The Emma Chamber

[Silence Sei]

The participants in this chamber include:

Mage Hunter
Amber Eyes
Gold
Resolve
Herald of the Tempest
Aurelianus Drak'shal
Cicilix

The bloodbath starts Monday, September 30th at 12:01AM Central Standard Time.

Heaven or Hell? Let's Rock!

[Silence Sei]

He stood in his tower, an orange and blue throne made especially for him on this day. His blue orbs pierced the soon to be blood soaked battlefield with the precision of a hawk. This was ‘Silence’ Sei Orlouge’s first time hosting The Cell, a tournament he did not care for in, yet participated in several times. He knew somewhere out in one of these three chambers, there would be a single warrior who would rise above it all. Eight people would enter the arena, yet only the three best amongst them would advance. The Cell was bloody, inhumane, and morbid to no end. Yet, The Cell was a staple in Corone, and since the Ixian Knights had seized the country, Sei had been advised to let the people continue as if there had been no Ixian War. It was ironic; a bloody battle simply laid the groundwork for a bloody tournament.

The Emma Chamber, named for the most physically gifted of Sei’s daughters, was a medium sized arena. Roughly three hundred feet in diameter, and literally at the Ixian Castle front door, or more precisely, the courtyard. As opposed to the Anita Chamber, the Emma Chamber was rife with blades of grass, dew drops from the previous night slowly evaporating in the mid-day sun. To the south was a large wooden gate, fully repaired since the attack on the Castle months ago, and reinforced with prevalida steel locks. The locks were furiously shifting from a white light to a black light, prevalida’s way of determining magic, and the type of element used for it. In this case, it was reading the invisible dome that would encase the combatants, created by the Mystics of Chateau and Orlouge Drantrak.

To the naked eye, the dome was just an invisible barrier, but to those with a strong gift of magic, the energies formed from the mixture of light and dark were all too apparent. It was as if tiny storms surrounded the warriors on this otherwise bright and sunny day. A crowd had formed around the barrier, blankets laid about upon the grass and children running around playing before the festivities began. To these people, such a dark tournament was the norm in Corone, and it was up to the Ixian Knights to maintain that peace.

Aside from the front gate, the combatants were surrounded by four walls, the west and south walls covered with moss and grime, while the east and north walls were completely rebuilt, brand new. The fighters would never reach these walls, not unless one of them had such an amazing power that they could break through the barrier with their abilities. Considering almost every Mystic from the villages were here, however, such a thing seemed nigh impossible.

Sei looked at his chart, his eyes going over the names of the combatants involved within this chamber. And though he only recognized two of the names on the list, he had heard tales of the others exploits. Aurelianus Drak’Shal was a demon who worked for whoever paid him the best coin. His loyalty was to himself, and he had been a forerunner for the winner of the Lornius Corporate Championship. He was vicious, unforgiving, and overall one of the greatest dangers within the Emma Chamber.

Sei had encountered the woman known as Resolve, also a participant in the Lornius Corporate Championship. If he recalled correctly, the dark skinned girl had to rely much more on her companion than she did her own abilities. Sei had technically ‘killed’ the girl a couple of times during their fight, though most of the time it was the work of illusions. His trickery would prove to be her most valuable asset in this close quarter’s combat arena.

Timothy Gold was said to not be from this world. Sei’s experience with otherworldly travels made the mute weary of his barrier. If Timothy possessed half of the technology many of the foreigners the Mystic had encountered did, he would easily be able to dispel the magic with some form of technology or another. However, the stories about Timothy described more of a man out of place than a super genius. Perhaps it was a ruse to lull people into a false sense of security. The Mystic crossed his arms and pursed his lips to the side. The Cell would determine which kind of person Timothy was.

Drusilia Liadon was a name Sei had heard long ago. She was one of the Dawn Bringers, an elite task force that had taken down the powerful wizard Xem’Zund. It was said that even Sei’s power would have been miniscule in comparison to the evil necromancers. This was a woman that many of the Mystic’s old friends trusted with their lives, and for good reason. She would definitely be someone to keep an eye out for.

There was definitely something off about the thing known as Vyrabron. First off, Sei could not get a read on the constructs mind, almost as if he did not act of his own will. Secondly, the gender of Vyrabron was very hard to specify. Sei’s mind had danced with the possibility of some sort of golem sent to take out the Ixian Knights, but not even the strongest military force in the world would send out a solitary person to what the entire Corone Imperial Force could not. Something about Vyrabron spelled trouble for the other members, and it left the mute a bit queasy to think about.

Cicilix Tailor was a complete mystery to the telepath. It seemed she had just come up out of nowhere (a racist stereotype, as she was part dwarf). Sei figured that the girl had entered the tournament by mistake, or was looking for some answers that only combat could provide. Had the Mystic been a competitor rather than the Grand Master this year, he could easily guess that his entire fight would be spent pushing people back from Cicilix. Perhaps that was why it worried the Mystic so that Kyla Orlouge’s name was also on the list for this arena.
Finally, Kyla Orlouge, the Mystic Mother, the Lethal Lioness, the Captain of the Ixian Knights Reformation Project. She was Sei’s daughter, the only one of the four the Mystic would even let participate. Of course, the girl would have been even more motivated to enter the tournament if Sei had told her that she could not, so his blessing was inevitable. She was powerful, strong enough to make it to the quarter-finals of the Serenti Invitational, and clever enough to outfox the more physically fit members of the Ixian Knights. Kyla was the one Sei had pegged for the winner of her chamber, though this was probably due to his parental biased rather than his strategic mind.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Sei spoke into the minds of the competitors as the sun began to shine directly overhead, symbolizing that it had turned noon, “Let the games begin! Have fun, and most importantly, may all of your attacks be super effective!”

[Herald of the Tempest]

A wet noise echoed in the dark lit chamber. It sounded like organs falling out of a sack, the unmistakable sound of metal striking metal in a grating fashion. The ground reverberated the steady dripping of liquid, dropping in a staccato beat upon a stone floor. Long ago the screams had stopped. There wasn’t many to begin with, and all that was left was the macabre silence rife with the oozing noise of flesh being manipulated.

Vyrabron watched the blood on the floor pool, his illuminated green eyes glowing with curiosity. The flesh of the lesser races was a weak substance, easily cut into and destroyed. It was harder to repair than his Kron’tyr armor, gifted by the almighty Storm Lord, Herald of the Tempest, long may his reign live. His synthetic alloy would not be so easily cut, so easily exposed for the weakness it truly was. Perhaps his distaste of the flesh was why he enjoyed cutting it. The scythed fingertips he could call upon like hawk talons were the perfect tool to slit throats in neat lines.

The construct of the Kron’tyr loaded the protocols of his mission parameters. To study the military might of the world, the Storm Lord needed to see them in action. The Corone war showed the only threat to the Legion of the Undying King were the Ixian Knights. They were disciplined, organized, and with a powerful ruler. However, after research and skin walking infiltration missions, he had learned they were susceptible to underhanded tactics employed by the crude group known as the Cult of Blessed Torture. The rest of the world though had aces in the hole, or warriors who owed no allegiance to one faction. To study them was at first thought a highly improbable task.

That was until the lesser races made it easy.

The Cell was an event to test the might of many warriors all across the world. A place to showcase their talents in a bloody handed melee. This presented the perfect opportunity for the Kron’tyr to learn of their enemies. Thus, his primary mission engagement was simple: Survive within the Cell for as long as possible, and study the warriors within.

When the time came, he moved out into the light, his body only wearing half the flesh of a drunken fool who thought Vyrabond was easy prey for a mugging. His scythed fingers clawed reflexively near his torso,
and the construct looked to the sun, pointing to the storm clouds in the far off distance.

Vyrabond could not smile, for he had no mouth that was movable. He could make no noise, for he was a mute, some strange damage to his vocal subroutine disabling him. He had no real emotions, for he was a construct; his soul a shallow remainder of what once was a proud Kron’tyr warrior.

Yet deep down, within the chasm of his black heart, the soulless construct smiled, laughing menacingly at the prospect to do harm in glorious battle.

[Resolve]

I have exchanged bunnying privileges with Aure and Amber.

The exorcist entered the Emma Chamber with as much purpose as she could muster under the after-fog of too grand an evening. By some sort of miracle, the hangover gods had deigned mercy that fateful morning, and Resolve suffered only minimally. Mild disgruntlement made itself apparent as she squinted in the harsh noon sun, but even if she couldn't be the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed competitor she'd hoped, she could fake it well enough. In her cropped sari, she bared enough skin that she may have even looked foolish to some. But she felt fierce, and it showed in her prowl.

Resolve did her best to ignore the throng of spectators and the overbearing presence of the castle, instead focusing her attention to the barrier and the battlefield beyond that. The hair prickled on her neck as she stepped through the strange storm of mystic magic and, after many long days of anxious anticipation, she entered the Cell.

Deja vu hit hard. The dewy grass under her boots, plush and welcoming, reminded her of the first field at the Lornius Corporate Challenge. But this time, she sighed with relief, her opponents didn't contain any surprises. Her friends remained safe at home, arch nemesis blessedly placed in another chamber, and she could concentrate properly on the task at hand: to kick some asses.

The girl did her best to ignore the heat of the sun as she looked over the others, strange creature and armored huntress alike. The trickle of intimidating figures might have cowed her, but through the hazy memories of the prior evening, Resolve recognized one: a wiry fellow in blade-ridden leather, with a blood red mohawk and a peculiar cockiness which begged for a kick in the teeth. He seemed to recall her in turn, his brow rising wryly upon her blatant stare.

She lifted her own in insinuation, drew her gaze along the other opponents who'd gathered, and flicked it back to him. They exchanged a wink and a grin.

It was set.

The girl wasn't sure what inspired her to trust someone she barely remembered meeting, but the bits and bobs her memory betrayed seemed positive. They'd both had their eye on the same woman during the pub crawl. Instead of clashing, it had led to a shared round of drinks. Then another. And maybe something about arm wrestling…?

Resolve blinked, took a deep breath, and smoothed the vibrant crimson fabric coiled securely around her lean frame. Fingers ran over the white etchings on her bared torso, then lingered at her belt where her single visible weapon –– a simple, steel short sword –– hung on display. Her attempt to gauge the rest of the competitors fell short when Sei's familiar "voice" rang loud through their minds in silent symphony. Lips pursed as she remembered the first time she met him, the frustration and defeat she experienced at his hands. She absolutely refused to let her mistakes from the LCC follow her here. She'd be better this time.

"––may all of your attacks be super effective!"

It had begun before she was ready, forcing her to think fast. She couldn't let herself fall into a reactionary trap. She had to move constantly to gain offensive momentum, to win.

Resolve sidestepped toward her unlikely partner, arm lifted as a wispy ball of raw energy materialized and crackled within her palm. Feeling a bit on the edgy side, she had difficulty containing herself from throwing it toward whoever glanced her way first.

[Mage Hunter]

“I should have known better,” The words moved through the area as Drusilia moved to the edge of the bubble. She didn’t need to open up her ability to sense magical auras to feel it. The nausea that pervaded her told her of the powerful magical spell nearby. With a sigh she carefully pulled the titanium sword from the sheath at her back and carefully stabbed it into the ground. It was then that she double checked the straps on her armor.

This was her first public appearance since the death of Xem’zund at least a few years back now. She knew she was delaying stepping through the sphere, but she needed to ready herself for what was to pass. At least she had the forethought to stick to hard tack and water before the battle, in a ritual as old as when she would go on the road with Godhand Striker. That man had taught her much about what her purpose in this world would be. She was a mercenary now; she couldn’t afford to think she would be picked up by anyone. In fact coming to Corone was in and of itself a foolish notion. She was after all wanted for the death of Duke Gallen Cormyr, back when in her rage fueled killing spree she had murdered and killed many innocent people.

Now that she was on the other side of the rage she knew to attribute it to what it truly was, a childish temper tantrum. Now she was slightly more mature, but even she knew better than to assume she was so much better a person simply because she had matured a little. It was one of the few traits her former mentor liked, and she was loathe to disregard it. Looking upon the others as they made their way in she reached up and pulled her hair into a taut ponytail, before using a simple leather cord to tie it.

She closed her eyes as she set her will, preparing for the roughest part of this entire fight. She should have known the Cell wouldn’t be a physical barrier. Each year had proven more and more destructive, it was only a matter of time before they would have used magical means of containing the combatants. When “Silence” Sei Orlouge, a renowned tactician and magic wielder, was the man to run the event this year, she should have known. Truly it was foolish to think something other than magic was going to be containing the combatants. Though the idea that they would erect the barrier after she entered could have safely been assumed, she did not expect to be walking through the barrier into the fight.

“Now I’m just stalling,” the words were for herself. They were the vocalization of what she knew in her heart. This was not going to be an easy fight, and with the first hurdle thrown before her, she knew she would need every advantage she could claw for. Finally she looked down at the blade sticking in the dirty before her. It had been awhile since she had wielded it against the living, but she could almost see the spot where Godhand had shoved her off his blade and put a deep furrow into her blade. She was fond of that blade, even as it had saved her life when she dueled Nialon Sunscar. Then again borrowing the Mercenary’s anti magical sheath had probably allowed her a chance in that fight, given the odd magic Nialon used.

“Still stalling,” She muttered.

Gripping the hilt of the weapon she finally pulled it from the dirt, heft the blade with familiarity. It was her friend nowadays, or at least the closest to one she had since Godhand died. She moved towards the barrier and took a steadying breath. She could almost see the barrier before her now, the distortion it produced. She could feel the animalistic fear and merely shook her head before she took that step…

Two things happened simultaneously. The first being that a shimmering white light flashed about the Mage Hunter and for a brief moment the barrier weakened ever so slightly. The second was that she stumbled forward a step into the cell and puked up her breakfast, the hardtack and water she had treated herself to. Carefully wiping the bile on the back of her gauntlet she sighed before she muttered, “Well that was better than expected…”

[Gold]

Timothy looked up at the wall. Specifically, to the clock that told the time and date in Althanas. It was time for The Cell to start, which he had decided to enter in order to test his skills. He looked back at where the spinning blue portal he had been making for the last hour stood. It was finally complete and would stay that way till either he walked through it or he closed it. He then grabbed his survival sack from the blood read couch, sheathed all his weapons save the Short Sword and bladed shield, then called to Maroon. "It is time to go. I will only be able to teleport us outside the barrier that is placed over the arena. There I will have to leave you to enter the arena. You will watch me won't you?"

Maroon came around the corner. She wore a maroon travel dress that Sorish had picked up for her in the Tailors Dimension. Who knew there was a dimension full of tailors who will make clothing for free. To bad they didn't make armor. Maroon's strait maroon hair reached her lower back. Her maroon eyes looked worried for him but they also told him that she supported all his decisions. "Of course I will. Why else would I go to such a blood bath. I really don't see why you would choose to join when you are such a pacifist."

Timothy stood in his black long sleeve polo shirt and black jeans. His oval shaped face looked young, but his silver eyes spoke of knowledge and wisdom that came to a veteran of life. With all his weapons on his hips you would think him a trier of many weapons, however, each weapon he holds, he has mastered. On his right hip a long sword and broad sword sat sheathed. On his left was his rapier and the sheath for his short sword which he held in his right hand. On his right arm sat a shield that had a razor sharp edge to it. He was ready for anything.

"Well," Timothy said as he tried to keep a serious face, "a man has to challenge himself sometime my dear."

Maroon just shook her head before she walked through the portal. Timothy laughed as he too walked through the portal. Once on the other side they saw the crowed. luckily they had teleported to the the top of the wall that surrounded the courtyard. As soon as they left the portal it just faded into oblivion.

Maroon turned back to Timothy and kissed him full on the lips for a second. "Be safe my love." She then sat on the edge of the wall as Timothy jumped down through the top of the magical dome into the courtyard where the battles were to take place.

[Cicilix]

Still outside the magical barrier a small girl was nervously walking back and forth while looking into the chamber every other second. Even though she tried her best to not let her nervousness show she failed miserably with it. She had been pacing like this for almost half an hour now, wiping her sweaty hands on her pants every now and then. She knew that she would have to enter the round fighting area soon. And she wasn't looking forward to it.

“Oh my god... Why did I ever agree to do this...” she mumbled to herself, her voice full of bitter regret.

The fact was that it was her stupid pride that had gotten in her way again. She had been at home in Scara Brae, enjoying a nice evening in a tavern with some friends when they had met this strange man. He had seemed nice enough at first and had shared several drinks with them. But then he had mentioned something called 'the Cell'. Cicilix cursed the moment she had been stupid enough to ask him what it was. Of course he had taken the opportunity to tease the girl for her lack of knowledge about it. And if there was one thing in this world that could make her truly angry it was that. The whole thing had almost turned into a fight when the man had flashed a grin and suggested that he take her with him and enter the Cell for herself. In her anger, and the fact that she had had a few too many drinks, she had agreed.

And now here she was, about to enter a fighting tournament with skilled fighters. The man that had taken her here had conveniently disappeared as soon as they got here and thus she was all alone.

Suddenly she stopped in her track, stomped her foot in the ground and clenched her fists. She was determined to show him that she had what it took to enter this. As she turned towards the barrier and took a few steps forward all her nervousness ran off her and she couldn't help but let a small smile find its way to her lips.

As she walked into the area she draw her dagger, held her head up high and then swallowed hard as she looked around at the others who had already entered. Her confidence completely flew away again but this time she didn't let it show as much. Instead she stood still, just inside the barrier, and looked at each of the others with a look somewhere between fear and curiousness.

They sure looked like they all knew how to fight. They also all looked absolutely terrifying to the young girl. She couldn't help but to think that they would be able to crush her without any effort at all.

But even though Cicilix had probably never been this scared in her whole life one should never underestimate her stubbornness. Once she had set her mind to something she was going to do it, no matter what. And she was going to do this.

“I will show them. I will show them that I am fit for this thing. I don't care what it will cost me.”

Somewhere in the back of her head she just hoped that it wouldn't cost her her life.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Once again, Aurelius found himself inside a cage.

The tiefling glanced overhead, his serpentine eyes marking the magical barrier surrounding the arena, disliking the feeling of being boxed in. Still, this place was a pleasant little vision of Heaven compared to his home-city. He rapped a knuckle against the dome keeping the combatants in their areas. Solid. He'd expected nothing less. A cursory glance at the tiny tempests raging inside the barrier spoke of the power poured into creating and maintaining it. Maybe the chant on this "Silence Sei" wasn't all bollocks, as the warlock suspected. From what he'd heard, this Sei bloke was one of the scariest mutes in all Althanas. And his group, these so called 'Ixian Knights', held a lot of sway in Corone. This was the perfect opportunity for the insurrectionist to get a look at their stronghold, their numbers.. their leader..

He idly drew in another lungful of smoke from the hand-rolled cigarette dangling loosely between his lips, turning his mind back to the task at hand - waiting for the soon-to-be-deaders to start filing in. Like lambs to the slaughter, he mused, a predator's grin splitting his face. Kneeling at the far edge of the arena, arms rested carefully on his bladed knees, the half-demon glanced around and once again wondered what madness had possessed him to come back to Corone of all places.

The Coronian Armed Forces already had wanted posters of him dotted about after his antics in the Citadel (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25156-Gaolhouse-Rock-(closed)) a few months back, and he hadn't exactly done wonders for his reputation in Serenti (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25630-The-Puppeteer-s-Praxes-(open)) either..

But the answer, as always with the hedonistic deviant, was simple; it was a chance to pen bodies in the dead-book, and get all sorts of goodies for doing it. And if he was nothing else, Aurelianus was a natural born killer.

His cold gaze wandered over the assembled crowds - various stablehands and other labourers here at Ixian Castle - gathered to watch the bloodbaths that were to ensue. Well, wouldn't want to disappoint 'em now, would we? he smirked, running his forked, black tongue over his fangs. The other competitors began to arrive, and Drak'shal took to his feet, right hand resting casually on the demon-hide grip of one of his Baatorian knives. The other hung at his side, ready to unleash any of his invocations on command. But before he made his first move, he wanted a chance to study what he was up against. It was never smart to leap blindly into the fray. And while he may not have been much for forward planning, he wasn't an idiot.

The plane-touched watched them as they came, trying to decide who would be a threat, and who could be ignored; the man dropping from above, wearing all manner of weapon; the nervous little chit who looked like she was one step away from pissing herself; the knife-ears with the ebony skin. Aurelius did a double-take at her. He'd seen "black" people, of course. But this girl, her skin was actually coal-black. Then again, he realised, running a hand over his quill-mohawk, he wasn't in any position to judge on appearances.

It was a few minutes later that the chit walked in, wrapped up in a bizarre red garment, her skin dotted with what he could only assume were some sort of mystical markings.. or just simple body art, it was hard to ever be sure. He'd met her in his pre-battle piss-up the night before, both of them bonding over their attempts to get in some other chit's knickers, before necking several bottles of rum. As far as he knew, she'd been as unsuccessful as him, and he hadn't even managed to get into her's. Still, he liked a chit who could handle her booze, and she had even beaten him in an arm wrestle. Aye, she's a rare 'un, he admitted, though it didn't stop him turning a lascivious eye over her exposed flesh.

Resolve.

She sidled up to the warlock, both of them silently agreeing to their course of action without a single word being spoken. The half-breed Anarchist finished his smoke, crushing the butt under his heel into the dew-damp grass, drawing his green-steel blade in one fluid motion.

While his crimson-clad companion lashed out with her own magic, Aurelianus summoned a swirling ball of black Hellfire into his palm, hurling it at the easiest target in sight; the coal-skinned chit puking her guts up in the corner. It had barely left his hand before he was following it, intent on knifing the elf if Shahab's Lash didn't take her out.

Time to play.

[Herald of the Tempest]

Vyrabond lowered his gaze to those who entered, looking at each one and quickly doing preliminary checks on their skills and assets. He watched the one woman puke, and wondered what could cause such a thing. He noticed the barrier around them weaken, slightly, and pondered if there was a correlation. Another entered, sword drawing against with that unmistakable sound , and moving on prey of his own.

Then Vyrabond saw the frightened, nervous one. She was a frail thing, tiny and weak. His talons swept against one another, striking and scrapping making a sharp noise in the air. The mute construct pointed one finger to her and initiated combat. He took no thrill in killing those weaker than himself. While the satisfaction of shedding blood would rouse the blood of flesh, to him it was a cold calculation. This target had little chance to defeat him, and he hypothesized he could make the fighting last.

He dug one claw into the ground as he ran, his half flesh dangling around his torso as he ran. The scythe like finger tips dug up enough dirt from the grass and when he neared his quarry he flung the debris at her in a makeshift assault tactic. Perhaps she would dodge the attack, or accept it with a block. Either way met little to him, for it was all a distraction. Vyrabond only wanted to slash his weapons against her body and show her weakness to his prey.

((Vyrabond declared an assault against you Cicilix. Dirt to the eyes! A clever rouse – the real attack is the slash! Vyrabond doesn’t have any enhanced skills or abilities that would help here, so feel free to have fun. I figure this way, the powerhouses can blow their own heads off and we can live! ^_^

I, Herald of the Tempest, Give any and all combatants the right to control Vyrabond.))

[Amber Eyes]

The Ixian courtyard was turned upside down. The gray weathered stone buildings surrounding three sides were just as they always were, but within their shadows was a flurry of activity. There were concessions and sword smiths doing their best to make as much money as possible in the last few moments before the match. There were small children placing bets with pocket change and grown men doing the same but with ludicrous amounts of coin. In the center there stood what could only be described as the largest, strongest, most magical bubble one would ever see. Inside the bubble, there was Kyla Orlouge.

Already the sun seared through her light cotton shirt, a soft breeze doing very little to stifle the heat of Radasanth in summertime. She could smell the flowers of her garden, each tingle of her nose bringing to mind the orchids and tulips that grew just past the housing tower. If she looked up, Kyla would be able to make out the west window of her chambers, if she looked down she could make out the footprints of the kids who for today played indoors while their usual activity spot prepared for bloodshed. If the young woman looked around she would see those who hoped that blood would be hers. Rather than face all of that, Kyla kept her eyes closed. The magic of the dome sang to her, soft whistles as though offering her comfort, even without her eyes she could see the beautiful colors that always accompanied light magic. It was like a giant prism to those who could see it, the ground would be a rainbow; at least until it all turned red.

An announcement began, Sei’s usually calm demeanor somewhat shaken by this tournament as it always was. He never quite understood the need to prove oneself in battle, he had never needed to know that he was capable, his self-assurance certainly wasn’t passed on to Kylana. The mystic focused on the power radiating through her body, the cool flow of shadows passing the heat of the light, two powers never quite touching. She allowed the cool to wash over her, pooling into her right arm and forming into something solid. The weight of the long sword felt natural in her hand, balancing the white glove that adorned her left. The muscles in that arm twitched, allowing the silver blades to protrude for just a moment.

The chamber was named after Kyla’s second youngest sister. Emma was the muscle of the bunch. Like Kyla, she yearned for her share of the action, and she just wouldn’t settle for someone else winning this one. The girl smiled. This was her castle, her family, her roses filling the air. It was the very magic coursing through her veins that created this cage.

Kyla was home.

Just as Sei finished Kyla opened her eyes, ready to greet the challenge and see who she was up against. She said a quick prayer to whatever God might be listening. Then it all turned to hell.

[Cicilix]

Cicilix observed the other contestants as she stood still by the barrier. She knew that observing your enemies before the fight started usually revealed something that she could use against them. But these people weren't a bunch of bored children on the streets. They wouldn't give up their weaknesses that easily. But that just made it more important to watch them closely.

As she had hoped they didn't seem to notice her much. This was really the only advantage she had and she knew that. If she could just keep looking small and lost maybe they would concentrate on the other contestants, those who actually proved a real threat, so she could keep watching them and maybe figure out how she would be able to win.

Unfortunately she didn't have a long time to do this. In fact she didn't get any time at all. A sudden movement in the corner of her eye made her look in that direction just as Vyrabond charged her. To her own dismay she couldn't help but let out a surprised yelp and she closed her eyes as a reflex. As soon as she did this she felt the dirt hit her face and she couldn't help but feel lucky.

“He was trying to blind me!” she thought as she quickly threw herself to the side while she opened her eyes again. No matter what he was planning to do she didn't want to stand in the way of him when he did it. He hadn't thrown the debris at her for no reason after all.

Cicilix managed to stay on her feet and quickly spun around to face him, her dagger ready in her hand. But she didn't want to get into close combat with this thing, not yet at least. Before he had the time to turn around she therefore kicked him in the back of his knee, as hard as she could. After all the small girl was surprisingly strong for her size.

[Resolve]

It took Resolve longer than she would have liked to decide on her first target. Two of the competitors sprung into action right away and she watched on as the construct went after the smallest of the group. Meanwhile, her own partner took a shot at the ill dark elf, a strike below the belt if she'd ever seen one. The girl spread her feet and dug her heels into the ground, a gesture of preparation as she lifted her crackling fist. She hoped no one would notice her meager effort to stall.

While the exorcist had anticipated a cutthroat battlefield, a curl of dismay crept across her lips as she took in these first acts. She wouldn't be like them. She wanted a fight she could feel good about, one which would challenge her from the start.

Her pale eyes followed the gaze of some spectators and settled on the last woman in the arena, one close in age and height to herself. From the way the people watched her in familiar admiration, Resolve wondered if this was a local champion of sorts. Such hinted at formidability.

"Perfect."

White teeth flashed in a decisive grin as Resolve raised her arm, and then she attacked. A blast of energy tore through the air with perfect precision and bone-shattering force, aimed directly for her opponent's chest.

[Herald of the Tempest]

Vyrabond's eyes glowed bright green as the pain receivers in his knee kicked in, a silent scream escaping his lips. He dropped forwards to his wounded knee, hands bracing a total collapse as he reassessed the woman who he chose to fight. His head snapped to look her in the eyes, a green eldritch glow humming in his eyes. With a slash at his waist with his claws he cut the flesh draping him like a skirt off, freeing him from any restraints.

He tapped his chest in Kron'tyr code, a steady drumming of his bladed finger making a tapping noise. He waited a moment, as if trying to figure the best course of action. With a tilt of his head he observed her in the manner a confused dog observes its master. Then he burst into action, talons coming up in a swipe aiming for the chest. At the apex of his upwards swing Vyrabond would break his attack into a feint, and come at both sides with a horizontal slash.

The battle truly was beginning, and Vyrabond would show the lesser races why the Kron'tyr would be feared.

[Cicilix]

A small, content smile flashed over Cicilix' face as her opponent fell. Even though he looked monstrous enough he apparently had fairly the same weaknesses as a normal person. This was very good indeed. She had been a bit afraid that the people in this tournament would all be some kind of super champions. But apparently there were a few like her here. Not that she would ever compare herself to this thing.

As he tore the flesh away her eyes suddenly widened and she could feel her stomach turn. What was this thing?! The girl wasn't sure that she wanted to know the answer to that question. He seemed almost more like an animal than anything else. But what was he doing in this tournament then? She couldn't understand it. But then again she had never heard of anything like this.

Her thoughts distracted her enough to make her unprepared for the next attack. With a slight yelp she tried to get her dagger up to protect her as she took a step backwards but she was too slow. Luckily this actually helped her instead since she hadn't predicted his feint and the dagger parried his right talons. Her left side was left unprotected however and she stumbled backwards when he hit her, a load whimper escaping her lips as the pain shot through her body. She wasn't used to this kind of sharp damage. All the fights she had been in mostly involved fists and kicking, and sometimes various odd things one would find within reach.

“Damn it...” she mumbled while she pressed her left arm against the wound. “I will not lose this...”

She clenched her jaw tightly together as she stared at the creature with a steady look while she held her dagger up, prepared for his next attack.

“I will not lose to something like this. I will show them that I can do this”, she thought and a small smile made its way to her lips again. Despite the pain there was something she loved about this. She even loved this more than the fights at home. This was more real.

[Gold]

Timothy landed in a crouch. He stayed like that as he scanned the field but then deflated as everyone else was already in a fight with someone else. Seriously, well I guess I could always just watch and determine their fighting styles as well as see who will be the most trouble. So he backed up against the barrier and leaned against it, content to just watch for a while. His eyes scanned the battles as they were fought.

[Herald of the Tempest]

The gleam in his foe's eye made the Kron'tyr admire her spirit. She had flinched when her flesh was cut, just as he had expected of her. Now they looked to one another on the same level. Now they saw each other and their intents clear. His knee still ached, but he pushed the pain receivers down. He could not override the pain he felt, for that was in place to help him blend into the lesser races. He could however marshal his emotions to a degree nobody else could.

He let his talon scrape across one another like shears, his mouth grill opening and closing in a mocking display of a hunter toying with prey. His opponent was patient, wating on the Kron'tyr to make the next move, and he would oblige her this. But he did not rush things. He too could be patient.

Slowly he slithered his body forwards, a snake coiling and ready to strike, he watched her muscles tense around the dagger, and he prepared his arm to hold the weapon down and slash vertically. This would require timing, and a precision that would test his foe's experience with true battle against a real threat. He moved closer, inching his foot a moment at a time, shifting the dirt. He let the tension build in each step he took, letting her emotions build within her. His glowing eyes never left her gaze, keeping her in his focus. He could feel the blood drip off his epidermal shell from his previous victim, and he scraped up a glob to drip between his fingers right before them. He began to play with the viscera before her, attempting to captivate her. And when her focus shifted, he would strike with his claws to hold her dagger away and swipe her chest open.

((Regardless Cicilix, I will attempt to parry your dagger and hold the weapon away from your chest and swipe with my other claw. Cheers!))

[Mage Hunter]

Things happened fast. Magic flung through the air and luckily it wasn’t directed too close to her. She noticed the cretin trying to take her out as she remained hunched over, playing up the poor pathetic creature. While the contact with the magical barrier had caused her to vomit, she wasn’t by any means truly sickened. Well that wasn’t entirely true, the barriers magical aura still nauseated her, but it was all complications she had dealt with before. When she had participated in the siege of Anebrilith she had somehow managed to fire her bow despite being on the edge of puking several times from the overwhelming amount of mana she had accidentally built up in her system. If there was one thing the War for Raiaera did for her, it was teach her that you can still fight, even when vomiting your guts out.

So, when the fireball came at her she somehow even managed to remain still as she knew what would happen. True to form the fireball winked out of existence a short distance from her as she let out a predatory smile and swung her sword up in a cleaving blow meant to take advantage of the momentum her opponent had stupidly pushed himself into, “Think you have what it takes to bring down a member of the Kyorl? You’ll need more than fancy parlor tricks if you’re going to sink those blades into me love.”

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Any bunnying done with the permission of my opponents.

Aurelianus was.. disappointed, to say the least, when his ball of Hellfire simply winked out of existence. No screaming, no burning, no rank stench of scorched flesh.. no fun!

He snarled internally, cursing himself as he tried to tumble to what could have caused Shahab's Lash to simply vanish.

The tiefling didn't slow down though, even as the chit started to rise, her sword sweeping out in a cleaving arc. His body was preternaturally quick, one of the few benefits of his polluted (or blessed) blood, and he knew the heavier blade would soon be hard pressed to ward off his vicious, blood-hungry knives. The half-demon kept darting forward, at the last minute lashing out with an Eldritch Blast; It was a gamble after his last invocation had been nullified, but it paid off. The heat-haze shimmer of raw arcane force hammered into the gleaming edge of the sword, knocking it off target, the blade whistling over his head. It was still close enough to skim the quills adorning the top of his head in their trademark crest.

"You think you 'ave what it takes to stop me, cutter?" he smirked, all fangs and arrogance. Inside, however, he was wondering about the odd pangs he'd felt in his gut when he'd cast the Eldritch Blast.

Is it 'er? he mused briefly, before his mind snapped back to fighting-focus.

But even as the dark-elf tried to right herself, to bring her heavier weapon back to bear, Aurelius was whistling his back leg up and round, using his momentum to bring himself round full-circle in a graceful spin. His body turned, every blade, barb and spike adorning his leather armour catching the peak - "noon", on this backwards world - sun, sending off errant flashes of light as his hobnailed boot lashed out with a heavy kick to the centre of the chit-elf's chest.

The blow connected nicely, staggering the elf back a few steps. It gave her time to reset her stance, her sword up in defense; but that street went both ways, and gave the warlock a few heartbeats to re-assess his tactics.

With a feral grin, he slid his second Baatorian knife out of the sheath at his lower back, the light gleaming along the viciously serrated edge. The glyphs along the knife pulsed a dark, arterial red.

"Your move, sweetness," he purred, forked tongue gliding along his fangs.

[Gold]

Timothy watched as a lizard man and a girl fought each other. The lizard had let loose a fire blast that dissipated before it reached the girl. Luckily I don't use magic, Timothy thought as he turned to watch the other fights.

[Amber Eyes]

The first thing she noticed were the swirls of shadow in the clear bubble of light magic. Something was definitely wrong with this cage. This needed to end quickly or the whole place just might blow. Kyla gave a passing glance towards the chaos erupting in the other side of the cell before looking towards the west tower. ”I know you hate these things, but are you honestly trying to kill us all?” The words were thought towards Sei, he alone would hear her. She had no sooner finished the thought with a slight grin when a familiar crack pulled her back to the matter at hand.

She turned her head just in time to see the glass begin to shatter. Fiery blue shards began to fly in all directions, and all Kyla could think was “NOT YET!” The words were said out loud, annoyance evident in the tone. She only had one mystic protection and she had been hoping to avoid an attack long enough to make it count. ”Stupid, stupid, stupid! Let yourself get caught off guard and lose your advantage.”

The mystic stood stone still, noticing for the first time the girl who had attacked her, some unknown twit who probably entered just to rub elbows with the big guys. And now, now she had screwed Kyla’s whole strategy. Kyla stood stone still, crossing her arms in aggravation and waiting to see what was left after the blast.

[Resolve]

As the mohawked man clashed with the pukey elf behind her, Resolve nearly advanced on her victim only to find her protected by an all too sickeningly familiar barrier: the mystic glass. Immediately, the girl doubled over, minimizing her exposed surface area as she conjured a shield of swirling energy. It sizzled as the shards burst in fireworks against its surface, but even in her haste, such a tactic couldn't fully defend her against the sudden onslaught. One dagger of searing glass embedded itself like a bullet in her left shoulder, inciting a cry of pain and disappointment.

"Shit!" she hissed, shield fluctuating, then dropping as she yanked the thin shard from its new home in her muscle. Resolve burnt her fingers on it, dropping it to the grass at her knees where her blood mingled with dew. With some residual cursing, she lifted her gaze to the other young woman and she knew. This person was somehow relevant to Sei, and as such, inherited the massive grudge she bore against him from the last tournament. She glared through her hair, eyes so crystalline blue that they almost seemed to glow in contrast with her dark complexion. "Let's do this," she muttered in self motivation, and she bounced to her feet directly into a sprint.

Resolve drew her sword singlehandedly as she ran, lifting it menacingly as she made to hack little Kyla Orlouge to bits.

[Mage Hunter]

If her Kyorl drill sergeant could see her now, he’d be kicking her ass for failing to see the kick coming. The blow deflecting her sword was a new trick, and one she was loathe to repeat even as a finger gently brushed against the rough stone set it not he hilt of the blade. Reassured the Null Stone was in fact still present and not shattered by the offsetting blow she had been victim to., she watched the area around her more than aware he wasn’t her only threat and widened her eyes as she saw the glass shield about one of the combatants shatter into flaming shards, and spreading out like shrapnel.

Her first instinct was to activate the null stone, but with no other recourse she would be a dead fish as soon as a solid spell landed on her. There would be no Godhand Striker to pull her ass from the fire if she failed this time. She had become a grown woman rather than the petulant child she had begun as and to fail so resolutely, so early in this endeavor would be humiliating. This wasn’t the Kyrol Trained mage Hunter that Alerar had exiled in fear, this would be the death of a semi-known person who was so incompetent she couldn’t even beat a normal street thug with a flashy fireball.

That would have been the height of embarrassment.

Instead she decided to use the arena to her advantage. That was to say, her opponent more specifically. Seeing the flying glass shards she moved to try and put as many of them firmly into Aur’s body even as she used her blade to try and bat away others. Muttering under her breath, “Stupid Mystics, why c an’t they control their magic like most mages I meet?”

[Cicilix]

As they stood there and watched each other Cicilix became a little bit nervous again. She couldn't read her opponent's intentions at all and that made it very hard, if not down right impossible, to predict his next move. She knew that this fact forced her to be much more careful than usually. If she was going to survive this battle she would have to keep her guard up at all times. For the moment that was going rather well. The girl had even started to ignore the wound in her side, which was still dripping blood slowly.

“He is trying to distract me”, she thought with a slight smug smile visible on her lips as she watched him get closer to her. “He won't get away with that.”

The girl didn't let her gaze avert from his face at all, looking for any little sign that would give away when he was going to attack.

A sudden revelation hit her. Since she couldn't read her opponent she really only had one option. She would have to be the first to attack at all times, trying to get an advantage when he wasn't suspecting it. This would be very hard for her, it was the complete opposite of what she was used to but it just might work.

However she didn't have time to do anything before something hit her back. Hard. She could feel the burning glass shards bury themselves into her vest but it was nowhere close to be thick enough to protect her from them and the glass cut into her back, drawing a pained shriek from her lips. She stumbled forward towards her opponent.

His attack came soon after that and she just barely managed to get her free arm up to protect her chest. This wound was much deeper than the wound in her side but by now she was too tired to scream. All the energy she could muster went to keep her on her feet now.

At this point Cicilix completely shut off her thoughts and feelings. Her instincts kicked in and she went into her fighting mode. With a swift movement she got her dagger free from him and quickly struck out towards his throat with an incredible precise aim.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Aurelianus was watching his opponent intently, waiting for any tell-tale sign of the knife-ear's next move. He circled the blades in his hands slowly, easing out his wrists, loosening up for the bout. If he hadn't been focusing on the girl so much, he might never had had any sort of warning. But, as the chit's eyes widened a little, the tiefling, peery he was about to fall for the oldest trick in the book, risked a glance over his shoulder...

And swore.

He just had time to see the magic bubble around one of the other bastards in the arena explode outward with the musical tinkling of glass against glass. His expression darkened a fraction more when they burst into flames in the air.

Aurelius was already moving; Crouching low, the tiefling turned his will inwards, feeling out the invocation that was by now as natural to him as breathing. In a heartbeat Freki's Shield burst into existence, distorting the air in all its flaming splendour. The magical bubble shield swirled into form around the warlock, just in time to deflect a few of the shards heading his way. But not all of them. Two managed to clear the area before the Shield covered it, one shattering against the bladed-straps and plates of his leather armour. The second whistled past the half-demon's face, making him wince slightly as it slashed along his right ear, pinging off the myriad rings and charms piercing the tapered flesh.

A warm drop of blood splashed onto the side of his neck, stark black against his alabaster flesh, already congealing in the heat surrounding him in its protective cocoon. A grim chuckle slid thickly from his throat when he heard the elf behind him cursing. With the merest fraction of his will the spellslinger dropped Freki's Shield, confident in his abilities to survive without the arcane flames swathing him.

"Aye, I'm with you there, luv," he smirked, turning back to the girl and ignoring the minor flesh-wound. Still, you want to see magicks under control, I'm 'appy to oblige, he thought with a sharp-edged grin.

Steeling himself for what he knew was going to be unpleasant, the plane-touched warlock felt his throat start to expand unnaturally inside, his mouth straining wider than any human mouth had any right to... and before the eyes of the competitors and spectators alike, vomited a thrashing swarm of angry insects at the sword-wielding dark-elf. Centipedes, cockroaches, beetles, sting-flies, wasps; all emerged in a cloud instantly attacking the nearest living thing besides himself, biting, burrowing, stinging.

Grimacing at the taste in his mouth, and spitting out a stray maggot, he watched to see how the newest spell in his repertoire would do. "Ugh! That taste always reminds me of the sewers in Ettermire," he spat, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. "Bloody 'orrible."

[Gold]

Timothy saw the glass fly towards him at speeds that seemed impossible. With one quick motion, Timothy pulled his shield in front of him and ducked behind it, as the glass shattered on his shield. I'm glad I brought this thing with me, but I think it's about time that we join in on this party. But who to pick?

[Amber Eyes]

Kyla watched as the combatants ran, dodged, and hid behind each other. A hint of a smile played on the edge of her lips as the scent of burning flesh reached her nostrils. She quickly surveyed the damage, attempting to choose her target when footsteps reached her ears. Kyla turned, sword ready, to see the caramel skinned girl bringing her sword down. She pulled her blade to her chest a fast as she could, but not quite fast enough. Her opponent’s blade just grazed the skin near her shoulder. It was nothing more than a scrape, but that this girl had managed to get the jump on her at all sent raging fury through the mystic’s veins.

When Kyla joined the cell she expected the legend of Godhand Striker, the cunning of Max Dirks, the pure strength of Joshua Cronen, the magical talents of Lillian Sessthal, a fight to the death against Draug, the killer of the Ixians. Instead, here she was locking swords with someone who had never even registered on her radar. Kyla pushed hard against her sword, hoping to push the young girl off her feet. “I’ve fought Gods, do you really think you have a chance here?”

She whispered something under her breath, listening for the crackle of thunder as a bolt of lightning made its way to the earth, directed at the young blonde she had noticed blocking her glass with his shield. Might as well start taking the weaker ones out while I’m dealing with this one.

[Herald of the Tempest]

Vyrabond had received a lucky chance to strike when the Mystic's protective barrier broke and the firey remains were abosrbed by his foe. He would have called it careful planning, but as the construct learned the Cell was more about chaos and less about skill. This suited him just fine, for the Kron'tyr relished in the swirling melee in his days when flesh was his own.

The attack he planned was thwarted again, but his wounds were getting deeper and causing more damage. A few more well placed strikes and he would have her dead before him. He shoved one foot back to brace himself, preparing a secondary attack, but had to use both hands to claw the incoming dagger away. What would have been death was avoided, but her aim was still true enough. He felt the right side of his cheek light up, pain receptors overloading his senses blurring his vision. His mouth hung, ghastly open like a zombie, his green eyes sparking like a fading star. He twirled with the attack, confused at her sudden change and struck violently outwards to keep her away as he assessed the situation.

Yet he couldn't. He couldn't focus pass the pain. His jaw was litteraly hanging on the other side of his face and though it was nothing he had to actually fear, the insistance for Vyrabond's infiltration to mimic human reactions had become his own. Their weaknesses were now his, and concern was imprinted into his mind. What was he to do? How in the Storm Herald's name did a human deal with such agony?

For the first time in a long time, Vyrabond felt helpless, and like a cornered rat he began to swipe furiously to keep his aggressor away while he tried to reboot himself. He was not done yet, but perhaps the death knell wasn't playing for his foe after all.

((Ciclix, you gave me a post to attack you, so this is your return post. Enjoy :D))

[Resolve]

The sword nicked her opponent's shoulder, blood for blood, and they each glistened crimson and blue as they stared each other down. Somewhere behind her, Resolve heard her bug-belching comrade mention Ettermire's sewers. This interrupted her concentration, grasping for her attention –– why would he make that kind of reference, of all things? It triggered hazy recognition in the back of her mind, like seeing someone's face in a crowd but being unable to place it. She didn't like it one bit.

As the exorcist's gut sank, Kyla's parry cleared away the ominous clouds of doubt for a minuscule moment. The mystic attempted to shove Resolve away, the girl finding herself matched in brute strength; she allowed herself to be pushed back, staggering slightly if only to gain another split second to think. The woman said something to her, but she barely registered her words under the growing noise of her own thoughts.

Nausea blossomed in her stomach, sharp pangs of panic in her chest. Why would he say that?

But she couldn't allow herself to be too distracted –– she had a mystic to slaughter.

The girl lifted her left arm, too damaged from the glass to handle a heavy sword, and wielded another crackling ball of energy instead. In close range, she swept it right up into the mystic's abdomen and unleashed its power at point blank range. If it struck true, it could crush ribs, depending on what protection she had; even at a distance, a glance could be enough to knock the wind out of someone.

[Amber Eyes]

Something was very wrong. Kyla had no thought other than pain. She flew back, her arms failing to make the journey towards her unbearable midsection. She landed hard and the pain intensified, her back and head joining in on the torture. In the moments before the adrenaline rush Kyla thought she was dying.

The explosion hit her just below her ribcage, tearing into her flesh and crushing at least one rib. Her head throbbed, and her vision took a moment to come back from the bright light she saw upon impact. “Who the hell are you?” The mystic mumbled the question mostly to herself, finally remembering which muscles she needed to move to rub the back of her head. The blood on her shirt told her what lay beneath was far from fatal, but that did little to subdue the pain. The ribs would at least slow her down and this fight had only just begun. “Let’s see who’s bombs are bigger, shall we?”

The words came out less threatening than she intended, but the impact wasn’t meant to be on the girl’s ears. A ball of light began to grow just behind her opponent’s head and soon swirling black fog began to surround the orb. The shadows grew stronger, squeezing the light until it was almost invisible. Kyla rolled to her stomach, tucking her head under her arms and waited for the explosion.

[Gold]

Timothy saw the lightning head his way. Guess that answers that question, he thought as he pulled out his rapier, put it into the ground and jumped back just as the lightning hit his makeshift lightning rod. After all the lightning had entered the earth, Timothy walked forward and pulled the rapier out of the ground and sheathed it.

He also sheathed his short sword then saw the one who attacked him duck. He saw a strange orb form behind the other girl and knew this was bad he opened a portal in between the girl and the explosive as the exit portal appeared right behind the mystic that attacked him. The explosion traveled through the portal, right at the mystic. After the the explosion went through, the portal closed and Timothy was exhausted, he knew he wouldn't be able to make another one for about two hours, but it was worth it to gain an ally in this cell.

[Silence Sei]

Though he tried not to let it get to him, seeing his daughter attack brought a monster out in Sei Orlouge. The Mystic gripped the granite of the tower window and grinded tooth against tooth. “Tobias. Go.”

Tobias Greenleaf knew from the short and simple message that Sei was angry. The Ixian leader –never- kept things short, often opting to monologue rather than get to short and concise points. Considering the circumstances, the green haired elf was almost certain that this meant Kyla Orlouge was in danger. So of course, when the elven theif popped into the Cell with the local Ixian Knights teleporter (a plant monstrosity known as ‘Misery’), her green eyes searched out Kyla first.

Misery, however, was half way between Tobias and the Mystic girl at this point. “Oh, no you don’t big guy!” Tobias yelled, her pointy ears able to pick up the muffled, angry roars coming from the beasts sewn up flytrap mouth. “You’re getting out of here until I need you to get me outta here. This ain’t your shindig, it’s mine.”

The beast turned to Tobias, then to Kyla. Again to Tobias, back to Kyla, finally, the beast looked upwards towards the tower where Sei resided. Tobias did not have to be a telepath to know that the Mystic was giving his ‘pet’ a direct order, because the moss covered monster disappeared instantaneously. “That’s better.”

Tobias adjusted her long green hair into her green bandanna, her tanned skin covering up the fact that she was a Raiaeran elf. She reached into her pocket, withdrawing eight daggers, and placed one between each finger. She threw the weapons with insane accuracy, six of the blades flying around Timothy Gold’s body while the last two caught the youth in his right thigh. Tobias placed her hands on her hips and nodded at her handiwork, her blades hitting the barrier behind Gold and falling harmlessly to the ground. “Ouch, that’s gotta hurt. Dehlyn daggers’ll do that to ya, though.”

She smirked a little, not focused on whether or not Kyla had managed to dodge the explosion; the Mystic girl didn’t care for the elf thief anyways. “Alright Misery, let’s go ahead and get out of here before these shadows start coming back more.” Tobias pointed down to the small blackness under her form. The beast appeared without a second to lose and grabbed the elven warrior, letting out a mournful howl towards Kyla. The message was clear from the abomination; since he wasn’t a grandmaster or an enforcer for this Chamber, he could say it with as much effort as his plant-thing mind could produce.

He was telling her ‘Good Luck’.

((Gold, you’re being warned for powergaming in this chamber. If it happens again, you will be disqualified. No eliminations this round, but the sun is moving, giving some shade, just not a whole lot.))

[Mage Hunter]

The insects swarmed over her, encompassing her in a cloud even as she stabbed her sword tip first into the ground. She was not going to lose it as she swatted the insects off her. Rather than push them away, where they could fly back she was swatting them against her, crushing their exoskeletons against her tender flesh. She could feel the incessant itch of all the bites stings and refused to even grunt in pain as she grit her teeth. She refused to give the man any sense of satisfaction at her discomfort. They crawled into her ears, in her hair, everywhere they could biting and stinging and generally being as big a nuisance as possible.

She could tell he was more than amused by the display as she caught the chuckles even as the man spat out the odd lavae.

Gripping the hilt of her blade she knew better than to use her last ace in the hole. Instead she was going to muscle through it even as the swarm began to die off about her. Pulling the blade from the dirt the sound of more metal against metal could be heard as the drow gritted her teeth and flung the blade at the mage. Knowing he was fast enough to evade such a simplistic attack she charged out of the insect swarm with her other blade her eyes blood shot form the various venoms and toxins coursing through her system as she shouted out, “F'sarn aluin ulu elghliik vith dosst elghinyrr'khel whol nindel uss m'elzar...”

To clarify she threw the second long sword she drew, not the one she’s been using…

[Cicilix]

To her dismay her attack had failed. But it had at least caused some real damage to her opponent. This was really good, if she knew she could hurt him she knew she could win. But for some reason Vyrabond seemed to become very confused by her attack and she couldn't figure out why. She had gotten the impression that the creature was much more than an ordinary human but he seemed to receive pain as much as any other creature, and he even seemed surprised by this fact.

Cicilix knew she could use this to her advantage. For the first time since she had entered the Cell she actually felt a tiny bit of hope spread through her heart, maybe she could even make this. Maybe she could take down this opponent. And maybe she could even take down the others.

But she had to be careful still, one mistake could cost her her life now. She was already seriously wounded, the blood dripping from her side and her arm. Her left arm was going to be useless now, every time she moved it pain shot up through her body. It was just lucky that it had not been her right hand. If that had been the case she would have just had to give up already.

As she saw how her opponent seemed to stay back and panic she saw her chance. She was not going to let this opportunity slip away. She didn't even seem to notice anything around her, not even when Tobias and Misery entered the arena. All that existed to her right now was Vyrabond and herself.

She shot forward with her dagger in a steady grip. She knew she couldn't get past his swiping talons so instead she aimed a kick for his knee again, the same knee she had kicked before, to get him off balance. Then she aimed her dagger upwards towards his stomach. The only thought in her mind was that she hoped this would work.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

In the brief few moments he had to enjoy the spectacle, Aurelianus flicked his inhuman gaze across the rest of the arena to measure how the other sods were holding up.

The short chit was holding her own against.. whatever she was fighting, the leatherhead who'd jumped into the chamber from on high was standing with a pair of daggers embedded in his leg - the tiefling registered the enforcer disappearing, and made a mental note that Silence Sei was obviously keeping a close eye on everyone involved. Bear that in mind if you're gonna play dirty, mate, he reminded himself. And of course, he did plan to fight dirty.

But his serpentine eyes were caught by Resolve, standing over her opponent, blue-blood staining her blade and the other chit doubled up on the ground... and some thing swirling in the air behind her head. The way the other combatant ducked and covered, Aurelius knew it didn't bode well for the closest thing he had to an ally in this contest.

"Resolve," he snapped, his voice cutting across the arena easily enough, "watch your arse!"

That said, he turned his head back just in time to see the sword whistling through the air towards him. If he'd been any other regular addle-cove, then that might have been the end of him in this tournament. But, his blood tainted with his mixed heritage, the plane-touched guttersnipe could move like lightning. Even so, he barely had time to react, swaying aside as the sword darted past him. Fast as he was, his own distraction had cost him, and he grunted slightly as the sword sliced along his right bicep, a thin trickle of black blood sliding down his tattooed flesh.

That's what you get for tryin' to save someone else's sorry arse instead of your own, he admonished himself.

But, thankfully he didn't have to wait too much longer to vent his own frustration, as the drow emerged from the now mostly dead swarm, her flesh marked from the dozens of bites and stings, and veritably dripping with colour from where she'd (cleverly, he admitted) crushed them against her body rather than swatting in vain.

Keeping on the balls of his feet, the quilled, blade-clad half-demon met her charge with one of his own; up close, and personal. That was where he did his best work. The tiefling ducked her first swing, darting inside her guard and lashing out even as he sped past her. His left hand blade slashed low at her midriff as he passed, hoping more to distract her guard than do any real damage, while his right-hand knife slashed for the side of the girl's right knee; that was the crucial blow. If his Baatorian knives managed to rend her flesh, hampering her movement, then the sadistic half-breed could let the bleeding enchantments do their work, as he picked her apart piece by piece.

He finally stopped when they had traded places - the girl where he'd been standing, and his hobnailed boots crushing the remains of the swarm underfoot as he turned to survey his handiwork.

The arrogant smirk never left Aurelius' face, even as he shook out his right arm, trying to ignore the sting of the gash there. This tournament was turning out to be more fun than he'd hoped.

[Herald of the Tempest]

The battlefield was turning to a stomping ground rapidly as the combatants within lost their individual humors, turning into killing machines. The irony of the situation would have made the Kron'tyr laugh if he could, but the situation was vastly getting out of hand.

The mystic of light and shadow, something research on the race showed was a unique mixture that was an anomaly, had been fighting recklessly in her engagement. Her attacks impacting several warriors near her. Had the woman he fought with not been directly between that fight and he, the Kron'tyr probably would have been paste.

Then there was the Tiefling and Drow. Their battle was a testament to violence, both relishing in the bloodletting with casual grace and care, taking more sport for the activity than actual martial pride.

Lastly, the one who hid, was a coward all battle, looking for opportunities and never risking his life or energy unless threatened. It seemed the lesser races were scattered, undisciplined and lacked focus. Their hot blooded instincts and mental deficiencies made them a peculiar lot to engage. However he could not assess more, for the mute had his own little problem.

Vyrabond barely had the sense to notice what was going on around him. His aggressor had moved in once again on his side and he nearly missed it in the confusion of all the pain he fell. He saw her through blurry vision, and that took all he had let alone have the mindset to dodge her attack. However when he felt the back of his knee caving once again instinct kicked in. He tumbled behind her, not quite as graceful as the construct moved before. When he rose up he raised both his talons with murderous intent. wrenching them down in a raking fashion against her exposed skin.

She had managed to spark a malevolent streak within him. He couldn't process the emotions of hate and rage, but the timbers of their fire were stoked by this woman's hand and he realized he created a protocol without the will of the Storm Herald behind the act. It also seemed his new order didn't violate the sacred instructions of his liege lord. If he could process this emotion, he would have smiled most sinisterly.

So it was that a new mission protocol came to be: He would tear her apart and wear her skin by the end of this fight.

[Cicilix]

The turmoil of battles rang in her ears, accompanied by the sound of her own heartbeat. It created a symphony that only helped to spread the adrenaline in her body as the fight continued. Cicilix had never thought that she would ever be in a battle like this, after all she was just a simple tailor girl, who had never been in any bigger fights than brawls in the streets at home. She would never in a thousand years had thought that she would be in this tournament, and especially not making it this far.

As she shot forward towards her opponent she suddenly recalled a fight some years ago. She had been on the way home from the tavern with Quasim when they had run into some neighbouring kids. It just happened to be so that earlier that week she and Quasim had kicked their asses with their group and now they were looking for revenge. The fight hadn't been anywhere near this but she remembered it just because she had been at disadvantage that time too. But that time she had had Quasim there to help her. This time she was all alone.

She swore loudly as her dagger missed Vyrabond and she angrily blinked away the tears in her eyes which the memory of Quasim had called forth.

“I must win this. For Quasim's sake.” The thought etched itself to her mind as she stumbled forward. Her opponent's tumble had made her miscalculate her balance and she therefore lost hers as well. She steadied herself just as his talons came down over her back and she let out a scream before clenching her jaw together in a try to control the pain. Luckily her stumble had made her evade the worst of the attack, or she would surely be dead, but she could feel her vest and her shirt tear where he hit her and the warmth of her blood as it began to trickle up from the wounds.

The girl was starting to get exhausted, both from the fight itself and from blood loss. But she could be incredible stubborn and the energy she still had came from shear force of will as she spun around to face her opponent again.

With an angry shriek she shot forward again, her dagger steady in her hand. She didn't even care about keeping her balance any more as she simply threw herself at Vyrabond with all her might. This was when the bomb blew off. It threw her completely off guard since she hadn't noticed anything around her up until now and she therefore miscalculated her jump. In the last second she threw her hand out towards him, hoping that she would at least be able to cut his side, while she fell hard to the ground behind him. The girl rolled several metres on the ground, whimpering as dirt got into her wounds, until she rolled right into Aurelianus with a thud.

[Herald of the Tempest]

Vyrabond felt elation to watch her back run red with her life force. A satisfied wave of accomplishment came over him as his talons clipped against one another, her blood running in sticky goblets between each length. The woman was running ragged, her breaths labored and her body frail. Victory was assured to him at this rate, and the prospect of tearing her flesh one strip at a time brought a new level of satisfaction to the construct.

When she rallied herself and charged the mute lowered one of his hands to parry her blow, preparing to run his free hand across her chest. Yet the opportunity was denied him. Now that he had moved behind her, the protection she offered him from the shadow mystic was gone. He was oblivious when the bomb went off, and he felt pain trail up his back and shoulders, body forcefully moved from the blast. He sailed in the air, his side cut up from the woman's dagger, body landing in a heap of Kron'tyr epidermal plate and dirt. He bounced once, rolled, hit a rock violently, and his eyes flashed with the brightest green that it was almost white when the lower half of his jaw finally was ripped off.

He collided with the Drow female, head swarming and system visibly rebooting as the eldritch green orb within his chest pulsed. He felt his body shudder, limbs shaking in trauma as visible dents were seen over his body. The talons he used to fight were bent out of position, their sharpness was entirely dulled and resembled more like a rusty set of hooks. He felt his body spasm uncontrollably as the pain receptors flared pain and the only solace he took was that his foe had to probably be experiencing a similar fate.

His hand dug deep into the earth, trying to settle his twitching frame, and his green eyes locked to the woman next to the Tiefling. He crawled out of the tiny trench his body made in the ground and pointed to her, his deformed face almost screaming in anger that she was his prize.

His time was running thin, but he cared not. His protocol was clear. Her skin would be his. Damn the others around him.

((Dru, sorry for the abrupt arrival, but feel free to Control Vyrabond.))

[Amber Eyes]

The explosion seemed to rip her from consciousness, the mystic saw white and heard nothing but a shot. The sound seemed to last forever, as though played on a loop to her ears only. I am dead

Of course the very fact that she had the thought meant she was not in fact dead, but the humor was lost on the now armless young girl. Regardless, she would soon wish she had been correct.

Kyla rolled, her entire body protesting her continued existence, and tried to push herself to her butt. She teetered to the right, and for the first time realized that her pain stopped much higher in her arm that she would have expected. Horror filled her bright blue eyes, tears streamed down her face, and blood gushed from the open wound that lay where her elbow should have been. She had nothing left to give, how could she continue?

She closed her eyes, allowing her muscles to relax and preparing for the end when a tiny voice filled her mind.

”Don’t give up.”

Adrenaline rushed to her veins, forcing her to sitting and her eyes wildly searched the crowd. There with his nose pressed against the sealed barrier was Akiv. His eyes were strong, he wasn’t frightened; he had never been frightened in his life. He was born brave, a trait Kyla wished she possessed. In fact, had Sei not firmly put his foot down, the six year old would have been on this very field, harmonica pistol in hand. That’s it! The pistol.

Kyla reached her left arm to her right hip, pulling the gun from its holster. She pulled the pin back with her teeth, the cold steel of the gun soothing her bloodied lips. She forced herself to her knees and aimed directly at the blonde teen, three shots rung through the air before she collapsed once again on the dusty blood-covered ground. She didn’t know if she hit him or not, too much noise filled her ears, and the ringing hadn’t stopped yet. She pulled the holster from her thigh and used the material to slow the blood flow from her missing limb. It wouldn’t buy her much time, but it was all she had. Dirt and grit covered the exposed bone that stuck out about three inches from her ripped flesh but there was nothing to be done.

It was do or die and she didn’t have long. The mystic lifted her hand to her neck and began to unclasp the gold chain that hung there.

[Mage Hunter]

She had to admit, the mage had balls that’s for sure. When he charged her back she knew two particular facts, the man first and foremost was a warrior. That meant the magic wasn’t what he relied on, which made him deadlier. The second was that he was actually pretty good with those blades. Had Drusilia attempted this tactic against anyone else she would have gotten more than just a nick on their bicep. The man was hellishly fast for sure, and she knew she needed every ounce of wit to keep herself from being destroyed.

That made this fight more to her liking, as he seemed to have abandoned magic at the wayside, and she was perfectly fine with that development.

As they raced towards each other she saw the blow going for her stomach and snorted in disgust, as if such an obvious feint was going to catch her offguard. The other blade was heading for her knee and she knew this was the blow to avoid. Her blade knocked the knife aside even as the other found only leather covering her stomach. A smirk lit up her face as she hissed, “I told you once you son of a bitch, its going to take more than parlor tricks before you get a knife in me…”

Then the metallic golem slammed into her. She skidded across the ground with the impact and slammed once more into the shield locking the combatants in. Immediately she began purging once more going into dry heaves as there was literally nothing left to purge from the first time. She at least had the presence of mind to crawl away from the shield so as to not keep her puking. Eyes of hate blazed from under the tangled mass of blackened hair, the collision finally destroying what was left of the leather chord she had tied her ponytail with.

Someone was going to pay for ruining her perfectly good duel.

[Resolve]

When Kyla fell back with scathing retorts, Resolve smirked, raising her hand to unleash another blast. The mystic curled in on herself and at first this fed her opponent's ego –– she would show her not to underestimate a new face again –– but someone called the exorcist's name, breaking her from her power trip.

"What––" Resolve started, twisting in place to check behind her. She barely registered the strange scene which occupied the rest of the chamber, intervention of strange creature and wasp vomit alike. Wide eyes met with the growing bomb, its swirl of light and shadow mesmerizing, and she cursed with crude enthusiasm as she doubled over in meager hope for cover. It blew before her knees met the grass, deafeningly loud and earthshaking. She winced...

And she lived. A miracle had occurred. The quick-thought portal had gone unnoticed in her panic and she gaped at Kyla's broken, bloodied form before her. She watched on silently as the mystic discovered her missing arm, as she reached for her gun, as she aimed at the blond boy––

Gun! Resolve wasn't stupid, she knew something like that could be a game changer. As fast as any other reflex, she vanished from where she knelt without a trace.

The girl reappeared straddling the prone offender, grabbing a fistful of hair to grind her pretty face into the damp earth. In her right hand, she crafted a viciously slender dagger of wispy, crackling energy. She brought it swiftly down into Kyla's back, using her body weight on her weak arm to pin the mystic in place as she aimed to puncture lungs. Blood continued to flow down from her stressed shoulder, making a gory mess of her beautifully woven sari.

Kyla let out a horrific scream and Resolve nearly shied away, but she couldn't waste an instant. The exorcist reached out, snagging the gun with her right hand as she summoned a ball of energy in her left. She aimed it at the back of the mystic's head, intent on putting her out of her misery.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this mystic wasn't much different from herself: just a girl set out to prove herself. But adrenaline fueled Resolve's competitive nature to the point of no return and she couldn't stop herself. Self control had always been a weakness of hers, anyhow.

[Gold]

Timothy held his right leg in pain. "Interference with the match should be illegal," Timothy mumbled as he looked at his thigh where two knives were stuck in them. Best not to pull them out, he thought. He then felt a bullet graze his right arm, then another his right leg, and a third one ricocheted off his shield. He looked up just in time to see the girl who attacked him, with only one arm, had started to unclasp the chain from her neck. but before she could the woman he saved grabbed his assailant and stabbed her in the back before his ally pulled the gun from the assailant's hand and aimed it at her head.

Timothy moved to stand but fell to the ground. He couldn't get up, he was as good as dead.

[Amber Eyes]

It has to stop. The thought consumed her. Something pierced her and breathing quickly became impossible. Every inch of her begged for death, and soon she would concede, but this wasn’t quite over. She felt her pistol leave her hand, and the reality that she may not have more time struck her.

Kyla noticed the shadows of the towers upon the ground, and she knew it was her only escape. She melded into the darkened ground, feeling the cool of the shadows absorb her. She managed to unclasp her necklace before she made her way back into the light in the unoccupied north side of the cell. Her limiter necklace now free, Kyla focused her newfound energy on a dirt mound nearby.

She stared hard, watching as the mound began to spin, faster and faster with each revolution until the air around it began to fall in step. The spinning current grew, beginning to move towards her and blowing everything in its path away. Kyla pulled her focus, content that her creation could live on its own, and instead created an orb of light below herself. As the shadows began to squeeze it tight Kyla smiled. Perhaps she wasn’t quite done after all.

The orb exploded and Kyla Orlouge was dead.

She felt nothing, it was over quickly and soon all of her parts were airborne, spinning rapidly as they were carried by the twister. It headed south, towards the rest of the combatants and spewing bright blue blood and pieces of flesh in all directions.

Somewhere in the crowd a child screamed, but as quickly as the sound was heard it was gone again. There was no time for sympathy in the Cell.

[[[This is Kyla’s conclusion]]]

[Gold]

The twister struck Timothy first as he was the closest to it. He was swiped up and bashed around. His shield was ripped from his hand and all his swords flew out of their sheaths. They all spun around in the vortex and just missed each other as well as Timothy, for a while that is. Suddenly, his rapier skewered his right side, as his long sword embedded itself in his right leg next to the knives that had made it impossible for him to run. His broadsword got stuck as it hit his third rib up on his right side and his short sword cut deep into his left shoulder. As Timothy was about to cry out in pain his bladed shield came around and chopped off his head, thus his cry of pain went unheard. his body and weapons stayed in the tornado as it continued it's path towards the others.

(Timothy Gold is no more. So this is his last post.)

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Some slight bunnying done. If anyone would like edits made, feel free to contact me in chat, or via PM, and I will happily oblige.

Chuckling to himself, amused by his opponent's skills rather than put off by them, Aurelius admitted to himself; he had picked the right person to square off against in this tournament. He allowed a brief pause in the combat, nodding amicably to the girl, twirling his knives in little flourishes to keep his wrists loose. The green-steel of the blades glimmered in the overbearing sun, each serration shining like the fangs of some feral predator. Much like his own pearly-whites.

Chit's makin' it a decent scrap. Let's 'ope she can--

The drow went down before he could even finish the thought, vanishing in a tangled mess of coal-black skin and--

Everything spun violently.

Something slammed into the tiefling like a meaty cannonball, sprawling him on his back as he felt something warm and wet splash across his cheek. Reaching up a finger, he ran it along his now-dew-damp skin, bringing it up in front of his eyes, trying to focus. His fingertips were stained red... it took a moment longer than it should have for the importance of that fact to register - it wasn't his blood. For the briefest second, ears ringing, vision dancing, air knocked out of his lungs, anyone could have ended the warlock; no muss, no fuss.

Luckily, no-one in the small pile of bodies was in any position to do so, all of them in much the same state as himself. Dragging himself back to his feet and gathering his knives as he did so, Aurelianus winced a little as he felt the unmistakable ache of cracked ribs under his armour. He snapped his glance from the dark elf, extricating herself from under what appeared to be a metal statue, its form resembling what some sculptor thought a human should look like, having heard the description, but having never seen one themselves. Before it started moving again, the Cager flicked his gaze to the one who'd taken him off his feet; the chit was short, he could mark that even with her curled up on the ground, and he noted, heavily wounded judging by the bloody stripes down her back. He glanced at his own body, seeing the red smears across the various hooks and blades sprouting from the segmented leather.

But whether his razor-edged attire had done those, or not, he wasn't sure. Either way, the bitch wasn't likely to be much of a threat. Even so, he couldn't help lashing a heavy boot into the girl's ribs, hissing through clenched fangs in anger. A drop of blood, like ink, from his lacerated ear splashed down onto her prone form. He took a deep breath, making sure none of his ribs were broken.. but it just seemed to be the sharp ache of several fractures. He would live.

Which is more than can be said for any of the other berks in 'ere.

The warlock's real opponent, the Aleraran, was too busy dry-heaving to defend herself. Could pen 'er in the dead-book now, he mused, head cocked to one side like some sort of predatory bird. But, he shook the thoughts away, sliding the knife in his left hand back into its sheath. He was no stranger to dirty fighting - by all accounts, he was a bloody master of it - but he was having too much fun to waste a decent cutter by nicking her throat when she was down.

Thankfully, he didn't have to argue with himself o'erlong on the matter, as the metal creature staggered to its feet, giving him the perfect way to vent his bloodthirst.

"You," he snapped at her, retching in the grass, "on your feet. I want a fight when I come back to finish our little matin' ritual 'ere."

The tiefling turned his snake-like eyes to the construct before him, scanning the sod-box to see the extent of the damage it had already suffered. It was barely in any position to fight, but it still seemed intent on trying. Either admirable, or stupid - he couldn't decide which.

"And you," he barked, stepping in front if the thing as it tried to go for the other girl, "interrupted my pikin' foreplay."

He lashed out with his left hand, letting out all the built up rage at having his fight interrupted erupt in a wall of pure magickal force, hammering into the golem-like creature with more strength than any normal human could muster. It took the creature off its feet, like a hammer-blow from a pissed off giant, the edges catching the drow as well, tumbling her a few feet across the arena floor.

The half-demon snarled savagely, starting after the metallic humanoid... before seeing the magical tornado raging across the arena towards them all. He even blinked once in astonishment as he witnessed the chit Resolve had been squared off against explode in a way that could only be described as "gore-tastic". It didn't take a genius to know that was a game-changer. The tiefling even managed to watch, somewhat amused, as one of the other challengers was ripped from his feet and mangled inside the vortex. It was, he wouldn't deny, a spectacular sight. But it boded ill for everyone else involved.

"Well," he started, trying to find a word to accurately convey the thoughts rushing through his head. "Shit."

[Cicilix]

The whole world was spinning. Even if she had opened her eyes Cicilix wouldn't have been able to see anything for the pain. It was pulsing through her body with each heartbeat and she couldn't concentrate on anything else but the pain. Somewhere in the back of her head she registered that she hit someone when she rolled around on the ground but she couldn't even force herself to open her eyes to see who it was. The girl could feel her wounds burning where they now where covered in dirt and as the person on top of her stood up again she could feel more wounds all over her body, though she didn't understand where they came from. Then again she couldn't really think at the moment anyway.

Then the kick hit her. She winced lowly as she felt how some of her ribs cracked, but she was too weak to do anything about it. But the kick had brought her back somewhat to consciousness and she slowly opened her eyes. It took a moment for her to steady her gaze as she looked up at the man who now had his back against her. She knew it was he who had kicked her. Her eyes widened a little as she saw his clothes. No wonder she had felt new wounds after he fell on her.

Still dizzy from the impact and blood loss she watched as Aurelianus turned towards Vyrabond instead. A hint of anger suddenly forced itself into her mind as she watched how he hit her opponent to the ground.

“No!” she thought. “He's mine.”

With her last strength she pulled herself up ever so slowly. She gritted her teeth and the world started to spin again as the pain screamed at her to lie down. But she wouldn't have it. Slowly she moved over towards Vyrabond, one step at the time until she sank down besides him. Her hand found one of his broken talons on the ground besides him and she gripped it hard, she had no idea where her dagger had disappeared to and right now she didn't even think about it. This was all that mattered, she would win over this creature.

With a hard motion she thrusted the talon down hard into her opponent's eye. A sense of satisfaction spread through her body and she smiled while her hand let go of the talon and she sat on the ground, too exhausted to move. Somewhere behind her, like in another world, she could hear Aurelianus say something again and she looked up right in time to see the twister before it hit her and span her up in the air.

With an incredible force it threw her away across the arena and with the sound of bones shattering she hit the barrier on the other side. As the girl's body fell down on the ground the smile was still frozen on her lips.

((Okay, so Cici is out as well.))

[Herald of the Tempest]

The weakness he thought on the ground, his back aching despite having no muscles. The terrible, weakness of flesh. He couldn’t move at all. Everything in his body shut down as regeneration protocols kicked in. Even his self made protocol was dropped in favor of his healing. He could only observe through his green eyes, the spark faded long ago except sudden flashes of green energy. Everything was a blur, and the only thing that swam into focus was the woman.

She was weak. She was pathetic, but she stood. She had no right to be above him, none at all, but she was there, before his fading eyes. She had murderous intent written over her features; a desire to end what he had started. He couldn’t feel anything on the emotional spectrum. He was healing now, and his grudge with her vanished like a leaf on the wind. She towered over him, and he could see the one factor in the lesser races he had misinterpreted. For all their frailty, all their weakness, they had one strength Vyrabond wasn’t sure the Kron’tyr could muster.

Willpower.

It was the simplest difference between the two. She had the willpower to end this fight, and he had not. So it was only fair her hand lowered in a violent arc, and his eye went offline. The Construct buzzed with feedback, the last of his spark kicking out into the sky as he watched her stoop to her butt, sitting. He admired her now, for she was stronger than he gave her credit for.

When the tornado came it grabbed her, tossing her in the air where he lost track of her. It didn’t matter. There was no victorious warrior in this cell. What happened to his body would be a mystery. Just as he felt the wind tug his body upwards, his eyes lost power and the construct became inert, a desecrated statue of the Kron’tyr now. His last thoughts was upon the storm clouds in the distance, and his final thought was to his lord.

Long live the Herald of the Storms, who will wash the lesser races-……….

((FIN))

[Mage Hunter]

She never got a chance to even begin making the duel crashers pay. One second her opponent was yelling at her to get back on her feet so he could continue his…

She couldn’t believe he said that. She honestly couldn’t believe he had said anything of the sort. However, as quickly as she wanted to dismiss the action, it sprung to life in the form of another challenge that confirmed what he had said, calling the fight between them foreplay. Drusilia heard a distant snap, somewhere in her head and blacked out from the rage.


~*~

Rage fueled the mage hunter as she pushed up to her feet, the sword she had been desperately holding on brought up to a ready position. Even now she could see the magic running rampant through the arena and barely dodged the caress of the murderous hurricane that swept through the arena. It promptly picked up both of the opponents that had interrupted her fight and promptly saw both of them eliminated from the Cell. She now had no outlet for her rage and instead turned it to the dying spell of the mystic that had already interrupted their duel twice now. Focusing her will towards the stone in her blade she began to vent her rage as the nullifying stone set in the cross guard began to shine bright.

“I have been taunted, flung about, propositioned, mocked, played with, enshrouded in bugs, and covered in Gods know what else. I have been nearly gutted, burned, tortured, and maimed, and I have had it up to here with these juvenile mage antics!” A hand gestured over her head as the white energy washed through the area. The tornado that was sweeping back towards her promptly settled, the gore and gibblets it had collected in its journey splattering even more on her as her hair was died a dirty crimson in the deluge of crap that had afflicted her.

Her sword with a flourish was brought into a ready position as she looked at the Tiefling before her and spoke, her voice commanding, “You, asshole, are you going to finish what you start? Or are you going to be like every other man I know and have already blown your load on nothing of consequence?”

As the wave passed every magical effect it touched fell apart at the seams, leaving nothing but a natural silence in its wake as she waited for the answer to her question. Her eyes burned with a loathing that seemed otherworldly about her. It almost created a palpable heat even as the sun continued to fry her overhead creating a sweat the caused her clothes to be soaked under the well-kept black leather of her artic hide breastplate.

“I’m waiting, either toe the line or piss off.”

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

The girl was sucked up into the raging maelstrom of magic, her body being dashed against the solid dome; the metal creature the same, though the warlock raised his eyebrow quizzically as the thing phased right out of sight. Either it was a canny fail-safe (turning invisible when beaten) which sparked a few ideas tumbling in the tiefling's brain box.. or he somehow had a way to bypass the arena's allegedly impenetrable defenses. Either way, he was a deader too.

Aurelius backed up quickly, darting a few paces further away from the tornado's approach. Even so, he felt the winds starting to pluck at his lean frame, his quills rustling as they scraped together, his bloody-red mohawk swaying in the etheric vortex. A trickle of blood, escaping the neat line scored into his arm, was picked up and carried away into the roaring storm. He ignored the sting of the cut, his unnatural eyes flickering back and forth, trying to find a likely way to avoid getting splattered against the walls like the little chit.

The tiefling, his attention locked on the biggest threat to his health, still marked his opponent dragging herself up from the ground out of the corner of his eye. But he didn't pay her much mind - trying to survive the whirlwind that had already slaughtered three of the competitors was a more pressing concern.

The warlock, with the self-assured ease of someone who had done it a thousand times, brought Freki's Shield roaring from his body once again. It was harder this time, though not by much; he had never actually tried to summon it more than three times in the same day, knowing his magicks could sometimes be.. unstable. The bubble of magickal heat swirled into being around the wolf-lean plane-touched, hopefully enough to ward the worst of the weapons and debris roaring inside the cyclone when it inevitably ripped him from his feet.

Surprise didn't even begin to cover Aurelius' reaction when the ebony-skinned chit stood strong in the face of what would inevitably be a messy end. I like 'er, he smirked, she 'as girl balls. He couldn't hear what she said, over the all-encompassing shriek of the mystic winds, but a heartbeat later the stone set into her sword unleashed a powerful burst of pure white light, washing over everything in the area. The tornado, a second ago a certainty to sweep them both up and kill them, dissipated like early morning mist. The collected body parts, weapons and detritus it had been carrying started to fall like rain; the half-demon dodged back as a shield clattered off his own magickal protection, lodging itself in the ground with a razor-edge. Other parts, recognisable as perhaps once being parts of the other challengers, hissed and spat when they splattered off the soundless flames and heat-haze surrounding the Anarchist warlock.

Aurelianus was less amused a moment later, when the white-wash of energy caressed Freki's Shield; the flames swathing him rose up in retaliation, but lasted only a fraction of a moment before they, too, were banished. Feeling the magicks being severed, the tiefling tried to bring up a ball of Hellfire in his palm.. he was disconcerted to find nothing came.

Alright, bitch has some tricks up her sleeve, he allowed.

He let out a hearty chuckle as she mouthed off at him, his fangs exposed in a genuinely amused grin. He stopped trying to invoke his warlock abilities, and settled instead for drawing his second green-steel knife again.

"I'm more than just a man, luv. I'm a 'alf-demon, an' a pure bastard," he smiled lasciviously. "And I'm never satisfied with blowin' one load, but you'll find that out soon enough."

A bead of sweat ran down his brow, sliding around the base of one of his glossy horns before dripping from the obsidian rings in his eyebrow. The sun overhead was making itself known, scorching the air in the dome almost uncomfortably. Raising his left hand, he wiped his finger through the slash across his bicep, clearing out the dust and grime that had caked in it. His probing let loose another small flow of black blood, as he savoured the sting of the wound. Running his black tongue across his keen fangs, he started spinning his knives once more, loosening up as he squared off against the mage-killer.

"Take your best shot, sweet'eart."

[Resolve]

To Resolve's dismay, the girl vanished from underneath her, absorbed into the shadows beneath them. It left her kneeling frustrated and cursing on the grass with a serious case of blue balls for violence. But she still had the gun, and the cold metal against her fingers filled her with a surge of power.

When Kyla reappeared in the distance and blew herself up into a blue-blooded tornado, a move as irritating and arrogant as her mystic heritage, the exorcist sneered. What the hell was she supposed to do with that? She staggered to her feet and stepped back, almost walking into the barrier, but instead circled around toward where her apparent partner and the dark elf remained. In seconds, it would take them as well.

The funnel of wind barreled across the arena, wrapping two of the competitors in its embrace and tearing them to pieces in a brilliant display of sheer force. "Shit," Resolve muttered, unable to look away. All she could do was conjure some armor to keep the scattering debris at bay. There was no way she could fight that.

But one of them could. The mage hunter approached it with balls the other two couldn't muster, using powerful anti-magic to negate the encroaching storm. Resolve decompressed in relief as the flurry slowed and dropped, earth settling and pieces of the dead competitors' corpses raining across the vibrant green grass in a splatter painting of congealing blue and maroon. And then the man spoke.

Half demon.

Ettermire.

That accent, that… oh gods, that tongue. She could see its forked ends flickering beneath his fangs. It nearly made her retch as she recalled it from Luned's stories. The nightmare which had haunted her closest friend for months had somehow materialized before her, and for once, Resolve couldn't believe in mere coincidence.

"Aurelius," Resolve choked, eyes widening as she stared blankly in realization. "Of all the foolish, idiotic, ignorant––" she began her tirade with self-deprecation, quickly changing to insults on the notorious man–– "vile, mother fucking son of a cunt––"

She attempted to summon some energy in her free hand, but to no avail. The elf's anti-magic had affected her, too, and she would have cursed again if not for the treasure clenched in her right fist.

Resolve raised the pistol and released all three of the remaining bullets in quick succession, directed at Aurelius' precariously close chest. Even if she hadn't aimed a firearm before, their proximity was forgiving.

"I'm gonna rip off your head and shit down your neck, you piece of shit!"

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

He heard Resolve call his name, and was almost glad to hear his "ally" had survived the rest of the mayhem rampaging throughout the arena.

"Don't worry, luv, you can sit this one out. Tall, dark and shaggable over there is mine," he smirked.

But then he heard the tone of her voice, heard her swearing at him.. he turned his head to see what was up with the chit.. and then he saw the gun in her clenched fist. The tiefling's eyes widened, slit pupils narrowing, half in surprise, half in rage. If there was one thing in the worlds he'd been to that still had a chance of scaring the planewalking warlock, it was bloody guns!

Oooooh, shit shit shit shitshitshitshitshit!!!

Instinct honed over decades of hard-living kicked in, and he started to try and dive aside, but even as he did, he knew there was no hope of dodging the firearm. His preternatural speed may have saved his life more times than he could count, but bullets... powers damn whichever "clever" sod had thought up those thrice-cursed bastard weapons.

Three ear-popping bangs rang out in the still air, and Aurelianus was sure that was it for him. Even his inhuman reflexes couldn't keep up with the rounds as the punched into him, passing through his armour like it was paper. The first sliced a deep furrow along his ribs on the left of his torso, the heat burning the wound even as his black blood started flowing, coating the bladed plates. The second was luckier and hammered clean into Aurelius' gut, exploding out his back in a shower of blood and armour. It felt like someone had run him through with a lance, but before he could even hit the ground from his dive the third shot hit. It was slightly more off target due to the half-demon's almost futile attempt to survive.

The bullet smashed into one of the myriad sharp-adornments covering his body, the sheer force shattering the blade, and the round itself. Red-hot shards of metal peppered the plane-touched's face, and several punched into the exposed flesh of his right arm.

All of this took place in the space of a heartbeat, before Aurelianus hit the ground and rolled, venting his agony in an inhuman hissing-roar. One of his Baatorian knives flew from his grip, his hand spasming as the metal splinters stabbed into his arm. Blood flowed from the wounds, but as far as he could tell from the mind-numbing levels of pain howling through his body, he was still not quite in the dead-book.

"That was for Luned and Otto, you bastard," Resolve snarled, still standing where she had been, weapon smoking in her fist.

Despite the torment, Aurelius could not contain the bitter laughter from spilling out between his fangs, bloody-spittle dribbling from between them and dripping to the ground. He had trouble focusing his thoughts with the ragged holes torn in him, but there was no way he could not recognise those names.

"Are you pikin' kiddin' me!?" he snarled, a smirk still twisting his lips into something closer to a sneer.

The half-breed was no addle-cove; he knew these wounds effectively meant if the two attacked him, he was almost guaranteed to lose. The thought wounded his pride - a crime far worse than anything the pair of chits could do to his flesh. He clamped his hand to his side, feeling the hot trickles running down his arm and dripping into the already gore-stained grass. But as he dragged himself, agonisingly, to his knees, the Cager slid his hand into the holster under his left arm, the action hidden behind his left arm, the one supporting him.

He turned his eyes up to Resolve, pure unadulterated hatred twisting his regal features into something closer resembling the demonic side of his heritage. He could feel the Hellfire starting to well up in the back of his throat and--

wait, Hellfire!

The warlock masked his glee as he realised whatever had been shackling his invocations was gone. He surreptitiously slipped a handful of his shurikens into his hand, before forcing himself to his feet shakily, feeling his wounds open wider and the blood spill more.

Spitting a mouthful of what, he was concerned (though not surprised) to see, was blood-speckled saliva, he snapped his gaze between the dark-skinned elf and the back-stabbing bitch who might just have killed him - in fact, certainly would have if not for the inhuman toughness his demonic ancestry/ parentage granted - wondering which one he hated more at this particular moment.

The answer instantly flashed through his brain-box; the pikin' bitch who bloody well shot me!

Moving as fast as his critical injuries would allow, the tiefling threw up his hand and unleashed the barbed and serrated discs in a blast of pure Eldritch energy; it was an almost poetic reflection of Resolve's own attack. A feral growl gurgled liquidly in his throat, and his vision blurred from blood-loss as the vindictive bastard hurled every ounce of his fury and spite into the blast.

His bloody-minded rage fuelled the Eldritch Blast to its limits, hitting Resolve and his original opponent with the force of a rampaging bull.

If Drak'shal was going to die, he was damn sure going to take one of these bitches with him.

[Mage Hunter]

Once again Drusilia was left to watch everything in slow motion. There was nothing she could do as yet another competitor put themselves in between her and the mage she had been fighting. Citing friends wronged by the Tiefling, Drusilia could understand the revenge motive even as the gunshots rang through the arena. Her eyebrow raised at the technology that was in this particular chamber having passing knowledge of the weapons. When Alerar was falling behind in the magic race they had turned to technology to keep up, only to find Raiaera was ahead of them in that regard, having set up what the Kyorl termed the Tech Barrier.

To see a gun used within the Cell shocked her to say the least, even Alerar had problems mass producing firearms. She was not however gun-shy as she had at least fired a rifle and pistol once or twice and been accustomed to the noise they made. She preferred the bow for the simplicity of design, the ease of access, and the silence that accompanied the shots. There was one fact she could not deny, and that was the brutal efficiency of a firearm, and watching the warlock’s reaction she knew the man was boned the second the girl opened fire. The fact she could be so accurate the Drow owed to the fact that her opponent had tried to dodge and so the shots that would have gone astray if he had stood still slammed home into him.

In one last bit of spite he shoved out a wall of energy and she only had time to curse before it hit her, “Shu!”

The Drow word for shit didn't help her one wit as she rebounded off the walls of the arena and promptly began a new vomiting fit even as the shurikens and walls raced towards her opponent. Drusilia hated dry heaving but was thankful she didn't have to taste hard tack yet again in this fight. Recovering came slowly as she pushed herself to her feet even as she tried to suppress follow up heaves, forcing her stomach to calm down despite the contact with magic. It was one of the more horrid aspects of having progressed so far down the path of the Hunter, dealing with magic now actually violently made her ill.

Standing over the mage she sneered, “That all you have? A few flesh wounds like that and you’re done?”

"Tell you what, luv," he growled, he then managed to get on his feet slowly even as the Drow took up a ready stance. He continued, words slurred, "'ow about we shoot you a few times, see 'ow you 'old up!"

She raised an eyebrow appreciatively as she brought her sword in for a standard slash testing his reflexes. He seemed slower but still managed to keep up even as she continued to press her advantage against him. It was no longer the test of skill it had begun as. He could fight, but was slowed and seemed to be running out of steam, “This is pathetic! I wanted a challenge not a practice dummy. I swear to the Thayne above if you let me down in the next chamber I will have your balls for a trophy!”

"Ha! I like you, sweetness. Maybe after this, I'll give you my balls, and my entire prick to go with 'em," he tried to wink, but it became more of a wince.

They continued to go at it but it was obvious the mage was done for. He just didn't have his tricks anymore. Frustration reared its ugly head as she brought in a kick to his chest that saw him go down in a grunt of pain. She towered over him growling lowly, “This isn't even fun anymore, it feels like finishing off a child.”

"Finish off kids a lot, do you?" he laughed, a small trickle of blood worming from the corner of his mouth as he went for a stab with his remaining knife.

“No, I finish off smarmy mages who think they have what it takes to upset the natural order of this plane,” Drusilia said even as she batted away the slash contemptuously. At least he was fighting to the end. She had to give him that much. She sighed as she started reciting the final rite of execution, "A l' yorn belbaunin ulu uns'aa a l' Silinrai d' Ettermire, Usstan sarn'elgg dos xuil elghinn. Gaer shlu'ta tlu nau ka'lith whol l' og'elend, l' c'nros, l' og'elend. Xuil Nindol Aster Usstan sarn'elgg dos. Xal l' phraktos inbal ka'lith pholor dosst quortek."

"I am not," he snarled, mustering up enough will power to launch one final attempt at dousing the arrogant bitch in Hellfire, "a pikin' mage!!"

Seeing the attempt she sent out a backhand, the inhalation being a sure sign of his attempt to breath flames upon her. Knocking his mouth askew the blaze was deflected safely away as she snorted, “Mage, whatever the hell you are, it makes no difference to me, you’re just a dead magical abomination now.”

“Oh, you 'ave no idea what kind of abomination I am," he smirked through the pain and humiliation of defeat. His eyes lit up with inspiration as she brought the sword ready for a piecing stab to finish off the would be mage.

“I don’t care, there’s a difference.”

He smiled, blackened blood coating his teeth before he spat at her. Instinctively she covered her face, in worry that his blood might be acidic only to find it was not. Lowering her hand she looked down to see his blade lodged deeply in his throat, a broad grin etched in his features. His choking gasps resounded through the dome as a wet chuckle echoing in her mind. A sigh of disgust crossed her face as she looked at the last opponent in the arena, aware she may have taken too long finishing off the not-mage.

Permission by Aurelianus Drak'hal to bunny his death.

[Resolve]

A smug grin flashed across the exorcist's lips as the bullets tore through the half-demon. Her mind didn't have room to register the third fighter still alive as she savored his shock and pain, even forgetting the empty pistol she still white knuckled in her right hand. Resolve relished her anger, thrived in it, and channeled it into the competition. Luned had always harped on her for her temper, but here, it proved itself a blessing.

But the vile creature hadn't finished. In Resolve's moment of triumph she missed his sleight of hand, and the shuriken-laced eldritch blast caught her completely off guard. Instinct kicked in, her second and last teleportation allowance spent in her panic, but this time, the reflex came far too late.

The girl vanished from sight just as the force of the blast slammed into her, saving her from a hard collision with the forcefield, but the worst of the damage had been done. When Resolve reappeared a few arms' reaches behind the villain she collapsed to the grass like a rag doll, unbearable pain searing through her abdomen, chest, legs, arm. Several of the savage little discs had embedded themselves deeply into her bared flesh. She screamed.

And she knew, without a doubt, that she was truly fucked. The girl could pack a punch, but taking a hit was a completely different matter. She'd take note of that later.

For a long moment, she laid on her back in a gasping daze, only knowing the ravaging heat of the projectiles. At this point, Resolve hurt too badly and had bled too much to inspire an attempt to stand. Her trembling hands hovered above her torso, afraid to discover the dress of gore she'd donned. Fading eyes fixed on the storm of mystic magic above her and she imagined what she must look like, a beacon of vibrant crimson amongst the tornado's wreckage, mystic blue and curdled blond strewn to make her bed. The vision nearly struck her as pretty. She coaxed a fresh will-o'-the-wisp of energy into her palms and it warmed her.

She overheard the elf and the tiefling continue their fight a short distance away, feeling the pulse of their lives in the peripherals of her astral sense. One flickered –– Aurelius'. This didn't please her as much as she'd have liked.

As she focused her concentration on the mage hunter, her intuition piqued as an inkling of doubt settling in her gut. The anti-magic warning went ignored; self-preservation had long escaped her as an option. Barely lifting her head to aim –– she almost needn't have, with her spare sight –– she extended her arm and sent the blast careening toward the other remainder.

Whether it hit or not, she didn't stop there. Following the mage hunter with all her available senses, she sent blast after blast in her direction, hoping to pummel her into the ground.

[Mage Hunter]

Thayne bless it she’s going to-

The thought was cut off as she tuck and rolled looking for the object that would save her. Another shot rocketed out at the Mage Hunter as she let her momentum carry her another roll, craters spewing forth from the earth as the woman showed her magic wasn’t just for show. Finally she felt her hand brush against the shield that had been half melted by the not-mage’s shield of flames. Coming to a halt she saw the next bolt streaking towards her and managed to get her hand into the handles of the shield in enough time to put it between her and the mage.

CRACK!

The shield was beyond useless as the mage continued to hammer away, the force jarring to the Mage Hunter. Glad she had a brief respite she saw the woman was hammering steadily at Drusilia with a methodical steadiness. The shield buckled again as another and another blast hit the malformed shield. If she continued to get hammered like this, it was going to shatter her arm with the repetitive force of it. Her only saving grace was it had not formed enough of a crater to compact the force, and so it was dispersed across her arm, rather than at a single spot.

“How many fucking times can she do this?” Drusilia managed through gritted teeth as she began moving to try and evade the blasts. When a couple missed the Drow she started leading the shots causing the Dawnbringer to take another one to the shield barely in time. This was not a winning game for the Mage Hunter; the second one bolt hit her, this was going to end badly. One caress of magic and she’d be puking once more and that would be the only opening needed to hammer her with more bolts.

So, she had to pray her aim was true. Reversing her grip on her sword she evaded one last bolt of magic, gritting her teeth as it finally shattered her arm with the shield. Lucking out that it was only the impact and not the magic itself caressing her skin as she bit back the scream, and with every last ounce of skill and strength she chucked the sword, point first like a javelin at the mage. It was then the bolt hit her, causing a resounding crack to echo once more though the dome as she took a shot to the ribs. It floored her, skidding her back as the puking fits began again, rolling onto her side in case her body had produced enough bile or stomach fluids to actually vomit even as the bolts started erratically hitting the area about her.

[Resolve]

Resolve sputtered on the last of her resources when something heavy and sharp sliced through her side. The blade lodged itself in the flesh of her hip, grinding against bone and tearing through cloth. A second flash of pain hit as the unbalanced sword fell to the ground, traumatizing the wound further. She felt the heat of fresh blood as her very life escaped to meet the grass.

The exorcist screamed again, an excruciating sound which waned into a pitiful whimper of disappointment. Her mind flooded with last thoughts, the chief of which being that she'd never died before. She wasn't sure if she could get used to the unsettling sensation, the pervasive chill. Didn't true warriors do this all the time? Did that make her weak?

In the grand scheme of things, the elf didn't matter; she'd shot the real bastard. He'd gone down. Did that count as vengeance? No, she winced. In mere hours, the monks would work their magic and he'd walk again. Resolve could have wept with the shame of knowing she'd fraternized with the half-demon who'd terrorized some of the dearest people in her life. But some hope sparked in the encroaching darkness: now that she knew his face, perhaps she could hunt him down after the tournament for a real fight…

"You win," Resolve choked to the mage hunter with the last of her energy, "you win! Just–– do me a favor––"

A long moment passed as she breathed through the pain.

"Castrate that fucker," she gasped with admirable vindication, and then fell into restful silence.


The end.

[Mage Hunter]

Drusilia remained on her side for a moment in utter disbelief in what she had heard. She won? She had defeated every last opponent? With a grunt she felt the sting of her ribs, possibly broken from that last impact, her hand going to them even as she managed to hobble her way to a standing position. Standing up she looked about the arena, at the dead Tiefling and the dying woman. Moving over to her blade she looked down at the man before she nodded, “I’ll do you one better…”


~*~

A few minutes later the twig and berries of the mage that wasn’t a mage rested in his own mouth, and she was cleaning her blades off before carefully sheathing them. Every breath was agony, but she had been in such pain before she could endure it in the meantime. Looking up at the tower she shouted out;

“Hey, Lord Orlouge!” She waited until she felt all the eyes on her and continued, “How about next time you throw a shindig this big you wait till everyone is in the cage before you close it? I’m tired of puking up a fit every time I want to enter or leave your little mouse trap!” The supposed ally of Queen Valsharess should have certainly at least heard of the Mage Hunter project, even if he didn’t know the specifics. Even if her Queen was dead it was an insult to a former ally to put them at the biggest disadvantage.

Moving to the edge of the arena she felt the barrier still there before she shouted out, “Drop the fucking barrier, anyone with two brain cells knows this is done!”

The Dawnbringer had survived and as she felt the magical aura about the edges of the arena dissipate her first steps of freedom as agonizing as when she had fought the Necromancer Xem’Zund. Still the fights were easier though not any less brutal like every other time she had attempted to destroy the remnants of the Forgotten One. Moving on she continued to move past everyone before she smelled the scent, almost bringing a wistful smile on her lips.

She could smell the acrid scent of Coronian Golds, Godhand’s favorite cigarettes. She didn’t dare break the illusion, the thought that the merc was watching her leave, with an approving smile on his face. It was childish she knew, that she could feel so strongly for the deceased leader of the nWo. He was gone, and yet he still lingered on, in her heart, at least as the poems go. This was a good first step in proving she didn’t need his protection anymore. She had survived a brutal and bloody chamber, coming out on top of two mages.

That had to mean something, every other time she had fought the Necrosition she had been suffering from Mana Burn, this time she had managed to keep herself from amassing too much Mana to contain, and walked away victorious. She knew she’d see the odd Tiefling again, and perhaps the other mage, but it didn’t matter to her. What mattered is she managed to walk away when they hadn’t. Perhaps that’s why she had seen fit to shove his testicles deep down his throat and follow it up with his phallus. That extra grain of spite to make up for the fact he committed suicide before she could off him herself.

She let out a brief chuckle before she leaned against a fence post and groaned in pain once more. Shaking her head she finally looked about and muttered, “Where the fuck is the medical tent?”

This concludes Emma Chamber. Good fight guys I think we steal best in show!

[Max Dirks]

I've been asked to step in and judge this chamber. Overall, it's what I expected. You sacrificed story and character development for action and pacing. I only have two overall tips. First, try to avoid descriptive pronouns in mass participation threads. While some were obvious (like "the mystic" when referring to Kyla), most were not (like Aur referring to all younger females in the battle as "chits"). I realize third person personal (or limited) is a popular writing style, be aware of its limitations in this regard. Second, don't be afraid to venture out and attack multiple folks. The thread was boring in this regard, as most of your battles molded into one-on-ones with an odd one (Gold) out.

Because this is a tournament, individual commentary will be provided upon request only. Scoring is below:




Mage Hunter
Amber Eyes
Gold
Resolve
Herald of the Tempest
Aurelianus Drak'shal
Cicilix


Story
5
4
3
6
4
6
6



Setting
6
5
4
5
5
5
4


Pacing
4
4
2
4
5
4
5


Communication
5
4
3
4
4
5
4


Action
4
6
3
5
6
5
6


Persona
5
5
3
6
5
5
4


Mechanics
6
6
4
6
6
6
5


Clarity
6
5
5
6
5
5
5


Technique
6
5
4
6
5
6
5


Wildcard
3
6
3
5
5
5
5

Total
Total
51/100
50/100
34/100
53/100
50/100
52/100
49/100



Resolve, Aurelianus Drak'shal, Mage Hunter, Amber Eyes and Herald of the Tempest advance to Round Two!

Mage Hunter receives 1750 EXP and 92 GP
Amber Eyes receives 2500 EXP and 60 GP
Gold receives 500 and 48 GP
Resolve receives 1250 EXP and 85 GP
Herald of the Tempest receives 750 EXP and 80 GP
Aurelianus Drak'shal receives 1250 EXP and 73 GP
Cicilix receives 500 EXP and 69 GP

Congratulations to everyone who participated!

[Mordelain]

Experience and gold added.