Round 2: Storm Veritas vs. Zerith

[Ther]

This battle will last until 11 P.M. E.S.T. on March 16th. Good luck!

[Storm Veritas]

Now just go take it easy. Move too quick, get too ambitious, you’re liable to tear out your stitches!

The words of the nurse at the local hospital were kind, but they were clearly the words of one of the more sensitive sorts. Though she had treated him to some fine and tender care, she couldn’t begin to understand him, couldn’t appreciate hit power, and didn’t know how these things worked. It was the smell that had brought her down to him.

The smell of burnt flesh is an awful thing. It fills your nostrils and clouds your judgment. Few other things give the same sense of perpetual morbidity. Storm had intentionally burned himself, searing closed the wounds on his abdomen and chest to keep them from splitting. The pain was numbing, blinding, and unbelievable. He had never felt anything like it, to be honest, and it knocked him to the floor when he tried to stand.

Long, black streaks lay on his flesh, smoldering, gently smoking spots that had widened the eyes of the nurse like nothing Veritas had seen. When he stood and walked past her, he would never be able to forget the exasperated look on her face. The tall, thin, and scary handsome man she had treated only days before was on the brink of death, with wide wounds inflicted in combat. His chances at survival were not good. Today, he walked past her with general ease, a half-cocked smile on his face to disarm her worries.

”Don’t worry, sugar. I’ll be fine. This is what I do.”

It had only been a few days, but it felt like far longer. He had rested well, sleeping long and eating heartily. His strength was back, and his wounds had mostly smoothed over. The thick black streaks upon his skin had faded to a dark pink color, lighter than his tanned skin but no more sensitive. It still ached to move, but he knew he had drawn a beast of a man to fight, and fighting was what he did.

It did pay the bills, after all.

He had tried his luck at many ventures. Generally what he viewed as opportunistic was chastised by the societal elite as criminal, or dismissed out of turn as scams. His business ventures had largely failed, and his coffers were surprisingly short for a man of his particular notoriety. He still lived the life of a transient, wandering on the back of mighty Attila and doing what he had to in order to get by. Radasanth was out of the question, and neither Salvar or Alerar were particularly safe. Here, in this tournament, he was perfectly at peace, and could fight and kill without any type of prejudice.

He strapped Attila to a thick wooden stock, and apprised his surroundings. It was the place he was told to arrive upon, and he was slightly late, but the lack of a crowd surprised him. In larger tournaments – Serenti, Gisela, and the Lornius Challenge, for example – his arrival was generally greeted with any array of vegetables. Perhaps this newfound anonymity wasn’t such a bad thing.

He stood before a large house at the end of a small town, a large white palatial estate composed mostly of limestone and marble. It was beautiful, but appeared quiet, and the green grass that surrounded the house looked long and untended to. The stairs hadn’t been swept, and when he opened the large, heavy door, he was greeted with a mostly dark foyer. A few candles burned on sticks that looked closer to wax puddles than effective light sources, and they flickered yellow licks across his face with a frightening irregularity. They wouldn’t last long.

Shit. Watch your step. Something is wrong here. Something is definitely wrong.

In the next room, a large, windowless, circular dining room, the shadows danced slightly, silently. He wasn’t alone.

[Zerith]

Sometimes life just never seemed to give you a break. You live through an ordeal and instead of getting a break, life just throws another at you while you’re climbing to your feet. In Zerith case, that was exactly how he would feel. He just didn’t know it yet. In his mind, he couldn’t think of anything worse that when he had just been through. Luckily for him, he came out alive.

It was terrifying, staring straight at the end of a revolver that was point at his head. With and audible “Click,” the hammer was pulled back and suddenly the small tool could make a sudden decision to end Zerith’s life. Thankfully the man who held the gun had open ears and allowing the halberdier to plead his case. Nothing but the truth was said, and Zerith swore he never slept with the red-haired Asuka. He even went on to tell the boxer of their history, how the two of them fought each other in the Serenti. So with that in mind, Zerith never intended to have a relationship with the swordmaiden. Besides, she openly admitted she wasn’t his type.

The words seemed to sink in along with reason. Soon Zerith was greeted with the sight of watching the revolver be lowered and the hammer put back in it’s proper place. The boxer apologized, explaining that after hearing Zevernus talk like he usually did he just didn’t know what to think. It was pure coincidence that they both knew Asuka, and that he believed he might have overreacted. After the sounded like an apology, Zerith was free to go. He even knew where he was headed off too first…

…To teach Zevernus a lesson for getting him into this entire mess.

***

The two friends had arranged to meet at the inn Zerith was staying at if the halberdier lived to walk back. As he entered the buidling, Zevernus didn’t bother to hide his location. Instead he flailed both arms in the air, “Zerith!” He jumped to his feet and raced to his friend, “I knew you’d make it out alive. I bet you kicked that guy’s ass hard enough that he’ll be feeling it for weeks, eh?”

“Actually, I’m going to kick your ass! Do you have any idea how much shit you got m-“

“Oh crap, I forgot,” the old friend interrupted as he reached into his pocket. When his hand reappeared he held a sealed envelope. Offering it to Zerith, he continued, “This arrived for you. It doesn’t say where or who it’s from. Hell, it doesn’t even have your name on it.

“The hell?” Zerith responded as he took the envelope and opened it. “Who the hell would send me a letter?”

“That what I thought!” Zevernus exclaimed. “Some stranger just came in here and asked to see you. When I told him you were out, he just handed me that and told me to give it to you as soon as you returned. So what does it say?”

***

Now the halberdier wished he had never even opened that peace of parchment. Instead he should have thrown it into the fire or ripped it up into tiny pieces. It was too late for that now, suddenly he found himself participate in a tournament he never heard of. The letter didn’t even explain why he was chosen, all it mention was the name of the tournament, where he was to go and what time he was supposed to get there. Kicking Zevernus’ ass was put on hold, as Zerith had to leave that moment just to make it to the destination on time. One thing was certain, this definitely wasn’t a good day to be him.

As he strapped Exarion to a thick wooden stock, Zerith took a look at the house before him. If he had wanted to live a life in a small, quiet town. This house would have been one he would want to live in. It was beautiful, even if it looked like it needed come care. A little landscaping would make it feel much more like a man’s castle. Other than that where wasn’t anything you could change about it, though the question why somebody wouldn’t want to take care of such a beautiful home still lingered. Either way it didn’t matter, since this was the place the letter mentioned Zerith went ahead and entered.

The interior was dark, making the halberdier wonder just what were people trying to hide. A small amount of candle burned, though for how much long was anybody guess. Other than that, there wasn’t anything interesting about the foyer. So Zerith travelled into the next room, a circular dining room and was just as dark as the rest of the house. One thing he noticed was that this room had more candles burning in it, possibly due to the fact that there were no windows in it. These pillar candles were larger and thicker than the others, they would remaining burning for a few more hours at least.

Just then the sound of the large door opening and closing almost made Zerith jump. Somebody had to have entered the house as well, someone who Zerith assumed was his chosen opponent. It had to have been him or her, who else would bother coming there? Grabbing hold of his halberd with both hands, Zerith tried his best not to move for he feared the floorboards would creek and alert the stranger of his presence.

His hands gripped onto the wooden shaft as tightly as they could as he braced himself. He had no clue who or what to expect to come out from around the corner.

Indeed, this really was a bad day to be Zerith.

[Storm Veritas]

The ramble from within the room was quiet, but distinct. Had his position been given away? He expected one more in the house – evident by the large horse that stood by Attila at the stocks. The element of surprise was likely out of the question, but he opted to stay low, avoiding any additional attention.

Quiet, moron. Disappear. Go vapor.

He crouched as he entered the circular room, with candles painting intermittent spots with their golden hues. Each step he pressed with meticulous care, forcing the foot down evenly, over a wide space, not allowing pressure to creak a floorboard and further pronounce his location. If there was someone else in here, something else in here, it was not moving, and he could not see it in such low light.

Stay calm, stay cool, stay relaxed. Easy. Easy.

His gloves were back inside, and it was a hell of a place for them. He knew that the nervous energy would likely begin to manifest itself in the form of his electrical gift, and his fingers would soon be humming bright white. He would stick out like a sore thumb in such a place, and could not allow that to happen. He had to keep quiet.

Yet try though he may, this was exciting. His heart began to beat a bit stronger inside his pressed white shirt, and he felt his skin tingle with excitement. It wouldn’t be long now. His eyes were everywhere at once, darting, looking, glaring, desperately searching.

“You’re mine, asshole!”

The statement was loud and random, precisely what he hoped would draw some attention. A little movement, a small sign, it was all he would need. He would have to act quickly, for his opponent certainly knew full well where he was. There could be no hiding now.

And there he had it. A small movement of shadow, a fast flinch picked up by the corner of his eye. Without hesitation he pivoted his hips, slinging forth a right hand that extended before him. It hummed a soft sound, and crackled loudly, the whitish glow whipping across the room at the sound. If the man was wearing metal, he’d be cooked. If he was holding something metal, he’d be in trouble.

And if he wasn’t, Storm had given away his position and likely missed, and would no doubt be wide open for some sort of arrow or magical assault in turn.

F*cking perfect.

This was just find, his mind figured as a smile flashed. He was a god, and mortality was a welcome rush. Tournaments were calculated risks. That someone could actually challenge him was a bit of a stretch, but it would be fun in either event.

[Zerith]

This was what he lived for.

The excitement, the thrill, the feeling of your heartbeat begin to race. The tension you feel form in the air, as if begging you to cut it. The pressure of trying to predict the others movements, the nervousness it brings you. The feeling of sweat roll down your brow, Goosebumps forming on your skin. The struggle you have to control your breathing and the sudden realization that you’re paying close attention to everything around you.

It was times like that you really knew you were alive.

That was also how the halberdier felt as he stood as still as he could, waiting patiently. His eyes were glued to the threshold that serve and the only entrance to the room, searching desperately for any sign of whatever opened the door just moments ago. He didn’t have to wait long before his quest star revealed himself, the crouching form of a man slowly entered. He took his time with each step he took, moving as quietly as a shadow. Slowly, as if he knew death was just around the corner waiting for him. Both combatants remained silent, waiting to see which one of them would make the first move. Each passing moment was just the like next, until one finally decided to let himself be known.

“You’re mine, asshole!”

Was that all? That was the grand entrance of the Zerith’s challenger? It was more a random sentence picked out from a list than anything. Well if that’s what the man, thought. Then he was right. All long as the two of them were here, Zerith was his and vice versa. Until they left the house and the strange, predetermined match was over. Each combatant’s world was entirely fixed on the others. As Zerith’s right hand quickly released his halberd and tried to get a better grip of it. His opponent decided it was a good time to act.

“Shit! Move!”

The halberdiers eyes didn’t even bother to watch as the stranger pivoted his hips and move his right arm. Instead, Zerith’s body followed the will of his mind and went to his left. His body fell forward and his left shoulder hit the floor first as he rolled. He barely heard the soft humming, but his ears definitely picked up the loud crackle. Yet as the whitish glow whipped across the room, the halberd had already rolled out of the way. Ultimately, the surprise intended for Zerith hit the wall behind him. A flashy start, but a miss none the less.

“Bastard,” Zerith thought as he rose to his feet. “I guess this will be a match where sparks will really start to fly.”

On cue, the blade of Amenzanil crackled with electricity as sparks leaped and arced across the metal. The halberdier never stopped moving, the sounds of footsteps didn’t have to be hidden any longer as he closed the gap between the two combatants. He twirled the halberd with ease until the moment he was with reach of the stranger. When that line was crossed, he brought the head of the polearm down in a diagonal slash to his left, using gravity as a helping hand.

In his mind he was already picturing how it would look at the end. With Storm’s freshly spilt blood on the sharp blade a lovely sight to behold.

[Storm Veritas]

It wasn’t combat anymore. Perhaps at one time he would have considered these conflicts to be life or death struggles, but now to him they were a game. He had seen too much, been hurt too often, and recovered from wounds that seemed in hindsight unthinkable. His cuts were never infected, his scars rarely lingered, and even the most deafening of concussions rarely shook him for more than a day. As a result, he didn’t think twice at the long, slender stave that shot towards him.

The action was natural, normal, graceful, and yet thoughtless. His dagger jumped from his hip, flashing a rosy hue in candlelight and echoed a soft thwang sound as the halberd crashed harmlessly off to the side. He didn’t try to stop it, and knew he didn’t have to. What made this encounter more frightening was that he really never felt that familiar lurch of fear.

He stepped back again, eyes raising to the man whom he faced. Not some giant orc, dark elf, or lizard creature. This man, this shadowed assailant, he wasn’t so different from the refined Veritas. His face was pretty, and there was certain to be a similar vanity within him.

Why are you here? Why am I? How many times do we have to prove ourselves before we grow tired from fruitless war?

The disposition was growing sour quickly, and thoughts raced as he backpedaled deliberately. He was in this room, this randomly placed home, this living room for people to eat and drink in. Instead of eating, however, he was dancing around the dinner table by candlelight, the ballad of death playing about them. Why? Did he have to continue?

Save the deep thought for later. End this now.

He wouldn’t have it. He couldn’t. Better to incite a trap and end this now. The man in the shadows would have to find another time to kill him. He stepped back into the threshold of the room, driving his dagger into the doorless frame and sending forth a mighty electric blast. Instantly the timber caught, and he watched with delight as the flames licked quickly up the wall to his left flank.

“Not now, stranger. Not today. Ain’t got time to bleed, ‘specially not to your sorry ass.”

He smiled, his aquiline nose sloping down to a serpentine smile. One small grunt withdrew his blade, and it darted back to his hip on its own accord. Bright white teeth flashed before he turned and stepped to the front door. This time, it heaved a creak of disapproval as he swung it open. The house was not appeased.

This wasn’t the time for battle. The flames would keep the stranger at bay, and they would both live to fight another day.

((Not a withdrawal from the tournament, just an IC exit from the fight. Sadly, we don’t have any time left. Figured I’d give you a chance to end the battle with something that would be at least **vaguely** plausible, since we really don’t have time to round out a strong fight right now.))

[Zerith]

Of all the things that got on Zerith’s nerves, one that really irritated him was feeling he was being toyed with. Although he was trying, someone else was being amused by his feeble attempt at something. In most of Zerith’s cases, he felt he was often being toyed with when fighting and it infuriated him. Seeing the smug grins on his opponent’s faces, being told they thought he was pathetic. It was times like that he just wanted to bury the sharp point of his halberd into their chests and see if they were smiling then.

As Storm reacted to Zerith attack, the halberdier felt like it wasn’t planned at all. Instead it felt practiced, like the man had done the same move countless time in the past. The soft thwang sound was the end result, that and Amenzanil’s blade being seen as harmless instead of threatening. So not only did Storm manage to evade the blade, he managed to hurt Zerith’s pride a little as well.

As Storm eyes looked at the man he was scheduled to fight, Zerith’s sapphire eyes did the same. The sharp facial structure the man had and the cold expression on his face, it looked familiar. However, the place Zerith saw him before and the man’s name still escaped him. Beyond reach, nowhere near his grasp either.

“You…You’re just a man.”

At the beginning of this encounter, the halberdier expected something more. The way the stranger attacked, the tone in his voice. Zerith expected something else, perhaps a sorcerer or something. The only thing the pair blue eyes saw was a man with a strange power and nothing more.

Then before Zerith could take another swing, the man stepped back into the threshold that served as the only entrance to the room. Taking his dagger, he thrust the blade into the frame of the doorway and once again there was a flash of electricity. The effect was instantaneous; flames appeared and quickly devoured the wood. The climbed up the frame in a matter of seconds and moved on to eat up the wall next to it.

“You can wipe that smile off your face,” Zerith shot back as Storm flashed him a grin. “I’ll make you bleed plenty another day.”

He wasn’t sure the man heard the last sentence, as he seemed to just ignore the halberdier and hurry out the front door. Zerith followed suit, crouching as he ran underneath the threshold for fear it would collapse on top of him. Thankfully stood intact long enough for the halberdier to make it to the door. His right hand immediately reached for the doorknob and twisted.

“That asshole! He blocked the door shut!”

It was true, as much as Zerith pulled, the door refused to let him out to safety. He tried pushing, pulling and even an attempt to kick the door down. Yet it was to no avail. Immediately, Zerith turned and ran towards the back of the house, racing against the flames and the time it would take before the entire house would be a personal hell for him. Sweat rolled down his face, the heat was growing more and more with each passing moment. It didn’t take long for the halberdier to find the back door, but as it tried to open that one he was in for another surprise.

“Locked? You’ve got to be kidding me…”

What was the point in trying anymore? The doors were locked, the house was on fire and he was still stuck inside. He sighed heavily as the feeling of hopelessness took advantage of him. Perhaps he would be better of if he stopped resisting and just let death take him. Besides, was they really anything in the Althanas to live for?

“Come on Zerith, no giving up.” A gentle, soothing female voice spoke in his mind.

The halberdier raised his head, “Jasmine,” he spoke quietly. He couldn’t die, not yet. He still had her to live for. He needed to get out of here, needed to reassure her that he was fine and would continue to be fine. He couldn’t give up, she wouldn’t allow him to. So with that newfound motivation, Zerith turned and ran into the next room, a sitting room.

The Sitting room was just as large at the dinning room, except for the fact that there was much less walking space due to the amount of furniture there. Couches, chairs and a lovely ornate table filled the room. Though how much longer they would be there was anyone’s guess. Along the wall that marked the back of the house stood a large window, overlooking the large backyard the property had. It was at that moment, as he looked out the window and saw his freedom that Zerith finally saw his way out. Picking up a chair with his free hand, Zerith hurled it at the window with all the strength he could muster.

The glass shattered, the chair flew through and landed in the grass. Zerith wasted no time either, jumping through the opening and out to safety. As the fire raged on and as smoke started coming out of the window and into the air, the halberdier laid in the grass, coughing from the smoke he inhaled before reaching fresh air. Fresh air, up until that moment he never was as happy to be breathing it in.

Climbing to his feet, Zerith circled around the house and headed back to his horse, coughing all the way there. When he reached his black stallion, he untied the beast and slowly mounted him. He was leaned forward, still coughing as he kicked his horse’s sides and urged him to a gallop, knowing he needed to get to a healer quickly.

After that, he would go see Jasmine and thank her. Even though she wouldn’t know what she did. Then hopefully his bad day was finally over.

[Atzar]

Storm Veritas

Continuity: 4 (Both of the entrances in this battle seemed a bit random)
Setting: 7 (Setting the house on fire was a cool trick)
Pacing: 6

Dialogue: 6
Action: 7 (That’s what I like to see with magic. I wouldn’t have expected you to set the house on fire. Creativity is always a good thing)
Persona: 6

Mechanics: 8 (One mistake that I saw… well done)
Technique: 6
Clarity: 7

Wild Card: 4 (First post was late, timely after that)

Total: 61



Zerith

Continuity: 4 (Both of the entrances in this battle seemed a bit random)
Setting: 6
Pacing: 6

Dialogue: 6
Action: 6 (Busting out the window was good, but not good enough. Halberd > Door… need I say more?
Persona: 6

Mechanics: 7 (I saw mistakes, but nothing major)
Technique: 6
Clarity: 7

Wild Card: 1 (First post was waaay late. It’s a shame… this battle would have been very close if it had been finished)

Total: 55

Storm Veritas gains 150 exp and advances to round 3.
Zerith gains 50 exp.

[Cyrus the virus]

EXP added.