It was a dark and stormy night... Seriously...

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Closed to Christoph.


The Citadel. It towered in front of Madison, the marble steeples seemingly piercing the very clouds scattered throughout the sky. Many people have fought in these hallowed halls, she thought to herself. There's no better place than this to get back in shape.

Madison had decided to take a well deserved two months off from her usual business of hunting people down only to capture or kill them, for a small fee of course. It was a profession that she was rather apathetic towards, but it was the only way of life she knew. She felt that the time off might have made her a bit rusty in the art of kicking some ass, so she decided to seek a fight. But, instead of going after a small-time crook or something, she went straight to the Citadel. If you're going to pick a fight, it might as well be one that tests your skills.

She drew out a bit of her wire and began fiddling with it in anticipation as she made her way up the steps and through the giant wooden door that guarded the arena, her heels clicking with every step. Two monks dressed in plain brown robes opened the door, allowing her entry. Her footsteps echoed inside as she looked around. There were smaller doors all over the place, and behind each of them awaited a battle of a lifetime. So many, many choices.

Madison spotted a monk who was dressed in a different color robe. Her expression remaining blank, she made her way over to him. "Excuse me. I'd like to battle. I don't care who, I don't care where."

The monk silently gestured to her to follow him, their footsteps echoing through the halls. The arrived at a wooden door with a strange marking carved into it. He effortlessly turned the knob and opened it. Madison stepped through the portal and into darkness.

Suddenly, she could feel a harsh wind blowing at her, tossing her purple velvet dress and her raven black hair every which way, while raindrops collided with her thin face. All the while, various bolts of lightning were racing across the dark gray sky. She looked down to see that she was seated on the back of a giant eagle, who was flying upwards into the thunderstorm. As she looked upward, she could see a large, round disk made of stone suspended in the air.

So, this is it. Let's see if I still got it. She focused her thoughts, preparing herself for whatever was awaiting her on the disk.

[Christoph]

The great stone disk floated defiantly in the sky, refusing to budge before the power of the swirling tempest that tormented the sky like the wrath of an angry god. It was about 50 feet in diameter, and it slowly and steadily rotated, indifferent to the intense winds. The edge of the grey disk was lined in vicious, four-foot metal spikes pointing upward at a 45-degree angle. Blinding bolts of lightening lashed these steel thorns, sending surges of electricity through a grid of flat, wide metal strips that were bolted into the surface of the disk with massive screws. The squares of polished stone between the eight inch lines of metal were a little over two feet; large enough to stand on easily, but falling at a bad moment could be disastrous.

Christopher’s world slowly swirled back into being around him as the painful veil of blackness lifted. An extreme sensation of vertigo overtook him as he felt himself falling for a drawn-out moment. The drop ended with a painful impact on slick stone and metal. He cried out as he felt the blunt ends of large metal bolts ram into his back as he hit the wet surface. As he opened his eyes, he saw the silhouette of a massive bird flying away, answering the question concerning how Chris had gotten there. Where ever “there” was, anyway.

As the bird flew off into the storming sky, a jagged bolt of lightening struck down from the sky like a massive dagger, blasting the magnificent bird to a sizzling husk. At that point, nagging sixth sense told him to stand up immediately. No sooner did the chef climb to his feet than did another bolt of lightening strike one of the massive metal thorns that surrounded the disk, sending a potent current through the fastened lines of metal that he’d been lying on just moments before. This was truly a place that he would never have visited by choice.

Of course, the guards in Radisanth who held him in prison weren’t giving him a choice, nor had they given him one the two other times that they’d forced him to fight here. They had arrested him under suspicion of treason three weeks before. During that time, they kept him locked in a cold, damp cell, coming in only to rough him up a bit and question him regarding the location of two young women that he’d fought zombies with in Concordia -- apparently, they were traitors as well . After a few days, they got the idea that forcing him to fight in the Citadel over and over again would persuade him to talk. In theory, it would have. In reality, however, Chris didn’t know where the girls were, let alone any plans made by any rebel organizations in Corone. The ironic part was, he was from Salvar and had no interest in the political environment of cursed island. But he was a traitor, the guards were sure of it. Idiots.

A short distance away, Chris heard the distant squawk of another great eagle. He tried in vain to find it in the swirling gloom. The wind-swept rain might as well have been stone, pelting his skin and stinging his eyes like needles. Whatever was coming, he wouldn’t be able to see it until it arrived on the disk. He prepared himself for the coming fight. Normally, he had been stubborn and apathetic concerning whether he lived or died in battle, knowing that the monks would revive him. This time, however, things were different. As he stood against the raging storm in reserved anticipation, the realization of where he was struck him. He’d heard about the tempest disk before, both in his books and from a passing rumor. It was very rare that the monks would send fighters here, if Christopher’s sources were to be believed. Powerful magical objects were said to be reward to the winners.

Finally, he thought to himself, the soaked his thick and tattered chef coat sticking to his torso like a second layer of skin. He reached his unhealthily pale hand up to brush his curly, drenched hair out of his face. Something worth fighting for.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Her eagle suddenly took a sharp angle upwards, rising above the disk with such velocity that, had Madison not wrapped her arms around the bird's neck, she would've fallen off and began her long descent into who-knows-where. Her mount's flight path leveled off about twenty feet above the disk, and while it circled, the assassin took a few seconds to gaze at the arena. The disk was surrounded by very dangerous-looking steel spikes and had a grid of metal strips lining the floor. As a bolt of lightning screamed down from the sky and struck one of the spikes lining the arena, she made it a point to avoid stepping on those strips as much as possible during the oncoming battle.

The eagle sqwaked, which Madison took as her cue to get off. As she jumped down to the marbled floor of the disk, another lightning bolt found its way to the great bird, which immediately exploded in a burnt, feathery mess. As she safely touched down onto the slick floor, she gazed skyward at what was merely a few clumps of feathers fused together and bits of deep-fried eagle meat. With a heavy sigh, she pushed aside her soaked bangs in order to look around for her opponent. The driving wind and heavy rain made it nearly impossible to see thirty feet in front of her.

A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky with a deafening crack, giving off enough light to illuminate the arena. Her eyes suddenly fell on a blurry object in the distance. The man was well built, his shaggy mop of brown hair saturated with rain water. He wore an odd, white coat which was clinging to his body like a parasite. He had an exhausted look on his face, as if this was the last place he wanted to be, and yet here he is.

This man vaguely reminded Madison of hundreds of people she had seen at restaurants and the like. A chef. I have to fight a chef. What kind of sick joke is this? Madison closed her eyes and shook her head in disgust. Upon further inspection, her opponent appeared to be unarmed; so she reached into her left sleeve, grabbing hold of the small weight that was tied to the end of her wire, and drew out a short length--just enough to strangle her target with. The mechanism softly whirred as it let out the wire. She slowly began to creep towards the figure, making sure to avoid stepping on the metal strips, unless she felt like suffering the same fate as the giant eagle that she rode in on.

Her heels lightly clicked against the polished marble floor with every wet, slippery step as she continued towards Christoph.

[Christoph]

The sound of a particularly fleshy explosion alerted Christopher to the presence of his opponent. His head jerked up in time to see the second bird that he’d heard moments before blast apart like a celebratory firework before being washed from the sky by the storm. The arena was fairly large – at least, it seemed that way considering how much the horizontal rain obscured his vision. He tried to pinpoint his foe’s location based on where the eagle had gotten toasted, but it would only be a guess.

At that moment, the escalating tempest around them lit up and the wind shifted so that hit his back. For a full second, the drenched chef caught a glimpse of his opponent a little over thirty feet away. He would have probably mistaken her for a man in the blurry gloom had it not been for the soaked purple dress clinging to her body. She appeared to be unhealthily scrawny. For an instant, Chris thought that he saw something in her hands. It wasn’t a sword or any sort of mundane weapon that he was familiar with as far as he could tell. Unfortunately, the epic light show in the sky died down and was replaced with a low, bestial growl. Lovely, he though. I don’t even truly know what I’m fighting yet.

At that point, Chris began going over his options. The pouring rain and wind would render even the most powerful mystical fire mostly useless; burning his foe to cinders was clearly out of the question. Once again, he’d been thrown into the Citadel without his sword or any other weapons. This time, though, he was actually very happy about that. Waving around a metal sword in such a storm seemed stupid. Although, he had noticed that the few lightening bolts that came close to the arena seemed to curve subtlety in order to strike the shorter spikes surrounding the disk. It appeared that magic was at work. The chef groaned hopelessly. Unarmed and magically handicapped, he was totally, undeniably screwed.

Then, optimism returned like a gust of wind. That is, a gust of wind that was not freezing and carrying raindrops the size of large insects. Had he not fought his way out of countless barroom brawls? Of course! Had he needed a weapon to do it? Aside from bar stools, beer mugs, glass bottles, tables, chairs, and even even a deck of playing cards once, no! His enemy would have to answer to his fists. Although, that would require striking a woman, which was something that he was normally strongly opposed to doing. On the other hand, she would undoubtedly show no such restraint for him. Besides, he could just pretend that he still thought her to be a man. Yes he thought, clenching his fists and narrowing his eyes at the approaching foe. That will work splendidly.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Click. Click. Click.

The assassi-merc's heels clicked loudly on the polished, wet marble floor. There was no need for silence; her opponent knew she was there. It was only a matter of time before he was lying on the floor in a strangled, bloody, broken-bone, tooth-missing heap of flesh and chef gear. She closed her eyes and shuddered again. A goddamned chef. What were they thinking?

She began playing with the length of wire, twirling it around one of her fingers. She began calculating various things about the upcoming battle. The torrential downpour of rain soaked her velvet dress, making it heavy and harder to maneuver around in. The same was to be true about her opponent's outfit. Then, there were those damn metal strips she had to worry about. One false move and a thunderbolt later, and her boots would become ashtrays--an outcome she wouldn't be too happy about.

Click. Click. Click.

Madison came to a stop about eight feet from the chef, staring him straight in the eye. It was time to see if she was still worthy of her bloodline--even if the rest of the family were a bunch of pricks. As the rain fell down hard and the gusts of wind raged around them, her gaze remained locked on Christoph. After trying to think of some way of opening the battle with an intimidating line, she settled on letting her fists do the talking. Keeping a solid grip on the extended end of her wire, Madison took a small leap foward, her right hand snapping at her opponent's face.

[Christoph]

There was a brief moment of recognition between the two combatants as they sized each other up. Chris had grown accustomed to the tingling anticipation right before a fight. Even in the Citadel, where he knew that he would be healed fully, even revived from the clutches of death, he felt it. He did note that it was slightly different. It was closer to the thrill of competition rather than fearing for one’s life. Of course, the chef wasn’t complaining about that not-so minor detail.

Then, as soon as the moment began, it ended. No threats or challenges were issued, no disrespectful gestures were made, and Chris didn’t even have the chance to make any belittling comments. The scrawny woman—man as far as Chris was concerned—wasted little time in starting up the fight. She moved with the sure-footed dexterity that he expected from someone of her—his —frame.

The punch came rapidly, with a swift accuracy completely unlike drunk brawlers. Her hand was a blur in the rain. He back-stepped, but the slick stone surface caused him to be cautious, and therefore slow. His opponent’s small white fist struck his nose. It wasn’t a direct enough strike to cause any damage, but it still hurt. The chef growled at her, but a rumble of thunder drowned his guttural sound out.

Immediately following the roll of thunder, another series of lightening strikes tore up the sky. Several surged down at the arena, curving oddly away from the center, striking the spikes around the circumference of the disk. The electrical sparks jumped from spike to spike in blinding arcs. At that moment, Chris knew that winding up in between those makeshift lightening rods would probably mean defeat. The currents of electricity flowed through the metal strips. Some small sparks jumped out into the thin skin of water covering the floor, giving Chris’s legs a stinging, tingling sensation.

The center of the storm was nearing and their time was dwindling. Quickly steadying his center of gravity, Chris raised his left foot and struck out with a sideways kick at the side of her knee.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Thunder boomed across the sky, mixing with the crack of Madison's fist against her opponent's face to create a beautiful symphony that stirred familiarity within her subconscious. This is where she belonged; kicking someone's ass. She was back in her element. However, she noticed with some dismay that while she had retained her speed, her precision at delivering punches was diminished. Christoph had only stumbled backwards a few steps instead of dropping to the floor, clutching his nose and screaming like a dropkicked infant, which was her full intention.

She sneered ever so slightly and brushed her wet bangs behind her ears while the chef regained his footing. As she tightened her grip on her wire in preparation for a counterattack, she notice a bolt of lighting striking the steel spikes surrounding the arena with a deafening crunch, a reminder that there was no room for mistakes. Fine arena those bastards stick me in...

The assassin's eyes remained locked on Christoph's as he seemed to reciprocate her mean-spirited look. Before she could follow up with another attack, she saw the chef's leg flash forward, immediately feeling a sharp pain in her knee. With a raspy, high-pitched screech, she stumbled backwards. It felt as if it was the lightning that struck her instead; her nerves were introducing to her all sorts of kinds of pain.

"What the fuck, man," Madison growled between clenched teeth. "Cant you take a friendly punch to the face?" She slouched down ever-so-slightly, willing away the pain by lightly rubbing the side of her knee. Without wasting another second, she sprung from good leg, twisting her svelte body in mid-air, aiming her foot at the center of Christoph's chest. Her velvet dress fluttered in the harsh winds while she sailed towards her target.

[Christoph]

Chris couldn’t help but give a satisfied grin as his foot connected to its target, rewarding his ears with a shriek of pain. He was silently grateful that his opponent hadn’t pressed with a counterattack. His kick, combined with the slick floor of the disk and his drenched clothes, had put his balance in a questionable state. Luckily, she—“he” backed up to growl some obscenities, giving the waterlogged chef a chance to center himself again.

The downside of this was, of course, that his foe immediately launched himself into the air in a slightly lopsided jump – probably due to a sore knee -- spinning slightly in the air as she practically flew toward Chris. Knowing that the hard heel of his opponent’s shoe impacting his torso would feel about as pleasant as driving a wooden stake into his own chest, the chef spun aside as the very last second, slowed by the weight of his clothes. He felt his opponent’s foot clip his arm painfully as he evaded.

The force of the kick, diminished as it was, caused him to slip on the smooth, frictionless surface as he spun. He quickly felt what minuscule purchase that his feet used to enjoy pulled out from under him. His entire world toppled over—well, okay, so it was just him toppling, but that’s not what it felt like. The chef landed with a painful thud against the wet stone and metals strips. He could feel the large screws jabbing into his stomach.

Ow… wait. Metal! Uh oh.

Without giving it another moment’s thought, the alarmed brawler scrambled to his feet, struggling against the slick floor. A bolt of lightening struck the ring of spikes surrounding the arena barely a second later, serving as a grim reminder of just how close he’d been to becoming the first chef to cook himself.

Chris’s vision swam for a moment as he tried to focus on the situation at hand. He spun is head back and forth, trying to relocate his opponent, knowing that he could be under attack again in mere moments.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Bunny approved

Had the chef been just a little bit quicker on his feet, then Madison's graceful flying kick would've failed big time, leaving her with the possibility of being completely screwed. However, her foot connected with his arm, messing up his balance and sending him crashing to the arena floor, right on top of one of the numerous strips of metal. Madison felt her left knee buckle upon landing, sending a sharp pain up her leg. She silently cursed to herself, quickly massaging the side of her knee with her left hand as Christoph quickly scrambled from his position on the wet marble floor.

Another bolt of lightning struck one of the many spikes on the outskirts of the arena, sending its deadly energy throughout the grid on the floor. Madison was unknowingly standing mere inches from one of the metal strips of death when the energy from the bolt sent a small shock to her leg, causing her to flinch ever so slightly. Madison decided that she was going to have a frank exchange of words with the monk who sent her to this hell hole; not only was she worried about becoming a deep-fried assassin, but the extreme downpour of rain and constant winds--both of which were picking up with every passing second--were sure to ruin her favorite dress.

As she allowed herself to become sidetracked with planning on how to deal with the monk without getting her ass handed to her, Christoph rose to his feet, his back turned to her. A telltale smirk escaped onto Madison's face as the perfect sucker punch opportunity arose. Her eyes narrowed as she sprung forward, the excruciating pain in her left leg causing her to limp as she ran. When she was mere feet away from her oblivious opponent, she ducked down and extended her elbow outwards.

With an incredible amount of force for an anorexic goth chick, she drove her elbow straight into Christoph's kidney. With a grunt of pain, the chef stumbled a few feet, clutching his back with both of his hands. As he turned around, Madison sprung towards him, stretching out the bit of wire she had revealed. It was time to choke this bastard out.

[Christoph]

Bunnying worked out over AIM and approved.


A sharp pain shot through Chris’s body as his foe’s bony elbow jabbed firmly into his kidney. It had only been his thick chef coat, which had absorbed a small amount of the blow’s force, keeping the pain from becoming unbearable. He should have known that his opponent was behind him. The chef came unnervingly close to losing his footing again as the sneak attack hit him. If it hadn’t been for his weight advantage, he would have been lying on his face.

As it was, Chris kept his footing. He spun around just in time to see his purple-clad foe darting for him like a wild cat on the hunt, armed with a weapon that the chef recognized instantly: a choke wire! Particularly underhanded brawlers in his hometown pub had been known to pull out lengths of wire in the confusion and chaos of a bar fight. Typically, they would just use them to render a victim unconscious. In this case, however, it didn’t matter whether his assailant planned to kill or incapacitate him; either one would be the end of him.

Fortunately, he was now face to face with his attacker, rendering the wire far less affective. Centering himself and stepping forward to meet his foe, Chris reached up from under the wire with his left hand and grabbed it, pulling the assassin’s weapon down. The wire bit into his hand as his opponent tried yanking it away, drawing blood. The chef’s iron grip refused to give. His right hand shot out, grabbing his foe’s slender arm just below the shoulder. Lightening flashed across the sky again as his fiery eyes met his foe’s cold ones.

“A choke wire?” he growled. “What the hell, man?” Chris growled, fighting down his anger and the pain in his left hand. His foe sneered.

“I’m not a man, you idiot!” She struggled against him, but he managed to keep a hold of both her and the wire. Barely. Then, Chris chuckled and they both stopped and stared at each other.

“Oh, I know that,” he replied, his lips forming a lop-sided smile. “I just have moral issues with hitting women.” The girl tilted her head and quirked and eyebrow.

“Oh… that’s… kind of cute,” she said, almost smiling. Almost.

“I know, isn’t it?” he asked, smiling sweetly for barely a second. It faded instantly, though, as he let go of the wire and launched a swift head-butt at the girl’s face.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Crunch! "What the fuck!"

The sound of Madison's nose breaking against the blunt forehead of Christoph echoed throughout her skull. She loosened her grip on her wire, allowing it to fall to the floor as she backpedaled. Her wire snaked through the puddles of rainwater that had collected on the slick marble floor. The chef's dirty trick caught her off guard and destroyed her concentration; a point driven home when she caught her heels on one of the metal strips and fell on her rear with a sickening thud.

Madison could feel something running out of her totaled remains of her nose. She flicked out her tounge, tasting a mix of rain, blood, and black lipstick. Her eyes were filled with a fire that not even a hellacious storm such as this one could extinguish. "Yeah, chivalry never dies, you fucking asswipe!" Had her words been cleavers, the chef would be lying on the floor in tiny chunks; ready to be purchased by the pound or deep fried and sold for thirty gold for an eight piece with a side of homefries and an ale.

Quickly realizing that she was in the position to be electrocuted into submission, she quickly rose to her feet. She thought to herself, guys are all the same. Lying, underhanded, back stabbing wastes of sperm and eggs. Her sapphire eyes were once again deadlocked on Christoph's. With her voice full of rage, Madison addressed her opponent as she pushed a button on the device strapped to her left wrist, retracting the wire. "If that's how you want to play, you son of a ten gold piece hooker, that's fine by me." A small amount of blood was squeezed off the wire as it whirred through the gadget's opening.

The assassi-merc once again brushed her damp bangs behind her ears as she assumed a stance which screamed full-frontal assault. She didn't care if she was telegraphing her new strategy, this fucker was going to die. She reached both hands behind her back, unsheathed her twin kris daggers, and rushed towards her target. When she was within a pace or two, she quickly slashed both of the daggers, aiming at his throat.

[Christoph]

Chris gave a satisfied smirk as his opponent stumbled backwards and fell on the hazardous floor. He knew that he could count on his tried-and-tested head-butt to the face to get the job done. It seemed that his opponent had taken it more personally than the chef had hoped. His only regret was that the lightening hadn’t come at the right moment to finish the job for him. He also regretted not running up and kicking his downed foe. He didn’t want to be too underhanded, though. Besides, he needed that time to idly stare at the thin wound running across his hand where he’d grabbed the wire. The steady raindrops stung enough, but the injury was hardly serious.

“Chivalry? Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he replied, chuckling in the face of his opponent’s sheer, smoldering rage. “I’m still pretending that you’re a man, remember?” Apparently, she didn’t care at that point. Her anger was clearly rising and she shot him a murderous glare that actually made him quake a tiny bit. This wasn’t going to end well. The particularly dangerous looking knives that she produced from her back reinforced that prediction.

“Hey, listen, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll buy you a drink after I beat you,” sad the chef as he backed up a few steps to give him an extra moment to think. His own words actually shocked him a little; he’d never been the over-confident bragger type. Of course, that was probably because his foes had always seemed superior to him or limitless in number. He’d taken the measure of his opponent, and for the first time since all of his trials away from home began, he knew that he could win.

Of course, those knives might prove him wrong in the end. On the bright side, that meant that he no longer had to bother to pretend that his foe was a man: once sharp weapons come into play, all bets are off when it comes to moral dilemmas. Granted, if anything, being awknowledged as a woman merely made his opponent all the more intimidating. Besides, he knew the weapon class well. Second only to wooden chairs and glass bottles, the trusty fighting knife was the workhouse of the bar fight. In addition to this, the chef knife was Chris’s favorite weapon. Naturally, what the pale woman held was certainly not a cooking knife, but many of the same principles applied. At least, he hoped that they did.

The slender woman covered the gap between then in an instant, knives slashing horizontally at his neck. Knowing that he couldn’t waste a second, Chris raised his left forearm, blocking his foe’s left arm at the wrist and pushing upward. His left arm did the same; only it pushed the second knife hand down and out. The second blade wasn’t stopped as decisively, though. Chris felt the redirected steel blade pierce his chef coat, sinking about an inch into his side. He clenched his teeth as the first of many jolts of pain shot through him. Despite this, tightened his fingers around both of the girl’s wrists, gripping them like a vice. Following that same fluid motion, the brawling chef leaned backward and threw the knife-wielding woman toward the arena’s edge with all of his might and weight. He knew that she wouldn’t go over, the edge being a good twenty feet away. It was a start, though.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Madison has quite an extensive list of things she despises. Being countered by an unarmed opponent while wielding her twin daggers is near the top of this list. Coincidentally, flight ranks up there as well. But, that was her fault that she experienced both like a one-two sucker punch to face. She had allowed the chef's comments to piss her off; when her father--cocksucker that he is--clearly taught her to never let her emotions get the best of her no matter what the situation was. And to pay for the mistake of making a blind charge, she landed hard onto the marble and steel striped floor. With a sickening thud, she could feel the impact on her spine; had the fall not knocked the wind out of her, a hoarse scream would've cut through the chaos of the storm. And somehow, her purple velvet dress remained unscathed.

Slowly and painfully, she made the attempt to rise to her feet. It was time for a new strategy, but what? She needed to clear her mind, needed to submerge her emotions once more so she could concentrate on winning this fight. However, with the ensuing maelstrom of rain, wind, anger, and pain, she was beginning to have trouble planning her next move. That was when she noticed something odd about Christoph's chef coat. On one of the sides was a splotch of deep crimson, something she immediately recognized as blood. Yes, blood. That'll calm me down.

Madison happened a glance at one of her steel kris, seeing that there was still remnants of his blood drizzled on it. She looked at Christoph, asking rather nonchalantly, "You don't have any diseases, do you?" After a second without receiving an answer, she proceeded to lick her dagger clean anyways. The tangy, irony taste of the chef's blood on her tounge brought with it a rush of euphoria, one she hadn't experienced she collected a vial of blood from her last target several months ago. To her dismay, the fleeting feeling subsided. He's got nice blood... If it wouldn't freak him out, I'd ask him to "donate" just a few more drops after I finish this fight.

Her head finally clear of any unnecessary thoughts, she began to formulate a plan of attack. Wincing in pain, she took a defensive stance and readjusted her grip on her weapons. Her face remaining remaining stone-cold serious, she shouted over the cutting wind. "A drink would be nice... But it's your move right now. The sooner I kick your ass, the sooner we can go get smashed." Her heart felt a twinge of fuzziness at the prospect of not only out-fighting Christoph, but out-drinking him as well.

[Christoph]

Chris could do nothing more than quirk an eyebrow and form an amused grin as the ghostly pale woman licked his blood from her knife. The fact was, he’d seen far stranger and more disturbing things since he’d left home. Besides, it would have been far more intimidating coming from a hulking barbarian warrior as opposed to a scrawny woman with clear emotional issues. In her case, it probably would have been cute had Chris been into that sort of thing -- which, as he told himself, he certainly wasn’t.

Unfortunately, the knife-wielding girl didn’t charge in for another attack. Chris rather liked it when his foes did that; this was why he enjoyed bar fights with angry drunks. The only thing worse than being unarmed in a knife fight is being unarmed in a knife fight against an opponent whose head was clear. He’d already taken a stab to the side, and that was from a reckless charge. As painful as it still was, it wasn’t serious. The next one, however, very well could be. This seemed very likely, actually, especially since the girl was now waiting for him to make the next move. The bottom line was, one cut was painful enough.

“All right, then,” Chris mused, undoing the two intact buttons on his chef coat. The rest had long since lost their threading to rot and fallen off. He wore a tattered brown shirt underneath, covered in holes and tears running up the short sleeves. He grinned at the girl, the clockwork in his brain working tirelessly to devise a plan. Unfortunately, all ticking inside of his head made it rather hard to think… The girl was close to the edge now, but knocking her off would become rather difficult with a large collection of stab wounds. “How about this, then: if I beat you, you get to buy the drinks. If I lose, I’ll pay the tab.” The chef began taking cautious steps toward his foe, circling slightly like a lone work moving in on its prey.

“Since I’m such a gentleman, I might just let you win if you say please and put on a cute face.” He chuckled mockingly and wrapped part of his coat around his right hand and wrist. Chris inched closer, crouching and leaning forward slightly, his coat twisted and kept tight with his left hand. His head was inclined slightly to provide his eyes with modest protection against the pelting rain. He took another two slow, circling steps for good measure before suddenly darting at his knife-wielding opponent. At about two paces, he flicked his right wrist out, snapping the coat at the girl’s right forearm.

Binding an arm with a wet article of clothing was a difficult maneuver, definitely, but he’d pulled it off once in a pub in Scara Brae the night before he departed for Corone. Knowing that she’d probably see it coming a mile away, Chris didn’t stop moving. He powered himself forward another step, aligning himself with his foe's right side and lashing out against his foe's adjacent right left knee with his conveniently located right foot. Simultaneously, he yanked the coat back with any purchase it may or may not have gotten on his opponent's arm.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Let me win if I make a cute face and beg? Madison was sure that Christoph was mocking her. Her eyes narrowed, remaining locked on the chef as he began to circle around her. The intense rain was falling in cascades over her body, causing her raven-colored hair and purple velvet dress to cling to her body, like an extra layer of skin. She had been surprised that her heeled boots hadn't caused her to slip up on the wet marble floor, but her training as a little girl had more than done its part to make sure she was constantly on the ball.

Her rage towards the chef--offer of delicious alcoholic beverages afterwards non-withstanding--was rising once again. She tried to calm herself down; for she had already learned the hard way that violent lashing out wasn't going to do the trick against her opponent. He seems like he's seen his fair share of barroom brawls. But how will he stack up against someone who actually knows how to fight? She cleared her mind, her concentration building like the maelstrom that the two combatants were in the middle of.

It's time to end this battle, because if neither of us land the fatal blow, then the pneumonia from this shitty weather will.

The chef lashed out his travel-aged coat at her arm, a move that Madison clearly saw coming as soon as he wrapped it around his arm. It was a strange tactic indeed, but her father's brutal schooling forced her to adapt to any fighting style she came across. As quick as the lightning bolt that cracked through the sky, Madison leaned back to avoid the coat from ensnaring her arm. With the lightning bolt illuminating the marbled arena for a scant second, she noticed that Christoph had sent his right leg in to make sure that at least something hit her. Staying focused, she quickly spun off to the right, where Christoph's chest was wide open for a counterstrike. She responded to his attacks with a boot of her own aimed square at his ribcage.

[Christoph]

The exchange lasted only a few quick moments, flashing before Christopher’s eyes like the jagged lightening. The scrawny girl evaded his coat, as he’d expected her to. What he didn’t expect, however, is that she’d evade his kick so rapidly, spinning around to counter-attack in the blink of an eye. She was good, definitely more dangerous than a typical brawler. He tracked her movement effectively, though, his eyes quick from years of swordplay. She spun quickly to his left, launching a kick that was almost too fast for the chef to follow.

At that point, his precarious stance and the hazardous arena finally got the better of him. As he essentially hopped back to avoid the particularly pointy heel of his foe’s shoe, his unbalanced state, combined with the slick arena floor and strong winds, caused the soles of his leather shoes to slip, resulting in his feet practically vanishing from beneath him. The next thing he knew, he landed as awkwardly as he’d fallen, his shoulder hitting first and painfully absorbing most of the force. He flopped onto his back, feeling the jolting agony burn through his shoulder, coursing through his entire body.

That was really stupid… In hindsight, something a bit less fancy probably would have gotten the job done. For lack of a better scapegoat, he decided to blame the fact that he was too used to fighting in bars, where improvised weapons were strewn everywhere, for his creativity’s lack of function.

The flashes in the sky set off the alarm in Chris’s head again. He was lying on one of the metal strips… again. He made a mental note to stop falling down like that. Then, the realization came to him that he hadn’t actually gotten up off of the potential grill yet. Of course, he wasn’t cooked alive by lightening surging through the metal, he’d be swiftly filleted by his literally bloodthirsty opponent.

Still mildly disoriented from his fall, the chef immediately rolled to the left, hoping to evade whatever sharp implement might have been coming his way. Really, he wasn’t sure where the dagger was, assuming it was coming at him at all. For all he knew, he could have been rolling right into its sharp edge. That didn’t seem likely, though. Naturally, it was because of the very fact that it was astronomically improbable that Chris was all but absolutely certain that he would be feeling the deadly kiss of his opponent’s dagger at any moment, even as he put his unsteady feet underneath him and scrambled up again.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Dammit, she thought to herself as Christoph narrowly evaded another one of her blows. How the hell is this son of a bitch still dodging shit? She was right to wonder this, for there was still a gaping hole in the chef's side that was oozing blood all over his dirt brown shirt. Under normal circumstances, someone wouldn't be putting up this much of a fight after taking stab like that, but I guess this guy is tougher than I gave him credit for. Madison's thoughts paused while she watched Christoph clumsily fall to the hard marble and metal floor. And yet... I'm having trouble taking out someone who'd be in his element barefoot and in the kitchen, making some fat, ugly bitch supper every night for the rest of his sad existence. Perhaps I should have asked the monks for an easier opponent--no, wait. I didn't come here for an ego boost, I came here to kick some ass. This man will die in a matter of minutes.

With newfound resolve, she gripped her twin daggers tighter, feeling as if the spidersilk grips were merging with her hands. She leaped through the air, stabbing downwards at her grounded opponent with both blades, her dress flailing around in the intense wind. Before her blades could once more taste flesh and blood, Christoph rolled to the left, leaving the blades eating rainwater and marble instead. The assassin's eyes followed the chef as he rolled and tried to climb to his feet, his footing unsure. Sensing an opportunity to make a fatal blow, Madison sprung up from her position on the slick floor and bound for her opponent, thrusting both daggers outwards once more in an attempt to skewer the chef like shish kebab.

[Christoph]

As things tended to be, Chris’s paranoia was only off by barely enough to make him feel safe for a fraction of a second. He got to his feet and shook the chef-coat, turned improvised weapon, from his hand. His close proximity to the edge sent a surge of vertigo through him. As though the risk of being stabbed or electrocuted wasn’t enough, he now had to worry about falling to his doom as well. Still, he couldn’t let fear overtake him; he’d deal with each of these life-threatening problems as they came up.

The only warning that he received of his foe’s renewed attack came from the rain-muffled clicking of her heels on the smooth stone. The chef spun around to meet his opponent, but his illness-wracked stamina caused by weeks in the dungeon, was suddenly faltering as the initial rush of combat wore off. His quick brawler’s reflexes were as dull and sluggish as a staggering drunk. By the time he saw the scrawny woman launch her attack, the chef knew that he wouldn’t be fast enough to stop it in time.

Even has he sidestepped toward the center of the disk, Chris felt the cold steel of the girl’s daggers plunge into his stomach like shards of ice. He breath caught in his throat and his eyes widened as blood seeped from the wound, mingling with the rain. The chef shot his hands forward, one gripping her throat and the other grabbing her shoulder. He felt his body going cold and his strength fading. It was his force of will alone that kept him struggling even as his life force drained away.

Surprisingly, it didn’t even hurt much. Of course, that probably only meant that he had but a few precious moments to live, but he didn’t want to dwell on that strong possibility. His grip tightened around her throat as her daggers pushed deeper into his bloody torso. Gritting his teeth, he drove forward, exerting every drop of force that he could muster. He pumped his legs, driving for the edge. If he could get her over the edge before his strength gave out, the battle would be his. This didn’t seem very likely, of course, but he wasn’t about to give up yet.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Even in the pounding storm that enveloped the combatants, Madison could hear the sickening sounds of her daggers inserting themselves into Christoph's squishy innards and the look of pained surprise flashing across his face; the two signs of a job well done. Despite the stone-cold look on her own face, she was beaming inwardly at the prospect of overcoming her foe. The battle had been a tough one, and now it was time to let his corpse drop to the cold, drenched marble floor.

And yet, even in the face of death, Christoph still found the will to fight. Madison could feel a hand constrict around her throat, the chef's other hand tightly clamping onto her shoulder. With whatever strength he could possibly muster, he began forcing her towards the edge, which was only seven feet away. Her face scrunching in a determined rage, she tried to regain her footing to stop from being pushed over the edge of the disk. Madison gave a quick turn of her daggers, hoping that the excruciating pain would've stopped the chef in his tracks, but all it caused was a wince, a grunt, and a forceful push on his behalf.

If that wasn't going to work, then something else might. Feeling lightheaded from the lack of blood and oxygen that came with the hand wrapped around her throat, the assassin decided to resort to the dirtiest of tricks--something that was bad juju in her book. I'll hate myself later.

The assassin's bony hands let go of her steel friends and engulfed Christoph's neck while she swiftly brought her right knee up, intending to completely crush the man's privates against the back of his spine. However, her left heel caught on one of the metal plates lining the ground as Christoph continued to press on, causing her and the chef to tumble backwards.

Her head collided with the floor, sending a sharp pain down her spine as they continued to roll towards the edge of the arena. The next feeling Madison had was a completely new experience. All around her, she could feel the rushing wind blow by her, although it was blowing upwards. Clumps of wet hair and her and purple velvet dress were fluttering all around her like a child suffering from a sugar high. Through half closed eyes, she managed to look upwards at a familiar looking marble disk that had giant metal spikes around the perimeter. As the seconds passed, the strange, floating slab of marble was getting smaller. In spite of the massive amount of pain traveling through her head, she was able to piece together what the hell happened in last few seconds.

No...

Not caring about Christoph's death grip on her throat any longer, she closed her eyes and awaited the inevitable impact of their bodies against the cold, hard earth. The sweet release of death came twenty seconds later, the collision completely breaking the frail Madison into pieces with a deafening crunch.


***

In what seemed like an instant, and yet also an eternity, Madison opened her eyes once again. She was in a brightly lit chamber, the ample Coronian sunlight pouring through beautiful stained glass windows, casting their patterns over her dress and the marble platform she was lying on. Groggily, she sat up, looking around the room. There were three monks around each of the two platforms, all of them looking the same. On the other platform sat Christoph, who was still seemingly out cold. She let out a small sigh as she began to inspect her own body. The monks had done a damn fine job of piecing her back together. It almost left her in awe.

Turning to the monk to the left, she coldy asked, "So who won?"

[Christoph]

Even within the icy grips of death, Chris pushed inexorably forward, determined to force his foe into the same dreaded, lifeless grasp. The girl struggled, but his desperate advance had become implacable and she was unable to get her footing. He was determined not to let the pain deter him, even as his opponent’s daggers were mutilating his intestines.

Even as the dying chef pressed almost blindly forward, he realized just how close he’d come to experiencing a whole new level of pain. It was actually a little amusing; here he was, dying of two severe stab wounds, and he was worrying about his manhood getting smashed. The comforting knowledge that he would be revived certainly contributed. It didn’t matter if he died, as long as she died first.

By some miraculous stroke of luck, however, his opponent’s balanced faltered before the underhanded attack was able to occur. She topped onto the cold stone, taking Chris with her. The two stumbled toward the edge of the disk almost before the chef could react. With his last drop of vitality, he struggled and squirmed away as his opponent slid over the edge. He let go of her, fighting to grip the slick floor. He could feel his feet going over the side as she dragged him down. He kicked furiously until felt her fall away from him, leaving the stubborn chef tangling over the edge.

He grunted out the last of his breath and crawled back onto the arena floor. Stumbling over onto his back. The vicious rain pelted him mercilessly, stinging his open wounds like hot coals. Slowly, the sounds of the raging tempest grew more distant, replaced with the noise of his heart beating. It grew louder and louder, resonated like drums in his skull. The beats grew slower and slower, and then they stopped, leaving a void of silent blackness in their wake.

* * * * *


Chris awoke in a place that he’d grown uncomfortably familiar with. The cold sensation of smooth stone beneath his back served as a pleasant, albeit startling, reminder that he was no longer in any pain. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. His head felt like someone had shoved a brick into his ear, but that was the extent of his soreness. He was, of course, still exhausted.

He sat up after a few moments, sliding to the edge of the platform he’d been lying on, and looked around. The chamber was just as it had been the last few visits. It was a vast, open area with a volume that Chris couldn’t even guess at. The entire chamber was build from sparkling, polished granite and pure white marble. Massive, arched stained-glass windows dominated the wall to his left. Colorful and breathtakingly vivid depictions of mighty warriors, noble crests, and epic battles filled them. The amazing designs caught the sunlight, sending the colors dancing across the stone pillars and intricately carved statues that dotted the chamber. It was no less awe-inspiring than it had been the previous times he’d seen it.

One new feature caught his gaze almost immediately. Over two-dozen yards in front of him, a plain glass pedestal stood, gleaming in countless colors in the glow from the windows. A small glass sphere, not even the size of Chris’s first rested atop it. Even with his novice magical awareness, he could sense a certain power coming from the strange orb. Of course, the fact that it looked as though it contained a raging tempest within it was a good indicator as well. It struck a forgotten chord in the chef’s memory, as though he’d read about something like it before. Whatever it was, he couldn’t bring himself to remember.

His attention was then drawn to the large, open double-doors behind the glass pedestal. There, two figures were engaging in a furious argument. The first was one of the older monks from the Citadel. The second was a man that Chris recognized. They had become “acquainted” over the past few weeks while Chris had been held in prison. His name was Williams; he was a lieutenant of the Radisanth city guard, or so he claimed. The chef had gotten to know the man quite well. He had blonde hair, broad shoulders, and a perpetually pompous air about him. During Chris’s stay in the dungeon, it had always been Williams who would have him interrogated, beaten, and forced to fight in the Citadel. All because he suspected the traveling chef from a small town in Salvar of being involved with the revolution in some way.

Chris couldn’t make out much of the conversation, but he did pick up a few words from the monk. “Cook” and “be released” rang through particularly clear, bringing a warm surge of hope through his chest. Was that monk seeing that he finally released? He could scarcely believe it, but he couldn’t help raise his hopes.

Finally, the weary brawling cook realized that the girl was in the room as well, sitting up on the marble platform next to his. It was the first time that he’d actually seen an opponent after a match finished. Of course, he still had no idea who had won. He turned to her and smiled warmly.

“So, who’s buying the drinks tonight?”


Requested spoil: The Storm Sphere. The storm sphere is a small glass orb that absorbs electricity, mainly from thunderstorms, and releases it against enemies on command. It can be a little hazardous and limited, though still useful, in unskilled hands. Naturally, though, the skill (particularly magical skill and power) of the wielder would determine how effective and safe it is.

[Skie and Avery]

Christoph is red
BlackAndBlueEyes is blue
Story

Continuity:
7 - Good, but I would have liked if you'd clarified a little more on why they thought you were a traitor to the government.

5 - There were references to her father, but none were really very specific. I know why she was at the Citadel, and I thank you for that, as well as her profession, but I would have liked to know just why and how she got into assassination. The character, a woman who dresses like a little girl, isn't really the kind you'd picture doing the whole kill-for-monies thing.

Setting:
8 - This was a great setting for battle, and I thought that you used it very well in both blocking and bringing the tension up.

9 - I thought that you really shone here, especially in regards to the way that heels like to catch on little ridges on the floor. *sigh* I'm always tripping like that.

Pacing:
6 - Decent enough, though there were some places that seemed to drag on a bit.

6 - See Christoph's comment.

Character

Dialogue:
5 - His banter with Madison was average, and there were a couple of good lines in there, but overall it just seemed really lackluster.

7 - Madison's got a way of speaking that is more memorable, and it does do a little bit more to illustrate her character. The biggest thing here is your use of internal dialogue.

Action:
7 - Average. You seem to favor taking out people's knees. Are you sure Chrisoph was a cook and not a mafia man? You did well for not having anything but yourself to work with, and linking his actions and reactions with experience from his past was really nice.

7 - A good variety and ingenuity in battle. Also, you can't have a girl on boy fight with a little dirty play. Kicks in the nadgers, FTW!

Persona:
6 - I really feel that your grasp on Christoph has strengthened since your battle with Synful_Blood. I was very pleased with the improvements that I saw in this.

6 - I really didn't get a good view of her, I felt, from this thread. It just felt to me that she could have been played by any number of unhappy female characters on this site.

Writing Style

Mechanics:
7 - A solid grip on grammar and spelling.

6 - Pretty good, but one complaint. Sometimes you slipped into present tense for part of a sentence or the full thing out of a paragraph. That's definitely something to watch for.

Technique:
5 - When Christoph decided to think of Madison as male, you should have stuck with changing instances of she and her to he and him from then on or have abandoned it all together. Sometimes changing it in the sentence to reflect his mindset was distracting. A little more descriptive style could also do you some good.

6 - A good, solid style. I would like to see a little more internal dialogue and description.

Clarity:
8 - No complaints. The only reason this isn't higher is because while I felt you guys did great here, both of you could get better with more description.

8 - Ditto.

Wild Card:
6 - Being forced to fight is always fun. But not as fun as being shivved by a girl.

6 - I admire her for fighting dirty, but I don't admire her for terrible taste in clothes.

Total:
65

66

As it turns out, Christoph bled out just before Madison made her first impression on the ground below. Madison Freebird is announced as the winner.

Christoph receives 300 EXP and 195 GP
BlackAndBlueEyes receives 1,150 EXP and 398 GP as well as the Storm Sphere.

Storm Sphere limitations ((must be followed to the letter or I will hunt you down and kill you.)) Please copy this into your items at your next character update.
Draws in energy from storms only. Must be within the rain and wind part of the storm to store energy. Takes fifteen minutes to charge to full capacity. As character updates, the amount of energy it can store, and the amount of time it takes to charge should both expand.
Energy is stored for 7 days. This length of time can grow at level-up if approved by an approvals mod.
When unleashed, the energy is good for one big shock. This number also increases with the level of the character wielding it as approved during character updates.
Currently non-lethal, but can render particularly young or weak-constituted characters unconscious as well as do electrical burn damage.
Currently has 85% chance of shocking user. This percentage will go down 2% after every 3 uses.
One use in battle. As many uses in quest as possible as long as above limitations are met.

[Letho]

EXP/GP added!