raised his foot. He then delivered a hard kick to the yin-yang symbol. Cracks appeared upon the glass, pieces of black and white fell to the floor. Seed grinned, and licked his lips.

"So? How's that? Personally, I think the representation of balance falling to bits really brings out the color of the stone floor."

The cracks across the glass began to grow, more and more pieces of the yin-yang cracked, and fell to the ground.

"You see nothing else?" Was all the monk said. If the destruction of Citadel property bothered the man, he did not show it in the least.

"That is all there is."

"Then this will be a good learning experience for you Seed Vicious. Your opponent awaits." The man pointed at the breaking yin-yang, which shattered into hundreds of pieces.

Complete and utter darkness engulfed Seed.

*

"Hot hot HOT!" Seed screamed as the colored fire licked at his skin. He had appeared far too close to the flames for comfort, and he instinctively tumbled away from the fire, in which he could have sworn he saw his reflection. Creepy.

"Whew! That's better! Much cooler here!" He then looked down, and saw the yin-yang symbol on the stone floor. "Oh, ha ha ha. Very funny."

Then he saw the man with light brown hair and hazel eyes. Seed grinned, and drew his worn and chipped sword from its sheath. He still had those daggers tucked away, but he would save those until later. With reckless abandonment he charged forward, even as someone else threw a dagger at his target.

"Hey hey hey, Joshua Cronen! I'm the second of many! They say the worst lesson is the one you never learned!"

[Jack Frost]

Jack once again found himself entering the citadel. This time he had a more personal mission than before. He was to fight a certain man with a few others along side him. he had been told this man was a monster of a man, incredibly strong. Jack didn't give a damn. His recent studies into his tomes had provided him with the ice magic he would probably need. He would try to be a valuable contribution to the team.

the monks knew Jack was coming and had prepared for him. They had a knife that Jack would be using. He attached the hilt to his trousers and nodded at the monks. They hesitated a moment and nodded back. He found himself facing a wall with a strange symbol on it. Jack recognized it as the symbol for balance. There's a meaning to this? he asked himself quickly. Then it seemed the wall shattered, and Jack was plunged into darkness. Blazing hot darkness.

As Jack left the two monks behind him turned to each other. "Doesn't he normally chill up the room?" One asked the other. "Maybe he's sick..." the other responded...

Jack found himself standing in an arena enclosed by a ring of fire. Ge carefully glanced around and found three other men in the ring. He recognized one as Seed Vicious, a fellow warrior for Lorenor. The man was strange and scatter brained at times. Jack silently hoped he would be useful...

[Kurai]

"Excuse me?" Kurai said, not allowing his face to look puzzled at the monk before him.

"I said you have been chosen. Follow me, please."

Kurai stared at the shorter man for a second. Kurai had come here to see what had become of his old stomping ground when he was instantly approached by this monk.

"This had better be worth my time little man." Kurai said with a venomous tone.

"Oh I believe it will be, Mr. Kaosu."

Taken aback slightly Kurai responded, "How do you know my name?" He resisted the urge to roast this man where he stood, but stopped. Any place powered these men where you can die and be revived is bound to have some elite mystics in their ranks. Provoking them without a proper means to counterattack is not a good idea.

"I know your brother..." Is all the monk said before starting a slow gait down a hallway. He raised his hand and waved, beckoning Kurai to follow. He stood stubbornly defiant for a second then decided to play along with this "chosen" thing to see where it would lead.
__________________________________________

"What's this?" Kurai asked when the monk held out to him a short spear with a nicely forged blade head.

"Your gift for participating in this exercise."

Kurai snatched it and brought the bladed end up close to the monk's face--the monk didn't even flinch. "Heh..." said Kurai. "I'll be sure to put it to good use."

"I believe you shall find some like-minded individuals such as yourself in here. Word to the wise--I sense you've led a harsh life where trust came in short supply, but here..." He paused and opened the door in which a slew of broken glass pieces lay before it. "He will need to trust more than ever. Balance is the key."

"Whatever old man." Kurai said, emotionless. Gripping his new toy he steps into the void.
__________________________________________________

When his vision cleared he was in a marble room encircled by unnatural flames that danced to and fro almost in unison--further strengthening the idea that the fire is powered by a supernatural force.

The next thing Kurai noticed was the start of a battle. He also noticed the yin yang symbol in the middle of floor, upon which stood a man he'd never seen before. He wielded a two handed sword and was being attacked by two people at the time, while a third stood off to the side, preparing himself. Two he recognized as members of his own Order. Jack was one the one hanging back while, Seed was rushing forth with his sword poised to strike. A crimson haired man was with them, though he'd never seen him before. Kurai hoped he would make a good temporary ally.

"What about this is balanced? Ha!" He twirls the spear from the left side of his body to his right as if it were his own staff and then angles it in front of him, the spear head pointed towards the ground. "This shall be a slaughter!"

He runs forward on the right side of the man in front of him. He flung the spear head upwards in an arc towards the man's chin in an attempt to slice his face in half.

"This shall be your end."

[Breaker]

Palms balanced on the blade and pommel of his sword, Joshua exhaled a long breath and opened his eyes. He could see the layers of reality, stacked on top of each other like pieces of tracing paper. But being aware of the illusion's existence did not decrease the temperature of the fire, nor the danger of an opponent's blade.

Supported by the thrill of the Eternal Tap all around him, Josh felt as much as saw his opponents arriving. They were pebbles in the Citadel's pond, making ripples in the illusion. Sinking to the bottom where the Breaker waited patiently. He scanned the first two as they snapped into view. A tall thin man and a short fit one, both baring steel blades. Their opening duologue, scripted no doubt by Medsan, was the only remarkable thing about them.

"What else did the monk tell you?" Josh called at the pair, knowing it would be most characteristic of his old friend to make questioning his opponents part of the challenge. He divided his focus as the third contender arrived, a sickly skeletal man who stood slackly near the wall of fire and looked around at the growing group. Josh cataloged the man as a potential trickster, which put him in the same file as Karuka Tida. The fiery-haired lass had hidden the majority of her powers until their battle in the hallowed halls neared its end, and then unleashed a surprise salvo. Cronen let the memory slip into his subconscious as a powerful-looking fourth opponent appeared. Taking some unheard cue, three of the challengers attacked.

The tall thin fellow standing at Breaker's twelve o' clock threw a dagger just as the swordsman and the half-demon forked in from ten and two. Having a few fractions of a second to assess the threat before it could escalate gave Josh all the time he needed, and like a true chess master he stayed several steps ahead of the pawns.

Smooth as a triggered catapult his leg swept the stand towards the tall thin man at the same time as he grabbed the leather-wrapped hilt of the sword. He countered the swordsman's rush early with a thrust aimed to open the chest cavity. His leg continued its momentum, describing a tight half crescent to ward away a slick attack from a familiar spear. He snatched the flying dagger like a frog catching dinner and snatched the flying dagger. Brought it down in a vicious ice-picking stab at the base of the half-demon's neck.

Bare feet whispered on the cool black and white marble. Drops of sweat marked the skewed pattern of his passage over smooth stone. The scurrying motion brought him towards the supposed sleeper, keeping the tall skeletal man between himself and the dagger thrower. Constant footwork, simple yet intricate, put him at angles with the others, never presenting a target to more than one at a time.

Captured dagger and blood-stained bastard sword in a symmetrical high guard, Breaker advanced on the most reluctant of his opponents.

[Kurai]

He's fast!, Kurai thought as his attack was expertly maneuvered around.

His swing missed its target by a hairs-breadth. Pulling his blow he moved the spear back into a defensive stance. In the blink of an eye he went from being the attacker to the defender as the man plucked the thrown dagger out of the air after performing a counterattack against Seed. The dagger being thrust down at his throat came quick. Kurai only had enough time to holdup his right forearm.

Kurai's gauntlet hit on the base of the man's hand, just under the dagger--stopping it mere inches from his neck. Kurai didn't have to have a power struggle to save his life as the man shuffled away from Kurai and his other attackers. He had repositioned himself closer to Jack, but kept himself moving, his footwork almost sporadic like that of a squirrel on the alert. His demeanor was anything more than squirrel-like.

His eyes showed the focus of a master of the martial arts, and he apparently had to moves to show it. Taking on four opponents worth their salt at once is no joke.

Which means this guy is must be some hot shit. He thought as his red eyes nearly glowed with excitement. He left home looking for a proper challenge and here he was looking one right in front of him. Kurai wished to make him bleed, make him suffer, and shrink away at Kurai's superiority.

Kurai grinned evilly at the thought of bringing this man under his boot. Although even he knew that the one with the better strategy was going to be the deciding factor of this battle. His side has the numbers, but this guy seemed to have extensive training with fighting multiple opponents. It was going to be quite close. Just the way he liked it.

"Who is this guy anyway?" Kurai asked aloud, as he strafed back and forth slowly with his spear out and angled upwards--looking for an opening in this man's defenses.

Kurai then noticed a change in the man's movements. He began to close the distance between himself, and Jack, and the other fighter--who threw the dagger which was still held tight in the white robed fighter's grasp.

"Jack he's coming your way! Look alive or get dead!" Kurai yelled while making his own advance, in an attempt to box the simple clothed man in.

[Jack Frost]

I'm assuming your going to keep going forward...
Jack smirked as his opponent began to move towards him. He exhaled a cloud of fog and pulled eight needles of ice from it. He grinned. How many needles could he throw before he had to run? Judging by the rate of his opponents approach and the distance between them, which he estimated to be about twenty feet. He grinned and spun, throwing all eight like throwing knives. The icy needles flew quickly at the strangely robed man. Jack had to stretch his icy aura just to keep them from melting.

He quickly launched about twelve more through the same process before he realized exactly how stupid he must have looked. "God damn it" he hissed. His opponent was now ten feel away. Unsure of his speed Jack began a sprint along the wall of flames. His hope was any attempts to follow him would be discouraged by the heat.

"Kurai! Seed! Other guy I don't know!" Jack shouted with an heir of authority. "We need to regroup and strategize!" Jack yelled in a dead sprint. He had no clue where his opponent was, and he didn't want to risk a look.

[The Soulforged]

Seed had one of two options. Option one, abruptly stop his attack and turn it into a parry. This had the immediate benefit of not being impaled on his opponent's sword, and that made it a mighty fine option in his mind. Option two was to take the stab to the chest, and simply stab back at the man.

He chuckled at the thought of his impaled body flailing about on a sword, while he tried to stab his foe back. A picture-perfect moment to be sure.

Unfortunately, it seemed that Seed would be denied his comical, though strangely strategic, death. Joshua wasn't bothering to stick around, and the man was already moving well after the stab. With an "oh bother" attitude, Seed jerked his sword back to parry the blow.

There's an old saying that goes something along the lines of "too much of a good thing." This guy, Joshua Cronen, was good. Damn good. He flung a pedestal at the knife-thrower, parried (and attacked) Seed's thrust, batted away the other guy's spear attack, and topped it off by catching a dagger aimed at his face.

Okay, so Joshua was really damn good.

And yet, Seed had to laugh. Joshua was amazing, that was for sure, and Seed was anything but. A master swordsman would have no doubt pressed his attack as soon as Joshua departed, a good swordsman would have strategized, and a half-decent one would have at least held onto his sword.

That's right, Seed's attempt at a parry ended with him dropping his own sword soon after the quick exchange. This would have been bad, had Joshua not already been advancing towards the knife thrower.

Too much of a good thing.

"Well, for starters, he said dance classes started tomorrow, and he'd be honored if you'd lend a hand. What with your fancy footwork and all," Seed chuckled as he watched his foe dash about, forming some type of complex shape where no more than one man could attack him at once.

Hell, what type angle was that anyway? Obtuse? Acute? Annoying? Combination of all three, plus a hint of sass? It did strike Seed as a pretty sassy step.

It was at this time the spear-guy started yelling. Cute that. Oh, and whoever was hiding in the corner let out a burp. A burp of familiarly snowy properties.

"Ah, thought you guys looked familiar. Ehhh...was it Kubai? Kunai? Just kidding Kurai! How's the whole working for the dark lord' thing working out for you?" Seed offered as he gingerly stepped across the field of battle, far slower than he probably should have been. He did remember to kick up his sword as he walked.

The snow-guy started yelling, in a very authoritative manner, a plan of action. Seed let out a howl of maniacal laughter.

"OH YES SIR!" He screamed back. "I'll get right on that, Frosty the Snowman! Well, I will when you slow the hell down. I mean, seriously, how do you expect me to regroup with ya if yer running about like that? Chill out dude, the crossing guard cried stop all ready."

[Arden]

Seconds in and already the snow creature was calling for pedantry and union. The monk who had heralded the arrival of an old adversary had spoken of the weak hearted nature of men, and just as he had described, here they were, plain for all to see.

Blank rolled his eyes and tucked his knees. The simple stoop brought him into a stance he was comfortable with, set away from the burgeoning melee between the others. The sword stand whistled overhead and clattered into the wall behind with a shower of debris.

The other combatants seemed, or at least so through his limited observations, to have had some prior communication between one another. Perhaps it was simply a twist of fate, or perhaps the tenets of a much darker and much deadlier game he had become part of inadvertently.

Still, he mused, he had thrown the dagger as instructed, and played the simplistic hand he had been dealt with all the non-chalant gusto he could muster. Now all that remained, and this was the part Blank had been most excited to portray, was the dance.

"Let us see what breaketh the man, let us speak clear of his ills and good deeds," the line from Sukkoth's Creed slipped out as easy as a formal greeting, plucked from the repertoire of the Tantalum like a fruit of wisdom shining and ripe for the interpretation. He approached Joshua slowly, watching the clash of blades and uproar from the others grow into a furious exchange of testosterone bumps and scrapes.

With the Rheilhand held firmly in front, clasped in two steady hands, Arden Janelle cocked his head and let his auburn hair fall salaciously over one eye. Through the scarred and unnerving lens he stared. "Are you ready, gentlemen?"

The question lingered in the air, as if to condescend and ignore the ongoing proceedings.

"Good, then let us begin!" He skipped forwards, and came down and span back up with the full force and weight of his spiral resting behind his blade. The upward pirouette came in between blows, but no doubt it would be cast aside, like a rock against a city's walls, or a stick striking the most dominative hide.

[Breaker]

The impulsive movements came quickly and organically as heat from the pulsating walls, formal actions inherent as blinking or breathing. The dragon flies over the mountain and around the world as he stabbed surgically at each of the boldest assailants. A chain of ruptured mountain steps as they slid away adeptly and regrouped. All four of them would have died by then if Medsan wasn't somehow using the illusion to reduce Cronen's natural speed and strength.

Breaker grinned as he advanced on the tall kid, having figured out at least a part of the monk's riddle. Then the strange serenity of the chamber struck him. The dancing of the liquid fire far outmatched movement on the marble floor, and the harsh ring of raised voices taunting him replaced what instinct told him should be the sounds of battle - weapons clashing, lungs heaving, war cries and blood screams.

They're all terrified of me.

The others weren't taunting him, they were talking themselves up. As if to drive home the point, the skinny kid threw several handfuls of icicles and sprinted away, screaming for aid. Josh ducked under the first salvo, spinning on four points to check on his opponents. Sure enough, they stood back or advanced with competitive slowness. He could have coaxed enough fire from the wall to melt the ice spikes, but his body was already two steps ahead. He rose smoothly from four points - wolf catches ravens - and swatted the second salvo with the flat of his sword, sending shards of ice towards the tentative demon and swordsman.

Josh followed in the wake of the icy spray, but wondered why these apparent amateurs agreed to fight him, if they feared him so. How many saw me in the Cell? Or know about my history here? The image of the broken body of Mathias, a previous Citadel opponent, washed through Joshua's mind. He had broken the boy's leg mercilessly before finishing him, noting not the feel of tendons snapping but the efficiency of the knee bar technique. Or maybe I was merciful. I don't think Mathias had the fire to fight with one leg.

The tall thin man drew a two-handed sword and attacked with fluid but telegraphic grace. Josh parried the first slash with his dagger, using textbook main gauche technique. At the same time his bastard sword swept low-to-high, attempting to batter the spear out of the demon's hands. The chipped tip of the experienced blade dipped and slashed horizontally, biting at the throats of the demon and the swordsman as Josh lifted his right shin to ward of the thin man's second twirling attack.

A wet metallic whisper was swallowed by the heat. Blood sprayed across marble, crimson on the white side and brown over the black. The wound yawned as if eager to empty Josh's arteries. He found himself wrestling with the pain, fighting the desire to collapse and concede and cradle his damaged limb. But his lifelong devotion to the art of combat and survival kept him in motion. He dropped his sword and leapt off his left leg, turning a one armed back-handspring and landing on four points again, left leg straight behind him. The pain quadrupled and temporarily blinded him as the smell of charred flesh wafted through the arena on a wave of acrid smoke.

As he stood up he threw the dagger underhand. It sped like an arrow from a bow on an upward angle towards the heart of the man who owned it.

And then Joshua Cronen waited, perched on one leg. The fabric of his left gi-pant ended in charred fibers surrounding a cauterized stump, just shy of where his ankle began. The fire danced contentedly behind him, satisfied by his offering. Empty handed and crippled, he embraced the pain and the flooding memories and waited to see who could have the nerve to come at him.

[Kurai]

Jack made his first attack. Spinning like a top he releases two waves of ice daggers at the lone warrior. But once again he turned the attack around, sending some Seed and Kurai's way, swatting them around with precision as if they were mere bothersome flies.

Kurai--caught off guard--attempted to perform a spinning shield maneuver with his spear. One of the daggers made it in before he started the move grazing him across the left side of his face just under his eye. The brief icy sensation turned into wet heat as the cut leaked blood down his cheek. Wiping it away with the back of his palm with anger he addresses the fleeing Jack.

"How about the strategy of not flinging your ice picks near your allies!"

Somewhere in the first scuffle apparently Seed dropped his sword. He reclaimed it mid-stride with some flair while he responded to Jack's proclamation to regroup and develop strategy with a statement dripping heavily with sarcasm. Kurai felt it was warranted given the fact that the time to "huddle up" was now long past. No good fighter would just sit back and watch his enemies make plans against him.

"Everything is going to have to be made up on the fly with this guy." He said aloud.

To himself he thought "Let's just hope we can pull it together."


"Are you ready, gentlemen?" said the unknown fighter after reciting a line sounding straight out of a book. He then did some sort of twisting attack with his blade towards their opponent.

"A lot of spinning going on in this battle..." thought Kurai as he witnessed the move.

During the spin move, the man deflected the first strike and immediately moved to attack Kurai. Kurai, now aware of the man's perception of his blind spots was not going to be caught off guard again. The pain on the side of his face was a reminder that such naivety could be costly.

The blow still came quite swiftly. It hit the spear with such force that it almost left Kurai's right hand. Kurai made use of the momentum and spun on his left heel, dipping low into a sweep with his right leg. He followed up with a swing from the spear in an upwards diagonal arch.

Jumping to his feet Kurai saw that the man had already moved off to the side.

"Well that was wasted effort..."

He looked down and saw the man's sword on the ground and droplets of blood made a trail to his bleeding leg. He stood in a new stance. More than likely trying to keep as much pressure off the hurt leg as possible. After that failed dagger throw this unknown fighter had certainly proved his merit.

"As I thought...he isn't impervious after all." With a reduction of speed this just became a little bit more tipped to their side. Kurai could almost envision this man broken and bloodied from this rather uncanny alliance.

Kurai slammed the butt of the spear into the ground slightly in front of himself.

"I am Kurai Kaosu, and we the disciplines of N'jal and...whoever the hell this guy is--" he said as id jerked his thumb back over his shoulder. "--will invite you to meet Death's sweet embrace!"

His statement said he rushed towards the unarmed fighter as he returned the dagger he caught to sender. Kurai, using the reach of his weapon to his advantage he swiped across his midsection in a V shape followed by a downward slash to the man's shoulder in an attempt to disable him.

"Seed!" He yelled to his fellow group member. "Back me up! Jack, ice magic from the side! We have to keep on the pressure!"

Orders given Kurai hoped his plan would work.

[Jack Frost]

Jack chuckled and skidded to a stop. He darted to the side and huffed out a cloud of fog. He grabbed multiple ice spikes and continued to throw a spread of ice needles at his opponent. He twirled faster than he ever twirled, throwing as many ice spikes as he could. The scenery turned into a blur of colors as he exceeded his best speed he had managed. He tried to keep his accuracy good, but a few spikes would co astray.

He began to slow, tiring himself out. He sank to his knees and gasped for breath. His lungs burnt from the exhalation he had done. He growled, he had possibly thrown fifty plus ice spikes. He had lost count after twenty. Instead he had one last die hard move in his arsenal he would probably have to use. If they could just hold their opponent to that fun fire wall. He grinned, he had a nasty plan. A really nasty plan.

"Status report Kurai! How fares the battle?" Jack asked.

[The Soulforged]

"Oh god damn SON OF A BITCH!" Seed shrieked as a hail of icy death came at him. He quickly began to swing his sword about in a defensive pattern; there was no way he could block them all. Seed felt several shots of pain wrack his body as he dove to the ground, the better to avoid the attack from his so-called ally.

"I agree with Kurai. Hey Frosty, you bloody asshat!" Seed shouted as he slowly picked himself up off the ground. He cradled his side tenderly, a ice dagger or two had found purchase there. "Do that again, and I'll melt you and your corn-cob brain!"

A chipped sword grazed Seed's neck; he barely managed to leap out of the way. Crimson liquid seeped from his throat and slowly trickled down his skin.

"I wasn't even doing anything!" Seed yelled at his opponent. This of course wasn't a proper excuse, in battle anything was fair. Still, Seed thought it appropriate to point out his foe's lack of honor. Not that Joshua was even around anymore, he was twirling about with the group's unknown ally in some sort of battle-dance. Kurai's look caught Seed's eye.

"I know, right?" Seed chuckled as he gently elbowed Kurai. "It's like a ballet of badassery and blades. Oh, that sounds kind of fun. Not the badassery and blades part, I've enough of that at the moment. The ballet part. Maybe I'll go see one after all this is over. With, ya know, skinny chicks in leotards instead of Joshua here, prepossessing though he may be in such an attire."

It was at this time Kurai gave his little speech about the disciples of N’jal and Mr. Unknown Soldier bringing Death’s sweet embrace to their opponent.

“No, no, and no. All wrong,” Seed seethed. “We’re not about to bring this guy death in any shape or form, cause this is a stupid test of some sort. We’re suppose learn balance, find inner peace, hold hands while we sing campfire songs, and shit like that. Wipe that smug grin off your face Joshua, you don’t scare me anymore than a toy poodle.”

He smiled sickly as Joshua stood on one leg.

“Funny ain’t it? Balance, in the middle of battle? Heh.” Seed lifted his sword slowly as he woozily sauntered forward towards his wounded, though still very powerful, enemy. “Shall I find my balance in gutting you? Perhaps in bleeding you dry? Or maybe, I’ll find it as I breathe my last breath, your bloodied blade the last sight I see? Either way, first things first.”

He quickly turned about to face the unknown man.

“So sorry! We skipped introductions, and that’s just plain rude! I hope you’ll forgive us, we are...heh, a little unbalanced at the moment. I’m Seed, the guy shouting out orders next to me is Kurai, and the man who nearly turned us both into swiss cheese is Frosty the Snowman. Nice to meet you!”

“Seed! Back me up!” He heard Kurai yell; the half-demon was already advancing.

“Ah! Right! That whole battle thing! Coming!”

There really wasn’t much point in trying to match their foe in swordplay, Seed decided as he dashed alongside Kurai. Any man who could face down four people with a single sword was far better with the blade than Seed would ever be. Best not to even try it.

Kurai, using the range his spear gave him, went for Joshua’s midsection. Seed crouched low, aiming his blade at his foe’s remaining good knee. But there wasn’t any point in following through with that attack, no doubt the Ballerina of Badassery (Joshua Cronen) already had some crazy (and yet still stylish) maneuver already prepared. So Seed released his grip on his sword; the blade a wind of razor-like proportions. Well, not really. Seed didn’t take very good care of his weapons.

The daggers he had received from the monk, however, were a different story entirely. Shining like the light aspect of the yin yang symbol, Seed grabbed the twin blades from his belt and leapt into the air.

“I BRING THEE UNBALANCE AND STABBITY DEATH!” He screamed maniacally as he plunged the blades towards Joshua, one at his head and the opposite shoulder Kurai was attacking.

[Arden]

The scent of blood lapped at Arden's heels and he fell to his knees in a momentary stupor, stricken with the pallid urge to drive his blade into his chest to cleanse himself of his sins. In the Cell it had taken the movement of mountains to break the monster's back, to bring forth blood from the strange and enigmatic man before them...here, however, it flowed much more freely, much more quickly.

"Much, much too quickly..." he whimpered between gasps.

The embattled companions in a strange situation bravely cried their taunts and bravely drew breaths with the monster, and Blank shook his head as he stood slowly back to his feet. He would not succumb to his thirst here, he would not fall to his own mistakes, when he was here to impart a great 'lesson', as the monk had called it, to the one named Joshua Cronen.

He walked forwards slowly, eyeing the bone-crunching exchange between blade, fist and icicle unravelling before him like a clichéd action sequence in an aristocratically scribed production. They pulled together a flank attack combination from the rabble of nerves and then he heard that word...N'Jal. He clenched his teeth, and the bone chattered in their gums at the recursive nature of the dark god's reach across the lands. Everywhere he seemed to go, so too did N'Jal's disciples.

He felt very suddenly aware that it might be his lesson to learn, that this battle might not even be about him, but about how they see others...about how they would fail to learn from the failure of others.

"Grah!" He roared, bringing his blade up into the sky as he did so. The icicle shards and the scream of Kurai mingled with his own as he swang into the opposite flank to the barrage of ice magic with an upward, spiralling thrust aimed at Joshua's right shoulder.

[Breaker]

Cronen drew a deep breath of scalding air as they regrouped and goaded themselves to aggression. Lungs expanded and contracted as they advanced with careful timing, each warrior as unwilling as the next to lead the pack. With the taste of boiled blood in the back of his throat and sweat blazing trails down his face, Joshua flexed sinewy muscles all the way down to his severed leg, forcing himself to feel the absence of the foot and adapt to his new balance. The walls of flame danced at his service as he waited with infinite patience.

When the enemy attacks a displayed handicap, he puts himself at a disadvantage. The wisdom of ancient martial artists flowed in Joshua's veins. His opponents were taking great care in exploiting their numbers and his injury, but in doing so they gave him all the time he needed to recover and mentally prepare. They should have pressed forwards as soon as they saw my injury. They are young warriors. The thought gave Josh new respect for his less experienced foes, and fueled his desire to exploit their mistakes.

Like the final crescendo of an unrehearsed orchestra the warriors came together, weapons winking in the firelight as they struck one imperfect chord. Breaker waited until the last possible moment and then melted sideways, elusive as magic in a dream.

Shards of ice poured in from his right as if through an open floodgate. Finally succumbing to their call, Josh reached out to the heat of the shimmering walls and pulled a fraction of it between himself and the child's projectiles. Icicles hit the curtain of fire and vanished, melted and evaporated before they could breach its flickering folds.

Shortened as it was, Joshua ignored the jolt of pain as his left leg lashed out and parried the haft of the demon's stabbing spear. Knocked off course, it was beheaded by Seed's initial flailing attack. The rhombus shaped point clattered to the floor, the ring of delyn muted by the roll of wood, and came to rest on the snaking line between light and dark.

Rooted to the stone by his single foot Josh swayed like a yew in the wind, towards Blank and under his rising thrust. At the pinnacle of extension Josh powered a piston-like double palm strike at the blade-dancer's sternum. Strong enough to crack ribs, the blow threatened to send the warrior tumbling into the wall of flame.

Snapping back like a bowstring, Josh released his hold on the curtain of fire which was catching Jack's steady stream of flying ice. It pooled back into the wall seamlessly as Josh aimed a kick at Kurai's groin and threw himself into a roll. He tumbled beneath frantic stabs from his own commandeered daggers, looking up and seeing that as he dropped the curtain of fire, his bounding adversary jumped right into a collision course with the last salvo of icicle spikes.

Completing the roll Joshua twisted through a second and rose smoothly as if on two legs, the severed delyn spearhead clutched covertly behind his back. He hopped once then let it fly, a metal falcon striking for the skinny boy's gut.

Blood seethed through Cronen's arteries and reverberated down his veins, thin with adrenaline, pulsing to the beat of his thundering heart. His single foot never stopped moving, hopping liked a frenzied rabbit to move him closer to the pack of his opponents, to re-engage until they all fell and stayed down.

[The Soulforged]

"Oh. Hey. Look at that. More icicle death aimed at MY FACE!" Seed shouted as a barrage of sharpened ice flew at him. He quickly stuck the dagger in his left hand into his belt, titled his head to the side, and gently caressed the black fire with his now free hand.

"Joshua Cronen, you're so cool! I wanna be just like you when I grow up!" He squeaked in his best pre-pubescent voice (close to Jack's he hoped). Seed felt the fire singe his hand, and with a harsh tug, he mimicked the wall of flame that Joshua had made only moments ago. Once more, the icicles melted away before doing any damage, but Seed paid little attention to that. He was more interested in the dark flames before him.

"I wonder, is it me watching the flames burn, or is it the flames watching me burn?" He asked softly as his ghostly image danced about in the black fire. He sneered at the image in the flames, dancing about with his wicked grin. Seed hated looking at his reflection, in flames or otherwise.

"KA-POW!" Seed shouted almost gleefully as he balled the black fire into a small bolt and fire it at Jack Frost's head. "Told ya I'd melt you if you did that again! And don't give me any garbage that I got in the way; that implies that I should take responsibility for my actions!"

He turned and faced Joshua, who had just flung a spearhead. He watched with mild interest as the sharp object sailed across the room. It seemed to be aimed at Jack; would the boy be able to dodge it in time? Seed was mildly curious to find out, but his own image in the flames still bugged him.

He hated his reflection so. But it was always there, in a mirror, upon a lake, or dancing about in these accursed black flames. Angrily, he swatted at the fire surrounding the arena with his dagger, but all he succeeded at was burning his own flesh.

"I getcha monk. You want balance? I'll show you balance!" Seed spat as he walked over and kicked up his sword. He grabbed it midair, and slammed it into its sheath. That left him with two daggers and his sword. More than enough to have some fun with.

"Well my ballerina friend, it's been fun, but I've gotten a bit bored of this game." Seed began a slow walk towards Joshua. "For my part, I think my balance lies in these dark flames. Burning. Raging. Consuming."

Taking both daggers in his hand, Seed held them high above his head. Using the last of his spellpower, for he had very little to begin with, he tugged at the flames. They obeyed his summons, and the dark fire engulfed the twin daggers. Seed grinned as he felt his own hands burn raw under the black flames he had pulled forth.

“Now, I think I’ll test the limits of my own balance. You’ll help me, won’t you Joshua? Help me find my balance.”

A last little whisper, more plea than anything. This endless cycle of death and destruction called life was no better than a fire. It consumed all, uncaring and blind. Who lived and died meant nothing to the flames, as it meant nothing to life. Life always went on, no matter who got burned. Seed was so sick of that.

“Let’s dance!” He shouted as he raced across the battlefield. His hands burned fiercely from the flames, but he forced himself to continue. Step after step he ran towards Joshua, and with he was within five feet of the man, he let out a blood-curling scream.

Seed loosed the daggers he had been holding onto; they raced towards Joshua, their black fire devouring the path like a hungry snake. No, two hungry snakes. Yes, that’s what the flames looked like to Seed as they flew. Two hungry black snakes, aching for blood. Joshua’s. Frost’s. Kurai’s. Seed’s. Anyone would do.

Seed gripped his sword and violently yanked it out of its sheath. Forsaking all defense, he charged forward through the flames he had just let loose. He plunged his blade through the fire, but even as he did that, he could have sworn his saw his own image in those all-devouring flames.

“For God’s sake! Let it end!” Seed screamed desperately as he, his sword, and the two hungry snakes made to devour Joshua’s heart.

[Jack Frost]

Jack would know the accident report by memory, he had filed it himself. It would read Accidental Death. A number of things would happen, Jack would remember them all clearly. First of all he remembered that he had forgotten to eat breakfast, which caused his stomach to growl. Being in the back he figured he had enough time to scarf down a quick snack he recalled having tucked in his jacket. A small half-eaten, mold encrusted sandwich. He recalled vividly how shitty the meal tasted, how much it made him want to vomit. Definitely not worth what it caused. While Jack was busy digging out the nasty snack his "ally" was tossing fireballs at him. He was pelted mid bite, and at first he was unaware of what happened. I don't remember it being that spi- his train of though was shut off as the searing pain continued.

Jack's hair and jacket ignited, the soft furs in his jacket ignited instantly. At first Jack wanted to say something along the lines of 'Oh look I'm on fire' instead what came out was. "I'M ON FUCKING FIRE DAMNIT" Perhaps the most 'elegant' moment in the young mans career of evil. As the searing flame burnt every fiber of his being he quickly thought, Well it couldn't get much worse... Then a projectile impaled his throat with enough force to drag him off his feet and into the fiery ring surrounding the arena. Blood spurted out of his throat and mouth as he gagged.

As he writhed in the fire, dying incredibly quickly he though of one thing, and one thing only. This sandwich sucks!. Later the young elemental would bring this up as he played ice darts on a hanging corpse shaped like a bulls-eye. Finally his mind blanked out, and he would awake in the intensive care of the citadel healers. But instead his corpse continued to charr, belching out a foul odor that would sicken even the strongest of stomachs.

[Kurai]

Joshua Cronen was his opponents name, Kurai finally found out thanks to Seed. The worthy adversary pulled the dark flames from the surrounding arena and converted it into a rudimentary shield against Jack's icicle barrage. Kurai nearly salivated as his spear approached its mark, but a lightning fast leg maneuver was redirected. The end of his spear is hacked off and the end of the wood splintered.

Kurai promptly tossed the useless stick at Joshua in frustration. He reached behind his back to draw main weapon when sharp pain erupted in his crotch. His eyes go wide as he drops to his knees. Whatever food he had eaten today came rushing up his esophagus as he spewed vomit on the floor in front of him.

"That was...low." He muttered hoarsely.

Sounds became muffled as he struggled to keep from blacking out from the pain. He watched through blurry eyes as Josh continued movements he couldn't comprehend. How he only managed to receive a small leg injure after all that transpired made no sense to him.

Gathering himself he staggers to his feet with an aching sensation pulsed between his legs. He wondered if he'd ever pee straight again if the monks could fix his mashed genitals. Ignoring the pain he surveyed the situation quickly. Jack laid dead pinned in the walls of fire, with what looks like the charred remains of a sandwich of all things. Kurai mentally smacked his forehead.

"Well he was completely useless..." He said to no one.

Seed had charged at Joshua with a shout, seemingly running through walls of flame of his own manifestation. He draws his sword during his death charge, catching a nice fiery breeze in the face as she he screams at Joshua. If he lived, he would end up darker than Kurai.

The half-demon saw this as his chance. In the time since his devastating blow he'd been tapping into his talent. He glanced down and saw his hand print melted into the marble floor when he went down. Ignoring the dull throbbing he ran forward and in his left hand he gripped the end of his staff on his back and twisted, which unlatched the hidden sword within. He approached from the left side of Joshua--taking care to avoid the human torch known as Seed--and thrust his sword at the man's midsection, but he kept moving as he did it, and brought his super heated hand right hand to the fighter's face.

"This is for my BALLS!" He yelled as he delivered what he believed to be the final blow--Confident in its success.

[Arden]

Cronen's up-thrust was as violent in rising as it was in simple, brutal efficiency. Blank's over confident stride and over archaic movement drew in the chance the more experienced fighter needed to break through his offence. With a sudden snap, the palm thrust cracked Blank's lower ribs and folded in on itself with sub-dermal agony bursting out across his torso like quick-fire.

That was not what hurt Arden Janelle, however. He stumbled back, feet padding on the warm stone, now sloppy with the blood trickling from every nick, broken nose and snapped bone. What hurt more, was that he had been dismissed so easily and so arrogantly as insignificantly. Already, through blurry eyes and painful gasps for air, he could see the man move away to tackle the others and their similarly feeble attempts at crushing the behemoth that stood before them.

Patiently, he waited for the pain to stabilise and let the Rheilhand half fall from his grip. It's tip sparked on the stone and he took to a semi-drunk stance whilst he thought through his options. All the while, the anger at having been dismissed rose like vomit and bile churning in his intestines. On the streets of Scara Brae, and indeed, beneath the cobblestones and iron grills of the highways and market squares, Blank was somebody. Here, he was nothing, insignificant tools for the monks and the gluttonous citizens and patricians of Radasanth proper.

No man would lay down so easily against insurmountable odds, and Blank smiled through a bloodied maw as an idea sprung to mind. It was one finale flash of brilliance, one last message and lesson delivered to the most favoured of fighters in the Citadel's long and illustrious history, but it would be well learnt indeed.

"Never discount an injured animal...a cornered rat," he burst forwards, plucking up the blade that had killed many in the long war with economical hardships in his home land, and laced it together with his stride so that the weight of the steel swayed with the hips and languishing red hair that had been the last visage of vagabonds, thieves and murderers for almost eight years in Scara Brae.

"A de-throned lion..."

He took a sharp breath and let the image of the fiery battleground fade from view as he relinquished control over The Aria. As Blank approached Cronen's back, he hoped that the fighter was too busy to notice when Blank dissipated.

In two seconds, he would re-materialise several feet from his last location and bring the blade that had Spurned A Thousand Nightmares down through the convex of the man's spine.

It would be his last motion, but like all desperate efforts, he hoped that it might just be enough for the others to feel the turning of the tide in their conflict.

Scintillating blue ribbons of light spiralled through the hot air and a melody of tom toms and piano chords rippled through the sound of clashing weapons and beating hearts.

[Breaker]

Bunny approved by Blank.

Breaker's heart beat a rhythm of grim satisfaction as he closed the distance on his opponents, confident and fluid on his single foot. The vast processing network in his mind cataloged sensory input as diligently as any secretary, most dangerous at the top of the pile. He avoided the slipperiest parts of the stone floor, followed the patterns of magic in all four opponents, and listened for aggressive peaks in their breathing all with the casual ease of a circus performer juggling different items. He acknowledged the ice-mage's passing indifferently, surrounded by three pressing problems.

They haven't changed their tactics. Perhaps a different lesson...

Cronen caught both of the fire-infused daggers ambidextrously, flinging one back at the thrower's belly faster than a ball bounces off a wall.

He hopped sideways. As the half-demon and the lunatic brought their swords against him simultaneously he parried in a sweeping arc with the burning dagger, creating space and slipping through like a wraith between shadows. The acrid odor of burned flesh emanated from his palm as he arrived beside Kurai, and black flakes of skin cascaded from his grip, but the pain wasn't real. It was a suggestion in the back of his mind made by a powerful illusionist. And no one could stay in control of Cronen's head forever.

He bared his teeth as the half-demon's hand melted his face, the sound like greasy meat on the griddle. He grinned through the crackle of charred skin and stabbed up at the demon's exposed armpit. At the extension of the thrust an alarm bell sounded somewhere in his mind. Where's the fourth swordsman?He started to turn around. The thin bladedancer's heartbeat had been a steady part of the battle's rhythm, and like an overworked conductor Josh noticed its absence too late.

The familiar expulsion of breath came from right behind him, impossibly close, and an instant later the tip of Blank's longsword blossomed from his right pectoral.

Joshua's next breath came sharp and fast and whistled in his chest. Blood bubbled past his lips. He started to fall but caught his balance and hopped away so he could turn and see all of his opponents, wrenching the longsword from Blank's grip. It protruded from his front and back, but as he remained standing it seemed almost like a stage prop - too brutal to be true. He raised a crispy hand to throw the dagger. Then the yin-yang floor, the opponents, the walls of fire, the fatigue in his one good leg... the entire illusion vanished.


*

"That was not fair gamesmanship." Medsan admonished.

Cronen found himself sitting on a cot in the infirmary, wearing his own clothing, weapons and boots stacked by the bed. Cleanliness and incense replaced the smells of gore and burned meat. The small monk stood in his simple robe between a stone washbasin and the door. His amber eyes - normally so kind - reflected disappointment as surely as the mirror above the basin reflected the room.

"The purpose of the Citadel is to provide realistic training without the danger of injury. If you refuse to respect in the illusion, you are violating the terms of battle." The stiffness melted from the monk's eyes and tone, and he continued much more like his old self, "But I hope you learned a few things from the earlier events of your match." The monk stepped to the foot of the bed as the Ascended swung his legs off of it and stood up.

"I learned that I'm a little rusty," Cronen said as he stepped into his boots, wiggling the toes of his returned foot. "And I guess maybe I forgot what it's like to fight without massive physical advantages. So I need to step up my training - that's fine. I do that every week. But I disagree," he sheathed the three knives on the back of his belt, slid the spear into its shoulder harness, and buckled the clasps of his boots in less than a second, "in a real fight you never know what kind of an advantage your opponent will have. They learned that lesson today." He stooped to the basin and splashed pleasingly cool water water across his face, but straightened and stared in the mirror when contact stung his cheek.

There, under his eye, was a fresh Y-shaped scar. Except for the puffy red swelling, it looked exactly like the one he'd had as a young man.

"How?" he demanded, rounding on the monk.

"I left you a souvenir." Medsan said simply.

"Don't give me that crap! If you won't say how, at least tell me why."

The glow of mystique in the monk's smile when he replied made Joshua wonder exactly what he referred to.

"So you would remember."

Josh caught himself on the verge of anger and let the heated feelings go, returning his mind to blissful serenity. The old Cronen, or rather the young Cronen, the human Cronen, would have fought the urge to smile. But instead he let the gleeful expression stretch his cheeks and sparkle in his hazel eyes.

"My thanks to you Medsan. My teacher... I hope we can speak at length soon, but I feel something drawing me away. It's the same feeling that brought me here in the first place." It was odd not being unable to properly express himself, but the monk comprehended perfectly.
"In that case, you had better follow it. There are no goodbyes among true friends." Joshua inclined his head out of respect for the wise words and turned to leave, but stopped on the infirmary's threshold. He unsheathed the prevaldia bayonet form the back of his belt and spun it around each of his ten fingers, a practiced gesture of familiarity. Finally the blue blur became still, the razor like blade trapped in his palm, the leather bound hilt extended towards the monk.

"Give this to the man who put his sword through me, will you? Some might say only cowards attack from behind, but it takes a special kind of courage to strike at my back. And he did it when the others couldn't." Medsan accepted the bayonet, and it vanished into his sleeve.
"A fitting gift, my student, even under the circumstances." He turned away and crouched, pulling something from beneath the cot.
"Wait just a minute," Josh accused the stooped monk's back, "I lost track of him for a few seconds back there. I couldn't hear him, smell him, sense anything... did you shroud his presence?" When Medsan stood up and turned around, his quiet smile said some questions would never be answered. But he had produced the sextuple-stitched white gi from beneath the bed. It was pressed and folded, without a frayed thread or droplet of blood. The red belt coiled atop the uniform like a sleeping crimson serpent.

"And gifts," the monk went on as if his student had not spoken, "should always be repaid in kind."


Requesting that Josh get the cotton/denim gi and red belt made from the same material. Request that Breaker's bayonet go to Blank.

[Kurai]

Damn! Kurai thought as Joshua avoided Seed's initial attack by snagging the daggers out of the air like flies, and parried both Seed's follow up and Kurai's sword thrust.

But Kurai would not be stopped, he was fired up, and was hard pressed to make sure Joshua was as well.

His slightly glowing hand made contact with Joshua's face. Instantly Kurai could feel the skin under his hand starting to melt away. The Half-demon beamed with joy, but his smile quickly faded when he saw that his opponent's face matched the same expression as his own.

This psycho is smiling! What the hell? He thought, so awestruck that he did not seem to take notice as the grinning warrior took a stab at him with one of the daggers he deftly plucked from the air.

The blade dug into the soft spot under his arm causing searing pain to course through his entire shoulder area. The additional fire damage did little to help the situation. Kurai stumbled back to pat out the flames in just enough time to see a blade appear like magic through Joshua's chest. He looked just as surprised to see it there as anyone else still standing. Kurai caught sight of his plainly dressed ally behind Joshua, holding the other end of the sword, with a fierce look in his eyes.

"So he was too distracted by us to see you slip behind him? Good move." Kurai stated coolly.

Joshua ripped the sword from the man's grasp and stumbled away, looking like a stuck pig with the sword still hanging out of him. He didn't make any moves to attack, and Kurai felt his life force fade away.

"It's over. He seems to have underestimated us." Kurai said aloud as his ruby red eyes fade to black and he sheathed his sword--twisting the blade in back in place inside his staff.

Almost all at once everything faded; Joshua, the dead Popsicle Kid, Seed, the unknown guy, and the ring of fire. The only thing that remained was the pain in his armpit and the dull ache in his gonads. Flakes of Joshua's facial tissue flaked off of his hand and disappeared as they met the ground. The world around Kurai was black, and out from the darkness came a lone Monk. He approached Kurai with no fear, despite the look of death Kurai still had on his face.

"So did you learn the value of trust and cooperation?" Said the Monk, that Kurai could now see was the same one from earlier.

"Trust? Cooperation?" Kurai scoffed. "This isn't some children's play." He replied coldly.

"But without their help, you wouldn't have lasted 5 minutes." The older man said unabashed.

Kurai could feel his anger rising but he forced it back down. He was exhausted and he knew no confrontation right now would be worth his time. That Joshua Cronen really took all Kurai had just to stay afloat in that battle. Watching him expertly take on four opponents at once really got Kurai's blood boiling, and made him see he had to redouble his efforts.

"I suppose they weren't all useless." Kurai said, slightly defeated. "Some people are a bit more dependable than others."

*******************************

"What was that boss?" Asked Ite.

Kurai blinked twice and shook his head. He was back out at the front room of the Citadel. Ite and Keiko were here among other Citadel monks and warriors waiting to test their mettle. They looked a little disheveled--most likely from their training regime.

"You two done already?" Kurai asked his two vassals. He checked his equipment, and was disappointed when he found the spear the monk gave him was gone--broken spearhead and all. He made a mental note to add one of those to his arsenal at his earliest convenience.

"Already? My Lord, you've been gone for almost an hour! We just came to see what was taking so long." Keiko said. Her usually straight hair now looked a bit frizzled. Though to Kurai she still looked voluptuous.

Kurai looked complacent for a second as he closed his eyes.

"I ran into an...interesting opponent." He said, and smiled at the last part before he started to walk towards the entrance. "Let's go."

Under his hood, Ite's dark eyes look confused. "Go? Go where?" He asked.

"Why training of course. I need more work, and you two are going to help me. That's an order!" He exclaimed, as he walked with his hands tucked into his pants pockets.

Keiko looked like she was going to question Kurai, but Ite placed a hand over her mouth and shook his head at her.

"Not when he's like this. Even you won't be immune to his torment." He whispered to her, eyeballing the back of Kurai's head to make sure the Half-demon didn't hear him.

Keiko sighed heavily, and the two demons followed behind their master, for yet another grueling workout.

[Arden]

Blank opened his eyes.

The subtle nuances of the single stream of light that struck his retina cast a halcyon daze over his awakening, but slowly, he pushed himself upright and sat on the edge of the infirmary bed, head throbbing and limbs aching.

All things considered, and the scent of blood and sand in his nostrils acting as a memory he would ill do to forget, the conflict had ended with surprise twist. Somehow, through his sheer determination and struggle, he had succeeded in besting the behemoth tyrant Joshua Cronen.

He coughed, and spluttered away the lethargy. He was not sure how long he had been asleep, nor how long the monks had tended to his injuries, but he was grateful for their attention and craftsmanship - he hoped that same care extended to the battered and bruised combatants he had fought alongside, and to the piercing brand of the Rheilhand's last laugh.

An initiative appeared with a jug of water and a stone goblet, and poured his charge a large draft of the ice cold liquid. Blank took it thankfully and bowed slightly, remnants of his upbringing still shining through the cold façade of his street slinging self. He bid the monk away and slumped forwards, goblet and hands hanging loosely between his knees and head hanging low with the wasting weight of another trial ended pressing down on his tanned, sweaty shoulders.

He had somehow triumphed, just as the Elder monk had said he would, if he followed three simple instructions. The first had been simple, and he had performed his role admirably. The dagger was a prop, and he was used to utilising the simplest of items to add dramatic flair to his movement and to seed misdirection in the audiences mind.

The second was a little more veiled, but he had appreciated the need for Blank to work it out on his own terms. He was told to sacrifice those who would not lead or take lead by example, and draw on their weakness to castigate the enemy with an endless wave of insignificance. It was clear from the beginning, that the other three drew on familiarities and bonds and those bonds failed them in the harsh reality of the conflict at hand. Through their pitiful attempts at combining together, he had been able to slip through the cracks unnoticed, unbidden, uninterrupted.

The third was revelatory, even to Blank. He had basked in the glory of Joshua's namesake since he first set eyes on him, and the fear was a crawling snake, slithering up his limbs to strangle him. The Elder's word had been authoritarian in that regard, "Treat all men as equal, and you shall rise to the challenge so set."

Though it had taken a great deal of time, Blank had at long last come to see Breaker as nothing more than a man, one he could defeat on his own terms without the propriety of a legend barring his way. He had delivered the lesson, he hoped, and Breaker would learn it over and over in time. It was humbling, but also, greatly rewarding for Blank too - whilst Joshua would learn to always be on your guard and to never underestimate the smallest of flies on the dung heap, Blank had learned an important lesson about his own relationships and status in the Scourge, the Thieves' Guild, and the most malefic of all godsends, the Tantalum.

Sometimes, you just have to give and take, and that exchange of power and goods keeps the world and the soul very much alive. At least for another day. He stood and stretched, and departed with a limp and a smile.

[Jack Frost]

Instead of waking up Jack found himself in another room, a cavern more specifically. The floor was ice cold, and Jack found himself more aware to the temperature due to his sudden lack of shoes, or shirt. Amazingly he found himself shivering from the cold. "Where am I?" He asked himself quietly.

"Welcome to the deepest part of your subconscious." A malicously cold voice said from behind Jack. He turned quickly and found a tall, hevily cloaked old man standing before him. He looked like Jack would as an old man. Long silver hair, a bushy beard, sharp facial features.

"Who are you?" Jack asked taking a step back. "I am you, no, I was you, a long time ago. I am Father Winter, Thayne of Ice and arctic gales. A long time ago I sided with N'jal during the Thayne wars, and as a punishment I was shattered into the season of Winter. I forced myself into a new form, you. But the problem is I cannot directly give you power, I can only try to teach you and have our power slowly return."

Jack scowled. "Where do we start?" He asked stepping forward. "We must find the place of your rebirth..." Jack grinned. Jack's pride had been taken, but his new discover would give him everything.

[The Soulforged]

"You lit yourself on fire."

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"All it accomplished was painting yourself a bright target for Joshua. A bright target for him to throw a dagger at. A dagger you gave him."

"I lit it on fire first. How was I suppose to know he would catch it and hold onto it? Normal people can't stomach that type of pain."

"Did you fail to notice that Joshua Cronen is not your normal type of human?"

Seed and an old monk, who had still not introduced himself, were in the middle of a fierce debate about just exactly what had happened during the end of the battle. All Seed could remember was surrounding himself with flames, and attacking in a very reckless manner. The last thing he saw was a dagger flying at him, and he assumed it had struck its mark. Another point to the Ballerina of Badassery, Joshua Cronen.

With a slight yawn, Seed stood up and stretched his arms. Gone was the arena; a quite room with a small bed was all that remained. No more fire flickered, no more dark images laughed. Thank heaven for that.

"Look pal, where ya going with this? We fought, I died. Yippie. Well, of course I didn't die per se, but I did die. Er, you guys really complicate this whole life and death thing, ya know?" With a chuckle, Seed picked up his sword, and stuck it back into his belt with a twirl.

"The whole point of the exercise was to teach you balance. Not only is lighting yourself on fire crazy and unbalanced, it is tantamount to suicide!" The monk spat as he stood up. He had been sitting by Seed's little bed up until now. "Have you no regard for your own life?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Either way, it's not like I was in mortal danger. Like I said, the whole point of this place is to test ourselves. Well, I tested my flammability and got the answer I wanted. Setting myself on fire is hazardous to my health, and ineffective at killing other people." Seed patted the monk on the shoulder and began to walk towards the exit. "The citadel did exactly what it was meant to; I am now a better killer than I was when I entered. Thanks...I guess."

A dark look crossed Seed's face. That wasn't right, he wasn't suppose to kill. Or was he?

"Wait!" The monk shouted as he reached into his robe. Seed grinned and reached for his sword.

"Ah ha! Don't like the idea of setting me free after learning that lesson? Well, just what are you gonna do about it?"

"Something I should have done when you first entered these halls. I will show you balance!" With reflexes far faster than Seed could have possibly predicted, the monk smacked him in the face. With a small piece of paper of all things.

"Eh? A...ticket?" Seed said softly as he studied the small paper.

*~*~*~*~

It was beautiful, that was the only way to describe it. No, to call it beauty seemed somehow demeaning. Seed could not even begin to use his foul mouth to describe the spectacle before him. He had never seen something so wondrous, or if he had, he had long forgotten it.

How stupid could I have been! To forget something this magnificent should be a sin! IT IS A SIN! Seed thought but did not say; to open his mouth would shatter the moment.

A vast collection of instruments played in perfect harmony. In the pit before the stage, Seed could just make out the conductor of the orchestra. Each motion was an order, at it was obeyed flawlessly. Flutes, violins, drums, clarinets, and many more instruments that Seed could not name, came together to form the most wondrous music which echoed throughout the playhouse's halls.

And on the stage! Oh! On the stage! She moved with the most exquisite beauty. Every step of her dance was more magnificent than any of Joshua's blade work. He had thought his opponent was amazing, but the young girl upon the stage drew the curtain from his eyes.

He knew not the name of the play, he had forgotten it as soon as he had handed his ticket to the door man. Seed had forgotten everything else since the moment he had been shown his seat, and the magnificence before him had begun.

The girl was the main role in the play, but he knew not her name. All Seed knew was that she was now dressed in a pink ballerina's outfit, and she was dancing. Perhaps it was the story of a little girl who dreamed to dance, or maybe it was a tale of unrequited love. Seed cared not. All he cared about was the dance.

Nimble, yet forceful. Graceful, yet passionate. Lovely, and yet in its own unattainability (for Seed knew he could never move like that), cruel. The way this girl moved, her graceful swaying to the wondrous music, was in complete unison. Everything, from the note of a single instrument to the extension of a single finger, was in total harmony.

The play ended. The crowd applauded. The dancer bowed. Seed cried. He cried tears of joy at the perfect balance reflected in his dark blue eyes.

[Yari Rafanas]

Give and Take

016573
The Soulforged; Blank; Jack Frost; Kurai

Story:
6
5; 5; 4; 5

All five of you, save for Mr. Frost, made a solid effort in building a lesson into this complicated melee. Though, like with most Citadel battles, a majority of this came from the intro posts and each character's final post. I am going to have to give this category to Numbers here, as it was obvious from the setup that the battle was designed to remind the ascended what it was like to be in a weaker state and to tack on the neat scar as a little bit of development. For improvement's sake, Jack, I would maybe try working your discovered godliness into the battle next time. Maybe drop some hints at undiscovered power growing within your cold soul and the fierceness of the battle awakening something ancient with in him. Just a thought. As for the other Challengers. Why where you here other than to be pawns and why did your characters agree to it? That never really felt delivered to me.

Continuity:
5
5; 5; 5; 5
I scored you all equal in this category. This is the Citadel, through and through, and everybody has their own take on just how it all works. I've come to accept over the years that there will never be one true definition to an Ai'Brone monk, as they are always written to play off whoever is the writer.

Setting:
8
7; 5; 3; 6
On the challenger side, Soulforged made a decent effort to interact with the setting during combat and use it to his advantage, but most of the points here had to go to Numbers. As the thread creator and the man setting the tone, you tied the lesson literally into the arena, but choose wisely when doing so. Anything overly complicated with this many combatnants would have ended up killing the clarity. Additionally, as the defensive player for most of the fight, your descriptions of the combat almost painted a map in my head on where all the players stood when things got really confusing. Jack, you're losing the most points here as you could have really taken advantage of the unnatural heat of the arena to really bring out the ice-god-incarnate in your character. If you don't know what I mean, hit me up for pointers.

Creativity:
7
6; 7; 4; 6
Kudos to everybody for bringing their best to a fun idea.

Character:
6
7; 6; 5; 7
More points to Kurai and Seed here for having their characters naturally bring out the insanity and absurdity of this idea out into their behavior. Their dialogue fit their persona and I liked seeing it remain through each of your posts. You all did well, but I think without the lighthearted and inappropriate tongue from these two that the thread would have been rather dull and mechanical. On a side note: why would Jack eat a sandwich in the middle of a battle?

Interaction:
6
7; 8; 4; 7
When I was looking over this category I started thinking about the tiny details in each of your posts and focused mainly on the reactions to each other's attacks. Small touches like the cold shards cutting into Seed's cheeks and the wonderful description from Blank on his ribs snapping were great. And even though Arden was seemingly distant, he remained involved in each of his ally's movements and gave their tactics more consideration than just passing line describing what happened. Numbers, I'd have given you more points if all your dodges and the way you took your attacks had as much flare as the grin behind a facefull of fire.

Strategy:
6
7; 7; 3; 6
I gave bonus points to the two with the most interesting attacks. Go suicide strikes and backstabs!

Clarity:
7
6; 6; 6; 6
Surprisingly enough, this mess was easy to follow. Numbers (again, as the defensive player) was in the unique position to help “map out” the battle in my mind as he had to collectively respond to each of your attacks while still being clear in his own movements.

Mechanics:
9
7; 8; 3; 7
Mr. Frost, this is not roleplaying over AIM. If you're not sure how to spell something you can take a minute to look it up or see what your word processor thinks it should be corrected to. Every one of your posts was a pain to look at. Please, download OpenOffice. It is free from places like Download.com. The rest of you had mostly clean posts. Nobody is perfect.

Wildcard:
7
8; 7; 5 ; 6
I was a little worried getting into this, but the lot of you made this fun.

Totals
016573 - 67

The Soulforged - 65
Blank - 64
Jack Frost - 42
Kurai - 61
Average Score: 58

Winner: 016573!

Nice try, Challengers.

REWARDS:

Joshua ( 016573 ) earns his cotton/denim gi and belt. He loses his prevalida bayonet knife.

Arden (Blank) earns the aforementioned bayonet.

EXP/Gold
016573 gains 770 EXP
The Soulforged gains 306 and 75 GP
Blank gains 356
Jack Frost gains 306 and 75 GP
Kurai gains 306 and 75 GP

[Silence Sei]

Exp-GP Added.