Whatever Happened to Just Saying No?

[Iriah Caitrak]

((Closed to Malagen.))

Ira nervously scanned the random faces of the random people in this of all a random place. She should not be here and yet here she stood. What it was that made her walk through the large wooden doors of The Citadel and into halls filled with warriors, monks, mages and races she’d never seen before she could not say. Perhaps it was insanity, a brief moment in a lapse of her judgement that was now going to be throwing her up against the likes of these heavily armoured men and few women, yep she was one of a handful of women in the whole place. And she stood out like a doe-eyed baby deer in a room full of wolves as she was, wearing almost no armour and appearing to possess not a single weapon. The only things to adorn her curvaceous form were the robes of her native home, Fallien. Deep reds and purples that flowed from her body like water and fluttered under the slightest breeze.

Despite the fact that the halls were filled with warriors, or only those that thought themselves warriors, the place was rather beautiful. Beige stonewalls with dark auburn wood trim lining doors and walls stood out amongst the flickering light of the metal sconces and the waning light that spilled through large glass windows. The sun was setting outside but the halls of this place were not emptying.

Meandering through the halls, Ira ignored the looks from many of the men. Some peered at her with lust, their eyes trailing over her body as if they could imagine her naked and beneath them already and it sent a sickening feeling to the pit of her stomach as she imagined them touching her. Others, they looked at her like easy pickings and though this was her first time here, battling was nothing new to her. Yet nothing like this, no, battling in the sands of Fallien was much different and not as competitive than this appeared to be.

“Excuse me, miss, but may I be of some service to you?”

Ira turned and looked to her left at the male voice she thought was speaking to her and seeing the rather handsome looking monk starring in her direction Ira confirmed her first assumption. Help, finally. Just when she assumed one of the warriors in here was going to try something with her, help comes along.

“Ahh, yes. That would be wonderful. This is my first time here…to this um…”

“This is The Citadel.”

“Thank you,” She said smiling at him. He was much taller than her, at least 6’4 and he appeared to be rather well built underneath the plain, brown robe he wore, then again if this was a place of battle he would need to be. If only he had some hair, Ira did not enjoy men who shaved their heads or were naturally bald, “I was wondering how it works exactly…”

The monk smiled as her and ushered her out of the middle of the hallway so they could talk without getting into other peoples way.

“As I’m sure you’ve already noticed, this is a place for warriors to battle. Behind each door is an environment that we monks can create to look like anything you want and you may battle with one or as many opponents as you wish.”

Ira nodded her head to the man as he spoke, his voice very calming and soothing for someone who worked in a battle arena.

“There is of course the chance that one may die during the battle, it is actually quite a frequent outcome and though one may experience all the pains of death once the round is over we revive the dead and send them on their way as healthy as they came here, sometimes more so.”

Ira felt her brows rise as he said that. Revive the dead, was that even possible? Once you were dead, you were dead and no amount of magic could bring you back unless they had some kind of barrier that kept the soul from leaving the body, but honestly… Surely he was not speaking the truth.

“That’s not possible.” Ira said matter-of-factly.

His smiled never disappeared, “I assure you that it is quite possible.”

She was sceptical at best and downright disbelieving at worse. Still, she trusted her own abilities enough to wish to attempt this kind of battle.

“Would you like to participate in a battle?”

Ira nodded her head to the man and he led her to a door along the hallway. It was no different than any other door but to him it was.

“There’s no one inside here at the moment. Now, what kind of environment would you like to fight in?”

The desert of Fallien immediately came to the forefront of her mind, because it was familiar and because she knew how to fight in the shifting sands so well. It would be an advantage but she wanted something different, something she didn’t get to fight in, in Fallien.

“A forest, like Concordia, with an amazing waterfall beside a lush field.”

The cliché of the environment she picked went right over her head; to pick the desert would have been cliché to her but the forest, that was something new, something that she loved. And it would make an interesting environment for her to test her adaptability. After all, there had to be some level of difficulty when trying to battle someone with trees all over the place.

The monk nodded his head, “You may enter.”

Ira gripped the handle of the door and pulled it open, hesitated for a moment and then stepped inside. At first there was a slightly dizzying disorientation and then when she finally realized she had closed her eyes, Ira squinted them opened to find herself standing in the place just as she imagined it to be, only much more vivid, alive and real, very much real. She was knee high in grass so green it made the beautiful dye jobs back home look faded and old. To the left of the sweeping grass that moved like a living carpet with the wind was a magnificent waterfall. The crystal clear water flowed over the top of the cliff in a great rush that left if white with the air trapped inside of it. The water plummeted over thirty feet to the large river below, rushing and thundering with the force of it.

So magnificent the spectacle was that the trees and the lush growth of life that Ira loved so much about a forest was lost to her. Moving through the field, Ira took a seat on one of the many large boulders adorning the side of the river right by the waterfall. Mist danced through the air and landed on her bare arms and face, tickling her with its cool touch. The unfortunate part was that so close to the water all she could hear was its roar, completely oblivious to any who would be entering the area unless she reached out with her senses for them.

[Malagen]

They were all weak, and as such, unworthy of facing him.

Malagen was sitting in the main hall of the Citadel, leant leisurely in a leather armchair, as serene as if he was carved out of the same material as the wall behind his back. People came, people went, people boasted of their accomplishments and taunted their future opponents, but to the ruthless barbarian it looked a whole lot like children bickering over marbles. It made him realize that, while this edifice was a thing of undisputed marvel, its proprietors should’ve limited the participants to those that could battle with more then just words. But then again, if they did that, chances were they would be left with little or no traffic. Corone maybe was the land of heroes and fables, but far more numerous were the ones that liked to think themselves deft and strong.

Thrice now he faced that kind exactly. The Citadel was quite a discovery for the Dram, providing endless venues for countless battles and bloodsheds for the man whose knowledge was focused solely on fighting, and yet having none of the drawbacks such as the lawful prosecution after the deaths of so many. But the satisfaction of finding such a place was soon doused by the nitwits that they set against him beyond those enchanted doors. The first was a seven-foot axe-wielder that couldn’t hit a log, let alone a mobile target. Malagen took him down in a single swipe. The second was a daddy’s boy, a lad who most likely stole his father’s sword from the cabinet and sought glory with it. Malagen dislodged the blade from his hand and proceeded to pick up that sword and send the boy away with it in his gut. The third one was the most memorable one, a tiny lass wielding a huge staff. He faced her on a rope bridge that hung over a boiling volcano. The girl was so frightened from a single keen glance of his dead eyes that she stumbled backwards and over the ledge, freefalling into the magma below.

With such feeble opponents facing him and scampering around the main hall, the barbarian started to think that his grand find was actually a grand waste of his time. Murdering the weak had its charms, but even a single-tracked mind such as Malagen’s got tired of the bloody repetition after a while. He wanted a challenge and so far the Citadel failed to provide him with one.

And then she walked in.

Malagen wasn’t certain what it was that captured his attention, but when the woman in the light robes walked in, the rest of the room seemed to evanesce around her. Perhaps it was the way she walked, timid and uncertain, and yet with determination painted over her visage. Perhaps it was the foreign outlook of her attire, her bronze tan, her hair. Or perhaps it was just the call of his hormones that he preferred to keep in check at all times. The Dram didn’t know and didn’t care much either. Scarce were the females that struck him with their mere appearance like a slap in the face, and a slap in the face was more retribution then any of these weaklings offered him so far.

That was something that finally awakened his interest and made him stir in his seat before he rose to his feet and followed the woman and the accompanying monk. Half of the room – the male half, of course – seemed to have a similar idea, but one glance and two words made them change their minds. “Back off!” Malagen spoke, his voice dead calm as his eyes gave each and every person interested a dosage of an intimidating stare. Some of them crawled back like the maggots they were, some sustained The Look a while longer before realizing the woman wasn’t worth of the trouble they would get in with the ominous stranger. Only one figure remained standing, a teen with a brandished sword and shaky knees. Malagen’s left, already holding the sheathed sword, brought the weapon forward, his thumb pushing the saber less then an inch out of the scabbards with a flick. It was all that the youth could handle before scuttling away with the rest.

“You know, you could’ve just gone to the registration desk and claim this battle?” a courteous voice came from behind him. Its owner, the same bald monk that guided his female opponent through the Citadel and into one of the room, emerged from the dim hallway and stood calmly with his hands tucked into his sleeves.

“I know,” Malagen replied, his blade making a metallic click as he pushed it back in all the way, his muscled body turning and brushing past the arena manager. “But where’s the fun in that?”

A bland smirk was all that the monk got before the Dram turned the knob and proceeded into the room beyond. The first step took him into nothingness, the second as well, but by the third he was stepping onto the rustling leafs and through the lush fern undergrowth that rested beneath the thick canopy of maple trees. He expected the irritant chirp of the birds or buzzing of the bothersome insects, but instead all he could hear was a thunderous rumble. Once his eyes focused, he could see the origin of the sound. Beyond the last line of the trees, water crashed from a substantial height, the collision forming a myriad of minute water drops while the sun’s luminance gave birth to a faint rainbow above the rippled water surface. A more emotional mind would’ve found the sight beautiful, magnificent even, but such sentiments were more often then not lost on Malagen.

What wasn’t, however, sat next to the pond. Unarmed and undeniably fair, the woman seemed more like a lost maiden that strayed into the woods instead of a fierce opponent that sought a sparing partner amidst the illusions of the Citadel. Malagen strode forward, holding his sheathed blade by the scabbards with his left, and once he was certain that his voice would be able to defeat the rumble of the waterfall, he spoke.

“You seem lost, wench. The rooms for spectators are in a different part of the Citadel.”

[Iriah Caitrak]

Goosebumps.

They exploded down her arms and various other parts of her body as a shiver snaked its way down her spine. The water that was glazing her skin and clothing was cold, very cold considering she was used to such blistering temperatures and she was beginning to feel the affects. If it wasn’t for the constant sun that caressed her it would have been too cold for her to handle, but the warm rays warmed her body and made it tolerable so she could stay like this until her opponent arrived.

Speaking of which, she was supposed to be here for a battle, not to enjoy the scenery however beautiful it may seem to her. This was not exactly the time for her to be relaxing and reclining in the sun or stripping out of her clothing and diving into the crystal clear water. The one she’d put out of her mind even as the thought entered it. Enjoying the sights and sounds of the waterfall and whatever mist that coated her was fine, but stripping down and diving right in was not, especially when her mind reminded her of the fact that her opponent could already be here, watching her.

The realization startled her for a moment.

Reaching out with her senses, Ira at first felt nothing, no soul, no life, nothing. Though this place seemed alive and there technically should be creatures roaming the woods if there were any they were merely an illusion. No life truly dwelled here other than herself and whenever her opponent finally arrived, whatever creatures may come into her view possessed no soul within their bodies.

Just then she felt the presence of a soul suddenly appear in the surroundings. It made her entire body tense for a second. What if she fought someone truly more skilled than she was? What if she did die in this place and that monk had been lying to her and could not bring her back from the dead?

The fear was gripping but Ira was not easily overcome by it. And what if her opponent was a weakling, a mere child or an over armoured freak that could barely swing his blade? There had been plenty of people in the halls that had seemed strong to her but their eyes held no battle experience. They were merely facades hoping to be what she already was, a true warrior and they cowered in these halls because there was no fear of death. The monk must have been telling the truth for so many inexperienced people to be peppering the hallways, people who only cared about making a name for themselves never what they could truly accomplish with great skill, the preservation of life.

The soul traveled closer to her and Ira kept her eyes on the water allowing it to calm her, no point in allowing anxiety to take her over at such a moment.

His words broke over the roar of the water, cold and emotionless.

Ira turned on her rock and kept her face as closed and emotionless as possible as she examined her opponent. Definitely not a rookie. His eyes spoke more than his attire did; they spoke of having seen many things and perhaps of having done many things in his life. Though he stood still and straight, like a rock, immovable and uncaring, cold and distant, there were some things you couldn’t keep from your eyes.

His spoke of experience and much more, things she couldn’t fathom, things she didn’t know to read for.

A large, black cape covered his body in a way that resembled the monk who had escorted her here but he was no monk. The fact that his left hand rested upon the hilt of his sword was testament to this, plus monks weren’t supposed to look that yummy.

Giving herself a little push, Ira jumped down off the rock and landed softly in the grass below. She had no idea what a wench was but she supposed it was not an endearing term as she had not heard it often in her albeit short travels through Corone.

“And what makes you think I’d rather be a spectator than an opponent, siahd?”

It irked her that this stranger would dare to assume that because she was female and appeared like no other warrior she did not belong here. Appearances were not everything, he should know that if he’d ever fought here before considering the people she’d seen littered in the hallways. Half of them were too scared to know how to hold a sword properly and the other half only knew how to fight with words. It was pathetic at best and down right embarrassing at worst, for them of course, not her. There was nothing embarrassing here for her, irritating yes, that someone could easily make such an assumption for her. But then again, he was male, what did she expect from his kind?

No wonder Fallien was ruled by women, at least they knew what they were doing.

Talk was not why she’d come here though.

Stepping away from the water, Ira wondered what her first move should be. Attacking the living was nothing like attacking Fallen, or more likely the case being attacked by Fallen. She had advantages with her skills, skills some Althanians thought to be odd and slightly unnatural, like Storm Veritas, though that hadn’t stopped him…

Shoving her mind away from those thoughts, Ira quickly formed her dual Half Swallows in her hands. The weapons appeared as if from thin air, formed by energy itself and given reality by the mere thought crossing her mind. She decided it was best to make the first move and quickly pushed off from the soft ground. The treads of her boots were designed for fighting in the sand, not grass and wet soil but she correctly her stance slightly and continued crossing the brief distance between them. Her first attack was not meant to debilitate him, only to assess his skills and see just how good he really was. One Half Swallow, dubbed Uriahd went for the man’s chest, a straight jab to the unprotected flesh, the other cut across in a low swooping motion, the slightly curved blade aimed for his thigh. Both moves she expected him to parry or dodge.

[Malagen]

The eerily efficient mind of the barbarian wasted little time on foreseeing and predictions mostly because such thoughts were as fickle as the spring weather. However, what little thoughts he dedicated to assumptions made him believe that the woman was either a sorceress or a really feeble brawler. Both of these realizations were a product of the simple fact that the woman wielded no weapons, and yet was far too modest in the ways of muscle to be a proficient hand-to-hand fighter. Not that she was modest in her womanly aspects. On the contrary, the layers of thin silken cloth shaped her curves well enough for Malagen to notice that she was as shapely as a woman ought to be. Not overly so, but not as lanky as Skyler who was all bones and tireless sinew that rode him to exhaustion. He briefly wondered would this woman with sun-kissed skin be able to do the same should the manner of this battle change drastically.

Not that it seemed likely to happen. The retort to his verbal jab was curt and bitter, the woman getting on her high horse as all headstrong women did when they felt threatened by male domination. “She’s got sass, no doubt about it,” he thought and not with complete enmity. The Dram maybe was a cruel bastard, but he preferred when women had some spunk, some untamed ferociousness that made them rebel and bite and scratch and even come at him with exotic, conjured weapons. Yes, there was definitely more to this one then just looks. A pair of curved weapons came to existence in her hands as if they were cloaked with invisibility up until this moment, and with them the foreigner didn’t seem like a spectator anymore.

“Well, nothing anymore,” Malagen responded, his lips allowing a twitch that could’ve been interpreted as a grin. His hands worked automatically, responding to the appearance of the armaments in the female’s hand, repositioning the sheathed blade from his left to his right. “If I knew you had some magic foolery to go with that face, chances are I’d make a different introduction.”

“Hardly,” his mind’s voice added with a tinge or sarcasm. Perhaps she had the ability to make weapons, but that didn’t explicitly make her a fighter. If that was the fact, then every blacksmith would’ve been a hero. As if she wanted to prove him wrong, the dual-wielding wench came right at him. Her approach was far too slow to surprise him, her footing determinate but faulty, her grip just a fraction too tight on the hilts of her curved blades. Malagen’s eyes saw it all by the time she made a pair of hasty steps on her deadly dash. Suffice to say, he had ample time to fortify his stance, bending his knees ever so slightly to gain more balance. His azure eyes never left her peculiar silvery orb, but despite the focus, they saw every intricate detail relevant to the attack she was performing. So when the twin strikes finally came at him – and a rather sloppy pair of them – the raven-haired barbarian was almost a step ahead of them.

Using just his right, he pushed the first thrust sideways, then proceeded to intercept the diagonal swipe at his thigh before it came to full power. He didn’t strike the second weapon though. The steel scabbard of his weapon had just enough advantage in the means of range to allow him to strike at her wrist. This was intended simply as a distraction though. Because as soon as his clinical parries were done, Malagen spun around what he hoped to be a temporarily disabled right side. He proceeded down her flank fleetly, launching a single strike at her back. Or rather, her backside. His sheathed weapon usually would’ve been unsheathed and it would’ve aimed to sever her backbone, but given her weak opening, he decided to cut her some slack. Instead of a painful swipe at her back, the Dram intended to give her rump a moderate smack.

With the maneuver done, he backpedaled serenely, that same bland grin on his pale face as his eyes aimed to make contact. “Let’s see how brave you really are, wench.” From the discovery of his intimidation ability, few were the ones who could look into the nothingness of his blue eyes and remain undaunted by them. The chill in them was endless, relentless, presenting the window into a void that seemed to have no beginning and no end. If she could handle that then maybe his time in the Citadel wouldn’t be wasted.

“Maybe not a spectator, but definitely rude. Haven’t they taught you it’s not nice to attack people before introducing yourself?” he spoke, maintaining his emotionless glare and folding his left arm behind his back. “On that note, I am Malagen.”

The gesture might’ve seemed gentleman-like, something that prissy noblemen would do when they would enter their fencing duels, but there was a substantially different reason why a barbarian such as him did it. The truth was, while he could still wield weapons with his left better then the majority of grunts, the shoulder wound that he suffered in Salvar dungeons made his arm defective. It became more inert, more clumsy, and ultimately a hindrance in a battle. However, that was not something he would shout out to his opponents. Instead, Malagen turned it into an advantage. Nothing irked people more then when you treated them as inferiors, and if the sheathed blade didn’t relay that message, the usage of a single arm most certainly did.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Her first attack was easily pushed to the side and when she expected him to come in at her second blade, he didn’t. Instead he attacked her hand, the shock of his sheath hitting her wrist made her hand twitch; her fingers loosen their grip and her weapon slipped to the grass below. It would stay there for roughly five seconds before the energy used to create it dissipated. She didn’t care about that though for it seemed her opponent was not done yet. He spun about her right side, which was completely open and came in for an attack to her back.

Ira’s eyes widened as she tried to spun off to the left, avoiding his attack. Her move wasn’t completely successful, the sheath of his weapon hitting her hip instead of her butt as he has intended to. When she turned back to him, prepared to come at him again, though this time more prepared, Ira noticed the relaxed stance he had taken and paused as he began talking. Cold eyes locked with hers and Ira kept her gaze on his face, not backing down from a stare she was certain most people couldn’t handle. She could admit to herself that it was slightly intimidating, then again, so was looking into the eyes of a corrupted soul that wanted nothing more than to rip you apart.

His moves had been made to irritate her, to allow emotions to cloud her judgement so she would slip up and make another stupid move like the one she just had. That had been designed to allow her to see just how skilled he was and boy had it ever. He was good, really good and he’d seen right through her attack and if he’d actually unsheathed his weapon there’s a good chance she’d had a large wound somewhere on her body right now, either that or she’d already be dead.

Sad to think that all her years of training could quickly unravel and become nothing to someone like him. Just how skilled was he that he thought her so little a threat to at the moment have his hand behind his back and his weapon still sheathed?

She stood straight and took the time he was giving her to make some adjustments. Her boots had a flat sole to them that didn’t grip the wet grass and soil of this area, in fact she’d nearly slipped a few times while she’d come at him. Though she’d never used her ability to do something like this before she knew it was possible. Ignoring him for the moment and wondering if that would bring about any of his ire, Ira formed a harder sole on the bottom of her boots, one that had treads which would dig into the earth and give her greater traction.

Smirking, Ira broke off the little staring contest he had going with her and looked down at the ground, scrapping her feet across the wet soil and grass. Her new soles worked better than her old ones and provided the perfect traction to keep her from slipping. That was one problem solved, now if only she could get this Malagen to start acting as if this were a real battle.

Looking back up at Malagen, Ira cocked her head slightly to the side as she continued to gaze into his eyes. The constant swirl of her silver irises changing into a black so dark it was like a void.

“Ira Shinkara.” If the accent her voice was laden with didn’t give away the fact that she was foreign, her name on top of the colour of her skin should do it. Not that this one would care.

Letting Uriahd slip from her grip, Ira formed her Swallow in her hand. Though she usually fought with her Half Swallows, she wanted to change tactic on this one and try something else. The swallow was a harder weapon to handle but it’s attacks were more devastating and it was more balanced than her own invented half swallows which were top heavy because of the length from the handle to the blade and the length of the blade itself.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to attack a lady’s backside, especially without her permission?”

She didn’t give him time to answer the question. Instead she tensed her legs and launched herself at him, covering the much smaller distance between them in a second. Both her hands held to the middle of the swallow where a long handle lay, with guards on either side. She spun the blade counter clock wise, attempting an attack that would come down diagonally and slice him open from his left shoulder to his right hip. But the attack was shallow and would only create a superficial wound if he didn’t block it, but she was count on him to.

As the blade passed by his shoulder, Ira shifted her stance, her left leg coming forward and her hand pressing down on the other half of her swallow, reversing its spin to come around and attack Malagen from hip to shoulder instead.

[Malagen]

“Ira Shinkara.”

Malagen was unable to determine the origins of the woman – which wasn’t a surprise given the fact that he was never an avid traveler – but the foreign name combined with the peculiar little idiom that lay in her every word formed an air of exoticism around his opponent. And while it was a small wonder to find one such as her in a multicultural realm such as Corone, it was also another detail that further intrigued the barbarian. Judging by her tan, she was probably from the southern lands whose names Malagen had no knowledge of. North was his side of the word, frigid and relentless and cold enough to extinguish the flare in Ira’s silvery eyes. He was the ice, it seemed, and she was the fire, and the Citadel offered a locale for the battle for domination.

“A headstrong, spry fire,” his mind commented once the daunting glare of the azure eyes failed to strike fear into the woman. She paused her advance for a moment, but after several seconds Malagen realized the reason for it wasn’t his obscure ability. In fact, it seemed that it only furthered encouraged her to come forth. The physically inferior woman did her magic again, discarding her dual weapons and forming another, double-bladed one. The Dram registered it as a mere shift in the reach lengths. Ira had the advantage now, but if she handled the staff weapon the same way she wielded the previous two, he could battle her with his eyes closed. Besides, given the slowness of her attacks so far, the larger weapon would only further hinder her mobility. In short, Ira was dead already – Malagen foresaw it – and she didn’t even know it.

“I might as well have some...”

The cool, level voice in his head wanted to conclude with fun, but the movement of the woman made it clear that there would be little of it. Unlike her initial approach, Ira came at the barbarian with renewed resolve, her advance blistering fast as she twirled her weapon. Malagen barely had time to notice how her footwork improved on a steep scale when the first attack came. Were he not so involved in taking the measurements of her bosom and hips prior to her advance, his uncanny focus would’ve ascertained that the first attack was nothing but a decoy. As it was, though, his torso jerked back instinctively, forcing him to retreat unexpectedly and leaving him open for the follow-up. He had only his inhuman speed to thank for evading it, the blade coming from below and passing a fraction of an inch from his torso. Malagen backpedaled several steps, regaining his grace by the second one and his grin by the third one.

“Oh, I know. Especially such a nice backside,” he responded, the jest rather bland when spoken in his usual emotionless tone. “But I’m a rather rude guy.”

The Dram would’ve countered immediately had he not felt a peculiar half-tickling, half-aching sensation across his muscled chest. Only when he dropped his eyes to locate the origin of this sensation, Malagen noticed that the brim of his unbuttoned coat was cut on two places and that the shirt below had a foot-long tear that revealed a skin-deep wound.

“Complacence and underestimation. As bad of a combination as it gets,” he thought as his left hand appeared from behind to inspect the wound. It was nothing, a mere scratch and a few drops of blood, but it proved that the fox was all fired up and unafraid to bite. “And I just bought this coat,” Malagen murmured, more to himself then to Ira as he reestablished eye contact and made sure that she wasn’t coming at him at this moment. Satisfied with the distance between himself and the foreign female, the barbarian serenely took of his coat.

He didn’t let it drop to the ground though. As much as he liked the coat, this was the Citadel and here all the damages were repaired at the end of the battle, whether they were bodily injures of broken items. That was why Malagen decided to use his coat in his little strife with Ira. With a simple motion of his left hand, the barbarian threw the leather apparel at the woman, the large piece of clothing spreading wide enough to hopefully block her view for a fraction of a second. A fraction of a second that he needed to come down her left flank and sweep his sheathed blade at the back of her knee. It was a move that was supposed to throw Ira on her knees, causing more damage to her spirit then her body. The spirit he could live without. The body was too tasty to be ruined with dismemberment.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Ira smirked as Malagen backed away from her, his snide remark, which would have sounded much better if he were to speak with any kind of emotion within his voice was ignored. Well, not completely ignored, the fact that in the middle of a battle he could comment on her backside was well, she didn’t know what was it was, but she was quite positive she might be blushing…just a little bit. That didn’t matter though. She’d been successful. There was a long tear in the fabric of both his coat and his shirt and beneath that tear was flesh and she could tell she’d cut that too. There wasn’t a lot of blood, just a few red droplets, she must have just scratched the surface, shame, but at least the move had gone through. Her first attack had been a mistake but her second a little better planned and had proved that though skilled, this man was after all just a man and she could still win.

Watching him take off his coat, Ira glanced the expanse of muscle under his shirt, taunt, hard muscle. Good thing he didn’t take his shirt off as well or she may actually have been a little distracted. Then again, she wouldn’t mind getting an eye full of all that muscle without any clothes hindering her view. But this was a battle and not exactly the best time for her to get distracted by such things.

He’s not dropping his coat…

Her eyes narrowed and that instinctive feeling in the pit of her stomach told her exactly what he was about to do with it, but she really hoped she was wrong.

Nope, damn instincts…

He threw the coat at her, the heavy piece of material fanning out in front of her blocking her view of him. Her heart stuttered and starting beating twice as fast as it was before and worry and panic gnawed at the edge of her mind. She didn’t even have time to control the emotions, by the time she’d even registered the fact that they were there she caught him out of the corner of her eye. Instinct took over, but instinct wasn’t fast enough, he was much faster. The sheath of the weapon slammed against the back of her knee and Ira’s mind expected the cold bite of metal to be slicing through her flesh, instead all she received was the dull pain of the rounded edge of his sheath knocking her.

He was still playing with her.

The attack knocked her knee out from under her, but instead of falling to her knees, Ira took the momentum and dropped into a forward summersault. Her swallow slipping from her fingertips and falling to the ground, where it would disappear within seconds. When she stopped, crouched in the grass, Ira quickly formed a small throwing knife in her hand and turned towards Malagen, throwing the knife at him at the same time, the blade of the tiny weapon glowing blue.

If he wanted to continue to play with her, then she might as well have some fun playing with him.

She quickly rose from her crouching position, her swallow appearing once again in her hands. The Calerian launched herself at her opponent, spinning the swallow around in her hands. Lowering the weapon, Ira spun the blade around in a move that could potentially cleave the man in half, and as the one blade of her swallow was attempting to do just that she adjusted her grip with her other hand. The other half of her swallow broke off right in the middle of her first attack and Ira thrust the blade forward, aiming for the centre of his chest.



((Check my character profile for what the blue glow does, you’ll find it under the Ad Atmika enchantment.))

[Malagen]

Again, his plotted course of action was only partially effective. His attack connected in the intended manner, but Ira wasn’t prone to taking a knee. Given her disposition and her words so far, Malagen wasn’t surprised; she wasn’t of a kind that bent her backbone easily, especially not to men that opposed her with such blatant disrespect. Instead, she rolled forward, her weapon once again slipping from her clutches only to be replaced by a much smaller one. The barbarian allowed another smirk, his crouched posture an aftereffect of his attack, his left hand coming forth once again to set a handful of stray raven strands from his face. The chase was, after all, usually better then the catch and he decided to chase her, tire her, and take her if the development of the battle allowed such turn of events.

Proving that she wouldn’t be an easy catch, the woman once again combined some form of magic with mundane means of fighting. The dagger in Ira’s hands got enveloped in an azure aura before the woman launched it at him with some prowess, aiming at his chest. Unfortunately for her, the glowing of her enchantment was like a beacon despite the day’s natural illumination, telegraphing the trajectory to the ever focused Malagen. His left moved from his face in a timely manner, positioning itself in order to intercept the conjured missile. It would’ve done so too, trapping it betwixt his forefinger and middle finger if the blade had any coherence. Instead it passed clean through, finding no resistance in the flesh and bone of both his hand and his shoulder. The barbarian’s first thought was that it was just an illusion. The pain that sped down the length of his arm like a bolt of lightning told him otherwise. He felt as if the old scar on his shoulder opened up again and that somebody was pouring salt on it.

It took quite an effort to keep an emotionless visage at this moment, but even as his azure eyes made a quick survey and established that there were no physical wounds, Ira was charging at him again. Her twin weapons revolved again, this time coming at him vertically with an intention to split the barbarian in two equal parts. With the pain of his arm as a distraction, Malagen had no other option then throwing himself backwards, executing a rather graceful backflip, using only his armed right as support.

“Too slow.” He knew it before he even finished his little acrobatic move and regained his footing. The downwards slice caught a bit of clothes and flesh again, completing a bloody cross on his torso, the vertical wound oozing out a thicker streak of life’s liquid that moistened his tattered shirt. Luckily, at least he eluded the stab that was bound to impale him and be the death of him. His azure eyes inspected the left arm, firing a frowned look towards the hand that shook despite his explicit instructions not to do so. Stubborn and relentless as he always was, Malagen put the wounded left to work, tearing his shirt off in a single move. It hurt as if embers were coursing through his veins, but pain was a familiar taste to the Dram. Ferioh tempered him in more then just fighting prowess.

“You’re going to have to come up with some better fireworks then that,” he said, sporting a smarmy smirk and even bending his emotionless tone to give it a somewhat more jovial tone. The first rule of intimidation was never to let the opponent see you down, and Malagen stuck to that concept religiously. Each of his fingers hurt as if they were being yanked away from his hand, but he used them all the same, wrapping them around the sheath of his saber. However, once again, he didn’t brandish his weapon. Instead he took two serene steps towards Ira, the third one breaking him into a fast advance. He changed his direction once, feigning an advance down the right and sailing towards the left. In one fluid motion his right hand found the hilt of the damascus blade, pulling it out and executing an upwards slash aimed at the shaft weapon. Malagen’s bet was on an instinctive reaction that would make Ira try to block an attack. The clash would bounce her staff weapon upwards, leaving herself vulnerable for a blistering downwards follow-up.

Not that it really mattered much; once again, the woman’s life was not in danger. Even though the whole sequence was executed flawlessly, the second attack was merely meant to return the favor, aimed to rip the portion of her robes that covered the mounds of her breasts. The conclusion was once again serene, the saber disappearing into the scabbards a fraction of a second after the downwards slice was done.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Arrogance and pride bled from him like the blood from the new wound she’d left in his torso. Twice she’d wounded him now and he still felt comfortable enough within his own skills to continue to goad her, edging her on further and further as if she hadn’t the skill to actually kill him and he was enjoying this dance. It was frustrating and annoying to say the least, she’d come here taking this battle seriously and expected a serious opponent, of course she may be dead by now if he were taking this battle seriously but then that would be her own fault and that would be a lesson learned. The only thing she was learning right now was that even with his weapon sheathed he stilled posed a great threat to her and that didn’t sit well.

Her breath caught in her throat when he reached up and ripped his shirt off, allowing her gaze to roam over the newly freed expanse of flesh. She was more than happy to feast upon the look of all that muscle with nothing between it and her. A simple thought crossed her mind and she wondered what all that muscle would feel like beneath her hands, skin soft and smooth yet hard and unforgiving at the same time. She barely even registered the words he spoke, too busy with his body to care for what he was saying, but she caught the look on his face and the emotion that had somehow found itself in his voice.

Distraction…

Her eyes snapped back to reality as Malagen moved in on her. Her previous thought proving correct that without his shirt on all that muscle was indeed a distraction to her mind. But once he moved, once he legs shifted and he advanced on her, her mind focused on more important things like the fact that she was in the middle of a battle, one that could find her dead at the end of it.

But the monks will revive me…

She was still unsure on that aspect of this Citadel. In her tribe when one died there was no coming back, there was no revival, once the heart stopped beating the soul was forced from the body and meant to continue on to its rightful resting place. But here they could stop that; here they had found a way to bring the body back from its state of death. Perhaps they had ways of keeping the soul within so that it could not move on. She didn’t know the only thing she did know was that her mind should be focusing more on the fact that Malagen was about to attack her!

The Calerian’s eyes widened as she watched the blade pulled from his sheath, her stance shifting, her legs changing their positions and almost every muscles tensing in anticipation of whatever may come. His blade came at her from below, she took a step back and placed Uriahd in the path of the blade, which crashed against the staff and knocked it further upwards, slightly throwing her off balance. Then she saw his quick change of course and the blade sailing back down towards her. She was too slow. The nameless half swallow was still within the grip of her other hand but there was no time and his blade passed in front of her just as she took a few steps back too late.

Ira expected pain, but there was none. There had only been a feeling of wind on her skin as his blade passed before her. Her mind raced as he sheathed his weapon, wondering why she wasn’t dead right now. He’d had a clear opening and could have taken it, was he still playing with her? Was he just trying to prove how much a better fighter he was?

Feeling the shift of material, Ira looked down at her shawl, the dark purple cloth cut clean down the centre and almost all the way up to her neck. Her eyes narrowed and she looked from her shawl and to Malagen then wrapped her fingers around the damaged material and gave it a quick tug. It ripped easily, following the line he had created. The material, which had been wrapped around her shoulders and hanging over her chest slipped down her body and pooled at her feet. The blood red shirt she wore underneath was tight, form fitting, sleeveless and it had a slice through the fabric around her chest. Removing her shawl also revealed a series of tribal markings on her shoulders and fresh scars on her neck, all of which stood out in stark contrast against her dark skin. The markings were just a series of white lines, the scars were two clean puncture marks and two jagged rips in the flesh, right by the main artery, leaving one to speculate and how she survived.

“You know, if you wanted me to take my clothes off, all you had to do was ask.” A smirk passed over her lips; it was her turn to toy with him.

She didn’t give him any time to allow the sentence to even sink in let alone make a response to it, after all if he did ask her to take her clothes off she’d probably be tempted to remove his ability to reproduce. The Calerian covered the short distance between them quickly, she kept Uriahd at the defence and came at Malagen with her nameless half swallow, a simple thrust to the gut. She faked out of the move once she was inches from him though, her body twisting off to the side of his and her leg shooting out at the back of his knee. Then her half swallow came in towards his torso with a powerful swing aiming the flat side of the blade at him, hoping to knock on his back.

[Malagen]

Rare were times when something elicited enough emotions in Malagen to make him profoundly like what he was observing. Primarily, it was because he was taught that such sentiments were meaningless, that emotions were nothing but fog that clouded the vision and efficiency. It was a rigorous training he’d been through, where every weakness earned him a punishment and where ruthlessness was paramount, and it forged him into the man he was today. Another reason for the rarity of these glimpses of fondness was the fact that the barbarian was rather picky when it came to things he would even consider liking. The bar in his mind was set so high that only things with extraordinary and exotic attributes were taken in consideration. That was why he liked Skyler Manfield. The skinny assassin girl was rather homely and unremarkable, but there was spunk in her, a fiery core that clawed and bit and lashed out, regardless of repercussions. It was enough to save her from his belligerency.

Ira had the same mettle, only she had the body to boot as well. Once her dark bluish robes were torn to rags and cast at her feet, the thin sleeveless undershirt did a much better job at outlining her curvature. It also revealed significantly more of her tanned skin, leaving her shoulders and neck completely bare, complete with the unique set of markings. The white tattoos seemed rather tribal to Malagen, markings of a wildling lass that strayed from whatever place she called home and came to seek fortune in indiscriminate Corone. That’s what the Dram assumed at least. The markings on her neck were of an altogether different kind, the kind that he too had in abundance, especially across his back. They were scars, and like all scars, they probably had a story or three of their own. Malagen’s spoke of whippings and beatings and cuttings, all in service of making him more resilient, more stalwart. He wondered – in a rather offhanded and semi-interested manner – what hers hid.

In combination with her genuinely luscious body, this mulling served as quite a misdirection, and Ira didn’t seem to eager to let it pass unpunished. After a quick statement – that sounded a whole lot like a beguiling jape – the feisty tribal woman came at him again, dual weapons ready to tear more then just linen from his body. Malagen stored her words in his memory for the time being, deciding against a retort that would likely cost him another aching wound and positioning his sheathed weapon in a conservative defensive position. It seemed like the right thing to do given the fact that Ira came at him with the same type of attack once again, aiming to bore through his guts with a thrust. However, inches before their weapons clashed, the spry female spun sideways, launching a kick at the back of his knee. It wasn’t a particularly damaging attack, but Malagen couldn’t defend against it, the force making his knee buckle beneath him and bringing him into a half-crouching position. In the split-second estimation – characteristic for his serene mind – the barbarian decided to utilize his position.

Her follow-up was expected, her blade aiming where his chest used to be before he ducked. It was a perfect chance for him to duck even further, allowing the curved sword pass inches above his head, shaving off several of his black hair threads. It also put Ira in a rather awkward position, with her back wide open to him. Malagen wasted not a fraction of a second to make use of this opening. His left hand let his weapon drop to the ground, exchanging the hold on the metal for a tight grip on the velvety skin of her wrist. He yanked her arm back forcefully, springing back to his feet and pinning her hand to the small of her back. Her retaliation came as expected, the elbow of her free arm seeking his face as it snapped backwards, but Malagen’s right was already in motion, halting it firmly before trapping it in the same manner as her left.

Defenseless and effectively neutralized, Ira couldn’t resist his iron grip as he pulled her body backwards, leaning it close enough to his own that the cold metal of her weapons touched the muscles of his chest. His face peered over her shoulder, a visage of a pale devil in whose cold azure eyes finally a spark of fire came to existence. It neared her, coming close enough to smell her hair, the sweet aroma of the fresh sweat freckling her skin, close enough for his breath to pass over her bare neck. She didn’t shiver like most women would – somehow Malagen knew she wouldn’t – only struggled against his grip feebly.

“Why ask for something when you can take it?” he said, his lips nearly touching her ear lobe, his words a whisper that riposted to the sentence he didn’t have a chance to reply before. Though his tone once again struggled to convey just how tempting this closeness was, his lips decided to make it clear and give in to temptation. They touched the side of her neck just below her ear, attacking her with a caress instead of a blade. His hands weren’t idle either. They struggled to reposition themselves so that his right held both her wrists pinned while his left gave into exploration, sliding down the side of her clingy shirt and past her hips, en route for her delectable backside. Malagen wanted this woman, and when it came to the things he desired, the barbarian was like a spoiled brat: he always got what he wanted.

[Iriah Caitrak]

A small smirk played over Ira’s lips as she watched her kick connect with Malagen’s knee bringing him down before her, but it quickly died on a jolt when instead of slicing through the man’s chest Ira hit nothing but air and in return received his fingers tightly wrapping around her wrist. There was no time for a reaction and in the next second Ira had her arm pinned painfully into her back, so she did the first thing that came to mind. She attempted to elbow him in the face, only his caught her arm and wrist easily there and pinned that against her back as well.

Anger rose up within her as she struggled against him, only serving to send shocks of pain from her left shoulder down her arm. She clenched her teeth and tried to ignore it and hold back the whimper in the back of her throat. Her shoulder had yet to completely recover from its injury during the Fallien civil war, an injury that only reared its ugly head whenever it was put in an awkward position, like right now for example. Still, that didn’t deter her, when Malagen came in closer to her, his breath fanning across her neck, she ignore her body’s initial response to enjoy the feeling, she stamped it down under her anger instead and struggled even harder against him, only causing more pain to herself. His words, a response to her caustic remark earlier—one she wished she hadn’t made now—left a trail of worry in her mind and when his lips pressed against her neck something opposite to his desired effect took over.

Fear.

It was an instinctual thing. She’d been attacked by a vampire and well remembered the pain of that woman’s teeth sinking into the flesh of her neck. And that was what she expected to feel once again and for a brief moment she did. Her entire body tensed and froze, her face paled considerably and her eyes clenched shut. But then she realized there was no pain; it was just her imagination reminding her of another time. Yet she could take no pleasure in his caress, she couldn’t trust him near her neck and she wanted him off her now.

Panic was beginning to take a hold of her. She controlled it for the moment, taking deep breaths, keeping herself as calm as possible. Then she felt his hand, fingers splayed as they searched down her side, edging closer to the one part of her anatomy he’d had a certain fixation on since the beginning of this battle.

Panic died and Ira narrowed her eyes. Just as his hand found its target, fingers kneading her backside, Ira’s head snapped back and her skull collided with some part of Malagen’s skull. Pain exploded along the base of her head but she ignored it, she knew it was coming and her attack did precisely what she wanted it to. His fingers loosened their grip and she easily slipped her wrists from his hold, his other hand completely leaving his backside and as he went to step away from her, she hooked her foot around his leg and tripped him, sending him sprawling into the grass.

Not wasting a second, Ira dropped her half swallows and spun around, forming a straight blade in her hand as she did so. She leapt onto the downed form of Malagen, effectively pinning him to the ground, or so she hoped. Her thighs on either side of his hips and her free hand pushing down some of her weight onto his chest, a chest with smooth, warm skin and hard, taunt muscle beneath it. She couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling under her palm for a brief moment, running her hand further down to the hard muscles of his stomach, but the moment of enjoyment was brief. She didn’t want to give Malagen the chance to recover and so without a second though, Ira plunged the dagger towards Malagen’s heart.

Nobody ever touches her like that and gets away with it.

[Malagen]

It all happened so fast that his calculating, automated mind barely managed to make note of it all. One moment his lips were tasting her skin, his hand caressing the softness of her backside, and the next the pleasure was evicted to make place for pain. It detonated at the left side of Malagen’s face as his cheekbone collided with the back of her head, impairing the half of his vision at the very least. It wasn’t a serious injury, but it tore the barbarian from the momentary reprieve with a shock, robbing him of depth perception for several seconds as Ira slipped from the grasp of his weaker arm. That was the primary reason why he failed to dodge her swiping leg, the attack looking destined to miss according to his temporarily dimmed perception. In reality, it cut the balance from beneath him, introducing his back to the grass in a rather striking manner.

Defenseless and temporarily dazed, Malagen had little chance at dodging Ira’s follow up, though in truth, even if he had been able to do just that, he probably would’ve remained stationary. Because the follow-up of the fierce tribal woman put them in a rather compromising position, her weight stranding him between her thighs as she mounted him, and it was certainly not a terribly position to be in. However, although their current posture was quite intimating, Ira seemed uninterested in any other possibility but the belligerent one. She paused barely a moment before bringing her blade down single-handedly, aiming to end their encounter in a very gory and abrupt manner.

Malagen – unsurprisingly – objected.

Most people, when in situations similar to the one the Dram was in, made a common mistake of trying to block the oncoming death-bringing blade. Far easier and more efficient then bringing an object to a halt was simply diverting its trajectory. In this case, Malagen’s right hand snapped from his side to intercept the advancing strike, swatting Ira’s forearm at the same time as his head snapped sideways. The result was expected; the knife was pushed diagonally upwards, cutting nothing but grass threads and impaling nothing but a piece of dirt several inches from Malagen’s face. But this was only half of his counterattack. He put the other half in motion without a moment of pause, his left hand grabbing for her opposite hip and latching onto the brim of her breeches. With one fierce tug, the half-naked barbarian rolled the invading woman off of his body, rotating his own body after her and effectively turning the tables.

She was trapped beneath him now, his significantly more imposing physique making the entire scene seem hopeless for the woman. The threat doubled in direness once Malagen managed to maneuver both her own hand and her blade to her throat, kissing her skin with the metal of the blade. His long raven-black hair fell down like a curtain, encompassing both of their as he leant closer to her, his face sporting a smirk of a man who was already declared the victor. But instead of opening up her neck with the edge of the dagger, his large hands moved it to the hem of her shirt, cutting it down the middle just deep enough to present an additional portion of her cleavage.

“You could’ve just told me you liked to be on top,” he spoke, knowing both the futility of jests and how it would probably fall on deaf ears given the situation, but uttering it anyways. The quasi-jovial mood lasted only for a moment though, the woman making the knife disappear, thus taking away both his leverage and the means to tear through the rest of her shirt. He could’ve just done it with his hands, of course, but who knew what kind of a weapon she would conjure next. It wasn’t safe to be this close anymore, and Malagen always played it safe.

Throwing himself sideways gracefully, the barbarian rolled away from Ira and regained his footing. He took several calm, calculated steps away from her, just far enough to establish safety perimeter and pick up his sheathed sword from its abandoned place on the ground. “There’s no point in resisting me, wench,” he said, regaining his eerily calm tone as if it came as a perk of wielding his saber. “You cannot win. So why don’t we call an end to this meaningless game and move on to something... more enjoyable?”

[Iriah Caitrak]

Her hopes of ending this fight in the next simple move were crushed.

Everything had gone as she’d hoped. Throwing him to the ground had stunned him and it seemed like she’d had just enough time to thrust her blade into his chest before he recovered, yet his daze cleared much faster than she had anticipated. His hand batted away her attack, sending it off course just enough to plunge into the earth by his face, leaving him unscathed and her wide open. It was a moment of realization, she’d left herself open to him many times now but there was nothing she could do. Her other hand was balancing her on his chest and before she could even mount any kind of defence she felt the world spin. Her back slammed into the earth with enough force to knock the wind from her lungs and then he was on top of her.

It wasn’t an altogether uncomfortable position to be in. In fact, she found herself rather enjoying the feel of his weight on her and his body pressing down just enough to keep her right where she was, leaving her wondering if she even wanted to move. Being in this kind of position, completely at his mercy did not leave her feeling the fear she should be. This was, after all, no battle. Instead she found herself strangely excited. Her heart fluttered and increased its rhythm and when he bent his face closer to hers a light, ticklish sensation, like the brushing feathers of a bird spread throughout her stomach. It was a pleasant feeling, but unnerving to her, she didn’t like the fact that he was so tempting and distracting.

His long hair fell around their faces and Ira had to push back the urge to reach up and run her fingers through it. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her and when he didn’t she was unsure if she was more disappointed or relieved. She may have kissed him right then and there if not for the fact that she felt him moving her arm downwards and the next thing she knew her own blade was pressed against the soft skin of her neck, threatening to end their little exchange. The Calerian narrowed her eyes on her opponent and waited, instinct said he wouldn’t do it but she’d been wrong before, this however, was not one of those times. He moved the blade down from her neck, allowing her a breath of relief she let out slowly enough for him not to notice and blinked as he began slicing into the material covering her steadily rising and falling chest.

Surprisingly, she objected.

The blade disappeared from her hand.

The heat covering her body vanished and along with it the pressure and feel of him disappeared as well leaving her feeling slightly cold and slightly exposed as Malagen gracefully leapt away from her and came to his feet, retrieving his sword. With just as much grace as her opponent, perhaps a bit more just to show off, Ira rolled backwards and landed on all fours, slowly rising to stand straight before Malagen. Ira placed herself in a defensive stance with no weapons on hand, expecting him to resume the battle and attack her but instead he mocked her. Anger boiled up from within to the point where she almost missed the last part of his statement…almost. It stunned her, never in all her years would she have expected such a suggestion to even come from one such as him. Toy with her as he may that was the last thing she would ever expect during a battle. Still, it was not an overly bad suggestion.

The Calerian relaxed her stance as she gave her opponent a very obvious and slow once over, unconsciously biting down on her lower lip as she did.

“Hmmm…something more enjoyable, you say…”

She raised one of her brows as a mischievous look changed her once serious expression and softened all the lines on her face. The swirling colour of he eyes even changed from the silver they were to a deep blue. This could be an interesting proposal one that she could take a lot of, well enjoyment from, yet one that she was unsure of following through on. He was after all a stranger she had met in a battle arena. A person only lived once though.

Slowing crossing the distance between them, Ira began to circle Malagen as if she were stalking her prey. Reaching out, she ran the tips of her fingers and her fingernails lightly across his shoulder and then across the broad expanse of his back and finally around to the front and his bare chest allowing them to dip lower and trail over the ridges of her stomach. Wrapping her fingers around the band of his breeches, she tugged him closer to her, almost letting his body touch hers as she leaned forward, rising onto the tips of her toes to whisper in his ear.

“Just what kind of enjoyment are we talking about, because you’ve been disappointing me so far…”

It was less like a question and more like a dare just waiting for him to act upon.

[Malagen]

She was a fool if she thought his reasoning could be bedimmed so easily. Malagen knew that women were fickle, whimsical creatures, prone to changing their moods and opinions more often then politicians. But this metamorphosis from a bloodthirsty tribal to a pliable seductress was too abrupt to be explained logically, too convenient to be anything but another ruse. Charm was no less of a weapon then a sword, oftentimes an infinitely more deadly one, breaking the man’s defenses with a sway of the hips, a smirk and a faux lustful gaze. Ira seemed to be reaching for that feminine part of her arsenal right now, but the barbarian was scarcely susceptible to such inane tactics. The call of the flesh, the call that seemed to permeate around the tattooed woman like a call of a siren, fell on deaf ears. He knew better then to succumb to emotions, especially the phony ones.

Or at least that was what his training dictated.

The rest of him wasn’t so objective towards this change. With her frown gone from her lineaments and her tone a far cry from a harsh one, the tan-skinned woman was an even greater havoc for his uncanny equilibrium. More so because she seemed genuinely intrigued by his proposition, deliberating on it as her feet moved towards him with agonizing slowness. And regardless of the probable falsehood of her true intentions, Malagen couldn’t deny the fact that her touch was far from unwelcome. He let her caress his skin, his eyes ever watchful, his fingers ever itchy and ready to move in less then a blink, his muscles taut and his body tense as she circled around him like a cat that had the mouse cornered. The Dram didn’t allow her to find a blind spot, his neck craning and then ultimately snapping his head the other way to reestablish eye contact. But all his dead azures found was the same, teasing set of bluish eyes and the prolonged contact of her fingers sliding over his body.

“She’s playing you like a fiddler, maggot!” his mind reprimanded him strictly. “Take no chances, strike her down. You’re not here to have fun!” The voice, as always, belonged to his master, his instructor, the gray haired barbarian who met his end at the edge of his protégé’s blade. But for once, the voice was wrong; the barbarian did come here for some abatement. If he wanted not to have fun and stay in line with his brutish demeanor, he would’ve taken on a mission from a Snydicate, robbing people of lives permanently, instead of coming to a place where death was just a moment spent in blackness. Here, even if he made a mistake, the worst wound would be inflicted to his pride and Malagen estimated that he could risk one of those. If the wench turned on him, he could always get his revenge later, once they were both no longer under the protection of the Citadel’s enchantment.

So when Ira finished her survey, standing toe-to-toe but assaulting him only with the flicker of passion in her eyes, the ruthless swordsman stayed his sword hand. Well, momentarily at least. Because once her warm fingers tugged to the belt of his pants and she whispered into his ear in a husky voice, the sheathed saber was in motion.

“The kind that doesn’t require one of these,” Malagen said, allowing a smirk before discarding his only armament carelessly. Their eyes clashed, the controlled serenity of his defending against the sporadic chaos of hers. Most men would’ve melted in a situation like this, gave themselves up to the mercy of this vixen that poured honey in their ears. But, while he was a barbarian by origin, Malagen wasn’t an idiot. Seconds ago Ira was ready to stab him in the chest without even blinking, and right now, those weapon-summoning hands of hers were dangerously close to some of his vital organs and extremities. He was playing with live fire, he knew, the kind that even pyromancers couldn’t control, but he would not liquefy under its heat. Get burned by it, perhaps, or possibly extinguish it during the next hour or so should their encounter proceed in the same direction, but he would not be molten down by it.

Malagen, never a man of many words, decided for his hands to elaborate on the meaning of his words. His left slid down her side slowly, calm but resolved and unwavering as it reached for a handful of her behind and pulled it closer, defeating that last inch that stood between their bodies. She was so warm to the touch, so smooth and soft, almost sinfully so, almost enough to ignite a forgotten flame within him. The fingers of his other hand explored up her bare shoulder, stopping only to cup her neck and brush a thumb over the lips that have been calling him from the moment he first noticed them. Leaning his countenance minutely, the black-haired beast made a move to plant a kiss the tribal beauty.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Disappointment was left to the dust.

A spark slowly came to life in her as his hand grabbed her behind and pulled her against him, her soft body conforming to his hard, muscular frame, allowing her to feel every inch of his well shaped stomach and chest. Not that she hadn’t already with the hand she now found trapped between their two bodies. The heat from his bare skin seeped through the thin material left covering her, making her wish there was no material between them at all. She expected him to be rougher, but the barbarian of a man was proving to be much more gentle than she could have ever thought. His lips pressed against hers in an agonizingly slow kiss that was enough to elicit the slightest moan from the depths of her throat. Her free hand traveled up his bare side, the tips of her finger brushing against his skin as it wound its way along his back, up his neck and finally buried her fingers in the long strands of his hair. She scraped her nails across the base of his neck and up into his scalp before grasping the strands and tugging on them rather roughly as she pushed her body against his as much as she could.

Thought fled her mind as her lips parted and a soft whimper escaped. She wriggled her trapped hand from between their bodies and scratched her way up Malagen’s back and then slowly down his spine. Her nails rose over and dipped into the many scars that lined his skin, but she didn’t notice. She was enjoying his touch and his kiss too much but couldn’t bring herself to pull away, not yet. Instead, she rose onto the tips of her toes and slanted her mouth over his, her tongue seeking his tongue. The brushing feathers in her stomach travelled further downwards to a lower part of her anatomy and the excitement within her grew. It surprised her and left her feeling rather breathless.

But then she realized what she was doing.

Pulling roughly on the barbarian’s hair, the Calerian forced his head back as she nibbled and suckled his lower lip, lamenting the loss of his kiss already. She wanted to feel his hands all over her body, she wanted him to kiss her in places she’d never been kissed before but what she wanted and what was going to happen were two different things. She was no vixen or temptress, she was a warrior and she did not heed to the call of flesh.

With a sly smirk, she released his hair and trailed her fingers around the front of his neck and then over his throat.

“One should never underestimate their opponent…”

She brushed her finger lightly over his lips, which she wished were still pressed against hers. He’d even tasted good and her wandering mind began to wonder what the rest of him tasted like. But unlike him, she could control her emotions and the calls of her more primal instincts. Running her fingers along his jaw, Ira summoned a small blade that she held loosely in her hand, allowing the cold metal to press against his throat. Though she didn’t want to, she shifted her stance and moved away from his warm body, allowing that small inch of space once again. Bringing her other hand around, she quickly formed another small blade there as well and placed it against a certain part of his anatomy he’d been thinking with instead of his brain.

“Perhaps if you’d been using your azmam instead of your bhasad you would not be in this position.”

She kept her face close to his as she said the words in a husky whisper, her chest just lightly brushing against his every time she took a deep breath. Her eyes kept flashing from his azure gaze to his mouth and she couldn’t help but lick her lips. She could still taste him.

“Concede, if not you’ll lose something rather important to you before you lose your life.”

It would only take a flick of her wrists and this exchange would end between the two of them. Either way, if he gave in to her or not this was the end of it. As much as she craved him to take exactly what he wanted from her she would not give into it. There was more sense in her than that. A small part of her wanted him to overpower her, pin her to the ground and pleasure her until she begged him for mercy and the images and thoughts of that excited her even more making her bite down on her lower lip but she ignored the urges. Instead, she kept her gaze steady on his, her eyes now locked with his as she dared him to make a move he would regret. Death was not something she freely handed out to people; this was a ruse she did not want to follow through on. She’d only killed once before and it had nearly torn her to pieces on the inside with all the guilt. The thought that death was not permanent in this place gave her the added strength to keep her face from wavering and giving away her indecision on it.

[Malagen]

“Predictable.”

She’s been weighed and measured and she didn’t even know it. Her fraudulence was inputted into his calculations to provide every possible outcome before it even occurred. Malagen knew what the chances were that Ira would do this, he knew full well the risks of intimacy and how unlikely it was that her sudden attack of lust was genuine. The only reason why she had a drop on him right now was because he allowed her to, because he dropped his guard in exchange for several moments of closeness. That was why, even though her blades got dangerously close to biting into his skin, there was no panic on Malagen’s face, no perturbation reflected in the lineaments of his face. Instead, his cold eyes were stoic in standing their ground against her determined gaze, his lips curving in a barely noticeable grin. He didn’t underestimate her; he merely estimated and she played the predicted role.

Now, it was time for the threatened Dram to play his.

“You won’t do it. You can’t,” his cold voice mocked her, goaded her. She maybe held herself courageously during the battle, coming at him as a ferocious animal and swinging her conjured blades in throes of irritation and anger. But it was one thing to kill a man while the adrenaline pumped through your veins and you were swept away by its rush. A completely different, much more macabre thing, was looking somebody in the eyes while you rob them of their life. That lamentable look in their eyes, that last gurgling breath, that metallic taste of blood that gushed from the open wound and bathed your face with warm sticky liquid, that last desperate clutch of the fingers... She didn’t know the first thing about any of that; Malagen could read it in her eyes. He did. So many succumbed to his blade that he lost count. It took a killer to recognize a killer, and Ira wasn’t one.

And yet, when he made a move to join their bodies in an embrace once again, the knife that so far only touched his skin dug just below the surface of his neck, letting out a thin line of blood. “Though I’ve been wrong before,” he added, his smirk still present, even widening as they remained in the standstill. It was then that his mind reiterated a simple piece of data; they were in the Citadel. Within the walls of the Althanas’ most famous battling ground even the craven fools had the courage to do something drastic simply because they knew there were no repercussions. Granted, Ira probably wasn’t a coward and the fact that they were in the current position made it clear that she wasn’t a fool either. But even if she didn’t have the guts to go through with the kill out there, the calculations changed dramatically when the Ai’brone monks were added to the equation. If you knew that the kill wasn’t a kill at all, why be afraid to proceed with it?

This realization, however, cast no new light on the whole predicament. Malagen knew that there was a possibility the closeness would result with quite a pickle and that he would be given the choice to lose by either yielding or choking in his own blood. Neither was an attractive choice, but former at least didn’t put him out of the game yet. And this was a game, there was no doubt about it. Even if she seemed ready to slit his throat and put an end to the whole charade, there was more then just the desire to win in her eyes. Perhaps it were her lips that revealed this secret of hers, and the sweet way she bit them as his hands still touched her. Perhaps it was the lack of bitterness in her tone that would signify the definite change of mind. Oh, the game was still on and there were still cards to be played.

“It’s going to be rather hard to do what I had in mind without my... basad was it?” Malagen said, giving her behind a teasing squeeze. The blade that pressed against the cloth of his pants responded, tearing through the fabric to deliver the warning. “Very well. If you insist, then I yield. You win. Now, do you still want to play with swords, or should we start a different game?”

His indifferent tone made it sound like he didn’t care who was the ultimate victor of this encounter, but that wasn’t the whole truth. His pride was impacted by conceding. Game or no game, Malagen was taught that he was the best, the Dram Messiah; people yielded to him and not the other way around. But in every system there was a glitch, a ghost in the machine, an anomaly that forced the person to deviate from the allotted. For some reason beyond his comprehension, Ira was that anomaly.

[Iriah Caitrak]

A slow smile spread across her face as Malagen yielded to her. There was such a sense of satisfaction at those words. It wasn’t the same as beating your opponent down to the ground and making them kneel before you. No, but it had an altogether different sense of satisfaction, one that she liked the ring of. Especially hearing words like that coming from such an arrogant, conceded bandhakineya as he was. It was either he give in to her or taste the blade of her knives, either above or below for surely the man was fast but he wasn’t fast enough to stop the edge of both. She preferred it this way for the man had indeed judged her correct, though her face had never wavered once while he’d spelled out the truth before her. She was no killer and the death of the vampire who’d snuck into her room was still something that haunted her, waking nightmares. She could still see the woman’s face as her blade slipped into her chest.

Ira took a deep breath as she forced the images from her mind.

Looking at the line of blood on Malagen’s neck, she dispelled the energy used to create her knives and watched as they disappeared from her fingers, leaving her grasping at air, but not for long.

“Hmmm, yes…I’m sure that with the swords put away there are some very interesting games you would love to play.”

She kept her distance from him, running her fingers up the inside of his thigh and dangerously close to his bhasad before letting them toy with the hard muscles of his stomach. Her fingers trailing up over every ridge only to come back down again, loving the feel of the hard muscle covered by soft skin. Rising to the tips of her toes once again, the Calerian placed a kiss against the side of his neck, right over the wound she had caused. The metallic taste of his blood on the tip of her tongue as she pulled away with a rather satisfied smirk spread across her face. Hooking her leg around the back of his, Ira jerked it back suddenly and watched as the unprepared human went tumbling onto his back. His hands were still on her body, still griping her and he almost pulled her down with him but he eventually released his grip in favour of cushioning his landing with the grass.

“You men…do you think me some kind of ksudra,” she spat the word at him, leaving no kind of confusion about the meaning behind it. Her disgust evident in every word she said to him, “that I would allow your hands all over my body and that I would give in to you so easily.”

Her hands were planted on her hips as she stared down at Malagen, her face twisted from the look of lust she had placed over it into a mask of contempt. She did not pretend for one moment that she hadn’t enjoyed his touch or his kiss, in fact she knew that she’d forgotten herself in there for a brief second. But that in no way meant she was going to throw herself at his feet and let him do what he wanted with her. She was a warrior and part of a proud race and he was nothing more than some vile, arrogant male she happened to meet in an area of training she would probably never return to after this battle. Ira was not the kind of person to think herself above others, but the fact that he actually thought she would even have dvailiggya with him disgusted her. She knew nothing about him and was not about to get that intimate with a total stranger.

The spoiled brat that he was, was going to have to deal with the fact that he wasn’t going to get what he wanted, not this time anyway and not from her.

“Go find yourself some other pramada, I am not interested.”

Turning from him, Ira began heading towards the forest. She needed to get out of this place. The battle was over, she was the victor and there was no more to be had for her here. Malagen, he could stay to his hearts content and drown himself in the water for all she cared. He was just like every other male out there, only interested in his own needs, wants and desires and he interested her little. Though his touch had felt good on her body there were plenty of other males, plenty of other Fallien native males who knew how to treat women that she could entertain herself with.

Then again, she’d had years to entertain herself with any man she wanted to from Astaka and never had, including Revor. She had never found interest in that sort of thing, her only interests beyond her friends being training and growing stronger so she could help the other Calerians fight Fallen and save lost souls. But that was neither here nor there. These were thoughts she didn’t care to bother with.

The tall grass brushed against Ira’s thighs as she continued to ramble in her own head about the stupidity of men. The light of the sun being blocked out by the shade of the trees she was now approaching and it was at this moment that Ira reminded herself there was no place for her to go to in that forest. She was in an illusionary world, one that she was pretty sure was supposed to end when the battle was over yet she still found herself standing within it. The pounding of the waterfall was still echoing throughout the area and the gentle breeze continued to rustle the leaves on every tree. She didn’t see any kind of door, none like the one she had come in through.

Just how was she supposed to get out of here?

[Malagen]

She played hard to get and brought demise upon herself in the process.

Malagen was never the most forbearing man ever, but there were certain instances in which his patience seemed endless. If he was sitting in an ambush, for example, waiting for his victim to enter the designated area and spring the trap, the barbarian seemed resilient to the passing of time. He didn’t get irritated by the lack of action, by the elements, by the chirp of the birds, by the sun that lashed at his eyes with its beams. Or if he was onboard of a ship that fell into a windless patch that practically immobilized the vessel. His sensible mind simplified the matter, reminded him that he had no control over the weather, and doused his emotions. There was no aggravation, no regret, just the fact that he was where he was with a reason, waiting. Waiting forever if need be.

However, should that reason evanesce and ultimately become nonexistent, it took the Dram’s tolerance in tow. He would remain serene – there were seldom situations that broke that particular trait of his – but the wait usually came to an end in a rather gory manner. If there was no reason for something, then it was a waste of time, and if it was a waste of time, then he wasn’t efficient, wasn’t flawless. And Malagen hated being either of those things.

And yet, it became rather clear that his encounter with Ira was exactly that; a waste of time. The tribal woman fought him the best she could – her prowess mediocre at best, despite the few peculiar quirks such as weapon summoning – and then, when she realized that she was no match for him, she played on the card of her womanly charms. There was potential there, Malagen though, and that gave him the reason to stay his hand from putting an end to her little charade. But while the antics seemed enjoyable for both of them for a short period of time, the conclusion was the one he could predict. Ira was a strong, willful woman that was unafraid to not only get into the same room as the devil, but to take him by the hand for a dance. A dance she thought she led. And at the end of it he was one lying on his back while she loomed over him, her hands resting on the curve of her hips as rigor returned to her face.

He was the one who got screwed today.

He would kill this woman, Malagen knew then, when she stood over him victoriously, ceremoniously, like a conqueror that just brought an end to his latest campaign. Unlike the usual outcome, what occurred today in the picturesque arena of the Citadel would have repercussions in real life. She maybe walked away with a smile on her face, feeling like the queen of the world, but it was not to be long-lived. Because when the illusion faded and they stepped out of the protective spell of the Citadel, he would cut her down and stand above her as the true victor.

This had nothing to do with hatred though. It wasn’t even anger. Such emotions were primal, hasty, prone to clouding judgment, ultimately futile, and as such found no home in Malagen. If anything, there was actually a dose of respect in the dark swordsman towards Ira and that was more then the majority of his victims had an honor of having. But she was a victim, or rather, she would be soon enough. It was simply the way he operated, the way he was trained, the only way he knew how to think. If her pretense had been true and she submitted to her lust, there would be no need for belligerency simply because his plan unfolded down the allotted path. They would part ways as strangers and strange bedfellows. But since that was not to happen, there was a bug in the system, something that shattered the perfection, a renegade factor that messed up Malagen’s equation. And he had to eliminate it in order to regain his equilibrium.

But not in the Citadel. In here, death had no meaning, no weight. So instead of going after her, Malagen regained his footing slowly, not even bothering to dust off his pants. He retrieved his sheathed saber and his coat, donning the latter before taking a seat on a boulder at the edge of the pond where he waited. Waited for the game to end and for reality to deliver him a chance to level things out.

At least he found somebody worth facing. Somebody worth killing.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Ira sighed as she folded her arms under her chest, impatiently waiting for this to end. Was she supposed to call out and announce that the match was over or was it supposed to end on its own? Did she need to find some kind of door in order to exit or should she remain where she was? Too many questions, why hadn’t the monk explained this to her before she’d went inside? Why hadn’t she asked? She’d been too fixated on the fact that the monks had a way to revive the dead to even bother thinking about the operation inside this room. And now she was regretting it.

“Katsam…let me out of here.” She mumbled under her breath.

Running her fingers through her short, purple hair, Ira snuck a glance behind her. Malagen was heading over to the waterfall and calmly planting his behind on the boulder she had sat upon at the beginning of this mess. He seemed content to wait, perhaps that was what she just needed to do. Wait and eventually the world would fade and she would once again be in the halls of, oh, now what was it called again? Ahh, yes The Citadel, a great place of training for many warriors. Some of those warriors did not enjoy using it for its proper purpose however. They tried to frolic around in fields and have dvailiggya with any female they came across. What a great region Corone was turning out to be.

The illusionary world began to fade. The detail of every branch, every leaf slowly being turned into darkness. The sound of the water disappeared and was replaced by a void leaving no sound at all. And then, she was back in the halls of The Citadel. Her senses flooded with the sounds of the warriors and monks found therein going about their business. Surprisingly, the monk that had helped her before was standing before her now.

“How did your first battle go…?” He had a very soft smile.

“That bandhakineya tried to have dvailiggya with me as if I am some kind of ksudra. Ugh! I really wish I had cut off his bhasad in order to teach him a lesson.”

The monk clearly looked both surprised and confused by what she was saying, “I am sorry, but I cannot understand what language you are speaking…”

Ira flushed with a bit of embarrassment as she took a few deep breaths to calm herself.

“That warrior that came in after me tried to…have sex with me.” She lowered her voice on the last part so no one else around her would hear them.

The monk clearly seemed disheartened by this fact, “That is not what the arenas of The Citadel are for. I can assure you that is not what normally goes on behind closed doors and I do hope that this one experience will not stop you from returning.”

She was unsure if she would ever return to this place after that experience. Perhaps in a few days when she was not so angry things would be different, but right now she just wanted out of these halls as fast as her feet could carry her.

“I am unsure if I will return here any time soon.”

The monk nodded his head as he produced her rucksack for her.

“Svastyaksara.”

The monk furrowed her brow and Ira quickly corrected herself, “Thank you.”

“The pleasure was all mine. You are definitely an interesting and rare sight in these halls.”

She was unsure if that was because she was a female or because of her foreign nature. Either way it didn’t matter in the long run. Inclining her head to the monk in a respectful manner she turned to leave The Citadel. All she wanted right now was to find the Inn she was staying at and get a good night’s rest, if it even was night right now. A bath sounded rather good as well.

(The second part of this quest continues here (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=4172).)

[Cyrus the virus]

EXP added!!

Movement will wait until the Judge's Choice consideration is done!