Falcon Darkflight
04-11-06, 11:08 AM
((Quick OOC Note: I have realised my profile lacks a 'weapon' field...mainly due to my own stupidity. This was an obvious mistake and I hope I shall not be penalised for it, I have PM'd Cyrus to make the appropriate action to let me edit this.))
The cold, hollow hallways that snaked around The Citadel's extensive and impressive lobby stood silent and undisturbed. The limescale and moss covered slabs of stone that had been used to pave the flooring of the corridors were fungal to the touch and frail, some cracking and fracturing under the regular pressure of footsteps from visitors and battlers alike, travellers who had come to seek their fortunes or spectators who could come to see the greatest entertainment Corone had to offer. Occasionally, a monk robed in orange garments would scurry from one portal to the next, shuffling challengers in and out to maintain a steady flow of traffic for the crowd and to keep things running as smooth as possible without upsetting any of the spectators.
A heavy pair of footsteps began thudding down the stone pathway a few hundred yards ahead and sounded almost march-like in tempo, with one foot precisely following the next as it crashed down on the floor. The heavy heeled soles of the black, silver buckled boots attached to them cracked and further shattered some of the older stone, before halting completely at a junction in the corridor. The monk who was present a few metres away waddled up to the owner of the footsteps, and bowed cautiously and with some rehearsed exaduration.
"How may The Citadel help you today?" He chirped in as positive a voice as he could muster. He was only about 5 foot tall, and was quite chubby and round, and looked as if picking a fight with someone bigger and more frustrated looking than himself would not be the pathway he intended to drag himself down, having just dealt with an unruly bunch at number 3 door that had beaten their opponents to death with little more than fists and feet. He raised his torso to even level again, retracting from his bow, and peered up at the warrior he faced. He knew it was Canen.
At first he was intimidated. He saw the black and silver buckled heavy boots somewhat pressed into the mossy texture of the stone, and almost gasped in horror as the boot further crushed the ancient rock floor. He rolled his eyes up to see the warrior's long black hair bustling in the draught of the corridor and a pair of sharp, almost vicious emerald eyes lunging at him from the pale white setting of his face. The rest of the warrior's torso was cloaked in a long, draping crimson cape with black runes, and the only flesh the monk could see on any of the mans body were the bits of pale white skin where his black leather gauntlets or crimson undershirt had not completely covered the gap between his forearms and bicep muscle. With a fierce look, Canen's eyes flickered to pierce into those of the monk, raising a gloved hand to the entrance of the familiar flickering portal a few metres away in the alcove.
"...You recieved my message, did you not? Then I presume you know why I am here..." He growled in a deep throated tone. The monk nodded and looked over to the black feathered crow with the golden eyes that had delivered a small parchment scroll in scribbled black ink, which was perched happily on Canen's shoulder.
"...Yes, Canen. Your message was recieved and your opponent is en-route for the match. Is there anything I can do?"
Before the monk had a chance to finish his sentence, Canen let loose a hallowing laugh and stroked Lothrain's smooth head with some dark affection. The bird cawed in satisfaction, and then fluttered up to the rafters where he perched on an old timber beam where he would sleep during the duration of the battle, and with that Canen strode tall through the portal. It whirred slightly, and gave a small bright sonic pulse as a signal that the combatant had successfully entered the arena, and monk sighed in a reserved resignation.
"...He's determined, that's for sure. This person had better come prepared..."
---------------
As the bright white light faded along with the cold numbing sensation of the warp portal, an intense heat hit face like a hammerblow. Streaks of orange, red and yellow scorned the horizon and light was scarce and difficult to adapt to. He winced as his eyes attempted to adjust to the sudden temperature rise, and slowly looked around whilst his eyes began re-focusing to the low light conditions and the sudden rise in humidity. The first thing that he noticed was that the ground ahead of him was volcanic: two large islands of molten rock and cooled lava seperated by a river of magma that snaked and miandered through the scolded earth like a sidewinder moving silently along a desert floor. The heat that rose from the rocks around created distorted and contorted images, and it was impossible to see more than a few hundred yards in any direction upon the hot rocks after which visibility would simply disappear into a mirage.
Connecting the two volcanic land masses was an old, battered rope bride. It was about 100 metres long and was the only way to get from one side to the other without endangering life by attempting to hop across molten stepping stones that littered the lake of fire. There was only enough room on the bridge to hold one person width wise, hardly any room to move anywhere other than forwards and backwards. This suited Canen fine, as he would not be in the mood to be performing any psychotic aerobatics over any unnamed rivers of lava.
Finally, on the side he was stood which he had gathered was the south side stood an almost charred stone temple. It looked about the size of a small house, and was painted on the outside with gold and red inscriptions in elven upon a beige stone texture. The entrance to the temple was dark and overcast with fumes that were pluming across the south side of the lava flow and little could be made out from where Canen was standing, which happened to be quite a distance away.
All in all quite proud with the setting, Canen twirled the hilt of The Valiance through his hands with mastery, spinning the blade in a flurry of directions before slamming the tip of the blade into the softened rock below his feet. He laughed out loud to himself, and cracked kis knuckles underneath the thick leather gauntlets he had earlier adopted from the marketplace of Corone.
"...I must admit, i've been looking forward to this for a while. The battlefield is sheer beauty, like hell itself manifested into a containment field in which one power faces another in a contest of skill, determination and strength. A deadly game...but the only challenge that will satisfy the lust for revenge, the glory of battle seething through my gritted teeth and pumping veins..."
He could feel the flames ravage what exposed pale skin there was, but it felt somewhat soothing to the warrior. Like it reflected his pent up, aggresive mood.
"This is a playground for the devil himself, away from the opinions and prying eyes of fools and imbeciles. No longer belittled by those who do not understand, but soon to be hailed by those who have truely lived the life they were given..."
The cold, hollow hallways that snaked around The Citadel's extensive and impressive lobby stood silent and undisturbed. The limescale and moss covered slabs of stone that had been used to pave the flooring of the corridors were fungal to the touch and frail, some cracking and fracturing under the regular pressure of footsteps from visitors and battlers alike, travellers who had come to seek their fortunes or spectators who could come to see the greatest entertainment Corone had to offer. Occasionally, a monk robed in orange garments would scurry from one portal to the next, shuffling challengers in and out to maintain a steady flow of traffic for the crowd and to keep things running as smooth as possible without upsetting any of the spectators.
A heavy pair of footsteps began thudding down the stone pathway a few hundred yards ahead and sounded almost march-like in tempo, with one foot precisely following the next as it crashed down on the floor. The heavy heeled soles of the black, silver buckled boots attached to them cracked and further shattered some of the older stone, before halting completely at a junction in the corridor. The monk who was present a few metres away waddled up to the owner of the footsteps, and bowed cautiously and with some rehearsed exaduration.
"How may The Citadel help you today?" He chirped in as positive a voice as he could muster. He was only about 5 foot tall, and was quite chubby and round, and looked as if picking a fight with someone bigger and more frustrated looking than himself would not be the pathway he intended to drag himself down, having just dealt with an unruly bunch at number 3 door that had beaten their opponents to death with little more than fists and feet. He raised his torso to even level again, retracting from his bow, and peered up at the warrior he faced. He knew it was Canen.
At first he was intimidated. He saw the black and silver buckled heavy boots somewhat pressed into the mossy texture of the stone, and almost gasped in horror as the boot further crushed the ancient rock floor. He rolled his eyes up to see the warrior's long black hair bustling in the draught of the corridor and a pair of sharp, almost vicious emerald eyes lunging at him from the pale white setting of his face. The rest of the warrior's torso was cloaked in a long, draping crimson cape with black runes, and the only flesh the monk could see on any of the mans body were the bits of pale white skin where his black leather gauntlets or crimson undershirt had not completely covered the gap between his forearms and bicep muscle. With a fierce look, Canen's eyes flickered to pierce into those of the monk, raising a gloved hand to the entrance of the familiar flickering portal a few metres away in the alcove.
"...You recieved my message, did you not? Then I presume you know why I am here..." He growled in a deep throated tone. The monk nodded and looked over to the black feathered crow with the golden eyes that had delivered a small parchment scroll in scribbled black ink, which was perched happily on Canen's shoulder.
"...Yes, Canen. Your message was recieved and your opponent is en-route for the match. Is there anything I can do?"
Before the monk had a chance to finish his sentence, Canen let loose a hallowing laugh and stroked Lothrain's smooth head with some dark affection. The bird cawed in satisfaction, and then fluttered up to the rafters where he perched on an old timber beam where he would sleep during the duration of the battle, and with that Canen strode tall through the portal. It whirred slightly, and gave a small bright sonic pulse as a signal that the combatant had successfully entered the arena, and monk sighed in a reserved resignation.
"...He's determined, that's for sure. This person had better come prepared..."
---------------
As the bright white light faded along with the cold numbing sensation of the warp portal, an intense heat hit face like a hammerblow. Streaks of orange, red and yellow scorned the horizon and light was scarce and difficult to adapt to. He winced as his eyes attempted to adjust to the sudden temperature rise, and slowly looked around whilst his eyes began re-focusing to the low light conditions and the sudden rise in humidity. The first thing that he noticed was that the ground ahead of him was volcanic: two large islands of molten rock and cooled lava seperated by a river of magma that snaked and miandered through the scolded earth like a sidewinder moving silently along a desert floor. The heat that rose from the rocks around created distorted and contorted images, and it was impossible to see more than a few hundred yards in any direction upon the hot rocks after which visibility would simply disappear into a mirage.
Connecting the two volcanic land masses was an old, battered rope bride. It was about 100 metres long and was the only way to get from one side to the other without endangering life by attempting to hop across molten stepping stones that littered the lake of fire. There was only enough room on the bridge to hold one person width wise, hardly any room to move anywhere other than forwards and backwards. This suited Canen fine, as he would not be in the mood to be performing any psychotic aerobatics over any unnamed rivers of lava.
Finally, on the side he was stood which he had gathered was the south side stood an almost charred stone temple. It looked about the size of a small house, and was painted on the outside with gold and red inscriptions in elven upon a beige stone texture. The entrance to the temple was dark and overcast with fumes that were pluming across the south side of the lava flow and little could be made out from where Canen was standing, which happened to be quite a distance away.
All in all quite proud with the setting, Canen twirled the hilt of The Valiance through his hands with mastery, spinning the blade in a flurry of directions before slamming the tip of the blade into the softened rock below his feet. He laughed out loud to himself, and cracked kis knuckles underneath the thick leather gauntlets he had earlier adopted from the marketplace of Corone.
"...I must admit, i've been looking forward to this for a while. The battlefield is sheer beauty, like hell itself manifested into a containment field in which one power faces another in a contest of skill, determination and strength. A deadly game...but the only challenge that will satisfy the lust for revenge, the glory of battle seething through my gritted teeth and pumping veins..."
He could feel the flames ravage what exposed pale skin there was, but it felt somewhat soothing to the warrior. Like it reflected his pent up, aggresive mood.
"This is a playground for the devil himself, away from the opinions and prying eyes of fools and imbeciles. No longer belittled by those who do not understand, but soon to be hailed by those who have truely lived the life they were given..."