(7) Dark Phoenix v (18) Circus

[Ashiakin]

Round One starts at 12:00 AM EST on Sunday, April 30th and will last two weeks. Good luck!

[Dissinger]

He walked into the building, knowing full well what lay before him. The road of slaughter that had ended abruptly at Serenti now lay before him again. The blood sweat and tears of fighting to the top of the mountain almost consumed him again. However, once again he was focused. Following the Serenti he had wandered Althanas for gods knew how long, trying to find the one he sought whole heartedly. He knew that today he wouldn’t find her, but now that didn’t matter, the task at hand did, in a morbid way.

As he entered the building he saw a fence of chains before him, criss-crossing at various angels, trying to prevent one from escaping through them, but all the same the metal shone in the light. It was steel, hard and cold, the impersonal bringing of death to those that would oppose it. The idea was clear; this was a cell, of which only two could be set free, the bloody victors of this first round of torment.

He had left his partner back at the hotel deciding to investigate the site, come up with ideas beforehand. And now he was glad he had, this would be far tougher when there was no escape. He could see a few Lornious officials around the cage, in order to make sure the potential victors would survive the encounter. As he walked around the cell his hand trailed along the chains, causing them to clink softly starting a chiming chorus of voices all pronouncing their strength.

The demons within him raged as they knew today they could be sated. Seth held them in check for now, not wanting to let his contained anger free quite yet. He moved slowly each footstep echoing through the cold void of the room as the officials watched the first entrant. He stopped once he reached the entrance to the bizarre contraption, a gate that was fused to the frame of the structure. He then smirked as he flipped the catch.

Walking inside the cell he looked around taking in the sheer volume of it. While it was a good fifty feet high, it must have been at least a hundred wide. It would make a terrific battlefield, one that no one could escape. As he heard the gate close behind him his eyes closed, as he listened to the chimes of the chains again, feeling them dip into the darkness within him. He grinned as he felt the demons within him get louder, the cacophony of their voices entering his ears. He stifled them for now, he had to defeat his opponents, and that time would come soon enough.

He was in a dome of steel, a carnal house of pain, and he was smiling.

[Nightsangel]

Sivienna sighs as she sits in the dark hotel room. She had thought that when the tournament began that Seth would have at least woke her up. But know he had simply let the pretty night vixen get her 'beauty' sleep. Sivienna normally woke up at the slightest sounds, it came from her years of sleeping alone and having to worry about being attacked at the slightest moment. However it seemed that she had been so comfortable, that she had stayed locked in her dream world. Even when Seth had opened the door and had slipped out earlier in the morning light.

She had thought she had heard a click, but she had attributed that to the dream she had been having. In it she was dancing with a shadowy individual, and when the click had happened she had just thought it had been her dress heel clicking against the solid marble of the floor. She had merely sighed as her unknown partner twirled her lightly in his arms. She had slept for a few more hours lost in her world and endless dance.

Finally she had been awoken by a slight knock on her door, it seemed that housekeeping needed to come in to straighten up the room. Rubbing her eyes the pretty woman had padded her way to the door still clad in her sleeping clothes. She had opened it up for the young elf girl, and it had been then that she had noticed her partner was missing.

Sighing audibly as she listened to the cheerful elf girl straighten up the sheets and tidy the mess she and Seth had left from their dinner remains the previous eve. She sighed before she slipped into the bathroom and changed into a pair of soft leather pants and a tie back halter style top. Sighing as she fixed her purple hair into a sleek and straight ponytail she murmurs to herself "Damn you Seth....just why did you go on ahead? You could have taken me with you know! Instead you make me look like the fool who overslept!" Still grumbling to herself Sivienna made her way out of the bathroom. Smiling briefly at the elf girl she murmurs softly "Just straighten up the place then you can be on your way....I have to go meet my partner...at our designated battlefield...."

The elf girl fluffed a soft white pillow as she looked quizzically over at the vampiress. In a soft voice she murmurs "Its not unusual for partners to meet each other miss...are you sure he didn't leave you a note?"

Sivienna sighs as she moves towards the door murmuring "I’m sure miss...but thank you for the concern..."

The elf girl laughed softly as she murmurs "You might want to grab a bite to eat miss, the competition. here for the Lorinius Tournament is rather strenuous. Why don't you get a bite to eat before she running straight to the center?"

Sivienna sighs as she murmurs "Thanks for the suggestion...I’ll just go grab something quick...then be on my way..."

The elf girl smiles as she murmurs softly as she begins to fold up the extra sheets that were strewn around the room "Sounds like a good plan miss..."

Sivienna nods as she softly closes the door and murmurs to herself "Yeah...it sounds like a perfect plan...." Groaning as she begins to walk she finishes softly "What would be more perfect is if Seth and I didn't seem at odds with one another...."

[chumley]

"By Ezekiel's flaming chariot!" Chumley heartily bellowed, pole-vaulting over a smoking fissure in the earth while picking his teeth with the fingerbone of a skeleton he had passed on the way through the angst-ridden nightmare that was this corner of Althanas. "My, what a Plutonian landscape this is! I do believe I passed Cerebus on my way here, the snarling cur!" Flicking the bone away with a deft twirl of his wrist, the pacyderm walked toward the... well, whatever in Hades it was. It appeared to be a spider's web of chains, a confusing mass of metal wrapped around more metal, with some metal spikes for emphasis.

"By the dusts of Dakota!" Chumley chortled, pulling out a cigar of his own brand and sniffing it delicately. The delectable odor, a smell such that might emanate from the seafoam of Venus' origin, caused Chumley's nose to run, and he immediately tucked the tobacco away and pulled a handkerchief from behind his ear with his nose. "What useful things prehensile appendages are!" Chumley bellowed, snorting his proboscus clean. "Now, to battle!"

The elephant had only the vaguest idea of how he had come here, whereever "here" was. It was a tournament, he knew, but its ultimate goal was a mystery. How had he entered? He knew not. Who was he to fight? 'Twas unclear. Would he win? Most certainly. The pride of his nation, the American Republic, depended on it. Chumley felt a cold chill pass through his chest at the thought of the United States. The dark palor of depression passed across his visage, if only briefly, but Chumley pushed down his emotions. His Excellency, Abe Lincoln, had never expressed the deep fear and doubt he must have brooded under during the War Between the States, and Chumley was resolved to live in his mold. By the saints, even if he was divorced from his adopted homeland, he would fight for its honor and its memory. Neither would fade from his thoughts. This battle was not for him, but for his mistress: America.

"Hello, my fine gentleman!" Chumley saluted his opponent, ignoring the gates that opened and clanged shut as he walked into the arena, an abstract and confusing space. The elephant could only vaguely assess its appearance, yet its size was relatively clear. The penumbrae of sickly depression looming above and about him did not penetrate his outer shell of geniality - he could not allow it. "Ah! Sausages!" Chumley said approvingly, and stepped up to a hot dog vendor standing to the side of the gate. Handing over a farthing, or a penny, or a pfeffing, or whatever the blazes this country's coins were, Chumley snatched up a weiner and bit into it, savoring the slight flavor of industrial grease and flies that had gotten mixed into the meaty chum at the packing plant.

"Delicious!" Chumley announced, and finished it off. "You really should try one! Oh, I do believe I didn't catch your name! I am Chumley de Rochfeltingham. You, sir, are?" Chumley focused on his opponent, and tried to hide his wince. "GOOD GRAVY AND MINCEMEAT!" Chumley thought to himself. "He looks like he's had a bit of brain softening! Judging by his miasma of ennui, his granny just kicked it. I should keep a wide berth from this one, for surely he's unstable!"

[Ranger]

Time had come and gone.

Ranger had let his companion precede him into the arena. Chumley had a way about himself that the drow found rather humorous. He was jovial and outgoing. The elephants voice (the fact it had a voice still gave the drow a soft smile) was off-setting at first and as it continued the insane ramblings that came from it were even more bewildering.

Around the elf a silent crowd had gathered. To either side, surrounding the circular cage that would be his first arena of the tournament, were people of every nation, race, and age. Most had their arms crossed before them. A rather morose and grim silence had befallen them. There were no cheers for blood, no cries calling for the fight to begin. From what the elven prophet could tell the Lornius Corporate Challenge was not a tournament that people took lightly, unlike the Cell or Serenti which he had taken part in so long ago.

Seth Dahlios…

The thought was one that had been settling heavily on the drow since the brackets and opponents had been announced. The man had been younger and more brash when the drow had first fought him, so long ago in the Theater of War. The dispute seemed trivial, now that Ranger had grown so much in maturity, but the basis for it had been a vital mistake in his life. The first time the two had met was over words exchanged in the failure known as ‘The Black Hand’.
~*~

"When we first met, I had been in conversation with Hikari; you came in and took a tense situation even further by assuming mutiny. That sort of prejudgment only went further when you assumed I held the same racist and bitter views you did. Let me tell you something Grandpa, I'm considered an adult by my race, and I have no such racism. One who is racist opens himself up to many weaknesses. You should also know I don't break any oath I make willingly. I gave my oath to Azrael that I would stand by the Black Hand. Your assumptions only pushed a tense situation closer to the boiling point. Now that that’s out of the way.”
~*~

At the time the young human, no more then a child had been enough to grate on his mind. Now they seemed to strike home. Ranger knew he had been racist, not only against demons but against all who would ally themselves with the race. It had been the will of his ‘god’ Pelor. But truth had shown the drow that the hatred that came from his false deity was only Pelor’s way of using others to cast out competition. The god had been a demon, bent on using those thinking they were doing the righteous thing to destroy other demons that were growing in power to rival his own.

It had been disgusting. But Ranger had been accepted as a prophet of the Thayne, a devout worker of miracles. Now he was a sage. However, before him was still mistakes of the past, of a life that seemed so long ago. Under the hood of a rather dark cloak he watched his partner give a show for the opponents. If he had to accept the beast as his partner the least he could do was use it’s rather… flamboyant personality to his advantage. After all, how many were used to a walking, talking animal the size of Chumley?

Time to begin this next chapter.

Without further ado the drow stepped up to the steel cage and let his hands slip across its cold surface. It would be the prison that the first round of the tournament would take place in, a prison that would confine the elf with his past. Beneath the hood of his cloak only his eyes and tip of his nose could show. His eyes were sharp, platinum embers lit with anticipation. The door closed and latched behind him, ominous in its finality.

In his right hand a gloved hand held tightly the oak shaft of his monks spade. Luckily for the drow it was not till very recently since he had become known for his weapon of choice. When first he and Seth had met it was dual short-swords that he had taken as his signature arms. Seth looked like much had happened since their last meeting, much indeed.

A light hand touched the shoulder of the elephant. Ranger was tiring of its loud voice and antics. Before him the cold gray eyes of a past adversary waited. The thief should have had another at his side, some woman, but her absense meant little to him. Instead of speaking up Ranger opted to keep silent, give the lone opponent something to ponder over. “Chumley,” he whispered in a soft tone, quiet enough for the elephant alone to detect. “That is the one I was talking about, the male. I do not the woman that should be showing up soon enough and have no desire to deal with her. If you keep her out of my way then this first round will be much easier for the both of us.”

[Dissinger]

(If Ranger has edited his post with a timestamp after this post, understand I gave him permission to fix an error he made in his post.)

So this is what fate throws in my way, a talking elephant and a former enemy... Seth thought as he smirked. Moving about the cage staying away from Chumley and Ranger Nailo he moved about slowly his hand dragging along the cage, once again setting the chimes in motion. The clinking of chains expanding as he thought about how to approach the situation.

"It’s been awhile hasn't it Ranger. Are you still as dead set on destroying all demons as you were when you began your journey?" He said as he waited for the response only a moment, "So much has happened since the Black Hand fell, and the Red Hand in its wake not long afterwards. I can only guess what atrocities you've done, as you can only guess at mine."

He then turned to the elephant, Chumley showed a far more straightforward attitude. Talking of the vendors and trying to be a clown. It was this that made Seth smile, something he hadn't done in awhile. As much as he knew he would have to kill Chumley, he was thankful knowing the elephant wouldn't suffer eternally. He then thought out his next words before he spoke, "A talking Elephant, well wonders never do cease. I would assume your pious friend here would have told you my name, but if you need it, I'll be surely glad to give it. I'm Seth Dahlios. I still have to wonder, what would place an elephant and a cleric to a fanatical god together?"

He then waited as he let the sound of steel upon steel echo through the room as he said, "Well I guess that’s enough idle banter for now. You came for a fight as did I, lets get this started, my partner should be joining us shortly..."

[Nightsangel]

The sun's rays were bright as Sivienna ventured out into the open market place. She had thought that the hotel would at least have a small restaurant. But no...not one place to eat. All she had found was a small gift shop advertising goods being sold that were related to the Lornius Tournament. It seemed that they had small bars of chocolate for sale...but nothing that the night vixen would deem suitable for breakfast. Sighing as she tore her eyes away from the display of plush teddy bears wearing small t-shirts advertising the very tournament she was in. However since the dancer didn't see any actual place to dine for breakfast, she decided that her best bet would be in the small marketplace that was situated near the hotel.

Making her way through the double doors of the hotel, she covered her lilac orbs once the sun's pale rays struck her delicate skin. Still shielding her eyes, the beauty begin to slowly make her way into the busy and crowded street. Sighing as she sniffed her way towards the food carts, she begin to head to a place where she smelled fresh popovers. Smiling as she licked her lips, her eyes fell on a small vendor that was smell plump and freshly made popovers. Taking out her money purse the exotic dancer avoided a rather large woman that was tending to a horse and cart.

Finally reaching the popover vender, she ordered one popover. Paying the man she begin to wander away from the food carts contentedly munching on her yummy breakfast. Enjoying the delicate flavor of the pastry, Sivienna quickly trotted past a cart that was displaying a dazzling array of jewels.

The vendor however, noticing the woman's delicate figure and carefree walk. He grinned before he called out "Hey miss! Yeah you beautiful! Why don't you buy yourself a jewel? With that pretty face and dashing body a gorgeous gem would add to your radiant beauty!"

Sivienna scowled as she licked crumbs slowly off her face. Shaking her head as she spotted the center where her match was taking place, she begin to head there before a hand was placed on her shoulder.

The vendor's greedy green eyes were bright as he cooed "Aww honey your a contender there? Well then that makes things all the better! Why don't you buy a jeweled dagger? A flashy pretty weapon would just match that lovely outfit of yours!"

Sivienna flipped her neat ponytail behind her back as her lilac eyes narrowed at the vendor. Jerking her shoulder away from him she said directly but softly "No sir. I don't need a flashy weapon to prove I’m a good fighter! Now then if you'll excuse me!" Without waiting for a reply from the vendor, Sivienna strode purposefully towards the center. She knew she wouldn't be there directly, but she knew in not more then five minutes she would be next to her partner Seth. Pursing her lips as she kept her eyes focused on the center she thought softly to herself I don't care what Seth says...I don't care that we have two other fighters fighting against us! I’m giving that arrogant Lavinian a piece of my mind the minute I step into the arena!

With that thought in mind she continued her approach to the center, her mind clear, once she had told Seth off for leaving her behind, she'd focus on her opponent. She knew that if she didn't speak her mind her fighting would falter, and despite the fact that she'd love to see Seth struggle, she knew it wouldn't be right of her. After all he had begrudgingly agreed to help her and she couldn't just leave him to do all the work on his own.

[chumley]

Chumley listened to his partner, waving his sail-like ears to catch his whispers better. "A clever plot, my priestly pal," he hoarsely whispered back, rubbing his clubs of hands together. "Your hieratical bearing is belied by your knowledge of the martial arts, dear sir. Although you may have a grasp of combat, I am not without experience. Allow me to explain..." Chumley broke from his partner, plodding cautiously towards his angst-racked opponent. His hair seemed to be prematurely gray, undoubtedly a product of constantly wallowing in a self-pitying puddle of pugnacity. Perhaps he was strained by the effects of some dark madness, reminescent of the late British monarch, the former oppressor of the American states George III. Whatever his disease, be it mental, emotional, or venereal, Chumley knew there was only one way to combat the morose atmosphere surrounding him.

The elephant raised his trunk in the air, spouting a long, sonorous toot, a musical note worthy of Pan's flute. Chumley lowered his nose, and pricked up a wavering sound, echoing over the last decibels of his own trumpet. It grew louder and louder, rocking the pebbles on the ground and causing the chains hanging overhead to shake violently. It was... the sound of bass drums, tamborines, trombones, and dancing feet. It was the sound of music!

"As I was saying," Chumley said, directing his voice back toward his partner. "I have some experience in fighting, myself!" With that, the arena exploded into a flurry of noise, sound and movement. Hundreds of dancers in blackface, dressed in waistcoast and straw hats with canes, leapt through gaps in the fence surrounding them, breaking out into a well-choreographed softshoe routine. Several hanggliders coasted overhead, dropping pianos and steel drums, complete with players, onto the field like apples from an orchard tree. A marching band, resplendent with the finest shining brass instruments and xylophones, burst into the arena, lining up against one side.

Chumley broke out into a dance routine, implausibly well for an elephant, his arms and legs flashing in precision movement. The dancers flanked him at either side, creating a pyramid of flying feet pointed at Seth. Dust into the air around their deft dancing, which pounded the ground in time with a chest-thumping beat. The dancers whipped off their hats, spinning them on one finger. Chumley complimented them by tossing his hat on the ground and bursting into a Mexican hat dance around it as a mariachi band appeared from nowhere, playing on the top wings of a triplane that buzzed around the arena at low altitude, spraying confetti out of its tailfin. Chumley stopped in front of his hat, locking eyes with Seth, his displaced handkerchiefs whirling about him. As the music played to crescendo, his lungs filled and he burst into song.

My fine folks let me tell you a rousing tale,
Not a whale of a tale or a tale of a whale!
It's the story of a barfight in '68
I'll go right in to it, 'cause I know you can't wait!
Johnson was stepping down and needed replacing.
Seymour and Grant were the ones who were a-facing
Each other for the honor of being, by dint
Of winning the election race, our President!

I sat in a saloon on a cool December eve
Ah! 'twas the night I knew, or at least I believed
That Seymour would win, Horatio was my man.
Of the drunkard U.S. Grant, sirs, I was no fan.
So I sat and I waited that fateful night
Happily unawares of the close, coming fright.
A Chinaman blundered in, his face was all red
Grant won! Hip-Hurray! Was all the coolie man said.
Well I look'ed down, a-frowning at my warm beer
And across it, I saw the ripple of a tear.

With blurred eyes and runny nose in my seat I cringed
Till I jumped up, my man's honor impinged
"A lie!" I cried, and punched in the Chinaman's nose
He yelped like a wet dog being whipped with a hose.
Now in California you don't punch a fella
Without knowing that you've made a casus bella
And I guess I didn't cause next thing that I knew
The bartender smacked me up the head with a shoe.

The fight, she was on, and as I fell to the floor
Three men from Cathay a-rushed in through the door
Quick to the aid of their friend who I had knocked down
Some drunk fellows took them back down to Chinatown.
Ole Fat Larry jumped down from atop a dresser
And was felled by the Deputy Sheriff's Winchester.
I jumped to my feet, as I tore up a floorboard
From behind me, around my neck was wrapped a cord
It was Grim Freddie, the tiny town's long-time wag
As there we grappled together, in burst a hag

Who passed as a whore in that dusty trailhead
With her, Freddie had defiled half the town's beds.
She jumped to his aid, a-punching at my gourd
I hit her in the temple with my trusty floorboard
Then I stomped Freddie's foot and bloodied his chin,
Punched him in the stomach and then did it again.
He fell away moaning, so I unveiled my gun
Took aim, and shot a nearby Republican.

It was the bloodiest battle in that old town
But when the blood dried and the fight settled down
I laughed as I guzzled the last of my beer
Nodding to my buddies, we raised up three cheers
And rode into the sunset, a battle well fought
To the Democrats: 1. To Republicans: Naught!

Chumley spun on his heel and turned to the men behind him. "STOP!" He yelled, and they paused in mid-step. "Chumley Time!" he roared, and the band roared into an even more vigorous melody, as Chumley turned into what it was every elephant's dream to become: A dancing machine. There were tears in the eyes of most onlookers as the pachyderm unleashed a fury of choreographed stylings unseen since the Muses walked the Earth. Spinning, twirling, gliding across the ground like it was glass, Chumley's dancing was spirited, yet sublimely calm. He was in his element, and he knew it.

With a final backflip and an explosive last bar from the band, Chumley bowed and, huffing heavily, walked back toward his partner.

"So you see," he managed between breaths, "I know my way around the arena! Leave his partner to me!"

[Ranger]

Somehow the drow could never see himself tiring of his partner’s fluid and melodious diction. It always surprised him. The very ability for the elephant to speak so elegantly was only outdone by the fact it spoke at all. Ranger listened to both his opponent speak and his companion. Seth only dully noted the absence of his partner, and as far as the ex-cleric could tell his old nemesis held a grudge better then any deity ever could. His hair was a prematurely white in coloration, his eyes were a faded gray, and his very choice of clothing supported the down-cast appearance. He was the very effigy of what Ranger had predicted so long ago—though at that time it was out of spite more then foresight.

Before the prophet was an adversary, but at his side was an anomaly.

A smirk rose on the dark-skinned face of the drow, the edges of his lips curling and giving him an air of authority that accented his already noble features. He could not help it. His companion was beginning a strange spell of some form. Around him the call of the elephant was booming like thunder. Accompanying the thundering report was a rain of performers and musicians. As if the talking elephant was not strange enough a hat appeared atop its rather large skull and it burst into song and dance. It was enough to even turn the smirk into a smile on the face of the normally solemn drow.

What situation have the Thayne positioned me in now? Ranger questioned as he took refuge along the edge of the fence, letting the downpour of bands fall and play their instruments in front of him. Dancers separated the elephant from the sole opponent present and all but surrounded the only other entry that Seth’s partner could come in from. The first round of the most important tournament in Althanas and I pair myself with an elephant with aspirations of song and dance, and the means to perform. And to make matters more chaotic my first foe is one of my past, perhaps the strongest of all my former rivals.

Ranger held no desire to belay Chumley in his song and dance; he seemed to be enjoying himself. As long as it could fight the drow did not care what song it sang or how many people its spell filled the arena with. The long, thin ears of the elf were twitching with the cacophony of noise that was surrounding him, drowning his senses as well as any torrent could have. The rather copious noise was enough to mask any sound that the drow himself may have made while moving, and so he assumed beginning of the fighting would be on him to initiate.

To either side he saw only a small, rather precarious distance between the band and the edge of the outwardly animated chain-link fence. It was enough for the dark elf to find his way around though. Ranger assumed a ghost-like stride as he followed the very edge of the colossal cage, his footsteps were as silent and as calculating as only one of elven birth could assume—as needless as it was. He followed the edge, moving with wall-body-weapon tactics in case Seth happened to burst into a surprise attack during the pinnacle of the song.

No attack came though, but instead Ranger found his way to within sight distance of his opponent once again. He allowed his platinum eyes to catch the pathetic facade that once held a vibrant young man before speaking loudly. He could have attacked, opened up the battle without responding to Seth’s malicious tone and malevolent condemnations. Instead he wanted to show he had changed, had become better then what the thief remembered him as. “As a prophet of the Thayne I am no longer a zealous follower of a false god,” he called loudly over the noise. “Now is no time to be toying with past grievances and religious disagreements, nor is this the place to ask for or grant forgiveness on either side. Now is a time for battle…”

With that the drow sprung forward, lunging at his opponent with the broad titanium head of his spade at the forefront of the attack. There was not much power behind the attack, no more then a simple lunge to test the strength, dexterity, and speed of his opponent. After testing each other true combat would be exercised, to begin with it would be nothing more then a simple attack here and a slight counter there. Ranger’s face had gone blank, as most warriors’ faces did. His muscles were fluid like water and yet could become steel at with only a split-second decision. Grace and dexterity allied themselves with drow’s movements, and underlining all was a form of beauty that accompanied the uniquely stylistic dance of combat.

Before all was an unsurpassed serenity over his mind, soul, and body.

[Dissinger]

As soon as Chumley began his song and dance routine Seth was feeling the beginning of a headache. The pachyderm had effectively cut off what little patience he had, for the tom foolery of the elephant was clearly just the act of a rather inept man. Or rather in this case, it was an inept elephant. Knowing now that the elephant wasn't truly a threat he turned his gaze about the arena for his other opponent. While Ranger Nailo was honorable, he wasn't stupid; he was looking for an attack.

Moving through the dancers and about he frowned as he couldn't hear much over the cacophony of music. Closing his eyes surely wouldn't help as his other senses were dulled by the musical dance, and Chumley didn't seem to be wrapping up. Undoing the clasp on his cloak he let it fall to the ground as he quickly pulled Spite and Malice from their holsters, preparing for treachery from the Dark Elf.

He needn't have bothered, for while Ranger was questionable, he certainly wasn't dishonorable. Shouting out in full warning over the sounds of the music, he told Seth everything he needed to know, and a few things he didn't care about. As the errant elephant began to go into what could only be described as "Chumley Time" Seth saw the glint of the weapon. Swiftly moving Malice parried the blow as he spun moving to the side of Nailo before he said finally, the end of the performance leaving dead air throughout the room, "Well now, I never expected to get music with this dance..."

Keeping his eyes on the Pachyderm trying to waltz towards his partner Seth moved swiftly, "However, seeing as how this is a tournament, and I have to win at all costs, hope your partner has some ample dexterity..." With that he jumped back pulling on the ring of a lung popper. Letting the bladed kunai fly he sent it with dazzling grace towards its intended target, the very face of one Chumley de Rochfeltingham.

You want to play the game Ranger, let’s see you save your comrade; I don't feel bound by trivial things such as honor. I'm fighting for my future, what do you fight for chump? He thought bitterly.

[Nightsangel]

Slowly she entered the building, for a few moments she could hear nothing but quiet stillness. The silence calmed her a bit, she had feared for a moment when the vendor had tried to woo her into buying one of his silly gaudy weapons that the man had another intentions on his mind. It seemed that while he was trying to urge her to buy a weapon, he was also peeking at her lavishly clad body. This had scared her for a moment, but her mind had been so set on getting to her match, that she had simply jerked herself away from the man's hard grip. Leaning briefly against the wall she thought to herself He probably just desperately wanted my gold coins....not my body... Peeking down at her soft halter top and snug leather pants, she sighed as she stretched and finished up her thoughts I know I look good...but this is a tournament...not some dark corner in the black market of Radasanth...the merchant's here just want gold...not a woman....

With her mind cleared about her worries on the vendor, she pushed herself off the cold wall, padding softly as her steps echoed down the concrete floor. She soon reached a plain wooden door. Pushing it open, quite a sight met her eyes.

Before the vixen stood a large cage, it was cold look, stoic with clear metal chains snaking along the metallic walls. She knew that Seth probably had something to do with this. Shaking her head as her tongue ran lightly over her lips she thought to herself Just great....a cage...and then you have demon...put a demon unhindered into a cage and then you have a blood bath.... Her eyes slowly left the snake like chains to fall on the freed form of her partner. It seemed that the battle had started with out her, which left her to look like even more of a fool. Gritting her teeth, her boots softly tread across the cold metal of the floor.

Reaching the cage door, she hoisted herself up onto the small platform. Still not seeing her opponents she sighed as she reached for the door. However, the last dying notes of music could be heard. Shaking her head she pushed the door open, it seemed that some sort of dance had taken place because just as Sivienna creaked the door open, the last dancer that someone had called was disappearing in a cloud of smoke.

Rubbing her eyes Sivienna muttered softly "Who ordered the band?" Her lilac orbs then looked around the cage, it seemed that Seth was already locked in combat with what appeared to be a dark elf. Shaking her head, Sivienna walked a few paces forward before she loudly stated over the clang of metal upon metal. "Gee Seth! Nice of you to wait for me! What did you want to do? Fight this battle on your own?" Moving forward her eyes grew hotter as she shouted "Then were you just going to come back to the hotel and say that I wasn't needed?!" Itching to do what she had done when she had seen him last in Corone, her hand flexed briefly. In a controlled voice she said softly "If we weren't locked in a cage like animals, I'd so hit you Seth! We agreed to be partners and that means fighting together! Next time you leave me behind...I..." Grumbling to herself, Sivienna merely hissed lightly as she said softly "Never mind Seth...just next time don't leave me behind...it really does look foolish when this is a two on two fight..."

She then looked around the cage, her boots softly moving over the coldness. She could smell another being here...an animal of some sort. Soon her eyes had fallen on the elephant...blinking in shock, her mouth fell open as she murmurs loudly "Oi and now you left me to fight and elephant Seth...gee..."Dryly she laughs as she murmurs "Thanks...."

[chumley]

Chumley watched his partner's assault with some interest, noting his form with an approving eye. His attack was as well coordinated as Sherman's attack on Savannah; the priest lacked only a blue uniform and cap to be the spitting image of a Union assault. The elephant pulled a handkerchief out of his waistcoat and dabbed at a tearful eye, for the thought of Sherman inexorably lead to the thought of Lincoln. It gave Chumley great pain to denegrate the Emancipator's political party in song, but he could no longer consider himself a Republican after the nomination of those bungling political bugaboos, Grant and Colfax. As nefarious as they were pusillanimous, as ugly within as without, they could not stand against the moral scrutiny of the legacy of a man of Lincoln's stature, and that they should march in his footsteps was an insult to the man's memory.

"Oh!" Chumley cried, tucking away his handkerchief and looking down at his feet. "My hat! Saint Andrew's cross, I nearly forgot!" Stooping down to where he had left the accoutrement in the dust, Chumley brushed it off, cleaning the reminder of his hero's own stovepipe. "I shall one day have to compose a song on how much this hat means to me," Chumley said, affixing it to his head as he straightened back up. "Perhaps in Italian... GREAT POTEMKIN'S VILLAGE!" Chumley roared, reeling as a dagger slashed his voluminous ear, cutting a gash across it. The ivory-tusked dancing wonder, feeling a wave of nausea wash over him, stumbled about, flailing his arms helplessly. Confused and frightened, as any honorable man would be upon being attacked in such an underhanded, base, treacherous, cowardly way, he ran about in circles, feeling his warm ichor run down his leathery hide. Not since Burr slew Hamilton had such a dastardly deed been committed against an honorable servant of the Republic. Only in the innermost level of Hell would such infamy be tolerated against the most naive, charming and trusting elephant of the Transmississippi.

After a few moments, the pain in his ear subsiding, if not that in his heart, Chumley stopped, gaining control of himself, and began plucking handkerchiefs from his clothing like one of the most skilled prestidigitators of the Asiatic courts, applying them to his wound as a makeshift bandage. "By G-d in Heaven," Chumley roared, his voice a horrible reverberation equal in horrible volume to the final blasts of the seven Apocalyptical trumpets of St. John's revelation, "D--m the poltroon who dared deliver this wound! I hope to see his face before the Devil himself pours hot tar upon it, so I can witness across his visage the horror of one whose execrable sins have condemned him to the sulfurous pit!" Searching in the dust with his eyes aflame, Chumley saw, splayed in the dirt, a blood-soaked dagger. He lunged for it, grabbing the infamous tool and raising it in the air. By the patina of dyspeptic self-pity and an almost Kierkegaardian ruefulness coating the blade, it was obvious to whom it belonged.

"I thought only Irishmen capable of such evil," Chumley roared, turning to the battling warriors behind him. "But you, Dahlios, have surpassed even them. You, sir, are not a man. Your hair may be a hoary white, but you have the soul, disposition and honor of an adolescent girl, spurned by the schoolmaster with whom she has become infatuated! I would spit on your simpering face, sir, but it is not worth even that disparagement. I will take this token of your dishonor, and will show it to all whom I encounter in the future, so that they may point to it and my scar, and say: 'He is unworthy of the title "villain!"'" Chumley tucked the dagger into his waistcoat and turned, preparing to leave the arena in disgust.

Much to his surprise, he found himself face-to-face with a most curious creature. Although as slight as one of Bacchus' willowy nymphs, her skin and eyes could only have come from one of Hades' minions. Chumley knew immediately why she had made an appearance here, sneaking into the arena like Hamlet edging behind an arras, to strike at the innocent Polonius.

"Well, have at you!" Chumley bellowed, waving his fist at her angrily, his redstained handkerchiefs dripping blood on the ground. "Are you a friend of this d---ed creature, Dahlios? If so, I swear upon the word of my Savior, the Christ, that I will see you defeated this day on an honorable plain of battle!"

[Ranger]

As the broad head of the spade was deftly deflected by the thief Ranger spun on his soft-leather boots. The heels clicked against the soft stage that had been given to them for the first round, and even before the hollow click could be drowned by the uproar of the routine the drow was moving. To his side his opponent had shifted. Like a ghost the elven prophet followed. He was light on his feet and with step the illusion of the band was shifting. Ranger was all but impressed with the magic that his elephant partner could perform, thoroughly entertained and found it to be more then practical.

Do all humans have such inane and often cliché responses during fights? Or am I just blessed by the Thayne to find each one that feels the intense desire to flood the battle with quips of a juvenile nature? The drow had barely heard Seth’s comment about the dance with the fight, but it had been enough. He had heard all the little remarks and unnecessary side-conversation that those of human background felt so compassionate about throwing into or after every fight.

Quickly his attention was diverted though, as his deep silver eyes followed the flowing white mane of his opponent. As his finger hooked through a small loop at his side Ranger held stopped on bated breath. Dexterity did not seem to be the strong suit of his companion, who though lithe at the dance was easily three hundred pounds. Its thick gray skin and rather large bone structure probably did not suit it for the routine it so aspired to perform, but Ranger could only assume that it definitely did not have the grace necessary. With the blade released with amazing perfection, the very art and accuracy of an expert behind it, the drow had little time to think.

He could toss a bolt of light at it, knock it from the air, but it would take a split second to create it and another to throw it well aimed. Throwing weapons was not a particularly strong area for the prophet, definitely not something that he practiced. By the time a small stream of light, as rigid and long as a small spear, could be formed the kunai had sliced through the elephant’s ear. Ranger felt an instant remorse for his lack of action, and silently cursed himself as Chumley’s outburst flooded the arena.

Behind the elephant a woman slipped in a silent as an assassin. Her milk-white visage was accented with a pair of crimson lips, long purple hair, thin violet nails, and a set of clothing that would make a Radasanthian whore blush. Her eyes held all that the elven prophet needed to know. She was a vampiress. A slight bulge at the edges of her deep, claret lips gave Ranger another clue as to her vampiress lifestyle. The door was silently shut behind her and within an instant her voice carried too through the cage.

It looks as if that the smug brigand has more then two opponents to worry about. With an ally and teammate bordering on true hatred, why would he bother partaking in a tournament? It seems he has plenty on his hands as it is, and much more angst from her then either of us ever held towards each other.

Within a split second, Chumley having turned to meet his half of the fight, Ranger was moving again. The five foot bar of light slumped and grew an extra foot at the cost of width. Instead of throwing it as the drow had originally intended he took hold of its end and cracked it towards the thoroughly insulted Seth. The man may have still be looking at the elephant, may have turned back towards Ranger. Whatever the case it was drown with light as the whip crossed before the drow’s face for half a second. The end of the six foot cord of light was a tip shaped much like a three inch dagger but as strong as dehlar and more then willing to sink into the thief.


((Forgive me if the description and entrance of Sivienna was incorrect. I’m not sure what you were wearing, so I just guessed at the body-suit that is in your profile.))

[Dissinger]

Several things floating into his head at once as things began to unfold. Not only did he wound the elephant, but apparently Sivienna had entered the fray at last. Not wanting to separate his gaze from Ranger, he found all too quickly that she was irate about his treatment. Apparently, the offer of more sleep was to be graciously declined, and followed up with accusations as to her importance. Inwardly groaning he let the thoughts of Ranger drift from his mind as he spat at his partner, "I have no time to explain myself to you, just keep the elephant busy, can you do that without complaint?"

It appeared that wasn't the case as her words drifted towards him, accusing him of overloading the delicate vampiress. Growling he closed his eyes and spat, "Would you just shut up and fight? We can talk about that later!"

The word “Later” was punctuated by the sounds of cloth tearing as the leather vest across his chest split under the whip. He quickly stepped back as he felt it begin to dig deeply into his flesh before coming out, missing his vital organs by a mere paper's width. Looking at Ranger his eyes darkened as he spat, "I don't have time for these games, life is passing you by!"

Energy crackled along his right hand as he snarled before it began to coalesce into a ball that brimmed with energy. The voices of his damnation within him echoed the chorus in his head; he was going to paint the walls of this cage red with Nailo's blood. As the energy formed a ball he threw it forward adding his own momentum to that of the ball, going only slightly faster than the speed of an arrow at its target, the midsection of the Drow prophet.

Energy released he also knew that the whip had recoil, and to beat him, he'd have to get within effective range. As so, bringing Spite and Malice to bear he rushed towards the target letting his anger further his cause of sowing destruction and mayhem. Slowly the life began to drain from his eyes as he let his control loosen to the demons within his heart. Today wasn't a test of skill; it wasn't an attempt at fame. He knew he had skill, he knew he was known.

No, today was the continuing of the path of damnation.

(Spell used is slow)

[Nightsangel]

Sivienna's eyes closed softly as she listened to the elephant's long-winded rant. His voice while melodious was grating to her sensitive ears. While normally the night vixen would not have minded hearing some one talk endlessly about a subject that was important to them. This time she could make out that the elephant was shouting out words of anger. From the scent that lingered like seductive chocolate in the air, she could only surmise that the elephant had been injured. Blinking her lilac orbs slowly drifted away from that of her partner to study the gray skinned elephant. She first saw the imminent signs of crimson red blood, the cut look deep enough to be made by a dagger, but no, slowly her lilac orbs drifted back over to her partner and she could see that all daggers were still with Seth. Smiling slightly, her eyes went back to the elephant. She could only conclude that during a brief lapse in time of his fight with the Drow, Seth had hurled one of his kunai at the heavy elephant and counting on the elephant's slow reaction speed, the kunai had injured the raging mad animal.

Slowly upon hearing his questions directed at her, she raised a delicate and graceful hand. Holding up two fingers, one slim finger slowly moved down as she said softly "First off...if I was a friend of Seth Dahlios...I would not be screaming and shouting at him about leaving me behind! No we are not friends merely partners...who..." her gaze slowly drifted to Seth and she winced inwardly upon seeing the rip that had happened in his vest. Growling softly she thought He deserved that....he so deserved that for leaving me behind! Sighing as she realized her thoughts were wandering she ignored the cold feeling in her chest as she saw Seth's demons rise to the surface. Turning her attention back to Chumley, her second finger slowly joined the other as she murmurs softly "and two I wouldn't want to attack my own partner if he and I were on pleasant terms."

Grinning wryly fully showing her fangs she murmurs coyly "So unless you wish to attack me and innocent damsel I'd suggest just running off." Slowly her boots clad across the soft coldness as she murmurs gently "However, if you wish to fight I’m more then happy to oblige...after all I do have aggression to get out due to the bastard I call my partner. So the choice is yours! Fight me or leave!" Stepping aside she murmurs softly "I’ll wait to let you make your choice before I draw my blades...."

[chumley]

"Clever ruse, you dark siren!" Chumley replied, rolling up his sleeves, handkerchiefs falling out with each tug, collecting around his feet. "But I'm afraid your guile has met its match, madam. I know not what dire illness gives you your sickly appearance, but I fervently hope it does not prevent you from making amends for your partner's dastardliness." Chumley placed his legs apart, adopting the closest approximation of a boxer's stance. It had been quite some time since Chumley had gone ten rounds in the ring, but he thought he could remember his way around the ropes. Last he boxed, his opponent had been an Abyssinian pirate, and the fight had begun as part of an altercation over a donkey, killed due to a misplaced bottle of sarsaparilla. The disagreement had developed, as disagreements with pirates often do, into a lively debate on the legitimacy of criminality on the high seas and the cause of the high incidence of sodomy among sailors. Sadly, the concussion blurred the rest of Chumley's recollection, and all he remembered beyond that was a hairy hunchback swinging from a chandelier and screaming "MAKE HIS BUTTOCKS BLEED!"

He shifted his shoulders from side to side in the mold of the long-lost Olympic athletes of the Hellenic era, his dukes raised like the rough-and-tumble ones of the American boxing ring. It was hard to know which figure would have struck a more graceful pose, so many aeons having separated them, but the raw emotion that rose in one's throat at seeing Chumley's tense figure was by itself a thing of beauty: No anachronistic comparisons were required.

The pachyderm knew he could not allow the anger rising within him to take control of his actions, but it was nigh on impossible. To be torn from his bountiful homeland and thrown into this topsy-turvy, higgledy-piggledy, hurly-burly world of Irishmen and savages was bad enough. To be insulted by them and injured by their machinations was to rub salt in the wound! All he wanted to do was find a way back to the land of the Stars and Stripes, the wide-open skies and the rolling prairie, the proud mesas and the canyons gaping with promise. And now, due to some absurd mix-up with the priest (probably a papist), Seth "Aunt Nancy" Dahlios and his minion, this apparent lady of the night, Chumley was no closer to getting the dickens out of here than a canary was to landing on the Great Seal of the United States. Looking about him, Chumley realized that he was indeed more like a canary than an elephant, for in a bizarre metaphorical twist, he was encased in a cage of chains!

"And it would please you dandies if I asked for a cracker, wouldn't it?" he roared at the venomous looking wench. "Enough! Your partner-in-crime will have to answer to his own sins soon enough. Now, you have to answer to me!" Chumley raised his fists higher, weaving them a bit drunkenly. "Toe the line! Isn't that what you Irish do best? Toe the line and box me, you fiend!"

[Ranger]

The disappearance of the musical instruments and dancers had slowly progressed until only the four fighters were left. Overhead a dim light filtered in through the skylight window at the top of the building. It was somehow depressing. When they had initially entered the caged arena the light had been the same gloomy, somber tone. But the magic of Chumley had brought an abundance of light, as had the whip made of magic. With both forms of magic gone and the looming shadows closing over the combatants, the drow was once again basked in a gray gloom.

Still little more then a child.

Despite the hoary flair of hair and stone-gray eyes that Seth had taken, he had never really changed deep inside. His arguments, his tone, his very diction reminded the elderly drow of an impetuous, blubbering child. Ranger was aggravated that the boy had not changed, but more so that he had once sunk so low as to be on the same level as the child, had once acted no better then Seth.

“Games?” Ranger responded. But the final part of his sentence had been a spell. The crackle of magic was pulsing through the arena as the whip in the drow’s hand slashed out again. Blood had slid across the surface of the light as if it was cold steel. The bladed end once again arched out, this time for the thieves shoulder. During the launch Seth’s hands had formed a ball of a grayish magic. The orb was delicate in its appearance but held secrets that Ranger knew would be far more then delicate.

As the gray globe was projected from his foe the whip collided with it. Instead of it dissipating, or an amazing display of clashing magics, the gold blade of light passed through like it was no more then air. Awe and shock caused the drow’s mouth to drop, his eyes widened and at their center a flash of light glint off their platinum coloration. Instinct brought Ranger’s free hand up and his face turned, wincing.

It did not harm him however.

The glowing sphere struck Rangers chest. A gust of wind and a sensation of ice struck him instantly. It was like a chunk of Salvar had been thrown at him. The gray glow washed over him and around him, surrounding him as he slowly moved back to look at Seth. The arm holding the whip had already been extended, the end would have struck true if the thief did not move or expect the attack. But, much to the drow’s surprise and anger, his arm fell very slowly.

Through his arms, his very body itself, he could feel his veins as if they were filled with a cold, sharp pain. His muscles tensed. His eyes bulged. His mouth returned to its closed position, but it took a great deal longer then it should have. “By the Thayne,” Ranger said, though because his lips and tongue only moved half as fast as his voice it would have appeared rather humorous. “What have you done to me?”

Ranger feared that the spell, something completely new from Seth as far as the drow was concerned, would last forever. If it lasted too long he may as well lie down his arms and concede, for nothing more would come from him.

Dear Thayne let this abate!

[Dissinger]

Seth was known for being brash and for pushing himself where the wiser course was often inaction. While others would be pleased to rest and relax, he was out there doing things until he could no more. It wasn't that he didn't desire respite, it that he felt, he could never afford it. So he pushed himself harder, focusing on his opponent in an effort to remove Ranger Nailo from the cage.

Still, there were few things he had noticed but didn't care about. To Seth life was just a formality, deep down he sought death and as its seeker, death naturally recoiled. Why would the Angel want a victim that would take delight in its embrace? So, it seemed Death would not strike today. Lunging forward ignoring the blazing speed of the Drow he moved into the whip, letting it cut deeply into his flesh. Once more the sickening sound of skin splitting could be heard as he ignored the incoming pain.

He wasn't here to survive. He sought death whole heartedly, and with his heart set upon it, it was only a matter of whose death. Daggers were pressed forward in an effort to make it his opponent. He was beyond caring anymore. His berserker stance on fighting meant more often than not he would confuse and destroy his opponents, and it was his hope that he could whole heartedly find Liliana, his guardian Angel. Still he knew she wouldn't approve of his tactics, and it burned his heart to know he was becoming that which she hated in the pursuit of her.

It was this that caused him to want to die, to be the Death Seeker, and commit the atrocity of suicide. Even if aided by his opponents, he wanted to die. However, not an iota of this wish seemed to surface in the slowly dying eyes of Seth. He was giving into his demons, who cackled gleefully as he stabbed the daggers forward, reversing his grip so that they would extend from his fists becoming the tools of war. While Spite and Malice were in his hands, he knew Ebony and Ivory were in his heart, waiting for that fateful draw.

If he drew them, there would be no holding back.

[Nightsangel]

Sivienna's shoulders slumped dramatically at the elephant's overzealous display. Trying to resist the urge to bring out her wolves just to tear the flesh from the annoying talking elephant. Sivienna turned away from the beast just as it got into a comedic stance. Shaking her head a soft 'tsk tsk' came from the beauty's lips as she folded her arms squarely across her chest. Looking the animal right in the eyes, her own lilac ones glowed briefly before she said clearly "Put up your dukes? Where do you think we are? A world where fighting with your hands is well known?" Running her tongue over her lips softly, Sivienna pulled out her dragon bone claws and slipped then daintily over her graceful hands. Moving so that her arms were poised in a fighting stance she murmurs coyly "If your up for being elephant soup you fool....then I’ll gladly fight you." Pointing one claw at him she murmurs softly "I gave you a chance to flee...to save that pretty hide of yours and you didn't take my offer...."Closing her lips she murmurs "So...I wish you luck....hopefully you won't regret not taking my offer to let you leave!"

Sivienna then took a few quick steps forward before she ducked down and aimed one of her claws at the elephant's belly. She took into account the fact that while he could dance a mighty fine jig, his speed in combat should be slowed due to his bulk and weight. Counting on this Sivienna put as much force as she she could into the slash before she rolled forward to duck any retaliating blows the large animal my throw her way. Smiling now that she was content, she turned around to survey the damage that she hoped her attack had done.

As she waited for her 'opponents' reaction her eyes fell briefly on the side show before her. Concern filled her eyes when she noticed that Seth's normally warm eyes had grown cold, and that his movements were quick and callous. The demons she knew and had experienced were in their full swing and show. Sighing as she heard the sickening crunch of metal going into flesh. She winced as her eyes immediately darkened as the scent of more fresh blood dotted the soft mat of the cage. Turning her eyes away from the tantalizing sight of Seth's fresh wound, her eyes lingered across the metal snaking of the cage.

The chains while bolted down, could be uncoiled if necessary. Blinking as she moved closer to one, she ran a claw over the metal before she looked at her opponent. Uncoiling one, she held the chain like a rope as she turned with it in her hands. An idea was forming in her mind, but for it to succeed she needed to know whether or not her attack had hit Chumely. If it did work, her next plan was to use the chain like a rope and tie up the elephant...so that even if he tired to escape the chains would entangle him so greatly, that he could do nothing more but watch as his partner was merciless slaughtered by Seth...and a sigh escapes her lips as she thinks softly If Seth needs my assistance he's got it...as much as I hate him for leaving behind...I do need to help him...its the only way I’ll be able to hide out and avoid the trouble that I know is looking for me....

[chumley]

"NO BLADES, NO BLADES!" Chumley roared as the wench latched on her weapons. "This is a fair fight you malevolent harpy! This side of Dublin we use our fists when we toe the line! Put those back from whence they came." The elephant's bile rose in his throat at the sight of such treachery. This was a boxing match, not a butcher shop. If this weasel wanted to battle with blades, she had no place battling an American - perhaps an Italian would oblige her. The pachyderm appraised the winsome cockatrice's attack as she stepped forward, slicing for his belly.

"Rapscallion!" Chumley roared. He punched for her attacking arm, attempting to waylay her jab. "A honorable attacker would announce the beginning of the round!" His right cross, an admirable swipe at her offending assault, managed to knock the blade away from his belly, but his arm was not so lucky. A gash was sliced into it, cutting from his nails halfway to his elbow. Chumley bellowed in anguish and fell back, cradling the wounded arm. He stumbled, like a flagellated actor in a Passion Play, an elephant scorned by Lady Luck. "Woe is me!" he wailed, holding the bleeding arm to his chest much as the Madonna held our dead Savior. "By my ivory tusks, you have gone too far! Neither you nor your partner has a sense of honor! You are bound only by the Faustian code of thieves and scoundrels: Rum, Romany and Rebellion."

Chumley, his noble form quaking in pain and anger, stood before his attacker, a Sisyphian opponent whose strength came not from his own body, but from his higher mission: not one of religiosity, of personal achievement or material gain, but of patriotism. He would stand his ground and battle these knaves, not because of the tournament in which he was entered, and not because their reprehensible actions demanded someone to stop them, once and for all. He would keep swinging because he was fighting for the American way. It was a beacon in his mind, calling him forward. And he would not neglect that tocsin. Not ever.

"You may defeat my body," Chumley snarled. "But you can never defeat my purpose." The elephant, espying the sausage stand from which he had purchased a meaty hors d'oeuvre, saw his chance. He stumbled towards it, a plan forming in his head. "Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord," Chumley muttered to himself, his a capella rendition of the Republic's great hymn spurring him onward. He ran through most of the lines with a fiery passion in his wheezing breaths, moving into the second stanza as he came to the vendor, leaning up against the booth.

"Excuse me, my fine gentleman," Chumley said to the horrified vendor, who, by the looks of it, was petrified by the battle beyond responding. Chumley snatched at the bottles of mustard and ketchup on the cart and turned back toward the vampiress, a burnished blaze burning in his eyes. "As ye deal with My contemners, so with you My grace shall deal!" The elephant roared, squirting jets of the condiments at the woman's face, a righteous laughter on his lips. He quickly threw the bottles aside and reached for the relish, shot-putting it with his good arm. "Let the Hero, born of elephant, crush the serpent with His heel!" Chumley turned again, and grabbed a long rope of sausages, more than two dozen of them lashed together. He snapped them like a whip, thrashing the old chain. It gave wet cracks like a bullwhip, creating a defensive perimeter, such as was erected around Fredericksburg, through which no wise man would dare pass.

"Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! SINCE GOD IS MARCHING ON!"

[Ranger]

Despite the slow movement the sound that the snap of the whip made against the flesh of the young thief was delightful. It gave the warrior spirit a little spurt, which then translated itself as a smile and a glint behind the silver eyes of the drow. He could see the blood spray and follow the path of the bladed whip. Even as the light dissipated, almost instantly, the sight of the pathetic human bleeding was enough for Ranger to at least feel as if he had accomplished something in the fight.

A split second was all the drow needed to make his creation dissolve and once again wait on the edge of existence. The spell was always at the ready and took little out of the drow, and therefore happened to be one of his favorites. But what caught the eyes of the quick prophet was that the spell’s speed was not slowed as his movements were. Spells for the drow were divine, given and granted by the Thayne alone. Such spells were directly from the mind, to think of them was to create them. As such it was not at a physical alacrity that the spells were created, but at the speed of thought—veritably a speed faster then light itself.

Ranger’s ideas were flowing, his thoughts were moving faster then he could control them. As if to emphasize the fact, a barrier of pure light flashed before the drow. Seth had lost what emaciated grasp he may have had on sanity. His eyes were glowing with a threat from within. No longer did the drow feel like the boy before him had changed in any way for the better. Instead Ranger worried for Seth. The thief had been a nemesis of the past, true. But he had also been a team member of the Black Hand, albeit a perverted and broken off-shoot from the Red Hand.

Seth’s eyes were flashing with demons. He was swaying to a dangerous song, a lull of false promises and broken dreams. It was a razor’s edge that would be beneath his feet, a precarious perch upon reality that held him up. Below him were the demons, to either side where the demons and Ranger could not help but feel that Seth had already given in to them. But what was he to do? What could he do?

Seth Dahlios was not his partner. He was his adversary.

Even as the daggers points struck through the flickering wall of light, piercing it as if the wall was nothing more then a sheet of two inch paper, the drow felt only pitty. He was looking through the wall. It was not the gray eyes that he was forcing himself to look into but the very soul of the young thief. It was something that although frightening was also mesmerizing and gripping. “For honor alone I do this.”

The daggers had already pierced the wall. The force behind them and the rage filled anguish behind Seth combined to break the light. The wall would fail in seconds; it was merely a matter of tier at that point. The strength of the weapons metal was far superior to that of the drows shield. Though sparked. With the serenity of Rangers platinum eyes still focused on the complete odium of his opponents the shield fell. Even as it flickered away the blades finished their course, slamming into either shoulder of the drow.

But it was only a split second before the light that had formed the shield was transformed into a solid cylinder. The end of it, flat and not meant for anything more then bludgeoning, shot forward at Seth’s sternum. Not much momentum was behind it, but the head of the cylinder was fueled and raging. The light that formed it was glowing as bright as any flame and the heat was causing the ends of the drows now frenzied hair to sizzle.

At the same time Ranger fell away. His knees gave way at his command and he fell backwards, pushing himself the slightest bit to give room between himself and Seth. Even if the light did not push his opponent away the drow would need time to recover, time to think of something more. Unfortunately his arms had taken quite a deal of damage, with the daggers having punctured deeply into the spot directly above the underarm. Before that even was the spell from earlier though, it forced him to move slowly, not even be able to catch himself and save himself from gravity.

Disparity seemed to be the prophet’s only friend. At times he would be on top of the world, guided by the hands of the Thayne and striding in the light of their joy. At other times he would find himself no better off then he had been so long ago, only the shadows of the turned Thayne falling over him. The fight had quickly turned towards the latter, and Ranger could feel the warmth of his shoulders bleeding, the claret fluid as thin as the finest red wine.

“Damn you Seth Dahlios,” he mumbled despite his lips not following at the speed he spoke. “Damn you to whatever path you have taken upon yourself to follow. Damn you for giving up on not only yourself but all others too. Damn you for the demons you have allowed within…”


((For the record I had drill since Friday afternoon and was gone all weekend. Sorry for the inconvienence.))

[Dissinger]

Seth growled as he saw the barrier of light. He was far beyond rational now as he fought, he wasn't even sure why he was fighting anymore. His mind had forgotten the wayward maiden, the spirit of generosity. The angel of mercy that sought to save him when he didn’t even want to save himself was now missing. His mind was a swirling mixture of frenzied emotions and rage at his situation as he hit the barrier hard. He could feel himself starting to puncture through it as he snarled before the cry of exultation resounded through the cage.

The predator had wounded its prey.

Soon however it seemed the prey hit him hard. A burning pillar of light forcefully scalding his skin as it dried the dripping blood on his chest sending a bit of steam. The punch while not powerful by any means, was unexpected as he was pushed back, snarling as the piston pushed him back. The demons within him raged for answers. He raged to gain vengeance upon the pitiful Drow as they drowned out the dimming voice of the thief. Gone was the morality, gone was the feelings of guilt for using such crude tactics.

Spite and Malice clattered to the ground as he was jarred by the impact, for a second it seemed he might have been knocked over as well. Yet still he persisted, trying to remain aloft born upon the wings of the Lavinian Demon as his foot slammed down, resounding through the arena and halting his backward momentum. He groaned as he looked at the Drow, the daggers long forgotten.

He had a second pair of daggers, deadly and cruel daggers...

The sound of metal upon metal could be heard as he closed his eyes. The setting of his teeth as he opened them, revealing nearly dead eyes showed renewed will. He refused to fall, not to this cleric. Not to this fool who sought to climb into a cage with a beast. The predator still had to sate its taste for blood, and so he growled as he drew daggers the twin pair that had caused many a death.

Ebony and Ivory had entered the fray as he stood at ready, waiting for the Drow to get up, knowing slow would release him soon enough.

[Nightsangel]

Sivienna's ears stung from the elephant's loud raucous voice. Pursing her lips, she sighed softly as the overwhelming scent of blood graced the boxed in cage. The slender hand that was gripping the cold metal of the cage tightened, once...twice...then a third time as her stomach begin to churn. Her plans to use the chains were slowly disappearing...her mind was slowly becoming what she despised..the thirst...the unbearable lust for blood was starting to overwhelm her. Her sense of smell was starting to become very potent, as she blinked focusing once more on the elephant. She saw that he had made his way to a horrified vendor, her lilac eyes narrowed as she caught the color of yellow and red. As the unmistakable smells of ketchup and mustard reached the vampire, she groaned as she moved to use the chains as a climbing rope.

Placing one leather boot against the cold unyielding metal of the cage, the vixen begin to painfully climb the rope. The ungiving coldness burned her hands as she could feel the sharpness of the metal dig into her fragile skin. As she heard the squirts of the bottle going off, she begin to swing the chain to her left and right. Bright arcs of yellow and red squirted at her, some hitting her back, the bright stain sinking into the soft material of her halter top. She winced in pain as the metal seared her skin violently, ignoring this she flipped upside down, so that she was like a monkey hanging from the ceiling of the cage. Looking at Chumley as he slashed the whip of hot dogs, she grinded her teeth as she hissed 'You silly little elephant! You really think food products will do any good against me?"

Wiping the ketchup off her of pale arm, she grins wide and fast as she murmurs softly "You'll see that your efforts, your so called goal is in vain!" She then gave in to her own inner demons, that soothing snake that was telling her to give in to her instincts to her wants, her desires. Holding out her bloodied hands, a purplish black aura begin to swirl around her slim frame. Slowly her hair darkened until it was almost black but in reality it was merely a dark shade of violet, her nails beneath her claws sharpened, as they begin to dig into the leather, Sivienna quickly pulled them off. Shortly after this her change was complete the dark aura swirled around her still, but she was smiling.

Moving to lick her hands clean, she slurped eagerly at the blood before she sighed and stared hungrily at the elephant. In a deep purring voice she stated "Mmmm this is divine...but its not enough...I need more...more.."

She then begin to stalk towards the elephant her eyes bright with her intentions. Moving to slash at his useless defense, she grinned her fangs gleaming and white.

Tonight for the first time, Sivienna Mizami had let her restrictions go and her own demons were ready and itching to taste the divine wine that for so long they had been denied....

[chumley]

Chumley watched with tear-filled eyes as the vampiress began her unholy transformation, shifting from a mere harlot to a veritable Whore of Babylon. The unparalleled pachyderm blanched at the horrible creature's approach, swinging his sausage whip in an futile attempt at self-defense. A noise like General Sherman's saber slicing through a watermelon heralded the destruction of the meaty defense. Chumley dropped the remains of the sausage whip and searched for some defense, like Jericho after the collapse of their walls, and found himself unarmed.

"By Ra's flaming eye!" Chumley bellowed, flailing his arms and trunk, spraying fountains of blood about him. "Your strategy might be winning this battle, but your tactics are not above reproach, you Satanic creature!" Chumley looked to the spot in the chains where the creature had hung only a few seconds ago, grinning at her miscalculation. The chains seemed as delicate as the gossamer latticework of the industrious spider, for they were beginning to slowly come unhinged from one another. Like the spaghetti of an Italian's greasy bistro, they slid over one another, unhinging from whatever malignant marionette strings held them in place, and falling to the ground like so many wet noodles. Only this time there was no mustachioed man who could spear the pasta with a well-placed parry of his fork. Alas, the entire cage was collapsing atop the warriors, and not even the steely resolve of the American spirit could delay the inevitable destruction.

"We have both met our match!" Chumley roared as the vampiress approached. She would be able to attack him before the entire arena fell upon them, like a mighty sequoia upon the logging tracks of California. Chumley saw no way out. He was, it appeared, doomed, but had time for one last hurrah. "I may die, but the American spirit shall never pass from this globe! Nay, it shall extend across and beyond it!" Chumley steeled himself for his fate, the loss of blood dizzying him beyond hope.

But then, with the luck of Fennimore Cooper's towering heroes, Chumley's salvation made itself known. The realization of salvation dawned over him, and Chumley reached within his jacket, pulling out Dahlios's bladed throwing weapon. He clutched the steel tooth of a weapon in a clammy hand, and shoved it at the vampiress's face as she came within arm's length of him.

"You wish to battle with blades, harlot? Then we shall battle with blades!" Chumely knew this was his last attack - his body was about to give out. Like an exhausted settler at the end of the Oregon Trail giving his last strength into the final half-mile to the coast, he shoved the weapon with his final fighting breath.

[Ranger]

The flash from the cylinder of light was like lighting a match mere inches from one’s eye. It left black spots in the vision of the drow. But that was only a piece of the wear of battle that was racking his body. His head throbbed viciously from the fall and he held little reservations that he had not cracked his skull. Platinum locks spread out around the elven prophet, giving him a pallid mane fit for the king of the jungle itself.

Blood.

As if he needed to remind himself what the smell was that filled his nose. It was strong and coppery. Claret rivulets ran from the front of the drow’s shoulder. He could see them if he cocked his head just right, could see either one with a bit of strain despite the black spots. The blood looked thin, like a watered down red wine. Ranger was impassive though as he let his head slowly fall again, straining muscles along his neck to support it so as not to injure it any further. The time had come; it was the other team that had taken the victory this time.

Overhead the clacking of the steel cage sounded like an ill-played concerto. A smile crept across his face without him knowing. His partner was indeed unique, summoning forth bands and dancers with its aspirations. Then came a snicker, at him instead though. Such a time to be dwelling on the past, however short of a past it was, was hardly appropriate.

Without warning the weight of the world seemed to slowly fade away, its extra pull had fallen away just as quickly as it had come. Luckily for the drow it was not as painful departing the body as it was entering. Ranger sat up quickly, throws of pain lapping against his conscious. Time had not passed nearly as quickly as he had thought. Seth was looking at him.

Chumley was dancing with his odd grace, but instead of a weapon he was wielding linked sausage. Such an odd and yet inspiring partner. His foe, the vampiress Sivienna, was not anything like her opponent, and that was exactly what Ranger had been counting on when he had allied himself with the elephant. The drow grimaced as he stood up, his left arms was beyond useless. The blade had sunk deep into a nerve, leaving not only the limp numb but nothing more then dead weight. His right was tingling, stinging like a fresh frostbite but ready for use, if not a little weakened.

The right hand dropped the dagger that had found itself imbedded deep in his muscular shoulders. The wound instantly opened a little wider, spilling a little blood from the already slowly healing wound. The left blade was to remain. If it was in a spot as Ranger supposed then it would be best not to remove it, for fear of a great loss of blood (beyond what he had already lost) and an almost intolerable pain.

“Seth Dahlios.” Ranger’s voice was cold, pained. The first step of the crumbling infrastructure that was the cage fell. From overhead a single ring of steel dropped at the exact center of the ring, the tip of the dome the beginning of the break. As it hopped up and down the drow continued. “I forgive you.”

Though it was quite close to the lines of ‘human cliché’ that he had always prided himself on staying away from, Ranger felt it necessary. The battle meant more to him then any other probably would, unless more of his past began to appear from fight to fight. Before the ravaged eyes of his opponent the prophet lifted his head. He took a final look at Chumley, mentally noting to thank him for his help and to fulfill the ‘team aspect’ of the tournament fully in the coming rounds. He took in the face of the vampiress, noting to remember that face for the future. And finally his platinum eyes caught Seth’s once again.

“Vi num’er villae,” he muttered under his breath. It was the first drow he had spoken in years. It was an old phrase, ‘to the end’, and was the first rule to follow in the old drow military. Ranger was a warrior first, a fighter and competitor before all. Deep down, in that miasma that formed his past memories before Pelor, before the Red Hand even, that warriors spirit always dwelt. It seemed as appropriate a time as any to brush away the dust of those memories. The Lornius Corporate Challenge was before him and it called to him.

With a nod the drow crouched into a defensive stance. There would be one more attack, if even that, before the roof of the cage came crashing down upon the helpless combatants. One last attack till the first round would be determined and whatever determined the victors would be worked out. The right hand was held up, sharp pain tearing through the elves shoulder as he did so. His left remained limp. The prophet sighed.

“Vi num’er villae…”

[Dissinger]

Seth watched as the Drow slowly peeled himself from the floor, the daggers sticking out of his shoulders as a testimony to the damage they had done. As the Drow reached up and clutched Malice, he let it clatter to the ground, the obsidian daggers clattering and sliding a bit across the floor. The Drow however left Spite, the Dragon Bone dagger made from Rath'gylmak the dragon from the Theater of War.

So much history in those two daggers, and yet they paled to the brutal history of the twins in his hands. Ebony and Ivory, twin prevalida daggers had begun life as the daggers that slew his best friend Thomas. They had killed many people, and eventually his parents. These daggers had taken everything from him, and so he reluctantly wielded them.

Until now.

Now they were pulled and he looked upon Ranger. His eyes spoke of determination. The years that had passed since the Black Hand had tempered both of them, and yet he had surpassed the Drow that had fought him in the mine long ago. As Ranger stood Seth saw the determination that despite the fact he was beat, to push on. He could almost respect that out of the Drow, except for three words spoken before the bout even began;

"I forgive you"

It enraged him, made him feel weak and pathetic. It roused his anger more wholly than anything said before. He wasn't a person begging forgiveness. He wasn't some small child needing to atone. He was an adult. He made his bed and was lying in it, and for a man he never felt had that right, to say he forgave him? It was too much.

His lips curled in a snarl he ignored the collapsing cage as he spoke, "Save your forgiveness for the afterlife! I didn't ask for it!" He then sped forward and tried to bring his arms out to kill the Drow, twin daggers slashed outwards to slit the throat of the Priest.

(Ranger feel free to post a reply. We should at least finish our part asap since it closes soon...)

[Ranger]

Reality, it is said, drifts away from one before they die. In the case of warriors it comes as a vision from whatever they hold most dear. The homesick see their families calling them home, the greedy see the hallucination of the riches they crave, and the devout see the god they serve or the King they serve telling them ‘good work’ and releasing them. It changed due heavily on the life led and what the deteriorating spirit held most dear till the end. However different the final delusion is, however unique they are to the individual, it is generally agreed they all relay the same message: “The fulfillment of your dreams and you life have come. Leave that world behind and enjoy them.”

The prophet’s visions were a little different.

To the left a skittering figure caught his eye. When he turned it had vanished. To his right an ethereal hand brushed gently across his face. Despite the drumming of his head it snapped to the side, looking into the face of the ghost of his wife. ‘Father,’ the drow turned again to see his son, holding a wooden blade with a smile on his face. ‘You said you would teach me when I grew big enough, is now such a time?’ But both visions faded almost instantly.

In their place was a light, no six lights, coming at him from all sides. Fear and apprehension dawned across his visage. No one would know what he was looking at; he could not even tell them if he had wanted to. It was the Thayne. They had come at his parting, they where what he held most dear at heart. A momentary sense of pride burst from him, but was quickly subdued when the death induced delirium began to push him away. ‘Your place is on Althanas, not with us yet,’ the voices cried. ‘Your time and mission have not been completed and failure is not acceptable.’

“In the afterlife it will be too late.”

Ranger mumbled his response with a tone of immense distance. His voice had gone hollow, his eyes were wide and the fog of death had begun to glaze them over. It was the end and he could feel it. The enraged Seth charged Ranger. Overhead the clatter of the cage began to sway violently began to shift its network of steel, bow and bend in rather forbidding ways. It was all over and there was but one move to make for the two of them.

The boy’s footsteps were heavy, pounding in the sharp ears of the drow almost as much as the headache itself. He would not finish the fight with Seth yet out of control. As his opponent reached within a meter distance, his arms cocked and ready for the final thrust, the haunted eyes gripping the drow’s neck, Ranger lunged. Though it may have not been quick enough or was expected, Ranger hoped he had caught his opponent off-guard.

His right hand grabbed the blade yet wedged into his shoulder. With a roar it was torn from the shoulder, enveloping the drow in a sheet of searing pain and flashes of light. But the drow pushed through. It arched upwards, aimed with near perfection as the base of the sternum with enough upward momentum to crush it and get to the heart. There was no way to dodge the sweeping daggers that were aimed at his neck, and in truth he had little intentions of doing so. He would die with his throat slit open almost through, but Seth’s own dagger would find its place in his cold heart too.

Even before the blade would connect Seth's daggers would find their place. Ranger could already see the world fading. His vision was cloudy and his head was spinning. It would possibly be a draw between the two combatants, a draw that would translate almost definitely into further hatred of the drow within the young human's mind.

We will meet again...

Then it was over. The battle had come with an unimpressive ending.

[Nightsangel]

Sivienna's eyes widened in startled surprise as the red stained dagger made a beeline straight for her pale but beautiful face. Sweat beaded her brow as she realized that the swift strike was too speedy for her to dodge. Knowing that if the knife dug into her skull she would be unable to move, or for that matter live....She pivoted, doing a half waltz twirl as the dagger whistled cleanly through the soft air. Sweat beaded down her brow in small droplets as she prayed that she had moved just enough for the dagger to strike a less vital area of her face.

A slight shudder of pain passed through her fragile body as she felt the cold metal dig into the soft flesh of her cheek. Still seeped in her darkness the pain barely registered but it was there, and the pain was enough to shock the night vixen out of her bloodlust.

Blinking as she shook her head from side to side, she blinked astonishingly as she stared around the chained cage. Something...something was different...the pristine gossamer chains were no longer snaked around the wire of the cage. They were dangling like tantalizing snakes in front of her face. A distinct rumble could be heard, like that of a large brick building tumbling down. Running a hand through her damp and cold hair, the vampiress turned away from her dying foe. She could already tell that the annoying overly loud elephant was passing on to the netherworld. The scent of his blood was too strong; his wheezing choking gasps were her most obvious signs.

Pursing and moistening her dry lips, the vixen's lilac eyes fell on the crumpled form of the animal. Taking one step forward, she finally felt the warm liquid that ran caressingly down her pale skin. Sighing as she felt it she murmured softly but coyly 'Last attempt elephant? Hahaha it looks like it failed!" Peering at him, her violet locks of hair covered her face briefly shadowing it as she purrs "While you pass into the netherworld, I'll get out of this crumbling hellhole and blink myself to safety." Grinning as she did one small half turn she murmurs "Maybe next time you'll get lucky elephant...but for now its time for this vampiress to make her exit!"

Sivienna then slowly sauntered back from Chumley's form. Wincing as a broken chunk of wire clattered in front of her face, she held up her hands as she chanted quickly. Her aura pulsed...once...twice...three times. More pieces of the cage fell like slivers of metal rain around her. However lucky for Sivi none of the hazardous pieces struck her. slim fragile form. Soon a blackish-purple portal had formed behind her. Now while this portal would safely teleport her out of the crumbling cage. It would do no more then teleport her to the safety of the path that led to what would soon be a ruined cage.

Thinking only of her safety the night beauty stepped swiftly into the darkness. Moments later she was standing on the clean white path, with small drips of blood staining the white softness a dull red. Looking at the falling wreckage, she shudders as she thinks softly That could of been me...I could have been buried by the wreckage that is falling.... Wiping her sweaty brow Sivienna was glad she was safe, however, she could still see her partner...Seth locked in mortal combat...Frowning heavily Sivienna's eyes locked on Seth's form as she prayed that he would get out safely. If he didn't she knew she'd have to dig him out so that she'd have his help when the next round of the Lorinius Corporate Challenge came about.

[Dissinger]

The feeling of the twin prevalida blades through their victim's flesh was a wondrous feeling to the delusional man. As he felt them however, so did he feel a sting. The blade that had been wedged was placed deeply inside his chest, piercing the heart of the thief. He jolted to a halt as he met eyes with the dying Ranger, seeing the look of desperation, and perhaps a trace of victory in his eyes. He grinned as he coughed, a bit of blood escaping his lips as he said softly, "You think its over don't you?"

Feeling his life fading he gripped for the gift, only to look down in horror. The gift was out of his reach, and the counter was his own clumsy stupidity. The dragon bone Spite, the antitheses of his very corruption, was lodged in his chest, and while he tried desperately to clutch the gift of the magi, it was obvious while spite was inside he could not heal.

Another wet cough filtered out of him as he sagged, the blade stuck in his chest. Had he of taken the dagger out before, he could have healed and all this would have been a moot point. But the pride of trying to show even the most lethal wound would not stop him, had been his downfall. It had been a long time since his pride had undone him, and yet here it was again, tripping him up at the finishing line.

He no longer tried to hold himself up as he fell to a knee. He knew he was done for, he didn't even wish to try and prolong the inevitable. A soft chuckle escaped him as he said softly, "Looks like it’s a draw again..."

Falling to his side he began to let himself go as the cage began its final collapse, the structure that had looked so sound at the beginning falling apart with the greatest of ease. Seth however was already within death's clutches, long before the grand finale to the fit, leaving only Sivienna, and perhaps the foolish pachyderm, but resoundingly ending the fight with the period.

[chumley]

The exhaustion of mortal combat had sapped the noble Chumley's emotions, and he could not bring himself to even feel disappointment at the failure of his attack. His sinewy opponent twisted to the side with a slimey craftiness unseen since Delilah sheared Samson's flowing locks. A tired man's moan groaned from his throat as he fell to his knees, expecting the final death blow. "I shall at least face the end like a man... and an American." Chumley thought to himself. "Though I fought an enemy as duplicitous as these Irish, no one who saw this battle on this day shall mark me as at their lowly level." Unexpectedly, however, the final blow never came. Chumley slumped to the side, holding himself up by one arm, and watched the witch leave him and conjure up a diabolic spell before her.

"Were only we in Salem, witchfiend," Chumley whispered. He found his throat, as Webster and Haynes must have after their valorous oratorical duel, hoarse and slow to speech. He could barely force out the final scathing insult of the battle as the sorceress disappeared. The cacophonous clash of chains about him undoubtedly masked the quiet jab. As the cage collapsed, Chumley looked slowly about him, his head as heavy as a sack of grapeshot. The vendor had fled in terror. His opponent had disappeared. From what he could see, his partner had fared no better than he. Chumley was overwhelmed with sorrow at the fact he had not even tried to help the priest. How could he have been so flippant, so dismissive, and so egotistical that he did not even think of helping the sorry soul fight Dahlios, the most dreadful ne'er-do-well upon whom G-d had ever frowned? "Forgive me, Lord!" Chumley silently prayed. Although the smashing sounds of the collapsing cage surrounded him, filling his fading hearing, the flailing metal falling around his darkening eyes, Chumley thought that, somewhere, the Good Lord was answering him. The soothing sounds of the righteous Battle Hymn of the Republic seemed to float in the air, and that was all the reassurance the honorable elephant required.

Seemed? Why, it did not seem. It could be heard, ever so barely over the terrible tumult of metal against metal. A heavy chain slammed down upon Chumley's sprawled leg, but he did not feel it. His spirit rose at the tremendous tune, which began to rise in volume, even louder and faster than the disintegrating cage, until even through his paling, near-useless ears, Chumley could hear it as clearly as a bell. Around the remains of the cage, standing in awe, removing their hats and placing them over their chests, were the crowd that had gathered as Ranger had entered the arena. Few of their eyes were dry, and few mouths were still. Creatures as bizarre as were ever found in the imaginations of the German folklorists mingled with men as plain as the farmers of Missouri. They stood, transfixed at the sight of the elephant, prone before them, who had battled so fiercely against opponents so dour, underhanded and distasteful that they would surely be remembered with distress for years. The combined voices rolled across Chumley, reminding him that, despite his failings, he had made one success during the battle. They sang words they had never heard before, calling upon the Almighty to preserve their way of life against all obstacles. Chumley found his eyes as moist as theirs, and his spirit as moved.

"Remember!" he bellowed with a strength that could not come solely from his dying body, "Remember for what principles I fought!" As the crowd moved into a final, reverberating refrain, Chumley raised a bloody arm in the air. "Remember!" And then, the crash of chains, and nothing.

******

Chumley! The voice called to him, indistinct in the distance. Chumley! it repeated, more clear this time. The elephant roused his head, a heavy bar of metal falling from his crown, and blinked slowly. All about him was dark, and a dusting of ash had fallen over the remains of the cage. But, in the distance, the only spot of light he could see, a figure grew. It slowly gained a more corporeal form, although its luminescence seemed to be the only thing holding it together, as if Chumley could see through it if there was anything but darkness behind it. The form was a man's, standing in loose robes, a beard on his chin and a sheaf of papers in his hand.

"Abe?" Chumley rapsed, confused. And it was, indeed, His Excellency, Abraham Lincoln. "Abe?"

"You will go to Haidia!" The figure called to him.

"Haidia?" Chumley responded, even more confused.

"There you will learn from Stephen Douglas - the oratorical master who instructed me." Abe responded. And then, all was darkness again.

[Max Dirks]

This was certainly the most entertaining battle of the first round. What bothered me was the lack of interaction between team members. I understand the situation between Seth and Sivienna and I know Chumley and Ranger was a random paring, but don't forget that this is a team tournament for a reason. No overall story evolved from this battle, and your scores hurt because of it. There is nothing you can use in the future aside from maybe a new chapter in the Ranger/Seth saga and a very cliche "Luke goto Hoth" from Chumley.

Winners:

Circus

Ranger
Introduction- 5
Setting- 4
Strategy- 5
Rising Action- 4
Dialogue- 5
Writing- 6 (You need to work on flow. A situation in a story can be interpretted by how the story is written. For example, a series of short sentences can create a feeling of suspense or urgency. Passive sentences can indicate passage of time)
Character- 7 (I believe you excelled here. Out of all the characters involved, the reader can relate to your story the best. You began with a goal, you completed your goal and kept true to the theme. Nice work.
Climax- 6 (Again, another top score)
Conclusion- 4 (Too passive)
Wildcard- 5
Total- 51/100

Chumley
Introduction- 6 (The best of the introductions)
Setting- 4 (You invented much of the setting)
Strategy- 3 (Alas, having the chains fall after Seth Dahlios mentioned "It was steel, hard and cold, the impersonal bringing of death to those that would oppose it," especially after only a 124 lb girl climbed it, is powergaming )
Rising Action- 4
Dialogue- 6 (Of all participants, your dialogue was the most natural and entertaining)
Writing- 8
Character- 5 (Who is Chumley? Why does he have his gifts? Chumley is such an entertaining character, tell the reader more)
Climax- 4
Conclusion- 4 (The Abe Lincoln cameo was ridiculous, and it reminded me of something I watched once)
Wildcard- 5 (This is Althanas, not earth. The references were funny at first, but then it turned into bad episode of the Family Guy. Please incorporate Althanas more. No points lost, however)
Total- 49/100

Average 50/100

Dissinger
Introduction- 5
Setting- 5 (You set the intial setting, and playing to the powergaming helped)
Strategy- 6 (You excelled here. The loss of "sanity" was played out well by your choice of weapons for each specific point in the battle. The movement from weapon to weapon and back was also very nicely done)
Rising Action- 4
Dialogue- 5
Writing- 6 (Spell checkers don't pick up all grammar mistakes. Proof read your writing before you post it)
Character- 6 (You stayed consistent much like Chumley, but where you excelled was in your relationship with Ranger. What could have helped your score immensely was acting on Seth's relationship with Sivienna. That was completely ignored. Why are you guys partners again?)
Climax- 5
Conclusion- 5
Wildcard- 5
Total- 52/100

Nightsangel
Introduction- 5
Setting- 5 (Good movement within the setting)
Strategy- 5 (You did a good job of reacting how your character would react to Chumley's unique attacks. This gives you points)
Rising Action- 4
Dialogue- 4 (You really need to work on dialogue)
Writing- 5 (I'd work on your brevity a bit. You have a tendency to repeat ideas several times in a paragraph. Once is enough, and you're a talented enough writing that fixing that error will ensure you much higher scores here)
Character- 5 (My qualm was not acting upon the relationship between Seth and Sivienna. Though much of that is probably his fault)
Climax- 5
Conclusion- 3 (The portal, though a legitimate skill I suppose, was supposed to take two minutes to chant)
Wildcard- 5
Total- 46/100

Average- 49/100

Rewards:
Dark Pheonix receives 400 EXP split evenly

Circus advances to Round two.

[Thoracis]

Circus gained 1,600 EXP. (Damn level 7's making gains so high)

EXP added!