Round 3 Newcomer: Callan Vs black shadow

[Silence Sei]

Matches begin at 12:01 Central Standard Time tonight. Will the shadow take Callan, or will the surprise newcomer shed some light in the blackness? Have fun!

[Callan]

Callan traipsed through the empty halls, feet making scarcely a sound as they slid along the worn rug beneath them. He shivered as he made his way through the large castle. The one window he had so far passed had been made of stained glass; though it had caused beautiful arrays of colored light to fall across the room, it had not permitted Callan a clear view outside. Throughout the castle a loud gusting noise echoed, adding to the eerie void.

Emerging into a grand hall, Callan ran a fingertip through the thick layer of dust that coated the wooden railing before him. Past the railing Callan could see down into the vast chamber, filled with a long table covered in spoiled food. Silver cups and platters adorned almost every inch of the table, and sitting in dozens if not hundreds of chairs surrounding the once great feast were the guests of this banquet of old.

The Fallien moved slowly towards a massive staircase leading down into the room. The wooden railing turned into an ornate bannister as it descended the stone steps, and rich red carpet cloaked almost the entire expanse. He took the steps one at a time: even with his long legs the stairs were too wide for him to skip any. When he reached the bottom, he paused to listen for some sign of life. The cry of the wind was muted, and no other sounds were audible.

The stench was overwhelming. Callan had to force himself not to gag as he approached the seat at the head of the table. Rounding the corner of the chair, he took a better look at the former guests. Pallid skin stretched over the host's skull. His eyes seem fixed on the silver goblet on the table in front of him, never to grace another object with their focus. With a cautious hand Callan reached for the chalice and held it up to his nose.

The scent of acrid wine filled his nostrils, but beneath the aroma of decay he could smell something harsh and familiar. Poison. Specifically one made from a plant native to his home of Fallien. He turned to look out across the banquet hall that now served as a tomb. Cups and goblets sat before every man, woman, and child. A chill ran down Callan's spine, entirely unrelated to the cold the castle could no longer keep out.

No torches burned and no windows let the sun's rays into the room, yet the chamber was still illuminated. Whatever magic provided the light seemed pointedly aimed at preserving the macabre ambiance; it was just enough to clearly see the excess of death that filled the room, but too dim to eliminate all the shadows.

Forcing back another impulse to retch, Callan cast his gaze to the side of the hall. Statues of armor lined the stone walls at regular intervals, but of the servants that should have been standing at the ready there was no sign. Had they been banished before the rest of the castle's residents committed suicide en masse? Or perhaps the servants had played a part and slipped away when their work was done?

A soft noise behind him halted his grisly revery. Footsteps. Fear enveloped Callan. His first thought was that it was his opponent, but what if it wasn't? What if not everyone here was quite dead? He took a quick glance across the table, but all the corpses sat immobile in their chairs. Fighting down his fear, he turned to face whatever it was.

Lifting up the goblet still in his hands in offering, he called out, “Care for a drink?”

[black shadow]

Black Shadow took in the sight of the magnificent castle in front of him. Even the castle that he lived in most of his life could not compare to this structure. The building itself cast a shadow along the moon. Light illuminated the walls, though no source could be seen anywhere. The dark stones had cracks throughout them, and even in some places parts of the wall had completely crumbled. The thick air had caused him to breath heavily as he approached the castle gate, but lessened as he came closer. The smell of the moss along the ground had grown strong, one smell Black Shadow loved to smell. He took a deep breath in from his nose, taking in the fresh scent that he knew. As he reached the iron bars of the gates, he could see a man walking along the bridge.

This must be my opponent. I guess I will follow him, he thought as he began to walk a distance behind the man in order to keep himself from being noticed.

As he walked along the bridge, many spots had been noticeably weak, some even had fallen into the deep river below. Black Shadow had reached close to the halfway point of the bridge when he found out just how loose the stones were. As he stepped onto a sturdy-looking stone, it gave way, almost sending Black Shadow into a watery grave before the fight had even started. He reached to his back and grabbed two arrows, stabbing them to the bridge as he fell through the hole.

Shoot! get up! Get up! he thought as he stopped, inches away from falling through. He ripped one arrow out and climbed out. Oh my gosh... That was close. He brushed off his suit and continued to follow.

When Black Shadow reached the great hall, the smell of the dead reached his nostrils. The almost unbearable stench was enough to knock him to a knee. Darn my extraordinary sense of smell. He forced himself to get back up though, and noticed the man standing at the head of the table, holding a cup filled with a deep red wine. Black Shadow decided this would be his moment to meet his opponent before they fight to the death.

As he walked, he did not do so in stealth anymore, instead walking loud to try to be noticed. As he approached, he scanned his surroundings. There were not many places to take cover, in fact the only place being under the giant oak tables. The only feature that stood out was what appeared to be a statue that appeared to be sitting on a ledge near the top of the roof.

Now why is that up there? he thought as he continued to walk to the man.

As he reached the edge of the shadows, he heard his opponent ask if he would cared for a drink. The thirst Black Shadow felt now, was not of wine though. It was a thirst for blood. He always got this thirst when he was about to fight, and it was not something he was proud of. As he watched the man hold the goblet as an offer, he did not think of what to do. He pulled out his bow, readied an arrow, and released. A second later, the sound of metal clashing with the marble floor could be heard.

The blood of the enemy shall be spilt in victory today. I will not lose today.

[Callan]

The chalice that had brought death to the banquet's host now granted Callan the opposite fate. His assailant had loosed an arrow before Callan had even gotten a good look at him, and had the cup not been offered in jest the arrow would have taken him in the chest. Instead it struck the silver goblet, piercing both sides but failing to travel all the way through. The impact caused wine to slosh out of the cup, and more splashed in different directions when Callan let it fall to the floor.

He gaped a moment in surprise as the goblet clattered against the floor, but then swordsman's instincts kicked in and he ripped his sword free of it's scabbard and took a step towards the former castle owner. Grabbing the corpse with his left hand, he used the rush of adrenaline to heft the body out of the grand chair. He considered for a moment dropping the man to take refuge behind the thick wood, but realized that would only give the archer time to strafe around and get a better angle. There was little other cover available, and as long as the space remained between the two combatants the archer had a strong advantage, regardless of what Callan tried to put between them.

The only way Callan could turn the fight in his favor would be to get close to the marksman. With barely a thought he whisked his dagger out of its sheathe with his mind, and sent it careening towards the black figure with psychokinetic force. Hoping the attack would buy him a couple seconds of time, he manhandled the corpse about until he had a firm grasp on the man's shirt collar, and held the mass of decay against his body as a make-shift shield. He had taken a second brief glance at the dead man's face, the only sort of apology he had time to make, before ducking his head against the finely clothed shoulder so that he could only just see over it.

"There are much friendlier ways to say 'hello,' you know," he said with words slightly muffled as he turned back to face the archer.

Sword held above the corpse's shoulder, Callan charged forwards. He breathed through his mouth to lessen the putrid aroma emanating from his lifeless ally, but still the smell of death filled his nose. As soon as he had closed the distance to his attacker he would get rid of the body, before he was made to rid his stomach of its contents instead. Besides, though the heavy metal chalice had been able to stop the arrow's flight, at close range the rotting flesh would likely yield far more easily. With a wordless yell bred from the exertion of running while carrying a heavy weight, Callan continued his advance, intent on drawing the archer into a melee.

[black shadow]

Black Shadow readied another arrow as the man threw his knife. Black Shadow released the arrow, knocking the dagger out of the air. The man then began to charge. He aimed, but could not get a clear shot. The body he was using as a shield would certainly stop the arrow from penetrating the man behind him. Black Shadow scanned quickly for an option other than his sword, that was not his specialty. The statue... If I'm lucky, it will be loose he thought as he aimed and shot the statue above. As he released the arrow, Black Shadow jumped back several feet, trying to create a bigger gap between him and the warrior.

A fifty foot gap soon grew to forty, and then thirty. Black Shadow drew another arrow. He took a desperate shot at the man's hand holding his sword. As he released the arrow he could hear loud *clack* of his arrow hitting stone. The arrow he shot at the stone statue struck its target. Black Shadow looked up only to see the statue begin to tip. Come on, fall Black Shadow pleaded. The statue began to fall. Yes! he thought as he looked back at his opponent.

The gap between the two was very small, only around eighteen feet left. Black Shadow noticed the statue again as it slammed into the ground just inches in front of the man, almost crushing him. This is my chance. Black Shadow thought as he ran towards the statue, now crushed into pieces, just enough of it to keep the two hidden. As Black Shadow reached the statue he pulled out an arrow and placed it in the notches of the strings. He took two steps up onto the top and jumped off. As he was above the man, he released the arrow. When he landed behind the man, He placed his bow on his back and ripped out his sword. He stood his back to the man, looking over his shoulder, waiting for his move to be made.

[Callan]

Callan peeked over the corpses's shoulder just as the archer, clad entirely in black, fired another arrow. The glance gave him just enough warning to lower his sword arm beneath the projectile's trajectory, hiding it behind his bulwark of rancid flesh. His arms were strong from hours of daily training, but even withered the corpse Callan held was cumbersome; only a couple dozen feet into his charge he began breathing through both mouth and nose. The scent added increased furor to his sprint. His wish to liberate his nostrils from their fetid prison rivaled his urge to triumph over the onyx-swathed foe before him.

Some thirty feet from the marksman, he saw his dagger lying on the ground off to the side. Impressive shot, he thought, before questing out towards his weapon with his mind. He wrapped a telepathic hand over the dagger, drawing it towards him with willpower alone. Briefly he considered launching it again - the archer would be hard pressed to repeat such extraordinary precision with less time to react - but his foe had not yet nocked another arrow. The lack of action caused Callan to hesitate, and in just a few moments would prove to be the source of his salvation.

The man (though covered head to toe in black cloth, Callan thought the body shape was distinctly masculine) shifted his neck back as if looking up and Callan followed suit as best he could, craning his head around to glance up without exposing himself. Though the Fallien was fond of the occasional and sometimes frequent curse, there was no time for one to pass through his head before the statue crashed down nearly on top of him. The rough stone slid against his face and left hand, leaving lacerated flesh in its wake.

Callan's decomposing aegis fared far worse. Beneath the weight of the giant statue the corpse essentially exploded. Blood, entrails, and bone fragments burst out in all directions, coating Callan's legs in filth. The foul onslaught stunned him for a moment, his eyes glued to the mass of now red stone before him and his mind racing to combat the rise of bile in his throat. A black blur roused him to action, and he looked up as the archer soared above him. Later, he would allow himself a small measure of pride for his reflexes: almost at the same moment he registered the arrow aimed directly at his skull he ordered his dagger to his defence, forcing the weapon to slice through the air above his head with a surge of mental energy. As the arrow descended towards him the iron dagger divided the shaft in two, causing the pieces to fall askew onto his shoulder and bounce off harmlessly.

Had he lobbed his dagger in another attack, Callan was almost certain he would have been unable to thwart the archer's assault. Face burning along the left side and slickening with blood, he couldn't help letting a bewildered chuckle escape his lips. He had not honestly expected for his desperate reaction to work, but did not allow himself to gloat too long just yet. The stench of death was much worse now that the dead had been disturbed, and the mysterious marksman had wasted no time in switching from bow to sword.

I fear that was a mistake for you, friend, Callan thought, reaching out to his dagger with his mind and pulling it to his left hand. The archer-turned-swordsman faced his back to Callan, perhaps offering insult, but the Fallien merely said, "not too talkative are you? Works for me, as long as you can speak with your blade." Blood now trickling from his chin, Callan assumed a proper stance and lashed out with his broadsword, Sunaris. Injured or not, he liked his odds much better now that he was in striking range of his silent foe.

[black shadow]

Black Shadow peered deep into the man's eyes as if trying to look into his very soul. The look the man gave Shadow was not of hesitance, but more of confidence. The thought that then crossed his mind brought fear to his heart. This is what he wanted all along... A sword on sword battle. He thought as he turned towards his foe.

The broadsword the man wielded was sent towards Black Shadow's chest. Shadow could easily tell that this man was not like others he had recently fought. No, he was well trained with his sword, and that meant Shadow was at a disadvantage. If he could not dodge the attacks that were soon to follow, then he would be the one with the loss.

Black Shadow put his sword up, ready to lock the incoming attack. It was then that he noticed the dagger within the hand of his opponent. Telekinetic? He thought, realising that he would not be able to block both at the same time. Reaching into his quiver, he grabbed his solid steel arrow from its casing and threw it, hoping to cause a distraction. The gap between the two was just under five feet, almost enough for his opponents weapon to strike. Black Shadow threw up his sword in a desperate attempt to block the attack he knew would be coming.


OOC: You may choose whether the attack hits me, though I did try to block it, so it would not be a kill shot. There is now also a steel arrow that is being thrown towards you, though it was not aimed, just thrown to be a distraction, possibly a hit.

[Callan]

If you run with me, feel free to bunny me running into the room with you, otherwise let me write my own reaction please.
Callan lifted an eyebrow when the shadowy man started to throw an arrow at him. Perhaps I overestimated him? he thought. Unless Callan got lucky again, an arrow fired at this range would cause a lot of damage. Thrown though? He wasn't sure it was even worth noticing; the arrow would almost certainly bounce off his leather jerkin without leaving more than a scratch. To be safe he gracefully slid his sword out of its offensive arc and bashed the slow moving projectile to the ground with the flat of the blade. He kept his eyes locked on the other man as he parried the arrow, refusing to be caught off guard. The throw had bought his foe less than a second of time, but perhaps a distraction had been all he wanted.

With a smirk Callan let his dagger fall to the ground and gripped Sunaris with both hands. While he usually disdained pure strength in a swordfight, from the way his opponent held their blade he was fairly certain he could drive past their guard. Besides, he hoped that dropping his weapon would work as his own distraction, and if not he could easily command his dagger to shoot unhindered into the man's leg while he attempted to block Callan's sword strike. As skilled as he was at physically wielding sword and dagger at the same time, he had found it was often more effective to rely on his mind to guide his sidearm past his foes' defenses.

With both hands Callan brought his blade up in preparation for a powerful downwards swing. Sunaris would easily push the archer's weapon out of the way and penetrate his skull. The fight would be over scarcely a minute after it began, and Callan would advance to the next round. A shame it was so easy, he thought as he started to bring sharpened death down upon his foe.

But the blow never came.

Movement behind his target caught Callan's eye, and halted his sword midair. The guests of the feast were still no longer. As if on queue chairs began being pushed back by the hundred, and long unused bones creaked as their owners rose for the first time in many years. Callan's lips fell from their grin to a flat line and then dipped into a frown. He took a few quick steps backward and lowered his sword to a defensive stance before switching back to a single-handed grip on Sunaris and levitating his dagger back into his left hand.

With a nod Callan attempted to draw his foe's attention to the strange events behind him. The dead were all standing now, and their eyes were fixed on the living. As they turned towards Callan and the black clad archer, some started to draw daggers. Callan took a few more steps back until he felt the remains of the stone statue behind him, his eyes flashing wildly between the moving corpses and the man in front of them.

When the dead started advancing, Callan spoke quickly. "Up the staircase behind me and to the left I saw a strong wooden door and an iron rod to bar it with. Flee with me and we'll continue this there, attack me now and I promise to make you lament your choice." With that he turned and ran around the statue, taking frequent glances behind him as he reached the stairs in case the archer decided to draw his bow once more.

[black shadow]

Black Shadow became confused. What is he talking about? he thought as he turned to look behind him. It was then that he realised why his opponent had fled the battle. The dead that sat in an eternal sleep slept no more. Umm... I'l follow you. he thought as the dead began to close in on him. Shadow turned and began running after the man, quickly catching up to him.

As they reached the staircase, Black Shadow fired an arrow, sending the bones of one skeleton everywhere. Then the realisation of their impending doom hit Black Shadow. The bones of the skeleton began to be put back together. They would never be able to defeat them all. Black Shadow turned and ran through the door into the dark room ahead. The two warriors then barred the door shut and turned to view their new arena. The darkness engulfed the room, enough to keep entire areas of the room from being unseen. Black Shadow took one step forwards, then felt the floor underneath him sink a little. The room suddenly lit up. It was a circular room, three giant stained glass panes along the wall in front of them. Black Shadow suddenly grew concerned.

The glass appeared to have two men on it, one an archer in a black suit covering head to toe, the other a warrior in leather armor. The two were back to back in a large room, skeletons coming closer to the men. The final pane had the two both being killed by the skeletons. That... It can't be us. No! I'm not going to die! Black Shadow thought as he turned to his enemy who appeared to have the same worried look on his face. It but a second later that the sound of a metal door opening could be heard from above them. Black Shadow took a step towards the middle of the room, motioning the man to get to his back. Black Shadow pulled out his sword and waited. As he stood there, he knew what was coming.

Skeletons dropped from above, landing along the walls. Some drew swords, others axes. The dead looked at the two and began advancing. I will not die today... Not like this.

[Callan]

Callan gritted his teeth. The room was barred, but it seemed locking themselves in a different room had brought no reprieve. When the black clad man motioned for Callan to take up position behind him, the swordsman ground his teeth even more forcefully against each other. With an exhale somewhere between a scoff and a snort, Callan waved his blade in a gesture of acquiescence and moved to the archer's rear. His face and fist burned from their earlier encounter with the statue, but he had no time to spare tending his wounds.

Even before the undead began pouring from the shadows above, the door they had blocked with an iron rod began shaking under the blows from those without. Screams, shouts, and hisses passed through the heavy oak to reach Callan's ears, sending another shiver up his spine. Maybe I should have drank the wine, he thought. The door was made of thick wood and he had seen nothing bigger than a shortsword among the banquet guests, so he decided there was little hope for them gaining entrance. That did not help, however, that enchanted skeletons were now enclosing around Callan and his temporary ally.

While the dead that had once gathered around the feast table had been covered with pallid grey skin, the monsters Callan now faced were free from almost all burdens of the flesh. Rotting connective tissue still bound their old bones, and some had patches of muscle and bloody skin still clinging uselessly to their crumbling frames, but not a single one had anything but shadow filling the sockets where their eyes once sat. Whatever foul magic had summoned them saw fit to equip them with various weaponry, and it seemed they were fully capable of employing their gruesome tools without all of their muscles intact.

One charged in front of the rest, raising a vicious bone-handled axe above its head and focusing its eyeless gaze directly on Callan. The swordsman exhaled and forced his fear to the back of his mind, then swung his sword up through the skeleton's elbows, around, and back across its midsection, just above the pelvic bone. Ligaments severed, the bones fell to the floor in a heap, followed by the axe crushing the skull beneath its weight. Callan dispatched two more of the skeletons using only his sword. His dagger he kept at the ready in a reverse grip. If the archer so much as bumped him Callan was ready to launch the weapon backwards with great force.

He considered ending the fight now by simply turning and lopping off the marksman's head. The black clothing might obscure the man's features, but it would not stop Sunaris from slicing through his neck. But the archer had not attacked when when he had the chance on the stairs, so Callan waited, felling undead one after the other. He would win this fight honorably. But to do that would mean putting an end to the skeleton onslaught, and there seemed no end in sight.

As he fought he cast his glance around the room, trying to find some way out of the current situation, but the shadows obscured everything but the eerie stained glass windows depicting the present struggle of living versus unliving.

"Blast," he muttered, slicing through the wrist of a skeleton wielding a steel rapier. He lobbed his broadsword high into the air, and caught the rapier before it fell to the ground. With his mind he sent Sunaris soaring through the air towards the window depicting the two warriors falling to the blades of the undead horde. "Come on! We make our own fate!" he shouted, and used the back of his left fist to tap the archer twice on the shoulder. He made a wild dash through the mob, counting at least two dozen around them.

Sunaris crashed through the stained glass a few seconds before Callan reached the wall, ripping a hole through the glass and metal framework just large enough for a man his size. He laid about left and right with his commandeered rapier, sending his dagger shooting directly through the demons' skulls with telekinetic force. His broadsword was now too far for him to reach mentally, but if all went right he would have it back in his posession soon. He neared the wall, and made ready to leap.

As he jumped out of the gap, he looked down to see snow some twenty feet below. A wordless cry erupted from his throat as he plummeted downwards.

[black shadow]

Black Shadow stood back to back with his former opponent. The thought of the two just fighting each other just a few minutes ago caused a chill to run down Black Shadow's spine. He hated his enemies, when a fight started, it would take many hours to calm him down again. But the situation they were in caused that feeling of severe anger he always obtained to die down almost instantly.

As the dead charged, Black Shadow had the chance to fire off a few arrows, sending three piles of bones flying everywhere. It wasn't long though that the skeletons began to overrun the two. Black Shadow pulled out his sword and blocked an incoming attack, getting into a sword battle doing so. The skeleton was strong, but Shadow could not give up. He shifted his feet into a more offensive stance. He threw his sword into a circle, sending the axe his opponent wielded flying, an arm attached to it.

Black Shadow heard a crash come from the glass and looked over to it. It was then that he saw the man jump out the window. A frightened cry came from his mouth as he fell into the darkness below him. Black Shadow then felt a sharp pain hit his leg. His hand snapped down to grab his leg and he fell to one knee. He turned to see what caused the pain. As his head turned he just caught a glimpse of a sword coming down towards his head. Black shadow rolled towards the window, the steel sword of the dead just missing his other leg. He took a look over the edge, seeing only his opponent laying on the ground dazed.

Black Shadow turned back at the dead behind him. I will not die! He thought crawling out of the window and falling twenty feet to his opponent. When he hit the ground, he felt the sharp pain of before rush through his leg. Black Shadow looked down at his leg to check on the damage. Then he realised that he would surely have trouble winning the fight now. His leg was broken, the bone shattered by not only the fall, but also the axe that must have wounded him. Black Shadow then looked up towards the room they just were. Why are they not jumping down after us? It's almost like they're trapped by a magical barrier. He thought as he pulled out an arrow and placed it along the strings of his bow.

Laying there, he scanned his surroundings. To the sides of his there were but walls, and on his back, another forty foot drop. In front of him was the only place he or his opponent could now move. There was a frozen river about sixty feet from the two men, but is seemed that it would not be able to hold their weight. Even if one did survive, it would be days before either could get back to let everyone know who won. All they could do is to wait. The cold easily penetrated the thin layer of cloth wrapping Black Shadow's body. A sharp chill ran up his back, followed by a sharp pain in his leg. He looked over at his opponent, who now seemed to be getting up. He aimed an arrow and awaited the man to stand, then the arrow would fly through the air.

[Callan]

What the hell? Callan thought groggily. He rolled over and brushed snow and hay off his face. One piece stuck more than the others, and he grunted as he parted it from the frozen blood on his face. Blinking his eyes a few times, his sight came back into focus. Behind him rose the great stone walls of the castle. Through the hole in the damaged stained glass window he could see skulls peering down at him, but none dared to press their fleshless heads through the window's threshold. Whatever dark wizardry had summoned them forbid them from leaving their haunted keep it seemed. His teeth started clattering, and this time it was not the eerie circumstances but the cold that caused his shivering. He had been lying halfway between his side and his belly, and the snow had already seeped into most of his clothing.

He brought his hands to his head and gently massaged his temples, working through the events of the past few minutes. At least, he hoped it had only been a few minutes. He remembered leaping through the window and ice encircling his bowels when he saw the fall that awaited him, but little else. Snow and hay blocked most of his vision; it seemed he had made a small crater when he landed. Hay? As he regained more of his senses the reason for the hay's presence became clear. Any Fallien worth his horse would be able to smell the faint musk of the animals, even greatly faded due to time and moisture. The remnants of a stable perhaps? He took a deep breath, using the familiar scent to steady himself and restore his jumbled thoughts.

To his right he could just barely see the hilt of the skeleton's rapier above the snow, and a vague memory of him tossing it aside while falling came back to him. He reached an arm out - already bruising from his impact with the ground - and threaded his hand into the basket hilt to grab the handle. His dagger he could feel some three paces behind him, and brought it sliding through the snow to his left hand through psychokinesis. Sunaris was another matter. He had had a fleeting sense of it when he first launched himself from the window, and he could tell it was falling much further than expected. Now there was nothing. Like a bird far from its nest, he felt vulnerable and almost lonely without his sword's familiar presence in his mind.

Still shivering, he started to stand. Either the fool didn't make it out in time, or he's down here with- his thought was cut short as he saw the black figure in his periphery, close at hand. Before he could turn, a sharp pain erupted in his upper left arm. He made no immediate sound, just dropped his dagger in surprise and stumbled a few steps to his right. Spinning to face his foe, he glanced at the arrow in his arm and then glared at the archer. Rage suffused him, the heat of his anger sheltering him from the cold. "YOU BASTARD!" he roared. "YOU COWARD!"

He had spared this man's life, and had been repaid in ambush. A few more curses passed his lips before giving way to a wordless scream of fury. His dagger forgotten, he ran towards his enemy - less than a horse's length away - and pulled back his arm. As he neared he thrust the sword with hate-fueled strength, aiming to drive the rapier through the archer's heart.

[black shadow]

The hate, the anger that now engulfed the man's eyes, Black Shadow knew that anger well. He feared the end would be near for him. Black Shadow's sword lay under his hip, the hilt nearly falling off. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The thought of his death caused him to almost cry. I have lost every battle I have fought. I have yet to win against an opponent with the relative skill I have. I have yet to kill someone who knew how to fight. I have yet to prove myself. I will prove myself someday. He thought as anger at himself and his opponent built up inside him.

What felt like an eternity waiting for the stab wound to hit him was but three meer seconds. Black Shadow quickly realised though,that he might be able to win. The sword rest on his side, but his reflexes and agility over his opponent may be able to give him an upper hand. He envisioned the pain he would have in order to give himself a little motivation. The cold now had no effect on him. All he could think about was the fact that he would not lose this battle. Not this time. Not again.

No! NO! This is not going to happen! I will not die this easily! He thought as he opened his eyes. The sword was but a foot away from striking its target when black Shadow's reflexes kicked in. He rolled to his left, pain from his leg surged through him. As he got to the end of his roll, he pulled out his sword and sent a slash at his enemies leg.

[Callan]

Callan's growl was curtly ended with a grunt of pain. His rapier connected with the solid ground where the archer had laid only a moment before and the impact sent a dull spasm lancing up the swordsman's arm. The crudely made basket hilt dug into his hand and wrist, cutting into his flesh. Another curse escaped his lips, more exhaled than truly spoken or shouted. The man had rolled away from the attack much faster than Callan would have thought possible, and barely half a second later the shadowy antagonist brought that speed to bear against him.

The shock at seeing his attack fail slowed Callan's response, but even unhindered by surprise he was not sure he would have been fast enough to completely block his foe's blade. He whipped the rapier back, stopping the other sword's path just as it bit into Callan's leg. He fell to one knee with an agonized cry. Using his latent fury as a shield against the pain, he shoved his sword into the ground beside him, using it to boost himself to his feet. The ground here was much harder, likely frozen mud from the time the land was used as a stable. He stood quickly and staggered away from his grounded foe a few paces before gaining his balance.

He bled from his face, arm, both hands, and now his right calf, but the other man's sword had not cut deep enough to render him unable to stand. Despite their constant burn, he managed to disregard the wounds on his face and hands; they were superficial at worst, and the anger and adrenaline that coursed through his body replaced any lost blood for now. His left arm was another matter; the arrow had penetrated deep into his muscle, and trying to move it caused more pain than he could ignore, enraged or not.

Letting his arm hang limp at his side, he advanced once more. Favoring his left leg, he took two steps forward and lunged. With another howl as he lurched, he aimed his rapier at the man's neck. This time his battle-cry was short. He was winded now, and diverted all his strength to the deadly arc he made with his sword.

[black shadow]

The fact that the man still had the energy to continue the fight amazed Black Shadow. It seemed as though it had just begin, very little seemed to happen. It took but one deep breath for him to regain his regular breathing pattern, but his opponent... He was gasping for breath. The endurance training Black Shadow took when he was younger was now paying off.

The final lunge the man have was not as fast as the others, typical for someone as tired as him, yet the attack still was fueled by the anger in the man's eyes. As he watched the rapier, now aimed at his neck, come charging at him, he had one thought. What can I do now?

he lay there for but a second when he realized he would not be able to dodge another one of those attacks. He ha but one option, and he hoped it worked. Black Shadow reached to his back, grabbing one of his steel shafted arrows. As the rapier reached but a foot from its target, Black Shadow used the arrow to block the attack. The sword fell into the ground but an inch next to his neck.

The second part of his plan was in play. As he blocked the sword, he knew he only had one chance. He stabbed his sword into the air, it along with his arm length ending the tip at a height of six foot. He closed his eyes, fearing that if he did not kill his enemy here, he would never win.

[Callan]

The rage dissipated into the frigid air with the steam from his warm blood. His fury could act as buffer to his pain no longer, but with the incensed strength fled also the mad lust for battle. It was this lust that had led him to attack without thought, guiding his body by instinct alone and fueling every action with his wrath. A sort of calm washed over him as he regarded the blade that impaled him. Shock was a fundamental part of this peace to be certain, but it was not the only factor. The return of his thoughts, lost in his quest for revenge against the black clad man's treachery, brought a cool solace to the swordsman's heated mind.

The full effect of his injuries now reached him, each cut sending its own signal of pain. It threatened to overcome the calm, but he held to consciousness. A moment passed with the archer's sword still implanted in Callan's body. It plunged into his upper right chest, just under his collar bone, and emerged out of his back above his shoulder blade. Then the swordsman could not stay on his feet any more, and it took all his presence of mind and body to jerk backwards, stumbling away from his foe and dislodging himself from the blade that had brought both great injury and mental reprieve.

He managed to keep his balance for a couple of steps before toppling backwards, landing hard on his back. A moan escaped his lips before he could stifle it. Think! It was unfortunate that he regained control of his strategic capacity only when he was no longer able to ignore his pain. I've lost more blood than I thought... With gritted teeth he forced his head up enough to regard his foe with one eye (blood prevented him from seeing clearly out the other) and quickly realized how vulnerable he was. If the archer was to pull his bow out again, Callan would be finished. Hell, he could probably crawl over here and murder me without much resistance.

Using his unharmed left leg, he pushed himself roughly backwards. He kicked out, causing his body to spin to the right and using the momentum to roll onto his side. In a final movement less graceful than a bird flying with a damaged wing, he succeeded in spinning further and sliding into a ditch between the other man and the castle's wall. As he fell into the small trench, likely the former resting place of some pack animal's trough, the slanted ground caused him to roll completely over. When he crashed into the other side of the depression, the steel arrow in his left arm bent sharply against the hard earth. He issued a cry of pain, but was unable to do anything but fling himself onto his back, dirt and snow sticking to the blood on his face.

Though his right arm was unscathed save the cuts on his hand and wrist, the thin hole through his chest passed directly through his upper pectoral muscles. As any skilled swordsman knew, you could predict a warrior's next move from the shifting of their chest muscles. Those new to the weapon relied too much on the strength of their arm, not realizing that the true power behind any sword slash came from the chest. Those crucial muscles severed, he had let go of his rapier and left it to fall by the archer's side; he could no more lift a blade than lift a horse.

Except that's not quite true, he thought as the corners of his mouth fought their way into a smirk. Sunaris was gone from his mind for now, no doubt resting at the foot of the cliff behind his foe. His dagger, however, was only seven odd paces from him by a rough telekinetic estimate. Rolling into the ditch had bought him a precious few seconds' shelter, but it could do nothing to staunch the flow of Callan's blood or repair his ravaged muscles. Above him he could still see the stained glass window and the skeletal patrons that still stood just beyond. It seemed the skulls had somehow formed themselves into expressions of sick satisfaction, as if the enchanted bones saw the fight of the living as a form of entertainment.

If I leave this place alive, I swear to come back and raze this castle to the ground, he thought before using neck and abdominal muscles to force his head up once more. A split second of sight was all he needed; he lifted his dagger with his mind, keeping his eyes fixed on his opponent, and fired it directly at the man with all the mental energy he could still muster. The effort left him drained and his head collapsed back to the cold ground before he could see if the weapon struck true. His vision clouded with white as if the whole world was suddenly covered in snow, and a ringing filled his ears as he almost lost consciousness. With immense effort he wrested his mind from the edge of oblivion. Devoid of energy both physical and mental, he doubted he would be able to summon the will to undertake another offensive against his adversary.

[black shadow]

The crimson blood of Black Shadow's foe dripped from his fresh wound. The lust for blood he felt was now fulfilled. There would be no way his opponent would survive that stab. Or so that was what Black Shadow thought. He pulled the sword down again as the man yanked himself from what had just impaled him. The stumbling was easily noticed, a great pain now engulfed his chest. He fell, rolling into a ditch.

I guess that is the victory then. It seemed almost too easy though. Shame, I thought it was going to last longer. Black Shadow thought as he used his right arm to stand stand up, being careful not to place pressure on his leg. It was but one step whenever he noticed the shine of metal appearing to move towards him. His instincts then kicke in.

Black Shadow turned his body and jumped. There was no way of avoiding the dagger that was thrown. His only two options were to take the hit like he was and die, or take the hit with minor injuries. The later was his choice. As the dagger connected with his shoulder, he tried to let out a cry of pain. His severed chords would not allow such a screech to be yelped.

He grabbed his arm, blood now dripping along his jet black cloth. The moisture quickly mixed with the cold, and he began to shiver once more. Shivering began, his body trembling from the terrible mix. Black Shadow rubbed a finger along his new wound, blood flowing out slowly. The grip in the dagger was awkward in Shadow's hands, but that woul mean nothing. He took hold of the dagger, grabbing the hilt and tearing it from his arm. He again wanted to let out a cry of pain.

Time to finish this. he thought as he walked the rest of the way to his enemy, almost falling from his leg pain. As he got to the top if the brim he pulled out another arrow. He placed it along the string and aimed. As he pulled back the string, the pain from his arm almost caused him to let go, though he forced himself to continue. The man lay there, almost passed out, not a single eye moved from side to side. Black Shadow looked a him in happiness at his win, but sadness that it had to end this way. He moved the arrow closer, placing it right up against his heart.

Rest in peace. he thought as he released the arrow.

[Callan]

The blessed clarity Callan had found when his anger receded was now fading. Though he had never been one to overreact to pain, there was simply no way to escape the inevitability of blood loss. He bled from four? five? different places - he couldn't think clearly enough to consider all his injuries individually. He hurt. That much he knew, and that he would not be able to maintain consciousness much longer he knew as well. It was cold. Most of his clothes were soaked from the snow; his jerkin had prevented most of his shirt from getting wet, but did nothing to stop the cold.

I'll never get to feel Fallien's sun on my flesh again, he thought ruefully, tears threatening to emerge from his eyes. This was no place to die, surrounded by snow, the yellow orb now breaking on the horizon a mockery of a true sun. He didn't even know where he was. Trying to force the last remnants of his consciousness to recall his purpose in coming here, he could think of nothing. He vaguely recalled the spending the night before in a tavern, and then he had simply been in the castle, knowing only he had to kill an opponent before they killed him. In that he had failed. His life had been taken by some coward, too weak to show his face or repay Callan for his earlier favor. In flickering bursts the scene in the banquet hall came back to him. He stood poised, Sunaris above his head, ready to sink the blade deep into his opponent's head, cleaving skull and dissecting brain. Why hadn't he just done it? Honor? Fuck honor, he thought bitterly. What was the point of a virtuous action in an honorless world?

The snow and ground beneath him was now coated in red. He was too weak to tell if his dagger had found its mark, but in a way he hoped it had not. If he had managed to slay his foe with his final assault, he had damned himself to lie here on the freezing ground until he succumbed to his injuries. His death was certain, only how much remained of his life was not. When the archer came into view at the top of the ditch, Callan smiled. He couldn't keep his eyes fixed as the man brought his bow closer.

"Craven," he spat just before the arrow took him in the heart. His passing was swift.

---

He awoke some time later surrounded once more by white, but now it was bedsheets, not snow, that swaddled him as he lay. Confused panic flooded his mind, but was soon overtaken by laughter as his mind reconciled his death.

"Welcome back to the world of the living," a robed figure next to him said.

Callan looked over at him and smiled. The man was easily recognized as Ai'brone. The night in the castle had been but another round in the Magus Cup. On some level he realized he had known that the whole time, just had not recognized that he was in one of the many, perhaps infinite, arenas of the Citadel. However, if the Ai'brone could create entire fortresses of the dead, he doubted it would be more than a trifle for them to temporarily wipe away a competitor's memory. Now, he could remember clearly his walk to the Citadel, and passing through a charred oak door to the arena for his third match. He supposed he would not have truly been scared of the living corpses and skeletons if he had understood at the time that none of it was real.

"I suppose you have some questions?" the monk asked, mirroring Callan's smile.

The swordsman sat up. "No, I think I understand everything now. Sun grant you shade for healing my wounds," he replied, using a Fallien phrase without thinking. He usually tried to blend into Coronian culture as much as possible, trying to distance himself from his melancholy childhood. But lying in the snow he had wished only to see the desert expanse of his home country once more. He breathed deeply, treasuring the warmth of the air as it flooded his lungs. "Well, I guess I do have one question. If I died... does that mean I lost?" he asked.

"Not necessarily. In a true fight, with his broken leg your foe would have almost certainly perished in the blizzard we had planned to come soon after sunrise. We'll be releasing our decisions for the victors of this round soon. Feel free to rest longer if you wish. Your personal effects are in the chest at the foot of your bed, and the exit is that way" the monk said with a nod towards the oak chest followed by a hand gesture towards an archway behind him. "If you have any... irregularities in memory, please come find one of us."

"Will do. Thanks again," Callan said and hopped off the bed. Looking around, he saw at least fifty beds in the long room, many occupied by other Citadel fighters. Monks walked up and down the aisle, some talking to the combatants and others carrying fresh linens. As he walked to the end of his bed, he asked, "what about the quiet fellow I fought? Is he in here too?"

"No, we have a few different recovery rooms, and usually split challengers up after their fight. Some of you come out still lusting for battle," the monk said and turned to leave. Before departing however, he added, 'by the way, if you happen to see him again, the man you fought can't speak. Just thought you should know."

Callan nodded and retrieved his weaponry from the chest. He donned his boots and jerkin and fastened the sheaths of his sword and dagger to his belt, then headed for the exit. No purpose guided his feet other than to get outside and feel the sun's caress on his skin once more.

[Max Dirks]

Excellent job of incorporating a dynamic setting into the bout. You'll notice that by doing so, you added not only to your action scores, but to your persona scores as well. By having the undead attack, you forced your characters to forge a temporary alliance that added suspense and a new interaction dynamic to what could have been a boring battle.

Individual comments are below. As you are both new, I've offered up a few bits of advice on each category. No table this time, though. CN is Callan and BS is Black Shadow

Callan | Black Shadow

Story - 5 | 5 (This battle had a nice story to it, but I would have liked to see a bit more situational development in the introduction. BS: This is collaborative writing. Don't feel like you have to follow along with your opponent's story. Feel free to build your own within the dynamic environment)
Setting - 6 | 6 (See my comments above)
Pacing - 5 | 5 (Solid in terms of action & story. Your respective mechanical issues did slow down my read considerably).
Communication - 4 | 4
Action - 5 | 5 (See my comments above)
Persona - 5 | 6 (BS: Cool, cold and collected. After escaping the horde, Black Shadow immediately attacked Callan, which was incredibly true to character. Nice job!)
Mechanics - 5 | 4 (CN: You have occasional usage errors that are probably just spelling errors your word processor missed. Be sure to give your posts a once over before submitting them to minimize these errors in the future. BS: Your writing in the beginning was mechanically flawless, but beginning at about post 13, it was like a night and day switch. Mechanical errors can be costly in battles, so try to minimize them)
Technique - 4 | 4 (As you become better writers, I encourage you both to start experimenting with some advanced literary techniques. While I understand devices such as foreshadowing in a battle might be difficult, there are still plenty of ways you can improve your writing by essentially screwing with the writers mind. My favorite resource for literary technique is here (http://literarydevices.net/))
Clarity - 5 | 4 (BS: Unfortunately those mechanical errors were glaring, and forced me to re-read several sentences. Also, some of your action & positioning were unclear near the end)
Wildcard - 5 | 3 (BS: Editing a previous post after your opponent has responded is not allowed. It appears on 2/18/14, you went through and edited all of your earlier posts. This is unacceptable without permission from the other player. Since you are new and the error was non-material to the decision, I've decided to minimize your score loss. Please be mindful of this in the future)

Total - 49 | 46

Callan advances to the Newcomer semi-finals!
Black Shadow is alive in Round 3 of the Redemption Bracket!

Callan earns 750 EXP and 88 GP.
Black Shadow earns 225 EXP and 74 GP.