Division 3: INDK vs. Tshael

[Ther]

This match-up will last until 8 P.M. E.S.T. on 2/23/07. Remember, if you finish your battle early, I can score you early - and finishing early is a good, good thing always.

Best of luck!

[Tshael]

Magic was like a lover to the sorceress. Attentive and physical, Tshael could feel the tendrils of power reaching out to her as she entered the arena. They slid along her tanned skin, her nude form, and spiraled into the universe. The ground she walked on was saturated with the vines of influence, and she noticed as she walked into the dark room, that it seemed to be changing. What had seemed to be unyielding stone began to carve itself into boards as she walked across them, a ruddy brown hue flowing over them. Within moments, her hooves were beating down on oak, each clip and clop echoing around her. The tension answered, reverberating the beat of her footsteps in her bones. In the light - if you could call the bare illumination that existed actual light - she could see that the floorboards covered a space of about an acre of land, surrounded on all sides by high, mossy walls.

Tshael reached out, her fingers pleadingly stretched towards the walls. The moss began to grow thick, tiny stems flicking out from the growth. She closed her eyes, leaning her head back and felt the anticipation of the tournament wash over her. Everything came alive, the way the currents in the air seemed to curve around her, the way her crimson hair brushed against her back, and even the smallest of groaning sounds. Amber eyes flickered open to see the tops of the walls rising upwards. Dark figures were milling around up there, their voices barely falling down into the pit of the arena. As she stepped forward, intending on using the moss to create a ladder upwards to them, the floor under her pitched.

The boards began to rock and creak, splintering and cracking along the lines of the grain. The Dranak stood stark still, staring down at the ground beneath her with a terrified look in her eye. With a thunderous snap, the boards finally broke apart, a few smaller pieces between the islands that remained sinking into what appeared to be water. The board that she stood on rocked violently as the churning water took down wood and made small islands of floating board, and the woman fell to her knees, her panic wild.

“I can’t swim…” she muttered to the universe. “I can’t swim!” The realization of her worst fear come alive hit her like a ton of bricks, and she held herself as she watched the water lap over the edges of her safe haven. A sound came from the people above; their laughter was just barely on the edge of her hearing. From the walls, more liquid began to pour, splashing over the odd oversized rock as it fell. It dripped down the moss and as it hit the water that already lay under her, a familiar scent came to her. She’d run her Pub in Radasanth long enough to know the smell of alcohol. Her first guess would be whiskey, but the specifics of it didn’t concern her too much. What it was or why it was there was probably just a game of the tournament, something to liven the scene for the crowds. A thought of two warriors drunkenly trying to keep their balance on makeshift rafts came to her, and she sneered at the laughing voyeurs above her.

“I need a drink.” Her words still echoed, but now a rush of anger came with it. She didn’t care that her comments would be taken up to those who watched. She could see some faces now - small lanterns were being lit up above. The darkness lightened in the pit just a little, the firelight spilling down in scarce spots around the large arena. The moving water caught it and cast it back in ripples of ocher. She felt alive with the light of the vice that she had been working so hard at avoiding. Now, with the thought of drowning on her mind, and the drip of liquor down the walls, her willpower was weakened from its iron throne. One drink, she told herself. No one had ever told her that one drink was all it took.

She reached down, cupping her hands as she moved to dip them into the liquid. She hoped that the liquor had made its way to her already. She wasn’t sure about the water that lay underneath the inebriating ambrosia, and wasn’t in the mood to find out the hard way. As her fingers touched the top of the solution, something dark emerged from the water, swatting away her hand. Instant pain exploded through it, and she clutched it to her belly as she stared in surprise and horror at the ripples that spread now from where she was attacked. When the fire on her skin began to subside to a dull ache, she looked down to see three deep scratches set into her skin. The sting of alcohol was there, but she didn’t move to take any of the liquor that she now knew for a fact was there. Was this her opponent?

If indeed it was, the sorceress began to seriously doubt her chances of surviving, much less defeating this fiend.

[INDK]

There were certain things that made little sense to Damon. One of them was tournaments. However, the retired general knew that there was a lot he needed to prove to Althanas, especially since his disappearance and seemed alliance with the Prince of Panic in the LCC. Now, with his memories returned and abilities restored, the verdigris slayer was ready to announce to Althanas once again that he was a player of note in the political scene. It was something he had to do, despite how much he loathed politics. As he looked around the planet, the boy could see little that was encouraging. Corone was on the brink of civil war, Raiaera and Alerar could have been going to blows at any time, and Salvar was undoubtedly up to something devious as long as Ashiakin remained in good graces there.

The fact was, Althanas missed a champion. Damon had already resigned himself to playing that role. Thus, despite all his normal feelings to the contrary, Damon had prepared himself for yet another tournament battle. Now, the retired general had arrived to a sea of fermented water and little islands of wood. His opponent, some kind of half human half cow, had seemingly already been injured just getting there.

Generally cautious to a fault, the sight of an opponent wounded before his arrival caused Damon to draw his weapon in what would have normally been a breach of decorum. In Raiaera, a gentleman always introduced himself before drawing a sword. However, now Damon stood with his stake-axe in hand, and he looked out towards the half human with a seemingly confused glare. They were separated from each other by a substantial amount of liquid and at least fifteen feet. Damon didn’t much relish the idea of leaping across the islands just to start a fight.

“Hallo!” he called out. “Vaeli sai o!* My name is Damon Kaosi. What’s going on here?”

There may have been more diplomatic ways to start a battle, but the former general was particularly confused. He didn’t know why the half human was injured, or why this peculiar place had been determined appropriate for a battle. More than anything else, Damon wasn’t sure why it seemed that no matter how he maintained his balance, the wooden island he had stepped onto seemed to move with no apparent pattern.

*Peace to you

[Tshael]

Tshael looked up as her opponent entered the room. He was a boy, in his late teens, it seemed. Her frown deepened, as he stepped out, saluting her. She almost felt guilty about the pain she knew she would impart on him. Almost, however, was the operating word. Tshael rose to her feet as unsteadily as he had stepped forward and crossed her arms.

"There's a beast in the waters," she said quietly, her words echoing above the dripping of the liquor into the pool. The smell of it was intoxicating, and she was feeling drunk just breathing in the aromas.

"Fight already!" a voice drifted down to them, backed by the dull roar of the crowd above. She squinted in the dim light, trying to get a better view of this boy's face. He had introduced himself as Damon Kaosi, but could he really be the Raiaeran general? She had heard, through her niece, that he had fallen. Again, the roars of a crowd came to her, and a flash at her side took her attention away fom the boy. Two lanterns were crashing down the uneven sides of the walls, the glass that encased the oil and fire crashing open. As the light hit the water next to her, a rush of heat and light overtook her.

The rafts they stood on were soaked with water, but all around them, the tops of the tiny sea they floated on ignited, burning slowly. In the light, she could now see the green tint of the boy's skin, basking in the orange glow of the dancing flames. Her hands raised to the sky and with the heat of the flames rushing around her on the current the hot air created, she pulled at the moss on the walls. Vines snaked out of the folliage, thin and frail. She twisted her fingers, the vines braiding around each other as they grew, strengthening each other as they reached for her arms like they were living serpents. When they wrapped around her wrist, she closed her eyes and let the growing plant life push at her body. Her hooves were firmly cemented on the ground, and slowly, her raft pushed through the water, small fiery waves lapping away from each other as she made her way to the general.

When the vines let go, falling into the water and breaking apart in the flames, Tshael reached out to Damon with one hand.

"Tshael," she said. "I believe you've met my sister's daughter, Skie dan Sabriel. She has always spoken highly of you, General Kaosi."

A wicked light caught Tshael's amber eyes, the fire around them glittering a ruby in their reflection. Perhaps the most dangerous thing in the pit did not, in fact, lay beneath the water.

[INDK]

Damon wasn’t sure how to respond to the mention of Skie. Part of him felt ashamed that he had chosen to come to this tournament instead of seeking her out. Another part of him was so concerned about the presence of a monster and fiery water that he could have cared less about anything other than getting through the battle. A lesser part of him just hated the fact he was stuck in a battle with a crowd far too eager to see carnage.

“I’m a champion, not an entertainer,” Damon thought dourly. There was nothing he could do about the situation though, especially considering that he had come to the battle to announce his return in full force. With a polite nod, he accepted Tshael’s hand, though he didn’t speak until he was upon her raft.

Gulping lightly, Damon spoke. He kept his voice low, not to the point where it would be inaudible for Skie’s aunt, but so neither the monster below them or the raucous crowd would be able to hear. “Can you take me to Skie when this is done?” he asked. His voice seemed both vulnerable and strong, as if he was afraid to find out what she had done with her life since he had fallen. He could imagine that she’d moved past him. It had been a while, and the only other ally the Moontae had was Devon’s sword.

Now, standing on the raft in the middle of the fire, vines and water, Damon couldn’t help but feel alone. He may have been the only person in the arena that was without purpose. The water, obscured by the alcohol, barely offered a satisfactory reflection. Biting down on his lip to keep it from quivering, Damon tried to remind himself why he had come to the battle.

Still, in his heart, all that the former general wanted now was Skie.

[Max Dirks]

INDK advances to round two!