Way of the blade (Closed)

[Elthas_Belthasar]

Strangely enough, Elthas drew comfort from the mysterious marble and stone walls that surrounded him. Archaes were built so that the very top of them was placed roughly fifty feet in the air. Elthas looked up for a moment and wondered what sort of ancient marvel of magical wonder could have built The Citadel. He knew that he wasn't the only neophyte participant of the citadel leagues that oft wondered the same thing. Each of the grand arches were etched with the various runes of the monks of the old republic of Corone. Now, the empire took it's stead.

Elthas was not certain if he liked or hated the empire, but what was certain was that it had become a profitable time. Very few members of the younger generations wanted to participate in a corrupt army.

Elthas knew profit when he saw it. The law needed men like Elthas to go where soldiers and police officers could not. Elthas had made a profit in these trying times. His hand reached out and he touched the walls of the citadel for a few moments. Closing his eyes, he imagined the timid youths of ancient times that walked through the front gates of the same building. Feeling the weight of the citadel, almost as if it were a sentient organism, against his shoulders, Elthas sighed heavily.

He wondered what legacy his own journey would leave behind?

Had he done right by abandoning the people he was born to in order to acknowledge the old alliances between Men and Elves? Elthas wondered. To acknowledge the old alliance, Elthas was willing to sacrifice clan and rank. Start over with a clean slate, Men oft called it. The old saying ringing in his mind as he studied the texture of the stone surrounding him.

Generations of battles the building had witnessed, a great library of secrets that was collected within it's walls. Elthas knew that to be the truth. The monks hid behind veils of kindness and wisdom, but it was all the same to Elthas's paranoid mind. The monks were obtaining the secrets of Altahnas's best warriors so that one day, if they rose against the monks, then the monks could best them. That's why the citadel leagues was formed, it was all a farce! Damn them. The monks claim neutrality, but they would use that knowledge against us someday. When the final battle would occur between Men and Demon. The monks could rise against all of us to claim all as their own... Elthas shivered as he thought that last bit.

Surely the monks are not my enemy as well? Elthas thought to himself. He continued to touch the wall feeling the desire of battle awaken in his heart.

It was after a moment or three that he realized he was no longer alone. A monk of the order had somehow crept up on him. Their abilities of coming and going as they pleased chilled Elthas to the bone. He turned towards the neophyte member of the cloth. Nodded politely towards the man, and waited to be addressed.

"You look troubled young Belthasar. Clan Belthasar." The monk said with an all-knowing smile. "I know of the plight of your people. They become increasingly isolationist just as Radasanth does."

"I...I am not here for a lecture." Elthas said, then realized who he was talking. He sighed visibly and audibly. "My apologies Sir, Monk. I merely have many troubling matters on my mind."

"It shows on your face. It is written like a stone tablet." The monk chuckled in a friendly gesture, Elthas did not feel the warmth of the moment. "Worry not young Kindred. You have done a noble thing to honour the allegiances that existed since our ancestors were young, and their ancestors before them. Not many of either of our people care for the stories of old."

"Indeed. Radasanth has become corrupt. 'Tis no longer a birthplace of Hero." Elthas said solemnly.

"Nay." The monk agreed. "But rather, the time has come for a new breed of Hero to emerge from Radasanth's slums." The monk said with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

Elthas grew drawn to the strange monk and their mysterious, manipulative ways.

"How do you propose we do that?" Elthas said. "When the enemy itself has become the figureheads, and puppet wielders of Radasanth. The viceroys." Elthas said.

"Careful young one. Remember your place. You are a stranger in a strange country, though you have a right to speak, you do-not have the right to opine. You have not yet earned your place. We cans how you the way." The monk said carefully. "Come, let us drink of the reason why you are really here. And feast on the heart of battle."

Elthas sighed again. "Very well. So it shall be so. Bring me a suitable opponent, let them know that they may set whatever arena they wish." And Elthas walked after the monk to an empty combat chamber.

And it was so.

[Lancaster]

“Hey, Lancaster!”

The sound of a familiar voice was unwelcoming to the young man as he slowly made his way along the crowded streets of Rasadanth. Making his way over to the tall lanky man who dressed in the most luxurious clothing Lancaster had ever seen. “What can I assist you with this time Malcolm.” A subtle note of annoyance could be detected within the young mercenary’s voice as he looked one of the nobles of Rasadanth in the eyes, unwilling to allow the noble to look down upon him.

Malcolm reached out and wrapped his boney hand around Lancaster’s left shoulder blade and squeezed hard, pinching the muscle. “Well my young mercenary. Before I hire your scrubby ass I want to know you can fight. Go to the Citadel and bring me back a victory sheet signed by one of the monks.” A smile spread across the nobles thin lips as he released his grasp. “Now get out of here, I have an important meeting to get to.” Without another word, Malcolm turned away from the awestruck mercenary and made his way down the cobble stone path towards the marketplace.

“Damn noble, thinks he owns the place.” Turning towards the Citadel, Lancaster sighed. “He’s just lucky I need the money in order to get out of this town and away from these corrupt nobles.”

“Now Lan, you know we aren’t getting out of here anytime soon.” The voice of Rosa was like a melody compared to that of the snobby noble. The small pixie pushed her way out of Lancaster’s pocket and began fluttering in front of his face. A small smile spread across her lips. “You know you can’t actually die in the Citadel right?”

“Of course I know that.” The fear leaked into Lancaster’s voice as he began to walk towards the Citadel.

“Well as long as you know that.” Rosa continued to keep up with the young mercenary, her small wings making a rhythm much like that of a hummingbird. “Plus, you must remember I will be watching, so you better win.”

‘Not a problem my sweet little pixie.” Pushing open the mahogany door leading into the Citadel, Lancaster took a seep breath. The smell of sweat wafted over him as he was greeted by the sight of many warriors preparing for battle or recovering from an altercation which had just taken place. Monks made their way in and out of the crowd, many of them leading warriors down the many hallways.

Being his first time, Lancaster had no idea where to go or what to do. Staggering into the large hall, he was simply awe struck with how large the building was. Running his hand over the smooth marble, he wondered how many people had been in this position before over the years. How many youth entered this building with marvel and intrigue and yet their hands shaking due to the fear of potential death, regardless of its reality. Some would come to claim victory and lives, others to hone their skills. Lancaster was within the Citadel simply to get a job.

Making his way to the main counter, he cleared his throat getting the monk behind the desks attention, who simply looked up at him. “Um, I was wondering if you could write me a letter informing an employer of my victory without me having to actually fight anyone?” He felt the monk’s iron clad eyes seemingly stare into the deepest darkest corners of his soul.

“No Mr. Lancaster, I cannot. I will however lead you to a man who will test you in combat and see if you are ready for the mission which this noble Malcolm wishes you to conduct.” Standing, an all knowing smile spread across the monk’s lips as he led the way down one of the corridors. Telepathy was indeed a useful trait for the monks who did the greeting of the new comers.

”How did he know my name, how did he know my employer, how did he seem to know everything about me?” Questions continued to plague the young mercenary as he was so befuddled that he simply followed in the monks wake until they reached the door which would lead to his fellow combatant.

“Well Mr. Lancaster, this is your room. Step in and create the scenario in your mind, the arena will recreate itself in your image.” The monk turned a key and a faint clicking noise signaled that the door was now unlocked. “Rosa, follow me and you will be able to view the entire arena.”

The pixie began following the young monk. “Good luck Lan.” She smiled, “You’re going to do fine.”

Unable to formulate any words due to the growing lump in the mercenary’s throat, he simply nodded as he opened the door. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the white, marble room. Instantly it began spinning and changing. Splashes of colors filled Lancaster’s eyes and he felt himself becoming disoriented. Closing his eyes, he prayed the shifting would stop before he lost the disgusting lunch he had eaten at the tavern earlier.

Opening his eyes, Lancaster was greeted by a large forest. There was a clearing in the middle with dense tree lines surrounding the valley. The grass reached towards his calf and the smell of sap and dew filled the air. Wonder and awe struck Lancaster as he took in his surrounding. A breeze entered the valley as dark clouds filled the skies towards the East. It seemed a big storm was brewing and it wouldn’t be long before it reached the calm beautiful valley.

Gripping the hilt of his sword, he looked around he valley. The monk had said his enemy would be within the arena. Gathering his courage, he took a few timid steps, ensuring the fabricated arena of the Citadel was real. “I don’t want to hurt you whoever you are. But my employer wants me to prove my merit and you are the only thing standing between me and my pay day.” Pulling his short sword from its sheathe, Lancaster continued to scout the area for any sign of movement or tracks of his competitor.

[Elthas_Belthasar]

With his two daggers drawn, Elthas was standing in a clearing for what seemed like a long time. This was one of the many sectors of Concordia Forest facing towards the North, towards the Jagged Edge Mountain range. Elthas knew that not all forests were the same, Concordia had a unique vibe to it and it felt as if he was home. At the same time, he felt the pang in his gut that reminded him of the truth: I am an exile of my own people. For his insolence of honouring the old alliances, Elthas was banished from his people of fabled origins. Feeling his anger at the disgrace he had suffered, Elthas stabbed the oak tree before him. Bark fell apart easily from the strike of the masterwork daggers in his hand. Elthas wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, anything to get him away from the plight he was in.

However, Elthas knew that he was not the only one suffering. A whole world was trapped in an age of darkness. He was not the only one who suffered, so, in order to become stronger he had to swallow his pain. Moving back into a normal stance, Elthas heard the call of his opponent as the stranger entered the arena. For a few moments, he forgot he was in The Citadel and relished in the power of the monks. The air was sweet and augmented with the scent of the forests. There was a shallow stream flowing nearby that gurgled it's unique song. Animals made their call through the wind, and every delicate sound touched the elf's sharp ears. Elthas looked down upon the grass-covered ground. For a moment, the beauty of the forest made the elf want to cry.

He knew what he had given up to honour the old alliances between men and elves. When his opponent called out to Elthas, the elf did a quick turn on his heels towards the fellow. Elthas was fast, that was for sure. He could cover a lot of ground if need be, but the mischief-minded monks had placed his opponent close by. There was a clearing up ahead that Elthas spotted and began to walk towards. He sheathed only one of his battle-daggers into a respective scabbard at his hip. As Elthas walked towards Lancaster, he crunched the ground beneath him deliberately. Elthas had fury in his gut, the storm of ages in his heart. With heavy boot-steps, Elthas quickly covered the ground between his former position and the position of his opponent. He could have stolen a preemptive strike against his opponent. However, that was not Elthas's way.

Though he had a heart full of darkness, Elthas was man of honour. He would face his foe on fair terms and beat him on fair terms in accordance to the citadel league rules. Elthas stopped when he was roughly a few paces directly in front of his opponent. "You don't look like much." Elthas said, there was no malice in his voice. "First time in the citadel leagues I presume?" Elthas asked. Then he continued. "Don't be nervous. We're fighting for an audience. There will be those amongst them who will be gambling for or against you. There are those who make their fortunes on the citadel leagues." Elthas explained. "Regardless. I am here for a fight, I trust you came here looking for one as well." Elthas, rotated the dagger in his hand one more time, and then moved into fighting stance.

"Now then. The name is Elthas, clan Belthasar." Though he was no longer a member of the elven-folk, Elthas introduced himself as such out of an undying habit. Elthas continued. "I trust the world of men still produces suitable warriors..." Elthas opined out loud. Though he honoured the old alliances, Elthas wanted to be certain that the man before him was worthy of respect. Worthy of honour. Only the oath of the blade mattered when one was forced into the citadel leagues. Elthas smiled, it was one-sided. "I shall allow you first-strike. I do suggest you make it a good one." Elthas paused. "There are eyes on us, lad. Let's entertain those eyes."

[Lancaster]

“First time in the Citadel?”

The words stung at the young mercenary. The young man had never engaged in a battle to the death it was true, but the fact that this elf was able to identify that fact shook his confidence. It already seemed that he was at a disadvantage and the first strike had yet to fall. Gripping the hilt tighter, Lancaster mustered all his remaining courage, attempting to push all doubt from his mind.

“If these people who enjoy watching others misery wish to be entertained, then so be it. I’m Cecil Lancaster. And although it may be my first time, I am no pushover.” His voice was surprisingly calm despite the potential pain that awaited the young man. Despite the fictitious nature of the Citadel, sword cutting into flesh would cause immense pain upon those who received them until the healing powers of the monks embraced them.

“You may have the first strike.” As the words of the elf reached Lancaster’s ears the sound of not so distant thunder rumbled through the valley. A particularly powerful gust of wind pelted the young man’s face as he dug his right foot into the soft soil. ”Not much grip in this dirt, I’ll have to be careful.”

Feeling his muscles tense and release, Lancaster was moving towards the elf. Although Elthas was taller then Lancaster the mercenary questioned how much more skill the elf possessed. Spinning the short sword in a quick circle at his side, Lancaster covered the ground between him and his target within seconds, taking long quick strides. Being within a couple feet of the elf, Lancaster swung his sword in his right hand in an upwards vertical slash, directed for Elthas’ mid section.

Despite the power and agility behind the swing the blow would not be fatal. The young mercenary knew that as soon as he swung the sword. Doubt was plaguing his mind as the image of this man bleeding and lifeless on the forest floor flashed in his minds eye. He had never caused another person to lose their life be it real or not. The notion of stopping ones heart from beating caused restraint to form in the young man’s conscience. He was unwilling to take this man’s life, that much he knew. The only question which remained was how far was this man willing to go to claim his victory.

A single drop of rain fell from the sky sending ripples through the stream. Soon the weather would become one with the field of battle. An atmosphere of uncontrolled, unrelenting forces of nature.

[Elthas_Belthasar]

All around him, the forest felt alive. He felt alive. His heart raced in tune to the sounds that the forest generated around him. Calls of mighty creatures, like the quel'thain oxen that roamed across the clearings within Concordia, Elthas could take a moment to think and size up his opponent. Battle was an instinct, it was second nature to the military-trained Elf. As he studied his foe, he noticed subtle things about his demeanor, like his multi-coloured eyes. Those minor details interested the Elf greatly. He smiled to himself at the interesting subject. He had another moment to spot details, and then the mercenary attacked! He is wise for taking the preemptive strike after all. Elthas managed to think.

Thanks to his Elven reflexes and speed, Elthas was able to move and react with impressive skill level. He observed the way his opponent moved and acted in the attempt to claim first-strike. Though a part of him, the honourable side, wanted to be certain that he could toy with his opponent as long as was humanly possible. So, Elthas shifted his body weight towards and a forty-five degree angle. The side of his body taking the most weight moved towards Lancaster, and the rest of his body moved away from the incoming blade-strike. However, he timed it just so so that the strike would clip the Elf across his chest. He'd moved in such a skilled fashion, that the speedy warrior wanted to be able to use his body to intercept the incoming attack.

No stranger to pain, Elthas hissed when the blade licked his flesh. It easily cut through his simple tunic and tabard, the markings of the guild he belonged to was visible upon the centre of his tabard. He was a member of the syndicate through and through and displayed his loyalty to them. When the blade's tip cut through his light clothing, he bled Elven blood. It was tainted a dark blue colour. The blood spilled up and out of his body along with the motion of the blade that cut him. Elthas's growl became slightly louder. He did not have any power to avoid or not feel pain, but rather, he was used to pain, thanks to his military training.

Elthas reacted with the incoming attack. It became a beautiful, navy-blue augmented dance. Elthas launched a quick, timed counter-strike with the blade in his left hand. Which was the blade closest to Lancaster. Then, he aimed to intercept the blade since it was in close range. Using his left arm as leverage to perform the next part of his tricky maneuver, Elthas readied another strike. With his right hand, he lashed out, hopefully, underneath the guard of Lancaster. He aimed for the man's lower body, the bottom most part of his abdomen section. Elthas then, with his intercepting arm, twisted his wrist ever so slightly. Maneuvering in a circular motion, he flicked his wrist quickly towards one of the stabbing arms of his opponent. If it connected, Elthas would have two strikes, versus his one.

Elthas began to speak to Lancaster. "No need to be so silent my young friend." Elthas began. "When you strike, be certain to apply all the skill you can to fell your opponent. That last strike was good, hopefully, mine will be just as impressive to you. There is art in skirmishing warfare, never forget that the art of warfare..." Elthas paused for a moment and mentally calculated various matters. "...The art of warfare, is a sacred thing." The Elf said. "How effectively have you trained with your blade? You must be one with your weapon, if you are to use it effectively." If his tactics worked completely, he would have effectively disarmed Lancaster from the big sword he wielded. "And as always, big weapons are fancy, brutish, but they lack any real style and art." Elthas said grimly.