White Meat or Dark Meat? (Closed to redford)

[MetalDrago]

Black clouds gathered over the Citadel as the Dragonian champion of N’Jal stepped through the large double doors that marked the entrance. Thunder roared as the wind began to pick up. The trees flitted back and forth in the wind as the rain began to drizzle downward. The old doors slid closed behind the Paladin as he looked over the monks going about their business, registering new fighters, welcoming grizzled veterans, and otherwise attending to the needs of the combatants that often visited this grand arena in the heart of Radasanthia.

The monk Eins, a bald little man with a sense of humor about as large as his stature, stepped forward from the throng of people milling about the antechamber. When he stepped up to the ancient Dragonian before him, he bowed his head and motioned that the two of them take a few steps aside.

“What brings you to the Citadel on this grand day, Master Drago?” Eins asked simply, arms tucked into the opposite sleeve as always. He didn’t bother commenting on the horrendous weather, or that the Dragonian had tracked in enough water to sate a dying man in the desert. The only thing on his mind was business.

“I need a fight,” the Dragonian answered simply. With a cocked brow, he turned his eyes down upon the smaller man and smiled. “Make it something... unexpected.”

A small frown crossed the face of the monk as he motioned for the larger being to follow him. There was little that could be done when MetalDrago Scorpio was in one of his moods. He was always itching to test himself, to develop his skills. However, whenever he asked for something fun, he often meant something dark and twisted.

“I... think I might have just the change of pace that you need, Drago,” the monk said as they continued to walk down the hallways. “You’ll still be able to kill and maim as is your normal wont, but... the ridiculousness of this particular arena may allow you to just let loose and have a little fun just for the sake of having fun with your next opponent.”

“Sounds interesting, I suppose,” Drago commented. “What... exactly do you mean by ridiculousness?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. This room is extremely unpopular because most people think it’s just too weird. It feels like nothing in the real world, this solid dimension we live in. It’s something... altogether different. Just wait and see.”

The door opened before the two of them and Eins motioned for the Dragonian to step through the doorway. The creature paused for a moment before he finally stepped through the doorway. For a second, lost in the darkness of the in-between, he could have sworn he had heard Eins chuckling.

As the darkness was stripped from his vision, he looked out upon what was indeed the most ridiculous place he’d ever set eyes on. Pillars of peppermint rose on either side of the Paladin while swords crafted from the sharpened bones of some animal hung upon the walls. The ground felt spongy, almost like...

Drago knelt and sniffed the floor before he stood back up and sighed.

“It’s definitely meat...” he muttered as he continued to survey the area. Despite the obvious food theme, the construction seemed fairly solid, an array of weapons hung around the area, each with a decidedly “you can eat me” theme, but still looked fairly dangerous. The giant chicken and turkey legs looked most deadly.

“This is... indeed ridiculous,” the Dragonian said simply as he brought his hand up to cover his mouth. “I suppose I could... eat... while waiting for my opponent.”

A loud barking laugh echoed through the chamber as he considered the stupidity of what he’d just said.

[redford]

John stepped out into thin air.

Seeing the ground of the arena about ten feet below him, he cursed his friendship with brother Jor in the moment before he began to fall.

He tried to contort his body so he would land softer, but his size made it difficult. He crashed through a table laden with goblets and food. John landed through the table into a hard surface, feeling the food and dishes slide down on to him from the rest of the table. He lay motionless for a while, catching his breath again and regaining his bearings. Pink striped pillars lined the hall he fell into, and the walls looked brown and spongy, almost like....bread?

A 'surprise' indeed, brother Jor. John's friend, an Ai'Bron monk, had a tendency for what John referred to as 'childish shenanigans', and it certainly showed in the hall he was in now.

The smell of food invaded John's nostrils. Sweet, savory, and all manner of other scents assaulted him as he righted himself slowly, knocking crumbs and noodles off of himself. The ground felt spongy, like it was made of....

John realized slowly that the entire floor of the hall was a giant slab of meat, almost like a steak.

Surely this was the oddest arena he'd ever found himself in, but John instinctively recognized the uncertain terrain, growing inch-long spikes on the bottom of his metal boots to help him move. A figure stood in the dim light of the several torches around the place, John presumed the stranger was waiting for him to be ready, as killing a man as he enters the Citadel wasn't quite the point of the matter anyways. John strode forward, seeing a mop of silver hair sitting atop a large humanoid. He was still quite short compared to John though.

John took off the shirt that was too expensive to waste on shredding in a fight, and focused on his armor, making it flow like liquid metal to cover all of his arms and the upper portion of his torso. He pointed a thumb at himself, speaking plainly.

"John."

[MetalDrago]

The man was a giant, a literal giant. Drago had never in his entire life met someone quite as large as this “John” was. There was something about him, too, a simple enjoyment of fighting that he could feel himself liking despite himself. Ordinarily, the introduction would have seemed lackluster, but the look in the man’s eye spoke volumes about his intention. The metal clad Dragonian smiled and flicked his own thumb toward his chest.

“Drago.”

Now, let’s get started you giant thing, he thought as he wrapped a hand around the strongest of his weapons, the mythril katana that he’d lovingly named the Shadow of Light. With a whistle like birdsong, it erupted forward from its sheath, ready for the action ahead. Without another thought toward what this arena meant for the two of them, he erupted forward, closing the distance in less than half the time most who saw an armored combatant would think he’d be able to do so. The ground beneath him squelched with the weight of his boots, sinking just slightly more than sand would. His sword was dragging behind him, cutting a neat line all the way to his opponent.

With an evil, bright blue shine to his eyes, his sword cut a bloody swathe upward from the ground, straight up, with the intention of severing the giant man’s left arm. The Dragonian attempted to stop his forward motion, but hadn’t accounted for the slickness of the ground, however. Without a sound, his feet slipped out from under him and he slid off to the right on his back.

Within a second, he was back on his feet, covered in the juices of the meat that he had just been rolled around on by his own momentum. His face contorted, nose up and teeth bared as he wiped himself off. He stopped as he realized that he had both hands free. He looked around and noticed that his sword had been buried blade first in the floor, caught on a bone.

“Of all the...”

[redford]

As John's eyes adjusted further to the dim, red light in the hallway, more of his opponent's features came into view. John noticed quickly that he was not in fact human, but dragonian. Until now, he'd never seen one, only heard of them. Of course, northern Salvar was not quite the jewel of diversity.

Before John could examine him further though, the half-dragon yanked a blade from his back, sprinting forward with it. John put up an armored hand to defend himself, but something caught the blade as he dragged it through the meat floor, causing him to lose his footing. He was quick, but not quick enough to recover, so down he went, almost comically, landing with a splat on the meat of the floor.

John took a step forward as he scrambled to get up, looking back at his sword for a moment.

A moment was all John needed.

John raised a fist, forming inch-long spikes of silvery metal at his knuckles, and dug his foot into the floor, leaping at the dragonian. However, the steak floor betrayed him as well. As he tried to push back with his foot, the spikes did not catch, and instead slid back, cleaving the meat in two as he extended his leg backward, with no forward motion to show for it.

John fell, cursing the floor as he fell on it, quickly righting himself. This felt less like a fight and more like a comedy of errors.