We Didn't Start The Fire...Or Did We?

[Lord Anglekos]

This is technically an open battle, but please see this thread (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?22831-An-Old-Fashioned-Fire-Fight-Or-Something-Like-It./page2) first.

I be weak.

It had been nearly a week since Richard had realized that awful, overbearing truth; a week since he had ridden confidently into Radasanth's grasp and sought his father's presence within the depths of the Citadel. A week since he had suffered defeat, and fallen into the cold, apathetic embrace of Death's bony hands. It had been quite the learning experience for the young fir na tine, and he realized with terrified certainty that although he was considered a full-grown man in the eyes of his village, he was but a child in those of the world's. A world that was far, far larger than any traveling peddler or storyteller could ever dream possible.

Richard could feel the claws of depression seeking to embed themselves into his brain, threatening to undermine what little confidence he had left. I managed to hold out for a little while, He continued to tell himself as he sat by himself in the slowly brightening room of the inn he stayed temporarily in; a busy place that called itself the "Flame's Keep". It's not like I be totally helpless. I have some strength.

But not enough. He'd only managed to push forward through sheer determination, sheer willpower; he remembered the feeling of pure fear that had originally glued him to his feet, despite the imposing monk's warning that only those with not a single hint of indecision could be victorious within. He'd been so confident. So arrogant.

So naive.

Slowly, the youth's fingers curled inwards and his nails dug into the flesh of his palms as with the rising of the sun came the rising of the passion burning deep within the pits of his heart; passion transforming into rage. Rage at himself, at his inadequacies. How could he face his father like this? As nothing but a stripling barely able to handle himself out in the real world? No! Cried a defiant voice within him; the same defiance that had carried him over those last few moments before Death had decided to strip his Flamebound soul from his body. I have not forgotten the face of my father; I will make him proud.

Two years. That had been the ultimatum the Council had made; if Richard could not find his father within two year's time, then they would replace him as Mayor with one of the other potential candidates. Whilst so far the boy had found no signs that his father was still residing within Radasanth like he'd previously believed, he still had time; what he lacked at the moment was the strength to follow through with his promises. For this was the civilized part of the world, where even dying could be reversed as he'd unfortunately found; what chance did he stand out there in the uncivilized sections?

That settles it. As the rays of the rising sun fully pushed through the dirty glass of the window and poured gently onto the boy's bare back, he sighed in pleased determination, a small, thin smile finally working its way along his visage. Reaching down to the side of the unkempt bedding where he kept his belongs, he pulled on his faded black gi pants and robe, feeling comfortably loose upon his tanned skin. In a simple, practiced movement he tied the thick, grayish-white rope that served as the outfit's obi around his waist and tied in a simple, tight knot. Pausing briefly, he directed his almost glowing, azure eyes to the sheathed katana laying alone also by the side of the bed, its ebony sheath gleaming silently in the limited sunlight. Reaching an equally silent decision within the depths of his mind, he reached out and grasped the blade, tying it across his back so that it lay tight to him and out of any possibility that it might get in his way. Finally ready, he turned to the door that would lead him out of his small sanctuary. Before I can truly go searching for my father, I must become stronger, more experienced. I must learn the ways of the world, and live as he has lived. Even if that means dying yet again.

Here I come, Citadel. And this time, I be ready.

[Relian Tydonus]

Relian awoke to a beam of sunlight glaring through the dirty window in the room he had rented just the night before. He laid in bed thinking about the past few weeks that had led up to him finding this massive city, the portal leading him to this distant planet, the wandering aimlessly to find food, shelter, and a place to sleep, and eventually the great walls of the city looming over him.

Upon arriving in Radasanth he immediately found the closest inn with a bar and ordered some food and a room. It was late in the day when he arrived at the inn and dozens of people seemed to be coming in to relax after a day of work, among these people were some attractive girls. Back home he had always been a ladies man, sleeping with many a woman over his years. However he never broke hearts and only lay with women who weren't expecting him to be there when they woke. Tonight would be a test to see if the women of this planet were as helpless to his charm as the ones back home.

Just as he finished thinking this, a pretty blonde girl at another table alone looked his way. He matched her stare, smiled and gave her a wink, and he was in business.

Now he lay here with her sleeping naked body next to him, satisfied with the nights conquest. Today however would bring another quest. While at the bar the night before he talked with a few patrons and learned of the Citadel, of the prizes and glory but most importantly the challenge of a good fight. With this in mind he quietly rose from his bed, dressed, and swiftly bent down to kiss the maiden's forehead who had shown him a good time the night before. Quietly thanking her under his breathe he set out, his katana Kito in hand.

Walking towards the Citadel, Relian strapped Kito over his shoulder, crossing his body like a messengers bag. The closer he came to the great building the more dense the crowd became. The excitement around him was nothing compared to the excitement he was feeling right at this moment. It was time to have some fun in the Citadel.

[Lord Anglekos]

"I be in need of a foe."

The monk turned from his previous musings to look down upon the youth before him, standing not five feet away with one foot still remaining rooted to the giant, stone steps that led to the platform above. The Citadel was busy this day, as it was always; the boy had to yell to be noticed by the Ai'Brone in question over the constant, buzzing murmur of voices all about the obsidian spire. Fighters and potential champions strode to and fro from the gates of the multifaceted arena, filling the cooled, morning air with the stench of both victory and defeat. It was on such days that the great monk took pleasure in simply being alive...for were he not part of the order, he would surely be slain to protect the secrets he held.

Such musings on death did not worry him, however. He had no intentions on betraying his order just yet; after all, what use would his information be if he could not even stay alive to reap the benefits of betrayal? And thus did the man's eyes stare cruelly down from beneath the traditional earthen-shaded hood that all of his order seemed to wear, a thin smile playing at the edges of his lips as he recognized the potential destruction and fury within the very youth before him; the very youth he had sent to his death not a week before. "As are most whom come to our doors, young Bound one. The Citadel welcomes you back."

It wasn't so hard to discern the mocking tone that the monk's deep vocals held, and he watched as the youth's eyes narrowed in anger. Good, good. He thought to himself. It wasn't often that he found someone willing to step into their doors who was so easily manipulated and impressionable; this bode for good tidings in the future. The boy may just be a pawn right now, but he would grow...yes, he would grow. And so would the anger that fueled him. A fury that the monk had only seen in a few individuals of already nightmarish power. Beneath the hood, the monk grinned almost sadistically as he imagined that power being his.

"I care not." Came the boy's irritable reply a few moments later, filled with that strange, foreign accent that all of his tribe seemed to carry. "Victory be my goal this day, and the Thaynes be damned if I fall. Have you a suitable foe, monk?"

Off the top of his head, the monk did not; however, this had not stopped one of his profession in the past, and his voice was filled with a sinister smile as gestured from out beneath his robe to the darkened gates of the Citadel. "Come, and find out."


~+~


Richard opened his eyes to the glimmer of light.

Even before his vision had fully adjusted to the change between one reality and the next, his right hand was on the hilt of the blade borne upon his back, ready to draw it forth in a split-second's notice. His other hand immediately darted to the side of him and, instinctively touching the heat of the air about him, burst the air around his fist and arm in a miniature eruption of orange and crimson flame, the heat caressing his skin like a comforting lover. The fire roared with condensed power, ready to be unleashed at a single threat's notice, even though he didn't even know just where he was.

Silence reigned as the air was still, save for the constant burning of the flame within his grasp, and as he slowed his breathing the details of his current setting slowly began to form and condense before him. His head twisted to the right; he seemed to be in some kind of large religious building, judging only by the the murals painted upon the walls and the figure of some bearded man engraved into the very window that illuminated the battleground with the sun's refracted light. The room he was in was about fifty feet in length, he judged, and perhaps twice as large in width, and the monk had placed him right in the middle of this large church; his feet sinking, slightly, into a velvety red carpet that ran all the way from the set of double doors at one end (and the only available exit he could see) to some sort of strange table at the other. Richard did not know what kind of religion on Althanas worshiped this stranger of a man, and it set a sense of unease about the air as he recalled his last bout in the Citadel; the manticore's gluttonous roar pounding through his veins...

That was then, however, and this was now. Forcing the memory aside for the time being, he stoked the burning rage that had been growing within the pit of his stomach ever since he had left his quarters at the Flame's Keep. He'd purposefully sought out the very monk that had directed him to his first battle for this very fact, as he knew, if only subconsciously, that the large man would look down upon his stature and fuel it further. Strangely enough, he felt almost a sense of competition with the Ai'brone monk; as if he had something to prove to the large man with the mocking voice. It was something he couldn't explain to himself, let alone someone else, so he left it be for the time being and continued observing his surroundings.

The building left little room for hiding. No pillars or anything, simply rows upon rows of simple, oaken pews that left little to the imagination. Cutting off his access to his flame temporarily, it almost immediately evaporated from his grasp, leaving nothing but the sound of his breath and the tiniest tweets of baby birds outside. Slowly, he let his grasp fall from the katana's hilt, and began walking to the exit, tension running through his veins.

As far as he could tell, he was alone.

[Duffy]

Embittered by the onset of lethargy after a long summer, Duffy had returned to the Citadel in Radasanth for the sole purpose of alleviating some of the boiling emotions which had started to have an impact on his creative thought processes. Ruby had practically shoved him onto the fishing schooner leaving for Jadet earlier that morning, her ability to weather his angry rants and stomping in her own home worn paper thin after many weeks.

"All this pressure," he mumbled as he walked along the north high road through the rolling countryside and through the safer passageways through the columns of Concordia spruces and pines. The journey had given him a lot of free time, and through the hazy tiredness which crept in by the time he came face to face with the foot of the Comb mountains and rose up through the winding paths he was ever the more determined to find the spark in his heart again, before he tore it apart with frustration.

Truth be told, he had constructed the setting for his current play from the broken fragments of his journey. Radasanth set on the horizon had become Rodham, and its tall spires and wide expanse on the lowlands of the natural basin it was built in became a wide river laden estuary, diamond stitches on the tapestry of grass and mud flats. The caravan road beneath his heavy and clumsy feet became the King's Road; leading all the way to the Royal Palace and the few caravans he passed became guard wagons, taking new recruits from the fringe villages to the arms of the stoic quarter master in the Black Keep.

He had continued the process unknowingly all the way to the steps of the Citadel, and after a tiring journey he strolled into the foyer and took in the aerie overhead, it's floating monks inscribing new names of challenges and the dead into the stonework and the great tablets of slate. Each new addition and wipe of a cloth to remove an old legend added to the sense of history and awe in this building above all others on Althanas, and instantly, Duffy felt excitement and eagerness creep back into his body.

"Greetings, Master Brandybuck," a monk appeared by his side, one that had become all too familiar to Duffy. He visited the Citadel frequently enough to be a regular feature on the tournament rotation. The crowds had come to expect frequent reunion brawls between the Captains of the Ixian Knights, famed as they were for 'brotherly competition'.

"Hello, Sachin, it is a pleasure to see you again." He replied warmly, handing the monk his pack and dusting down his trousers, to free them of the grime of the Corone countryside. "Might I hazard the opportunity to simply get stuck in? I would hate to waste time with sleep or rest, a traveller who travels this far deserves to see the sights whilst it is so radiant outside after all!" He beamed a smile, and gestured over his shoulder at the incandescent doorway that leads out into the mid-afternoon heat.


---

The great doors to the Sanctum, as the monk had called it folded aside with a calamitous trundle. Duffy bounced from heel to heel to warm up and he took stock of his immediate view when the two halves, clad in iron and age came to a stop. The red carpet was a striking bright shade and divided the room beyond as clear as day, with pews on the left and right for a metaphorical congregation to pray to the gods of war that clashed within.

He walked forwards, confident, but harbouring uncertainty. A man stood with his back to the door, wielding flame and a blade and the appearance of someone altogether more experienced in conflict than the young bard. He cocked his head cheekily to one side, and brought his attention to the many weapons that hung from his body. "You know how it goes..." he said, remembering the old proverb from his youth, studying under the wing of the plucky street bandits in the cobble mazes of Scara Brae's slums...

"Sometimes, the only way to fight fire...is with fire..." he clicked his knuckles, padded gloves covering his skinny bones and tapped the various pieces of flint together to check they still sparked. He took a momentary delight in the orange and ochre fairy lights as they burst into life and died just as quickly, before checking the two thin pipes that ran up his arms to the small pack on his back, a container of rare and flammable fluid tucked under his black cloth demi-cloak.

"Good afternoon!" He roared, still bouncing from heel to heel. "My name is Duffy, Brandybuck to those who care and I do believe I have a burning desire to give this crowd a fight!" He clapped his hands firmly together, and the Tinder Gear boomed a loud bang through the inner solitude of the strange and silent church.

[Archanex Jotham]

(I got invited to post here, thank you all)

The Citadel.

Jotham had spent time in it's hallowed halls after his most recent trip to Radasanth. He lived in Underwood primarily, but oft, his employ in Underwood took him to Radasanth and all over Corone. Operating in secret under the nose of the empire, the hedge magi of Underwood were a pagan community of sorcerers dedicated to the old arts. Archanex had joined them years prior and had quickly risen the ranks from neophyte. Jotham now stood in one of the many chambers of the Citadel, carefully reading a book that he studied. The book was ancient, a relic from before the Demon War. Studying the various denizens of Haidia that had poured from that cavernous underworld, Jotham learned the symbols that identified each species. The symbols were complicated at fist, as Jotham was not used to the syntax used in the symbols of that edition.

Studying, the monk had given him the assignment earlier in the month and he was close to deciphering the book's secrets. Magi were students of knowledge, and as such, it was necessary to keep the mind sharp. Though Jotham was not a member of The Order, he was a member of the hedge magi and the Order worked close with them. Several monks observed Jotham as he deciphered the runes that were etched upon the ancient text. It was a gift that had to be admired. Though Jotham's intellect was not flawless, it was advanced enough that he could participate in the games of the monks. And so, they tested their new subject, carefully poking and prodding at the imagination and intellect that the magus seemed to possess. When the task was completed, and the pages of the current chapter deciphered, the monks clapped at the obvious skill that Archanex held.

"You off-worlders are always a treat to deal with." The lead monk stated. "It is always a pleasure to deal with such a vast intellect."

"Thank you lord-monk." Jotham said casually. He closed the book carefully and placed it back in storage. "So now that I've completed this test, will I be allowed to participate in another ranked-match?" Archanex asked, eager to test himself in battle anew.

Battle was about knowledge, it was a dual-edge sword meant to prevent loss, but also, learn from loss.

Skill needed to be kept razor-sharp.

"As a matter of fact, there is an open challenge available to all who would accept it." The lead monk stated. "If you would join, perhaps you could test your skill there?"

"Who is my opponent?" Jotham asked.

"Opponents." The monk corrected. "If you accept you shall face more than one foe. Possibly of much higher standing than you in the League." The monk said carefully. "Do you accept this challenge?"

***

Sitting in a bench just outside of the church in question, Jotham smoked the cannibus herb. It fueled the very manna that powered his pool, and it had become a customary habit before battle. He smoked the elegant pipe casually, waiting for individuals to show up for the match. He wasn't certain if anybody was in the old church at all. But this was a pagan world after all, and the gods and goddesses of each community differed greatly from one another. Jotham did not recognize the stained glass window murals, nor, the depictions of the deities around him as statues. However, he did recognize the marble and bronze used to create each work of art. When an extravagant man walked towards the church, Jotham readied himself. He was not noticed in a sense which gave the Overmage an advantage.

The loud man entered the church and began to talk to someone. Archanex could hear the man from his position. Standing up and off the bench, he put his pipe out, the smell of sweet cannibus herb still in the air, and then placed his smoking tools in his packs. Grabbing his precious battle-staff, he limped his way into the cathedral with a smile on his face. There will be multiple opponents, be on your guard. Jotham had oft heard of the Althanas-wide event known as The Cell. This would be a good chance to practice for that mad-melee. His eyes adjusted to the candle-lit chamber that he now found himself in. He had already identified several entities of some degree of importance in the form of the statues that were both inside and outside of the church. The church was empty save for the loud man, and someone else.

Jotham's eyes glowed with the elemental manna. It was the life-blood of his power. The temperature in the large chamber quickly rose as the two pyromancers worked against one another. Jotham grinned at that. They would not expect another interloper, at least, he was certain they would not. He placed his battle-staff across his back in it's strap, and then removed his combat daggers. A moment of concentration passed, and Jotham enchanted the blades with elemental ice. He burned the appropriate cost of manna into the movement, and saw the loud man in front of him. Deciding that the leagues were not an appropriate place for good manners, he ran towards the exposed back of Duffy Brandybuck. Taking a quick stab at the small of the man's back, Jotham hoped that the lad was distracted enough for a clean, swift kill. Then the true games would begin...

[Relian Tydonus]

Finally reaching the steps of the Citadel, Relian began to fully realize how popular this monument was in this land. He could see faces from nearly every walk of life, all of them cramming up a stairway, probably to get a good seat for the shows to come. Then he noticed a hallway that looked abandoned compared to the rest of the entrances, only few had used this way, and all of them had the essence of battle about them. That must be the entrance I'm looking for, Relian thought to himself, letting a grin escape to his face. Upon reaching the hallway a monk greeted him, or rather, stood there with a silent sense of greeting. Figuring that this monk was one who coordinated fighters into the arena Relian spoke first.

"I wish to enter a battle good sir."

"Of course, we are always open to new champions. There is a battle currently in progress, if you so desire it you may join that battle. Or would you prefer to perhaps wait for another?" The monk could tell Relian would choose the first option, giving the second was merely a formality.

"Nah just throw me in there, a fights a fight." Relian answered, confident in himself yet cautious of this new worlds fighters.

"As you wish, proceed." Before the words even reached Relian's ears the large doors at the end of the hall started to open. Taking his sheathed sword from his back and holding it, still sheathed in his hand, he walked towards the doorway.


---

As he entered the door to a cathedral setting, massive in scale, he could already see two combatants going at it. A three way eh? Well I've never been someone to take an opponent on that didn't know I was there. Just as he thought this to himself another fighter entered the fray suddenly with a dash towards one of the current combatants backside.

Relian had always believed in a fair fight and this kind of action did not set well with him, even in a battle to the supposed death, though people have told him that they revive you afterward.

Dashing forward with his great speed, unsheathing his katana as he ran, Relian intercepted the man, stopping just in front of him as to stop his forward momentum. Now staring down the man he could see the blade in his hand looked frozen, and by the looks of his robe this man must be some kind of a magic user. Yet he could tell that the mage had some training with those blades and wouldn't be a pushover.

"Come now no need to go stabbing people in the back just cause they started without you. I'll give you an opponent." Taunting his opponent as usual Relian lifted his katana in his right hand horizontal to the floor and at head level, with his steel sheath in his left ready to fight.

[Lord Anglekos]

One. Richard's azure-tainted glare turned on the dancing dandy with fellow darkened hair, letting fury consume and cover the surprise he'd felt at the man's boisterous introduction. The clicking sound that emanated from his opponent's fists drew his attention temporarily, even as the stranger had begun his loud announcement, and he watched with some apprehension as sparks flew from this man's very hands, showering the soft carpet beneath with their dangerous heat. Fortunately it wasn't enough to set the ground ablaze, but the factor remained solid within the depths of the boy's mind; perhaps he could use those very sparks against this intruder. His lips parted, vocals about to emit not words but rather a battle cry that would help push his adrenaline to its limits, but before he could do so his eyes caught on a sight just behind his newfangled foe.

Two, three. One an older gentleman who seemed to have no problem with approaching from behind, and even from his obscured distance Richard could see the murderous gleam in the other's eyes as he held something within his grasp - a something that he could not see for the time being, as the man hopping from heel to heel had temporarily blocked out potential sight with his body. While it wasn't overly large or dense - heck, Richard would have guessed at the Dandy being lighter than he was himself - the one whom had introduced himself as Duffy was a good six feet tall; another factor to keep in note. As these thoughts rushed through his brain at, well, the speed of thought, his eyes flickered to the last individual to make an appearance; a brown-haired swordsman who seemed intent on stopping the older man's robed assassination on the still-unaware Duffy. The boy gulped as he watched this newcomer draw forth his single-edged katana with great speed and apparent skill, and suddenly the weight of his own steel weapon upon his back felt much heavier; he would have to stay away from that one, at least for now. Richard knew his capabilities, alright; just as knew his limitations. Fighting with blades was one of those limitations.

After judging the situation briefly, he made a snap decision. He was outnumbered, but luckily for him most of his opponents seemed focused on either some other task or opponent. Also luckily for him, they had chosen to stand almost in a line before him, their duels and/or attentions having brought them to the crimson carpet. At least, this way, he couldn't be surrounded, and without responding back to Duffy's generous introduction he immediately side-stepped into combat. He stoked the coals that fueled his fury, letting his passion burn like wildfire within his veins, despite all of his Elders' warnings that one must not let passion control reason. This was the Citadel; here he could let loose without worry, without fear of burning those he cared for. Here, everyone, and everything, was his enemy, and his pupils narrowed in his rage at himself. I be weak... The thought crossed his mind as he slammed his left foot to the ground, cushioned temporarily by the carpeting, and he drew his fists into his side as he gathered that rage and transmuted it into pure heat and power, flames flickering lightly around his wrists and fists in temporary warning. But no more! Twisting his upper body, he growled as the primal energy he'd gathered within the space of two seconds erupted forth in a large ball of broiling, intense flame, discolored into a deep, deep crimson from the fury infecting it. The blast was nearly as large as Richard himself, and there seemed to be almost a small shockwave of kinetic force as it crossed the small space between himself and the one who named himself Duffy; the heat emanating from it causing the air around the flame to distort and mirage.

The effort of unleashing so much flame at once, without a viable, outside source to draw upon save for the very heat in the air, almost immediately took its toll on the boy, and he could feel his back, right leg shake slightly as his stamina took a hit as well. But he was used to this; he breathed inwards quickly, drawing upon the calm fury within, and exhaled, letting the small droplets of sweat that had begun to bead upon the right of his face help cool him down, and as he refocused his attentions the shaking in his leg stopped. There was no time to wait to see if the ball of flame had struck its intended target; Richard immediately began to move, pushing himself forward and breaking out into a short sprint as he gathered his inner ki, waiting to unleash it at any given moment.

Richard has 3 ki points available.

[Duffy]

There were two things in life that Duffy could not tolerate. The first was magic, or at least, those who hid behind it to hide the fact they lacked the strength to fight on their own merits. The second, perhaps most surprisingly, was treachery. He considered it the most lowest form of act, so when the second opponent appeared and shouted to someone behind him, he contained his surprise as he wheeled about to find a decrepit old man, a mage, clearly, streaming up behind him with a vicious blade aimed at the small of his back.

"Now that ain't right!" He proclaimed, a thick Scara Brae twang bouncing along with his voice as it echoed about the aisles. He kicked forwards, his instinct to survive and to not be felled at the first hurdle taking control of his muscles.

Three steps and he were practically sprinting, his eyes glinting with mischief and anger, with hatred and fear. He had already lost first blood to a surprise dagger attack once this month, and he could just about tolerate it from Jensen Ambrose. He would not do so again. In the split seconds before the dagger would have severed his spinal column, stealing his legs away and thus his only defence against the follow up strike that would end his life, Duffy quite simply vanished.

The mage would find himself running into a swarm of blue spiralling ribbons of light, quite harmless, and quite warm to the touch, and shrouded in a cantor of elven lyrics, laced with delicate plucks of a silken harp. Arden Janelle had used this very move to avoid many an assassination attempt, and as the curious ability carried Duffy forwards on his own momentum, it brought him back into existence on the mage's far side two seconds later. The ribbons burst outwards from his body, and added to the first song a heavy drum beat and a little flourish of Fae throat singing.

His footsteps continue, heavy boots falling on cherished stone, and he ran clear of any retaliatory strike. He span at the end of ten feet of running, his teeth clenched and the return of the air to whip his hair eschew caught his cloak as he spiralled. He instinctively bucked his knees and slipped out his daggers from their sheaths, clenching them tightly and fanning out his arms like a gun slinger.

"You no good cheatin' lil git!" He roared, his confidence returned.

He was about to turn to his saviour, noting the red cloth and katana as resemblances to one of his former selves and the irony it implied, until a bright orange later began to emanate from the mage. Assuming it to be some sort of spell being prepared, Duffy did what Duffy did best...he ducked. As luck would have it, he had jumped straight out of the frying pan, and pushed Archanex Jotham straight into someone else's fire.

[Archanex Jotham]

By then, the air was cracking with heat.

Heat served to channel fuel to the Overmage's manna pool. At that precise moment, Archanex was staring at the idiot who had interrupted a perfectly good back-stab. Fool, this is the Citadel, there is no honour here! Archanex was a good person, but in the hallowed halls of combat, there was no room for morality. Only death and destruction mattered. And destroy, he would. Archanex was standing near to the interloper, Duffy moved away from Archanex's almost flawlessly timed attack, and the situation went downhill from there. Archanex grinned. I don't just burn things, I explode them. He thought as he saw a fireball erupting into the air out the corners of his eyes. It was coming behind the interloper, shot by another of the gentlemen who was apparently a pyromancer as well.

That one will be dangerous.

Keeping his dagger held against the man's sword, Jotham was glad that he had enchanted the weapons earlier. Elemental ice flowed through both of his blades, they would only last a few moments longer. His eyes remained narrowed in concentration as he held his dagger against the other man's blade, his face holding a grin. Duffy uttered nonsense about being a cheater, and such, not that it phased Jotham. Archanex judged that Duffy was the most powerful member of this battle-group and that meant he was the target. In terms of the interloper, he stared at the interloper, and held him in an engaged fashion. One of Jotham's daggers was used to keep the kitana at bay, the other, was free. Deciding that he would take full advantage of his dual-wielding capacity, Jotham smiled at the fellow before him.

"You've made a very serious mistake." Jotham said carefully. "The Duffy fellow has power. It was my intent to neutralize it before it got out of hand, he wields words with the skill of a bard." Then, Jotham acted. Using his other hand in a underhanded swing, Jotham realized he liked playing the villain in this story. He reminded himself. There is no honour. Only knowledge to be gained. He was certain his opponent did not have any extra-sensory powers to detect his under-handed swing. So he struck with the tenacity of a serpent. He kept his other blade sparkling against the interloper's kitana. Then, he turned his attention to Duffy, in an loose attempt to distract the interloper. He knew that since Relian Tydonus was now standing in front of Jotham, that the idiot would be the first in line to eat that fireball that was coming.

Jotham looked at Duffy for a moment, keeping his heavy weight against Relian. Then, he suddenly changed the angle of his second dagger so that his slash was in an upward motion. His muscles bulged as he committed himself to the task of stabbing Relian with his elemental dagger. "It would be wise of you not to interfere with other's battles in the future, whelp." Jotham found himself saying. It was all happening so swiftly, that the old Overmage decided he rather enjoyed playing the dubious villain role. After all, in such affairs one needed someone to hate, and someone to love. In his mind he was a small part of larger puzzle that was working as a war-machine. The Citadel. Jotham knew his place as a member of The Citadel Leagues.

Currently, the target remained Duffy. But first, he would deal with the interloper. Should his attack connect, he suspected that he his current target would feel tremendous agony. But it was all part of the act, part of the grander scheme of thing. A powerful fireball now headed towards the back-side of Relian Tydonus, Jotham had felt and seen it. He doubted that the interloper had. "Good night, sweet prince." Archanex found himself saying, as he attempted to keep Relian engaged. If Jotham timed it just right...he could defeat his interloper with the other fellows attack, and a combination of his own attack. Jotham's face was cold and stoic. His eyes however, held the fury of an elemental...

[Relian Tydonus]

In the time it took Relian to intercept the attack by the apparent battle mage, many things had transpired. Just before he could reach the mage, his target noticed the incoming attack and seemingly teleported behind his assailant, leaving musical chimes in his wake. Just as this occurred Relian met blades with the battle mage. Peering over the mage's shoulder he could see that the rogue-ish character had made good distance between himself and the mage. Now Relian's eyes focused on the mage as he spouted something about no need for honor in the Citadel, however Relian was always honorable when fighting, unless his opponent insisted otherwise, which would seem the case here.

After a few short quips to Relian the mage brought the second dagger into play and tried to sneak an upward stab beneath their already engaged blades. The mistake he had made, and which many a foe had made, is that the sheath in his off hand wasn't there just to look pretty, it made an excellent defense. Bringing the sheath in front of his body Relian parried the stab as he pushed the other dagger to the side with his katana. With this motion he would open up his opponent for a counter attack, however as he readied his blade to come slicing down towards the mage, Relian felt an intense heat on the back of his neck.

This could only mean that the other combatant had decided to attack, and with great timing. The only option left to Relian was to side step the fireball and hope his speed would save him. He shuffled his feet to the right, completely disengaging the mage, and jumped sideways as far as possible for he couldn't judge the size of the blast behind him.

However he wasn't fast enough and his left arm was caught by the blast, burning off his sleeve and making him drop his sheath, which slid under one of the pews. Dropping between a row of pews himself Relian tried to use this cover to regain his composure and assess his wounds. He hoped that the blast would find its way to the mage as well who stood only a few feet in front of Relian before he dashed aside.

This isn't starting off very well for me is it? Relian chuckled to himself.

[Lord Anglekos]

The eruption from Richard's attack shook the air violently as it pounded the surrounding environment with a powerful shockwave, thrumming like a taught string within the muscles of his legs and arms, even as he continued his purposeful dash forth into the flames of his own aggressive blast. Beyond the now obscuring smoke and flickering flames that were the remnants of the ball of fire, burning steadily at the carpet beneath his feet even as it continued to slowly spread outward along the ground, he could see little; judging by the lack of an evident body in his immediate vision, he guessed with some cynicism that his attack had failed to catch his first target off-guard. This did little to deter the boy, however; he was tapped fully into the depths of his rage, illogical as it was, and without stopping his momentum he launched off from one foot with the grace and speed of an acrobat, leaping well over and through the high-burning remnants of his last attack.

Even as he burst through, he could feel his own fire caressing his skin, warm and welcome to the touch. His body moved through something else as well, and he could have sworn he heard what seemed to be music dancing jovially in his ears; soon, however, he had crossed to the other side and the music was replaced by the familiar burning around him. Slamming to the ground in a crouch, he helped reduce the downwards fall by, in his fury, punching his armored fist into the very ground below him, his fist sinking ever so slightly into the slowly eroding crimson carpet. As soon as he'd made contact the boy's visage snapped up, and his furiously azure eyes flew over the situation before him. The dandy had seemingly managed to flicker a good distance away; at his current vantage point, Richard would guess it at ten to fifteen feet, at the max. To his right, the man with the katana and the coat that was almost the same color as the carpet had also managed, seemingly, to dodge the majority of the blast, although even with his quick glimpse Richard saw that the stranger's left arm had suffered some burns; burns that the man was trying to cradle even at this very moment.

The youth was pumped full of adrenaline, even this early in the battle, and didn't bother to assess the current situation of his third opponent; the older man whom had attempted an assassination upon Duffy's exposed back. As the aggressor, the sense of hunting was upon him; he'd managed to both disperse the relative crowd and simultaneously injure what he believed to be his greatest current threat, despite the fact that the twin daggers that had materialized within the dandy's grasp had, somewhere deep within his logical self, bothered him. The heat burning comfortably at his gi-covered back filled him with a confidence he had not earlier felt, and he drew upon that warmth for strength, no longer having to rely solely upon the heat of the air to fuel his power. Richard gave no quarter; reaching backwards with his fingertips and will briefly he touched the very crater of flames behind him and drew upon it, engulfing his fist in yet another ball of flame that, whilst not nearly as large as his previous blast, burned vicariously at the air around it with even more condensed power it seemed.

The boy gave no shout of warning, nothing to telegraph his intentions as he spun upon the fallen swordsman with earthen hair, his flame-engulfed right hand pointing directly at his foe's midsection. With cold fury did his eyes stare down at his fallen opponent, mercy lacking within their glacial depths; the tips of his hair flickering about like ebony fire in the wake of his movement. There was a mere second as the duos' eyes met, then with a pulse of Richard's intangible will he began to set the very ground aflame; a steady, thin, but powerful stream of fire erupting forth from the fireball around his hand as it viciously tore into the air, heading directly for the swordsman's body and alighting the twin pews on either side of him along the way.

[Duffy]

Duffy, for a brief moment thought he had been remarkably clever. Intelligence, however, was very much in the eye of the beholder. He had turned expecting to see the mage dumbfounded and burnt and somewhat less mobile than he remained. Quicker than he could manage himself, daggers were drawn and poised to strike another of the combatants.

Duffy, contrary to what people might expect, let out a loud chuckle. The monks of the Citadel had somehow managed to surprise him once again, and he resigned himself to a long, drawn out and utterly chaotic confrontation in the heart of the great city of Radasanth. He remained stationary, for the time being, and twirled his daggers with eager resolutions of his fingers. The red clad man had taken the fireball, and with the mage engaging him, Duffy considered them momentarily of no threat to his advantageous position.

The man with the fire, on the other hand...Duffy scrutinized the mannerisms as he moved, and curled his lips with hesitation whilst he tried to decide on a course of action. Three opponents stood before the bard, and two plied their strengths and testimonies of malefic intent on the third. His inner sense of virtue kicked in, and without thinking for his own safety, and judging who the gravest threat to all of them was, he ran forwards.

He called on the agility he possessed to leap sideways up onto the back of a pew, forwards into a tiger like run over the backs of the aisle rows and back onto the red carpet to avoid the over mage without breaking a sweat. He sheathed and retrieved his daggers at the start and end of his display, then righted himself to continue with the same momentum towards the pyromancer. As he closed the gap between them, his face burst into shades of orange and red as a gout of scorching flame shot towards the katana wielding swordsman.

Duffy hesitated, and came to stop. He was a good twenty feet away, but still felt the caress of those flames warm the cockles of his heart. He had no sudden desire to see what effect they would have on his rather exposed skin, lacking as it was armour or resistance against the treachery of magic. He bounced from heel to heel as he smiled, and continued into the fire mage's personal space whilst he was distracted.

He brought his hands together with a snap, and signalled to the arena a loud thunderclap, before pushing both hands forwards into fists. With a satisfying squirt, the flammable liquid from his Tinder Gear sprayed out towards his target, followed up with a quick click of his fingers to set a spark to the cone of fine spray which threatened to ignite. It smelt of almonds and peat, and a hint of mildew.

"How do you like it!?" He questioned, cheeky plastered to his words and a maniacal smile on his face. Duffy's cone of mist burst into flame, and answered the fire mage's spell with a heated display of his own.

[Archanex Jotham]

Damn speedsters... The was the last thing Archanex thought before the fireball hit the man before him. Then, the remainder of the blast came careening forward right towards Archanex. Thinking quick, the once four-foot fireball had lost a significant amount of size and mass when the red-dressed interloper was struck. Archanex had no super reflexes or speed. He stood facing the blast and managed to bring his enchanted daggers in front of his person. He brought his arms up so that he could somewhat block the incoming attack. The fireball burned through the air, singing the air with it's heated form. Archanex cringed when the his arms were badly burnt by the blast and ensuing explosion. Archanex growled with agony as he was hit by the blast, energy cascading in every direction.

He took considerable damage.

Archanex frowned as he looked at Duffy's person engaging the other man. He tested his burnt arms, they were filled with pain. Pain coursed through the Overmage's body, but rather than buckle under the pain...Jotham focused. He narrowed his eyes and placed a mask of concentration on his face. He was reeling from the fire blast, but he reacted quickly and adjusted. As an Overmage, he had to uphold his people's courage and will power. His eyes remained narrowed and he searched the chamber around him. He made no other noise to show that he was indeed suffering. His skin was blackened in the spots where he was hit with the fire-blast.

Jotham took a moment to fully recover from the damage. It was a painful attack, and the blast was not like the Arkanos arts that the Overmages were accustomed to. Archanex kept his wits about him as he waited to see if another buffoon would interfere with his agenda. Jotham had lost an attempt to clearly trump over Duffy, and that had irritated him to no end. Whilst Duffy engaged that other fellow, Jotham eyed the man's back greedily, but decided it best to take out his interloper fist. The other man had speed on his side which could work to Jotham's favor. He had two more explosion casts, and enchantment casts for the rest of the battle, then he would have to survive on his wits alone. Archanex studied the red-wearing man for a moment or two out of the corners of his eyes.

Then, as he studied the man's elegant movements, the Overmage plotted. He controlled the elemental manna, focusing, and placed a symbol upon one of the nearby pews to where the swordman was. He hoped he could catch the swordman off guard. When he had channeled enough fuel into the symbol he'd placed upon the pew, he let it rip! The symbol released a tremendous power of the elemental manna, and exploded the pew that Jotham had set his sights on. There was no sign, at least that was Jotham's opinion of his skill level, to telegraph the attack. He figured if he took advantage of his environment to the fullest, he would be victorious. When the pew exploded, the Overmage willed the manna that flowed from the explosion to control the general direction of the super-heat and fire. The debris flew towards the swordman, and Jotham hoped that at least some of it would catch that fellow off guard. His interloper would pay for interfering.

As time passed, Jotham found himself having fun despite his injuries.

[Relian Tydonus]

Laying on his back between the pews Relians vision was obscured of the battle happening around him. Hopefully this meant they weren't focusing on him at this point, however he couldn't be sure and hastily checked his left arm for the extent to the injury. His sleeve had been burned clean off and the skin on his forearm was charred, but he could still move his entire arm, including his hand. This was painful but nothing he couldn't grit his teeth through, none-the-less he wasn't worried about finding his sheath with his arm unable to fully use it. This battle was turning into a humbling experience for him, having not been challenged in battle for the longest time this was both exciting and frightening, but mostly exciting. With this battle Relian was going to need to focus entirely on the battle.

With this thought he brought himself back to the battle at hand, looking out towards the center aisle. Just as he raised his head he could see the third combatant now attacking him, creating a flaming ball around his fist and then aiming that fist at Relian. Producing a flaming attack hurling it's way straight for Rel's gut.

What did I do that everyone wants to kill me?

This question flickered across Rel's mind in the same instant that he regained his composure and decided to re-join the fight. With this he threw his legs over his head and rolled backwards onto his feet, barely dodging the stream of flame heading towards him, catching the end of his duster on fire. Seeing as the sleeve was already gone Relian decided quickly to just discard it now, cursing the fire mage even more. He slipped out of his favorite duster as he jumped onto the pew to his right, facing the back of cathedral to begin a tactical escape. This idea only lasted a few seconds when he realized that another explosion had just gone off. The quick glance he could manage spotted the mage he had first cut off, kneeling down by a pew at the base of the explosion. The mage had managed to position himself on the end of the pew next to Relian while he was on the ground those few moments, now Relian stood facing the back of the cathedral and the mage was on his left, along with the explosion. This explosion didn't just go out in all directions however, it went straight towards Relian with it's full force.

"Are you serious!?" Rel exclaimed, feeling outnumbered by these magic users everywhere.

The only saving factor of this fight was the rogue looking person he had saved at the beginning. He had made distance from the mages before Relian went down, but now he was perched on a pew and apparently attacking the flame mage with a little of his own medicine.

Seeing him as the safest of the three, Relian quickly extended his left arm towards the explosion heading towards him, and released a burst of chakra through his palm just as the explosion was getting close. The force of the burst merely displaced the energy of the explosion and left a few pieces of debris. Before those pieces could hit the ground he was on the move, he jumped onto the next pew just as what was remaining of the one he was standing on caught fire from the flamethrower attack of the mage. Rel sprinted towards the rogue, jumping from pew to pew, heading to a safe distance at his side. Relian only hoped that the rogue wouldn't take this movement as an attack because he couldn't take on all three of them at the same time, especially with his injury and one of his bursts spent. An ally would be extremely helpful in his current predicament.



Relian has 2 chakra bursts left.

[Lord Anglekos]

An eruption of wood to his left distracted the Flamebound's attention briefly, and with a quiet, almost silent snarl the boy turned his gaze upon the cause, seeing the older gentleman seemingly only place his hands on one of the thick, oaken pews and cause it to explode directly forth at Richard's prey. Shards of wood flew through the air like small spears, and even though his stance set in the center aisle within the slowly smoke-filled church was far out of the way of the stranger's blast the boy unconsciously stepped backwards, cutting the flow from the still-burning crater to his fist off as he did so. The flicker of his wounded prey's blood-tinged duster, now alight with the remnants of Richard's wide-spread flame, also alerted him to the fact that both his attempt and the intruder's strange blast had failed to take the swordsman's life, and the older man was now approaching with speed towards the center aisle as well. Thaynes be cursed... He growled deep within the depths of his youthful brain, but observed with some relief that the man wasn't heading directly for him; not just yet, at least. Taking that moment to evaluate the condition of the third foe, he saw with some inner gratification that his flames had made their mark upon the red-haired man, whose arms were burnt and sizzling with the sickening scent of cooked flesh. How the other man could even move his limbs in that state, that sheer amount of burning pain, was beyond the comprehension of the youth, but he had not the time to ponder on this long, as he suddenly heard the exclamation of the dandy at his back and felt the increasing heat of foreign fire raging forth towards his back.

Veins pounding with the power of adrenaline, Richard didn't turn to observe his enemy's maniacal expression and the nature of the fire at his back first; he simply reacted. Unfortunately for this Duffy fellow, fighting flame with flame was something the Flamebound was a veritable professional at; in both practice and real-life experience. Almost daily were he and his other Flamebound forced to do battle with one another, wielding their fires and their fists in constant attempts to dominate the other, and Richard was one of the top students amongst his classmates when it came to performing in agni kai; the Soulbound expression to reflect a duel or "meeting" between two Flamebound warriors. And thus, when he felt the presence of fire that hadn't originated from himself, he reacted instinctively, his left arm snapping out behind him with his palm facing his opponent. Pushing forth his manipulating will, he used little energy, subtly influencing the flow of the offensive blast until he was like a rock within the river of flame, the immense heat rushing in around his body harmlessly. He gritted his teeth as he could feel the strain of holding so much fire from overcoming his willpower, but he had undergone worse; the scars of such were evident beneath the ebony gi he wore, and as the flames licked at his outfit he let that fact give him strength. Anger at his past failures fueled him, and with an audible growl he briefly pulled both of his arms into himself before shoving them outwards and to his sides, causing the dandy's fire to burst outwards and away from the young pyromancer in a ring that easily stretched to a good ten feet about himself.

The ring caught several more pews in the blast's radius, and soon fire raged in a growing inferno in what a top-down observer would see to be an almost complete circle of burning destruction. As it was, smoke began to fill the confines of the church's walls with even more thickness, a spongy blackness that clouded the very sight of any within it. Panting slightly from the not-inconsiderable effort of manipulating so much fire, Richard tried to take a deep breath to help his shaking nerves, but found that as he did so he mostly tasted embers and the smoke around him. Crap! He realized that in his wanton self-preservation he'd unconsciously made it nie-impossible to breath within the growing inferno, and he pressed the back of his metal-and-cloth covered right arm against his mouth as he rushed forward in a dash, bursting through the clouds of smoke to the other side, where relatively clean air and the view of the open exit greeted him.

Neither really impressed much upon the boy, however; the thrill of the battle, chaotic as it was, was still upon him. Richard was no battle fiend, no berserker who sought the blood of others and naught else, but even so the feeling of pitting his skills against those of others was a welcome feeling; strangers that they may be. He'd come to the Citadel to help himself grow stronger, or at the very least, refine his skills for usage in the "real" world, and in this situation it was the closest he'd come to in a long time. He was so caught up in the "hunt" that the threat of death hung uselessly above his head; were he in a more sensible attitude, he would have perhaps darted for the open doorway and left it at that. But no, Richard instead stopped his dash, slamming his right foot into the non-burnt carpet and twisting his head from side to side.

To his right, the smoke of his own manipulation still prevented him from seeing what the older red-haired stranger was up to, but Richard would have guessed that if he couldn't see the the other robed man that the same could be applied to him; and even with that in place, so far the older man had been of little threat to him. Richard would leave him be for now. On the other hand, the youth could see the retreating back of his own prey heading for the position of the obscured dandy himself, the leather duster no longer worn in protection, and despite the beads of sweat running down his face from the immense heat in the air he could feel his almost preternatural stamina returning to him as he took a few moments to rest. The swordsman remained his greatest threat, despite the fact that obviously he'd underestimated the Duffy fellow; even though the dancing foe had used fire himself, Richard had not felt the mystical sting of pyromancy, nor the familiar taint of his own primordial ignition. The man was not a manipulator of fire himself; he must have used some sort of tool to engulf Richard in it. As long as that fact remained constant, the Flamebound was confident he could easily take down the dandy. With this confidence running through his veins, he took chase after the wounded swordsman, his azure eyes glowing with the flickering of the flames at his side and the excitement within himself.

[Duffy]

There were two outcomes Duffy expected from his actions. The first was scorched flesh and screams, but there was no flaming clothing and no pain on the pyrotechnics’ face. The second was a showing of agility and a quick footed dodge from the path of the Tinder Gear's brief, but potent flame.

"Oh," said the bard, a look of utter disappointment on his face. He let his hands drop loosely to his sides and released the tension in his wrists fade, in case he was tempted to try his luck again.

As the flames had not only missed their target, but travelled straight around him as if they had rejected the idea of hurting him, Duffy did not think a second attempt would be any more productive than the first. He stood perfectly still and watched the smoke engulf the flame mage.

"Why is nothing ever simple?" He asked aloud, suddenly alone once again. The church became a temple dedicated to choking clouds, and for a brief moment, Duffy considered simply giving up. He even contemplated driving his own knife into his neck, to wake up moments later, or perhaps hours, perfectly unharmed and comfortably rested on the soft pillows of the Citadel's infirmary floor.

Duffy was not the sort to engage in political back stabbing or the affairs of ever changing allegiances, but it did not look as if he was going to have any choice in the matter. The pyrotechnic would be, difficult, but for now, the mage tossing explosions around like summer fete gifts was the greater concern. Peering through the clouds of smoke as they rolled in wisps through the pews, the bard settled on a hunched figure that was unmistakably the man who had tried to gut him like a fish from behind.

"Only one way to fight all these damned mages," he said gingerly, switching Tooth for Wainwright's Riposte with lightning reflexes and a relish of glee as the spiritual resonance in the ancient blade ran up his arm and connected to the many iterations of his heart. "With steel sharp, and guts and glory..."

Duffy ran headlong into the smoke, drawing a hefty breath as he rolled forwards into a full frontal flip. He tucked his feet together so that when he landed, he sprang forwards into another, tumbling at Jotham like a calamitous acrobat. As he closed the gap, he spiralled into a side roll, then unleashed a flailing maelstrom of quick blows driven by speed and ferocity. Though much less accurate than Duffy's usual skill allowed, they came quicker than quick silver and were convoluted strikes amidst the tumbling madness that the bard had become.

As he swung for the fourth time, he stopped moving, and brought the blade of Wainwright's Riposte up with a jolt towards the mage's torso. The fifth strike, a hefty blow with the guttural stop of a hefty insult took on the malice in Duffy's heart, and the blade burst into a cloud of smoke of its own*.

The heavy, intoxicating black plume was a clear sign to the mage that the last strike, regardless of the damage the others had caused in his forward onslaught, carried with it a potent curse that sundered spirits and cast death much further into darkness than even a potent necromancer could manage.


* Duffy has used Whirling Dervish (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?22332-Duffy-Ascendant-(Level-7-3.0)) on Archanex Jotham.

[Archanex Jotham]

Shit!

He thought to himself.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

Archanex had very little options left to him. He had initially used an enchant spell to help ward off some of the fireball that was shot by the other guy, and then chaos broke loose. Smoke and fire touched the ground and the pews began to burst into flame, very few options remained. The man in red had managed to evade the explosion that Jotham launched in his direction, the Overmage cursed allowed, and then something out of the corner of his eyes caught his attention. Duffy! Archanex had time to think that last thought before the highly skilled bard ran through the smoke and seemed to manifest like the wraiths of old. Clutching his weapon tightly, Jotham attempted to ward what he knew was coming. Then, a blade reflected the light of the flames rapidly filling the church.

The next few moments were a blur. Jotham was decently skilled with melee combat, but not at the level that Duffy had. His memory reverted to the first moments of the battle, and the first failed back-stab attempt. That damned interloper had cost Jotham much more than he could have ever imagined, and then the first attack struck. A flurry of attacks caused the Overmage to drop his weapons and darkness set in. Blood-tainted darkness. Jotham knew he had made a wise decision in attempting to back-stab the superior warrior, but the interloper had ruined his moment. When the attack was over, Jotham was kneeling against the ground. He was bleeding like crazy. Jotham knew a healing spell, but it would not be enough to stop wounds that severe. He had been struck in his torso by the blade, but the wound was not lethal.

Jotham had taken the full hit without even realizing what had happened. He clutched at his chest, staff on the ground next to him as he felt the temperatures begin to increase rapidly in the old building. It was still enchanted from when he previously laid the ice-symbol upon it. Archanex looked up at Duffy and managed a crooked smile. Blood leaked out of the side of his mouth. "I knew it." He managed in a slow whisper. "You would be the end of us all." He was bleeding heavily from the various wounds he had sustained, and he was on the ground on all fours. His arms were still badly burnt from the fireball that had been tossed in his general direction. Jotham managed to steal a quick glance in the general direction of Relian, and snarled. He had a clean shot, but that clown had managed to evade him at the last moment. He turned his attention back to Duffy.

"You're good, bard. I'll give you that much." Jotham pulled himself together, grabbed the battle-staff, and positioned it as a post to lean against. He stood up slowly and only then did he realize how badly Duffy had cut him.

"Don't take things personal, bard. We're in The Citadel. I just saw that you were more powerful and formulated a logical plan before that idiot involved himself in business that was not his own." Blood was flowing down his chin now. Jotham's eyes were blood shot, he had suffered heavy trauma.

"Allow me a parting gift before I go." Jotham said to Duffy.

He focused on his elemental manna, called upon the school of enchanting, and gave Duffy one last parting gift. He saw the elemental darkness flowing off the bard's dagger. With that knowledge, Jotham chanted as best as he could manage, focused on placing a symbol upon the man's weapon, and enhanced the elemental properties of Duffy's darkness blade. The final enchantment was quite taxing due to Jotham's injuries, but he had managed to complete the task at hand. The symbol manifested a moment later, upon the blade making it glow with a particular nimbus. The added enchantment would bolster the darkness already flowing from the bard's dagger. When the task was complete, Jotham was out of strength. He found himself fading, and passed out on the ground.

A moment later, he vanished from within The Citadel thanks to the monk's Arkanos...

(Note: This is my conclusion post. Yeah there's no way I can live after a hit from a level 8 or whatever. >.> It was a pleasure working with you guys, good luck)

[Relian Tydonus]

"Well that was close." Relian exhaled, reaching a safe distance from all the chaos.

Having narrowly escaped death multiple times already in this fight, he felt it was time that the dodging and running came to an end. He had been too focused on self-preservation, rather than victory, and it had cost him. With this new determination in mind his eyes quickly scanned the battle field before him. In the few moments he took to regain his ground it seemed that time sped up and so many things had transpired. The fire that he just separated himself from was catching the entire place ablaze. The enormous room feeling much smaller with the air being filled with dark black smoke. Relian was still outside of the massive clouds of it, but he could just taste the burning wood in the air. The only thing he could make out was the roguish character he had hoped to side with, dashing away, presumably towards a target. The result of this character's recent attack on the flame mage was unknown, lost in the haze of smoke, hopefully it had been successful because this foe would be a lot of trouble. With little visual aid to go on, Relian took in his injuries and current capacity for battle. His arm was still burnt badly, the pain was incredible, the adrenaline that had originally dulled it was now wearing off. He was not foreign to extreme pains however, he had dealt with them on many a journey back home, this would however make things difficult.

Using his chakra burst didn't directly hurt his arm, but it did cause a lot of stress in the muscles, muscles that were currently roasted well done. Using that kind of burst again would be extremely painful and he mentally reserved it for a last ditch moment. Thankfully his main weapon was fully intact, Kito his trusty katana. With Kito firmly in hand he was comfortable with his position. Most of his training after leaving his hometown consisted of using only one hand to control his blade, leaving the other to use his bursts or sheath at the same time. He was ready to do battle with one hand easily.

After glancing at his blade he focused his view toward the ongoing battle, only to find that his hopes had not been true. The fire mage was alive, and apparently unscathed by the rogue's attack, and he was heading straight for Relian. There was a bloodlust in his deep blue eyes as he made his way across the room, apparently he wasn't happy with the fact that Relian had escaped two of his attacks alive. Relian chuckled to himself, a grin appearing on his face as he leaned forward and sprinted to begin his counter attack.

"My turn!"

His speed would more than make up the distance in no time at all, hopefully before the mage could ready himself for his attack. With his left arm seemingly flailing behind him as he made every attempt to not use any muscles in it, Relian made his way across the room, over the pews, with his blade rested on his shoulder ready to be brought down with all his strength. As he closed the gap between them Relian planned on doing just that. Just before reaching the mages position he jumped into the air and brought Kito up with him, and just as quickly as he had risen he came down, followed nearly at the exact time by his blade in a slice that would easily cut a man in half given Relian's speedy slash and strength. This slash would either be the starting point of an epic battle or end it completely. Relian hoped for the latter.

[Lord Anglekos]

It was time.

The swordsman had seen Richard's approach from the rear and had decided to do something about it. A steady throb had begun to pulse through the pyromancer's heated veins; the adrenaline pumping through his body making the world before his eyes vibrant with color and sharp with a clarity that had not been there before. He had been afraid before, but he'd discarded that fear in favor of the chaotic embrace of sheer, illogical rage; fury that burned like the very fires he'd been born in and wrapped itself around him in a shield of destruction. Even as he watched his grinning foe grip his Akashiman blade tighter within his grasp and advance with swiftness upon the fir na tine himself, Richard's azure eyes narrowed and glowed in the darkening room with that fury. The rising smoke from his flames obscured the sunlight that sought entrance through the painted glass of the church's windows, and as the spring breeze blew into from the room, scattering embers and ashes into the air, it felt strangely cold against his hot skin. Not the soft chill of an approaching storm, but a sickly, pallid coolness that sent a shudder down his spine. It was as if Death itself had walked next to the young boy; an experience he remembered all too well from his last visitation to the Citadel.

It'd been there that he'd learned that Death was not just an event, a metaphorical end; it had a sinister sentience all its own.

You will not have me.. not today! His voice cried out uselessly within the depths of his own mind, not really caring whether or not the invisible, intangible entity that had chosen to touch him could possibly hear him. Rage, beautiful and terrible, consumed him now; an anger that directed itself at anything and everything. The disappearance of his father, the death of his mother, the totality of his own inadequacies, his failure in felling his foes in one strike; there was no pleasure to be felt in it, but he embraced it nonetheless. There was no room for the fear of Death there, despite the fact that at some point he knew it would return; for now, though, it stayed thankfully out of reach, and prevented any hesitation from hindering his swift steps towards the quick swordsman before him.

The larger, older brunette before him obviously held the advantage in speed, as he'd been so far unafraid in displaying before the others. That speed, combined with the sharp steel that he carried, was dangerous, and if Richard wasn't careful of it he knew he would be the victim here. However, the pyromancer had already managed to debilitate one of his foe's arms; it hung with a sickening scent down by left side, and although it wasn't useless Richard would hazard a guess that his opponent would prefer not to be using that limb any time soon. It was something he counted on, as the man leaped into the air and brought his shining steel above him before swinging it vertically downwards in a vicious attempt at cleaving Richard in two.

There was no time for planning; just like with the dandy-like character who'd assaulted him with fire, Richard simply reacted. He'd been passively gathering his ki throughout the day, letting it pool in his body without touching it, keeping it free from impurity with lack of action. As he touched that martial energy within the depths of his body now, however, it was as if someone had dipped hot metal into a basin of cooled liquid; the reaction filling his muscles with power beyond normal human means as his ki flooded him over. It wasn't nearly as much as if he'd managed to accumulate as much ki as he'd possibly been actively able to, but it was enough; enough to pull off what he was performing, at least.

It was no illusion of sight, this time; the air around Richard actively grew lighter, and the space beyond that growing simultaneously darker, as he suddenly just slammed his left foot into the hard granite beneath the pews and crossed the tiny space between himself and the swordsman just as the latter was coming down in the middle of his swing. The fingers of his right hand, beneath the steel of his gauntlet, curled inwards and formed a trembling fist as his body, practiced in the ways of the hakyoukuken, automatically focused the tremendous martial energies within his body towards that fist, and lightning crackled temporarily around that limb before it formed five small orbs of what looked to be glowing, azure energy around his protected wrist, expanding ever so slightly as they encircled the limb in a slow, listless parade of power. They represented the five chunks of ki that Richard was utilizing to initiate the strike that, he hoped, would end the swordsman in one fell blow; or at least incapacitate him enough to take him out of the collective picture.

The process of manifesting his gathered ki had happened at the literal speed of thought; in one moment there was simply the raging battlemancer running towards his leaping foe, the next he was within the personal reach of that foe's blade and emitting these almost supernatural waves. Richard didn't even blink at the sudden physical manifestations of his martial art; these were symptoms he was long used to seeing, if not around himself but in his sensei as well. His left arm arced, and sparks flew as steel met steel in a clash of weapon versus armor, just as the brown-haired man's feet made contact with the pews; despite the fact that his opponent both held the upper ground and the momentum of dropping from the air, Richard's natural strength and physical endurance held out and he did not give way. If anything, he pushed forward, past the push of the man's katana and away from its deadly edge, and he snarled as he brought his glowing right arm up and forward in a driving, fatalistic strike aimed directly at the right-hand side of his foe's chest; a blow that, combined with the power of his own opponent's forward momentum, would slam the energy in his fist directly into the flesh of the swordsman and stop his heart at the very least.

[Duffy]

Duffy blinked.

He was doing that rather too often lately. The parting words of the mage, contrary to common death match etiquette had been to cast one final spell onto the hilt of Wainwright’s Riposte. With a dumb and oafish expression on his sweating face, he looked between the old man as he passed from the dome into the waiting healing hands of the monks and the ancient blade in his fingertips.

“Oh,” was all he could muster.

The bard returned his attentions to the incandescent and raging inferno that was slowly engulfing the church. Absent minded, he let the calming and sensuous energy from the dagger rise up the length of his arm into his chest. The black smog swirled from the tip for much longer than it had ever before, and through the two wisps of corrupting energy, he observed the red coated man exchange blows with the pyromancer.

Making decisions was not something Duffy did with any degree of certainty. There was always deliberation, always strategy, always patience. He had been a hasty child, and a hastier youth, the consequences of his declarations had followed him through time and many lives… One thing he did do, however, was make the right decision. Friends had died, enemies raised, cities had toppled and mountains crumbled as a result of his earlier immaturity, but no more.

He tightened his gloved fists around the dagger hilt and the warm air, and gritted his teeth. As the sword wielder was crushed under the weight of his opponent’s cowardly magic, the decision being decided upon in Duffy’s psychotic debating chamber of a mind was settled. He had come to the Citadel to fight, and fighting, well; fighting meant the clash of blades, the swinging of maces and the slashing of knives over throats unfettered and the severing of limbs.

“Not this…” he said, almost pious and almost regretful.

With consideration in his heart, he looked down at the corpse of the over mage. His dagger still tingled with the touch of his manna, but Duffy shook his head and sheathed the blade. He bounced from one foot to the other and loosened his gangly limbs.
“Thank you, friend, but I am not called Dagger for my reliance on the boons of wizards and the petty tricks of conjurors,” he was too stubborn in making up his mind that he paid no attention to the hypocrisy in his words.

After all, the bard of Scara Brae’s Tantalum Troupe was every bit as reliant on petty tricks, misdirection and the utilisation of magic as any thief of the heart was on charisma for stealing love and affection. Somehow, he had it in his head that The Aria was not magic but creativity shaping reality, crafting new realisms from the beliefs and dreams of the people who stood before their stage and fell into their world.

“Let me show you what I mean,” he kept his voice low, as if he were speaking to himself as a warm up line before he stepped out onto the stage for the final act or the second round of a righteous applause, before he flinched.

If he does that to me…he said, watching the crushing shimmer of light and warping energy from the pyromancer fly towards the katana wielder. He subconsciously looked down at the mage, and then blinked again with a gulp.

Finding confidence where he didn’t know he had any, Duffy unsheathed Tooth and Nail and felt reunited with his younger self. His iron knives, now steel and glimmering with enchantment were like lovers coming home from war. He pictured his monkey like clambering over the rooftops of Scara Brae when he was a part of the street gangs, and rolled through his formative years until the inevitable flash of pain struck his palm. He held it up to the flames, and traced the scar that had been a constant companion through his many hardships.

“Hello, old friend…” were his final words before he ran forwards into the pyromancer’s right flank. He moved with grace, speed and blistering determination.

He had thrown fire at him.

The mage had thrown crushing force.

The swordsman had struck with the finesse of a Samurai, all to no avail.

Duffy relished the opportunity to see what his greatest enemy in the house of flames would do to avoid the deadliest weapon of all…

“Calm your nerves son, settle down,
Lie weapons low and arrows free!”

Loudly and proudly sung words. They formed shattering force and bouncing spheres of rippling air in front of his advance which ricocheted and cracked the heavy paving stones of the church’s central aisle before they rolled rampantly with the will of Duffy’s requiem towards Richard.

He laughed loudly, continuing his verse as he closed the distance, hoping Ruby’s gift to him through the Union of Ages would serve as a distraction to afford the bard the time he needed to get in close.

“Free your mind, let anger down,
Or be consumed by greed’s gold crown!”

The time he needed to end the flames that started the fire.


Duffy has used The Union of Ages to wield Ruby La Roux's spell-singing; in particular, the Rampant Requiem.

[Relian Tydonus]

"This can't be happening."

Relian's thoughts flashed back through the battle, through all of his mistakes and underestimations. He had taken this fight far too lightly and paid the ultimate price for it. Before he could even launch a decent attack he had been restricted to one arm and lost his duster.

Now that his first real attack was being countered with deadly force, he knew he should have acted earlier and brought the fight to them. However this was all thoughts of what could have been, nothing could change the past, especially not his wishes.

The fire mage had successfully countered his strike, using one of his gauntlets to parry the blade while his other fist met with Relian's chest. The force of this strike was more than had been expected, as if he had been preparing for this attack the entire time. The impact seemed to hit his heart directly as if there was no bones or muscle to block the strike. The blow took him off his feet and back about two rows of pews where he landed awkwardly in a seated position, Kito still clutched in his hand merely by instinct.

Relian could feel his life slipping away and the light of the fires did nothing to keep his vision from darkening. Then suddenly he was awakened to a bright light and monks healing him... his battle was over, he had failed. His thoughts wondered to the two remaining combatants as he rooted for the nimble rogue to end this fire mage that ended his life, if only temporarily. After putting so much energy into the blow that killed Relian, the fire mage must be exhausted... or so he hoped.

[Lord Anglekos]

Metal connected with cloth as energy met flesh, as the pentagram of circling energy around Richard's wrist coalesced into his arm the very millisecond before his fist made a connection with the swordsman's chest, and he barely felt it when it slammed from his own body into the unprotected heart of his foe. Time seemed to slow briefly before his sharpened vision, and the echoes of his battle roar bounced off the grand walls of their religious arena before resonating back in his ears; the air around his fist vibrating as his Asura Strike made impact and released the impressive kinetic force previously stored beneath his fist. That air expanded and became a shockwave of sorts, similar to the one that he'd felt when his blast of flame had connected with the ground not minutes beforehand, and he felt the strings of his muscles thrum like that of a musical instrument as he pushed completely forward into the embrace of that reactive force. It both pushed him and pulled him, like the vacuum of an empty space, before abruptly releasing forward into a destructive rush - a rush that flooded directly into his poor, unfortunate foe.

It was too much for the unprotected swordsman's body to handle, and the larger mass lifted directly off the ground, flying backwards like a missile born of flesh and bone across a space of more than ten feet before gravity took hold and slammed him into the pews, causing a crash of mass and splinter of wood. Even as Richard watched, the brown-haired man's head rolled back and his eyes closed, blood dripping like a stream from his closed mouth, as the life fled from the swordsman as quickly as it had first come. I did it... The thought processed past the burning rage in his veins, and a vicious grin pressed along Richard's young visage as he felt the first signs of victory infect his brain. I won! I actually w--

So caught up was he in his own victory, as he stood panting with the effort of unleashing so much power consecutively, that he did not even notice the dandy's violent approach from his right flank. Duffy's words crossed high above the boy's head, and the culmination of bardic sorcery with raw kinetic finesse struck at his back without any thrown defense from the Flamebound's end. It wasn't overwhelming, but the boy was weary; the flames of wrath he'd empowered himself with mistakenly dying away with the illusion of victory, and with that came the immense drain of stamina that he'd been ignoring until now. And so the first ball of sheer force, condensed air, hit like a hammer onto the small of his hunched back, and suddenly the world began spinning before his vision as he too was slammed into the church pews at his side, crashing through the fragile wood until he fell with his back against the cold, granite floor; the hard length of the sheath upon his back pressing roughly into his flesh. The scent of burnt wood filled his nostrils as he desperately tried to recover from the blow - Thaynes, it hurt like a demon - but the damage had been done. Coughing, trying to get the smoke out of his lungs, Richard clambered to his feet, only to narrowly miss the rush of deadly force from one of the many blasts that had been sent his way; blasts that continued to bounce like invisible, demonic entities with insidious entropy. Azure eyes pale and wide, his hair flickering in the rush of wind, he caught glimpse of the slowly advancing and singing bard before him, and saw with fear beginning to infect his veins that his foe no longer held the youthful carelessness that the fir na tine had so contemptuously dismissed beforehand.

Instinctively, he tried summoning forth defensive flame, but all he got in his current exhausted state was a few weak flickers at the tips of his fingers. I be going to die. The arrogance of his earlier mental proclamation came rushing to haunt him as he suddenly understood just how weak he was; he'd unleashed all of his energy seeking to end the existence of what he thought was his greatest foe, and now he was going to be subject to the murderous power and determination of the one whom he'd deemed to be his weakest. What a fool he'd been.

...No! I will not bow!

Calling up the last vestiges of his fury, Richard pounded his gauntlet-sheathed fist into the cracked granite beneath him, and he slowly rose to one knee as he stared defiantly at the dagger-armed reaper bearing ominously down before him. He may have been wrong; he may die. But he wasn't about to go into that deep, cold dark without fighting back. Snarling aloud incoherently, Richard brought up as much energy as he could, spreading his legs slightly as he came to his feet so he had more ground to press off from, and his natural flames came roaring back along the sides of his arms in blade-like twin infernos.

If he was going down, then the dandy was going down with him.

[Duffy]

Oh…

The lyrics of the spell song, though not particularly meaningful formed a powerful attack all the same. Some hidden vengeance or unsatisfied curiosity must have slipped into the crenulations of the verses without Duffy realising, it’s life drawing on his long years of anguish to feed it’s vibrant answer to the flame-bound’s gargantuan talent.

Duffy’s cantoris ended the split second the first of the rampant and chaotic notes struck home. In all honesty, the bard had not expected any of them to connect; they were just a distraction rolling idly towards his opponent to allow him the fortune of drawing blades with the hot-headed barrier between death and victory. As the gap closed, however, the man soon recovered, though injuries mounting on top of one another, and drew something from nothing into twin branches of flame.

Giving up any hope of a nice quick witted deliverance of a closing line, Duffy almost tripped forwards into a roll, giving nothing away in his movements until the very last seconds.

Here goes nothing old chap!

He entered two full rotations before he came within reach, rolling under a swing and into the brazen brands, but not before he slammed his foot down to stop his motion and brought the blades of his trusted daggers blistering quick and up into Richard’s stomach area.

The Rolling Stone was not the most elegant of tricks he had up his metaphorical sleeves, but it was the only thing that allowed him any leverage to slip under the man’s guard.

“Ayah!” He roared cheekily as Tooth and Nail lunged.

Dancing colours leapt over his pallid face as the flames illuminated his intent finally.

[Lord Anglekos]

His arms shook. His legs trembled with the effort of staying awake. Sweat veritably poured down from his soaked hair from the efforts of retaining his inner flame and it doused his blackened gi, making it stick to his hot skin. And yet, he ignored it all. Glaring like the cornered animal that he was, Richard bared his teeth at the oncoming songster in silent challenge, fist remaining connected to the floor even as his opponent apparently tripped into an over exaggerated roll towards the pyromancer. If he wished for an element of surprise, however, that element had been far long lost on the youth, and Richard was not standing idly by when this Duffy eventually slammed his foot down and stepped into a vicious, quick forward stab. By the second rotation the Flamebound had already dashed off to his opponent's left, careful to do so by the time Duffy's vision would be perfectly obscured, and like the swordsman he'd defeated not a minute earlier he took to the air, stepping off of one of the remains of the ruined pews nearby to gain leverage.

He knew he only had one strike left in him; he'd have to make it count. Twisting his body around appropriately, the Flamebound turned upon the now-exposed back of his bardic foe in the air, the milliseconds ticking by it seemed to him like slow-motion. I have not forgotten the face of my father! He shouted desperately at the nothingness within the depths of his mind, defiant against the encroaching darkness that even now pulled at the corners of his vision. I be victorious! I be strong!

His snarl of wrath and defiance seemed to flicker momentarily upon his face into a grin worthy of any battle-sadist, and the flickering flames all about him and his foe cast ominous shadows on the youth's hard visage. "Begone, dandy!" He let loose those two words at his foe's idle back even as the twin daggers ahead of Duffy pierced naught but air, and a second before Richard made contact with the ground again at Duffy's back he let loose with everything he had left, drawing upon both the burning desire within himself and the flames that burnt like a howling pack of wolves around the arena with his simultaneous roar of effort.

His palms extended both forwards, the heels of his hands pressed against one another, his fingers curled inwards like a foreign martial arts, and from this extended stance fire unleashed itself without mercy at the bard's back; indirectly aiming, without Richard's knowledge, at the very box of fluid the man had earlier lit to cause the fire that had almost swallowed the pyromancer beforehand. By himself, Richard couldn't set loose a very large amount of flame - he was lucky to produce a two-foot large fireball - but most of his will hadn't gone towards the creation of the flame but rather both outwards and forwards; so as the blast streaked from his hands towards his opponent at sling-comparable speeds, the sheer heat, kinetic force and intensity of the fire vibrated with destructive potential.

Even as his final attack left his being, Richard felt himself fall to one knee rather than see it. His vision was blurred now with the infection of exhaustion, darkness closing quickly on him, and he no longer had the energy left to stay awake to see if his last, desperate blow was successful or not. Panting, the world swung wildly before what little vision he had left as his head connected to the floor, and that last sudden impact finally pushed back the final vestiges of youthful defiance in his mind and let the darkness in.

His last thought, as the burning heat of his own flames came perilously close to scorching his own skin, lying amongst and next to the burning rubble from his first blast, was how his father would be proud of him.

[Duffy]

Not again!

Duffy, as an immortal, though one that had to die to be reborn in a constant cycle of half-lives had become rather used to the notion of dying. When the flame, vibrant and collected into a piercing inferno as it was, washed over him, he couldn’t help but feel cursed.

Fire, it seemed, was his ending of choice.

He had been burnt alive by his own flame, or by the fires cast by others too many times to count, he had even sacrificed himself to create flame in the bitter hopes of saving others caught in the swirl of the Citadel’s melee, all to no avail.

As he let out one last bitter refrain, a melodic cry that combined his anguish at having missed with his reckless advance, and his suffering beneath the glare of the heat that engulfed him, he thought of only one thing.

The franking irony!

Even his thoughts had a Scara Brae twang.

Had they been responsible for the flames of war that kindled them more and more on their own volition? They lapped at the aisles and rose up the rotten tapestries of the citadel of faith with impervious, unending advances to the lofty heights of the tall spires that went miles up into the metaphorical stratosphere.

War and death could ignite passion as quickly and more efficiently as love, tenderness and caring. He had seen it all, five centuries of emotion, but never had they given birth to the intensity of the rage that had slipped so freely from the flame bound man’s fingertips.

Duffy felt honoured, even as he fell backwards in a spin amidst a whirl of flame that was brutally efficient at ripping through the feeble defence his clothing afforded.

And so the final curtain falls.

His skull cracked with a satisfying impact against the cracked stone where his vigorous and uplifting song had smashed the fabric of the monk’s magic with ease. The splinters of granite pierced his brain, splitting atoms and thoughts and teasing out rivers of blood like creative juices flowing.

Even to the very end and even whilst his limbs twitched and his skin burnt to a crisp, one thing never disintegrated into ash at the heart of the fire.

That cheeky little grin that declared he was still having fun to the world.

[Lord Anglekos]

When Richard opened his eyes, he found himself in a place that was terrifyingly familiar.

He sat on a bench amongst a completely empty void. The sheer whiteness of the room would have astounded him, had he not known what to expect upon looking around. There seemed to be no tangible end to the place; even as he put his feet down over the edge of the bench, he got the impression that there was only the illusion of ground because he wanted there to be one. He reached up, brushing the hair out of his eyes, and noted briefly that all of his clothing was missing, along with his gauntlets and blade. It worried him little, though; he had a pretty good idea of where he was, after his previous bout in the Citadel.

"...I be dead, huh?" His voice, although soft and bitter, resonated throughout the white realm with a power he didn't feel. Even though his body was rested and his stamina restored, at least in this metaphysical appearance, his mind felt weary at the revelation. He'd hoped at the very least he wouldn't have to visit this place again, but apparently something had happened that had caused his soul to be embraced by Death yet again. And speak of the devil, even as he vocalized his tired thoughts, he could hear the slow advance of footsteps, soft and bonelike, at his back. "This be a familiar sight."

Indeed it is. The voice that emanated from Death's classic specter was, as Richard's last visit had revealed, surprisingly feminine; little more than a whisper drifting along the wind. It slid into his ears, and unlike last time he did not give the specter the gratification of his shock; instead, the pyromancer turned around to gaze up at the nie-empty cowl of the cloaked figure standing silently before him. Skeletal hands grasped a scythe to the faceless figure's breast, but while there was little but ivory bone along Death's hands and feet soft flesh seemed to cover what little of the being's face Richard could see; a pair of plush lips that belonged to what he would guess a human woman pasted upon ivory flesh, the crimson flush of life long gone from those cheeks. Even though those lips did not move, he could hear "her" voice as clearly as if she'd spoken them aloud. Unfortunately.

Richard's boyish visage scowled. The last time he had died in the grips of the Citadel, he'd had to undergo a similar process, and his conversation with this being he now referred to as "Death" had been limited to his own faults. "It not be like I enjoy being here either." He snapped petulantly at his keeper, wrapping his arms around his legs in adolescent self-consciousness.

To his surprise, however, the specter moved and, in a very human-like motion, took a seat next to the "dead" Flamebound, leaning her ominous-looking sickle still against her body as she did so. At his comment, a single skeletal hand waved forth into the air, and Richard blinked in surprise at, again, just how human the motion was. It's not you. Death replied calmly, almost sadly; there was a motherly inflection in her supernatural tone that seemed to make the air warmer around the chilled youth. I am simply seeking to meet... another. Death's cowl turned to face him, and there was a thin smile there that seemed out of place for such a terrifying presence. You did well, though.

"I died." His tone was flat in response. He had no idea what she was talking about, "seeking another", but it was none of his business; he already had his hands full with life. Now that the conversation had turned back to him, he could feel his bitterness seeping through as he clutched his legs tighter to his chest. "I failed. Isn't that what matters?"

Only because you pushed past your own limits. Death lifted a single bony finger pointedly, jabbing it like a teacher at Richard's skull. He flinched and jerked backwards, but she made no move of trying to touch him and continued forth with her speaking. Your heart couldn't take the strain, and gave out. Had this not been the Citadel, you and I would be taking a long and lonely trip together. The single bony hand retracted back into the folds of the midnight-black robe, and the shoulders moved as if the being was sighing. Your power is not the issue, Richard; it is your control. That is why you are weak.

Richard twitched as if he'd been struck physically. Death's words hurt, but they were true; looking back on his fight, he'd been loosing fire without care, without real control. He may as well have been stabbing himself for all the good it'd done; he didn't even know if he'd managed to defeat the dandy before falling into darkness. Glancing up at the specter's hooded form, a thought formed in his mind. "This be twice now we've had conversations about me. Who be you? Really? I find it hard to imagine the great Death taking any true interest in me." His words were calm and cutting, but underlying it was a shiver of fear that even he could not repress.

The being chuckled, and the sound vibrated around the duo like a physical force, causing Richard to curl up further still. I know your doubts well, and they are justified. Nay, both I nor my brethren usually directly interfere with the matters of mortals. The hood looked back to Richard, and he subconsciously scooted away slightly. And I am not at the liberty to speak to you of our own. However, I can say this. Your journey to find your father will inevitably cross paths with many a dangerous power, and you and I will meet again.

Even as she continued to speak, the knowledge that Death knew where his father might be impacted him like a hammer. He could feel the inevitable claws of darkness tearing him away from this realm of in-between life and death and back into the material world, shadows growing at his vision yet again as he tried to reach out towards the specter in order to hold on. "Wait! You know where my father is?"

But Death gave him nothing in reply but a small, tired smile, as life came flooding back into his material body yet again and he was returned to the realm of the living.


~+~


Standing outside the Citadel, now dressed completely and wearing his equipment as if they'd never been gone, the azure-eyed youth stared hauntingly out at the ever-busy city of Radasanth from his perch above it, the growing dusk making the lamp lights and flames of street magician parlor tricks burn ever brighter in the coming night. The words of the being that called itself Death haunted him as well; after all, he was but a Soulbound boy, a mere mortal who knew not his place in the world. He just wanted to find his father, and make him proud.

Staring at his hands, Richard's fist clenched as he recalled what she said about strength, and power. I be weak. It was a fact that would constantly stay with him as long as he didn't learn how to properly control himself. But how could he, when he had so much anger inside him?

With that question remaining unanswered, Richard stayed there standing upon the giant stone steps until nightfall, letting the darkness embrace him and cloak his thoughts in anonymity.

Final post. Been a great run guys.

[Amen]

We Didn’t Start The Fire…Or Did We?
by Lord Anglekos, Relian Tydonus, Duffy Bracken, and Archanex Jotham

As per your request, this will be a full rubric judgment with very light commentary where appropriate. Also per your request, I’ll rank you at the end based on your scores.

****

Story

LA – 6
RT – 5
DB – 5
AJ – 5

There’s not a lot of room for a solid storyline in competitive, unplanned writing, but LA stood out because he managed to repeatedly incorporate themes (his father, his weakness, his recklessness). Battles are inherently chaotic, you can’t plot anything out when your co-writers are pointedly trying to surprise you, but try to do something more than describe the action when possible and don’t forget what the events mean to your character.

Strategy

LA – 6
RT – 6
DB – 6
AJ – 5

I especially like that Relian and Jotham took the hits when it made sense.

Setting

LA – 5.5
RT – 4
DB – 4
AJ – 3

For the most part, your surroundings were only described as they related to your individual characters, and never in great detail. What’s going on in your character’s head in important, but what’s going on around him is important (perhaps more important, in a fight).

Plot Construction Totals

LA – 17.5/30
RT – 15/30
DB – 15/30
AJ – 13/30

****

Continuity

LA – 6
RT – 6
DB – 6
AJ – 5

I expected a lot of screw-ups and misunderstandings in a fight with four people, but for the most part you guys managed to keep the details straight. Duffy’s mood doesn’t seem to shift as events change around him, that’s part of his character, but everyone else might find it helpful to read their previous post in a battle before writing the next so that you’re both reacting to new events and remaining consistent with what your character was thinking and feeling before.

Interaction

LA – 4
RT – 4
DB – 4
AJ – 4

Logical and consistent across the board, for the most part. I would have been delighted if the effects of the smoke had been taken into account more. Smoke can be just as deadly as fire, but it was treated more like an obstacle than a threat, and the rapidly spreading fire was mentioned but never as a major threat. Make sure you're interacting with your environment as much as the other characters.

Character

LA – 6
RT – 5.5
DB – 6
AJ – 5.5

Characterization Totals

LA – 16/30
RT – 15.5/30
DB – 16/30
AJ – 14.5/30

****

Creativity

LA – 6
RT – 5
DB – 5.5
AJ – 5

LA described the smoke as being “spongy” in this. Really tangible, I like it.

Mechanics

LA – 4
RT – 6
DB – 5
AJ – 4

You guys used spell check and I appreciate it, but be sure and reread your posts for improper auto-corrects and words that are spelled right but aren’t the ones you were going for (somehow, two of you separately misplaced “fist” and “first”). There were errors or grammatical weirdness in every post here. Make sure you’re not using the thesaurus willy-nilly; words with similar meanings aren’t always synonyms. Word choice and conciseness are important; make sure you’re choosing the best word, and the word you choose is conveying what you want it to. Watch comma placement. Remember that they are taken as pauses in the sentence.

Clarity

LA – 4
RT – 6
DB – 4
AJ – 4

LA, watch for run-ons. Mechanically your sentences are for the most part okay, but there’s more to a run-on than the placement of your noun-subject-verb. Trust me when I say this is something I personally struggled with for years. Also watch your paragraphs – there’s nothing wrong with a long paragraph if you’re following a single thought involving a single subject, but anytime you feel the focus shift even slightly, consider starting a new paragraph. DB, I had trouble following what you were saying in a few places, usually due to poetic turn of phrase. I’m not saying don’t use them, they’re a natural and deeply personal part of your writing style, but be sure your reader is going to take the right idea away. I would also suggest the use of hyphens in certain cases.

For example, taken from Post #20:


He pictured his monkey like clambering over the rooftops of Scara Brae

“Monkey-like clambering” would flow much more clearly. I first read this in a valley-girl accent. "He pictured his monkey, like, clambering over the rooftops." She was a hot valley girl, though, so it was okay in the end.

AJ: like LA, I would suggest trying to separate your paragraphs a bit more than you do, and make an effort to devote each paragraph to revealing one thematic thing to the reader at a time. From time to time it feels as though Jotham’s thoughts are bouncing around, which can make it difficult to follow what you’re trying to tell us.

Writing Style Totals

LA – 14/30
RT – 17/30
DB – 14.5/30
AJ – 13/30

****

Wildcard

LA – 5.5
RT – 5.5
DB – 5.5
AJ – 5.5

****

GRAND TOTALS

LA – 53
RT – 53
DB – 51
AJ – 46

Lord Anglekos and Relian Tydonus tie for first place. Duffy Bracken takes second, with Archanex Jotham in third.

If you have any questions about my commentary, please feel free to PM me.

Thanks guys!

Lord Anglekos gains 550 EXP and 900 GP.
Relian Tydronus gains 375 EXP and 900 GP.
Duffy Bracken gains 165 EXP and 700 GP.
Archanex Jotham gains 165 EXP and 450 GP.

[Yari Rafanas]

EXP and GP added

Lord Anglekos reaches level 2!