It's been a while

[Dirge]

If the tainted mages of the Radasanthian Mages Guild willed it, Vigo followed.

Despite not liking the idea, the young sorcerer was forced into the realm of the Citadel. The place was amazing, standing like a mountain amongst the droll townscape. Vigo had been interested in the citadel of battle when he had first gotten word of it. The true interest only lasted as long as he had no true knowledge of what the Citadel was. It was a place that held the interests of many and the hearts of none. The Citadel was a fickle world created by man, a fickle world that changed and shaped to the mind of he who willed it.

Vigo sighed and pushed aside the crowd of people that bulged within the archway. Many argued, threw a temper fit for a small child, but they were quickly ignored. The sorcerer had little time to deal with the ideals of the hopeless. Those that pushed and shoved into the common room of the Citadel were ridiculous. They were weighed down by armor, covered by their weapons, their eyes were filled with pleasure, and yet they seemed to miss the fact that they were mere pawns of entertainment. Vigo knew otherwise, and moved through the crowd like a ghost not because he willed a fight, but because the Mages he wished to train under thought him too weak.

“Weak,” the half-elf said under his breath. “Too weak to join their order. Too weak to learn the spells they have. Blast them, curse them all. I will be stronger than any of their order one day, and they will bow to my will instead of the other way around.”

But time was of the essence. Vigo knew that time was his ally in the end. He knew that his elven heritage would provide ample years for him to learn and engage himself in the principles and properties of magic. However, Vigo knew that if he did not take every waking moment to better himself and advance his knowledge and power in magic that many would surpass him.

His goals were simple, but they ruled his life as well.

Vigo took heavy steps towards the closest monk. Overhead the banners of cultures long since passed and a world long since forgotten hung. Beneath his feet the marble floor reflected his demure outfit, the brown marble clicking with every booted footfall and gentle tap of his blackened cane. The furs of Salvar, the painting of Raiaera, and even the odd lights from Alerar all went unnoticed. Vigo cared little for the setting that he was walking into. The sorcerer knew better than to give too much thought to the pointless.

~*~*~*~

The arena that the monks had given him was interesting, to say the least.

Vigo kicked with interest. A small rock went tumbling forward, rolling till it struck a dilapidated wall with a spray of dust. Overhead the distant sun released soft rays of light, barely warming the sorcerer as he ventured through the broken structures. Shadows were cast about randomly, broken and pathetic. Vines clung to the walls, acting as the only mortar to keep the shattered walls together. The ruins that the monks had given the half-elf were quiet, still. He gave it little thought.

“Wonderful,” the sorcerer said as he tapped the end of his cane against the concrete flooring. He continued to allow his deep green eyes to fall across the fallen cityscape. It looked much like that of Radasanth, though without the whole buildings or bustling metropolis. Vigo sighed again. “It seems that the arena is to be a boring one without much to summon. My opponent better appear soon enough then…”

((Was opened due to inactivity on my selected opponent's side))

[Komosatuo]

Ever since his first battle with the elven archer, the ninja had been drilled endlessly by his five teachers. At first it had been a ground shattering shock to learn that it was they who had healed him, but this was pale beside the fact that they had tracked him all the way from the compound, which he thought he had left behind months ago. His teacher, Kiomata'Ly, he had expected of have been furious with him, having to track him over such great distances and having to heal him but when the ninja came too, two days later he later found out, the man had been as calm as a summer breeze. This the ninja did not understand but had the decency not to ask, this however did not stop him from asking the man why he was drilling him so endlessly on the most basic and rudimentary of fighting techniques.


"I heard from the monks in passing how your last battle went and I find it a disgrace coming from one who slaughter three of my ninja before even being granted access to learn at the compound. You will learn what it is really like to be a ninja, if I have to pound it into your head with a sword. Now, again; Mountain Brook Flows Over River Stones."

And on and on it went, one form after another after another until Komosatuo either collapsed in exhaustion or the light of day ran from them. Even then there was little rest as he was back at it the very next morning, sunup to sundown; it was the compound all over again, but ten fold this time around.

All of that, all of what he had endured for what seemed months if not years, to be here now, back again, seated calmly atop the dilapidated roof of a long abandoned building, deep within the bowels of the citadel, waiting for his opponent to arrive. Which, would be soon, seeing as the monk had told them that they had only just constructed this place not a few minutes before. It was by pure happenstance that he was here, now and waiting instead of walking into a would be trap that his opponent could have constructed. He must thank Kiomata'Ly when he left here, for his never ending wisdom and lessons on being prepared.

"Remember Kiomatosa, patience and a steady hand win battles. Remember Mountain Brook Flows Over River Stones."

The voice came to him as though from a great distance, floating along on the winds of time to reach his ears years after it had been spoken. The words of his master carried this much weight; he would follow and be steady. The sound of boots scraping against the chipped and pocketed remains of the liquid stone floor alerted the ninja to the presence of his opponent. A steady hand.

He rose smoothly to his feet and walked silently to the edge of the buildings roof and stared down at the ground beneath him. He was a good twenty feet up, the remains of the two story building spilling into the great plaza around it, and from there he had a clear vantage of the arena around him and a good view of his opponent.

The man was of average weight and of an average height and carried about him the grace of a man used to quick movements and even quicker decisions. He also possessed on him an aura that spoke of a deeper power, one that was controlled by will alone instead of impulses from the brain. Spell cast. This man was dangerous. Komosatuo narrowed his eyes but instead of jumping down from the building and running to join the fight against the man he simply propped his leg up onto the edge of the building and leaned against it, as though at relative ease but deep within ready to move on a moments notice.

A breeze blew from the south and caught his scarf and lifted the trailing ends so that they rippled in the wind like some narrow black flag. It rippled his pants on his legs and pulled at the linen wraps around his arms, making him seem to be made of many strips of cloth; a very nice effect he thought to himself, one befitting his nature. The only sounds to be heard in the many destroyed or else run down buildings was the whistle of the breeze through the crags and holes of the walls and the soft snapping of his scarf and pant legs as they were caught up in the gusts of the breeze.

A very fitting place for a battle.

I hope I got the setting right. If it isn’t, please tell me and I will adjust.

[Dirge]

As the soft winds drifted through the crumbling infrastructure, Vigo began to explore. The half-elf wandered along the cracked walls, his naked fingers stroking the cracks and fissures. As he moved he noticed a change, a pattern that was emerging. The cracks were more like strokes, gashes created by a wild swing of a bladed weapon. With interest peeked, the sorcerer began to slow his steps and concentrate on the forsaken walls. His fingers, without the man knowing, brushed across a glyph of sorts, and the world shifted.

~*~
“Fall back!” the words were gruff and full of fear. Vigo turned, obviously unnoticed by the fully clad dwarven warrior who rushed by. His armor was old, so old the half-elf did not even know what century it belonged to. In his hand a rough, steel axe brushed against the stone walls. He was the cause of some of the damage to the city. “They are coming to fast! Too hard!”

The tongue of the man was almost too rough to understand, and it took Vigo a second to realize that his mouth was moving opposite the words that were coming forth. Was he speaking dwarven? It mattered very little. Before Vigo could dwell on it further a burst of light blinded all within the area, leaving dwarven defenders strewn across the walkway.

From behind, an uncountable horde of demons emerged. Over walls and from within buildings the demons hacked and tore their way through the city streets of the dwarven stronghold. The stout little warriors turned, those not affected as much by the light, and attempted to defend themselves, but they were cut down. The walls were raked by the claws of the demons and the stolid blades of the ancient dwarves. Sprays of dust and clots of cement were thrown from the walls, mixing with the deep crimson pools to create puddles of bloody muck.

Overhead a roar resounded.

The sorcerer turned from the bloody scene, his eyes wide with horror. The battle was unknown to him, the hordes of demons fighting the dwarves could have been any number of places. He watched as the dwarven defenders fell away from the tainted souls of the invaders. But one stood out. He stood atop a peaked roof, watching the onslaught with a satisfied grin. His eyes were a pale gray, and his body was wrapped in the deepest black cloth… in his hand was a small black flag, void of symbol or crest.

~*~

Vigo blinked, only to find that he was no longer absorbed by the odd battle of old. He looked around, seeing the monotone world a little differently. The city was a fallen one, probably taken by the demons at the beginning of The Age of Darkness. The Citadel was a place of possibilities, allowing the combatants to take a trip through the ages into any scene. The half-elf shifted uneasily, looking up towards where the demon had once stood. Instead was a black figure, the breeze shifting his clothing in a dramatic fashion.

“He must be my opponent,” Vigo thought as he scuffled his feet away from the man, brushing both rock and dust aside. His hand clutched tightly to the cane in hand, waiting for the battle to begin. “Come down from there!” he called to the man. The sorcerer was in no mood to play games.

[Komosatuo]

The ninja's eyes narrowed further as they watched the man below them, narrowed until they were nearly squinting; the vision blurred by long eye lashes, tears forming in the ducts. The man below seemed confused; dazed, almost lost. Lost within thought or simply just not completely there but none the less, lost.

It had started when he began to casually explore the ruins of this place, brushing his hands along scratches and gouges in the walls. These motions quickly brought to the ninjas attention the sudden haphazard shape of the buildings around him, they way the leaning, they way they were scratched, gouged or marred in some fashion or another. It all suddenly seemed very familiar to the ninja, as though he had seen it before, somewhere.

Deja Vu. It must be, for I have never seen this place anywhere but here, in this masterful illusion they call the Citadel. And yet the place had an eerie familiarity to it, one that the ninja could not shake, even after the man came from his daze with a start, staring straight at up the ninja and demanding he descend from his lofty perch.

The ninja was snapped back to reality in a rush and coughed lightly, the front of his sash that covered his face billowing and then being sucked in as he inhaled sharply. Very well. He quickly cast about him for a way down, an easy way down. His path up the building had been rickety and near collapse at best; he dared not traverse that path again. Although, he thought to himself as he idly spied an intact metal pole running the height of the wall straight to the ground, he hadn't wanted to climb that staircase in the first place but the words of his master had driven him to do so.


"There is little justice in peace, and little peace in justice. Take what you can get when you can, however you can, and give nothing in return. Remember this Kiomatosa, for it will one day save your life."

Unlike my last encounter, the ninja thought with a wry smile as he made his way to the pole. A quick study revealed that it was somewhat securely intact against the brick, mortar and plaster wall but a closer look revealed that it was chock full of holes and jagged edges. It is never easy. Sighing but seeing no other way down, except by rickety staircase and perhaps an early broken bone should it inevitably collapse, the ninja grabbed a hold of the pole and swung himself over the edge.

He planted his feet firmly against the side of the building and using the pole as a balance, began to 'walk' his way backwards down the building until his feet finally found pavement some two minutes later. A waste of time sure, a waste any smart opponent would take full advantage of, but when Komosatuo glanced around he saw that not much had changed in the little time he had had his back turned. Brushing himself off, the rust had flaked off with considerable vigor, he strode to square himself against his opponent.

He then bowed formally, right hand to his heart, left in the small of his back. "We may now begin, if you are quite finished exploring." Formalities finished, so far as the ninja was concerned, Komosatuo placed his right foot forward, toe towards the man, left foot back, perpendicular to his right. He lifted his arms so that his forearms faced the man, right before left, his hands open, fingers pressed tightly together, his thumbs hidden in his palms.

Right, now for the fun part.

[Dirge]

Creeping down the side of the wall the demon came. His eyes were glowing with the pain and suffering of the town. The lights of the flickering flames that began to consume the world were casting wicked shadows across his already shadowed visage. He moved like the shadows. His hands shifted slowly, his feet took every step lightly and softly. He truly was evil incarnate.

The dwarves had already fled, and yet the beast still fell from the pinnacle. Vigo fell away as well, shifting backwards towards where the dwarven warriors had fled.

~*~

Vigo shook his head free of whatever subconscious thoughts were being created by the illusion of the monks. He was seeing something old, he believed the fall of the once great city. The city was a grand one, built by the hands of the strong dwarven race. It was above ground, however, which made the half-elf wonder as to where and when it could have been founded. But ancient civilizations and wars of such a scale were pushed aside in favor for defense against the more inevitable threat.

“I’m only done exploring if you are quite finished playing the fool,” the sorcerer said, mocking the man’s rather tedious and ostentation entrance. Looking past the man, Vigo saw a complete stairway, though crumbled, that extended from the top of the building to the ground. The sorcerer sighed, though said nothing more on the subject of his opponent’s flashy entrance. “Come now.”

The half-elf took another step away, placed both hands atop each other on the steel head of his cane, and waited. It was an odd way to start a battle, not unsheathing the sword from within the cane, but the sorcerer knew what he was doing. With both hands resting on the top, the bottom one gripping the steel head, the man looked like a pompous and uninterested high elf. If anything the opponent would more than likely underestimate him, bringing him close. Close was what the sorcerer wanted.

[Komosatuo]

And close was what the ninja would give, as he knew no other fighting style, nor wished to learn any other. Close was what he had been taught, close was what he had been told to live by, close was how he lived. He smirked, though the fool man would never see it, and tensed his quadriceps for a brief instance. Then he relaxed and in the split second between breaths, when the lungs were expelled of eighty percent of their air holding capacity, the ninja struck.

The distance between the two of them was a problem, on that could spell doom to the ninja if the man knew how to react in split second intervals. Based on the mans carefree and cocky attitude though, the ninja had a feeling that the man was mostly talk and very little walk. There was only one real way to find out however, and he did so by pushing off of his right foot, bending his knee slightly as he lunged forward. His left leg slid forward and planted a full pace in front of him and at the same instant that it touched the shattered and cracked paving stones beneath him he twisted on it and tucked his right leg up beneath him. He then pushed himself into the air, still spinning in a tight corkscrew and began to tuck his left leg under his body.

He completed a half spin like this and when his back was facing the man, the momentum of his spin just beginning to slacken, he swung his right leg out so hard that it spun him back around faster than most men could react. His target, the mans cane, just below where he had placed his hands atop it. His goal, remove the man of his only apparent weapon. As the ninja knew all to well, a man could hide dozens of weapons all upon his person and use them at the most inopportune times.

The ninja landed smoothly to the left side of the man, his back to him, left leg out in front of him and his right arm swinging back to possibly take the man in a glancing slap across the face.

[Dirge]

Reacting to such a volatile opponent was something that Vigo had never been privy to. The man lunged quickly, his face blank. The half-elf gave very little expression of worry or concern, but instead brought his cane up as soon as his opponent had made even the slightest of movement. He silently thanked whatever god or gods happened to be watching over the world. If he had moved with such a violent jerk it would have made him look the fool, would have made it appear that he was scared.

In truth he was.

Despite his arrogant appearance, the sorcerer was anything but overconfident in his own prowess. He was still a budding sorcerer, still learning his arts. His spells were self taught and weak. Never had a master taught him anything, never had another taken him as a student. So, when the foolish man took flight and began his assault, Vigo’s jade eyes widened and his mind nearly froze.

Vigo barely moved the end of his cane, spinning the weapon around. The smooth, arching sweep of the man slipped just below the lowest finger. The wind that passed under the sorcerer’s hand caused him to look down; like a naïve warrior caught in something he was far under-prepared for.

Just as he took a step away, the swift fighter (a ninja of some sorts) spun with another attack. Even with his back turned Vigo needed to watch himself. The heavy hand, with the man’s momentum, took the half-elf across the face. His hardened, angular face made a loud cracking noise as the hand and cheek connected.

Taken aback by the sudden and completely unexpected attack, the novice warrior stumbled away. Before the ninja could attack again, as the sorcerer expected, Vigo shuffled away and brought his cane up before him. “Quick,” he said as he spat a mixture of blood and spittle. “But is that all you have?”

Without retaliating, the sorcerer began to stalk backwards. The ghostly footfalls of the ancient battle rapped in his head. He was beginning to lapse, back into whatever twisted anti-reality that the Ai’Bron monks had started. The half-elf shook his head. He was engaged with the enemy already. It was no time to start to fall away into the illusions of the past. “Blasted monks… could they not find a better time to do this history lesson?”

[Komosatuo]

The ninja smirked. The man, elf he realized, after getting a better look at the man, was toying with him. Prodding him, trying to force him into a mistake. A mistake that would leave him an opening to be attacked, wounded and then defeated with swift justice. It would have worked, on a lesser minded man, but the ninja was no lesser minded man and he was well versed in the ploy tactics being used by this elf. His teachers voice rang loud in his head again, as he recounted a painful lesson from the past weeks.


"You are worthless Kiomatosa," sneered his teacher, Kiomata'Ly. "Can't even complete a simple meditation exercise."

He knew he wasn't supposed to get angry; knew that this was all just a game to fray his nerves, get him to attack and leave an opening. He knew, but just as what had happened in his most recent defeat in the illusionist building called the Citadel, Komosatuo felt something within him snap and he lost all control. He attacked, fists clenched and mouth opened to emit a wordless roar.

When he regained control, a few seconds and one jaw rattling slam into the ground later, all he could do was call himself a fool and look meekly up at his teacher. That the man had the nerve to smile down at him sent shivers down Komosatuo's spine and his face glowed red with embarrassment.

"Now, are you quite finished Kiomatosa'Ky? Good. Then, assume stance 'Boar Rushes Crouching Leopard In Jungle Grass."

He had little choice but to follow and pray he didn't make the same mistake a third time.

The memory lasted instants and his body had moved on its own accord in those moments of remembrance. He was no longer facing his opponent with his back, but was instead facing with his front, his palms facing down towards the ground, his elbows slightly winged to his sides and his feet shoulder width apart. A good stance, strong in both offense and defense. Then ninja was perfect position to move in any direction, at an instants notice. Not a third time, if I have any say in it.

The elf said something and all thoughts of memories and stances left the ninjas thoughts, instead replaced by a slight humor streak he had recently begun to develop whilst in the company of his ninja companion, Rianai.

"No," the ninja said slowly, letting the syllable drag out across his tongue. "I have a bouquet of flowers for you too. They're - " In the blink of an eye and the space between one word and the next in a quickly spoken sentence, the ninja moved like a coiled blood snake and lashed out at his opponent.

In two very quick and practiced motions the ninja twisted his palms so that they faced skyward and twitched his arms forward, then back again. All in the time it took a man to blink twice, one right after the other. In this split second interval the ninja had shifted two throwing knives, each tucked into a special pocket under his forearms, just behind his wrists, into his palms. Each was set in their respected pockets so that when the arm was thrown forward and back in the exact way had just performed, they would slide into the palms in perfect throwing position. The ninjas palms reached within a hairs breath of his stomach and then he lunged forward, extending his arms rapidly forward, throwing his knives almost faster than the human eye could track. They were twin streaks of black steel as they flew towards the elfs chest. If the man was quick, he could possibly be able to deflect one with that upraised cane of his. If he was quick. If he was not, then the knives would land neatly in the mans chest, not lethally mind, but enough so that they would still cause a great deal of pain.

The ninja followed through with his throw by drawing his other leg up beside the one that he had extended, he then drew his hands back to his chest, palms down toward the ground. Just before he did this though, he drew from two pockets on his thighs a pair of throwing stars, and hid them in the folds of his palms, held in place by his thumbs, ready to throw at a moments notice.

Quick, unpredictable. I have many more words to give, so that you might describe me perfectly, in the end.

“ - Roses. Careful though, the thorns are quite sharp.” He chuckled for a moment, letting the joke settle before going quiet once more, gray eyes staring calm and cold out from over the top of his veil.

[Dirge]

Was it the end? Was there no way to drive back the hordes of demons that threatened them? Was there no way to take back the grand city of Teria from their devious, twisted hands? The thoughts forced their way into the half-elf’s head. They were not his, but they distracted him from the fight more importantly. He watched, his jade eyes feeling heavy, as his opponent smirked. Such defiance, such strength, Vigo cursed his frail body and his magical intentions. They had turned him into what he was. They were the cause of his failures. They, more importantly, were going to be his eventual downfall should the battle continue the way it was progressing.

Unfortunately, despite the half-elf’s best efforts to rally anger, his plan was not working. He could not focus his anger and hate on the ninja before him. The world slowly slipped between his fingers as he reached to pull himself away. The opposite of what he had been expecting occurred instead. The anger and hate that manifested itself within him, a hate that he was attempting to use as a means of focus, was only fueled by the hate that the fleeing dwarven soldiers felt.

In turn, the hate overwhelmed him and made him one of them. Fleeing from their unknown evil, fleeing from a battle that could not be won…
~*~

The demon-lord was impervious. Even without his loyal following of countless demons he would have been able to take the city of Teria. It was a sad sight, seeing the world of humanity fall below the blood soaked hands of the demons. Foreigners and invaders, they had no right or true will to take the lands of Corone. To them it was a cruel sport, a blood bath to satisfy their carnal desires.

Vigo shuffled away from the attacking demon as he watched and waited. He spared a look to its eyes and then to its lipless mouth. True fear and anger washed over him as he lost himself within the dream-like illusion. The things mouth began to move, words were issued, but they were lost amidst the chaos of the slaughter. Vigo, for one, heard them but could not understand them.

Instead he felt like clenching his ears in terror.

The sorcerer wasted little time, moving away from the approaching demon. Around him the nigh fully tangible corpses of fallen dwarves reeked with the stench of death. The blood soaked ground was mixing with the shattered walls, creating pools of grime and filth. Vigo stepped in them, felt the thick sludge splash up to either sides of his boots. He gave it little thought.

The demon moved. His hands stretched forward, seemingly growing longer as they attacked. Vigo could do little besides watch. He was no great warrior or fighter of some hundreds of battles. The sorcerer was weak, relying solely on magic to create an offense. His defense was strictly limited to his reaction time, which was sorely lacking. Experience was not on his side, but a fiery passion and true desperation were.

The two hands moved like daggers, straight to the target. Vigo let out a roar as he spun his cane in obvious futility. The hands were not nearly as strong as he had expected though. The one to his left was knocked upwards, seeming to spin on end before it bounced off his shoulder. It did not cut, but it certainly was painful. The second, however, was far too fast. It passed under the spinning cane and came up budding from the half-elf’s shoulder.

Vigo cried out, pulling the hand out of his shoulder and dropping it as soon as he did so. With the illusion fully taking control, the man lost his true thoughts and turned to flee. He would be no better than the fallen corpses of the defeated dwarves soon enough. For the time being, however, he knew what he needed to do. It would be impossible to fight the demon in the opening, impossible to lure him towards him so that he could make his final stand. Instead he would need to pull him somewhere confining, somewhere he could not easily escape from.

The half-elf had already turned away, wincing at the thought of another thrust taking him in the back as he ran. Nothing came initially, and between the crumbling buildings falling to the ground and the sounds of devastation it would be impossible to hear if the attacks had simply missed. Silently he prayed, to what god or goddess he could not know.

[Komosatuo]

What a pity, the ninja thought as he watched the elf turn tail and run. One attack and he's already broken. The ninja sighed and let his arms drop to his sides, the throwing stars falling easily into two pockets on his thighs. He had dozens of such pockets, some not even large enough to carry more than one fish dart, and each was placed in an easily accessible location, depending on his stance, position and particular mood. He dropped his stance, standing again casually, much like he had at the top of the building, and watched the retreating back of the running elf until he vanished around a distant corner. He sighed again. As much I wish not to, there is nothing left but to follow.

Besides, he thought with a small grin as he moved to retrieve his two knives. Kiomata'Ly would not be too happy if I emerged from this place neither the victor nor the loser. He reached his first knife and bent to retrieve it. The elf had moved very fast, to be able to deflect this knife as he had, and it had landed a good ten feet from where its original resting place would have been. In the shoulder of the elf. The blade was chipped toward the hilt of the knife but there was no serious structural damage; it slipped easily into a pocket just below his left pec and he moved to get his second knife.

This one had found its mark, the elf was quick but not nearly fast, enough to stop two knives aimed for his body, and this one was covered to the hilt in blood. It had already begun to coagulate on the blade and the small pool beneath it, so when the ninja bent to retrieve it he pulled up a dozen thin red strings with it. He had to flick his wrist almost a dozen times to get the blade almost clean of the blood before finally pocketing it, and when he did, he made a quick mental note to clean it after the battle. Bloodstains were a part of battle, unless you were blessed by the gods to suffer no wounds, but it was one thing to earn the blood and its corresponding stain, but it was a completely different one to pick it up by accident while simply carrying around a bloody weapon.

Rising from his crouched position over the spot where his second knife had been laying, the ninja cast around him for a suitable weapon to combat that mans cane. Throwing weapons served as good distractions, but he could not always throw two at a time, as he would quickly wear out and then become useless in a fight. He found a suitable weapon in the form of a four-foot steel pipe, slightly rusted at one end and pock marked at various lengths along the shaft, but it was in solid enough shape and would serve very well in the battle against that mans cane.

He chuckled to himself as he realized what he was doing but he could not risk dulling his sword against the hard wood of that cane. He hefted the pole, it was light so it felt almost like wielding his sword, even if it was a full foot longer, and looked to the spot where the elf had disappeared. It was barren, the elf had not returned to see if he was being followed. The ninja sighed again and placed the pole on his shoulder, placing his hand towards it center so that he could swing quickly should the need arise, and turned to begin walking toward the spot where the elf vanished.

This fight had better be worth your time Kiomata'Ly, I have no intention of playing the cat and the mouse just so you can spit more lyrical babble at me. As he walked his head swiveled, constantly checking his surroundings. A city was a good place to fight, all and well, if you were the one who was attacked there. For the attacker, ambush and death waiting around every corner, it was not smart to let your guard down, even for a second.

He started to trot, and wondered to himself where the elf man could possibly have gone, and disappeared deeper into the destroyed ruin of a once great city.

[Dirge]

As he ran the mental discipline required for casting slowly began to help him alleviate the burden of the illusion. He moved, quickly and nimbly through the streets. The decrepit and crumbling scenery slowly flickered in his visions. The battle hardened dwarven warriors became less tangible, less realistic. Vigo knew he could feel the weight of the monk's game pushing at his sanity, could detect the holes that the mental block had.

But then it washed over him anew.

"Move! This is no time to wait!" the incorporeal words once again flooded the mind of the half-elf. He looked around as the footfalls of hundreds overtook the macabre silence. Shouts of pain and suffering filled the air once again, and the smell of foul blood drifted with the thick cloud of ash and haze. "Get to the keep! Get to the keep!"

He ran with the men. One hand held the cane, which waved about furiously. The other hand, his actual sword arm, was flooded with pain from the earlier attack. Sticky, warm blood had started to dry into an almost gel like substance. His torn coat and layered clothes were slick and yet clinging to his arm.

"Make a line! Form a front! We must hold them here!" Vigo turned towards where the mens voices were rising from. As he rounded the corner he saw them. Lined up and battle ready, the dwarves were squatting just before a grand set of doors. At the top of the staircase they waited. But what was behind them was what the half-elf truly noticed.

It was the Citadel, in all its glory. The building was a monument to time, a testament to the power of the people who had created it. Not a scratch was etched into its face, not a pockmark broke the smooth surface. It was there that the dwarves would make their last stand. He would be with them.

~*~

Clack...

The half-elf tripped, his foot kicking a displaced piece of the shattered wall. He fell, dropping his cane in an attempt to catch himself before he hit the ground. With the illusion fading he was left to ponder over the fall without interference. What came to him was a vision of splitting his skull open on the dusty ground, a puddle of blood mingling with the cracked mortar around his dying body. The enemy would not even be able to claim a victory.

Or, stretching his hands out and shattering both wrists. That was, if his right arm would even hold his weight without re-opening the heavy wound that throbbed.

In the split second, he barely formed a coherent thought, but saved himself both visions. Instead he bend both elbows and curled them inwards, rolling away from injury. As soon as he stopped rolling he stood, rushed for his cane sword, and rounded a corner. If the ninja was following him he could surprise him. He could finish him there, in front of the mighty, ancient building... fighting to the end as the dwarves had done.

[Komosatuo]

Tink.

Tink.

Skiiiff.

Tink.

Tink.

Skiiiff, T-CLONG!

"Hmmm."

The ninja hefted his new found pole and examined the edge that he had been dragging across the broken paving stones. He lifted an eyebrow at what he saw then cast his gaze down to the long metal tube that lay stretched across the width of the street he was standing in. It ran for a good twenty feet in either direction before disappearing around a bend on his left, and a collapsed and sunk wall on his right. Part of him itched to see where the left path led to, but he knew that was one itch he could ill afford to scratch. He still had an opponent on the loose in this warren of broken walls and crumbling buildings, one that could possibly kill or at least mortally wound him, if he did not succeed at that first. Besides, the ninja thought as he deftly stepped over the fallen pipe. Kiomata’Ly would be most displeased if I didn't succeed at that first. Leaving the pipe and the itch behind, the ninja turned a near by corner, unsure as to exactly where it was he was walking, and let his pipe resume its metallic tink, tink, skiiiff along the paving stones beneath him.

*~~~*

The street was just as run down and destroyed as every other street in the city. The buildings running the entire length on either side either on the verge of collapsing, or already doing or had done so, their remains strewn across the width of the street like stunted, jagged fingers. Piles of rubble marked where one massive building had collapsed sideways into another, smaller building. Wooden and metal beams sticking up from the carnage like the spikes on the back of porcupine, brandishing warning to all who draw too close that certain pain or even death awaits those who would disturb their precarious balance. Amidst the carnage and destruction though, a rare building stood unscathed, solitary beacons of life amongst so much death. These sights were a stark and grim reality for the ninja, as it slowly came to him, that whatever had happened in this city had been sick and horrible beyond all possible recognition. He himself was beginning to feel sick just thinking about it and he silently began wondering to himself how much more he could take.

Poking his head out from behind on of the remaining few standing buildings, the ninja cast his gray eyes across the seemingly empty street ahead of him. Seemingly empty, but not a half minute earlier, he had heard a clatter and muffled thud from this very spot. As though someone had tripped and fallen, throwing a wooden object out in front of them in order to save themselves from a painful landing. Someone like my elf friend, the ninja thought to himself as he squinted towards the street. The only question now is, where could the fool have gone too? No matter, he is probably not even here any longer. Probably took off running as soon as he regained his feet, fearful that I would be close on his trail. Smart, for a man of his caliber. It is long time I left this place, and continued my search elsewhere. Perhaps further up along this street.

The ninja cast his eyes across the surrounding street and piles of rubble that were once buildings, sighed, and stepped out from his hiding spot. He did not step out into the street however, to do such warrented suicide on his part, as there was the possibilty the elf had not left and was laying in ambush somewhere. Best to do what he had been trained to do, and not what he wanted to do. Shadows and corners, a ninja's best and only real friend.

Hefting his pole weapon, the ninja stalked forward as silent as a cat on carpet, ghosting from rubble pile to rubble pile. Pausing each time long enough to glance in all directions around him, searching for his target, as well as for an ambush by his target. The sick feeling in his gut churned and grew a mite larger and behind him, the sun loomed like a molten eye of yellow fire.

((Sorry about the wait. Life caught me off guard.))

[Dirge]

This opponent, this ninja was an enigma to the already distraught sorcerer. He was cloaked behind a miasma of curiosity and confusion. Vigo had had little time to muster an opinion, much less weaknesses and strength. He had defended himself and ran, taken not by his own will but by the will of the Ai’Bron and their ethereal visions of the past. He had taken into consideration nothing beyond his own survival as he had fled the monstrous demon. Faced with adversity, adversity that extended beyond just the physical or just the mental, the halfling had shown the true strength of will and had broken in mind, spirit… and body.

Vigo clutched at his right arm, placing as much pressure as he could stand on the grievous wound. His right hand, the strongest and most coordinate of the two, squeeze and loosed the blackened cane. Every bit of force he mustered brought a throbbing pulse to his shoulder. He knew, regretfully, that he was at his end without the arm. His cane would be of no use, the sword secreted within even less useful. For the first time in what could easily be considered his entire life introspective thought overtook him.

He slowly allowed the thoughts to consume him as he awaited the approach of his opponent. In the distance the skipping and scraping of metal on the broken floor stopped and he knew he had little time. Devastated, the sorcerer could do very little but peer around his makeshift hiding location and wonder what he was doing with himself. Was the citadel truly the place for him? Was war and fighting what he had been degraded to? Why was he allowing others to twist and control his life?

“Pathetic,” he spat in anger as the thoughts brought his rage to boil. Like a sullen caldron he stewed. Tinged with a rare moment of passion, the sorcerer was taken aback. He could not explain why or how he was suddenly forced to toil with personal feelings. He could not explain why his mental defenses, empowered solely by his usually unwaveringly powerful will, were so easily defeated by another. “Am I so pathetic? Am I so easily deceived and manipulated?”

Damned, the naïve sorcerer tossed down his cane. It clattered loudly as the steel head struck a pile of rubble and dropped to bounce off of the ground. His body had been wounded. His mind had been twisted and breached by cruel practices. His will, once thought indomitable, had been shattered like a precious mirror. What was left but to throw up a final attack? What was left but to draw his opponent to him and break him as the monks had already broken down the sorcerer?

“Come to me,” Vigo whispered as he shifted half his body to look around the corner. He purposely placed half of his body around the corner. If he was to lure the man to him he would have to allow his opponent to know where he was first and foremost. Then… he would respond in kind to the taint of both the citadel and his powerful opponent. He would loose the weapon that he held most dear, a weapon he held so close.

His hands began to change to a sickly greenish-yellow. His skin changed to the color of revolting puss. He would inflict damage on his opponent that would be hard to forget. He would force his opponent to accept his amazing power, force the man to accept him as a true opponent and a dangerous one at that.



((Apologies for the delay.))

[Komosatuo]

So, the ninja thought as he eased himself onto the top of a medium sized pile of rubble. It comes to this. You, the budding elven mage, caught between the shame of running from an opponent who's already drawn your blood and the shame of dying because you weren't ready for your first test. Me, the trained and disciplined Ninja, caught between the shame of actually being the one to have to kill you in your state of un-readiness and the shame of not having done so sooner.

The ninja eased himself further onto the pile, careful not to disrupt too much of the rubble, as it would announce his position to the whole of the city if it fell. His pole, tucked beneath is left arm, silently scraped against the piled bricks, mortar and stone but he had little fear of the elf man hearing that, as keen as the mans hearing had to have been. Finally settling himself into a place where he placed the least amount of his weight onto the pile as possible, the ninja scanned the area around him.

He thought he was in some sort of alley, the walls as close together as they were, the lack of paving stones beneath the strewn piles, and it looked out onto what once had been a vast and wide boulevard that stretched for miles in either direction. If the ninja hadn't known better, he would have said he was looking upon the main thoroughfare of the city but he did know better, as he had seen three other roads much like this one, and one larger, if that was at all possible. This city was vast beyond all reasoning and it was slowly becoming on the ninja to wonder exactly how it was so many people lived together without breaking apart and fighting each other.

Although, considering the state of this place, I'm fairly certain that was close to what happened. A fight on a massive scale, involving hundreds, if not thousands, tens of thousands, on each side. Each bent on the total destruction of the other, each fighting for their own sides survival. A nasty business wars, and one the ninja had no reason getting involved in. Too many of your friends died in wars it seemed, and too few of the enemy to fill the emptiness of their departure. The ninja had few friends though, so few gaps had to be filled, but they were still friends and gaps they would become, should they die.

Why do I think of such things? Wars? These are far off and not of the here and now. The here and now is this elf mage and finding his where abouts, if he is even still here. The ninja cast his eyes around the boulevard one last time and climbed down from the pile almost as carefully as he had climbed up. He then walked around the pile and moved up along the street, staying as close to the ruined walls of the buildings as possible so as to avoid notice while still keeping his bearings. No telling how easy it must be to get lost in the ruins of this place, and he didn't need to spent most of this day and perhaps the next just trying to find the elf man, or even his way out.

He hadn't gone maybe more than ten feet when some green with a yellowish tint appeared ahead of him, something that anywhere else he would have only paid half a mind too, but here, where something that color clashed with the browns, grays, reds and oranges of the ruined buildings, it drew his eyes to it like a hawk to the mouse. He froze dead in his tracks and heft his pole like a spear, ready to stab or move to block in a moments notice, cursing himself silently for being caught off his guard as he did so. Even without looking hard to see exactly what it was, the ninja knew who was attached to it and in a clear voice that could have been heard for blocks in the dead silence of that place, he called out to the elf.

"No sense in hiding. With that wound I have the advantage, especially in closed quarters when your advantage of surprise has diminished. What say you to coming out from that place and facing me straight." He chuckled suddenly. "You need not fear I throw anything at you, that time has passed and now we have come upon the stage where you and I really fight, instead of testing each others skills with a few well placed attacks."

Spinning the pole in his hand so that it made a dull grey-brown blur in front of him, the ninja laughed loudly and then slammed one end of the pole into the paving stones with a loud metallic crash. "Come out elf," he called again towards the green and yellow. "I promise you it will be fun."

He laughed again, tilting his head back, taunting the elf. If he was going to win this fight, he was sure he was, then he wanted to do with a little finesse, while having a little fun while he was at it. Battles being as bloody as they were, or so he had heard, he felt it a good sign that he have a little fun while he went about this ancient and bloody business.

[Dirge]

Unfortunately the tactics of the halfling sorcerer were not proving to be as useful as he thought they should have been. He had affectively given away his position, affectively been seen by his opponent, but the man had not reacted even near how Vigo had assumed he would. He had stood his ground and called out in a sturdy tone. The fight was not going anything how he had thought it… especially regarding the use of his necromantic touch.

“Bloody fuckin’ piece of shit,” he screamed in his mind. The man was becoming more troublesome and tiring than it was worth. Desolation was not the only emotion that was springing from his chest; its distant cousin rage was budding up too. The halfling took little time to remain hidden. The damned rogue was quick, able, and definitely not to be underestimated. He wielded tactics better than Vigo had seen anyone wield a physical weapon. What was worse, tactics was not a weapon that could be so easily countered.

His opponent had promised not to throw anything further, but that was not what had drawn him out. Vigo didn’t trusted an opponent, or anyone for that matter. He would sooner fall victim to trying to pet a rabid dog than to mind games being played by an opponent. This man was no different. “You think you’re so fuckin’ grand, so fuckin’ perfect… you have yet to see the power of my will…” Vigo’s emotional control was slipping, to say the least, and his mind was flailing this way and that with the useless curses of society.

“Fine,” Vigo responded, his tone dejected and his face drawn. The battle was at an end, he could feel it slipping from him. Or perhaps that was something different? Perhaps they were touching him again… warping his sense of reality? Oh, the devious monks, they were sending his mind once again to the scene of battle… “Damned it all!”

~*~

It was too late; the world had shifted to a state of warfare. The stench of death and decay flared in his nose. The clash of sword, shield, and claws echoed all around him. The metallic taste of blood flooded the air like a thick fog. To either side of him the ancient dwarves were holding their own, perhaps for the first time since the battles start. Demons were finally falling, but not near the numbers as the already defeated dwarven warriors.

Deep jade eyes of the sorcerer turned from the mayhem and back to his opponent. This time, oddly, there was no master demon to contend with. The Ai’Bron had given him the opportunity to see the ninja attack him. He looked out of place, but Vigo doubted he could see or understand what was happening all around him.

“So, you make me return to the disgusting aberration for my own defeat too?” The sorcerer was fuming again, his bottom lip tucked into his mouth and was bit on rather firmly. The pale lip bloomed with blood. “You think this funny? You think this amusing? Damned monks, I will—“

A gentle little squeak caught his attention. Of course, why had he not thought of it before. So glorious a battle, so many dead littering the streets, it would be a feast for the carrion eating host. Among those, most especially, the rats.

A dark and sickly smile whispered its way across his face. His eyes narrowed and slowly he released his conscious as widely as he could around him. He focused, pulled, touched the minds of each little friend he could muster. Would they pass with him from the twisted reality of the forced dream to the battle? Would they follow him as he focused, or simply disappear?

Vigo could only hope they would force their harsh little bodies through the dream and break it with him… he had found a way to turn the tide.

~*~

Blinking with hands raising, Vigo looked around. The switch back to reality had been so sudden he had hardly felt or noticed it. His concentration was still focused, still touching the now hive mind of the swarm he was summoning. Friends, comrades, the rats that were coming to him were the easiest of all animals to control.

The first devilish set of eyes, burning and glowing crimson with a pair of beady black pearls at the center, peeped over a loose pile of rubble. The end of the little rat’s nose wiggled as it turned its head side to side. It barred its teeth, splattered with the blood from the dream realm. Behind it the calls of hundreds more rats began to pierce through the silence of the arena.

Vigo dropped to a knee and slammed both hands into the ground. No amazing force was summoned, no supreme gust of wind to attack his opponent. No, instead the hive mind was established. The sharp features of the halfling with his squinted eyes looked more and more like a rat as he began to pull each little rodent to him. They all sniffed the air. Each was covered in a thin and odd splattering of blood from the carnage of the other world. It would do well as an intimidating sight.

“I am not without my own… weapons,” Vigo said as he let his jade eyes look into those of his opponent. He waited till the majority of the rats were peeking from behind the nearest corners, through broken walls, and from atop high walls. Each would do his job just perfectly, already in a bloodlust like state. “Be prepared.”

“KILL HIM! The sorcerer sent through the telepathic link. A large wave of every hue of brown and crimson began to descend on the ninja. He could be fast, but the rat swarm was everywhere. Each one animated at the same time, each one sent back a message of recognition to the wounded half-elf. Vigo watched with a cruel smile and prepared to attack.

[Komosatuo]

What is he doing?

So far, from what the ninja could see, it amounted to a whole lot of standing still, staring blankly into space and mumbling to himself. Which, in any other man, wouldn't have caused concern in the ninja, but because this man was of the spell cast, it was more than enough to cause concern. The ninja assumed at once the stance Mountain Brook Flows Over River Stones.

It was a loose stance, liquid almost, and allowed the ninja to move in any direction, expected or unexpected, with about as much ease as it took another less capable man to take a single step forward. It was a quick movement stance, one that allowed the ninja to compensate for any unpredicted surprises - one the ninja was expecting to see at any moment from this spell cast. Only time will tell, but as with all things, time will be short.

Indeed, time was short, as was revealed when the elf moved, suddenly and in an unexpected direction. Down, straight down to one knee, both hands pressed to the ground as though he was trying to keep himself from falling forward; or else seeking the conducting unit of the earth as assistance from some greater cast. The man said something else, but a wind rose up and snatched the words from the ninjas ear, and then he squinted. He did not know why, the ninja having no past experience with spell cast, but suddenly the man took on the persona of a large rat. With its whiskers twitching violently, its eyes squinted and blood red, its ears laid and its tail bristled. The ninja did not know why he was suddenly afraid, but he was, and very much so.

His stance faltered, taking on the look of what some would consider Deer Caught In Briar Bush - a stunned stance, that offered little in the way of quick movement and left his entire left side open, and his eyes widened in horror. The elf spoke a second time and the wind faltered, then died and his words came to his ears, "Be prepared."

Be prepared? Prepared for -

Thoughts, so rapid and full of life, died in his mind and left him lost and confused. Moisture, abundant in his mouth and throat, escaped him and left him feeling frail and brittle. Energy, abundant in a way only a ninja could know, fled him, leaving him weak and sickly. Life itself it seemed, left him and all that remained was a hollow husk, ready to break and fly away in the next gust of wind. He was horror struck, his eyes locked on the cruel smile spread on the elf's lips as hundreds, no thousands of large brown and blood red covered rats surged forth from every crack and crevice, from every direction, straight towards him. He was surrounded, completely and unconditionally, and he knew that if he didn't act fast, he was going to die by way of a few hundred thousand bites, bleeding slowly, or quickly if they bit the right place, to death while the pain of being bitten never left him and the press of the rats bodies never eased.

In any normal human brain, the first thing to do when surrounded is to panic. Terror gripped action that easily lead to mistakes, wrong judgment and more often than not, death. The second thing to do, if having survived death or serious injury, is to fight, and fight hard, until death or ultimate exhaustion. In a trained ninjas mind however, the first thing to do is remain calm, stop, and think of the situation. Recall previous knowledge of the place you are surrounded, note land marks, the position of your enemies and then hammer out a solution to rid yourself of your predicament, and a few of your enemies while you were at it. The second thing to do would be to actually do that plan, taking it one step at a time, relying on human instinct and years of hard training and ingrained knowledge to help you survive. The third thing to do, should the first two fail, would be to form a new plan, should there be time to form a new one, and change over all your resources from the previous plan, to completing this second, more hastily constructed plan. Should this ultimately fail and you still find yourself cornered, or in such a way that escape and ultimate death number in the one to one thousandth degree, the forth and final step would be to fight. Fight until your last breath, or until the last breath of your enemies; to the death, in other words.

When the ninja had first entered this fight, he had never in his entire plane of existence, considered that he would be reduced to these four steps toward ultimate survival, or ultimate death. Sure he had trained and trained and trained for it, but training and knowing what to do and facing it and knowing what you had to do, were two different things. Instinct and ninja training clashed, and for half a second - the longest half second of his life, he stood, dumb struck, dazed and unable to move. Training won and his mind, revitalized by years of training and a tiny voice, that sounded a lot like his teacher, screaming in the back of his head to move, sprang into action and raced forward faster than an electrical current through a hollow tube plated with thin metal sheets.

Drawing on his store of personal Lykn, the ninja set his mind on his target and cast his eyes quickly around him for an escape/attack route. The street was paved wide and long, and he was standing directly in the center, possibly by happenstance but in the end, better for him. To his left was the ruined husk of a large warehouse, wooden beams, some as thick as he was tall, sticking up from a pile in its center like broken ribs in a badly mangled body. To his right, the massive pile of rubble that might have been a great lords palace, huge boulders of marble and gold and iron fused together by the immense weight of themselves pushing against each other. Behind him, the long and empty stretch of paved road, broken and ruined by whatever had struck this place so long ago, and certain death should he walk, or run it again. In front of him, his target and ultimate goal; the accursed elven spell cast who had beset these foul rats upon him.

His mind raced and the rats closed in a little more, he could almost see the blood beads on the backs of one of the closest rats.

His options were laid down before him into three simple tasks. One, he could turn and run into the ware house and possible lose the rats by out running them. But this lead to the thought of exactly how many there were, and whether or not they had all gathered here. There was no use in running himself out if only to avoid this one pack, only to run into a second, larger pack, one, two or even three blocks away from this one. He could only run for so long, and for so far. One was scratched from his list.

Second, he could charge the fool elf, bring the fight straight to him, and kill him there. But this lead to the fact that he would have to charge through the ever thickening line of advancing rats, with the possibility of loosing his footing and falling straight into the trap the elf had set. The could only lead to him not rising again, and dying in much the same manner as he would had he just stood still. He scratched the second one of his mental list.

Which left him only one choice; break for the massive pile of rubble to his right and attempt to back track and flank the elf, as his concentration was probably on that of his spell, and not on the whereabouts of his opponent. But, if he could control rats, this must also mean that he must be able to see what they see, right? There is no time! If I die here, I will never know the end of Kiomata'Ly's strict training!

Time slipped forward and so did the horde of rats; if the ninja was going to move, he was going to have to do it now.

"Aynosa tcho ka ni mya inya!"* The ninja screamed at the elf as he twisted his body to his right and sped toward the massive pile of rubble. The rats in front of him, perhaps gripped by some primal terror, or because they were being controlled by some other worldly craft, did not panic and scatter as normal rats would. Instead they seemed to scream, their squeaks and grunts increasing ten fold when they saw that the ninja was running towards them, and surged forward at an even faster pace. The ninjas foot came down hard atop the first rat and it exploded in a spray of red blood, white bone and pink brain matter, and the other rats surged up as they leapt towards the ninjas flesh. He pushed off with his downed foot and vaulted himself into the air, the massive pile of one rushing rat bodies following him up for a moment before crashing back down with a heavy sigh and chorus of squeaks. He landed some twelve feet from his starting place with a bone crushing crunch as he took out another two rats with one foot, and again leapt into the air, this time sailing for half the distance but instead of landing on a rat, he landed on a large pile of rubble.

He grunted as he landed, hands clawing for some crevice to grip, some foot hold to gain, and there was a moments pause as he sought out these holds, and the rat tide shifted to follow him. Screaming for the sake of screaming to motivate himself, the ninja found his foot holds and hauled himself to the top of the boulder, just as the first rats surged up to almost where his feet were. He scrambled up the boulder and didn't waste any time seeking his next target boulder before leaping down onto the nearest one and scrambling up it. He had to get away, training and personal will was all that was keeping his fear in check now and if he didn't find an escape and kill that fool elf soon, he was sure it would take hold of him and ultimately kill him.

He topped the next boulder and leapt to another, plowing ever forward, leaping from boulder to boulder, trying to think of a way to out run and out maneuver the ever advancing mass of rat bodies, surging after behind him. The sun had changed colors behind him, instead of one massive yellow eye, it had taken on a hue of red and it sank a little closer to the horizon, a sign that dusk was rapidly approaching and the accompanying darkness that the ninja so loved.

A part of this ninja however, was beginning to feel a fear of the darkness, as darkness hid rats just as well as it did him, and rats were one enemy you did not want to meet, in the dark.

((OOC :: *”I will see you dead before the sun sets this day!”))

[Dirge]

Swarms worked in a wicked way. The more the animal the harder to control, but at the same time the more devious the threat. With as many rats as had come, a number that surprised even the halfling, it would be impossible to dictate orders and counter-orders after the first had been given. Unfortunately, for both warriors, the rats only order was an unspecific "kill him" without any further commands.

Vigo's twisted smile warped as soon as the first grimy little rodent decided to nibble at the hem of his long coat. He felt it jerk, as a few more joined the first, and instantly knew something was wrong. He had lost control, lost concentration. With his other spell activated, his opponent fleeing, and his wound throbbing the hive mind had fled from his own. Reacting probably unwisely, the sorcerer booted the small rats aside.

It was an action that he would never forget.

As soon as the small, squealing rats took flight others turned. Instead of seeing the one who had pulled them from the illusionary dream world, instead of seeing their master they saw an enemy. A piece of the horde turned towards the halfling with their beady eyes. "Fuck," Vigo spat as he shifted away from the nearest group. Behind him, somewhere, the other was scratching his way to freedom. The incessant cries of the rodents were following him, echoing from the dilapidated buildings.

"If it turns night we're both dead." The thoughts that followed were far from comforting. With a hue of red and orange painted across the broken field of battle, Vigo flung himself into a rage. Things were not going the way they had played out in his mind. He had seen an orgy of carnage and blood, a matted and pitiful dead for the quicker warrior. The battle had changed face though, and the spell he had not yet perfected was turning on him with all the ferocity that it should have had focused on the other. "This needs to end!"

Vigo booted a rat that grew too close. The rodent took flight and landed, dead. They were easy to kill, unfortunately and yet fortunately as well. He could crush them underfoot, if they did not latch onto his loose coat. If he could push through enough, he could get to the ninja. He could finish this one way or another. Vigo's mind was made up, and before he let another bloody rodent close he charged.

His hands were glowing their sickly gleam. As he passed he lashed out, striking down any rodent that took the opportunity to leap up. The smell of the boils and singed fur turned the sprinting sorcerer's stomach on end. But it was not all for naught.

As soon as he had bashed his way through the first wave of deranged rodents Vigo was offered a small opening. He took the opportunity to take refuge. He jumped with all the strength in his legs, pushing his burning muscles. His chest was heaving heavily as he landed. Running was not something that he did so often, especially as a sorcerer who relied almost solely on his ability to cast magic.

The small plateau was little in the way of safety. The flat surface at the top of a pile of rubble offered high ground against the waves of rats, but little else. From his new vantage point Vigo could see his opponent moving. The man was too lithe, too fast. He wished he had some form of spell that could have held him in place. The half-elf was fuming.

"Fucking hell," the sorcerer thought as he kicked at a scrambling rodent as it tried to mount his island. The man had dodged his feeble attempt to trap him, escaped the rodent swarm almost as quickly as it had been summoned. It was time to step up the intensity and drown out the looming doubt and unfettered rage within.

Vigo grabbed the next small rat that peeked his beady eyes over the corner. It squealed in pain while the sorcerer's hands tore at its soft fur. Before it could die from the pain or boils the halfling threw the small beast. It roared through the air, landing atop the pile that was scrabbling after the ninja. Before he could let the lithe man counter, Vigo threw more and more of the little rats. Soon their writhing anger would infuriate the other rats, as well as push the crimson matted beasts to pure rage.

Hopefully that would be enough.

[Komosatuo]

Despite his training, despite his constant state of mental calm and awareness; panic was beginning to grow in the ninjas breast. There just seemed no escape! Everywhere he turned there were rats. Hundreds here. Dozens there. Thousands over there. They, were, everywhere!

He scrambled up another massive boulder and leapt from the crest even before he had time to look and see if there was even a ground beneath his feet. He sailed through the air, his various loose articles of clothing flapping like forlorn flags in a strong wind, his arms outstretched above and in front of him, his legs straight and spread apart like a massive V. With a might 'Humph!' and sudden, but completely expected, loss of breath, the ninja landed hard against the face of a seemingly independently standing piece of wall. Wall is it might have been once, it certainly wasn't now. Tilted at what seemed a forty to fifty-five degree angle from the ground, the wall rose up some six feet above him before ending in a jagged slope of mortar and plaster and brick. He didn't waste any time in seeing where he was, or even if the wall was stable, before scrambling up the slippery slope as fast as his steadily tiring limbs would carry him.

When he finally reached the peak of the tipped wall he glanced over the top of the wall and squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. Below him, some fifteen or twenty feet, was the milling mass of what had to have been some ten thousand rats. "Ona ko syna!*" The ninjas scream echoed in the ruins of the city and his fist slammed noiselessly against the hard face of the wall. His words took upon themselves a wordless howl as he beat his fist against the unyielding surface and after a few seconds he finally stopped and relaxed against the wall.

It was no use. If he went forward, he was surely dead. If he went back, he was dead. If he stayed put; well, right now he wasn't, but soon enough he'd be dead. The ninja groaned and rolled over onto his back. It was just no use, he was a dead man. What had certainly been an easy victory for him, had suddenly turned into a humiliating defeat by the hands of a few thousand brainless rodents, conjured or called upon by a rookie spell cast who's only real motivation was anger at being the first to be cut.

"Aaaaaayana!**" The ninja scream and pounded his fist against the wall a second time, but only once. Something scratched at the wall beneath him and he lifted his head to see what it was. Probably a few hundred fucking rats. Instead he found something that positively left him stunned.

Laying in a heap some four feet below him was the mangled and steaming corpse of a rat. It's head, having been the first thing to hit the wall, was a delicate fan of brain matter, white bone and blood. The ninja lifted an eyebrow at this and sat up, reaching for the rat when suddenly, out of nowhere, another crashed into the wall with a sick thud. He recoiled from the second rat, this one too was steaming and it smelled strongly of decay, and looked up. Just in time to scoot hastily to the left to avoid a third rat, this one having been flying straight for his face.

"What the. . .?" A movement far to his right caught his eye and he glanced over just in time to see the spell cast, standing on a wide plateau of building rubble, lean back and hurl a dark shape as high and as hard as he could. The ninja watched the dark shape slowly reach up and up and up, and then slowly fall, progressively gaining speed until it landed with a fleshy thump in front of him. It was a rat. Suddenly panic fled from his ming and the ninja found that he was laughing. He couldn't help it, it was just all to ironic. He was laughing so hard that soon his stomach began to hurt and he had to clutch at his sides and bend over else he fall from his perch.

"Uni ka ni sana ta no! Aaaaah!**" Realizing that he was pointing towards the spell cast the ninja doubled himself over again, laughing and drumming his heels on the wall. After a few seconds, and about five more rats, one landing close enough to him that he had to push it away with his foot, the ninja stopped laughing and settled for chuckling and rubbing his nose through his scarf. He gave the still rat throwing spell cast a few more glances, still chuckling and mumbling to himself in his native tongue, before he stood and dusted himself. He then began looking for a way to reach the spell cast, without having to wade through a sea of killer rats.

He found it, in the shape of a thirty by two foot wooden beam that was laying just perfectly so as to let one man cross it to reach another plateau some ten feet from where the spell cast was standing. Getting onto it, all the while still dodging flying rats that smelled of rot, and trying to keep his balance on the tipped wall, took only a few minutes and when he was finally situated, he slowly began walking across it toward where the spell cast was standing.

This should be interesting.

((OOC ::

* “I can’t believe this!”
** Just a scream.
*** “You look like an idiot!” ))

[Dirge]

Throwing the little rodents had done little for the sorcerer but cause his opponent to laugh at his feble attempt to dislodge him. Instead of landing on the other rats and infuriating them, they had gone too far and crashed into the wall. Their screams of pain and furry were quickly broken as they struck the wall, their small bodies painting the monotone wall with a hue of crimson.

What came of it was something far unexpected. Due to the constant miscalculations of his personal strength, Vigo had brought about an undue amount of laughter from the ninja. It was sickening, annoying. The lithe man’s guffaw sent the sorcerer from a state of anger to one of annoyance. He was playing with him, attempting to make him slip up, and Vigo always kept himself in check.

From a razors edge of sanity to a state of calm, the sorcerer rose and simply kicked the next little bugger that poked its beady eyes over the plateau. He was tired of playing games, tired of being toyed with. His arm was throbbing with pain. Dried blood had caused the thick layer of blood to attach his layered clothing to his arm. It was itchy, annoying, but mostly pushed to the back of his mind.

“Finally done with hiding?” The sorcerer taunted through gritted teeth. He watched as the man balanced across the beam and approached him. Instead of charging forward, and relying on only an inkling of elven grace, Vigo stepped back and gave enough room for the man to close. “About time your cowardice was overcome by at least a speck of true gumption.”

Vigo felt little remorse at calling out the man’s obviously cowardly notion of combat. He was the exact opposite of the sorcerer. Instead of attacking he waited. Instead of fighting he watched. But what bothered the halfling most was that instead of charging he watched from afar and played situations over in his little human mind. “Pathetic,” the half-elf spat as he waited for the final confrontation.

The plateau that his opponent was aiming for was shielded from the rodents. The horde would be hard-pressed to climb the precarious slope, across the crumbling slabs, and past the bent and twisted iron bars. If only the sorcerer had been so lucky as to find a small isle like that. He kicked another rodent as he watched and waited.

((Shitty, but after 63 hours of work in a single week you can’t blame me.))

[Komosatuo]

"Pathetic?" The ninja asked coldly as he stepped down off the beam onto a plateau just adjacent his elven opponent. "When a man is presented with one million to one odds, you expect them to stand firm and just die!?" The ninja began laughing again. Short, quick and loud this time. "You sir, are pathetic. It was you who ran first, or have you just simply forgotten that simple fact? Euh?" The ninja began to laugh again, but this time cut it short after only a few seconds. The ninja then stared at him with cold gray eyes over his scarf and flexed his hands.

"You are right about one thing however," the ninja said in a tone that matched his eyes for iciness. "It is a long time gone that I finish this confrontation. Your blood will make an excellent primer on this slab or mortar and concrete."

The distance between the two slabs was approximately eight feet or so; the ninja would have no difficulty clearing that obstacle. After that there was at least ten or so feet of open ground between the edge and the cocky elf. Plenty. The ninja smirked and chuckled.

"You ready?"

He didn't wait for an answer. With quick, practiced motions, the ninja pulled four five pointed throwing stars from pockets at his hips and in one smooth, continuous motion of drawing then reaching forward quickly, he threw them toward the waiting elf. Then he was sprinting hard behind the still air born stars, his sword sliding free of its sheath with a soft metallic whine as he ran. He reached the edge of his own slab and leapt into the air, letting his momentum and weight carry him across the gap between slabs. He landed with a soft click as his feet hit the slab and ran all of three steps before planting his left foot to his front and forcing himself to slide along the sand and dust covered surface of the slab. He closed the distance between the two of them in the space of four seconds, his stars would have hit within the first two, and now he followed through with an downward slashing cut that should take the elf from right shoulder to left hip. He finally stopped sliding not two feet from the elf.

"Still feel ready?"

[Dirge]

Laughter, again with the laughter. It was unbearable. Vigo was quickly flashing again into anger, quickly losing his façade of calm. Collected thoughts became blurry images. Straightforward plans of attacking and defending were muddled and torn asunder by the miasma of rage. His opponent was goading him, as he had tired. His opponent was weak though. He was nothing more than a mere human garbed in robes, wielding weapons of distance for fear of being struck.

“Get it together, damn it!” The sorcerer screamed to himself, but even thoughts were quickly consumed and lost. Previously mute ramblings of insanity began to dribble their nonsensical idea’s into his mind. He was at a loss. He was going to lose. Neither were taken lightly by the man. “Now he comes!”

Unfortunately for the halfling, the man once again threw more ranged weapons. These were not near as thick or heavy as the first two blades, but were no less dangerous. Screaming in a bloody rage, Vigo lifted both arms to shield his face and neck. Three of the five shuriken dug in deeply. One in his left forearm, the other two piercing either side of his ribcage… time was growing even shorter as his life slowly began to fade.

Willingness to battle was almost forgotten by the time the man made the leap and shuffled onto the sorcerer’s platform. He had no more defenses, and no time to even consider attacking. Instead he took the man’s blow. The sword stretched through the air, aiming high. It struck hard, slicing easily through his coat and into his shoulder. The steel bit through his flesh and rapped against his shoulder bone. At the same time it caught an artery and forced a jet of crimson away from him.

It was only a split-second later till the sorcerer’s mind collapsed and his body gave in. When the lights faded and his rage subdued it was not him that was the victor. No amount of thought could have saved him from the calculating killer. No hope of salvation was coming. The halfling had lost, had been defeated, but had learned nothing. But it was not the blades and steel tools of his crafty opponent that left lingering marks on him. Those wounds would be healed by the monks of the Ai’bron. Physical scars would not be left…

The razor edge of insanity had hurt the most.

[Komosatuo]

There was a sudden silence in the city and the ninjas eyes opened in surprise.

It's over, the ninja thought. No more hiding. No more games...

The city around him shimmered, faded and then shrank into what appeared to be a tiny six by eight gray walled cell. The ninja blinked slowly at this. There was a distant click, followed by a distant bang and then a large door swung in to the room. The ninja turned his head to see what it was. Three monks stepped into the room, glanced at the ninja staring at them, looking him over for any obvious wounds. The ninja waved at them slowly with his left hand and pointed to the elf at his feet with his sword. They nodded their heads and then made shooing motions to get him out of the cell.

He didn't leave right away though, he had to clean his blade and gather his thrown stars. A young monk was kind enough to offer a cloth and the ninja took it with a mumbled "Thanks." Even that sounded distant. Quiet. As if spoken from a mile away, in only a whisper. It was all very strange. He finished cleaning his blade and looked up at the monk.

The monk then told him to keep the cloth but the ninja barely heard and made to give it back. The monk then took a hold of his hands and pushed them and the cloth to his chest. "Keep it," the monk mouthed. At least, that was what the ninja thought he did. He couldn't hear.

It was if he had suddenly gone deaf. Or at least, partially deaf. His head was beginning to throb and the room was starting to spin.

He looked down at that cloth. It was an undesirable thing, marred with at least six holes and stained in more than a dozen places, but the ninja thanked him and slowly wrapped it around his arm. The cloth could be used when he made camp with the others. Other uses could be found as well.

The room began to spin faster.

He turn and stumbled through the door and out into the hall, collapsing in a heap against the far wall. The silence was steadily becoming a distant drumming in his ears, and his head was beginning to pound harder. The world began spinning faster and faster. Faster, faster. Something cramped his chest. He groaned, his hands squeezing his sides. His body heaved, his vision blacked and something exploded from his throat and mouth. He fainted to the stench of vomit.

*~~~*

"It's perfectly normal," someone said near to the ninja. "It's a rarity around here, but it does happen. Most monks here think its from the sudden change of environments, possibly the extreme amounts of magic being used around them. No one can really say. It's harmless however, just a little sick up. He'll be weak for a few hours and will probably sleep heavily for the next few days. But he'll be right as rain once it passes." That voice, he'd heard it somewhere before. But where?

He tried to lift his head, tried to say something, but found that he could do nothing. He was just too tired. His breathing slowed and just before he fell back to sleep he felt two sets of hands grab him by the shoulders and lift him into the air.

Sleep came then and he dreamt of killing rats and hunting down elves in run down cities.

[Witchblade]

Dirge

Story

Continuity: - 8 Battles don’t usually deal too much with continuity, the character is there to fight and that’s about it. But right from your opening post you showed that there was a reason for him to be there. A bit of a back-story that made the reader interested enough to actually want to keep reading. It is a bit of the usual though, but The Citadel is a place to train and allow our characters to grow, so no one can fault you for that.

Setting: - 5 Your setting is very lacking. I noticed it right from your first post, which clashes violently against Komosatuo’s vividly described battle setting. Your setting did pick up at the battle continued and there were times when it was nicely done, but there were also times where you couldn’t seem to be bothered. As the first person to post in the battle it is usually your job to set everything up, not give a vague description of what it is and let the next person hammer out all the small stuff. You need to paint the canvas and interact with the setting, not just forget about it and not bother to ‘give too much thought to the pointless.’ That’s going to be mentioned more in your persona.

Pacing: - 6 The pacing was interesting. The battle kept being broken up by these hallucinations of a time long since forgotten and a battle long since lost. They were interesting and they added a layer of tension that the thread may have lacked without it. I’ve never seen someone throw something like that into a Citadel battle before and I wish to see something as unique again. You played it out well, kept the tension high and the moments in which you flickered in and out played well into the actions going on. One of the problems being you stopped for a little while and then suddenly picked it up again when the reader thought it was over.

As a battle I would have expected more fighting to actually occur than what did, but each battle is very different depending on the characters. This would have been something you could have played with and somehow been drawn into more. I mean, what if Komosatuo were drawn into this fickle reality as well? Could your characters have fought together against illusionary demons? The running away in these moments did disrupt the flow. This one is something hard to gauge as I enjoyed the hallucination but at the same time it took something away from the fight.

Character

Dialogue: - 7 The dialogue was all right. During the fight a lot of it was just that macho crap that people say back and forth to one another to make them look good and the other person stupid or weak. The usual stuff really.

Action: - 6 Action was strange. I never really pictured Vigo as the type of character to turn tail and run from battle, even unmatched by someone more physically capable. I guess you could argue that it was the hallucination instilling some kind of fear into him and making him do that. I found his actions at the end of the thread more true to who he really was.

Persona: - 5 As mentioned in action, Vigo’s actions throughout the quest did not do his character justice. In the hallucinatory world he slipped into something that didn’t seem ‘character’ to me. Almost like you were taking him out of character to do this nifty little idea of yours. Vigo always seems like such a badass character in control of himself, I never pictured him as losing his emotions so easily. The slightest offence sets him off and he can’t complete his spells, which brings another tense layer to the battle but after a while of him not being in control, the reader gets a little bored of it.

Writing Style

Mechanics: - 7 The usual stuff really. Spelling mistakes from time to time, grammatical mistakes, missing words and the occasional run-on sentence. Over all the flow of your posts are good from one to another and from paragraph to paragraph.

Technique: - 5 Your over all technique is good but I didn’t really notice the use of any special techniques that would have made your writing great.

Clarity: - 9 Clear and precise. There was never a single moment where I had to stop and go back over something again.

Wild Card: - 8 This was a good battle to read and by your luck this is the first battle I’ve ever judged. I really enjoyed the extra element you threw in there that made this more than just a normal battle but I wish you would have done something more with it.

Total: 66



Komosatuo

Story

Continuity: - 7 You really threw on the back-story for your character being in The Citadel. So much so that I just want you to hurry up and get on with the battle. Giving the reader a reason behind why your character is in a Citadel battle is never really a necessity but it is nice. Sometimes though, you can just give too much of an explanation and leave nothing to the mystery of the reader’s mind. Keep it simple and give them a little bit at a time or just a little at the beginning making them think and wonder on circumstances.

On an aesthetic side, I find that throwing things in quotes right in the middle of a post is jarring to the reader and disrupts the flow, especially if it’s just a flashback of something. Italics works best, but you could always try something else.

Setting: - 9 Your setting was great. Vivid and alive and not only that but you interacted with it. As a ninja character it is vital that you interact with your settings and not just describe them but use them to your advantage. You did a great job of this and I am very pleased with your skills here. Enough said.

Pacing: - 7 Komo thinks a lot before acting on said thoughts. A good example of this is when he’s contemplating what he should do as a swam of thousands of rats begin to descend upon him. Now really, there’s about thirty seconds of thought going on in that post in what you consider a span of like three seconds. I know your ninja is trained to assess the situation quickly but six paragraphs of thought cannot simple fly by in the span of like three seconds. The human brain does not work like that. If you’re trying to convey his strategic and quick thinking mind do it another way without so much inner thought going on. Have him quickly look around and then make his choice or something.

Besides that, the flow and pacing of your posts was fine. There was a bit of a slow down when Komosatuo was chasing Vigo through the streets. It was a series of three or so posts between you guys where nothing really happened and the tension and excitement of the battle really kind of died. With all the talk of ambushes and such I kind of expected there to be one, but nothing ever happened. You shouldn’t psyche the reader up like that only to throw them down.

Character

Dialogue: - 7 The conversation from Komosatuo’s NPC who’s name I’m not even going to write and write out was strange. It felt kind of forced and even a little dry. But your characters own dialogue was well done and suited him nicely. I enjoy it when people throw things in the native tongue of their characters in, sometimes its even interesting if there isn’t a translation given. I suggest working on the dialogue of your NPC’s, after all their characters too and they need to develop like them.

Action: - 8 Well, what can I say? You’re a ninja and you kill shit. Though usually you don’t have to chase it down in order to do it first. Actions stayed true to the character as far as I could tell.

Persona: - 7 Komo didn’t really come out all that well in this battle. I don’t think he got too much of a chance to. You’re constantly having him think and reflect on things and his true personality tends to get buried in all of that. ‘Well, my training and my mentor dictate this and I think I should do that.’ He’s a very calculating individual in a way, but he needs to show off a few more emotions besides the occasional outburst that comes from nowhere.

Writing Style

Mechanics: - 4 You’re very wordy and have a tendency to use the same words or phrases over and over again.


If he was going to win this fight, he was sure he was, then he wanted to do a little finesse, while having a little fun while he was at it.

Not only is that a horribly constructed run on sentence, but you used the word ‘while’ in there twice and ‘was’ four times. Was tends to disappear in the readers mind only because of the type of word it is, but while is something noticeable. And you do this quite a bit. Not always in the same sentence but in one paragraph you will use the same word over and over again. The reader will notice this so easily and become annoyed with the writing and every time after the second use of the word is just irritating.

Now, the run-on sentences. You have quite a few of those littered throughout your writing, some of which are just horribly noticeable.


The buildings running the entire length on either side either on the verge of collapsing, or already doing or had done so, their remains strewn across the width of the street like stunted, jagged fingers.

He was surrounded, completely and unconditionally, and he knew that if he didn’t act fast, he was going to die by way of a few hundred thousand bites, bleeding slowly or quickly if they bit the right place, to death while the pain of being bitten never left him and the press of the rats bodies never eased.

Those are some major run-on sentences. You could easily break them up into three or even four separate ones that will keep the tension high and exactly what you’re trying to say intact. When trying to make something more intense shorter sentences work very effectively. Not cramming a lot of stuff into a single sentence. Remember that there needs to be pause of breath between sentences. If you have a hard time with it, try reading those two sentences out loud and you’ll see just how long they really are.

Other than those comments, you of course had the usual stuff like spelling and grammatical mistakes. Re-reading posts is crucial. Do so before you post it and I even like to go back and re-read my last post before I write my next one, then I’ll notice mistakes I didn’t before.

Techniques: - 4 You need to refine your own personal writing technique. You say a lot about very little at times and that can be annoying to the reader, especially in a battle situation where things need to move along quickly. You don’t have to make super long posts, sometimes it’s better to make short posts because there just isn’t anything else that needs to be said. Filling up space with useless information doesn’t help your score.

Clarity: - 6 There were a few times when I was slowed during your writing, mostly because of the crazy run-on sentences. I do remember having to re-read a few things and I believe if you work on your mechanics you can quickly get rid of that.

Wild Card: - 7 Well, this was a good battle and I enjoyed reading it. Work on some of your writing style and I can definitely see you improving.

Total: 66

Ladies we have a tie!!!

Komosatuo receives 800 experience and 100 GP!
Dirge receives 800 experience and 100 GP!

[Cyrus the virus]

EXP added!

Komo levels up!