Flame and Footsteps. [Closed.]

[Lord Anglekos]

It was dusk by the time Richard reached the outer walls of Corone's capital, and after his three-day journey from his hometown down by the far reaches of the land he felt sore all over. The fading sun reflected off of his tired azure eyes as they stared blankly over the long line of other individuals seeking to flee into Radasanth's generous embrace before night fell, and he could feel the muscles of his borrowed horse, Galadriel, shift impatiently beneath him as the young steed wished for movement once again rather than standing in line. Shifting the scabbard of the katana strapped to his back beneath his cloak so it lay more comfortably upon him, he reached down and patted the filly's mane gently with his worn fingertips, whispering into the creature's ear as wearily as he felt. "Hush now..." Came his voice, and while he doubted the four-legged steed could truly understand his words, the combination of his calming vocals and gentle petting seemed to reach some part of the horse's brain and it almost immediately resumed it's previously patient stance. Satisfied momentarily, the Flamebound youth resumed his silent stare at the gateway ahead just as the two guards, both heavily armored men with murder on their minds, reluctantly let a suspicious-looking old man and his batch of livestock through before turning to the next 'customer' in line, a harried-looking old woman with two children clutching to her dress. After her, he duly noted, he would be interviewed next, and the thought of dealing with people again after three days of relative solitude made him clutch his ebony cloak slightly tighter to himself, his hood falling farther forward to cover his eyes as he contemplated the details of his journey.

Three days. May as well have been an eternity in retrospect; the world was far larger, and far more lonely, than any of his training could have prepared him for in his old home of Ered Duath; the only town in Althanas, he surmised, that was home to Soulbound like him. Memories briefly flickered in the back of his mind as he recalled, in his early childhood, exploring every nuance of the town as curious children will usually do, and thinking to himself back then just how large the town was. Quietly he echoed a bitter laugh as his glacial gaze arose beneath the hood to stare at the high walls of the city before him, and he realized he hadn't known what large was. Quite honestly, when those walls had first appeared in his vision, he'd thought he was stumbling upon some kind of mountainous structure or boundary he hadn't been informed about, and a serpent of nervous knots had conjured forth in the pit of his stomach as he began to realize those walls were his very destination.

That same serpent hissed in reminder as reality came crashing back to him, and the muscles of his stomach tightened instinctively as the gate fell close before him and the two large, somber guards turned their full attention (and spears) to the horse-borne youth before them. Galadriel, upon seeing the weapons pointed her way, whinnied quietly and nervously, her hooves stepping rapidly as she sought to back away from the dangerous weapons (and men) before her, and it took another second of gentle petting and whispers of calming tones from Richard to settle her into standing still once again. "Name?" Grunted the slightly shorter guard to the youth's left, and the man's eyes tightened in suspicion as the watched for any movement beneath the decorated cloak their interrogated stranger was wearing.

Richard remembered he was technically supposed to have created forth a pseudonym for this kind of situation, as he wasn't supposed to reveal any information that could lead malicious strangers to his village, but at this point he was far too tired to pay attention to that fact. "Elric, sir. Elric Anglekos." Well, at least part of the truth anyways, as he'd deliberately left his first name out.

"You've got a strange accent, kid. Where's you from?" The other guard gruffly asked with force, punctuating his question with a subtle point of his obviously practiced polearm, forcing the youth's steed to again back up slightly with a couple of nervous hoof beats.

Richard swallowed nervously beneath the folds of his cloak, his hands gripping the reins below him a bit tighter as he sought an answer, and quick. Obviously I can't tell them I'm from Ered Duath... But where? Somewhere far, but still close enough to travel from by foot...

In a snap of intuition he got it, as the face of his own town's blacksmith came into mind suddenly, the older woman's stern visage recalling him of her strange origins. "Akashima, sir. Was just heading to this great capital to see my uncle, see. He be a blacksmith here and wanted to teach me the trade, sir." The Flamebound punctuated his 'explanation' with a nervous chuckle, hoping to alleviate the tension somewhat.

It didn't work, as he watched the face of the guard on his left fall into somewhat of a scowl. "Pull back your hood." Obediently the youth did so, and as he did he felt the knot in his stomach tighten further as the guard's expression fell into a full scowl. "Y'don't look Akashiman t'me."

"Mixed blood, sir." Richard immediately shot back, and this time he couldn't help but put a bit of his natural impatience into his tone. He'd been riding for three days straight, and while he could understand the guard's insistence on keeping the city safe from vermin, he was weary and his patience was growing thin, burning away like the fuse on one of his father's old muskets. Trying to control his temper with a subtle breathing exercise like he'd been instructed to, he closed his eyes, blocking out the vision of the source of his irritation. "Mother was foreign. Now, sir, may I please enter? My horse's feet are tired, and so am I." That, at the very least, was the complete truth.

Exchanging a small glance with his fellow guardsman, the one on the left gave a small, stern nod before gesturing with his left hand to some unknown source, and a few seconds later the great, steel gates began to arise slowly. "Enjoy yer stay in Radasanth, boy, and don't cause any trouble." The man gruffly told the youth, just as the gate stopped just high enough for Richard and his steed to pass under. Trotting quietly past the two guards, he only gave a silent nod of acknowledgment to the guard's words before pulling his hood back up just as the gate came falling back down behind him, and he stared quietly at the still-busy streets of Radasanth before reaching down and patting Galadriel's mane once again.

"Let's find us some place to rest, girl." He murmured tiredly, and gently set her into a trot as his eyes searched for the first stop of his journey.

[Macabre]

It was a good time for a stroll. With the waning of the day came restlessness that translated into wanderlust, for Ravenok had little intent on spending his edginess cooped up in some dirt-rate inn. The man hadn't had his fill of Mind Dust in little under a day and he could feel himself crawling closer to the cliff of tumult. A cold sweat beaded down his forehead, despite the chill breeze that constantly swept through River Street that early Summer evening. The transient sun was gradually escaping to the east, casting an almost surreal glow of half shadow and half light on Radasanth.

The formerly busy market street slowed in the advent of the moon, leaving the uneasy martial artist mostly to his thoughts. He witnessed shop owners and late market-goers end their daily business and eventually head south down the road towards their homes in the Residential District. Closed doors and covered stalls lined the paved stone road. The soft clank of booted greaves on stone sounded with each of Ravenok's fitful steps. He was headed North towards the heart of the city to one of the only places he knew of that supported some kind of night life: The Citadel. Radasanth's featured fighting arena, thusly dubbed The Citadel, was one of the main reasons Ravenok made his way to the city after reaching the shores of Corone. It was where fighters made a name for themselves, where - for all intents and purposes - caste-less fighters could make a reputation and a living. After fleeing distant Talmhaidh from the murderous Ceann Cath, the so-called "patriarch" of Dheathainan Draconians, Ravenok had little in the way of purpose and possession upon coming to the island nation of Corone. If ever there was a place to start, it would be at the Citadel.

The dying scent of recently baked bread tantalized his senses as he passed the Baker's Dozen Bakery on his left. Ravenok shook his head, the aroma only subsequently reminding him that he was almost broke. Glancing upward past the buildings ahead, he could already see the Citadel. Dusk still allowed him to see the shadowy silhouette of the titanic dome-like arena that towered for the clouds not too far in the distance, just several more streets over. The orange glow of the sun gave the Citadel a fiery aura that matched its purpose in Radasanth. The martial artist hadn't originally planned on participating in the gladiatorial events so early in his visit, but he was growingly becoming desperate.

Behind him, Ravenok could hear a couple of others strolling in the same direction he was, younger humans by their voices. "Did'ya hear about them creatures they dragged in for the fights?" One said excitedly, a male. The martial artist immediately figured their destination was also the Citadel, most likely to be spectators. "They're 'posed to be for some kind'a special event tonight I think."

Interesting. Ravenok perked a brow to himself as his gaze lowered from the arena. Rather than listening to the two banter back and forth mindlessly, the fighter brushed the hood of his cloak over his head and decided to pick up the pace down River Street.

To the fight it was, then.

[Lord Anglekos]

It didn't take long at all for Richard and his steed to find lodgings, and from what he'd heard and observed of the capital he wasn't too terribly surprised at the amount of taverns and inns available for weary travelers such as himself. Spoiled for choices and carrying and fairly heavy sack of gold beneath the folds of his cloak, he let Galadriel's hooves pad on further than he'd originally intended, all the while roaming his eyes over the diverse multitudes that, even in the growing darkness, astounded the youth with the sheer numbers he was surrounded by. Even upon first passing through the gate he had seen that the streets of the city were wide, almost quadruple that of his own town, and yet those huge walkways still seemed to be constantly filled by the flow of passerby to and fro.

And the noise. By the Thaynes above, he had never imagined that one place could hold so much sound at one time; from the impatient, painful cries of livestock to the incessant chattering of the strange faces slipping constantly about him and his struggling steed. Gleefully did the serpent of nervous knots tighten further in response as his senses were overwhelmed and a growing fear began to creep stealthily into his thoughts; if Radasanth was this busy during the night hours, just how much worse was it when the sun arrived and people actually began their daily rituals here in the city? He wasn't sure he would be able to take much more of this; no wonder the Council had been so adamant about training those whom left Ered Duath.

Another fear had made itself known when he had first realized the sheer size of the city; how was he going to keep track of just where he was? Luckily for the boy, his furtive vision had arisen to the tall, ebony spire that seemed to almost pierce the sky with its impressive height; a building that, for all intents and purposes he could guess was perhaps the "center" of Radasanth. The first rule of exploration and tracking; to establish a landmark at all times. Now that he had, he could feel at least that nervous fear die away as he settled into a section of his element once again.

A small whinny from the filly beneath his legs cut across his self-contemplation, and he snapped back to reality just as his eyes fell upon a plain, almost rustic-looking tavern with slightly scratched windows and what looked to be a clean stable just behind its standing. It wasn't large; perhaps two stories high, with maybe a basement area if he was correct and those were stairs off to its side, but by the steady flow of individuals (both human and nonhuman, he duly noted) through its double doorways he guessed that it was an inn of, at the very least, reasonable quality. Raising his crystalline gaze upwards to the name of the establishment, he read the familiar Tradespeak quietly beneath his breath, already turning the reins to direct Galadriel in the building's direction.

"Flame's Keep." A small laugh emitted from between the boy's cracked lips, bitter and tired, as the irony of the tavern's name was not lost on the Flamebound youth. Even now, he could feel his "inner flame" burn steadily through his veins; ready, willing, and waiting. With that irony humoring him, he silently led his steed to the stables.


~+~


The warmth of the room was invigorating, and in more ways than simple physical comfort. As a fir na tine, he was a being tied to heat, light, and fire in more ways that simply what he could create and manipulate, and as he sat himself upon one of hard wooden stools that lined the bar set against the west side of the room he could literally feel the life flow back into his body from the collective flames within the low-lit room.

While he'd only originally entered the main room of the tavern to pay for and obtain the key to his room for the night, now that he was actually inside Richard felt surprisingly comfortable. As he'd noted, he didn't know whether it was a collection of his soul responding to the multiple sources of flame scattered throughout the room (the candles upon the multiple tables scattered throughout the room, the fireplace burning gently on the other end) or simply the fact that he was done traveling for the time being, but either way something about the situation made him feel...rested, actually. Inhaling silently through his nose, he pulled back the hood on his cloak just as the barkeep, a sturdy-sort of man with a mustache that twirled into almost curls at each end, stepped up on the other side, absently wiping away an imagined speck of dirt on an almost sparkling glass with an immaculate-looking cloth. "A kid, eh?" The man grunted quietly as he raised one thick eyebrow at his newest customer, and Richard absently wondered if grunting was a second language between Radsanthian men between his experiences with the guards and the one before him. "What can I getcha? I'll warn ya, I'm not too keen on servin' alcohol to little 'uns, but if ye order it don't blame me when yer ass is under the table."

Despite the man's crass approach and harsh language, Richard noticed he carried himself the way his father used to when the old man would decide to tease his son a little, and the Flamebound couldn't help but let the side of his mouth curl up in slight pleasant amusement at the memory. "No drinks for me, sir; at least, not tonight." Recalling the last time he had had something alcoholic to drink (at his father's insistence, ironically), and the unfortunate consequences that had followed, he let another chuckle slip out. "I'll just take a single room." Retracing one gauntlet-covered hand from beneath his cloak, he placed a single gold coin on the wooden space between them. Cocking his head momentarily, he paused before reaching back under and pulling out another gold piece and setting it right next to his twin. "And also some care for my steed, a filly of brown and white. She be hitched in the stable."

A grunt of affirmation came from between the lips hiding beneath the mighty mustache the barkeep's face wore as he grasped the two coins and pocketed them in his apron with a practiced hand. Almost simultaneously, he turned and barked a name out into the kitchen at his back, the voice echoing in the well-lit room. "Eliza!"

Richard jumped as the sudden shock of noise and turned instinctively around to see if anyone was staring, but despite the relative explosion of sound he was surprised to see that not a single occupant was looking his way. Guessing that they were all regulars and used to this sort of thing, he turned around just as a corset-wearing girl of perhaps his own age walked out of the kitchen area and put her fists on her hips impatiently, staring at the barkeep with irritable green eyes. "Yes, daddy?" She replied in a snide tone.

A snap of the man's fingers and one of the gold coins Richard had given to him was sent spinning through the air, the sound of flesh hitting metal almost ringing in the Flamebound's ears. As fast as the movement had been, the girl's was almost faster, as her hand came up and snatched the metal currency as if it were second nature rather than an active decision. "Filly in the stable. Brown n' white. Get to it, girl."

She rolled her eyes, but nevertheless turned around walked off in the direction of the stables, whereupon the barkeep slapped a single key onto the table between him and Richard. On the hilt of the key was engraved a single number: 4. As the barman turned away to his dishes, Richard spoke up with a small hint of amusement in his voice. "And you do this all day?"

"Yeah, what of it?" Came the other's voice, but there had been an unmistakable pause in between his question and the gruff answer. Curiosity infected Richard's brain; this was his first time in a real tavern, he finally realized, not like the small pseudo-inn that Ered Duath had set up in case of any unexpected visitors, and he realized that he wanted to know more. Yes, he had gone on this journey initially to find his father, but now that he was finally out and amongst others the spirit of adventure caught up to him.

"What it be like? I mean...it seems tiring, to be honest." Came the Flamebound's reply, his foreign accent coming through in the adolescence of the moment.

The barkeep stopped his movements completely, turning around slightly as he raised one eyebrow at the youth sitting across his lounge. "...Y'know, in the past two years, I've only had one other person ask me that question and tell me the same thing in response."

Richard blinked. Now that was information he hadn't been expecting to hear, and his curiosity turned slightly more into a feverish need for information as he pushed forward slightly, wanting to confirm his suspicions. To get a lead this early in the journey would be amazing, but... "Really? Who?"

"Older guy. Had the same accent n' eyes as you, actually kid, but his locks were blonde instead of black." The mustached man chuckled as he recalled that encounter slightly, before waving his hand into the air casually, brushing the matter aside. "But that was a couple years ago, as I was sayin'. Anyways--"

"What be his name?"

The barman paused before looking at the kid all wrapped in his dark cloak, and saw that this was a matter of great importance to the stranger, whomever this kid was. At the same time, a growing sense of dread grew in his stomach as the boy's eyes met his own, and he began to understand that if he didn't reveal the information the kid wanted, his life may as well be forfeit. Forcing himself not to swallow nervously in the face of the sheer determination in those eyes, he uttered the three syllables that he knew would save his life.

"...Sebastian."

[Macabre]

The final street opened up into a giant stone square. The martial artist's booted steps fell silent on the cobblestone, drowned out by the monotonous sound of relentless chatter that erupted from the various crowds dotted around the gargantuan arena erected in the square's center. Ravenok couldn't help himself but stop for a moment and gawk. Even with the death of day, the Citadel's resplendence shone with the ageless glory of countless battles, and from the fighter's perspective it seemed as if the arena's massive spired dome was reaching to pierce the moon slowly rising behind it. He couldn't help but force an eager smirk. What was previously slight nervousness had suddenly metamorphosed into an itchy yearning that pushed him forward. He could already taste battle on his dry tongue.

He slunk through the passing citizens silently, even blindly shoving a couple aside with his broad shoulders several times; he didn't care anymore. The Citadel definitely seemed to perpetuate the waking hours of local society to their breaking points, because even as he neared the arena's tall stone steps he could hear the symphony of cheers ringing out from the Citadel's archaic stone walls. Designs of ancient origin were etched in murals along the Citadel's walls, catching Ravenok's attention as he ascended towards the great obsidian archway that marked the Citadel's entrance.

Dozens of mounted torches on surrounding stone columns were lit ablaze in glory, crackling with the wind. As Ravenok reached the top of the monumental stairway, he was greeted by the brief nods of several robed figures standing in rings of orange torchlight on either side of him. Ahead, the colossal archway stood roughly three men tall and led into what looked like black nothingness, a group of monks standing before it. Once again his steps echoed around him and he noticed that he had ascended the steps alone. Glancing over his shoulder he viewed the massive cobbled yard below, fraught with the traffic of incoming and leaving spectators like bees swarming around a flowerbed. Strange how none of the traffic made its way up the steps he had chosen to follow.

"This is the entrance for those that have come to be victorious." A deep male voice answered his thoughts as if Ravenok had asked his question out loud, forcing his attention forward again. A thick woolen clad monk stood before him, tall and erudite. A deep-set hood was pulled over his head, keeping the man's upper facial features hidden from the surrounding torchlight. Despite whatever feelings of unease the monk's mysterious appearance may have induced, the peaceful smile that creased his face was strangely inviting. "You've come to fight, dragon-born." The monk's words were more fact than inquiry, like Ravenok's thoughts were plastered to his forehead.

The martial artist's fiery azure eyes flared in dubiousness at the monk's words. He was impressed and offended all at once, and didn't seem to understand what the figure standing in front of him meant by dragon-born, however nor did he seem to put too much thought into it at that time. Ravenok curiously looked about him, scoping the area for other fighters; he'd imagined seeing many other warriors stepping up to the challenge. Maybe he was late. Dispelling that thought, he promptly nodded with impatience in response to the monk; he wasn't going to bother with meaningless questions, not in his current state. "If this is the place to be."

"The Ai'Brone welcome you, Champion, to the Citadel." The monk's tone had an almost magical vibe to them, his echoing voice nearly vibrating tangibly off the stone that encompassed him and the edgy martial artist; the rest of the Ai'Brone monks standing watch around the entrance nodded in communion to those words. He turned from Ravenok and glided forward; stepping slowly but making no sound on the obsidian walkway that led to, and then through, the entrance of the fighting arena. He stopped just before the tunnel that led beyond the entrance, void of light - almost magically so. Then the monk beckoned with a covered hand. Ravenok followed suit but stopped short before passing the large archway that led into the depths of the Citadel.

"Well...? What am I to do?"

"... Fight."

Who to pay, who to fight, where to go once inside; all of those questions and more were in Ravenok's mind. It was all too vague. Though maybe, he figured, that was just how it was. The fighter simply huffed a low growl and slowly stalked into the blackness, driven by obligation and battle lust. But there was more that Ravenok felt deep down in his gut, the kind of feeling a man gets when he lets pure instinct take the reigns on the course of Fate that is life, and perhaps, this is just one step towards something greater... It felt invigorating.

Then finally, the opaque darkness of the Citadel devoured the martial artist wholly.

Here we go.

[Lord Anglekos]

The Citadel.

Stories of the infamous battleground arose like bubbles to the surface of the fir na tine's mind, adding an element of slight apprehension to the tense feeling of hopeful excitement that had managed to slither alongside the already present serpent of nervousness curled comfortably within his stomach. All previous feelings of weariness gone from his bones, he made his way through the coagulated streets of Radasanth, the ominous spire in his vision growing ever closer with every sped-up step, his youthful form weaving easily in between the cracks of trafficking as he only had his glacial gaze set upon his destination. He remembered the words the mustachioed barkeeper had uttered to him after the name of his father had passed from between those foreign lips to caress his ears, and how the faint hints of hope had begun to stir as Richard had pestered the man further about his father's current whereabouts. "Now, I don't know exactly where the man had gone off to, mind you, but right the next day he told meh he was off to the Citadel." The barkeep had grunted, returning to his never-ending task of cleaning the dishes. "Didn't see 'im too often aftah that, I'm afraid."

Still, that had been more than enough information to satisfy the boy's inquisition, and the desire to see his father once again after more than two years of absence completely overrode any need for rest he'd previously needed. It was just a chance, yes, a chance that the man might be there, but a chance was better than nothing at all, and Richard was more than ready to take that chance. Having completely disposed of the cloak that previous obscured his identity beforehand, he could feel the cool night air brush against the follicles of growing hair beneath his combat gauntlets, the flow of life and soft warmth permeating the air as he grew closer and closer to the line of burning torches that illuminated the silent stone steps before his vision. Subconsciously blocking out the almost-white noise of the constant chattering of strangers around him, the youth strode swiftly up the steps to the ominous gathering of cloaked figures standing alongside the pretentious pillars and upon the top landing of the stairway, assuming with ease that they were the authority he would need to speak to in order to get what he wanted.

He noticed that just as he had ascended, a large, broad-shouldered stranger had walked into the darkness beyond the reach of the light that the torches emanated, and between the constant flow of crowds on other stairways to the large one that was gathered at the base of the Citadel he didn't know if there was some special event going on or if the place was just this busy all the time. Fortunately he was saved from having to ponder on it further by the silent approach of one large monk from the very blackness that the other stranger, impressive in his height and build, had disappeared into, and between the fallen night, the hood upon his visage, and the strange way the torches illuminated the surrounding air, Richard couldn't even catch a glimpse of the monk's visage. It slightly unnerved him, and his left foot shifted backwards unconsciously as he defensively held his ground.

"...Ah. Yet another Champion." A thick, bass tone rumbled forth from deep within the depth's of the monk's hood, and while no laughter was detectable in that odd tone the Flamebound boy had a core feeling that the monk was amused with his current 'customer'.

"Um, actually..." Richard swallowed slightly, his tone betraying his nervousness at being in a strange place with no real idea of just he was doing, and he cursed his inexperience and the fact he was allowing a larger, older man to intimidate him yet again. The monk had made no threatening movements, nor did his aura bespeak of one whom had bloodstained hands and murder set in their sights, and still the youth felt a twinge of slight fear deep within the pits of his chest. As his crystalline gaze refocused and got used to the strange illumination of the numerous flames set about them, he could see, out of the corner of his eyes, as two other individuals to the right of him also strode confidently up the stairway; one, a woman with blonde hair and dressed in a red coat, and the other a grizzled man carrying a thick broadsword upon his back and the stench of gore carrying like flies upon him. As another monk stepped quickly to address them as swiftly and efficiently as the one before Richard had, he turned his attention back to the man and he could have sworn he saw the hint of a smirk in that darkened hollow of a hood. "...I just be looking for someone whom I'm told visits here."

This time a chuckle, low and cruel, did roll from the monk's visage to reach Richard's ears, and a sick feeling pierced his gut as he realized that the stranger before him was not surprised whatsoever by his answer. "We have numerous faces visit our halls, young Bound one. Even the Ai'Brone cannot be counted upon to keep track of each and every one." Richard's breath caught in his throat as his blue eyes widened in shock; how did this monk know of his heritage? Could they read minds or something? Before he could vocalize his concerns, the monk continued forward, abruptly serious and devoid of previous amusement, silent or not. "If you seek to continue forward and look for yourself, however, be warned; beyond these gates is not a home for the uncertain. Death awaits those without determination, and never, not even in the halls of the Citadel, is it such a thing to embrace with ease."

As the man's words slipped into a moment of silence, Richard understood what the faceless stranger was saying: Go and fight and find out just what your father experienced yourself, but be sure that you know what you are getting into. It was something that was easy to understand and acknowledge, but even deep down in the depths of his willpower Richard wondered if he completely comprehended just what was being proffered. Beyond his sparring experiences within his village and the hunts his father and the other men of the town would conduct every so often, this would be his first real battle in his life; always, he'd had someone there to look after him. Always, he'd had someone to take care of him in the case that he was wounded, and someone to stop a battle or duel if it went too far between individuals. Here, he had none of that; it was either win, or suffer the deadly consequences.

That simple black-or-white imagery terrified him. And yet, at the same time, it excited him. Even now he could feel his body's flame fueling the adrenaline beginning to pump through his veins. Just how 'strong' was he now? In terms of flamebending, Richard had always been at the top of the class, a prodigy amongst prodigies, and he'd still been unable to land a single hit upon his own father the very last time they had sparred before the man had disappeared into the mists beyond his town, saying he was headed for Radasanth in a brief political stint. That had been two years ago, and his son had been training harder and harder ever since then.

His metal-and-clothed hand curled into a fist as he fueled that adrenaline further, preparing his body for the unknown as he refocused his gaze back into reality, his young face settling into a firm, determined visage as he stared up at the mysterious monk awaiting his answer. "I understand." He let those two words slip with confidence, the air around himself subconsciously heating up as the fir na tine touched the source of his strength, his inner flame, and summoned it forth into soft material form; the air shimmering with expectation.

"Very well. Then the Ai'Brone welcomes you, Champion, to the Citadel." Came the monk's reply, easily pleased by the boy's both audible and physical response, and the figure turned and gestured to the darkness beyond the silent gateway, hungry and waiting for its next prey.


~+~


Richard stepped into light, and noise.

Noise unlike any he'd experienced, noise beyond even the constant, almost thundering murmur of Radasanth's crowds. Noise that could only belong to two sources; the scream of the crowds that surrounded the gladiator-esque arena Richard found himself in, and the bloodcurdling, furious roar of some definitely inhuman creature as it unleashed a victory cry. Despite the fact that it had been definitely nighttime outside the Citadel, the youth could feel the sun above as it bore comfortably down upon his skin; fueling him with power and comfort even as he stepped upon foreign sand and ground with his cured leather boots, his black martial-arts gi flapping loosely in the summertime breeze that flowed freely around him. As his eyes adjusted, though, that power and comfort seemed to leave his bones as the reality of his situation fully struck him.

Not thirty feet away was a beast about the size of a large carriage, and vicious fangs tore into the body of some unfortunate elven warrior whom had come before him. The almost faceless spectators cheered as their bloodlust was satisfied, the lion-like beast tearing without care into the fortunately dead body of the fallen elf, and despite the fact that alongside the creature's left flank, right under one of the huge, ebony dragon-like wings that protruded from its back, was a thick gash from one of the warrior's swords, it seemed as if it were completely fine.

It wasn't the fact that Richard was observing and analyzing the monster that kept his feet rooted to the ground and unmoving while the creature was distracted; it was the sheer, overwhelming fear that prevented the youth from doing anything except stranding in what little shade there was in the large circle of sand and blood. Never before in his life had he encountered something so large and so deadly; Richard could almost physically feel the power beneath those sinuous legs, the lithe deadliness of the black scorpion tail protruding from the manticore's (http://fc09.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2011/026/6/0/manticore_by_kikicianjur-d384nro.jpg) rear end. And in the face of that power, he froze, sweat already running down the sides of his face as his limbs trembled.

Slightly, unconsciously, his left leg once again shifted backwards in his natural defensive movement, and the sound of sand being moved around seemed almost unnaturally loud to the boy's ears. It must have been as well to the manticore's, for that lionish face arose from its temporary meal to stare at the Flamebound boy with intelligent, hungry emerald eyes, and Richard could have sworn that the thing's maw spread slowly in a smile.

In the face of an obviously superior foe... His father's words came to him like magic, resonating the memory within the back of his brain as he recalled his mentor's advice. ...don't ever take the obvious course of action, which is what most prey does inevitably. The predator will simply overcome your defense and devour you. Instead, take the battle to them; turn the tables on your foe, and go on the aggressive.

Yes, father. He remembered telling his father back then, and that advice came slamming back to him in a single instant, burning back the fear that threatened to overwhelm him further. The boy grit his teeth, and clenched his fists, the cheering sounds of the crowds around him going ignored. He focused all his attention not on any of the other fighters, but the monster staring hungrily at him, and spread his hands outward to his sides ever so slightly; his flesh tensing up as he touched the primal power within him. With black hair flickering about his face in the gathering wind like ebony fire, he growled audibly as true flame erupted alongside his arms and gauntlets, conjuring forth nearly two feet of fire on each limb that engulfed his forearms and fists with raging intensity.

"Fall." He snarled quietly to the beast before him, and in response the manticore let out another one of those blasting roars into the sky.

Richard has 3 Ki Points currently accumulated.