Round 1: Solomon Vs Zerith

[Silence Sei]

You each have two weeks to complete your battle. May the best man win!

[Solomon]

“Have any of you been wondering how you can change your life? What are the secrets the successful use that they don’t tell us about?”

Solomon took a breath, remaining quiet as the presentation continued. He dug his bare toes into the woodwork to keep himself sturdy as the swells rocked the ferry. He had one job: stand strong and erect for the exhibition. If there was ever a job so simple he was bound to ruin it somehow; misfortune had been his only reliable companion in these recent weeks.

“Ya see them in the Citadel, ya see them in our Empire’s forces, and you’re thinking to yourself: How do I get a body like that?”

The speaker on his right, Erik, passed him a discrete wink. Solomon redoubled his grip on the ship’s main deck as it dipped into another tough, the tension in his feet causing him to twitch. Never in his days would he have believed standing still would prove such a challenge, but today accomplishing this was far more important than most of what he’d lived through.

“We would like to introduce you to our main man, Solomon!” The man on his left, Reid, gave a grand gesture with his hands. “Fresh from Corone’s citadel, the world famous no-holds-barred battle ground with another victory under his belt. This man stands at an unshakable six foot three, two hundred and twenty pounds!”

Solomon stepped forward, eyes down. He reared his pectorals and then flung his arms into the air, popping his biceps towards the sky. The crowd stirred, Solomon filled his mind with the tremors of his muscles to save himself from the murmurs of awe and cynicism. Fighting the flush swelling in his cheeks he concentrated on his prize; the reason he had agreed to appear topless in front of the ferry’s customers and crew.

“Solomon, mate, what’s your story? Tell the good people how ya got to be one of the citadel’s reining champs?”

“Dedication to a craft.” After a lengthy pause Solomon finally spoke up. “I have been using Hyportine-“

“Hyportine, along with dedication to his craft!”

“And it’s been Hyportine that’s delivered ya craft to its current state, eh?”

His brain twittered and hummed. He’d only met these apothecaries four days ago and had barely seen any effects from their ‘wonder herbs.’ Now he was a citadel champion? They hadn’t even gotten his height and weight right, was that a mishap or were they laying out some kind of trick?
At a loss of anything else to say, Solomon nodded his head.

“A man of few words, ain’tcha Sol?” Erick chuckled. “But these results, well, they speak for themselves eh?”

Solomon lowered himself and flexed again. This time the crowd was warning to what Reid and Erik were saying; there was whistling and whooping over his next few poses. The two herbalists passed around their scrolls, depicting their miracle medicine while Solomon depicted his Salvar home in his mind. If he didn’t bring a payment to the state soon he’d default; his home and everything he’d gathered would be lost.

Trying to keep his head in the game he performed a few high kicks and aggressive forms; delighting the audience as the read about what their hosts handed to them. He accumulated a modest applause with his techniques, only to lose it to the spray of a high rolling wave.

“I know the weather threatens to turn, but we’ve one more demonstration for ya folks…” Erik grinned. “Many of ya are fighting types yourselves, I know this, that’s why we came…”

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are going to show you how a warrior armed with Hyportine can outmatch any warrior of any skillset.”

“Who’ere thinks they can take on our Mr. Solomon? Give it a try, if ya win, there’s one hundred and fifty gold pieces in it for ya!”

“And if you lose, that’s even better, because you’ll be given a free trial vial of Hyportine to make you more than ready for your next match.”

“How ‘bout it folks? Any takers?”

“Anyone at all?”

Solomon stood firm, strong and forward. He scanned the faces in the crowd; the money they offered was his cut, providing he won. They had assured him it was in their best interest to make him look good, they had promised to pick out an ‘easy one,’ but Solomon knew that as long as any his prize was at risk none of these potentials could be considered an ‘easy one.’

[Zerith]

“Can you believe the bullshit they’re saying?”

“Huh, what who is saying?” Zerith asked as he turned away from staring out at the water and toward his immortal friend, Jensen Ambrose. The enigmatic immortal’s distraction caused the halberdier to suddenly lose his train of thought, as up until that moment Zerith wasn’t paying any attention to either the presentation or his friend. Instead his mind had been focused on the whole reason the two of them were even on board the ship.

The Serenti Invitational.

The warder had competed in it years ago, but was knocked out in the first round. Of course, back then he was younger and nowhere near as experience as he was now. So when Sei Orlouge not only told him that one from the Ixian Knights was invited, but that he also wanted the general of his army to enter it in order to try and coax some new recruits into join their cause, Zerith practically jumped for the opportunity. The prince brought Jensen along only for this trip, using the excuse that the immortal would act as a bodyguard to him as he travelled to the competition. Besides, Jensen had been looking for an excuse to get of the castle anyways.

The immortal nodded his head toward the presentation. “Those guys,” he replied before he laughed and began to imitate Erik’s lively voice. “Just take Hyportine regularly and you be able to best any warrior in Althanas. Just pay no attention to the side effects, which may or may not include anal leakage.”

“Whatever,” Zerith answered just before another high wave spilled over and onto the deck. “Can I just focus on the tournament? I don’t want to get knocked out so early.”

“Right, that red-haired chick you told me about,” Jensen chimed in. “To be honest, you never struck me as the type that would lose to a girl,” he teased.

“Shut up, Jensen,” Zerith snapped before he turned back to look out at the water. It had been so long since the last time he had been on a boat that he wanted to just relax and enjoy it. He never thought it would be so refreshing to be able to smell the sea breeze and feel the cool air as it brushed against his face. The rocking of the ferry wasn’t too bad either, though chances were some people in the crowd weren’t exactly sharing the same opinion as they lurched over the railings and emptied their stomachs. It was for their sake that the halberdier hoped it wouldn’t be much longer until they would see the first signs of their destination across the horizon. After that he would knew it wouldn’t be much further to the Serenti.

“Hey, why don’t you take the challenge?”

“Hmm? What did you say?” Zerith asked as he could vaguely hear what Jensen muttered.

“I said why don’t you take the challenge those guys are offering?” the immortal repeated. He pointed at the towering form of Solomon, “Go take on that guy, he doesn’t look so tough. Ta’gaz would eat him for breakfast.”

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why the hell not? You could probably use a nice warm-up before your tournament actually starts, right?”

“True, but I still don’t think-“

“I’VE GOT A TAKER RIGHT HERE!!” Jensen yelled as he grabbed hold of Zerith’s arm with one hand, and the prince’s halberd that leaned against the railing beside them with the other and began to pull them toward the stage as every person in the crowd turned to see who was shouting.

The halberdier couldn’t believe this was actually happening. His armoured boots thudded on the wooden deck beneath him as he reluctantly took every step towards Erik, Reid and the monk. Part of him wanted to punch Jensen in the face for not stopping to listen to him, but as he thought about it he realized that the immortal did make a good point. Zerith really was in need of a good warm-up before the Serenti began, as he really didn’t want to deal with another bruised ego again. Even though he knew he probably wouldn’t encounter that redhead, Asuka Murakama, again, he knew that if he got knocked out so early a second time he would never heard the end of it. Jensen would make sure he never forgot it too.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I have the pleasure of letting you all know we’re in the presence of greatness today.” Jensen began as he started making a spectacle once the two warriors had made their way onto the stage. “Because it is a privilege that we don’t just have a Knight with us today, but a prophesied General of the Ixian Knights.”

As expected, Jensen said true to himself and began to make a show of his introduction. His gestures were wild, and he constantly walked back and forth across the platform as he told his story, “You see, I first met this man in the Citadel. Where he was brave enough to stand toe to toe against the legendary Lizard, Ramah Quenzacotl, and with the favour of the Thaynes themselves he was able to overcome all odds.”

“This man is unlike any other!” he exclaimed as he threw his arms into the air, his trenchcoat flailing around wildly. “Born a nobody in a tiny village far from here, he somehow managed to woo the heart of a princess and become a prince himself. Living proof to any child that some fairy tales we tell them can actually happen.”

“Jensen! Drop the act!” the warder hissed.

“Don’t just take my word for it though!” the immortal cried before he spun around and toss Zerith his halberd. “This man’s skill with polearms is legendary, unparalleled with anyone throughout Corone, Raiaera and Alerar! With his halberd alone he has crushed armies single handily, and could easily cut down any of the Forgotten Ones in mere minutes. So our friend Mr. Solomon here doesn’t stand a chance against five feet ten inches and one hundred seventy pounds of solid strength before you add the armor and a fine weapon like his famous halberd. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Zeeeerith Dracosius!” he shouted, doing a flawless job of impersonating a professtion announcer.

The crowd didn’t know what to make of the introduction, and after a few seconds of bewilderment they applauded mostly because they didn’t know any other way to react to such a display. Jensen Ambrose outdid himself, though he was particularly proud of how he hung onto that last syllable at the end. Zerith wasn’t so impressed with himself on the other hand, even after hearing how awesome he apparently was. Leaning over so only his friend could hear him; the warder wasn’t shy enough to express his own opinion of what Jensen did for him. “You’re a dick.”

“And you got some money to win for us,” The immortal added as he turned to face the halberdier and gave him a quick pat on the shoulder before walking off the stage. “Good luck, buddy. Make me proud.”

With no idea as to what he found himself committed to, the prince resolved that he would just have to play things by ear from that point on. Standing straight, Zerith turned to face Solomon and gave a slight bow. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that. May the best man win, I suppose,” he added before he gripped onto his halberd with both hands and took his usual stance. The titanium blade pointed as his opponent crackled with electricity it leapt and arced across the metal, hinting at the power the weapon had.

“So much for a nice, relaxing ride on the ferry.”

[Solomon]

“Listin’ up mate, this needs to be quick and painful! I cut a deal with a couple healers on board so don’t hold out on us, right? Do him in!”

“Who are the Ixian knights?”

“Whoa, you’re not worried are ya?” Erik slapped him on the back, wincing a little as his deltoids offered no give. “All that stuff he said about him was made up. Trust me. It’s all for show. I want to see you break those girly little arms of his, kay?”

Erik slipped away. Solomon took in a spray of salt water air, lowering himself to ride the arcs and drips the ship muscled through. The crowd that had surrounded his approaching opponent drew back once the polearm was revealed; everything the knight’s enthusiastic host had chimed wove through his mind as he looked at the polished blade trying to contain its other worldly powers.

The sun bowed to a sheet of cloud the kicking west wind had rolled in. Zerith was preparing himself; hands gliding along the length of his weapon to a perfect spread for power and position. His company obviously hadn’t been lying.

And this is Solomon, the last child from a fallen star. His body can withstand bludgeoning, slicing and burning; a single punch can crack the trunk of a tree! With a push from his palm he can grind matter down to its pieces. The only thing he owns has been seized by the crown, clap your hands if you give a damn…

Zerith, an offsetting gleam in his eye, offered his humble greeting. Almost simultaneously Reid crept in and pushed a bottle into his hands.

“Indeed, I wish you the best of luck brave sir.” Reid answered on his behalf. Solomon examined the bottle, the front label read in large letters HYPORTINE. He spared a glance to his company, although Reid seemed to predict it and gave him a nod of assurance. When they had given him the notes for their potion they had advised against taking it right before physical exertion, nonetheless as Solomon took a sip he realized their game. He took a hefty gulp of the water, tossed the bottle back and kicked his pectorals up in Zerith’s direction.

Erik had taken the liberty of ushering the crowd back; they had a roughly a twelve foot radius, Solomon had a little less as he stood with the captain’s mess behind him, but their arena stretched roughly from there to the thirty foot mast. Spectators made up the rest of the ship, crowding behind the sails or watching several feet away on the upper deck. He began moving around in their stare down, following the audience’s pleas that one of them do something, but he dared not make a hit.

Like a spider on a leaf the polearm was poised; hanging between Solomon and Zerith’s breakable bones just begging for him to cross the threshold. He kept his hands to himself, moving with the sway of the waves in full defense of his person. So long as Zerith had the blade ready he would not risk striking. Zerith would take the first swing, or two; his reflexes were sharp enough to evade, especially if he was anticipating. Once Zerith had exercised his manoeuvers Solomon would make a disarming strike; once he got around the edge to the shaft the weapon posed minimal threat and the knight’s hands were suddenly vulnerable. A quick twist of the wrist, followed through with a thrust from his palm, and the weapon would be in his own hands. It was a novice technique; he could have it accomplished within seconds if he had the opening.

Solomon stalked, his inner self aligning the position of Zerith’s hands and feet, attempting to forecast the strikes he could make and the potential for an opening. In the farthest part of his mind an emergency plan was beginning to form, but he wanted to make this disarm if he could. Zerith would be hard to fell so long as he clutched that weapon.

[Zerith]

“Don’t worry Z! You got this!”

The support from Jensen didn’t really do much help to the halberdier. Although it was nice to know that the immortal thought that the prince would come out on top, his constant cheers were quickly beginning to be a distraction. “Just sit back, Jensen. I don’t need your coaching.”

As the western wind tossed the brown curls of the halberdier, both the warder and monk began to circle each other. Even as he moved, Zerith’s halberd shifted up and down as he tried to focus on the way Solomon moved his hulking frame. The monk radiated power and experience, making the Ixian Knight believe that every moment the stranger made was for a purpose. In addition to that, it also added the fear of knowing that if Zerith ever made some crucial mistake during this demonstration he would suffer harsh consequences for it. Yet with that last thought in mind, there was really only one question that remained unanswered.

Could Solomon hurt Zerith any more than Ta’gaz already had?

The hand to hand combat trainer of the Ixian Knights was notorious for being frighteningly brutal. He even killed Jensen Ambrose a few times with such little effort that he only needed to deliver a couple blows from his enormous limbs. So in reality, there was a high likelihood that Zerith could withstand anything the monk threw at him. Yet there was still that small portion of his mind that didn’t want to risk it.

The sound of the ferry cutting through the waves filled the warder’s ears as he considered trying to thrust the deadly point of Amenzanil into the poster boy’s torso. But that idea was quickly dropped when the mental image of Soloman merely stepping to the side and breaking Zerith’s arm filled the prince’s skull. There was always the option of trying a slash, but the general feared his opponent would merely step forward and grab onto the shaft his halberd. No, he needed to tread carefully now. He needed to ensure his first move would be something Solomon wouldn’t expect.

“What are you waitning for Z? Roast him!!” Jensen screamed. Suddenly inspiration hit the warder.

“No, I got something better,” Zerith answered as he flash his friend a grin. Hefting the polearm overhead, the prince called on the runes that adorned his trophy. His arms moved as if they were on their own, as the halberdier paid no attention to his own movements but kept his eye on his target. Gradually, he twirled the weapon overhead, faster and faster as he sliced through the air above him. Although he couldn’t see it, Zerith would have sworn he could feel Amenzanil slowly uncoil it’s strength as one particular rune came to life, glowing a bright, pale blue as he could feel a column of wind quickly surround him, circling around him in a rapidly growing tempest.

Woman in the audience screamed, not knowing what was happen and fearing that some sort of storm would suddenly roll in and overwhelm the ship. Husbands merely held onto their hats as they clung onto their wives and children, some being at a simple loss for words. Jensen on the other hand cheered, but then again he always loved the wind to the point where his own fighting style reflected his swift and sudden movements. Up until that moment the immortal never knew that his friend could do what he was doing now, and he thought it was impressive. It was like he was watching Zerith bend the wind itself to follow his halberd.

The halberdier himself was lost in the moment, the loud blowing of the wind flooded his eardrums as it tossed not only his hair, but his dark cloak around savagely. Amenzanil was a blur overhead, hidden by the pillar of air and the rapid movements it made. However, as awesome as the display was Zerith knew that battles weren’t won by the show alone but also by direct action afterwards. So once he felt like everything was ready, he decided it was time Solomon saw for himself if the stories were true or not.

With a thunderous cry, Zerith brought his halberd downward as hard as he could in into the wooden deck. As the titanium embedded itself into the floor with ease, the column of wind followed the direction of its summoner. It rolled forwards, shaping itself to a miniature tornado and it rushed across the ship towards the monk. Zerith had successfully done it, he had bent the wind according to his will and threatened to knock Solomon off the ship with it.

While the crowd screamed again and Jensen pumped the air with his fists, the halberdier did neither. Instead he watched and waited, anticipating Solomon’s reaction and counter.

[Solomon]

The charismatic cavalier, wasn’t going to take the advance. His feet only edged around their perimeter while his hands guiled along the weapon almost in reflection to Solomon. The knight had anticipated the possibilities of their positioning; but as Solomon tuned the last of the mechanisms in his backup system Zerith went ahead and called down the thunder.

The crowd went from taunting and banter straight through to gasps of terror and awe. Energy whipped around Zerith in a rapid cyclone, unleashing exactly as that.

The formidable gale whisked up in a collection of dust and spray. The man who’d accompanied the Ixan hadn’t stopped cheering and directing his friend, who was considerate to turn his head from his opponent and answer the invitation to ‘roast him.’ That whole time Erik had heckled him to hit while Reid provided an ongoing commentary of what their herbs were doing to Solomon’s body. They had seen Solomon’s physical prestige in the interview; cheering delightedly as he broke slabs of stone for them, kicked high and clear over their heads in a polished side or backflip. Now they gawked in silence as a towering windstorm threatened to sweep out their lucky horse and suck up their stake.

It was him on his own, as it had always been. The energy Zerith summoned blinked a danger light in his sensory. Reflexes primed, his knees and feet clicked loaded and as the blade cut the deck Solomon whipped around the thin twister as it burst over the sideboard and snaked out into the sea. He wished Arrye had offered to come. Even if he wasn’t cheering he would at least have otes for him to review; what about Rakiet? The good friend he hadn’t seen in years! He’d shut those hecklers up!

“Ya gonna have to try harder than that! Hyportine’s just too quick for any sorta Hocus Pocus. Ha!”

Erik held out a very proud thumbs up which Solomon ignored. Having landed himself nearer the Captain’s Mess he made a grab for weatherworn rope which tied together a small hoard of barrels and ripped it out of place. Immediately the slant of the ship sent them rolling towards Zerith and the crowd, jiggering about as the troughs countered the direction. Solomon had held one with his hand which he furiously stepped forward and threw high Zerith’s direction. Another he’d stopped with his foot he hurled hard and low, determined to knock the knight clear off his feet.

As he made to charge the rock of the ship slighted his footing and his advancing foot fell behind him to save a fall to the deck, losing him any opportunity the barrels may have bought him. Only if he knocked Zerith over would he be able to advance without fear; if not he could go back for the rope, frayed as it was, and daze the dungeon crawler with the whip until he could steal an opening.

[Zerith]

As he watched Solomon evade his tornado with ridiculous ease, a small dash of frustration touched the halberdier. Although it was brief, there was that single instant where Zerith actually believed he would end the little spar in the first move. What a feat that would have been, walk away a leave a monk on the ground without him ever having the chance to throw a single punch. “Oh well,” he thought. “Maybe know they’ll drop the act and start taking me seriously.”

Apparently they didn’t, as another pitch for Hyportine was thrown out to the crowd. Yet the warder paid no attention to Erik or Reid and instead remained focused on his opponent as he moved into action. For such a bulkier frame when compared to his own, the man moved with incredible speed. He even had a sharp mind too, as he quickly retaliated in a way Zerith didn’t expect. With a quick tug on a rope, Solomon sent the barrels on the ship toward the Ixain Knight and the audience, even going through the trouble of sending two in the prince’s direction at different levels. It was clever and unexpected, improvisation at its best in the halberdier’s mind.

However Zerith’s mind was also faster than any amount of momentum those barrels could have developed. While some of the containers threatened to collide into some innocent bystanders, the noble’s focus was directed on immediate danger of the one thrown at him. His free arm rose, palm facing outwards toward the large projectile and his thoughts literally did all the heavy lifted from there. The barrel froze in midair just as it was within a few feet of the warder as if some giant, invisible hand had grabbed onto it. Rendered harmless in an instant, it continued to hover as long as Zerith willed it to.

“I’m pretty sure Hyportine can’t do anything like this.”

Pushing his outstretched arm forward, Zerith quickly threw the barrel back the in the direction it came from. It flew downwards, crashing into the one that Solomon had kicked and knocked them both aside like curling stones. The barrels were dealt with, and now Zerith had the opportunity to make another strike. Of course that was until he was cut of abruptly but the sudden rock of the ferry that caught him completely off guard, causing him to lose his footing and fall to the side.

The few seconds following the tumble were frantic. Instinct kicked in and Zerith immediately climbed to his feet again as he recalled all the times Ta’gaz had pummelled him into submission when the fighter had pinned his student to the ground. As soon as he was standing upright, Zerith yanked his halberd from where it pierced the deck in a desperate attempt to get on the offensive as soon as he possible could. Out of fear for fending off a lethal strike from Solomon, another rune burst to life the moment the halberdier’s hand touched his weapon. The crimson glow hinted as what was about to happen and what Jensen had suggested his friend do earlier.

As he charged toward Solomon, the red rune on Amenzanil burst into flame and quickly engulfed the entire shaft of the polearm. Seemingly unaffected by the heat, Zerith leapt over another barrel as he advanced. He carried himself like a god of war among men, a fairytale hero that was brave enough to face all odds. His hands moved with his action, spinning the halberd around in its own fiery whirlwind of motion. Despite the weight of his armour, it didn’t take long for the prince to cross the deck and find Solomon within his long reach.

Once he knew he had him, Zerith brought as much force as he could into a fierce, horizontal swing at Solomon’s midsection. With luck the electrified titanium would make the man hurt. The inferno that the halberdier brought with him would be his backup plan.

[Solomon]

His feet kicked in after an interlude of unwillingness; the steep of the ship had knocked his opponent prone and given him a moment’s advantage of incline. Having seen Zerith hold out a hand to stop the barrel Solomon’s wind had nearly died. He lost a precious moment to hesitation; the stories his host had recounted seemed less unlikely by the minute. Did he, a hermit from Salvar, really stand a chance?

Still he took the opportunity that Zerith had lost. His mind’s eye cast out before him, following the movement between Zerith and his weapon and timed it against his own clock. The knight was back on his feet but still without weapon, there was risk, but Solomon bet he could make the odds and beat the seer to it. He charged, Zerith played quicker; his bare feet slapped the deck as his play bust before him suddenly wishing he’d backed out sooner. Zerith’s swing for the weapon claimed their ground, Solomon drawing back in time on the mercy of the ship which moved in his favour, but the knight would not let him go.

Zerith’s energy intensified. The cool in his eyes whisked away as the polearm exploded into fire, whirling above his head in a torrent of power and majesty. Scrambling backward for ground Solomon rapidly lost his position as the malevolent mage jumped a stray barrel and set his fury free. Receiving the need for rescue his feet surged for a dodge, but instead the muscles curled and sputtered. A new alert blared through his mind; one of the exotic arm’s electric tongues had licked him, his will to move was locked from his own limbs. Solomon’s eyes widened. The streaming line of metal and fire was drawing in. His body trembled, his skin winced as the threat broke through its area of comfort until finally terror shattered the lock on his nerves and yielded him enough movement to pull his abdomen back as the blade made a mockery of his otherwise resilient skin.

The swing finished its course. The energy that had gathered in his feet was released and Solomon made a desperate escape. His attempt to backflip up atop the Captain’s mess failed, but the worry that Zerith’s weapon was on him prompted him to save by grabbing the edge and throwing himself twelve feet up out of harm’s way.

“What do you expect? The blade is made of fire! It was going against his bare-“

“Hyportine ain’t gonna make you immortal, but it will help keep ya alive! Didn’t ya just see our man jump over ten feet into the air?”

“Naw, we saw him scurry up the cabin like a rat!” An unseen spectator made the jeer, prompting a mass agreement from the audience. Those who had been on the fence were now cheering for Solomon’s persecutor, the loudest of them were the crewmen shepherding stray barrels back to a safe corner. They whirled their fists in the air in support of Zerith, inciting him to finish the job.

Solomon’s left arm covered his abdomen. The sting of the wound was getting him with every pulse and every breath. He had pulled back to save the blade from tearing through his internal organs but his skin was cut from one side to the next and had nipped into the underlaying muscle. As his eyes searched the disappointment in the audience, Reid making a desperate attempt to argue something nobody seemed to understand, and Erik passing him a very uneasy glace Solomon’s mind drew a dark curtain between himself and all of them.

His eyes turned to Zerith, but his focus was on the wind and the mist. He spread his feet apart for a stronger position, feeling the galloping winds pulling and nudging the hem of his pants. The darkening clouds were sighing mist out onto the open sea that landed in the growing ranks of whitecaps which steered purposely into the hull of the ship. His right hand closed tight. His heart echoed through him like a drum.

“Why wouldn’t he talk to me?”

“He’s a little…” Arrye hesitated, unsure how to answer the sweating and panting of the unbelievably eager Solomon.

“He’s confused.” Arrye confessed. “He’s been studying the flow of energy, or ‘the great sway’ as he often refers, for many years-”

“Couldn’t he see?” Solomon beamed. “Energy takes on physical form to him. Shouldn’t he see exactly what I felt?”

“He’s an Aura Seer, it’s slightly different.” Arrye prepared. “Energy is a constantly fluctuating, ongoing element which flows from one thing to another, sentient or dominant. He often describes it using colours, a red energy from the light may touch a tree which pulls blue energy from the soil and makes it purple; combing them and giving strength to the tree.”

“I can do that! I can feel energy flowing through me! That’s how I do these kinds of things.” Solomon gestured out to a trail of exploded wood and fragmented glass where a small woodshed once sat outside of Arrye’s monastery.

“That’s not exactly it.” Arrye’s eyebrows lifted. Solomon looked confused, and Arrye followed suit as he summed up an explanation.

“You are gleaning some energy from the elements, but you defy one of the rules he’d come to count on.”

“I… what?”

“The energy you take gets… compounded inside of you.” Arrye explained. “You take one thing and make it two or two things and make them four. You generate a vast amount of energy completely on your own, seemingly from nothing!”

“I can feel it, Arrye.” Solomon attempted. “I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it. It’s like finding a well when you’re thirsty, or falling into a stream and being pulled out into the ocean…”

“Whatever it is we must continue to develop it.” Arrye smiled. “Your species is new to the world, and with abilities like that I have no doubt you will make a miraculous impact.”

The noise of the crowd brought him back from the reverie. The inner drumming was picking up, swelling to a point where his body began to pound in its intervals. The fingers in his clenched fist threatened to burst, yet he focused on keeping them tight and together. Soon the swell took over his body. He could no longer feel the stomach wound. He could no longer feel the wind or the mist. His skin grew hot, sending little streams of mist back into the air as the water touched him. Seconds later light began to break through the cracks of his fingers and his arm squirmed about as if under enormous pressure.

With a glance he told Erik to keep the people back. With an unnerved tip of his forehead he informed Reid and pushed the audience as far back as they could get. One by one their voices silenced as the light turned from pale to bright, Solomon’s eyes were fixed on Zerith. His arm convulsed. Unable to contain any more Solomon closed his eyes and threw his hand forwards; his battle cry drowned by the unearthly screams that came from the blast of light. The initial flash was wide and harmless, but it was blinding. With The Eyes of Life he could feel the personal energy of Zeirth’s and his weapon. The magic in the polearm made it easiest to spot and Solomon poured the attack he had dubbed ‘Eradication’ onto this; a burning star in the blackness of his senses.

Screams shouted out through the air. The audience clamoured back; seeing the wicked, screaming light pulverise the ship’s deck and another still below. Solomon kept on until let the last of his energy had poured out through hand. He would exhaust every last ounce of his power before he let this home get taken away by a glory seeker.

[Zerith]

Even Zerith himself was impressed when Solomon managed to evade any lethal damage from Amenzanil at the last moment. Yet the leap into the air was even more impressive, something the halberdier thought that even Duffy Bracken would admire for a short time. The fighter soared overhead, far out of reach for the warder to even consider trying to swat him out of the sky like an insect. So instead the prince did the only thing he could do, he watched and waited.

Erik tried his best to promote his scam, but the crowd wasn’t buying it anymore. They saw the demonstration turn into the same thing Zerith was seeing it become. It was now just a simple game of cat and mouse. All Solomon had done was wait and evade and he still had yet to make any attempt to throw a single punch. Maybe he was just trying to fight defensively, or maybe a small part of the man knew that he wasn’t goingto win and any superhuman effect Hyportine was just a joke anyways. Whatever his reasoning was, Zerith didn’t care. The one thing that mattered above all else now was winning.

It was his fighter’s mentality, and he was finally overcoming the initialreluctance he experience when he “volunteered” to get to it. The thrist for a victory and to shut Erik and Reid up were becoming his priority, and it reflected in the way he looked at his opponent. His sapphire eyes were cold and distant to the man, making it almost look like everything the halberdier did and every step he took was directed at the purpose of bring the monk to his knees.

Even when Solomon turned his eyes back to Zerith, the warder was already watching him. He analyzed his actions and his stance as if he had put the fighter underneath a microscope. He needed to find some opening or flaw the man carried, anything that would give Zerith the chance to land a unavoidable blow.

Just one good strike, all he needed was just one and the show would be over.

The bizarre moment Solomon did as he told Erik to the keep the crowd back was like a red warning sign that flashed in the halberdier’s head. The monk was finally going to try something, hopefully some sort of offense for a chance. So in order to counter anything the monk would sudden throw at him, be it barrel or anything else, the noble channelled all of the inner strength he could muster to usher in the final few minutes of the bout. One way or another the fight would be over soon, win or lose.

He could feel the surge in power as his muscles convulsed and his reflexes heighten. It was like he thought he could be as fast as Jensen, being nothing by quick movements in the wind that flew by in a blur and falling on something in a flurry of punches, yet be the as strong as towering form of the Revenant, William Arcus. His senses peaked, and effect that could easily overshadow anything Hyportine could offer. A little trick his father taught him, and it didn’t involved taking a sip out of some labelled bottle.

The instant Solomon threw his hands forwards, Zerith ran to his right as fast as his legs could propel him. The screaming audience drowned out his thunderous footsteps as the drummed upon the deck, and the feeling of the wind that blew through his hair as he ran with superhuman speed rivalled all the times he experienced the same sensation on horseback. The trip only took a second, two at most. Yet when after he slid to a stop and thought he managed to come up unscathed from whatever blinding, unworldly light Solomon created, he quickly became disappointed.

For whatever reason, his left had remained in the cone of light and seized up. His fingers refused to move, his arm ignored the order to bend. Yet as disheartening as this harsh strange consequence was, Zerith remind him was still alive. The only problem now was that he hadto figure out how he could use his polearm with one arm. Luckily, he quickly came up with what he considered to be a brilliant idea.

“I wager that Hyportine didn’t make you do that. So now that you’ve proven your wonder drug is useless, can we finish this now?” Zerith said as he tossed Amenzanil to the deck in front of him and drew his reliable sword. At first it would look like a substitute for his weapon of choice, but the prince was sure Solomon would understand what was really going to happen when the warder flashed him a smile and stared down at the discarded halberd.

The weapon trembled for a moment before it steadily rose up off the ground. All it took was a mere picture of what he wanted to do with the object and reaching out for his with his mind. He just needed to imagine the familiar feeling of holding the shaft, sliding his hands glide along its length and the holding the weight it carried. Suddenly the weapon was in his possession again, just not physically.

With a raise of his free arm, Zerith pointed his sword at Solomon and the halberd obeyed it’s master. It flew through the air as if it was wielded by some invisible warrior, with Zerith himself trailing behind it. The polearm spun around and shifted, always in constant motion as it pivoted while it closed the distance to its target. Once it was close, the Ixian Knight raised his blade and rush forwards, eager to join the fray.

As he shouted his battlecry, Amenzanil lashed out like a viper with its own mind and fell downward upon the monk in a diagonal slash aimed for the shoulder.

[Solomon]

The jovial swell, like spring sunlight emanating from the humming of his of his heart, began to fade. His arm rippled, veins pushed toward the surface of the skin. The beam had condensed into a heavy array of light and speed that stuck its target and stole from Zerith the use of his arm; the use of his polearm.

The spectators were finished. Eradication finalized the discord Zerith’s whirlwind had started and sent them all bustling below deck; the simple demonstration was now too volatile a showdown to stick around. Erik and Reid had a similar fear as they stared open mouthed at Solomon who eased himself down to the deck with his opponent, a substantial hole burned into the wood of their arena. The apothecaries stumbled for words, neither of them had a clue of Solomon’s true depth, but as nothing came to mind the noble knight answered for them.

“I wager that Hyportine didn’t make you do that. So now that you’ve proven your wonder drug is useless, can we finish this now?”

Erik prepared to interject but the appearance of the Captain bursting out from below deck with fire in his eyes prompted the both of them to rush over and explain. Zerith, sword in hand, remained undaunted despite his crippling. There was an edge of pride in his grin that was beginning to seem unshakable and although Solomon tried to reflect it the wound shielded beneath his left arm could not let him blow away his clouds of doubt.

The mist turned to rain. Solomon’s grin slighted as the valiant sentry’s polearm rose up on its own and spiraled forward. The scene with the barrels spun through his brain. This was a mental ability; he could extend his control outside of his body but not without penalty! Solomon’s physical prowess had great force on the barrels with little control; the polearm would be precise but slower. That being said it didn’t take long for the blade to cross the divide but when it came Solomon was prepared. Reflexes ready he dipped aside of a predictable angled slash, grabbed the shaft, and tossed it away!

Shame preceded the pain that arched through his veins. He had seen this before in a touring show; a man had kept a primate balancing on a stool with a raise of his metal staff. The monkey had been shocked during training and the knowledge of consequence spared him further harm. Unfortunately the same thing did not register for Solomon. It was as though he had kissed Zerith’s lover, the moments daze linking him to a scene read borrowing from Arrye’s library, and this was the slap in the face she had given her devious courter. Unfortunately it was significantly worse. As stars and spirals filled his vision the beaten nerves flung his arms and fingers wide in a manic attempt to rid himself of torment, sending the weapon toward the sea.

That was it. Solomon’s eyebrows twitched, involuntarily, eyeing the ease emanating from the Ixan Knight. That last blow had done him in. His reflexes were shot, he could no longer slip or jump from side to side, his feet and hands wanted to curl, his stomach wanted to roll and his back was like a shell. As a wave broke the railing, washing white surf around his ankles, Solomon made his final approach. Locked knees and numbing feet marched him on, leaning forward with the sway of the ship. Energy still danced in the core of his body, Eradication had drained much but enough remained to see him through. Reid and Erik waved their hands at him, the Captain sending a hard glare toward their arena.

“Demonstration’s over!” Reid beckoned.

“Pack it in mate, that’s enough!” Erik ordered.

Solomon ignored and closed in on the deadly knight, the ships steep sending the wash along with him. His dodge useless he advanced hard and direct; the sword’s gleam suggested a high caliber metal, it would break his natural defenses, but with only one useable arm it was unlikely Zerith could gather enough force for fatal damage. Solomon’s bones were not easily injured.

Assessing the possible strike patterns Solomon passed Zerith’s threshold. He would give up one of his arms to defend whichever angle Zerith chose while the other delivered the payload: a raised middle knuckle to the sternum. His arm may have lost its dexterity, but it still packed all its force launching off in a single direction, the raised middle knuckle would break his chest and disable his resolve. If he missed the mark, hitting right would cause Zerith to lose power in his last arm. If he hit left, it was hitting the heart, and that may just win him their duel.

The winds pushed the rain down harder. There was no sunlight shinning on them anymore.

[Zerith]

Solomon had somehow grabbed onto Amenzanil like it was just a harmless stick and tossed it away like it was trash. As he watched the action, Zerith couldn’t help but feel like a solid punch had slammed into his stomach. He was sure it would have worked and to see what he thought was a brilliant idea was a painful pill to swallow, especially when it had required so much confrontation to maintain control of the halberd as it moved about.

Yet the monk must have forgotten that Zerith was a adult and not a mere child. So even as Amenzanil disappeared when it was tossed overboard, the halberdier was smart enough to know that the weapon was still there and didn’t just cease to exist. It was more out of fear than anything else when he put all of his concentration to heft his beloved polearm back up into his field of vision and over the railing before dropping it onto the deck. He just couldn’t risk losing the item in the waves. Not when the Serenti beckoned and after he had owned it for so long.

Who would have thought that his attachment to his weapon would lead to his defeat?

With all of his concentration being aimed on his halberd, there was no way the prince could defend himself from the fighter’s assault. In fact, the moment Zerith had successfully dropped his trophy onto the ferry gave him was just before Solomon’s fist collided into his chest. So the fist hit its intended target perfectly. The raised knuckle crashing into the chainmail covering the Ixian Knight’s sternum with all the force it carried behind it. It was a devastating blow, one that made next few seconds in Zerith’s world happy in slow motion.

Although he wasn’t sure, the warder would soon swear to his friends that he was able to feel his sternum crack under the pressure that slammed into it. At the same moment the air in his lungs disappeared and he could barely feel the hilt of his sword slip from his grasp when he dropped it to the deck. The prince feel to his knees shortly afterwards, hand clutched to his chest as he struggled not only to breath but to figure out just what had happened to him. He could hear the crowd gasp in surprise, followed by the sound of footsteps of someone rushing to get closer to him. Suddenly he started to shiver and finally felt cold as the rain soaked his clothing and dripped from his face onto the deck beneath him.

“Hey, asshole!” Jensen bellowed as he ran to his friends aid. His trenchcoat whipped around through the wind and rain violently. The immortal slid to a stop between the two men, using his body as a shield against any further wrath from the monk. “Your bosses said the fight was over. Though if you want to continue to act like a hormonal bull with a raging hardon, I’ll gladly kick your ass for free.”

“Jensen...don’t bother,” Zerith gasped as he tugged on his friend’s coat in order to get his attention.

“Fuck that, Z! If the guy wants be a prick that can’t listen to direction, I say he should get the shit kicked out of him,” Jensen added as he bounced on his feet, eager to get a demonstration of his own started.

“No... just...help me...out of here.”

Although he was reluctant to act, the immortal did eventually turned his back to Solomon after he can given him one of his dirty glares that he usually saved for Cassandra Remi. He picked up Zerith’s sword first and then managed to help the Zerith himself to his feet. The prince had to wrap his only usable arm around Jensen’s shoulder for support, and even then he still wheezed loudly. “Come on folks, show some respect for this guy! He put his body on the line to show you that those guys there were trying to sell you some dirty tricks and cheap shit! My friend here is a real man,” Jensen announced before he turned to look at Solomon one last time. “One of the few rare ones.”

“Cut...the bullshit...and get...my halberd,” Zerith struggled to say. He even laughed at first, but the pain that filled his chest in response to it made him wince.

“Whatever you want, Z. Just hang on a bit and we’ll get you looked at.”

“I’m sorry...if you lost...your mon-.”

“Dude, I don’t give a shit about a few coins.” Jensen injected as he helped the halberdier limp over to where his polearm rested. Once Jensen had managed to pick it up for Zerith, the halberdier immediately let go of the immortal and began to use Amenzanil as a makeshift crutch. “Besides, you should have seen the show you put on. The most important thing is that you’re alright.”

“Thanks...Jensen.”

“Nothing of it, Z” Jensen replied as he scratched the back of his head as he tried to find the best words to follow up with. “But if you insist on paying me back for any money lost, you know you could always just give me a share of any winnings you get at the Serenti. I think thirty percent sounds fair. You know, after figuring out interest and stuff,” he joked.

“You’re still...a dick,” Zerith laughed, causing him to wince again. Together with his friend, the halberdier left both Solomon and the demonstration behind him. He didn’t care if he won or lost anymore now he had made a point and showed everyone there what he was capable of. The only thing that matter to him now was getting to the Serenti and actually competing. The only difference now was that he finally felt ready for it.

[Solomon]

There had been a moment it felt as though the sun was beaming down on him despite the doom and gloom of the surroundings. He kept it resonating in his thoughts now that he was facing off with Zerith’s vehement host, Jensen, in what was less than an inch from becoming a new confrontation. In the instant he passed into the sentinel’s reach and realized the sword would be too late to stop him the victory bells within him rang. His blow crushed its target and brought the end of their challenge. He had beaten the Xian Knight; he armored his glare, brows still twitching, as Jensen’s lips redoubled their barrage.

Coming to his own Zerith managed to convince the brute that he, Solomon, wasn’t worth it. The rain matting his hair, stinging in the slash on his abdomen, he stayed a statue as his beaten adversary was helped through the remainder of the lollygaggers; a final jeer from Zerith’s protector as he was carried away for good.

I built that house when I was sixteen…

Solomon’s eyes twitched. Rainwater trickled its way down to his chin.

I was alone in the wilderness… I was dying, but I built a house. I should have died… but I BUILT THAT…

Watching Zerith carried off by his friend Reid and Erik cut into his line of view. After realizing his mobility was impaired they eased their ushering and lead him towards the Captain’s Mess, closing him off to the cold west wind and the memory of what had only just transpired.

“You went too far, mate. Ya should’ve stuck it to the script! None of that flashy magicks!”

“It wasn’t magic… it’s called-”

“It doesn’t matter Solomon,” Reid interjected, removing a long bandage from his bag and applying it to Solomon’s abdomen. “You went too far! Whatever it was, you almost kicked the floor out of the ferry! The captain had to put a lockdown on half of the lower decks. You almost killed somebody!”

“There’s charges gonna be pressed now!” Erik’s glare was hard. “Captain’s gonna bust in here any minute; if you can’t think up a good enough explanation ya gonna be looking forward to doing some hard labor ta make up for all this!”

His mind had drawn a blank. He feared he might have started to panic; he’d never gotten so aggressive during a fight that a bystander was hurt! What repercussions would there be? What sort of damage had he done? Yet as he sat there searching the grey faces of his supervisors a knock on the door disturbed them all.

“Captin’ knockin’ on his own door?” Erik muddled the though aloud.

“I’m afraid I’m not the captain,” the door opened on a slender man in a dark coat. “I’ve come on business of my own.”

The stranger closed himself in quickly as he came. Erik and Reid, mouths open to protest his presence were duly silenced by a raise of his hand; jeweled rings emanating in the misery of the Captain’s Mess.

“I represent an interested party.” The stranger began. “Have you heard of the Serenti Invitational?”

Reid and Erik exchanged glances. Solomon kept his eyes fixed on the newcomer, trying to ascertain the looming ambiance he had brought into the room with him.

“What’s the Serenti Invitational?” Solomon finally piped up.

“It is a challenge extended only to proven warriors; a competition of excellence amongst Althanas’ finest. I know you are waiting on Captain Issacs so I will be brief. The gentleman you defeated, Zerith Halberdier, he had been invited to participate. If I were to bring news of this defeat to the council, my staff and I may be able to have you compete in his place.”

“…this is all, it’s very tempting.” Reid stammered. “Why though? What’s in this for you?”

“We are sportsmen.” The drab stranger bowed his head. “We are looking for a surefire bet. Someone with Mr. Solomon’s fortitude and skill fit our specifications almost perfectly. It would be a chance for our company to increase revenues, and a chance for you to promote your intriguing new product.”

Reid and Erick continued their silent conversation, blooming eyes bouncing back and forth at one another. However, as the silence lingered in the room the stranger tipped his head once more.

“I can see you’d like to consider this further, no matter. I will meet you again once we make port.” The slender man gripped the door once again, sparing Solomon a long thin grin before departing. “I am very eager to hear what decision you’ve come to.”

The three remained quiet several moments after. As the impending presence the man had left began to fade from his mind Solomon spared a glance to the apothecaries, each of them with slender smiles of their own.

“He gives me a very, chilled, feeling.” Solomon said.

“Come’ on mate, don’t think like that. You need to get your rest!”

“Erik and I will talk to the Captain on your behalf. We’ll take care of this. Don’t you worry, okay?”

[Silence Sei]

Alrighty guys. A note to you, Solomon, your last post was made at 11:45 PM Central time, an hour and 45 minutes after the deadline, so I’m afraid that I can not count your last post in the rubric, but feel free to use it in your continuity.


Solomon/Zerith

Story 4/5: Solomon, as I said, your late conclusion made it to where I could not count it as part of this judgement. As such, your end of the fight was left with no conclusion. Other than that, most of the fight had all the essentials of a good story; A decent introduction (though it by no means gripped my attention), good rising action, good climax wwith Z taking that hit, and a nice conclusion by Zerith. While I wasn’t particularly wowed by any of the elements on their own, I did not see any transition from one area to another that would warrant a missed point (With the exception of that missed conclusion)

Continuity 5/5: You both did pretty average here, touching base on your characters continuity without ever really bogging us down with blocks of information. While that’s good for just your basic score, I would have liked to have seen more of your characters continuity fleshed out from the both of you. How did Solomon actually meet the Hyportine peddlers? Why was Zerith taking a boat when the IK base is in Concordia, and Serenti is just south of Concordia? Questions like this came into my mind but never got answered.

Setting 5/5: Both of you used your settings, albeit a bit sparingly. I would have liked to have seen more of a reaction out of the crowd during the barrel tumble from both of you. Zerith touched base by saying some of the sailors were rigging the barrels back up, but neither of you seemed to actually refer to whether or not a barrel or two toppled over, or how pissed the captain would be that some of his cargo busted on his deck? Hell, just saying that one bystander got hit by one of the barrels would have been enough for an extra point here.

Creativity 5/5: Solomon, using the barrels was a nice touch, but I felt using Eradication from Solomon’s position came off as a very Dragon Ball Z kind of move. If that is what you were going for, then great, but distancing ones self and using a big projectile attack isn’t a very original concept.

Zerith, you did everything I expected Z to do in his situations. There wasn’t anything drastically unique that I’ve seen out of Zerith, but you didn’t have anything just pulled out of your butt for the sake of being creative. Both of you should try to think of some things your characters might do that could take the audience by surprise. If Solomon had used Eradication up close on Z, for example, or if Z would have decided to stop the fight for a moment in order to protect the civilians from any dangerously straying barrels. Simple things like that could change the entire course of a threads scoring.

Character 6/5: You both stayed true to your character, but Solomon’s motivation of allying with swindlers just to pay his mortgage was something new brought to the table. I’m always hearing that the motivation behind fights (Particularly tournament fights) is money, but I never see why the character needs the money. Giving Solomon the reason of trying to keep his home was a nice touch, and it managed to get you the extra point.

Interaction 5/5: I saw several missed opportunities here to interact with things that weren’t of your creative minds. By simply PMing one another and collaborating with some bunnying, this fight could have been absolutely amazing. Instead, it seemed like Zerith and Solomon were the only two people on the ship most of the time, with the occasional comment from the salesmen about Hyportine. I would have liked to have seen Solomon actually use that rope like a whip, like the thought process you had wrote for him, but never followed through on. Z, something as simple as Jensen making his off hand, Rated R comments all during the fight could have helped you as well.

Strategy 5/6: Z taking the hit, as well as the stabbing attempt with his halberd, managed to get him an extra point here. Sol, I just could not buy the grabbing of a weapon flying straight at your character, and then tossing it aside as if it were nothing. Other than that misstep, everything was pretty sound strategy-wise, though.

Mechanics 3/3: I found mistakes in each of your posts during this match. Things like no spaces in between words (Z’s conclusion, for example), to writing ‘know’ when you meant ‘now’, to not typing entire words (Solomon’s first post). A good hint I’ve been giving everybody during this tournament is to type out your post, read it out loud, run it through a spell/grammar checker, read it again, post it, and then read it a third time out loud for good measure. It’s time consuming, but your mechanics score will thank you for it.

Clarity 7/7: Aside from misspellings that caused me to re-read entire paragraphs to try and make sense of one sentence, everything came off pretty clear to me. Just try to watch those mechanics, because they can directly effect your clarity.

Wildcard 5/5: It was a pretty average thread, and I enjoyed reading it. Would I read it again? Maybe, but there have been other fights during this tournament that have held my attention better.

Final Score:

Solomon: 50
Zerith: 51

Solomon gets 450 Exp, 200 GP

Zerith gets 1800 Exp, 100 GP

Zerith Advances to Round 2!

[Silence Sei]

Exp/GP Added. Welcome to level 4 both of you.