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View Full Version : Battle on the Beach ((grim137))



Breaker
07-08-07, 03:09 PM
To my right and left, the Citadel's majestic hallways stretched as far as the eye could see. Floor, walls and ceiling all finished in smooth speckled marble, lit by the dancing flames of thousands of candles set in gold chandeliers. It was hard to imagine a building grander than the famous Radasanthian Citadel, where death was easier to overcome than most of the fighters. In front of me was a small oak door, bizarrely plain and out of place in the massive resplendent corridor. I did not pretend to understand the magical mysteries of the establishment, but I accepted them for what they were. As I reached for the brass doorknob, the monk at my side spoke. He had guided me patiently to this door, a knowing look playing about eyes all the while.

"Do you not wish to know what is behind the door, Joshua?" It was odd that he chose to use my full name. I always introduced myself as Josh. Perhaps the monks use whole names to show respect, or something like that.
"Not really," I replied, "All I'm looking for today is a challenge. I don't care who it is, or where I fight them, just so long as they're stronger than me."
In the past, I had fought opponents who, while equipped with an odd array of weapons and magical spells, were nowhere near my fighting caliber. Upon arriving at the Citadel that day, I had requested a more powerful opponent.
The monk nodded, as if I had confirmed something.
"It is the true champion who seeks out those above him, rather than those below." I raised an eyebrow at the statement. It seemed like something you might find written inside a fortune cookie. I waited a few seconds, to see if the monk had anything more to add. When it became obvious that he did not, I opened the door and crossed the threshold into a new world.

My vision was temporarily whited out as I stepped through the doorway, so the first thing I perceived was the roar and crash of the ocean. It was an unmistakable noise; long, flowing rhythms finished by splashing sounds as the wave broke upon the shore. Next came the salty smell of the air. A stiff breeze whipped into me from overtop the water, tugging at my clothing and hair, imbuing me with the scent of the ocean. It was a powerful smell, yet refreshing at the same time. I felt the sand shift beneath my shoes, and then my vision came back.

I was awed by the sight of the water. The beach matched the Citadel's corridor for length. A hundred yards behind me the sand stopped, and a dense treeline began. In three directions however, there was no hint of a horizon. Just sand, water, and more sand. Rocks dotted the beach at odd intervals, like pockmarks of the land. The water glistened, a thousand tiny mirrors riding and rolling, casting the sunlight in every direction. White froth topped each wave, and bubbled over when they eventually broke on the shore. It was a place of phenomenal beauty, and natural peace.
Unfortunately, it was about to see lots of bloodshed.

Breathing deeply through my nose, I jogged down the beach a short distance, then stopped and began stretching. My opponent would be arriving soon, surely, and I needed to be ready for a long hard duel. I felt my muscles tighten and stretch, loosening up my body and lending me a feeling of comfort and power. Stretching done, I sized up the conditions. After some thought, I kicked off my shoes, then removed my socks and stuck them inside the former. Bare feet gave me extra traction in the sand, and decreased my odds of being tripped up by a rock or mound of earth. I stared at my surroundings as I thought a little more, then stripped off my shirt, folded it, and set it on top of my shoes. Approaching the water's edge, I crouched and splashed water on my face, neck and hair. It was hot, hot enough that I had already broken into a light sweat. The water helped keep my body temperature down, and the simple act of removing my black shirt had drastically reduced the chance of overheating. I felt good, well prepared, and decided to finish waiting for my opponent comfortably.

I sat next to my shoes and shirt, examining my right forearm. Veins and tendons bulged against lightly tanned skin, the result of hard workouts each day. My nunchaku was attached by two straps between my elbow and wrist. Removing it, I dropped the straps into my pocket and tucked the chuck into my utility belt. I had customized the belt long ago, adding two loops of nylon just to the right of my tailbone. My nunchaku rode easily there, mostly out of sight until I needed it. It was a good weapon, particularly useful for its surprising range when an enemy thought you unarmed.

Left alone to think, my thoughts quickly returned to Earth, my home planet. It had been several months since a strange portal had left me stranded on Althanas, a primitive world where electricity was unheard of, but magic hid around every corner. I had adapted to my new lifestyle as only a well-trained Special Agent could. I had made contacts, found help where I needed it, and sought constructive ways to use my time. In truth, Earth did not have anything that I needed that I couldn't find on Althanas. However, I still missed it, horribly at times. I had seen beaches like this one on Earth, but they were always covered in people, umbrellas, chairs, picnic tables, and whatever else beach-goers brought with them. Another difference I noticed was that there were no dead fish in the water; a result of the lack of pollution. Hefting a handful of sand, I let it run slowly through my fingers. "This world seems so much better than the one I left behind... so why do I miss Earth so much?"

Tossing what sand was left in my hand to the water, I lay back with my head pillowed on my shirt and shoes. I breathed deep, letting thoughts of regret flow out of my mind like the tide washing away. I needed to focus, to win my most difficult Citadel duel yet. The sun beat down, baking my skin, heating my body and keeping my blood flowing strong. I relaxed and closed my eyes. I was ready.

grim137
07-10-07, 03:48 PM
“So this is the citadel? It’s magnificent,” thought Xanbata Grim as he stood in awe of the large building, “I always thought people were exaggerating.”

This was the first time since his rebirth at the hands of his sinister master Do’negh that the livelike vampire had been to the famed Citadel of Corone. Sure he had been several times when he was still Tarry Whealer, but Tarry’s body had been blind unable to see the place. Had he been lucky enough to have sight in his previous life, the bloodsucker thought that perhaps he might have shown a bit more respect for the monks of Ai’brone. Then again probably not since they’d had a tendency to annoy him a bit in the past.

The brown haired vampire had come to the famed Citadel for one reason; he desired better prey. He had been in Corone for a few weeks now because his twisted master, Do’negh, wanted him to be. In all honestly Xanbata had no idea why this was and he didn’t ask since he had learned long ago that it wasn’t his place to do so. So instead he simply stayed in the city, hunting the humans that wondered the streets at night as though they were cattle. Of course, being who he was, it didn’t take long for him to grow bored of killing off calves and cows and he started to long for a bull, something some horns so to speak, to hunt.

Unfortunately due to the fact that Tarry Whealer (his former self) had killed off the minister of justice (something the government was doing an incredible job of covering up) and the civil war, security was had been stepped up quite a bit in the city. This meant it was a lot harder to stir up any sort of real trouble with out having the armed forces come after him in spades. Had it not been for that one little, annoying fact Xanbata would have never come to the Citadel. After all, he saw little point in killing somebody if they weren’t going to stay dead.

Once the initial awe of actually seeing the place for the first time wore off (a second or two after it hit him) the bloodsucker made his way through the large stone doors at the impressive building’s entrance. The inside of the building was just as impressive as the outside, if not more so, thanks the large elegant pillars, shrines and various statues and paintings depicting the gods as well as some of the more well known heroes (and villains) that had fought in the fabled battlefields that only the monks could create. Despite the magnificent appearance of the inside, the awe that struck Xanbata when he had stood on the outside did not comeback this time. The well traveled (prior to his rebirth) vampire had already gotten over the size and appearance of the building.

“Can I help you?” asked a small monk, so covered in white robes that Xanbata could not see his face, or any other part of his body. Of course the monk already knew the answer to his question since there was only one reason anybody ever came to the Citadel.

“You already know the answer to that monk,” responded Xanbata impatiently.

“Any preference as to where or who you fight?”

“No, what or whoever’s available will do.”

“Very well, please follow me,” responded the short monk as he lead the brown haired vampire down a hall lined on both sides with identical doors of ornate design until the monk finally stopped at one.

“This lead to the guy I’m supposed to face?”

“Yes.”

With out another word the livelike vampire stepped through the door, only to be immediately greeted by a blinding light that forced him to shut his eyes for a second before opening them again. Because of this blindness (a sensation he was all too familiar with) he noticed the screeching sound of the seagulls, the thick, salty smell of the sea, the semi-solid feeling of the sand, and of course the intense, uncomfortable heat generated by the relentless sun in the sky. He also noticed the unmistakable feeling of a human life force.

“That must be my opponent,” muttered Xanbata to himself as blindness quickly subsided and he turned towards the direction of his life force before slowly walking towards it, “doesn’t look like much, wonder if I should introduce myself before I gut him alive. Sometimes its fun to give these cattle a name to curse while their insides spill all over the ground.”

Breaker
07-10-07, 06:35 PM
Reclining comfortably on the sand, I could feel my skin beginning to tan. I had just reached the point where my flesh began to radiate heat, as well as take in the sun's rays. Idly, I wondered if my skin would stay tanned or if it would, like injuries and death, be reversed by the monks at the conclusion of the battle. Many similar unnecessary ponderings chased each other around my mind as I waited for my opponent. A casual observer might have thought me asleep, but in truth I was highly alert. With my eyes half closed I still had a decent line of vision, but more important were my other senses. Despite the constant rolling and crashing of the waves, I could hear quite well. As a test, I reached an arm out and shoved a palmful of sand roughly away. With my head only two inches off the ground, I heard the shifting grit clearly. I was confident that I would hear or feel anyone approaching, and continued to wait in peace.

I was considering rolling over to get some sun on my back when suddenly, I heard it. The noise my ears had been waiting fifteen minutes to hear: footsteps in the sand. Without hesitation I sprang to my feet. Opening my eyes suddenly while my pupils were still dilated allowed too much sunlight to spill into my retinas, and for a moment all I could see were shapes. The man walking towards me was nothing monumental; maybe an inch taller than me, maybe ten pounds heavier. We had a remarkably similar physique, in fact, with him being a slightly larger version of myself. "I hope the monks didn't let me down." I thought, "I've felled many men larger than this one in the past."

It was as detail returned to my vision that I knew the monks had delivered what they promised. My opponent's posture, his every move, spoke of battle training and experience. It was obvious that he was here for the same reason as me; to fight. Although I wanted to remain focussed completely on beating him, I could not help but notice how remarkably similar we were. Physique aside, our hair colour was nearly identical, both of our heads sporting light brown locks. I could not make out the colour of his eyes, but they were not a sharp colour, rather dull in hue as are mine. He had sharp features, and somehow I knew his wit would be the same. The confident air he carried was not the foolish bravado of a tavern brawler, but that of a seasoned fighter who had seen more than his fair share of bloodshed. There was something in the man's sunken eyes that told me this would be the fight of my life.

As I rose from the ground, fine grains of sand cascaded from my back where they had latched onto my pores. Still, a thin layer of grit remained on my skin. I was about to brush it off when a quiet murmuring reached my ears. My eyes swept the area, seraching for the source of the noise, and saw that the other man's lips were moving as he muttered something under his breath. I tensed instantly. I had fought mages before, and knew that some needed to speak incantations in order to use their deadly magic. I stood for three seconds, vibrating like a live wire, ready for anything. No magical attack came, though. "Maybe he was just talking to himself... there's something else we have in common," I thought, "Although, I normally keep internal conversation inside my head."

If it had been a street fight, I would have attacked instantly without warning. Due to the odd formality of the Citadel, however, I wondered if I should introduce myself first. The man certainly did not seem to care what my name was. In training as a Special Agent, I had learned alot about non-verbal communication. Superior Agents had taught me to interpet emotions in people's faces and eyes, as well as their body language. Looking at the powerful man approaching me, I could find only a single sentence in his non-verbal communication; I'm going to kill you.

Perhaps it was the man's obvious agression, or the fact that he carried weapons he had yet to draw. Whatever the cause, I decided on an impulse to attack with everything I had. Quite suddenly, my skin took on a golden sheen, and my physical strength doubled. This was an odd talent which I normally reserved for when I truly needed it, but a strange sixth sense was telling me I needed it right then and there. Not caring whether the change of my skin tone had tipped him off, I stepped forward to meet the larger combatant and released a quick one-two combination. The first strike was a quick left jab aimed at his solar plexus, the second a knifehand blow which scythed down at a sharp angle, the edge of my hand seeking to meet the side of his neck. Either of the blows in themselves, if they landed, would be enough to fell most men. My preliminary attack was a strong one, but also a test.
"Let's see whether or not that confidence is unfounded..."

Taskmienster
10-02-09, 03:30 PM
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