Open Battle

[Witchblade]

(This is an open battle to help me get back into the character of Witchblade. Any level is welcome to join and please be able to post at least twice a week.)

It was another trip to The Citadel. With wide open doors it welcome her into the fold just as it welcomed anyone. Warrior, coward or child alike, anyone willing to test out their skills could come here. It was just a shame that most of those who graced these halls were nothing more than loud-mouthed brawlers who understood little about the art of fighting. It wasn’t just swords and spears; it was technique, skill, knowledge and strategy. There was more to fighting than yelling ones opponent into submission. That did not happen often, fortunately enough for her, because Witch always enjoyed a good blood bath when appropriate. The Citadel was a perfect place for that as well. Here she could satisfy her lust to spill blood without worry about consequences. Althanas was a tricky world. Often one could get away with murder of they justified it under the pretence of a battle. Unfortunately the guard in Corone did not often believe the words of a vampire, even a halfling.

So here she was. Walking through halls echoing with the shouts and boasts of those who had just won a match and those who only pretended. Beneath the surface of words the smell of fear and anxiety hung in the air like a thick fog. Hearts tripled their beats as they passed through doors that could make them or break them. It was typical. Only the truly strong and truly skilled kept their mouths shut. They did not boast and cry to bring down the ceiling that they had bested the man before him who was but a child of sixteen trying to prove himself by stealing his father’s sword.

It was all rather pathetic. But it was the way of things here. There were the occasional fighters and warriors amidst the crowd, people like her who did not prove themselves through words but through actions. She would like to see some of these ‘warriors’ fight outside the walls of The Citadel. She would like to see them tear through the flesh of a man, woman or beast. They would fall under true pressure. This was not the real world and these were not real matches. Only when life truly hung by a thread and you were backed against a wall could it be a true battle. She had fought many times and there had been some where she questioned her ability to survive. Yet here she stood, to the chagrin of some.

“May I help you?”

Witch turned slightly to her left to look at the tall monk speaking to her. He towered over even her height of 5’9 and looked like he had seen his fair share of fights. There was a small scar that ran along the line of his jaw and his hands were scarred by many battles. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was a monk he might make an interesting sparring partner. But the monks did not participate in battle; they only helped to create them.

“A room…”

He motioned for her to follow him and Witch quickly obeyed.

“What kind of environment would you like to fight in?”

They always asked that question and the halfling always found herself without an immediately answer. Battles were fought anywhere and everywhere.

“Surprise me with an open space and few obstacles. I want this to be a battle, not a hunt for my prey.”

The monk nodded his head. Forest settings had become a bore to her. She already knew she could manoeuvre through the trees with ease; she didn’t need to prove it.

Pushing through the crowd of heavily armoured men, one of which telling of his latest victory, Witch hid a sneer and continued on to a nearby door. Plain as always. Nodding her head in thanks, the halfling grabbed the handle and stepped through. For a brief second there was nothing and then a slight feeling of distortion as the environment around her was moulded to her liking. When it finished, Witch found herself standing at the edge of a beach with the gentle sound of water lapping up onto the sand and threatening to wash over her boots. She stepped away from not as she looked around her.

It was a simple setting. The sun was beginning to set over the ocean casting a myriad of red and orange into the sky. It looked like the very water of set ablaze by some unknown force. The smell of salt was in the cool, crisp air and if she looked in opposition to the setting sun the stars were already coming out. Not a cloud lined the sky. Beneath her feet was packed sand and stone. It would give less traction but provided little problem for battling. She would still be able to keep her footing. And like she had asked there was nothing around her for anyone to hide behind. Just a wide-open area. Now all she had to do was wait for her opponent to arrive and hope that who ever she faced knew how to handle their weapons. They were going to need it.

[Koran]

"Are you sure about this Koran?" Bernard’s somewhat immature squeaking voice caught the cyborgs attention for a brief second, sparing him from having to look at the retreating back of the woman who had just walked by. The boy, as he wasn't much more than one compared to other men of his size, was staring intently at the back of the woman, a hunted look in his eye, a slight curve of a smile on his lips. The back of Koran's hand across the boys head brought him too and he closed his eyes, his face glowing red with embarrassment.

"You've no time looking at women who'd as soon rip your throat out than bed you down for the night."

"Yes sir," was all the boy said, his embarrassment too great for much else.

Koran sighed. The boy was at least twenty-five, he wouldn't believe the age the boy supplied as most people lied about their age anyway. At least, most who wanted more in their lives did. Twenty-five and he hadn't felt the warmth of a woman in his bed, or much else rather. The boy hadn't a single blanket with him and Koran doubted he had had as much since he left that farm he kept referring back to as his 'golden years of life.'

Come to think on it, Koran hadn't experienced that joy either. Not that he ever wanted too, it just wasn't possible with his type. One his weight, the biggest issue so far. No use in trying if you'd just crush the poor thing beneath you before you'd even started. Second was his body; it just wasn't made for that kind of thing. He'd looked.

"And in answer to your question, yes, I'm sure. I haven't had a good fight in a while and if there was a good fight to be had, it'd be with a woman who looks close on to menopause than a man who just wants to boost his ego like tin can over there."

The boy only looked at him strangely before nodding slowly. He'd understand, one day. Hope it's one day that's not too soon. All I know of that thing is that it happens when they get older and it's not something you want to be around.

"Right. Bernard, why don't you talk to tin can over there and find out if he has any special techniques he'd like to let go. I'll be back in at least an hour, or two depending on how things go."

"You mean," Bernard said with a touch of mirth in his voice. "That you might not win?"

"If she's on what I think she's on, an entire army couldn't win against that type."

Bernard burst into uncontrolled laughter and after a few moments Koran allowed himself to join in, if only for a few seconds. After their laughter had died away however Koran gave the boy a stern look and motioned for him to move along before he forced him so. The boy nodded and vanished into the crowd surrounding the man whom Koran had dubbed 'The Tin Can Man' for his inherent lack of sense when it came to wearing armor. The fool had on at least two whole suits, and probably couldn't walk much less fight in one.

All men are fools.

It was an understatement, not matter how simply put but they were and he was going to prove it, if simply by fighting a woman.

~~~~~~

He silently followed the woman, staying far enough behind her so that his foot steps didn't echo pointedly against the walls, but staying close enough not to lose her or the monk she was following. It was the standard winding and twisting path that the monk led them down, probably getting her lost along the way, as most people did when being led to their respected battle grounds. Koran didn't get lost though, and sometimes, distantly in the back of his mind, he almost wished he would. It was hard enough not being able to become fully human, it was completely different when you couldn't forget a damn thing, even if you wanted too. Eight thousand plus years of complete boredom stored in his mind, and he couldn't forget.

The monk stopped in front of a very plain door, motioned the woman into it and then vanished behind a near by twist in the hall. Typical behavior. His eyes focused on the woman once more and watched as she wasted no time in study or contemplation before she entered into the battle ground. Koran, waiting until she was fully immersed in the light beyond the door, wasted no time in following. He stepped through the light and came out onto what looked like a beach.

His first thought was to sneeze, which he did, and violently. He never really had smelled salt air before, and if this was it, than he had an inkling that he never wanted to again. It was a sharp scent, one that burned his nostrils and set his lungs afire. The water was pristine, a deep blue and seemingly on fire from the low hanging sun on the far horizon. It was a cool place, set so by the presence of water and the disappearing sun, a calm place and without a cloud in the sky.

Wouldn't mind dying here in real life, although, this is probably as close to it as I'll get out there.

The woman, having entered just seconds before he did, was standing out in front of him, probably contemplating on the battle ground that she had chosen. She might or might not have noticed he was there - he wouldn't know why she had missed him being there, with his sneezing and all - and he took the time to study who, or what she was.

Of about mid-size in height and probably close to one hundred and thirty pounds, the woman looked to be able to handle herself very well in combat, as well as everyday life. She wore all black colors too. Black boots, black shirt, black pants and to top it all off, a black cloak that cleverly concealed most of her body. Koran had yet to see her face, but he would have guessed that it was nothing that looked human. Her form spoke loudly of that fact. He only shook his head in wonder though, and then took a step forward and coughed.

"Name's Koran, and I'm guessing I'll be your opponent. Nice place to die, don't you think?"

He gazed out at the ocean, carefully keeping one eye on the woman and the other on his possible escape route. His black eyes allowed as much, no pupils or iris' to betray his eyes path. In the back of his mind he formed an image of a pale green elf with large wings and readied it for use. With such a wide open space it was easy to use that form, and he so often enjoyed using it.

A wind rose from across the ocean and blew the sharp tang of salt into his nostrils and bathed his flesh with cool, moist air. Yes, yes indeed it was the perfect place to die.

[Witchblade]

She knew he was there the moment he stepped out after her. She could sense him and he wasn’t exactly being quiet about his presence either. No tricks and no attempts to claw at her back. Instead he sneezed loudly, a sound almost swallowed by the surf as it washed up against rock and sand. His presence felt strange, human…but not quite. Even the smell that came from him seemed odd. Under the overlaying stench of a human male was metal and something else that was new to her senses. Intrigued the halfling slowly turned around just as he finally spoke to her, his words bringing a smirk to lips long ago sown shut.

Witchblade didn’t say anything to him. Instead she began to walk a circle around Koran. A predator’s move as it slowly stalked its prey. He was not new to battle, in fact there was a long running scar across his face, chin and neck that she was certain continued down his chest. It made the scar over her eye and cheek—the one she hated so much—look beautiful. He was much taller than she and built as well, but she knew from experience muscle wasn’t everything. Everything about him suggested human, everything but his eyes. They were as black as sin and reminded her of the darkness she could no longer see. But he was not human, or not completely anyway. All her senses were warning her so and she had a habit of paying attention to them.

“Koran…” She felt no mental blocks to prevent her from communicating with him, “I am called Witchblade and this is a perfect place for you to die.” It sounded too dramatic and over the top even for her. But she couldn’t resist. Even brushing against the outer reaches of his mind she had caught his one thought of how perfect it would be to die here for real. She could make such a thing possible for him if he so chose. All they would have to do was leave this place.

Here, it would never be a true death. Not when a group of monks would be in shortly afterwards to revive him and health the wounds. Still, she could not complain. The Citadel was a place for her to kill without consequence. No one would attempt to arrest her here for slowing ripping apart her opponent limb from limb until she could take the screaming and the begging no more.

The halfling continued to move around him in a circle. Her boots sinking into the sand with every step she made. It would be an interesting battle with less traction. The only other place she had fought in besides this was Fallien and she tended to dislike the desert. Too much sun, it hurt her sensitive eyes and her pale skin had a tendency to burn rather easily. Slipping the straps of her rucksack from her shoulders, Witch gently laid it down on the beach. The contents inside were still sleeping and know her pet he would remain sleeping for the rest of this battle. Her cloak she didn’t discard, she was used to fighting in the heavy material. But she did push her hood back away from her face so she could more easily see around her.

The first move was hers. She didn’t know who decided these kinds of things when it came to the art of battle, but for some reason her mind said to make the first move. Just what that would be she didn’t yet know. First moves were usually predictable, but something to get the actual fight started. No one ever expected them to connect or to make any kind of damage. But Witch did. All her moves were planned, weighing her opponent’s actions and reactions and then making the best possible move based on those. In the beginning of a fight they were usually base assumptions, but towards the end it became much easier to read their moves.

“I suppose I have the honour of first move.”

She stopped circling him once she faced his front. Keeping her hands in plain sight, the halfling used her telekinesis to loosen one of the Titanium knives from within its sheath. With the enfolding lengths of her cloak still around her he would not be able to see it. With a quick thought, the halfling sent the knife hurtling through the air and towards Koran’s chest. Seconds after that she reached behind her and unsheathed the twin daggers on her back. Tensing her leg muscles she launched herself towards Koran, a spray of sand following behind her every step as she covered the distance between them in a mere second. Her one blade made an attempt to slash across his chest as the other one tried to bury itself in his stomach.

[Koran]

He was right, for once. She was far from human. She was something else, something twisted, something evil. His flesh suddenly rippled and goose bumps formed on its surface. He shivered and shifted his stance. Then he began watching the woman like a hawk would watch a poisonous lizard that could be its next meal. Cautious but eager.

She too began to move, in a slow circle around him, and he suddenly thought that perhaps it wasn't he that was the hawk watching the lizard. Koran abruptly had a feeling that it wasn't a lizard the hawk was looking at, just a determine field mouse that was playing hard to get. This should get interesting, and quickly. Indeed, it did.

The woman stopped her circling and stood facing his front, her hands plainly visible for the first time. Bullshit bitch, I'm too smart for that. Koran scowled and shifted his stance a second time, making ready to lunge in any two or three directions. Something tickled the back of his neck and a part of him wondered what the hell it was, but just then a blade shot forth from beneath the woman’s cloak and he hissed. Only because he had anticipated foul play, did he save himself from an early and humiliating defeat. It did little to save him from being wounded, but it did save some of his dignity.

As the blade appeared from the woman’s concealing cloak, Koran did one of three things. First was to shift his weight to the right and push off with his left leg, sending his body tilting toward the right. This saved his chest from any serious damage, and would put the blade neatly into only his flesh and muscle of his left, and most useless of the two, arm. Second he got a good look, or tired to get a good look, at exactly what he was dealing with as the woman’s cloak opened slightly to admit the dagger as it flew from her body. He didn't see much, so it was a useless venture. Thirdly he opened his right hand and brought it up and across his chest, this taking place just as the dagger buried itself neatly into his left bicep to about mid-length, half way up his arm. His hand closed over the hilt of the blade and he planted his left foot firmly into the ground on the other side of his right. Yanking the blade free from his arm he swung his left foot back around to its proper place beside his right. All this happened within the few seconds it took the woman to release her knife, draw her own, and lunge toward Koran.

This too he had been half-expecting. You didn't just throw a weapon and then abandon it. You followed through and attacked when the enemy was at his weakest, when he was distracted by a small flesh wound. Then you struck and struck with precision. A killing blow, with as little energy spent as possible.

I am no easy meat, bitch! Koran screamed in his head as he in turn lunged toward the woman even as she was lunging toward him. Their paths converged in an instant and time for Koran seemed to slow as his advanced CPU and human brain began to process what was happening in, around and to him.

The paths of her two daggers were easy to pick out. One, the second distraction, was aimed to slash across his chest, and was intended to force him to bend backwards, away from the slashing blade. The second, the whole point behind the two first attacks, was aimed for the soft flesh of his stomach.

The killing blow.

His mouth twisted into a wicked smile as he raised his own borrowed blade to strike, leaned forward to block the first blade with his shoulder, and sent his other free hand forward to knock the second blade away from his flesh. If all went well, which never really happened on the first and second strikes, his blade would give her a nice long scratch - deep cut maybe - on her left shoulder. If he wasn't lucky, well then, perhaps his massive weight would do half the work for him and knock her backwards giving him some more room to work with.

He had a whole beach to use, and if he was going to die here, he might as well make the best of it.

[Witchblade]

She wasn’t dealing with an amateur. That much was certain as he deftly blocked her first three attacks. But that was no problem to her. The halfling preferred it this way. The more experience the opponent, the harder the battle and more satisfying the eventual victory. Though there always was that small chance of defeat, Witch had no intention of losing this battle. Of course, she never had any intention of losing any of her battles but the last time she’d graced these halls it hadn’t gone so well for her. The fangs of a certain feline had ripped through the flesh of her throat rather easily. The battle had been interesting, if one could even call it a battle. It had been more of a game of cat and mouse with the feline taking the role of mouse for a change. In the end though she had lost and there was nothing she could do about it, as irritating as that was. Sometimes, luck was on the other person’s side and there was nothing you could do about it. Losing could also teach you a few flaws in your own fighting that must be rectified.

As the human attempted to slice through Witch’s shoulder, the halfling turned off to the side and watched as the blade cut through the material of her cloak but not her flesh. In this position though she couldn’t defend against the shoulder that suddenly came barrelling towards her. So instead of fighting it she went with it. His shoulder slammed into the centre of her chest, knocking the air from her lungs and sending her flying back a few feet. Slamming against the sand, the halfling went with the motion and continued the backwards roll, going feet over head until she was crouched on all fours. Her fingers still curled around the hilts of her daggers, buried within the grains that rubbed against the sensitive skin of her hands.

“You really should think of something a little more creative than to continually call me bitch, honestly it gets old rather quickly.”

Keeping a telepathic link with him in order to communicate meant she could pick up the barest of thoughts from his mind. She wasn’t trying to and it all honesty she wished she didn’t have to hear them but it came with the territory of having your mouth sown shut. That made it just a little too difficult to speak like any other normal person would do. Unfortunately it meant she was constantly brushing against the surface of his mind and some of his thoughts freely floated into her head. One of these days she was going to refine the ability more so she wouldn’t have to listen to them. Then again thinking back she remember when she couldn’t control it at all and every time someone came within feet of her she could hear everything going on in their head and feel their feelings. That had nearly driven her insane.

Imagine trying to think in a tavern full of people when everything they think is running rampant in your mind and you’re feeling just a little drunk because some idiot closest to you had drank one too many. Weren’t those the good old days?

Smirking, and pulling on the strings holding her lips shut, the halfling pushed off from the sand. She used to speed to cover the distance in a mere second and spun her daggers around in her hands until the points faced in towards her elbows. Using her momentum, she attempted to slash the human across the face but at the last second she faked out of it. Her body spinning around in a circle, the billowing of her cloak hiding her actions from the human as her dagger headed straight for his hopefully unprotected side.

[Koran]

Voices, or perhaps just her voice, echoed in his mind and he grunted sourly. He never could tell if it was just him, or if he really was hearing things. If she could however, read his thoughts, a highly possible outcome seeing as she had already spoken to him via his thoughts, then he was in for a rough ride. He'd have to be careful now not to plan his moves to himself, lest she 'overhear' him.

Seeing as you've lost your ability to speak as a normal person would, I will play along.

His mouth peeled back into a smile.

And I reserve the right to call my opponents, whomever they be, whatever the hell I want. So, you have either the choice of whore, or bitch.

His smile grew larger with each generated thought until he was nearly on the verge of laughing.

Enough games though, what do you have for me next?

Shifting his stance slightly so that instead of facing the woman squarely, he would only be exposing his left side completely. He let his smile drop into a more serious scowl than playful sneer, and readied his body for the woman’s next assault.

She was, undoubtedly, a very quick and light on her feet kind of person. She had proved as much all ready by just launching her first attack, and Koran felt that he could expect much more of the same. Her next attack, was no exception. It was an attack that was simple in nature, but proven to be very deadly if utilized right, executed with precision, and if the enemy was a complete moron. She had two of the three, precision, a practiced hand but all she lacked was the moron.

Highly predictable with someone who likes to use two blades.

She charged, her legs carrying her quickly toward her prey, and just before her first swung blade could strike flesh, she ducked, throwing her cloak up around her to cover her second attack. Cliché move, and one Koran had prepared for. Because his body was turned as it was, he was able to shift his weight easily left and right along his center of gravity, thus allowing him to rock, so to speak, side to side. The instant her first blade reached for his face, he shifted his weight to the left, thus toward his back, and he jerked away from the blades maximum reach. When she spun, all he need do was shift more of his weight, then throw his body backward along with this shifting of weight. Thus, deftly avoiding any nasty surprises she might have hidden beneath that cloak of a cover.

At least, that was how it should have worked.

Like he had noticed before, she was quick on her feet, and when someone was quick with their feet, you could almost seventy-five percent of the time expect them to be quick with their hands as well. She was one of these people.

So, instead of deftly jumping back to avoid the next surprise she had waiting for him, Koran simple 'fell' backward, not apparently even bothering to jump, and thus earned himself a shallow, but rather long gash along his right hip down to just the inside of his right thigh, near the groin region. It was a stinging blow to his body, as it would possibly restrict the movement of that right leg in the future, as well as a hard blow to his moral.

Run your mouth too long, and eventually you're just like every other hot shot wannabe in this world. Talk the talk, fail to walk the walk.

Well, he wasn't going to have any of that, now was he?

Most certainly not.

The blade cleared his flesh and he immediately counter attacked with his own stolen blade. The blade, still clutched tightly in his right hand, lashed out to where he thought her head would possibly be beneath the swirling vortex that was her cloak. His left hand, instead of going for a so typical punch or side swiping blow to the back, reach out to clutch at the cloak. His plan, to possibly inflict some damage with his stolen dagger, while attempting to rid her of that cheating cloak. All at the same time.

Perhaps only a miracle, or sheer dumb luck, could help him with this one. Else, he'd have to resort to other, less 'fair' methods of fighting. None mind, that he didn't mind all to much using. It was just so much more fun to play fair. Made him feel human, in a manner of speaking.

Rid myself of this cloak, and that leaves only one other hidden surprise I need to rid myself of.

Just how exactly had she thrown that dagger?

((Well, it was close to the same. Close enough. :p))

[Taskmienster]

This thread has been waiting for over a year. If you would like to complete it, or work on it further, you can PM myself or another staff member and ask for it to be moved. However, till that time, it will be resting in the Citadel Archive forum.

Thanks,
~Task