Blank Faces

[Komosatuo]

He was here, again, although he couldn't remember if he had been here once before or if this was his first time. It was a strange Deja Vu and he couldn't shake the feeling that somehow it was true. He tried to shake it free from his shoulders as he walked up the distantly familiar grand steps and disappeared into the beckoning darkness beyond.

Inside it was much like walking from a bright sunny day into a dark and dreary room, your eyes widen in what seems surprise and you're forced to blink as an unnerving darkness settles around you, blanking your senses and leaving you venerable for an all to long period of time. In a moment however, it was over, he had long since trained himself to adjust quickly to light and dark and he saw that he was being approached hastily by a man dressed in earth brown robes held shut with a thick and frayed rope.

"You require assistance child?"

Child. . .he had heard that before, somewhere, from someone. Was it here? The thought drifted and he answered the mans question.

"Yes, I was looking for a room."

The man blinked. "What kind of room child?"

"Preferably twenty by twenty feet, slate wood floor with bamboo reed as its walls. Separated by two sliding doors made of thing bamboo reed and papyrus."

The man nodded and after a moment of thought, spoke. "Any preference to color or type of wood?"

"Pine, if you could. And depending on how fresh it is, an air freshener."

The man nodded again, thought for a moment then smiled. "Anything else child?"

There was a moments silence as he pondered the question. "Yes, a small brazier filled with coals, a small lighting stick, a reed mat and a few sticks of incense."

"Of course, right this way please." The man motioned with his hand and turned to walk away. There was no choice but to follow or be left behind.

A short while and a few halls and doorways later he was left standing in front of a large stone slab door. He reached up and pushed against it, testing it. There was a soft click followed by a great whooshing sound and the door slide back and then shifted silently to the side. He walked in and smiled.

Everything was as it should have been, almost exactly as he asked. The room smelled of fresh cut pine and he could even see that the papyrus was fresh. He bent to run his hand along the wood slate floor; it was smooth and would bring no splinters for a long time. He stood and walked to the sliding papyrus and wood door, examining it. It was divided into three sections, the center being the support and the two ends being the ones that opened. One opened on his side, the other on the adjacent. He moved to the panel that slid on his side.

He placed a hand and pulled gently, smiling as the door slide very easily, and very quietly on its wood track. He stepped into the other side and smiled wider when he saw that the mat, brazier and coals, light stick and incense were as they should be. He closed the door behind him and moved towards the mat.

The reed was still fresh, so it was soft -soft meaning it was still wet and squishy - and he folded himself neatly onto it. Picking up the light stick he touched it lightly to the coals, which instantly lit, burned for a moment before settling into red smoldering embers. He then picked a stick on incense and touched it to the coals. It too lit and soon the room was filled with the familiar scents of the incense. But there was something still missing.

Oh! Yes, that.

Reaching behind his back he grabbed a hold of a long piece of ash that had been crafted into a flute. He smiled as he pulled it free of its clasp and brought it around to his lips. Inhaling deeply, slowly, calmly, he began to play. A few moments later he was deeply immersed in the smells of the coal, the pine, the papyrus, the bamboo walls, the reed mate, the incense and the sound of his flute, playing soft dreamy melodies.

This is a battle, despite the calm appearance of the room. Open to one, preferably of equal or lesser level. :p

[Arc Demenio]

Ark could hear the words of his former master of arms even now, “This one time at the Citadel…” All of his stories had begun that way, every one detailing how some technique had saved him from defeat, each meant to teach how important the seemingly useless training was. Now that he was actually inside of the citadel, he realized how impressive it really was, no wonder it had been the start of every story. The place was towering and impressive, its warriors armed to the teeth both good and bad, the very building smelled of epic.

The citadel itself was huge, larger than several houses put together and towering over trees, made entirely from a smoke colored rock the likes of which existed no where else. The interior was lit by numerous wall sconces that held strange blue-white flames and made no smoke or heat, the brown robed monks moving calmly and politely to address each new comer and rapidly arranging battles. Demonic warriors draped in several inches of steel to clerical white robed priests and everything in-between, all came to do battle in the world famous rooms.

Ark himself had just come back from a small excursion into Concordia and lay resting on bench beside the entranceway. His forest garb consisted of all green clothing, wide sleeved shirts with long archer’s gloves reaching to the elbow, trackers boots buckled up to the knee, and a huge form covering cloak fastened across his left shoulder. He’d been dazing away the morning’s drowsiness and observing the comings and goings, carefully listening to the requests patrons made for special arenas. When he decided to make a request, he was not going to appear uninformed.

As one of the monks approached him, Ark was too slow to pretend sleep. “Sir, there is a battle which we need a competitor for. Seeing as you have been here for some time, we hope you will agree to comply.” Whispered the monk in his rasping voice, “This is not a place for the homeless, after all.”

“Very well, if I must.” Muttered Ark as he stood up, stretched his stiff arms and popped his neck to the side. He’d come for a battle anyway, and there was no point in delaying further.

As he followed the monk down a hallway, a few questions came to mind. “How are the arenas created?” The monk only turned slightly, but remained silent. “Well, how many rooms are there? Who built citadel? When was it built?” Each question received the same stony silence.

Ark nearly bumped into the monk when he stopped abruptly, “This is your room. Enter at your leisure, someone will see to you when the match is over.” A few steps more and the monk faded into darkness, leaving Ark completely alone before the doorway.

“No time like the present,” Ark muttered to himself, took a deep breath and pushed forth into the room.

[Komosatuo]

He didn't know how long it had been since the incense burned out, he was that deeply immersed in the melodies of his music but he had a sinking feeling that it had been out for far to long a time. He sighed as he let the flute fall from his lips. Perhaps today wasn't the best time to come to the citadel, perhaps he would try back tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow. He would have better luck tomorrow.

He was just about to rise and put his flute back when a soft click came from the opposite side of the room. Had he been anywhere else he would have suspected it was the room shifting beneath the weight of the wind, but he knew that there could be no wind here, it was completely encased in the solid block of the citadel. It also couldn't be simply that the room just shifted, this construction was much to sturdy for that.

So if it wasn't the wind, and if it wasn't the building itself, that left only one option. Someone had finally come to join him. His mouth turned up in a smile that no one could have possibly seen and he placed another incense stick to the coals. It sparked to life then quickly faded to a burning ember, the pale scented smoke wafting up from the pale brown stick. He placed it where the burned out one had been and placed the flute back up against his lips.

He blew a quick series of notes, each rising higher in pitch than the last, then took a deep breath before blowing more slowly, more controlled into the flute. The sound was soft, slow and eerie. It was something he had only heard once before in his life but had been taught how to play in the first week at the compound.

The Battle Hymn of the Silver Snake. His clan, the Seventh Horachi'Lykn Clan of the Concordian Forests.

He played and waited for the new comer to show his face.

[Arc Demenio]

The strangest thing that could have happened, seemed to have happened. As Ark had pressed the stone door away and to the side, he took not one step before realizing there was something immediately in his way, almost running into it in carelessness. Right in front of him stood another door, though different in make, and very foreign. “Another door? That’s a little bit redundant…” His voice trailed off as he registered the soft sound of music, a wind instrument to judge by the sharpness of it.

There was a moment of confusion in which Ark pressed against the door and put his shoulder to the task as it didn’t budge forward. He could feel the wood bending against his pressure, and nearly decided to break through when he felt it shift slightly. Grabbing the handle, Ark pulled it and gasped slightly, the door slid to his side. Inside he could see a darkly clothed man sitting and playing the music, a slight haze of smoke floated about the ceiling, and a spot of softly burning coals. The scene was very serene, peaceful, and after his ordeal with the door it felt even more as though he had intruded on something.

His face was red with embarrassment, but he couldn’t keep himself from wrinkling his nose at the strange scent in the air. It smelled of fire, not the bad kind of burnt food but of herbs, most strongly like cinnamon. It seemed an assault from the clean clearness of the lobby, and far remote from the earthly scents of mud and trees and rain that Ark valued. Deciding the player was there for background, he cleared his throat loudly, “When will my opponent get here, if he isn’t already present?”

Realizing he’d spoken in elven, his blush darkened and he spoke again in common, “Excuse me, I forgot my location. Where is this other fighter?”

[Komosatuo]

It was time.

He stopped playing and in one smooth motion detached the flute from its resting place on his chin and placed it gently down beside him. It made a small click as it came to rest and he lifted his hand to place it gently on his knee, while his other moved to rest on the other. He cocked his head slightly to the side and smiled, but the man could not see it as such. He only saw the ninja's pale gray eyes, gazing at him from above the veil of black cloth pulled across his face.

"You've come to the right place," the ninja said after listening to the mans words, spoken in two different languages. He thought he recognized the latter from his studies in the compound, but he could not translate it. "And as for the other fighter," the ninja sighed as he gestured up at himself with his left palm. "It is I, that you seek."

He then inhaled deeply and looked down to the incense. It had only burned a little bit in the time since he had lit it. He reached over and picked it up, drawing the glowing ember close to his face and inhaling deeply again.

"Hmmm, how I have missed this scent. It is said that it calms the nerves, soothes aches and pains, both body and soul. But, alas, we did not come here for relaxation and talk of scents," he said as he replaced the incense back into its holder. He then returned his gaze to the man. "Now, who will make the first move stranger? You, or perhaps, I?"

He chuckled lightly and folded his hands in his lap. As he did so he tucked a small fish dart behind his left palm. He had picked it from a concealed pocket while he had been busy with the incense, hopefully the distraction of the incense had been enough of one that the man hadn't noticed. If he had, well, the ninja had other means of surprising this man.

The burning embers of the coals flared dangerously as they lit and caught one that had escaped the original lighting.

[Arc Demenio]

Ark stared at the man with a new focus, taking in his features one by one. At first he’d taken him for part of the background, but it was not so and deserved a second evaluation. There was little enough of his features, the man was a little shorter than Ark was, and a bit heavier by the look of him. His strange grey eyes were all that showed, the rest masked by the various black clothing wrapped around. Even his face was covered, making him appear more mysterious than he should have been. “Is it cold to you, or is it that you would hide your face?”

Ark could feel his own muscles tensing, the man’s word set him on edge. Would he rise before attacking or would he make a move from the floor? Should he wait for his enemy to rise or strike now while before he could prepare himself? As his hands edged toward his bow and quiver, the red haired elf weighed his options. He knew he could draw the bow quickly, but lining the arrow before his opponent reached him would be a gamble.

Ark unexpectedly relaxed, his mind made up, “Rise, I would not dishonor myself by striking an opponent unawares or unprepared.” This statement saved face, and provided him with a distinct opportunity. It was difficult to tell very much about the man, and his movements in rising would provide him with some crucial information. If he was old and arthritic, he would move slowly, his speed and method of rising would reveal much about how fit he was. This was what he hoped it would reveal at least, as his old master always said, “When you know your enemy, you have already won. The fight is only to inform him of your victory.”

[Komosatuo]

So, he's smarter than he looks.

The ninja could tell the man was testing him, getting a feel for his opponent was a more common analogy and one that the ninja was more than happy to oblige to. His eyes smirked as he unclasped his hands and spread them wide, revealing his fish dart, as well as his plans of attack.

"You have caught my bluff, well done. And in regards to your previous question. . ." The ninja moved, in an unexpected but previously planned motion.

His legs had been tucked beneath him in a traditional half-kneel, half-sit of his Horachi'Lykn clan and to the naive or unpracticed eye, it did merely look as though he were sitting. But in fact he was crouching, ready to spring into action at a moments notice.

He cocked his right foot slightly forward as he sprang to his feet, in about the same time it takes a tightly wound spring to loose itself when released and kicked. But not at the man, instead he kicked at the brazier, hooking it gracefully beneath his toes. He quickly spun around, as he would not have a second chance should this go awry and as he did so, he lifted his foot up in a rising kick, sending the brazier, and its red hot contents in a wide arc towards the possibly unsuspecting man.

Following through with the kick the ninja firmly planted his right foot on the ground and loosed his still left hand bound fish dart. The burning embers, as well as the fish dart should be an ample enough start to a fight as such the ninja had only experienced in training. Only, without the practice blades.

He could already feel his adrenaline and Lykn flowing freely through his veins. He smirked, then finished what he was going to say. . .

“I just don’t like people seeing my face, that’s all.”

[Arc Demenio]

Ark’s eyes widened in surprise, he had expected the same courtesy to prepare for the attack. In hindsight it was he felt stupid, never let the opponent catch you off guard. The dark man’s foot caught the coals in the same moment as he rose and sent the fiery lumps of coal towards Ark.

Instinctively, Ark’s hand rose and blocked the makeshift projectiles, but obscured his line of sight. Immediately he checked on the condition of his exposed arms, a couple of the coals had only blackened his shirt but several had left red and bloody marks on his forearms. As he was checking himself a dart lodged itself in his chest, a mere flesh wound as it struck bone in his sternum. It was pinpoint aiming though, dead centered in his body, this man was someone to be wary of.

“That was a not chivalrous,” he spoke ruefully, “But I should have expected it from one of your kind.” He regretted allowing his opponent to gain footing, but there was no helping what had passed. He would not make another move he would regret, and drew his blades immediately.

“You are a criminal,” Ark spoke in a raised voice, “It is the way of the criminal to hide their face and to attack in such a manner, as they are cowards. It is also their way to die, either by the rope or the blade, and I am lacking rope.”

[Komosatuo]

The ninja laughed.

"Criminal? My friend," the ninja said between chuckles. "I am no criminal. I am a ninja, of the Seventh Clan of the Horachi'Lykn. They hail from the Concordian Forests, but it is not my birth place." He gave the man a slight bow, seeing as there was now a lull in the fight to come and spread his hands wide as he did so. "And if will help you as such, I will reveal my face to you, when the time is right."

He straightened and checked his arms in his suit by shaking them once out in front of him, then settled into a defensive stance.

"The first straw has been pulled and now it is your turn, draw and let me see how good you are with those blades of yours."

He hunched ever so slightly, just enough to lift his shoulders into a more straight line along his body, and shifted his feet, ever so slightly again, so that he could stand on his toes and then he loosely clenched his fists. His eyes narrowed and his mouth drew up in a smirk, not that the man could see that though, but still, it felt appropriate.

[Arc Demenio]

The so called ninja had laughed at his suggestion, “Perhaps you are, perhaps not. Raiders do not consider themselves thieves though they are cast of the same mold.” It would take some convincing to persuade him otherwise now, especially after the trickery pulled with the brazier.

He lifted his own blades, long in his right and short in his left, twisted his hands a little to get a feel for them. Their leather grips were firm, the edges sharp even through the scars, and the handle secure. The rapid strikes their speed allowed made such blades short-lived, but they were forged full-tang and would hold out a while longer still.

Secure that his blades were ready, Ark gave himself a quick appraisal. He was well rested, prepared, and focused. Already the skin was crawling back into place underneath the dried blood on his arms, if he did this right that would be the only injury he needed to recover from.

Smoothly he crouched lower to the ground, evened his weight, drew a breath, and instantly tensed all of his muscles. He would spring out at full strength, “It is in the first instance of battle that a man’s measure is marked,” the old elf always said, “because the next he is either the deceased or the victor.”

The wind whistled as the blade struck forward, reaching out farthest and surest in a large downward slash, the left delayed and following immediately forward to destroy any counter attempted, “If you hold yourself back for defense, you invite death.”

[Komosatuo]

Hmph, that's pretty straight forward, the ninja thought as he side stepped, ducking and spinning on the ball of his left foot so that his body moved a half-width to the right. And slow.

There was a shrill whistle as the first of the two blades found nothing but air, followed by the whooshing sound of a pile-driver for a thrust from the last. Those two attacks were a good start, but the first took way to long so it was easy to counter step; if he had started with the second first, the ninja would have been very hard pressed to avoid it.

But, here I am. Best make the best of it. The second blade had just finished passing by the ninja when he too struck, but in a very different manner. Now was not the time for blades, that would come later, first he wanted to toy and have some fun. Using his right hand he batted at the forearm of the hand that was holding the blade, simply to knock it from his path and then with his left palm, fingers bent to look like small nubs, he jabbed in with a powerful thrust that would take the man straight in the sternum. It should also knock the wind out of him, unless he was wearing some kind of armor beneath that tunic.

His attack finished the ninja concluded with another duck and twist to the left, away from the blade in the mans left hand and over the downward falling right one. He ended up standing two body widths behind his opponent, on the right side of his opponent. That too would have been a good time to strike with a powerful kick, but the ninja thought it best to not toy too much with this man, as it would simply end the fight that much faster.

He resumed his defensive stance and waited for the man to resume his attack(s).

[Arc Demenio]

Even before his first attack had finished, the man had easily stepped to the side, far out of reach for his second strike to be maneuvered. At that speed he couldn’t really stop either, and was forced to move into the follow through. The best bet was to continue moving forward until out of striking range before turning back to face his opponent, but it couldn’t happen.

In mid-step all of the air in Ark’s lungs left his body in a great oomph, and his forward movement halted. The sudden punch in the chest didn’t hurt so much as make him dizzy. His opponent was in and out, striking the very moment of entering range and vanishing out of reach the next, too quick an opponent for brute force.

Ark turned to face the man once more, rotating slowly into position, knowing what he must do. Get in close and leave no room for movement, push him into a corner, and when he can go no more crush him. Slowly the long blade in his right hand slid downward and reversed position, changing method to that of a dagger.

“If you are holding back,” Ark remembered how his opponent had waited for him to turn, “I do not appreciate it. I did not come to this place to make sport of others or for others to make of me.”

With his words said, his body went into action pressing forward as rapidly as he could, making several sharp jabs with his left and wide awkward blows from the right, meant more to limit than as a serious offense. Knowing his true plan, he stepped forward closer than a fighter should be, easily within arm’s reach, and stabbed downward viciously with his right hand to rend muscle and break bone in the man’s leg. There could be no running with a wound that great.

[Komosatuo]

The man looked like he was beginning to catch on that the ninja was just that, a ninja, quick reflexes and not to be trusted to put on a fair fight. Which, in a sense, was exactly what the ninja was planning on doing. Only he decided, perhaps against his better judgment, and the warning from the man that he was going to toy with him for a little bit longer. The mans next attack, series of attacks really, was easy to calculate and the ninja quickly saw what his real target was.

Smart, I'll give him credit for that. It was easy to avoid the wild slashes and stabs of the mans blades, although he did receive a few nicks on his shoulders. His real moment of fame, or maybe not, came when the man took a rapid step forward and slammed his right hand sword down hard on the ninjas leg. Or rather, where his leg should have been. The man was not quite experienced yet with combat and still didn't know that it was far easier to avoid a stab down than it was a slash across. The ninja smiled as he merely shifted his weight to his right leg and spun around like a top.

There was an almost inaudible whisk as the mans sword met air and the ninja took the opportunity to strike back, and where it would hurt the most. As he spun he reached up behind his back with both hands, much like a ballerina would - in fact, the move he just did was closely akin to those wild dancers acrobatics - and clasped his hands tightly around the hilt of his sword. In one swift and well practiced move he unclasped it from its sheath, pulled it free of its resting place without so much as a ring of steel and slammed the flat edge of the blade down hard atop where the mans neck would meet his shoulder blades***.

Finishing his spin he alighted softly behind the man and slid his blade back into its sheath as silently as it had come out. He then backed another step and pulled two throwing daggers from his pockets and concealed them in his hands, ready to throw or stab, whichever came first.

*** If you thought my move too much akin to a power game, please tell me as such and I will edit it to the best of my ability. Personally I don't think that could much be avoided and if anything, it'll sting like hell and not do much damage. A battle in the citadel is supposed to be a lesson to all combatants, no? Haha, cheers.

[Arc Demenio]

Overall the attacks met with little success, only the most minor of cuts on his opponent’s shoulders, trivial at best. When the finale of his attack met only air once more, Arc knew he was in trouble. He had tried really hard on his last attack, and still he did not succeed. This fight promised an embarrassing defeat that would hurt long after the wounds faded.

Despite his plea, the ninja continued to toy with him instead of making the kill when the opportunity presented itself. As he was committed to his final strike, Arc could not move to protect himself as his opponent struck down firmly with the blunt of a blade, knocking Arc to the ground. The pain was white-hot, a stripe of fire underneath his skin stretching from his neck to the small of his back. As he tried to lift himself back his feet, the pain caused him to hesitate, as though his body was unwilling to stand and take more punishment. When at least he regained his feet, a small trail of blood pooled and ran over his belt, surely it was showing threw his shirt as well.

As he picked up the blades from the ground, Arc prepared to sheath them and backed away until a smoldering ember cracked beneath his heel, warily eyeing his opponent in his mysterious black clothing. It was deceptive, revealing nothing of the person beneath, and his dislike of the man grew even more.

He needed some kind of battle plan, this ninja was too fast to fight up close, and could likely fight well from a range as well given the disguised dart he’d landed earlier. Arc had already failed to cause harm up close, so range was the only card he had left to play. But drawing a bow and aiming would take longer than the ninja would take to reach him, and so he would need a distraction.

First, he lifted back his foot and kicked and the smoldering stone underfoot, and threw the shorter of the blades. He’d never thrown the blade before, but even if the handle hit him it was more damage than he’d accomplished so far, and so the blade flew in a lopsided spin. Even as one hand released the blade, the other sheathed and reached for the bow attached to his side, and the throwing hand grabbed for an arrow from the quiver attached to his belt. In one smooth motion he knocked and drew the arrow, his eyes lining up the sight as he’d been taught, and he released. His hands shook from his eagerness and the rushed aiming, but in so short a distance he could hardly miss. It never occurred to him how easily a sword would slide through the soft wood of a bow.

[Komosatuo]

The ninja's eyes widened in genuine surprise. He had expected the man to think twice before attacking him up close again, but he had never expected what happened next.

Honestly, he had forgotten about the hot coals from the brazier in the rush of the quick skirmish between the two, though in hindsight, he knew he should have. The coals, despite being apart from each other since the first few instants of the fight, were still red hot and the ninja hissed as the one the man kicked at him slide across his left arm with a hiss. He had twisted to avoid it but a kicked object, especially this close, was had to dodge. The thrown blade was a logical next move by the man and the ninja bent sideways and slightly back to avoid it and it passed harmlessly over his stomach to land with a wooden clang in the wall behind him. He almost laughed at the throw but his laughter was stopped before it even reached his throat when a shaft of wood impaled the flesh between his rib cage and hip bone.

He grunted from the force of the shaft slamming into and through his flesh, he body sliding backwards to land hard against the wall, blood splattering lightly on the polished wood, the remainder of his breath escaping his lungs in a massive whoosh. Pain bloomed like a sun flower in spring in his side, large to begin with and only getting bigger by the second. He inhaled abruptly and raggedly, a pitched squeal like sound but low enough to not sound like a scream, and his hands dropped the daggers they clutched to grasp at his side and the arrow sticking from his flesh.

It felt odd, having a thin rod of wood protruding from his flesh and his mind raced as his fingers touched it. He could feel the dip where it entered his flesh, feel the rough grains grinding inside him as he exhaled sharply, painfully. He would have screamed in rage had he the breath, but instead he settled for a grunt, every breath felt like a fire burning through his side. He abruptly coughed, a bloody mist spraying from the tiny holes of his scarf and he glared at the man with suddenly blood shot eyes.

"All right," he said with a bloody gurgle. "No more games."

With a howl of rage he pushed himself up the wall in a half jump. So abrupt was his rise that the arrow snapped and his howl cut off into a bellow of pain and rage, but he ignored it almost as soon as it came. With a snarl he grabbed hold of the shaft still sticking from his flesh and yanked it out of his body with a bloody spray then tossed it angrily against the wall. It made a red smear as it hit and blood ran down the wall in thick rivets, the blood still on the arrow shaft began to pool when it finally came to rest on the floor.

With another scream - this one really a scream - of rage the ninja took a quick stride forward, reached up above his head, ducking low as he went, the pain in his side almost completely out of his mind, grabbed a hold of his sword and despite the blood now completely soaking his hands, tore it free of its scabbard and brought it around in a low slashing arch that would take his opponent right across the gut. He didn't stop there though and followed through with his slash with a twist up into an upright position, pausing for a hairs breath at the zenith of his height, a wince of pain racking his face and eyes, before twisting his blade deftly in his hand to now be in a downward stabbing position and with a long drawn out scream of rage, slammed it down hard, straight for where the mans heart would have be.

[Arc Demenio]

Arc let himself grin as he saw the tremendous success of his attack, amplified by being his only success thus far in the fight. He had been toyed with excruciatingly, his opponent gaining the upper hand and letting him live by striking at his pride if not at his body. He was nearly on the point of throwing out a taunting remark, but held himself in check. It would be unseemly for him to take such a role now, not when he hated this man for doing so to him. Through a great will of effort, he started to prepare for the next attack, in silence.

As he reached for a second arrow to finish the job, his eyes caught rapid movement and he halted to focus entirely on the enemy. With a sudden surge of energy the man pulled himself from the ground and ripped the arrow from his side with a great spray of blood. That was a crude way to do it, arrows were vicious weapons to survive. A blade cut cleanly, but an arrow, they left shredded wounds and caused as much damage leaving as they did entering, sometimes more depending on the barbs used.

The man charged him, unbelievably fast and with murder in his eyes, bending low and bringing his sword out to strike with the edge. He was so fast, it took all of Arc’s speed to deflect the first blow with his bow. The sword swept clean through like paper and the force set his feet sliding backward and the wood pieces flying from his hands, but he used the time to draw his own blade. In a rapid movement the ninja brought his sword upward, and Arc assumed he would try to slice sideways again and sever his head, and reacted accordingly. He couldn’t move far enough away or block a two handed blow with a one handed weapon, and instead allowed his knees to buckle and his body to drop. Had that been the ninja’s actual attack the evasion would have been quite successful and clever, but Arc was not that fortunate. The ninja twisted his sword to stab downward and thrust with incredible force. Had he tried to evade a decapitation, the blade would have sunk through his heart, but instead it shot through his shoulder, skin muscle and bone. The blade continued through and embedded against the wall behind him, nailing him to the wall.

Not feeling the pain in the shock of being stabbed so viciously, Arc had time to observe the ninja crouching over him with his hands still on the sword, and he saw the blood lust in his eyes. He even had time to feel a pang of envy, the determination to continue from such an arrow wound and through as much pain as that must have caused was something he surely didn’t possess himself, though it availed the ninja little. He still had his own shorter blade in hand, and thrust directly in front of him at the ninja.

“You should have killed me first chance you had, heh…” A sudden scream of pain forced its way from him as the shock of being impaled faded.

[Komosatuo]

The solid thunk of a blade sinking deep into wood jarred the ninja from his temporary blood lust and he looked down at the man staring up at him. He had crouched, avoiding his first attack but he had not been so fortunate with his second. The ninja only felt a half hearted attempt at dismay when his blade did not find the heart he was looking for and he was about to snarl when something rather strange happened.

Something pushed against his stomach, something hard and pointed, something sharp and he had only a moments notice to realize that it was a sword before the leather jerkin beneath his body suit finally gave and let the blade through. There was a sickly squishing sound as it entered his body and a part of him, the part that was calm, cool and collected enough to feel it, noticed that as it entered it scraped against his ribs, shearing off tiny pieces of shrapnel, tearing neatly through blood vessels and arteries, cutting off vital organs from the rest of his body. Then the sword found its way to his back, flowing easily through his flesh but stopped suddenly, as it hit the inside layer of the jerkin laying against his back. He exhaled slowly, unsure and a sound escaped his throat as it did. He immediately began to shake as his eyes continued to stare down into those of the man who had just impaled him. Then the man spoke and the ninja, despite the pain of the arrow wound in his side, the sword now sticking up to the hilt in his stomach, couldn't help but smiling, his mouth drawing slowly shut with a click of his teeth.

"You're right," he rasped, as breathing was a painful as touching his face to a bonfire. As the words came free from his mouth he let go of his swords hilt, his hand shaking as it moved and reached carefully into one of his conceal pockets, located on his left breast. His fingers numbly grasped a hold of the single knife hidden within its depths and he pulled it free in a clenched fist. "I should have. . ." he inhaled sharply as he forced his body forward, driving it deeper into his stomach. He could feel the jerkin lifting of his back but he clenched his teeth, narrowed his eyes, ignored the pain and blood oozing from his two wounds, his mouth and his nose, and couldn't help but smile. "But I didn't!"

With a sudden burst of renewed strength and vigor, a dying mans parting gift, the ninja drove his knife forward, aiming for where the mans jaw met his neck, the jugular artery. At the same time he leaned down on his sword, for despite being driven into the pine, it was a soft wood and wouldn't hold his blade under too much pressure, attempting to sever the mans shoulder from his body, slicing open at the same time the artery that dwelled in the mans arm pit.

His strength failed him then, so suddenly that it came as a shock and his eyes widened to their widest width, irises widening with them. There was a moment, his mouth open as wide as it could go in a silent, never ending scream, that the ninja could see as clearly as if he had the eyes of an eagle. He saw the compound, his friends, his master. The day he had been given his sword, the day he earned his scarf. He saw it all, from the day he arrived at the compound to the very instant he died. Then, all in a rush, his last breath burst free from his lungs, the death rattle already forming in the back of his throat, then he slumped forward, heavily onto the either dead or alive form of the man he had been fighting.

A last fleeting thought came to him as the darkness rolled in around him, I didn't even learn his name. How un-honorable. . . Then his eyes glazed and the ninja Komosatuo Isachi Satuo faded from existence.

Spoils: A few scars and some left over incense that survived the battle. If you'd like, you can either post your last post then I'll post one final, or we'll consider these our final posts and call it game. All in all, excellent battle and I hope to see you sometime for either a rematch or perhaps a quest. Cheers.

[Arc Demenio]

Arc’s breathing was coming in short, sharp gasps, as he gritted his teeth against the pain in his shoulder. When the ninja moved again, the blade shifted through him and Arc barely contained a howl as a fresh wave of pain swept through him and shut his eyes tight trying to overcome it. He almost didn’t feel the new blade, it hit his chin and ran filleted his skin to the bone, all the way to the ear.

With a last attack executed, his opponent fell forward and slumped against him, eliciting yet more pain. This time Arc could not contain his scream, though his body shook with effort and the agony radiating from his shoulder with every heartbeat. For a few terrible moments, he lay there drawing shuttering breaths and grinding his teeth with such force he was sure that they must loose all edge they held. Then, as the moments passed and both fighters lay still, a revelation came to him.

The ninja was dead. The absurdity of it caught him by surprise, when only moments before the man had held a lock, no possibility of defeat. Yet, he lies motionless while Arc drew breath. This was his first victory, his first great battle, his first kill, and yet, he felt no elation. This man was dead, and he was the killer. Any other location than this and Arc would have been the criminal, not the masked man for what crimes only Arc suspected. Somehow, it did not feel like besting someone in the training ring, a true contest of skill. This felt eerily like beating an opponent who’d gone down. The taste was bitter.

For a few more long moments, Arc waited with the other ninja strewn atop him, waiting for the arena to change or the monks to enter and carry away the body. When no help came, he pushed the man off of himself and turned his attention to the foot or more of steel hooked in his shoulder. First, he tried to move his wounded arm, but without his shoulder he had control from the elbow down only. Still, the blade needed to be removed, his leather clasped hand slipped as he tried to grip the blade and failed, he would need to grip the handle. Stretch, twist, and swear as might, his fingertips could only brush the guard and no more. If the blade didn’t come loose soon, he too would die; already his blood was clotting on his clothes making them stick to his side, while more pooled around hand against the ground. His jaw was bleeding freely, and at a worrisome rate, every time he took a breath the motion caused a wave to pour down his neck, he would not survive this much longer, the wounds were too many. On their own, they would have been bandaged and given a day or so no more than ugly red scars, but together was too taxing.

He heard a faint click, or imagined it, coming somewhere from his side. His hopes soared, “Help! The battles over! Just help me, please! I’m stuck…” The effort was too much, fresh waves of blood fled down his chest and side, and his vision faded out to shadowy blurs, and then to darkness. He wanted to live, it would only be a draw if they both died, and he had wanted to win so badly, but his thoughts blanked as his eyes rolled upward in his head and he slumped towards the ground, unaware of the rough hands grabbing him or the grinding against bone as the blade was withdrawn. He had fought well, and there was nothing more to be asked of him, though he wouldn’t awake for several days.

[Xalstad]

A large man stood over Komosatuo Isachi Satuo's fallen body when the monk arrived to heal the fallen warrior. He spoke boldly to the monk, "You will not revive this person until they have paid the tax." The monk, taken by surprise, merely nodded and hurried back the way he'd come. Once the monk was out of sight, the large man reached down and attempted to rummage through Komosatuo Isachi Satuo's things to find the money he required.

(This thread will be completed once Komosatuo has transfered 41 GP to Xalstad's account. If Komosatuo begins posting in any new threads beyond this day, he will be reported to the administration for metagaming. All objections will be addressed IC once the tax has been paid. Thank you.)

[Cyrus the virus]

Coincidentally enough, young Luc Kraus happened to be walking through the Citadel's recovery area at that very moment, fresh from an easy battle with some budding little wretch. The voice of Dirk caught his attention.

"What's this? Taxes in the Citadel now?" he said aloud, moving closer to see if it was actually true.

Luc spent quite a bit of time in the battle structure, and the idea of paying any sort of tax for what was always a free service did not settle well with him.

"Get out of here, whelp," he growled, a gust of wind spawning from his body toward Xalstad to attempt to push him away from the fallen man's things.

((Sorry to hijack, guys))

[Komosatuo]

((No worries, I have my end covered. :p))

The shadows of the mighty citadel did little to obscure the surrounding forest from the blistering sun that loomed high over head, just reaching its zenith, obliterating all shadows. It was difficult to hid in a nonexistent shadow but the five black clad Horachi'Lykn ninja found it easier than most, harder than some and nearly impossible for few others. The leader of the six curled his lips up in a half-smile at the thought and absent mindedly thought he would pay those few a visit, vampires were hard to come by these days, much less those that could walk in the shadows of high noon.

His smile turned to a scowl when he remembered why it was he and his four companions were even there and the scowl turned down into a frown in moments, his teeth grinding together. In all of his seventy four years as a Horachi'Lykn Ninja, he had never seen the like of this boy. Entered into the clan at an age when most would have been turned away if not out right killed, the boy showed promise before he had finished his first day. For ten years he watched the boy grow, becoming stronger with each passing hour and he thought, that one day, the boy would grow strong enough to even challenge him, the Grand Master of the Seventh Clan.

But this, this, was unheard of. No one ran from their adopted clan, no one. Yet this one had, and he was here to find out why and bring the boy back.

"Yokoisumi," he said curtly to no one in particular. A shadow moved next to him and materialized into a broad man clad in the traditional Horachi'Lykn garb of a tight fitting one piece black suit, the buldge of a leather jerkin, only noticeable to those who knew what to look for, standing out on his chest.

"Yes, Kiomata'Ly?" The mans voice was soft, if rocks falling down a mountain amidst an avalanche could be called soft; this was only a whisper for the man.

"What do you make of those men who rushed into that building?"

Kiomata, the Ly at the end of his name was only there because he was their leader, in addition to being their grand master, felt rather than saw the scowl appear on Yokoisumi's face and smirked in spite of himself. The man had the best eyes in the group, but Kiomata would wager his title and life that each saw exactly the same thing, in exactly the same detail. Yokoisumi though had a knack for puzzles.

"They looked to be strong arms, hired thugs, possibly following that short fellow who entered first. Looks like this Citadel might be having a forced change of policy." He fell silent then, not needing to say more, or not knowing, Kiomata couldn't be sure. He only nodded and lifted his hand, moving his index and middle fingers forward twice. Three more shadows materialized beside Yokoisumi, each as broad and as tall as the last. He spoke without looking at them.

"You all know why we are here, and now you know what we might be facing. It has been close to an hour since the boy entered that place and from we've gathered from the locals, it has been too long a time since he re-emerged. Worst thing is, he's dead but from what I've heard of these monks they can heal death, so rule that possibility out." Although, this policy change might be a problem, whatever it could be. "Second worse is that he is lost, although with his knack at direction, I find it hard to believe. Third is that he could still be engaged. We enter at a walk, our faces exposed. Yokoisumi will have my left, Rianai will have my right. Joriu and Xiosle, you have the rear."

He paused, inhaling slowly. Then he nodded. "Right, we move."

They all stepped off as one, their footsteps light on the barren dirt track that lead to the front of the mighty building, no trace behind to show that they were there. They mounted the great steps in unison, Joriu and Xiosle fanning to either side of Yokoisumi and Rianai, creating an obtuse V, Kiomata in the lead. "Whatever happens," Kiomata said as they neared the door, "we must reach the boy." Silent "Yes, Kiomata'Ly!" answered his order and he squared his shoulders as he strode through the massive doors.

I'm too old for this.

Fully expecting to have to fight their way through the mass of strong arms, the sight that beheld the five when they entered was something they had not expected. Dead bodies littered the floor of the massive entrance hall, blood splattered on the great statues like a child would splatter finger paint on a canvas. Blood streaks marred the walls and pools of blood ran to form rivers on the smooth marble. If the site was a surprise for the five, they showed no sign, except for a flickering of eyes and a halting step, performed in unison and barely noticeable except to those who knew what to look for.

What sorcery is this?! It was too late to answer his own question, they were advancing on a sneering monk and he felt the four behind him tense in anticipation. They might not survive this.

The monk looked up suddenly, as if aware they were there, even though they moved as silent as an owl in the night sky, and glared at Kiomata. He held up a hand as if to strike them and Kiomata spoke, his words rushed despite his outward appearance of calm. Inside he felt as though he was boiling.

"We are here not to fight good monk, but to retrieve one of our own. A ninja who goes by the name of Komosatuo Isachi Satuo. He is here, we watched him enter. Lead us to him, if it would please you."

The monk stopped short, silently reconsidering whatever it was that he was going to do, then dropped his hand. He put on a small smile, genuine as far as Kiomata could tell, and then nodded.

"Last I heard he was in combat. I'm not sure who was the victor, I've heard rumors that it was a draw but there is only one way to do that."

"Death," Kiomata whispered to no one but himself. The boy was dead.

As if the man could read his mind the monk shook his head. "No need to fear, if he is dead, we will heal him."

"No," Kiomata said almost before the man had finished speaking. The monk looked confused and Kiomata continued. "We will take him, there is something that still needs to be done to him that only we can do. I thank you for your offer, but if you will just show him where he his, we will remove him from your charge."

"Very well," the monk said slowly. "Follow me." He beckoned with one hand then turned, walking away. Kiomata nodded after the man and together the five stepped off as one, following a few paces behind.

It took five minutes to reach their destination and all the monk did was gesture toward a plain door before discharging himself from their service and disappearing around a nearby corner. Kiomata gestured to the walls on either side of the hall and the four ninja took up station to either side of the door and across from it. Only Kiomata was to enter, one among many privileges of being a Grand Master, as well as one of its many pitfalls. He inhaled, readying himself for anything and pushed open the door. What lay inside startled him to the point of seconds of muted silence.

There were three men in the room, one was standing over the body of a dead man clothed in black, the other was pushed against a near by wall, pinned as though a wall of air was holding him. But it wasn't the men, not even the dead one, that captivated his gaze, it was the room itself. It was if he were stepping into a training chamber back home, at Xuo'Liyn, the compound of the Seventh Clan. Even the brazier, knocked onto its side a few paces away, would have fit in. The momentary shock was quickly forced away and his eyes fell to the dead man.

"Ky'lei! Ania'a Vix'kila!"

There was a moments pause, silence echoing in his ears after his shout finished echoing off the walls, before four black clad bodies burst into the room, their swords drawn and faces set for a fight.

"Ayaka! Ayaka!" The swords vanished and each looked silently at their feet, shame emanating from their bodies like a sour stench. Kiomata gestured to the body of the dead man and spoke again. "Suti Onashiaya Kiomatosa, Vera'Sitl Iso Tani!" The four moved as one to kneel beside the dead man, Yokoisumi's hands hovering over his head. Kiomata turned to the standing man and bowed his head.

"I've no idea who you are, but I thank you from putting an end to whatever it was that this other man was doing. You are free to leave, we will handle it from here." He bowed again the turned to face the four.

"Ky?"

Yokoisumi spoke without looking up. "Si Iso Tani. Vir'Ati Lou Kymo Sai, Horai Li Na Sitl'Ani."

Kiomata nodded and watched silently as the four worked. Had it just been the five of them in the room with the boy he would have relaxed and sighed in relief, but he wasn't, so he maintained his composure and kept his back straight. The boy still lived, barely.

Although the Horachi'Lykn had never learned to harness the great magical power of the planet, they never saw fit to harm nature in that way, they did find ways to instead harness the equally powerful magic of the body and soul. This was what Lykn was, the magic of body and soul. Each ninja learned from infancy how to harness this power, doing with it whatever her or she pleased. Whether it was to hurl a ball of fire at a foe or object, or push the limits of their bodies beyond the breaking points of other less fortunate beings, the Lykn that the Horachi'Lykn harnessed was equivalent to any magic thrown from an earth-magic bound mage.

In the case of the boy though much of the Lykn that inhabited his body was gone, leaking out of his wounds like blood, melting into oblivion as soon as it left his body. They were lucky to have found him when they did, but with so little left in his slowly dying corpse, the four of them would be hard pressed to restore it. This was when the Lykn magic of the ninja came close to what most would deem 'Necromancy' or the art of rasing the dead from their eternal slumber. Only to one familiar in the arts of the Lykn magics would know what was happening.

The four hovering over the 'dead' body of Komosatuo began to chant, low and slow, their hands clasped together while Yokoisumi kept one hovering over the head of the downed man. Kiomata didn't need to hear to words to know what they were saying.

"Asiya Noma Kiomatosa. Asiya Noma Kiomatosa."

Over and over they repeated the words, still in the low and slow murmurs of the Lykn magic. Kiomata watched as each man donated a portion of his own Lykn, a portion of his own body and soul, to the restoration of their fallen comrade. He watched as the flesh that had so easily been torn asunder, knit together as the Lykn rushed back into his body, reviving it. Even the clothes began to knit together, as they were blessed with Lykn magics, able to restore themselves should the magic be applied to them. In moments the man that was once dead had been given life once more, his chest heaved as air filled his lungs and pushed his heart to beat once more. He did not open his eyes however, too much of his newly restored Lykn was foreign to his body and it would take a full night of rest before his own could be restored and force the temporary Lykn from his body. His sleep would be pledged with nightmares, but such was the price of bringing those thought dead, back to 'life.'

"Amas A Mesian." The four moved as one, backing half a step from the body of Komosatuo and Kiomata replaced Yokoisumi at the head of four. He laid his hands gently on the head of the boy and closed his eyes, whispering the next sequence of words so that only he and the boy under his hands could hear. "Noso No Messa Ni Kye. Noso No Messa Ni Kye." He repeated them three more times before taking his hands from the boy's head.

"We are finished here. Yokoisumi, carry him."

Kiomata rose to his feet and nodded again to the other standing man. Then he turned and strode out the door. What he had done was very simple if you thought about it, a simple 'Casing.' Or storage of a small amount of reserve Lykn into the body of one who just suffered the fate of experience death, or near death. The 'Casing' was permanent and would forever remind the bearer of his mistake in life, but that was not what it was for. Should the bearer face death again the 'Casing' would crack, releasing the Lykn it stored into the bearer's body, instantly closing any exterior wounds, sealing blood in the body and preventing death, if only for a short time. It did nothing for interior bleeding but did increase the healing process of the body, granting a small chance should that happen. Because it was permanent, the 'Casing' could be restored if ever used, but it would render the bearer into a seemingly unhealthy state of deep sleep for two days time. They would wake as thought nothing had ailed them and if their body still pained, they would only have to divert their Lykn slightly to finish the task that the 'Casing' started. It was the final gift of the Horachi'Lykn, before attaining full atonment into the clan, and one that the boy had some how skipped out on.

He still has much to learn yet.

Kiomata spared no second glances to the dead bodies that still littered the floor of the great room, although there were now fewer than before, and with his other five still in toe, disappeared through the massive doors of the suddenly defiled Citadel.


((I’m sorry I posted this so late, but due to recent events, even if they don’t fall through as I’ve noticed they might not, I saw this opportunity to expand my story to where I would have eventually taken it. Again, I apologize for the delay of this but, meh.))


Revised Spoils:

Five Horachi’Lykn Non-Combatant NPC Ninjas. They are his teachers, I will post profiles when I make them.

Casing Technique: My explanation is in the second to last paragraph of my post, as well as its restrictions. Current Level: Acolyte Level 1

[AdventWings]

Judgment time~! :D

Before we begin, I want to congratulate both of you for a memorable and well-played battle. I look forward to more exciting battles coming from the both of you. :)

Komosatuo

Story
Continuity - 6
Setting - 7
Pacing - 7
Character
Dialogue - 6
Action - 6
Persona - 8
Writing Style
Mechanics - 7
Technique - 7
Clarity - 7
Miscellaneous
Wild Card - 7

Total Score - 68!

Break-Down: Komo's strength in writing here is his ability to let the story flow into itself and let it play out through the entire story by coaxing Arc to retaliate in full force. The snap did break the tension a bit too soon for my liking, but the events that followed were a nice touch of irony to the coy tactics employed earlier on.

Arc Dementio

Story
Continuity - 6
Setting - 5
Pacing - 7
Character
Dialogue - 6
Action - 6
Persona - 8
Writing Style
Mechanics - 6
Technique - 7
Clarity - 8
Miscellaneous
Wild Card - 7

Total Score - 66!

Break-Down: Quite similar in style compared to Komosatuo, yet still very unique and great to read. One of the key areas you can continue to work on is the Setting category. To quote our highly-regarded Moderator Sighter Tnailog...

"Setting is not simply canvass on which to paint a story -- it is a world in which you ACT a story."

So don't just say you smelled fresh pine or heard the crunching of leaves - if you can act upon an object around you within reason, do it. Kind of like how you kicked the scattered charcoal into Komosatuo. That is one way of interacting with your Setting though they were few and far in between for your posts. The Clarity of writing is something that you have a good hold at - look through your posts a bit more and make sure you have not misplaced a few loose commas or periods where they should be.

As for the both of you, very good job in portraying your characters' emotions. Very lively and enthralling emotional responses. This is one key feature that both of you have done a great job at and it really turned this seemingly random battle into an enjoyable struggle.

Winner - Komosatuo!

Rewards

Komosatuo receives 863 EXP and the requested spoils as follows:

The Five Horachi'Lykn Ninja NPCs.

The Casing Technique given to him by his Kiomata'Ly along with all its benefits and disadvantages.

These rewards are for story purposes only, please, and run this through with the RoG Moderators before they are officially awarded.

Arc Dementio receives 225 EXP and 50 GP as an apology from the Monks. With the "cleansing" of the invading forces, their work on reviving you was inadvertently delayed for a short while but was nonetheless taken care of.

See you next time! :D

[Cyrus the virus]

EXP added!