Eldric's Blooding (OPEN)

[Eldric]

The arena the monks had created for him was little more than a circular pit of sand, fifty paces across at its center and girded on all sides by steel walls twice the height of a man. Overhead a blazing sun glared down, baking the earth and giving the very air a scorched taste. There were no onlookers to complain of the heat, no paying customers to demand shade, no witnesses to the battle that would soon take place. For the moment Eldric was the only soul inhabiting this realm.

The Salvarian was dressed for the heat. He'd stripped off his furs before ever stepping through the portal, leaving him clad in naught but a sleeveless shirt of iron ringmail, leather bracers, and tattered breeches and boots. He stood with his greatsword thrust into the earth before him, tying back his long blonde hair with a leather thong and watching the portal that lead back to the citadel with a raptor gaze.

Eldric had given no instruction on who was to enter this realm to fight him, and indeed he did not care. His return to Skavia, the destruction of the stronghold where he'd grown up, his travels with Tobias...these things had awakened something in him that sorely needed put to rest. Yet his old distractions- fighting, drinking, fucking- did nothing to sate whatever hunger had taken residence in his heart.

So he had come here, to the Citadel, where champions were said to flock. And indeed it seemed the truth to Eldric when he first ascended those stone steps to find the Citadel's halls full of towering warriors in shining plate and shrewd sorcerers leaning upon magical staves. His own gear of rusted iron shamed the barbarian at first, but it wasn't long until he saw through the facade these "champions" presented: behind their polished armor were weak spines and soft hearts, men fit to look pretty and little else. Eldric's shame turned to scorn, and it was with a contemptuous sneer that he bid the monks send the pretenders to him one at a time, so that he might show them what it was to be a true warrior.

"Come on then," Eldric muttered to himself, resting his hands on either side of the claymore's cross-guard. The portal roiled and churned, mirroring his anticipation.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

There was the white flash of Ai'Brone teleportation magic, and then... more bright, oppressive white.

Huh, this is curious, I thought to myself. Did someone screw something up within the Citadel?

I put my hands up to my face, trying to block out this intense, bright light. Slowly, everything faded into view.

Nope, it's just the sun overhead. Crisis averted.

I found myself standing within a literal fight pit. It was circular in its construction, wide enough to hold a proper fight in without giving the combatants room to escape from, with a thick layer of dry sand as the floor. My boots didn't quite sink into it, but it would be slightly difficult to find decent footing in order to execute more elaborate dodges and flips and shit. The walls were constructed of solid steel, and easily towered above me. There were enough scrape marks and scuffs on the unpolished surface that the sun didn't reflect off it in a blinding manner. But if you still tilted your head just right, an errant ray would catch you in the eye and possibly ruin your day.

My opponent had already arrived. He was this tall, muscular brute of a man with a miserable shirt of ring mail (that might have had rust on it, shame on him) and tattered bottoms. Several strands of dirty blond hair covered his face, draped in front of his cold steel eyes while the rest was pulled back in a ponytail. With his hands rested on the cross-guard of the massive sword embedded in the sand before him, he had this air of calmness with a hint anger and brutality that I could not quite place. The whole visage reminded me of one of the heroes of The Sons of Skavia, that epic by Toren Romanov. Y'know, the series about that band of barbarians who... Alright, alright, I know barbarians in the northern regions of Salvar is a standard storytelling trope and all, especially with the latest trends in genre fiction, but seriously...

The Last Resort hung loaded and heavy on my hip. I wasn't entirely sure I would need the flintlock revolver today, but sometimes you never can tell. For all I knew, this brute might cleave me in half before I could clear holster. But with that heavy sword of his, chances are I would be left some openings for a few solid, well-placed strikes of my own.

And of course, there's always the plague that festers and brews inside me...

My briar-knit arms were fully exposed for him to witness, given that I was simply adorned with my arctic leather bodice and a pair of black pants. They greedily lapped up the sun's rays as I cracked my knuckles and smiled at the ragged man. A simple introduction before we started, as a formality. "Hello there. Name's Madison. Guessing you're my opponent today?"

[Eldric]

The Skavian felt his heartbeat quicken as the portal prepared to deliver its second combatant into this wasteland. Not for the first time he wondered who he would face. Images of the dark elf he'd shouldered past as the monks lead him away passed through his mind, only to be replaced by the fellow Salvarian he'd seen just before stepping through the portal. Would it be her jaded blue stare that followed him through, or one of the hundreds of warriors that crowded the Citadel's corridors?

As if in reply to his musings the portal suddenly began to writhe, its arcane light pulsing in time with Eldric's own pounding heart. The blonde hairs on his arms stood on end as the very air crackled with magical energy. Soon, he told himself, and in that moment the portal vanished with an electric snap and a flash of white light. A muttered oath colored the air as he blinked away the spots that danced in his vision.

When it cleared, his opponent was before him.

For a moment Eldric just stared dumbly, confusion obvious in his slate gray eyes. Where he had expected a towering warrior dressed in shining plate of adamantine stood a slender woman of middling height and age dressed in naught but a leather bodice and cloth pants. She was attractive but plain, and her skin held a pallor that lead him to believe she might be ill. He opened his mouth, thinking to ask her if she was alright, when his gaze traveled lower and found the writhing mass of vines that served as her hands.

Immediately the Skavian's expression hardened into a brutal mask of hate and disgust. Memories of the dark magic of Raiaera flooded his mind: necromancers with black lips and dead eyes shrieking as they attacked with blade and spell, their corpse puppets staggering forth to devour the living. What else could create such a twisted facade of life, but more of that wretched magic? Bile burned the back of his throat as he beheld the twisted conglomerate of flesh and plant matter.

She spoke as if unaware of the abomination she had become: "Hello there. Name's Madison. Guessing you're my opponent today?"

The warrior narrowed his gaze as he wrapped both hands around the greatsword's massive hilt and yanked it free of the sand. He held the claymore aloft before him, the tip of its iron length aimed at the creature. "I care not what foul rot has taken hold of you, wretch. I am Eldric, and my blade will drink your blood." His voice rang loud but hollow, and the barbarian felt the cold hands of fear clawing at his gut.

His advance was straightforward. A dozen running steps carried him across the distance separating him from the demon, his ringmail jangling. The sun beat down relentlessly, and he wore a lather of sweat before he'd covered half the distance. His charge neared its climax, and with a vicious shout he put on a burst of speed, his claymore sweeping out in a two-handed slash meant to cut the woman in half at the waist.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I clicked my tongue as the barbarian bellowed. Not only did he look like one of the Sons of Skavia heroes, but he talked like one too. Now, I know that the depth one's vocabulary and speech patterns are based entirely on the culture that they've grown up in, but--shit!

While I was too busy smirking inwardly at the thought of Eldric's blade "drinking my blood", he had closed the distance between the two of us and nearly cut me in half with a massive swing of his sword. I could make out the sweat on his muscular, slightly tanned body and the flecks of rust on his ringmail shirt as the thick blade swiftly moved in an arc towards my stomach. The brute was strong, as evidenced by the ease he wielded the huge iron claymore. He was strong, and he was fast, and if I wasn't careful he was going to cut me into pieces.

Ruminations on literature would have to wait. I pushed hard against the loose sand of the arena floor and leaped backwards just as the tip of the sword passed harmlessly in front of my midsection. It was likely that my enchanted arctic leather bodice wouldn't have given under the sharpened blade, but it still would have broken a rib or two if it had connected.

A small cloud of hot sand kicked up as my feet touched ground. I was too slow in my dodge to take advantage of the barbarian's momentum, which had created a sizable opening. Had I been quicker, I could've struck hard and fast... A punch to the throat, an thrusting kick to the ribs, or what have you. But already I've let my confidence get the best of me.

"Oh, I'll show you some foul rot," I spat at the warrior through clenched teeth. As the sun continued to pound the circular, steel-lined pit with its oppressively bright rays, I allowed four seven-foot lengths of vines to grow from my right wrist. The knotted briars twisted and braided themselves into a thick whip which could sting flesh and draw blood, then fell slack onto the sandy ground. A layer of thick, amber acid began to leak from the last foot of the makeshift whip.

With a spin, I brought the briars up into the air and sent them flying toward Eldric in my own little arc of death towards his exposed shoulders.

[Eldric]

A deep, emotionless breath of exertion left Eldric as his blade swept through empty air. He planted his forward foot to kill his momentum, slate gray gaze tracking the woman. Part of him was shocked at the ease with which she maneuvered. Tainted, aye, but powerful all the same, the Skavian thought with a grimace. Her leap had been effortless, her speed blinding. Whatever this woman was, she was dangerous. One wrong step, one mistimed swing, and it would all be over. The utter confidence he'd displayed while awaiting his opponent was gone, replaced by a wary stare and the grim countenance of a man familiar with the cost of survival.

She spat words of venom as the vines on one of her arms began to writhe and extend. Before his eyes they lengthened and then bound together into a cruel whip. Brackish liquid dripped from the weapon's end. It didn't matter that Eldric had never seen this kind of magic before; one look at it told him feeling its lash would be a less than pleasant experience.

Briefly he considered charging the woman, getting in close to render the whip useless and finishing her off with a single thrust of his blade. He might have attempted it, had this 'Madison' not already displayed a quickness he couldn't hope to match. No, a berserker approach would only leave him vulnerable to her magic. Better to fight conservatively and take fewer chances until he understood what he was dealing with.

She didn't give him time to consider further. As she drew the whip back Eldric pivoted his hips, turning his entire body into swinging his blade back in the opposite direction, and swept the claymore up to meet the bundle of vines. The sudden resistance was unexpected- the Skavian had expected his blade to easily shear through the plant matter- and sent a shudder through his arms.

"God's be good," he snarled as the whip disappeared, gone as quickly as it had struck.

There was no way he could hope to fend off the whip indefinitely; the demon was too fast. Eventually one of her strikes would get through, and then it would be over. Pressing the offensive was the only option available to him, and he took it. His right leg came forward and bent at the knee, extending his range just enough for him to bring the claymore thundering down in an overhead chop meant to cleave the little wench's skull in half. Keep her too busy duckin' yer blade to even think about fighting back.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

The barbarian's claymore clashed with my vines, and there was no clear victor. My vines are far too tough for his sword to cleave through; but the power of his swing had interrupted my arc, preventing them from hitting home. I quickly withdrew the acid-coated brairs into my body, unraveling them as they snaked back into my arm. As long as he had that gigantic sword, it would be hard to get anything in close enough to lash him with some of the ol' skin-melting goodness.

Eldric's arc was wide, and it left him open for another quick strike. I balled up my fists and charged forward, my boots kicking up sand with each step. But the brute was far quicker than I gave him credit for--with no small amount of effort, he had managed to use his momentum to swing his sword around back and up over his head. The sunlight glinted against the iron blade as it swiftly moved downward, seeking to split my skull.

"Shit!" I cried out, scowling as I scrambled to come up with something new.

I quickly pivoted my feet, hoping to divert my own momentum and get the hell out of the way of certain death--but the floor of this sun-drenched arena betrayed me. The sands shifted beneath my boots, twisting my ankle and forcing me to fall to the ground. (This is why you stretch before you exercise, Maddy dear.)

I landed hard on my left elbow, my body kicking up small clouds of sand in the process. I looked up to see the bulk of the barbarian's blade feet away from me, and acted on instinct. Several lengths of thick vines sprouted from my right elbow and shot up my arm. I grabbed them tightly as the formed a makeshift bracer. With as much strength as I could muster, I swung my arm up to meet the barbarian's sword half-way.

Metal collided with plant matter, and an ungodly crack! resonated through the empty air. I was able to deflect the blow, but the force of the impact just might have broken my arm. The incredible pain that shot through my body, which made me scream in agony and grit my teeth only served to confirm that.

I let go of the vines in my hand, and they wrapped themselves around my arm to make sort of makeshift splint that used a fresh, stiff length sprouting from my elbow as a brace. I learned long ago that I could wrap up and manipulate broken and useless body parts with vines--a quick fix that allowed me to keep on moving and fighting when other, lesser beings would be giving up and crying for their mothers.

More sand kicked up as I shot to my feet before my opponent could follow through with something more final. My twisted ankle protested greatly and my right arm was burning with a white-hot pain, but I had to move. There was no way I was going to scrub out to an overused character trope personified.

"You asshole!" The words were dripping with vitriol as they escaped my lips. I scrambled to get away from him. As my footsteps beat the sand below, I formed a pool of acid in my left hand that immediately hardened and cracked into numerous shards of amber glass. I spun around, my ankle screaming as I commanded it to turn. I thrust my left hand at the barbarian, and a little burst of air from a pod deep within my skin rocketed the flesh-shredding shards at Eldric. It was rushed, and my aim might have been off just a little bit, but it was something.

[Eldric]

A crow of triumph escaped the Northman as the creature lost her footing in her haste to escape. The massive blade of his claymore followed her to the ground, its iron edge ruthless and unrelenting, and Eldric turned his head almost imperceptibly to the side in preparation for the gout of blood that was sure to follow. Yet instead of the soft, yielding flesh he'd expected his strike was suddenly stopped dead, a jolt of impact firing through his arm and numbing his fingers.

Crack!

That the plants she spawned were sturdy enough to withstand a direct blow from his blade was impressive, but there was no mistaking the music of snapping bones, and a cruel grin danced across the Skav's features. "Now we're gettin' somewhere!" She leaped away, kicking up even more dust in her wake.

"You asshole!" she spat.

Eldric bellowed laughter and started forward. "Aw now darlin', you'll hurt my feelings." The battle fever was in him now; he could feel it throbbing in his chest and singing his veins, chanting for blood. More laughter bubbled on his lips as his target spun away, only to change to a hoarse shout of alarm when her hand suddenly shot out. It was too late to even think of dodging; she was too fast and too close. Instead the Northman acted on instinct, ducking his head and bringing both arms up to cover his face.

Her attack took him squarely, the shards burrowing into the exposed flesh of his arms and shoulders. One shattered against his ringmail, sending a shower of splinters up into Eldric's jaw. The pain coaxed a snarl from him, but it was another moment before he straightened. Blood dripped from his fingertips and ran freely down his neck and under his armor as his pale eyes found the woman again. Time to die.

He staggered forward, ignoring the fresh wave of agony it generated. His arms felt numb from the pain, and the flesh around his wounds felt like it was blistering. Vile though it might be, he couldn't deny that her magic was potent. Gritting his teeth, the Northman hefted his claymore and moved to close the gap.

The first swing was simple, to the point, and very indicative of Eldric's feelings on the matter: a right-to-left sweep meant to cut the witch in half at the waist. As the blade followed through the Skav dropped to one knee and leaned into the swing, letting the weight of the blade pull him around into a full circle. As it neared her the second time he suddenly shot to his feet, using his legs to lift the claymore's strike into a diagonal uppercut meant to bite upward into the woman's ribcage.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Oh, I'm gonna' hurt more than your feelings, that's for sure...

The Son of Skavia let out a painful grunt as the sharpened shards of acidic crystal found home in his arms and chin. Little rivulets of blood began pouring out from the lacerations, crimson mixed with the clear of his sweat as they moved down his limbs. His glistening skin began to turn red and blister where it had been cut. The acid in the shards was still powerful, but the crystallization process took away most of its potency. If he got close enough, then I would demonstrate how badly it could really ruin his day.

I regained my footing on the sandy floor of the steel-lined pit. My right arm ached horribly, the bones in it broken to pieces from the collision moments ago. I squeezed the makeshift vine splint tighter to try and keep everything in line, but the throbbing pain continued to shoot up my arm.

Gritting my teeth, I quickly spun back around to face the barbarian. To my surprise, the shard volley did nothing to slow him down (as I should've expected--those northerners are tough sons of bitches). He had closed the distance between us, and was coming around fast with his massive sword gripped tightly in his white-knuckled and blood-stained hands.

I pressed hard against the floor of the arena and kicked myself backwards in the nick of time. The iron tip of his claymore passed by mere inches in front of my stomach. As the sword continued its arc, Eldric leaned into his stance, signaling that he was going to make another pass. The intense sunlight glistened off his biceps as he brought himself around once more, making a more diagonal cut on his second pass.

This was too was barely avoided.

The man was quick, his size and strength and skill with the gigantic sword hiding a cat-like grace in battle and the alarming speed in which he moved.

I would have to put a stop to that if I were going to survive this fight.

A thick, vicious smoke filled my lungs. Freebird's Bane. The same disease that had become a calling card of sorts, which I had been able to naturally produce within my body since I became a Briarheart. It weakens its victims almost immediately. They find themselves losing their strength and reaction speeds, overcome with nausea and incredible headaches, and all sorts of other pleasant things. Not to mention an inevitable death.

The plague traveled up my windpipe and filled my mouth. I forcefully exhaled a thick cloud of purple death while the Skavian's momentum carried his claymore up towards the cloudless sky. All it would take is one short breath for the infection to take hold, or one moment of exposure to the many open oozing wounds that the shards left on his arm.