Round 1: Skie and Avery Vs The Soulforged

[Silence Sei]

You have 2 weeks to complete this battle. May the best man win!

[Skie and Avery]

The morning the Serenti began, Skie woke from her hotel room. It was strange to slip from unconsciousness in this disjointed manner. She’d grown accustomed to lazily stretching in the arms of her lover, listening to the sounds of Concordia that had greeted her in her younger mornings. His magic kept her safe in their home, and now that she had traveled away from him she knew that she had forfeited that safety. The air had been thick with tension as she wrapped her hands, sharpened her blades and steeled herself against the coming battle. Early morning light kissing her dark tresses, she began to make her way through the town of Serenti to the battlegrounds in which she would be fighting.

“Why?” Castien had asked her the morning before she left. They both knew it was crazy, leaving the sheltering shield of his protection spells to venture across Corone. They both knew her brother still lusted for her death, that she was weak after having been stripped of both powers and limbs. She had told him that she needed to make sure she was strong enough to survive in Raiaera, that the tournament could be a safe proving grounds to make sure that her skill with blade would not be a ruse that would lead to their demise in the elven lands. Castien had a child, she reasoned. The boy needed to see that adults were strong and dependable, not weaklings that hid while others did all the work. These were, at least, what she told Castien. Deep in her heart the truth reverberated, shaking her entire foundation with one fact. She needed to be in Serenti, amongst the gore and the chance for failure. No rhyme or reason could convince her rambling feet otherwise. Like breathing, entering the Serenti had been done without thought, only assurance.

Her movement to the tournament grounds was a blur. Somehow she signed in, warded off a passing merchants offer to buy armor, and stood standing before a large door. It was made of old wood, cracked and warped, bound to the right shape by steel caging that had been hammered in years before. Beneath the brown cotton shirt, her heart began to ache. The pain beat down her right arm, the mess of scars that remained on her back where her wing once was returning that ache moments after each surge of pain like the aftershocks of a cruel earthquake. Her hands were shaking, sweating in the bindings she’d applied to keep her sword hilt from slipping in battle. She closed her eyes, swallowing the lump in her throat as her hand gripped the handle. It was warm, solid. She could focus on that bit of steel and let her fingertips press harder against it until she felt the tension drain away enough to let her move again. She threw back her arm, swinging around the door as it gaped and stepped in.

For the barest moments, it felt as if her feet were on tile and then she sank softly. The noise of cicadas assaulted her ears, the smell of wet earth around her. She could pick up the briefest sounds of water surging in the distance. Taking a deep breath, her love of the sounds and smells of a forest invigorating her against her fear, she opened her eyes. She was home.

Before her a forested clearing lay. It was surrounded by tall, thin trees. The bark was light, almost glowing in soft blue starlight. The canopy was still thick with foliage, each leaf dark. Despite the way that the stars and moon washed everything in blues and greys, she could make out the red stain of the leaves on trees that were close, like bloodstains that floated in the sky, trembling with every breeze. The Red Forest of Raiaera, alive in her heart, had come to Serenti. A cobbled path stretched out into the clearing from where she’d entered the arena. Moss and grass had been growing, overtaking the rock to reclaim it down underneath the soil. As she stepped, the sharp contrast of stone and cushioned earth stung when rock was struck unexpectedly by a heel. However she pressed on, and deeper into the forest where the clearing widened there was a small cottage. The path was flanked by torches that burned on stone stands, throwing shadows amongst the trees as the flames danced and sparked. The warmth of the torches and crackling of tinder took over the breeze and cicadas for a moment. Her eyes were on the cottage, made of stone with a thatched roof. The chimney was barren of smoke, the windows dark. The door was painted blue, a dark and inviting portal in the forest. Skie approached the door, barely noticing the covered well near the western edge of the clearing, the way the rope and bucket swung gently in the breeze.

The cobbles grew more solid, the grass kept back along their edges as she reached the entrance to the cottage. Opening the door, she found the small house to be of one room. In the back left corner was a hearth, pantries on either side. A cabinet was built over the hearth, the door ajar. Little light filtered in from the torches outside the open front door, but Skie could barely make out the edges of plates and cups in the cabinet. Along the right wall, a small bed lay, with a nightstand beside it that was littered with a few half spent candles and rings of wax drippings. The bed was blanketed, a thick mound of quilts piled upon it and a single pillow propped back against the wooden headboard. The smell of snuffed candles and firewood was thick in the room. Directly to her right, not ten feet from the bed was a bookshelf. It was bare, but for a few tomes that were covered in dust. To her left there was a simple table with two chairs. It had the look of strong, hand carved oak. A cup, long empty now sat upon it next to a bone vase. The curve and swirl of the carved bone spoke of the elegance of the elves, dark obsidian designs inlaid to look like the single flower that grew within its embrace. It was a soul flower, the black velvety blossoms opened up, blue light dancing in from the window to sculpt it in a dreamlike haze.

Skie sat in the chair, staring out the window as the winding path that had brought her here. Her legs crossed, a leather-clad food swinging softly to tap against the leg of the empty chair. With a sigh she rested her hand on the hilt of her sword. In a place so idyllic, she felt apprehensive and lonely. When the Serenti was done she could go with Castien and make a new life in Raiaera, in a place like this. Lindequalmë. Letting the serenity she had only been able to find in the elf homeland wash over her and prepare her for the difficulties ahead, Skie focused brooding blue eyes to the moonlit yard before the window and let her gaze wash back and forth across the fractured pathway. The Starslayer’s daughter waited with a heart filled with trepidation at what may happen in Serenti this night.

[The Soulforged]

Boredom was a helluva thing. A common problem to all, yet what was a cure for one was but an increase of boredom to another. Though the cure for boredom went by the name of excitement, finding said excitement was something else entirely. Some men fought, others drank. Some read books, others indulged in all manner of games. Some people even fought while drinking, though few could read and play games at the same time.

So, as Seed was in dire need for a cure for his boredom, the Serenti tournament offered exactly what he needed. A pleasant distraction, with plenty of blood and carnage. Not that he wouldn't have been happy with something far more peaceful, such as cooking treats. In fact, as he walked to the battlegrounds, he chanced upon a small bundle of paper that had absolutely nothing to do with the upcoming tournament.

As his boredom had yet to go away (in fact, it had only increased due to the painfully dull sign-in process), Seed snatched up the papers and started to read. He paid little attention to his surroundings, instead he mindlessly filled out the proper forms, ignored an annoying armor merchant, and made his way to the battleground. However, once he was roughly ten steps away from where he was suppose to be, he quickly backtracked.

"Hey!" Seed shouted at the armor merchant, who had yet to have a single customer, "Do you sell anything else other than armor?"

"I am an armor smith sir," the man replied bluntly, "I would assume the title speaks for itself."

"It's rude to judge a book by its cover," Seed replied as he held up the papers he had been so engrossed in. "Know where I can find this stuff?"

"Try over there," the armor smith muttered in an irritated manner. Seed thanked the man, walked over to a nearby stall, and handed over a small list. The vendor gave Seed a queer look; what folly was it to prepare such things before a battle? However, money was money, so the vendor happily took Seed's coin, and handed over the items on the list.

Balancing precariously his supplies (all of which were more suited to a day in the kitchen than a battle ground), Seed stumbled towards his destiny. The door before him was an aged one, a door that no doubt could tell many stories about the many brave souls who had passed under its arch. But such things, such fanciful stories were far from Seed's mind.

"Had to be push, not pull, didn't it?" he muttered as he fumbled his groceries (that was a far more accurate term than supplies) about in an attempt to grip the cold steel of the door's handle. In the end he managed it by stacking two of his three pans atop the sugar in his left hand (barely avoiding smashing the eggs in his right hand as well).

He opened the door via spinning about; the sleeve of his well-worn red tunic tore a bit as it caught the handle. He paid little attention to such things; already the tunic was torn in several places, not to mention far from clean. What was another rip in a sleeve, as long as his precious cargo remained safe?

All at once everything was different. What was once vendor stalls were now trees. What was once day was once night. What was once dirt was...well, still dirt. He glanced upward, hoping to catch a glimpse of the stars, but all he could see was the leaves. Dark leaves, crimson leaves of the darkest red.

"I think they're the color of...a fine red wine; aged to perfection. Or maybe a cherry, picked fresh by a farm hand?" Seed pondered aloud as he made his way through the stoned path before him. Of course, one could also consider the leaves bloodstains upon the sky, but that was a pretty morbid way of thinking.

He made his way along a path of which the finer details were lost to him. He noted not the tangling moss slowly creeping up around the stone, or the slightly luminescent trees. All in all, his obliviousness to such things was probably for the better, for it was highly unlikely that a man as scatterbrained as Seed could maintain two arms full of groceries while pondering glowing trees. However, he did note the path he walked ended before a small cottage, which was wonderful.

Forcefully slamming open the door, he quickly scanned the area. Most things received only a precursory glance; if it had occurred to Seed that was to battle here, he didn't show it. After all, what type of battlefield held aging cups and plates, and tattered old books? Was he suppose to slay some fiend on that tiny bed there, loaded with quilts knitted from a time long since past? Even if he recalled the purpose of the Serenti (which he didn't), such an area was surely not for battle. It did, however, fall perfectly in line with the papers Seed had so recently acquired.

"A perfect Althanas hearth if I ever saw one!" he exclaimed with joy. Ignoring everything else, he dropped his pile of goods to the ground. Via sheer luck, the eggs remained uncracked. He then pulled out the papers he had stuffed into his tunic, and gave them a once over.

“Let’s see, what do I need? A daughter and a lady friend?” A look of confusion crossed his face. “Well, I’m all for the latter, but I don’t think I’m quite ready for the former. Oh, wait, that’s just a story. Mmm’kay, dust the pan with powdered sugar? Can do!” In an instant and with no grace what so ever, Seed tossed a fistful of powered sugar into one of the pans he had bought; a gust of white wind rose up slightly when he hit is mark. He smiled with an almost childlike glee.

“I’ll have to boil water eventually, good thing this place has a fireplace,” he muttered as he began to lay out his tools. He had sugar, some sort of gelatin powder, eggs, vanilla extract (he sprang for the real stuff, not the imitation), a couple of pots and pans...

“Got to crack the eggs...” Seed whispered as he turned about. There was a lady sitting in the chair reading one of those old books he had spied on the way in. She wore brown cloth for a shirt, and carried a sword. Seed wondered why; did she expect to fight someone?

“Hey! Hello!” he shouted cheerfully, “Want to lend a hand? The instructions say I need two egg whites, but I’m kind of working on this other part. Plus if I get any yolk mixed in with egg whites, we’ll have to start over. I’m counting on you!”

Without even giving her a chance to answer, Seed grabbed two eggs from the six pack he had recently purchased, and tossed them towards the woman. With a smile, he went back to his work, humming to himself as he rocked his head to the upbeat rhythm of his tune; his mess of red hair swayed about him like red leaves attached to the scrawny white tree that was Seed Vicious.

“If you do good, I’ll give you half the marshmallows I make! Sound fair?” Seed asked as he began to scoop exactly two cups of sugar into another pot, “If this all goes well, we’ll have a tray of marshmallowy goodness! Though, according to my instructions, they might come out more dense than usual cause of nervousness, so try to keep clam, mmm’kay?”

[Skie and Avery]

She stared at him, transfixed. Skie had expected a warrior, clad in armor and carrying swords warped and nicked from years of bloodshed to come down the path. Instead, she got a beggar who toddled towards the house. His hands were filled with groceries, and confusion slowly rose to overtake her nervousness and anxiety. Did he plan to do battle with sugar, turn eggs into deadly weapons? His gaunt face spoke of meals gone uneaten, so surely he could not be a chef here to cater to their hunger. Perhaps the kitchen had been conjured here not of her own imagination, but for him.

For a moment, Skie had visions of a dark sorcerer who created monsters from sugar and fire to burn and bake his victims whole. This idea of a candymancer was silly and infantile, she knew, but it was a far more realistic explanation in her mind than a fighter who had come to Serenti to bake. The thought that he might not be taking this seriously annoyed her, and began to bubble anger from deep in her heart. She heard a rumpled sound of sugar hitting pan, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of the super-fine material. Sugar dust filled her mouth in the air, the taste of it thick on her tongue even as the smell assaulted her.

For a moment her mind was on a day from her childhood, when she and her brother Avery had snuck from their mother’s care and into Radasanth. They had sat in a café near the Citadel, watching with eager eyes as a confectioner ground sugar down with mortar and pestle into the snow-like powder this man used to coat his pans now. Cookies had been dusted with it and given to the children as they giggled and plotted to sneak into the great ziggurat that rose above the city skyline. That was the day she had met her father for the first time, when he had saved the twins from the trouble they’d gotten themselves into in the Citadel.

She looked down, barely noting the eggs that had been tossed into her lap. Skie’s shaking hands left the handles of her weapons and picked the eggs up. They were smooth and cool in her palm, and she focused on them. The sounds of midnight insects outside and the man working before the hearth melted away as she set them on the table and listened to the rich sound of egg rolling along wood. They rolled and slid into a dip on the table’s rough surface and rocked back and forth for a moment before finally settling. Skie stood, long leather clad legs stretching as she moved from the table a few steps to confront the man.

“I am not sure you understand that we are at Serenti.” She said. “Great men have fought and died here many times over.” Her thoughts were on her father, on Findelfin. Her heroes from stories and the legends of the area had been handed down to her as she grew up. As she thought of the battles waged here and men whose strength and mettle was tested, her anger grew even hotter. “Yet here you are, come to battle with only thoughts for sweeties.”

Skies eyes narrowed on Seed, dark blue turning darker as her expression formed one of derision. Her hand moved to her sword, pulling it from the leather sheathe at her side. The steel blade caught the moonlight from the door and windows, casting a reflection of it towards the hearth where the young man worked. The light passed over his supplies, his arms, the torn and unwashed clothing.

“I’ll give you a few moments to compose yourself.” She said, her sneer melting away to be replaced with a simple scowl. Skie turned her back on him, shaking her head as she moved towards the door and the yard outside where the grass and trees swayed and fireflies lazily danced among the forest beyond. “I am Skie dan Sabriel. When you are ready, sir, we shall battle and give this altar the reverence it deserves.”

[The Soulforged]

"I take it this means...that s'mores are out of the question?" Seed laughed as he cocked his dead to the side. "And I didn't come to battle with thoughts of sweeties, only sweets. Though if you're obliging..."

His words were quickly silenced by the drawing of steel. Moonlight danced across his face, momentarily blinding him in a manner that was more pretty than painful. Seed said nothing, only trailed his eyes across the items the moon deemed worthy to grace with its soft pale light. The moonbeams, he had decided, were far more pretty than Skie's scowling face. The woman left soon afterwards, delivering a firm ultimatum as she went.

"At least she didn't wreck the eggs on her way out," Seed muttered to himself as he placed the pot he had been using over the fireplace, and started a small fire there with the help of some flint he found nearby. Thinking quietly, he fetched the eggs and began to roll them around in his hand. Their shells were soft, but perfect. No bumps or cracks; as smooth as an undisturbed lake. He disliked that.

With a grunt, he cracked the eggs against the wall; small stains of yellow yolk ran down the aged oak walls. The fire continued to build as Seed dexterously separated the egg whites into another pot.

The fire was increasing. It's orange flames licked at the pot, causing the contents to heat up. Soon the substance in there, nothing more than a large amount sugar, syrup and water, would begin to boil. Still, that would take some time. For now, Seed was content to take Skie up on her gracious offer, and compose himself.

He liked to watch fire. Those flames before him, how they twisted in their fatal dance! Those wonderful flames, licking the black pot as delicately as one would tease a lover with their tongue. Deep and dark, bright and colorful. There were so many things to watch burn!

The cruelest of smiles crept up on his lips.

"You don't think very much of me, do you Skie?" Seed whispered softly, "That suits me just fine. But I really think you should try my marshmallows. I really, really, really think you should!"

As he spoke his words, his voice made a complete change from playful to hateful. He dipped the pot in his hand into the larger pot over the fire; hot liquid quickly flowed into the smaller pot. With a grin, he held the pot before him. Discreetly, he took out one of his small knives, and began to slowly stir his cooking pot it. Just by looking at her, anyone could tell that Skie dan Sabriel was on a completely different level than Seed Vicious. Everything about her, from her fine sword, to her pretty clothes with no holes in them, told a tale of someone who was a far cry from the poor likes of Seed. She spoke better. She looked better. She acted better. He could see the disdain in her eyes when she looked at him, as clear as the moonbeams that reflected off the fine steel of her sword.

"Thanks for the time to compose myself Skie. I think I understand exactly what to do at the Serenti!" He let out a soft chuckle as wonderful to him as those beautiful flames that danced wildly in his eyes.

He carried his pot towards the door, still stirring it with his knife. Since his knives were small, they were easy to conceal using his hand, let alone a pot. Smiling, Seed took a deep breath, and slowly breathed out. Doing exactly as Skie had told him to, he composed himself. A bright smile, a soft set of eyes. I'm just a simple cook. Seed told himself as he opened the door with his foot.

"Oh hello?" Seed asked happily as walked outside. He left door to the cottage open; the flames still flickered at his back, lending an orange tint to his worn-out tunic.

"I'm so sorry, but I really think it's you who have the wrong idea!" Seed said brightly once he saw Skie, "I think it's a much better idea to eat sweets than kill one another! I mean, surely you'd rather eat a cake than rip a man's throat out? I certainly would!"

Still stirring, he took a few steps towards her, smiling like a ten-year old boy who for the first time was allowed to stay up past his bedtime.

"So let's not hurt each other. And by that, I mean let's not hurt me! There's no way I could beat you! I fully admit that you're the better person, and I promise to withdraw from what was no doubt a terrible idea to begin with. Okay? So let's just eat marshmallows!"

Grinning, Seed clutched the knife in his hand so tight he drew a bit of his own blood. The crimson liquid trickled down his finger, mixing with the white liquid of the pot. Soon, that which was once clean and pure was stained with dark and bitter.

"Please? Pretty please?" he asked as though he was a child. "Won't you try just one? I promise, THEY'LL TASTE GREAT!"

He shrieked his last words at her; his face contorted into a demonic rage. With eyes that burned like the flames he adored, his left hand flung the pot, hot liquid and all, at Skie's face. With the combat sense that could only be achieved by one who had lost their senses, he zeroed in on his enemy's right leg, and tossed his knife at it.

Oh yes, Seed Vicious knew exactly what he would do at the Serenti. He'd cripple this high and mighty woman, and burn that smug look right off her face. Then, then the real fun would begin!

[Skie and Avery]

The smell of sugar on the breeze grew stronger as he stepped out of the cottage. The warm light behind him licked and danced along his silhouette as if he had been a shadow emerging straight from the flames. While she could barely make out the grim features of his face, she knew somehow that he was grinning. A chill ran down her back, and for a moment the young woman held her breath. The madness that devoured her opponent was tangible, as thick as velvet wrapping around her throat.

She wanted to believe him, to think that if she sat down and ate candy with him that he would withdraw from the tournament and she could get past this needless interruption. She would prove to herself that she deserved to protect Castien from whatever Raiaera had in store for them. She held out her hands in front of her, waving them gently. It was too late. Before any soft spoke words could come to try and calm his feverish screaming, the contents of the bowl were flying towards her.

Skie lifted her hands, using her arms to shield her face as the thick globules of hot syrup struck. The cotton of her shirt sleeves were nothing against the burn of superheated sugar. It felt as if burning knives had driven through the brown fabric and was spreading up her arm. A scream of agony left her lips and she doubled over, just in time for a blade to hurtle at her leg. The edge found purchase through her pants and into her flesh. Her leg moved out, sending the blade skittering to the side in the dark, cool grass. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Skie grabbed her sword and pulled it from its scabbard. Dark cobalt eyes were alight with pain and anger. Her rage was taking over and with shaking hands she pulled back the blade and sprung towards her opponent.

Fury fueling her steps, her arms swung with the intent of driving her blade into the slim belly of this monster that had become of the boy.

[The Soulforged]

"Hah. You look good!" Seed spat as a rank smell of singed flesh filled the air. He wasn't able to hit her face, and he had hoped, but the arms were almost as good. It would be harder for her to swing her weapon now, and on top of that, Seed gleamed a certain satisfaction from ruining those fair hands of hers. He even managed to land his knife as well, which was something he thought would not happen; he was certain Skie would have dodged at least one out of the two attacks.

But he had to give credit to her persistence; pressing on despite her grievous wounds. The woman had been knifed in the leg, and was still closing the gap between the two of them. Seed licked his lips, crouched low like a hungry wolf about to pounce, and drew his own sword.

Much like everything else, from personality to appearance, the two combatants blades could not have been more different. Whereas Skie's had reflected the moonlight beautifully, something only a pristine blade could accomplish, Seed's sword reflected nothing save the man's poor care. Not only was it chipped in numerous places, but the blade itself was darkened. Not via blood or battle, but rather through a lack of attention. Still, it was sharp enough to hurt someone, and that was exactly what was on Seed's mind.

"Come and get me come and get me come and get me!" Seed shrieked in madness as he moved himself back a few steps towards the cottage; the door was still open and the flames still fanned the pot. Those wonderful flames had not died down in the lease, rather they were now burning full force. With the heat on his back, he laughed wildly as Skie approached.

He hissed in pain as Skie's sword entered his stomach, splashing crimson onto the cobblestones that led up to the quaint cottage. A cough wracked with agony echoed from his mouth as he hunched over in pain. Still, this battle was far from over. If she thought to finish him with just one blow, she was very much mistaken. Monster's have tenacity, if nothing else.

"Let's do something about that pretty face. Bleed for me wench!" Seed screamed as he jerked his body back, spilling blood from his wound as he did so. But as he jerked, he swung his far from honorable sword in an upwards motion; his target, those pretty blue eyes that looked down on him so. How sweet it would be if he could cut one out, and show it to its former owner.

Yes. Thought Seed as he smiled. I'd like that very much!

[Silence Sei]

The Soulforged Advances to Round 2