From By 'Ere To Eternity (Open)

[Nachanksy]

From By 'Ere To Eternity (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zo70DJiMBlI)

http://inminecraft.ru/_fr/0/0870069.jpg


Open to one opponent.

[Nachanksy]

“Dem dead be dancin’, watchin’, laughin’.” Nachansky spat a gobbet of spit and bitterness at the arid earth in defiance of what she saw. The world around her was anathema to her ways, her life, and her ideology. It was hell. She had walked right into the spirit world or somewhere darker still.

Lofty needle spires and crumbling colonnades hemmed in the hunter on all sides. The virile monks of the Ai’bron had chosen a bountiful battleground to test the girl to her limitations, and chosen well. It reflected the worst possible end to her days. Nothingness. No trees to climb. No rivers to swim. No fish to snare.

“You be cruel dumb dams thinkin’ this lay me low,” she snarled. Her thick accent echoed out across the barren apolitical. In the crags, and the crevices, true enough dead things danced. Shadows spectral flickered. Skeletal and forgotten warriors, villains, and troubadours remained vigilant to their cause. Held in sway by magic succour, they would dance until the end of days.

Ahead, Nachansky saw the sister of the gates through which she entered the arena. They remained closed, for now. Soon, her opponent would enter and they too would witness the destruction. She shuffled her feet, bent at the knee, palms spread spider-like on the rock. She got to sense from it. She felt no kinship with it. All she had here and now was her bow, knife, and wits. Sometimes, perhaps all the time, that was all a Cub needed.

[Quentin Boone]

Quentin limped into the arena and paused. The environment was so unlike the Colosseum he usually fought in that it took him aback. The barren rocks seemed to carry on forever and he had a feeling of something, or someone, more than his opponent had eyes rested on him. It made the brawler uneasy, especially as the implanted eye replacement didn't highlight anything other than the short, crouched friend some distance away.

"Dem monks do like playin' wi' us a'times, Li'le Cub." His voice raised to penetrate the near-darkness of what he assumed was a cavern, an eerie green light came from everywhere and nowhere, providing just enough for the bearded brawler to make out a number of stalagmites that would be useful for cover against the hunter. He took a few steps closer, a hand drifting to his wrist and fingers resting lightly on the hilt of one of three throwing knives. He didn't know whether Nachansky had recognised him yet, and didn't want to be off-guard should she decide to take the initiative and strike first. Quentin knew how good of a shot she was with her bow.

"As always, there's money ridin' on this. I can' go easy on ya this time. No trainin' exercise today, Cub." His voice was friendly, and as he moved into a brighter spot of green, Quentin was sure the hunter had seen him clearly enough. "Ya ready?"

[Nachanksy]

The Cub narrowed her gaze. Familiarity bred contempt. Contempt bred fear. Fear bred recognition. Recognition bred anger. A cycling triviality of retribution.

“Dem eyes be deceivin’,” she protested. She clenched her fist, punched the farrowed earth, and edged forwards cantankerous on all fours.

Months ago, the forest dweller had branched out into the wider world. In the city of Radasanth, she had met an erudite man called Quentin Boone. She had chuckled at the time because Boone was a new word, a new sound, and a new level of pretence set against her wild abandonment.

“Quentin’?” she spat.

Fur, fangs, and ferocity drove forward in a shambling mound of teenage angst. Without thinking and with abandoning her hatred of the dull and lifeless surround she closed the gap between her and her supposed opponent.

“I ain’t even be trainin’,” she protested.

Of course, this was a lie. Her father tested her and her brother almost daily when she stayed in the throng of the tribe. It was their way. Here, though, the way was insular. Independence was swift becoming Nachanksy’s foray, her chest beat, and her goal in life. That and finding the next big pelt to hang from her wall.

“You be coming’ full strength den’?”

Her eyes sparkled. Beneath the pallid veil of the arena’s deathly glow, she came across as dull, devoid of life, and harkened to the inevitability of her circumstance. This was a ploy, a facet of her involvement with nature’s throng. She smiled widely.