A Royal Welcome To The Citadel

[Lisean]

((Closed to Cyrus))

The Citadel was a place where necromancers like Lisean were most unlikely to turn up, but nothing’s impossible. The battleground was a perfect place for beginners like him to adapt to. It had plenty of space, and didn’t exactly play host to a specific element. There was no theme to this place, unless you’d consider nobility it. Lisean entered a large set of double doors that opened on their own, stepping out with his staff guiding him as he carried himself across an elegant red carpet. The room glimmered in its utmost radiance, cobblestone walls and black marble floor supported him and whoever his opponent was going to be. Large stone pillars stood in an organized fashion down the stretch of the carpet, and at the end of the great hall sat a throne, fit for a king.

The battleground was a royal audience hall. A throne room.

Clasped in Lisean’s left hand was the letter he was given before being led out to this place by a couple of guards. He had no idea just how all the spectators he heard of were watching, but if this was some sort of show, he best be on his feet. His opponent could be in the room at this very moment. Lisean looked about the chamber, and took a couple steps forward, before he finally opened the letter, closed with The Citadel’s seal. Flipping the paper open as quickly as possible in case he was write about being watched by his enemy, he read the words in his mind, moving his lips silently to sound them out to himself.

Lisean Lemot,

Before you is the arena for which you will be participating in. Since you were the first to sign yourself up on our charters, you have been chosen as the first to enter the battleground. This gives you a bit of an advantage against your opponent. Please take the time you’ve been given, and use it wisely, for chances to prepare yourself don’t come often.

Since this is your first time in the battlegrounds, we are obliged to give you what is called an act of mercy. Some fights are to the death here at The Citadel, while others end with either opponent asks or gives up. If you are wounded enough to be motivated to give in and forfeit your match, simply call loud enough for the guards to here. They will be waiting outside the chamber doors.

Best of luck to you.

Sincerely,
The Administration Council of The Citadel.

The invitation to prepare himself made the necromancer’s stomach turn. It made him feel like they were trying to tell him that this was something big he was going up against. A dire challenge, perhaps far beyond his level of expertise. Sounded like it really was a bad idea to come to the arena for practice. He practically signed his own will and testament. He exhaled, and tucked the letter into his coat pocket, taking out the Book of Lemot in the process. As he walked hastily towards the throne, or the back of the chamber, Lisean flipped trough the pages in a hurry, trying to find the incantations he had memorized. Perhaps if he could illiterate them the way they’re supposed to be said, he could have an improved, slightly more powerful spell.

~~~

At long last, the battle trumpets sounded from outside the chamber doors. Lisean had tucked his book into his coat long beforehand, and stood tall infront of the throne. He couldn’t hide and get an advantage against his opponent in a place like this. The battleground was designed with basics in mind. Opposition is always in sight, and very few obstacles could be taken advantage of. Pretty straight forward. Rolling his shoulders back a couple of times, and cracking his neck, Lisean took a harsh grip with both hands to his staff. It was his only defense, but if it failed, he always had another weapon prepared. A light, violet aura lingered about his body, perhaps enhancing his chances to intimidate his opponent. People who knew the art of magic were quite a threat, if they had the knowledge to handle such a powerful essence properly.

Lisean took in a deep breath once the trumpets had gone silent. There was that one moment where everything just seemed to have stopped. Even time itself. It was during that one glorious moment that the necromancer readied himself for anything he could imagine. There was no more chances to prepare or think of what was to come.

It came.

[Cyrus the virus]

It had been at least a year since Luc Kraus last stepped onto the marble floor of the Citadel, but he found, upon entering, that his reputation would not need to be regained all over again. Immediately upon catching the eyes of the monk working the desk - eyes that quickly shot wide open, Luc noted with some amusement - only a moment was allowed to pass before he was met by three others.

The four stood in front of him, shadowed by him as the sun beat on his back from outside. Questions flew haphazardly from their mouths, like ill-aimed arrows from an amateur archer's bow. Naturally, it did not take long for Luc to feel the familiar glow of overconfidence as it took him over.

He had to play the role of the might mage, of course, and he did so with an exasperated sigh, pushing past the four gathered monks to stand in the center of the main parlor. The chamber was large and white with marble, with tapestries that fell down from the ceiling.

"I simply crave, once again, the glory that comes from smashing my foes," he said at length, attempting to satisfy each question with that one single thought.

It was a shallow reason, however, and despite how prominent that feeling was at the end of a battle, it was not his true motivation for returning to the Citadel once more. His body had reached the peak of magical ability, at least in terms of his elemental manipulation, and that was something he could deal with. However, with each new spell he learned, Luc had begun to feel more and more ill. He was trying to pack too much power into his tiny frame, and he needed to discipline his mind and body to a point he'd never been at before.

The Citadel, if nothing else, could take him a step in that direction.

After some further questions from the monks, and some slight discussion regarding his opponent, Luc found himself before a familiar swirling portal, grinning as he recalled the many times he'd stepped through similar doors. "I've been away for a long time, training and learning all the while, and you still insist that I start off small. Fine, then."

In a few moments, Luc was standing on a lush red carpet, facing a man with lavender hair who stood quite a ways from him. The mage paid him no mind at first, instead getting a sense for his surroundings. After a moment of silence had passed between them, Luc took another look at him. He had the faintest sense of magic about him, and an obvious purple aura.

Luc smirked and held out a hand, using his disenchant spell to try and get rid of whatever it was the man had surrounded himself with. "Your parlor tricks won't work on the likes of me," was all he said, before casting his own enchantment upon himself: the familiar green aura of Stoneskin, which fit him as it his very own skin was made of the green stuff.

The spell would absorb the first three strikes of any measure of power that hit him, before fading away. Luc didn't intend on letting things get that far.