Mage Hunter vs. Fenris

[Ther]

This match-up will last until 8 P.M. E.S.T. on 2/16/07. Remember, if you finish your battle early, I can score you early - and finishing early is a good, good thing.

Best of luck!

[Fenris]

The moonlight cast a silver-blue sheen on Fihrinn’s pelt as he stood before the great entrance to the Citadel. He stared down at his palm, cradling the blade of one of his knives. It gleamed beneath the moon.

Most patrons had left the arena by now, retiring to their homes. There were enough, though. Enough to fight till morning, till evening, for however long it took.

A thousand deaths, Ainnir. Maybe in a thousand deaths can I atone for costing you yours.

An icy breeze brushed roughly through his fur in a sudden gust down the cobblestone path, making the nearby trees chatter. He could see their reflections in the blade. Rows of dark, skeletal jurors, lining the street. They knew his crime. They knew his guilt. And they chattered in anger, because they knew he deserved to die.

His heart felt like it might burst again. He glanced up at the branches, his eyes shimmering like the stars above him.

I know. I know I do.

He closed his palm around the knife, clenching so tightly he almost drew blood. Then, he dropped the knife to his hip, and step by step, he entered the Citadel.

One of the monks saw him come in and approached him. He looked tired, ready to retreat to his quarters. The vaulted hall was still and silent, the clamor of voices long since fallen to sleep. Now only rows of torches lit the atrium, casting halos of amber glows around the walls and up to the midnight ceiling, where their meager flames could not pierce the shadows.

“Can I help you, sir?” the monk mumbled.

“Any fight.” Fihrinn’s voice quivered. “Any fight.”

“This way,” the man sighed. He led the way to an open portal, a sea of obsidian in a black night. “May you find what you seek.”

He turned away then, trudging tiredly back into the hall. Fihrinn watched him go. He couldn’t know. He couldn’t. But…

A tear glimmered in the torchlight as it traced down his muzzle. His shoulders shook with sobs—once, twice, and three times. But then he stopped, and looked up with eyes that blazed like flashing steel. A thousand deaths by morning.

One.

He stepped into the blackness.

[Mage Hunter]

"Magic is for the weak," Drusillia muttered under her breath. The night was young as she made her way from the Concordia Forest, her goal only to find more aberrations to kill. It had been too long since the string of attacks in Concordia and already she was restless, the bloodlust within her singing. Even her moments of trance, supposedly calm time in the tempest of battle became carnal exercises, where she would go through the motions of dismembering opponent after opponent. The answer was clear, she needed a fight, and soon.

As she moved her gate was swift and deliberate. Every step taken is if perfectly planned. So confident was the motion it exuded a degree of arrogance, something which Drusillia had in abundance. She looked up the outline of a stone ziggurat presenting itself to her vision. Frowning at the odd building she made her way forth. Making sure not to draw too much attention to herself she moved cautiously forth, seeing an abundance of torches upon the walls. The place was inviting, as if a place of sanctity so clean was it.

Upon entering she looked around, hunter's eyes raking the area about her as she narrowed them suspiciously. To her religion was nothing more than magic of the masses. A dangerous concept to the godless, she found that religion only cowed those too weak to defend themselves, and gave them security in the foolish notions of salvation and decency. No, nature was far more complete than the construct of any civilization. It was this she told herself, and this she believed whole heartedly.

As he waited a man dressed in robes moved forward. His gate was steady and even, even if his posture belied fatigue. She brought hand to her sword unsure of what was going on before the man gave her a placating smile. His hand raised openly to show no cruel intentions he then spoke, "Ai'bron welcomes you warrior, what is it you seek?"

Ai'bron, that name she knew. Ai'bron was perhaps the face of one of the more insidious death cults. People would fight in their arena's, die and be reborn, only to please their foolish concept of a deity. If any deity truly was that sadistic, she would have surely dropped upon one knee in eternal servitude, but the concept of reviving the victim disgusted her. Nature allowed no second chances, neither should any corrupt concept such as that of the gods.

Her voice was stern as it spoke, orders barked with efficiency and control, "I seek to kill. To hunt the mage and the aberration, my blood thirsts to spill another's. Can you give me the thrill of the hunt?"

The man laughed before her, his laughter ringing out loudly before he placed a claming hand upon his belly, "A hunter are you? We have not seen one of your kind in quite some time. We thought the Mage Hunters were destroyed following the Traitor's War. No bother, yes, I can supply you with what you seek. Perhaps I can even supply both in one fight. Know your victim will live, but at least you may sate that lust within you."

She sneered at the man before she spoke, "I will not let your magic touch me. If I am injured I wish to be left alone to tend to it myself. Am I clear? I care not for your rules or protocols."

"By that logic if you die, then you would not be brought back. Are you truly willing to play it on the edge?" The monk asked cautiously.

"Nature allows for no second chances, neither do I."

"Spoken like a true Mage Hunter. Then we shall respect your wishes. A wolf kin was sent through to an arena not too long ago. I think he shall satisfy your thirst for battle."

"Acceptable," Drusilia said. It pleased her greatly, but to state such a fact to a common trash human was beyond what she would allow. It was acceptable, no matter how much she felt the adrenaline rush at finally fulfilling her role. As she moved to follow the man, she studied him carefully, finding no signs of weaponry, which confused her. Most people who were unarmed were either clergy, seeing no need when they would hide behind their faith, or a clergy man of the monastic kind. Either way, she would have to investigate further, before she would attack such a person.

As she was lead to a portal is ebony surface rippled, almost reaching out for her. Frowning as she looked at the surface she growled lowly as she said, "Is there no door to this place?"

"I'm afraid this is the only way, is it not acceptable?"

"I will tolerate it, this time. In the future, I will require mundane means of entry to my arenas."

With that she clamed her anger, it would be needed later, not here, not now. As she closed her eyes she stepped through, and felt the filthy taint of magic upon her. As she erupted through the portal to the other side, she felt herself hit the floor of stone, before her stomach heaved spilling the sum of her meals that day. Cursing the violent reaction to the magic she shuddered as she wiped her mouth, unable to see much farther beyond her hair as she recovered from her trip.

(I wasn’t sure if you had an idea for an arena, so if you need to PM me and we can work something out. I am giving you basically a second chance at setting the arena, before I’ll do so myself.)

[Fenris]

Haunting tones drifted over the frigid stone. The gray mountain with its patches of snow lay under the gossamer cascade of starlight, listening, listening to the lone voice echoing over the ashen ascent.

Fihrinn sang, and sang, and sang to the night with the voice of a river made heavy with snow. The howlcast poured from his maw for he knew no other words—no other words that could match the wintry space of shadows in his heart. And his song drifted up to a moonless sky—and the icy expanse swallowed the sounds, responding only with a silence more empty than death. His song wandered over the desolate peak. It searched, it searched, for a voice it knew would never answer him. Never again would he hear her sing back.

As the song neared its end, its search retired in hollow vain, the smell reached him. Vomit, leather, and wet leaves. His opponent had arrived.

The song climaxed and began to recede, drifting away into the night even as his form drifted away into the shadows, merging with the darkness, with the half-light of the stars. The cool rush of the howlcast flowed over his fur, his bones, his body, and for a moment he wished that it could take him away fully, that it could let him fade away from existence altogether.

But no. That would be too easy.

He opened his eyes. Eyes that no longer glimmered in the starlight, for they were eyes of shadow, eyes that saw all but were only half seen. He saw the woman—a Drow—picking herself up off the ground.

Had he wanted to think of tactics, as he always had before, he would have seen her double-bladed swords. He would have known that only skilled swordsmen could wield such dual weaponry. He would have seen her longbow. He would have known she was accustomed to the hunt. He would have known as she wiped her mouth that either she was very nervous or unaccustomed to the magical portal. He would have heard her curse and known she was hardened, known she was a warrior worth reckoning with.

Had he wanted to think of tactics. But he all he wanted was to fight.

All he wanted was to die.

And then the blades were gleaming, and shadowed limbs blurred over the alabaster, and the silent air rushed blindly by.

Blood was about to be spilled tonight.

[Mage Hunter]

She was beyond angry when she pulled herself up. Her clothing while loose, was not quite keeping out the chill of the world. As she began to study the area her eyes drifted over the landscape, her dark vision letting her see beyond the edges a normal human could. Her eyes raked the mountain side as she unhooked the bow from her shoulder. Her hand went back to draw an arrow, as her eyes observed and took in information. Narrowing her eyes she stopped her gaze as she nocked the arrow. The hunt was on. Despite the putrid scent of her own vomit she had to endure the queasy feeling in her stomach and move on.

Her steps were sure and deliberate as she tried to scan the area for her prey. Finally she saw it. The prey was but a wolf man. The first aberration was one that combined man and Beast. It was the first to be hated, ad the first to be slain. Should a hunter encounter the aberration, they were to slay without mercy. Narrowing her eyes she took heart in the words that came to her lips, “It is my sworn duty to fight the aberration wherever it may hide. May its disguise be unfurled and its lies unfolded. Let it hide in the weakness of magic, for one day it shall be torn from them, and their true weakness exposed. For the natural order, this must be.”

With those final words she fired the arrow having pulled it taut during her recitation of the First Rite of the Hunt. Her eyes not missing the glint of the arrow as it sped for her victim. It was a clean shot, designed to weaken her foe by guessing incorrectly. Many would figure a direct killing blow, and guard their vital organs. She knew better, for such creatures were seldom so easily dispatched. This blow was to the thigh, to hobble and cripple her prey. The blow designed to allow the hunter to deliver the killing blow.

Once the first rite had been executed she began her movement. The snowy outcroppings of cold stone only added to her need to move. To stand still would be to let the chill affect her. Now was the time for action, heat necessary as she moved. Fighting in the snow required constant motion to prevent hypothermia, or worse, stiff joints from lack of blood flow. She had to move swiftly, if only because her entire faith was in her training. If only to grip to the one stable thing left to her in the world.

She was on the hunt, and until its end, she would not give up her beliefs, as misguided as they were...

[Fenris]

Strides as swift as sparrow’s wings swept along the stone. Fihrinn’s blades shone, unhidden by the silken shades of the shadowcry. He watched his opponent step confidently away from the portal, watched her draw her bow—

He should have noticed that she could see him, even though the song obscured his body. He should have watched her steady hands, her hawk-sharp eyes, and tried to guess her moves, her steps, her strategies.

But all he did was jump.

A craggy outcropping of granite rose from the slope to his right. Brittle snow edged the fractured ridge as it rose and fell all along the rise like the spine of some great sea serpent, slithering through the stone. He flew toward it with inhuman speed, the hot pain of an arrow’s shaft and the cool crimson of his own blood suddenly staining his left calf.

He barely felt it.

His paws dug into the grooves of the crag, releasing a shower of crackling ice onto the shrub-less stone below. In an instant his legs tensed against the face beneath him and propelled him once more into the air, and he fell toward the Drow with starlit knives flashing.

The shadowcry couldn’t conceal the gleam of his fangs.

[Mage Hunter]

As she began her movement she thought she could detect a whimper form her opponent as she quickly shouldered her bow. Despite the stigmata against such a blatant disregard for her bow, she couldn't afford to loose mobility as she drew her first sword quickly. As she continued to move she felt the movement of her opponent trying to intercept her. The snow fell in clumps where he had pushed the drifts over the edge of his stony shelf.

As she turned as saw the gleam of his fangs she snarled back making sure to move out of the reach of his attack before she snapped, "Abomination!"

Never before had she faced so arrogant an abomination. Never before had one continued on rather than cowered in fear of her. Perhaps it was her sheltered life, but she only grew incensed that she was not properly feared by her opponent. As she gripped her sword with two hands she swung bringing it about in an upward cleave meant to split him open from sternum to crotch. Her snarl was fierce as a warrior’s, as she brought the attack to bear on her opponent.

Deciding to continue her tirade against the monstrosity and its very cries against nature she spoke her voice thick with her Drow accent as she spat, "I should use you for boots. Your kind is nothing but a burden to the natural order of things. I hope you die fully contemplating how pointless and pathetic your existence truly is."

As she brought the sword up she brought it down to a point bringing the sword completely into a drift of snow. Little did she know that she had found a crack in the rocks covered over by said snow. As her sword quavered in her hand she found it hard to pull out as she realized the folly of her ways. She had become too prideful and arrogant. Now she was as good as dead with only one sword left. With a desperate tug she tried to pull the blade from its crack as she growled lowly cursing in her native tongue, "Vith!"

She truly had no idea how much trouble she was in.

I give you one free non-lethal shot at her, make it count.

[Fenris]

He landed hard on the marble, the impact shaking the smallest vestige of cognizance out of the chaos of his rage. He heard her words, her taunts, and he knew what she was.

She was a hunter.

He roared. His haunches drew back and released like springs, firing his body like an arrow from its bow. Every ounce of strength flowed into his charge, his cry, and his fury.

“Pathetic? Pointless?”

He rammed her like an angry boar, smashing her spine against the ledge.

“You think we’re pointless? You think she was POINTLESS?”

His arms blazed with rage as he pinned her wrists, raised with her sword above her head, against the rock with his blades. The fog of his breath in the brisk air of the mountain fell heavy across her face as their noses nearly touched.

“You know nothing!”

[Ther]

Mage Hunter

Story
Continuity - 7
Setting - 4
Pacing - 7
Writing Style
Mechanics - 7
Technique - 5
Clarity - 6
Character
Dialogue - 6
Action - 3
Persona - 5
Misc.
Wild Card - 2

Total – 52

Fenris

Story
Continuity - 5
Setting - 4
Pacing - 7
Writing Style
Mechanics - 6
Technique - 5
Clarity - 6
Character
Dialogue - 5
Action - 3
Persona - 5
Misc.
Wild Card - 2

Total – 48

Mage Hunter wins and gets half EXP/GP of a normal battle.

[Ther]

Mage Hunter gets 250 EXP and 50 GP.
Fenris gets 75 EXP and 50 GP.