Your move (closed to BlackAndBlueEyes)

John reached for a locket that wasn’t there. He sighed longingly, and the hard line of his mouth softened into what one might call a smile, if one didn’t know John that well of course. He shook his head, banishing the thoughts from his mind, and turned his attention to the towering mass of stone before him. He’d always thought that the Citadel marred the landscape, like a scar upon the earth itself; but now he found himself seeing it a bit differently. There was a place for chaos, for disorder; there was a place for things like this. It was an ugly sort of fit, but it fit nonetheless.

The citadel itself was baking in the afternoon sun, wafts of hot air coming off of it in waves, giving it the appearance of a mirage of blackened stone, a shadow against the brightness in the landscape.

He sighed, wondering why he came back again and again. To anyone who asked, it was training, and for the most part he told himself that too. It kept him focused and sharp, and it kept his distractions at bay.

One of the older monks approached him. His wrinkled skin sagged a little, but he still walked upright and there was still light in his eyes and purpose in his step. John would have otherwise dismissed him had he not been a monk of the order, and likely more fit than most who competed in the citadel. He gestured for John to follow him, and led across the expansive courtyard toward one of many phantasmal chambers used for fighting. The courtyard itself was crowded with booths and stalls for gambling, eating, and drinking; nearly anything that accompanied entertainment. Since it was hot, cloth awnings were spread wherever they could be hung, keeping most of the oppressive heat from reaching the gamblers and fighters.

John’s breathing slowed as he walked through a large arch into the depths of the citadel. The old monk led him through several doors as John focused on the match that was to come. Soon, the monk stopped, standing in front of a glowing green doorway. The monk bowed silently, having not said a word during their walk towards the arena. He smiled, looking up at John. The flash of the portal consumed John’s vision as he walked through it, and suddenly he was elsewhere.

The glow faded from his vision and he saw the arena. John looked around, seeing sand dunes in the distance all around, ending at the edges of an immense square piece of stone, checkered with smaller squares. He eventually recognized it as an immense chessboard, filled with pieces. John had emerged on the side of white, seeing pieces nearly as tall as he was filling his side of the board. Those pieces seemed to be made of polished silver, and the ones opposite him twenty yards away looked to be made of dark cast iron. He pulled his hand up, clicking his gauntleted finger on one of the pawns. It was as real as anything, and he turned his attention to the other side of the board, assuming that would be where his opponent would emerge. He waited for the telltale flash of green that would signal his arrival.

It's the Citadel.

And I'm going again.

What more really needs to be said?

I've been here enough that I cannot find anything new to say about the experience. There's only so many adjectives and metaphors and other such nonsense one can use to describe the hallowed institution--its spires, its imposing front door, the stained-glass windows adorned with the visages of heroes and legendary warriors from throughout the world, the robed Ai'Brone monks who tend to the needs of every person who steps into their domain.

The same can be said about my reasons for coming here. I mean, really--what else can I say? The violence is appealing and all (and who doesn't love a bit of good ol' fashioned ultraviolence?) when there are no legal ramifications to exploding ruilserk vines out of someone's throat within these stone walls and magically-created arenas... But the thrill of combat has gotten old; and now the controlled chaos and physicality is more relaxing than anything else, given that I spend most of my time cooped up in a laboratory.

A good match within the Citadel offers me a chance to unwind after a day of experimentation, and nothing more. That's all there is to it.

And so, that's why I found myself enveloped by the magic of the Ai'Brone once again. This time, I was deposited in someplace unbearably hot.

I fell to one knee as the customary wave of nausea caused by the teleportation magic (which never agreed with me) passed through. I stifled a cough, wiped a fleck of spittle off my lips with the back of my briar-knit hand, and rose to my feet.

This afternoon's little game was taking place on a literal game board--eight rows and eight columns of alternately shaded granite blocks that were six feet by six feet each, set in the middle of the vast and unending dunes of a desert. The bright midday sun hung overhead in the cloudless sky like an executioner's blade, its oppressive rays shining brightly off the polished silver of the towering chess pieces that were opposite me. I could feel the heat emanating from the two dark iron pawns that flanked me.

I've grown too accustomed to the cold in Salvar, I mused to myself as I took a couple steps forward to escape the hot metal that lined the row.

Standing at the line of silver pawns opposite me was a brick house of a man. Just this towering hulk of muscle and beard with no defining characteristics, unremarkable in every way. The closest thing to a weapon he had on him was a pair of iron gauntlets; which was strange, since the man wore no other piece of armor. The choice made me wonder how many brain cells were floating around inside this guy's noggin.

And then, I got to thinking about what kind of horrors I could create if I fed him to the Briarbane parasites. I mean, the guy was well over seven feet tall and almost as wide at the chest, with muscles practically ripping through his plain shirt. Hyperion is a fantastic at what she does, but I suppose my company could always use some extra dumb muscle.

I shook the thought out of my head, dismissing it as my exhaustion catching up to me. I had a fight to focus on, anyway. First impressions aren't always correct, and there was no telling what this lug was capable of actually doing.

My gut still told me not much.

Two thick vines grew, one from each of my wrist, until they started coiling on the heated rock of the giant chess board. With a flicker of a grin, thorns as sharp as nails grew along their lengths. I tilted my head up slightly to look the brute in his baby blue eyes. "Shall we play?" I asked, a hint of mirth in my voice.

The girl appeared small, frail even, against the backdrop of the large black pawns behind her as she fell to a knee. The magic of Ai’Bron was powerful, but it took a toll on the body. She recovered quickly though, and stood to look at him. John was far from the most honorable of fighters, but he didn’t come to ambush people that he was fighting in the citadel.

She was an odd sort, John thought, her slight frame and oddly-shaped forearms notwithstanding. She wore weapons, two daggers and a pistol that John could see. He slid a foot back, ready to duck behind a pawn if she moved to draw. She smirked, almost giddily, as tendrils grew from her forearms, coiling on the ground like vines. Presumably she’d be swinging them.

John took a whole step back this time, placing him in the center of four chess pieces. It would be easier to bring her in close if she couldn’t strike with those vines effectively. The words of an old teacher came to mind.

Use your surroundings, they can be a most valuable ally.

He had long ago learned the art of using improvised weapons and shields, as well as his own malleable armor, and fighting in the citadel's myriad arenas kept those skills razor-sharp.

John’s eyes narrowed as he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Since he was so large, he had to make his own clothes, which made losing a shirt irritating. It landed in the sand behind him. His armor crept up his arms, his breath hitched as the cold armor spread to his shoulders and crept a couple inches into his chest. His armor reached it’s end, and filaments of metal extended from the boundary on to his chest, like blood vessels of quicksilver. John bent both knees and claws formed at the end of his fingers as he settled into place, ready to dodge.

“I suppose,” John said, waiting for her move.

The man carried himself cautiously, which struck me as very odd. I would've figured that someone of the brute's immense size would be confident in his abilities, and would have rushed me accordingly. Instead, he moved a couple steps back, placing him squarely between two towering pawns, the king, and the queen. The size of the polished chess pieces dwarfed even him.

As he removed his shirt, his tanned skin glistening with sweat borne of the desert sun, I noticed something peculiar. The metal of his iron gauntlets was extending itself up his arms, slowly covering fragile flesh and muscle with an impenetrable shell until it crept past his shoulders and stopped around his pectorals.

An interesting tactic, to be sure; but one that would ultimately prove futile against everything I could throw at it. Removing his shirt and exposing his skin left him far more vulnerable to acid, the sting of direwasps, Freebird's Bane, and so on.

His size will not matter one bit, I mused to myself.

My opponent crouched down low, pivoting himself in a manner that told me he was ready to leap out of the way of my planned vine assault. Sending the leafy tendrils after him wouldn't be a good idea--there was the chance that they could become entangled on the corners and edges of the giant chess pieces.

"Very well then," I replied with a smirk. I withdrew the vines back into my arms as I filled my hands with shallow pools of acid. The thin amber liquid quickly crystalized in the oppressive heat of the desert, forming into sharp chunks of glass. The vines that made up my palms separated, revealing clusters of pods that extended themselves, pressing up against the solidified acid. I threw my hands out, and the pods let out two high pressure bursts of air that shattered and propelled the acidic crystals towards their target. If this guy didn't move out of the way, he was going to find dozen of sharpened projectiles slashing and tearing away his exposed flesh.

I had no doubt that he would move. I was too far away to stage an effective attack. I just wanted to see the extent of his capabilities before I began the battle in earnest.

Quote:

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Andy can do whatever bunnying he wants.

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She withdrew her vines, and John stood a little straighter, ready for a different assault. If there was anything he’d learned in the citadel, it was that nobody was to be taken lightly. She seemed quite experienced, at the very least smart enough to rethink going in with whips. They would likely get caught in the pieces he’d surrounded himself with, making her at best less mobile, and at worst completely helpless. He briefly mused that her arms were quite unusual, before noting that she would likely say the same for his own metallic ones.

Her arms moved in a different fashion, and soon, her arms flashed out in his direction. John reacted on instinct, turning his body toward the nearest pawn. He’d seen that movement from too many sorcerers and mages to take his chances. He had just shielded himself behind one when the projectiles hit. A few of them missed the pawn entirely, hitting the queen behind him. A puff of vapor, and the metal bubbled for a second.

This is not good if she can keep doing that. She clearly had an advantage at middle and long range. His mind flashed through several strategies. He pressed his back against the pawn he’d taken shelter behind, testing its weight to see if he could perhaps move it. It refused to budge. Barring a sandstorm, there would be little he would be able to do without taking some hits as he closed the distance between himself and the odd woman at the other end of the board.

John breathed in slowly and counted down in his head. He only had a few seconds to close the distance.

3…

2…

1…

Now. John planted a foot outside the cover of the pawn, forming a flat plate about two feet in diameter with the armor on his right arm as he spun outside of it, using his considerable speed to rush the girl. He extended an arm as he sprinted, hopefully the improvised shield would give him some cover as he closed the distance.

He made it halfway there when she smirked, and a cloud of purple exploded from her location, and what was now just a shadow of a person leapt to the right out of his way. She stopped a few feet outside the cloud and simply stood there just in front of the pawn two rows over.

John barreled through the cloud, knowing that there would be a pawn waiting for him on the other side, pulling the metal shield back to his arm. Midway through the cloud he leapt, planting a foot on the pawn on the other side. He then twisted his shoulders, drawing on the styles he’d learned in northern Salvar. His shoulders turned, and his foot left the pawn, sailing toward her head. If anything, it would be unexpected, and hopefully he’d be able to follow up with some close strikes.

What caught me by surprise was how my opponent decided to charge through the cloud of plague I exhaled as he dashed towards me. I gave him enough room to juke to the side and avoid it completely; yet he barreled through it as if it were as harmless as cigarette smoke. No matter, I thought to myself. The infection will take hold in moments. He'll slow down, grow tired, and just make things easier for you.

I had just enough time to leap to the side as his massive bulk parted the thick purple haze. He let out a bellow and dropped his shoulder, narrowly missing me as I tumbled through the air to the right. I hit the giant stone chessboard hard, banging my shoulder against the floor but not missing a single beat as I rolled up to one knee, wincing through the pain and a small jolt traveled up and down my arm.

Without losing a single step, the man leaped into the air and pushed himself off the pawn that had been behind me moments before. He twisted through the air, a tree trunk-sized leg aimed at my head.

I swore under my breath and scrambled out of the way as he landed back on the smooth stone of the arena with a loud thud. I wasted no time springing back into the fight. My briar-knit fists were clenched up, rows of thick thorns sprouting on my knuckles. Closing the distance in a heartbeat, I took a calculated swing at his throat to try and crush his trachea. The big man reacted quicker than I guessed, and swatted aside the strike with an armored forearm and retaliated with one of his own.

The punch connected with my jaw with the force of a wrecking ball. My vision flashed a brilliant white and I cried out. I was knocked clean off my feet. I landed hard on my hands and knees, the pain incredible as my mouth quickly went to work repairing itself after nearly being knocked clean off the rest of my face. Two or three drops of dark blood fell from my lip, splattering harmlessly against the sun-heated stone before the split healed itself.

"Fucking hell," I grumbled hoarsely. "That hurt."

I couldn't give him the chance to capitalize on the opening. In seconds, long vines had sprouted from my back near the base of my neck. Acid began to leak from the last foot or so of the lengths, the drops sizzling in the afternoon sun as they fell to the floor of the Citadel's magically-created arena. I began to whip the four tendrils around in a blind flurry, hoping that at least one of them could tag this bastard while I regained my senses.

John’s victory over the tiny woman was short-lived as she sprouted vine-like protrusions from her back. They shot out several feet and began to whip around her wildly, preventing him from getting close. Though acting to shield her, they were no less dangerous for it, and the liquid they secreted and threw out hissed as it dripped on the chessboard, pitting its stone surface. Acid, it seemed, and not a weak one either.

One of the vines took a swipe at John, and he jumped to his left to avoid being hit, rolling behind a massive pawn. He landed behind it hard, his shoulder banging against the blackened iron. It hurt more than it should have, and as he pulled his torso up into a sitting position, he began to take notice of something strange going on with his body.

His body had begun to feel strange in the last few seconds, sluggish and heavy. He lifted an arm watching his metal hand clench with all his strength, a whole lot less strength than he was used to. The realization came slowly, like a fog settled on his mind.

Damn, shouldn’t have run through that cloud, he thought as he stood up, on shaky legs until he was a little more used to the lack of strength.

He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, reminding himself that the fight was less a matter of strength, and more one of skill. He breathed deeply, emerging slowly from behind the pawn.

The girl’s form was just beginning to stand, amidst dozens of tiny smoking craters. She righted herself, the tentacles retracting into her back again. It was grotesque, and her jaw hung at an impossible angle. It clicked into place by itself with a sort of crunching sound. She smirked with her newly-remade mouth, putting up her hands. John stared blankly at her freakish recovery.

This is not good. John formed two blades at the end of his fists, sacrificing six inches of upper arm plating. Hopefully, he'd be able to use these pawns for cover as well. Her ability to self-heal was one he hadn't seen before, and he'd need a different strategy for it. She was fast, he knew that, so he'd likely have to close the distance some way that involved the pawns. Perhaps he could make her come to him. He spun around into the small forest of pawns, aiming at making her come a little closer to him. He moved behind a nearby bishop, hoping to take advantage when she moved on the pawn he was just behind. His mind began to form the idea that she probably knew he'd be trying to trick her, but he banished the thought. What else was there to do?

I watched the giant of a man dance around and think about his next move as my broken jaw healed itself and popped back into place. The look of pause on his grizzled mug was pretty priceless, I had to admit. Clearly he never encountered someone who could regenerate from practically any wound before.

But then again, I've never seen anyone manipulate a pair of gauntlets into a set of complete arm armor and knuckle blades, and you can see where that got me.

My adversary spun around, ducking behind the row of iron pawns at my left before I could capitalize on his shock. I sighed deeply, sweat beginning to form on my forehead as my skin baked in the heat of the desert sun.

"I don't have time for this, you coward!"

The vines on my arms turned red, and began throbbing with the dark magic I stole from a Forgotten One. I closed my eyes slowly as I threw myself into her well of power. A second later, soft at first, but growing in intensity was a veritable storm of buzzing. One by one, several dozen giant black direwasps emerged from between my crimson vines and took to the air, circling around me as they awaited my command.

I opened my eyes again, my gaze fixed on a place far away from the Be a bunch of darlings and flush him out, will you?

With that thought, the wasps immediately cut their holding pattern and made for the spaces between the giant iron chess pieces, needlepoint stingers out, in search of their prey. The red in my arms slowly bled away, revealing their natural shades of emerald and viridian. I unclenched my fists and filled my palms with pools of bubbling acid, ready to fire off another volley of shards once my opponent showed himself once more.

John's breathing felt labored as he heard the retort from somewhere beyond the cover of the giant bishop. The iron was hot against his bare back, and he tried to hazard a glance around the back side of it, where perhaps he could see the girl. The comment about his cowardice was definitely off-putting, but John knew that if he was going to walk out of this arena instead of being carried out, he’d need something different than the simple beatings he usually attempted to give out. Perhaps he could flank her if he could get around the knight piece next to the bishop and cut across to her.

A buzzing filled his ears as he turned aside, and he instinctively swatted in the direction of it before realizing that the buzzing was growing louder quickly, and soon wasps came into view, the largest John had ever seen. Dozens of them appeared as John turned to run, attempting to both flee the insects and flank the girl at the same time. Pain stabbed the back of his neck as he kicked up sand on the edge of the chessboard just behind the black row, resisting the urge to swat at the sting. His mind raced as he tried to come up with some kind of strategy, but nothing came as he began to round the space between the rook and knight, planting a foot back on the chessboard against the rook. John’s knee nearly buckled as he came around with reduced strength and speed, but it held enough. Another bite at his thigh, and as he barreled toward the girl he realized that he was outmatched and trapped.

John smirked. The words of an old teacher rang in his mind.

“Beware the man who knows he’s going to lose, for to him there are no consequences”

He took the last two steps toward the girl, slow though they were, and leapt forward, aiming a flying knee at her head. There was nothing left to do but attack relentlessly and hope to land enough strikes to be at least respected by her, because with her healing and abilities, she'd likely be the one leaving the arena alive.

I hated tapping into her power. I hated giving up myself to her influence each and every time I called upon it. I knew that one of these times I was going to get a little too desperate, and that would be the day I fully lost myself to the dark magic she bestowed upon me.

But hell if it didn't give me results.

The incessant buzzing of direwasps filled the air as they swarmed around the dark metal pawns, searching for their prey. It didn't take long before one of them found the mountain of a man, as he stumbled back out into the open, iron-coated hands swatting at the giant insects as they attempted to stab him with their harpoon-like stingers. A twisted look of pain was etched on his face, and I could barely make out a red mark or two on the back of his neck from where one of the wasps hit their target.

No matter how big they are, everyone is afraid of wasps.

I couldn't help but cracking a grin at the sight of this giant swatting his ham hock hands as he spun around in circles, moving across the stone chessboard in an attempt to not get stung. He ended up ducking back between the pieces to my left, but before I could follow him the bastard burst forward at an incredible pace.

The smile disappeared from my face as the monster leaped into the air, his body twisting slightly and jabbing one of his thick knees before him, looking to break my jaw again with a single strike. I decided to stop playing around, and juked towards his right. His face and chest were fully exposed to me as he sailed through the air.

My mouth filled with acid. With a quick spit, it exploded into the space he was moving into, a thick cloud of corrosive amber droplets that would melt his flesh down to the bone.

John's eyes grew wide as he saw the cloud, positioned at the apex of his leap.

This time he was ready though. The edge of John's mouth upturned as he brought his forearms up to shield his body, the armor extending out in a plate as he flew through the mist.

fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me, he thought as he landed, rolling into a standing position to face the girl. It was then that he heard the hissing, and noticed the steam billowing from his arms. He brought his forearm up to see the armor pitting and reforming, the liquid metal covered in the strange substance he flew through a moment ago. It would have likely killed him had any exposed flesh come in contact with the acid.

John looked back at the girl, standing a little taller as he saw the wasps begin to fall from the sky. Come to think of it, she hadn't landed any real hits on him during the entire match. John's smirk tugged at the other edge of his mouth. Perhaps his armor wasn't as useless as he had been thinking of it. It had protected him through this match, and now provided his arms with a coating of acid that would likely hurt her once he landed more hits. John's blood began to pound in his ears as he realized this fight might be winnable after all.

He knocked his fists together a couple times before looking back at the girl through the haze of what was left of the cloud and the shimmering of the midday heat. She had an almost bored expression. He resisted the urge to wipe the beading sweat from his brow with an acid-coated hand.

We'll see if you're bored in a few minutes, John thought, stepping forward with his fists up.

Out of Character:

Bunny approved.

It wasn't the fact that he man morphed the metal that covered his arms to create a shield that saw him fly through the amber cloud of corrosive death that annoyed me. It was the shit-eating grin and sense of accomplishment that was plastered all over his face after his fat ass hit the ground. As if he just did the impossible.

Congratulations, asshole. You narrowly avoided fake death within the Citadel with your stupid armor arms.

The acid bubbled away on his iron-plated limbs, trying to eat away at the metal while it worked to reform itself. He rose to his full height, towering over me as we stood in the center of the stone chessboard, surrounded by several dozen dead wasps and an endless desert. The thundering sound of metal on metal rang through the air as he knocked his fists together, his sweat-drenched muscles shimmering in the oppressive sunlight. Murder was in his eyes as he took a single step towards me.

I simply sighed. "Enough of this shit," I muttered as I tapped into the infinite well of hatred and darkness that stirred in my soul. The vines of my arms quickly turned a deep crimson as I called upon her magic once more. I focused on the point at the exact center of the mountain's head, raised my right hand into the air, and squeezed my briar-knit fist.

My adversary stumbled mid-step, and bent forward as the vines grew inside his skull. The bored through bone and tore through muscle as they grew. His baby blue eyes bugged out for the briefest of moments before thick, red ruilserk vines popped them out of his skull with a sickening squish. He opened his mouth to scream, but two more thick tendrils pierced the back of his throat and grew out of the opening, bathed in blood and shredded flesh.

With another quick wave of my hand for theatrics--pointless, as he couldn't see them any longer--the thick vines wrapped themselves around his shaved head. He gurgled for a bit, unable to properly express his surprise and agony due to the obstructions in his throat, and slapped at the makeshift vice gripping his head with his iron-clad hands. Remnants of the acid that laced his gloves ate away at the ruilserk vines with little effect.

I pictured in my mind's eye the vines squeezing my opponent's head, and the tendrils followed. The sounds of bones cracking and breaking filled my ears, as his gurgling rapidly grew in intensity before suddenly cutting out.

The man's hands fell to his sides, and I recalled the vines back into his head. What they revealed was the warped, shattered remains of his face. His eye sockets, cracked and caved, oozed a steady stream of blood. His nose had been smashed in, and was twisted at an improbable angle. His bloodied mouth only contained half of its teeth, and his jaw was clearly splintered in at least five different places.

The monks would have a blast putting him back together.

I watch with a mild disinterest as his lifeless body collapsed to the ground, squishing one of his eyeballs in the process under a meaty knee.

It had all been too... easy. Too unfulfilling It occurred to me that I had only been playing with this joker for the first few minutes, until I grew bored and ended him.

No sense of relaxation, no sense of challenge. Just quick, clean, brutal death. No art to it whatsoever.

Maybe it was time to retire from the Citadel.

"Dammit," I muttered sourly as the magic of the Ai'Brone smothered me, pulling me away from the corpse of my opponent.

Name of Judgement: Your Move
Judgement Type: Workshop Submission (request from the judgees)
Participants: redford and BlackAndBlueEyes

Rewards:

redford:
780 EXP
80 GP

BlackAndBlueEyes:
1095 EXP
80 GP

All EXP and GP have been added!

Congratulations on reaching level 12, Andy!