Of secret dealings and hidden scripts...(Closed)

[Archanex Jotham]

Archanex found himself in a daze-like state as he awakened on a bed without fully remembering how he got there. It's the effects of The Citadel. He thought to himself, and touched his fingers to his forehead. The Overmage had fought hard to carve out his destiny and what little knowledge that he knew. He was striving to perfect his craft, and turn the teachings of the monks into his own teachings. The Bron was an interesting specimen and a subject worth it's own library of Khal'Jaren, The Thayne.

Now The Bron was not actually just one organism, but rather, a pantheon of many. The Monks, as a cult were an interesting lot that followed the teachings of The Bron. Their High Priests could directly commune with the essence of The Bron, whatever form that actually took. Archanex had never interacted with The Bron before, but he had come across parts of The Bron. To say that The Bronhood was complex was an understatement.

Archanex thought he had a dream.

In his dream, he saw himself in a temple forged with off-world aesthetics. Yet, he recognized Concordia Forest immediately surrounding him. The temple, clearly had Overmage symbols etched upon it's walls. The syntax of the runes were unique to his people. He looked upon the temple for a long time, studying the secrets buried within. However, when he finally deciphered the symbols as he had all other symbols before it, The Overmage unearthed something deep within the temple. And within himself. Archanex spoke of the dream to his handlers, and they were concerned for their fellow student of the knowledge.

He was bed ridden for a short time after his last bout in The Citadel. The recovery process had become an unforgiving one. He'd suffered brutal agony at the hands of that battle royal he'd undergone. It served as a worthy test for The Overmage's skill level and he'd learned a great deal. He learned that he could take on more powerful opponents if he was clever. It seemed, The Citadel was a critical point of his life now. Though he considered himself a Hedge Magus, he was now a critical part of the monk's society. He'd assimilated with their unique culture, and loved his brothers and sisters as much as they loved he. For under The Bron, all souls were perceived with their equal weight of stone on scales.

Archanex found himself at his usual Combat Chamber. The business about his dream was troubling him greatly, so when his handler approached, The Overmage turned to look at him.

"Brother. Why do you suffer so?" The monk carefully asked.

"'Tis that dream I spoke to you about." Archanex said. "The dream compounds my nights and waking thoughts. I feel 'tis an omen like the obsidian clad chariot of a horseman who claims souls." Archanex touched the side of his head for a moment letting his fingertips rest there. "I don't sleep well of late. Despite that I know The Bron is with me." Archanex said, he had a troubled expression on his face.

"Perhaps some exercise would do you some good Brother Archanex. How goes the recovery from your last affair?" The Monk asked.

"I have fully recovered." Jotham said casually. "I am ready for a match at my usual Chamber." Jotham added.

"Very well. Do you have a specific Arena you would challenge?" The monk asked.

"No Brother. Let the chips fall where they may." And Archanex stepped into the empty Chamber. His eyes were soon overwhelmed by the light of The Monk's illusion forces. "Fetch me a suitable challenge." Jotham said and submerged into the light.

[Phantoms-Heart]

The Citadel; it was the crown jewel of the city of Radasanth. Its history and heraldry of battle stretched back far beyond most mortal memory. It was this mausoleum of combat and experience that drew Reginald Crane to this grand architecture.

He ignored those he passed, his crimson red robes billowing from the small gusts of wind that made their way through the streets, his feverish green eyes locked on his current goal. The sallow skin of his sharply angled face was contorted in strong effort of concentration, as he attempted to block out the many whispers that danced through the broken pieces of his mind.

Oh yes, the voices spoke encouragement at times, but now they were nothing but a racket of crying, a chorus of bemoaning fate, and shrieks of uncontrolled hate. The entire discord of living thoughts continued to reflect itself from fragmented synapse fire to broken piece of sanity in a vicious cycle.

Usually the voices were a boon to the mad mage, but today they were an annoyance. Since the moment he had walked into the city, every individual he passed by caused another aspect of the individual noises in his mind to become a wreck. It was simple, they did not like it here. While Reginald did agree with them about the horrendous smells and inferior scum that marched their ways through this putrid city, he had somewhere he wanted to be, and no whining voices, real or imaginary, was going to stop him from reaching his goal.
Soon the apprentice mage stepped into citadels grand hall, the arching columns meeting into the archways while the ornate patterns and murals of battles and the ancient deity’s that Reginald couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

“Welcome to chamber of the Bron, fragmented and broken like those who follow them.” The voices hissed in jealous hate.

Reginald had to giggle at this, the voices in his own head speaking of the weakness of broken and fragmented beings. They had just insulted him, now he had to show them how wrong they were.

His emerald eyes slid across the halls, slipping from passage to passage until they rested upon what he was looking for. A smile peeled itself across his face as he made his way towards a monk who was making his way down the hall.

“Greetings brother,” Reginald said, bowing slightly towards the man before him, his green eyes dancing with a light that one could almost say was predatory.
“I have traveled a long way to participate in this arena of battle and knowledge. If you could please direct me as to the proper area so that I may test my skills.”
Even though he spoke with absolute courtesy, the very act of respect burned within the young mage like a hot coal. The fact that he had to submit himself to a monk like a bumbling fool left a terrible bile within his throat.

However, it gained the result he wanted, the monk bowed in return and led the mad mage to a chamber that was not too far from here.

“Step into the light of thought take over,” the voices whispered softly, just moments before the monk asked if there was a particular arena he would like to battle in.

“A choice of arena, Hmmmm….? No…surprise me with the suddenness of and fury of a lightning strike.”

With that, the light engulfed the chamber and soon Reginald was transported to where his opponent waited for him.

***
The rattle of chains echoed through the area, as the two combatants stood atop a circular pillar of a 30 foot radius, suspended a hundred feet over a floor of spikes. Dangling from the roof another fifty feet above their heads was a mass of chains, angled and contorted around each other so that not a single one intervened in the middle of the battlefield, yet wove themselves into a vile web surrounding the platform, a further ten feet around it.
The swaying of the chains caused an unsettling clatter throughout the air, the sound grating against the participants bones like knives scoring across granite.

It was Reginald’s kind of place.

The combatants stood twenty feet from each other, enough room so that they were not at the edge of doom, yet close enough that they could observe each other.
The man that stood before the mage stood a good three inches above him, and looked like he was of strong physical stature. That meant a problem if there was a need of physical strife.

“Dragons breath would fry this...”

“None of that,” Reginald hissed out loud, silencing the voices for the moment, allowing him to draw his knife and hold the beginnings of an abjuration spell on his lips. He was ready for his opponent, whatever he may try.