Warning: Wet Floor (Honour)

[Sakume]

OoC: Sorry intro is so short.

BiC: Waves crashed into the side of the beach, the mist spraying the figure kneeling on the edge of the outcrop, who did not seem to mind the water in the least. He barely flinched, parting his lips to finish his speech. “Father… father, why has this happened? How could you pass away, along with the whole city, just because of me? I’m sorry, father, so sorry for my mistakes of youth. But the time has come for me to make up for my foolish actions. I know he lives. I have sensed his presence within that shell of hate and anger. I am afraid I may not return…” Truthfully, Lucien would not have minded if he died during this mission, since it meant him joining the rest of his culture. He was, to his best knowledge, the last Atlantean on earth.

He lifted his head from the bowed position, his fingers nimbly performing the Atlantean symbol for an honorable prayer. “I intend to renew his human soul, by any means necessary. Ancestors of Atlantis hear my prayers and bless my efforts, this I ask of you.” He stood up and began to back away from the handmade shrine. The small piece of coral, carved into a specific shape of many twists and turns, was then given a gentle kick into the saltwater. By sinking into the depths of the ocean, it gave a symbol of honor to those deceased long ago.

He began to head for the mountain, the ash falling in the distance a reminder of his quest. “I won’t fail. Johnathan, I’ve come to help you, don’t worry.”

****In the not too far distance…****

He smirked as his hands clenched his elbows, folded neatly across his chest. The water in the small pond behind him began to boil a bit in his uneasiness. His eyes scanned the countryside, but little stood out to him besides the usual. Something told him someone was approaching, and he truthfully felt stunned his master had not noticed the person before Pyralis realized him or her.

What is it?

“He’s coming,” Pyralis replied in an-uncharacteristic soft tone. “I don’t know who, but I know this. He’s of great importance.” Someone approached the Wishmaster's home indeed. Pyralis felt strangely about this person, that they were almost familiar.

I sense no one. You have no scheduled wishes, so do not appear, my servant. The spiteful voice echoed throughout the man’s head.

“If you are so determined to keep me from speaking to him, why don’t you just stop him yourself?” Pyralis asked, a somewhat snappy tone in his voice, though not one of pure impudence. He was beginning to think his master was not really in control of him at all. Then why obey him?

Do as I command and do not ask questions.

“Very well… here he comes.” Just as if a wind came into a shattered window to blow out a candle, Pyralis disappeared.

A figure came into view of the magical being’s pool, completely white in appearance, apart from the blue of his eyes and the small traces of the color in his armor. He stood tall, unafraid, but not proud. His lips were thinly pressed together, giving evidence to some degree of determination. He gazed about the clearing, hands held at his side. His thick, wavy hair, also pure ebony, hung dead in the bitter air.

What do you want here, boy? Pyralis nearly appeared just out of pure shock. His master, who even he had never seen, was speaking to this stranger. The voice was deep, booming, striking pure fear into any human that heard it.

“Who are you?” the boy in white replied, showing no sign of fear.

I will not ask again. What do you want here, boy?

“I am looking for someone that I sense here. Reveal him to me now, or I shall take him by force,” he replied, his right hand moving behind his back to draw a sword from a sheath. Intensely decorated by multiple signs and illegible words of his past, it was his only weapon but by far, the greatest of any he would ever possess. The magic of his ancestors coursed through the glimmering metal. “I know he is here; you cannot hide him from our bond, that which will never be broken.”

You will die for your ignorance.

“Johnathan!” Lucien shouted forcefully.

Pyralis froze.

[Silver]

"That one there," she said, her voice soft for once.

Trare was pointing to the light-skinned man who stood against the voice. She had been curious about that voice as well as its little pawn for quite some time, but had never bothered to send any kind of attack his way. To do so would be to issue a challenge, and she knew nothing about this one. No, she was subtle in her ways. A new goddess must be careful.

"I am to do what with this man?" he asked. His cold eyes leveled on the magically projected image of the man. He recognized the race, having met one or two of his kind during their servitude as heroes.

"Help him. Pry information from him. He is doomed, just as his race is doomed, and may be willing to give us insight into this wishmaster."

Jubril lifted his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. He was content to go where she sent him, but knew that she never sent him without a large speech and explanation of what exactly he was to do. This soft tone of voice, her shifty manner, was bothering him. She seemed caught, caged, and even as he watched her he wondered whether there was something she had been told. This wishmaster seemed to be much more important than he had initially expected. Just what was this man capable of doing? Could he overpower a god?

"Go," she said. Though it was curt, sharp, her voice was low and her eyes never met his. She was worried about something. There was a danger in this, one she would not, or could not, reveal.

A sensation of light and heat flushed over his skin for but a moment before he felt himself displaced. The feeling of being displaced is difficult to explain, but it is very like the sensation of stepping out of a room blindfolded, and knowing without a doubt that you have entered someplace either much larger or much smaller than you have just exited. For the hero, it was the latter. The world had suddenly shrunk from the large and all-encompassing world to which he was suited into a comparatively small and worthless world. He passed a glance over his surroundings, took in his position and cursed under his breath.

He had been placed just a few meters away from the man he was supposed to ‘help,' easily within earshot and probably within the range of his enemies' senses. That was enough to prick the hairs on the back of his neck and make him a bit more wary of his surroundings. There was no purpose to hiding, but he was loathe to step out into the open.

He did so anyway, stepping close enough to the pool that he was in plain sight and an easy target, and gave the Atlantean a short nod.

[Sakume]

It was as if the world had suddenly been devoid of light before returning in such a bright flash it would easily blind a person. This accurately described the rush of events and thoughts contained in such a short period among so few people. The first to speak, though very briefly, was the Atlantean prince. "What is your name, stranger?" This question, also asked by the two unseen forces, was just as rapidly answered.

"Jubril is my name. I am here to help you as the goddess Trare has asked." He neglected, of course, to mention his further intentions of learning more about what exactly they were fighting and what else the secretive prince might know. Why not save the questions for when it was appropriate to ask? Jubril merely listened for the moment.

Your goddess cannot save you any more than his gods can save him, the master's dry voice chuckled darkly, the constant rain of ash from the sky finally pausing with his command as the trees quivered in the volume of the laugh. Fools have come to greet me since before the dawn of time, and yet through the centuries I have seen none more foolish than the two before me now.

"Only fools call others foolish," came Jubril's snapping reply. No sign of any fear appeared throughout his body language, only a fierce determination of finishing what he had been asked to do.

The prince released his grip upon his weapon temporarily, although remaining wary enough to fight should the unseen force decide to launch a surprise attack. "Who are you to call us fools, when you do not even show yourself to us?" he asked, feet shifting in the dirt slightly.

You dare to question me... no, I will not show myself to you, for your death would come too swiftly. You will die by the hand of that which you seek to save. Come forth, wishmaster. Show them your power.

Rustling came from nearby, and the prince jumped back in surprise to avoid a small burst of flame in front of him. The fire, though nothing around the source seemed to give it fuel, burned brightly and steadily, the size of the man's fist. Not long after the first flickered to life, a multitude of the same flames flickered forth, forming a circle around the arena. It did not block escape by any means, but looked more for decoration of some sort. Smoke began to rise, though the fires were too small to create a lot, it was enough to create the apperance of a small forest fire.

"You both make me sick. Coming here, acting as if you can seriously destroy me? I'll turn you both into ash." Johnathan... he called me Johnathan... A jet of flame shot up from the pool of water, the two opposite elements clashing to create spurts of hot steam. His unique clothing fluttered in the hot breeze he created, his hands remaining folded across his chest. Ironically, through the temperature, which had just rocketed to about twenty degrees higher, around ninety now, Lucien noticed his eyes. They were as cold and heartless as a glacier.

"Johnathan, come to your senses!" the prince barked, Jubril keeping a close eye on him. "I know you're there!" his tone changed to one of unbelief. How could this possibly be? He was not reaching him, but how?

"Johnathan?" Pyralis chuckled lowly. "I don't know what you're talking about." Following a grunt, he threw both hands out to his sides, and then hurled his arms forward, a massive wave of pure fire forming without warning behind him and shooting like a bullet from a gun towards both men.

"Oh? I think you... do!" Lucien removed his sword from its sheath, pointing the tip straight towards the approaching fire. A resulting wave of saltwater came from the ground, swallowing the flame and putting it out with a loud hiss like an agitated snake. "Stop this!" Why is his soul hidden so deeply? What can I do to cause it to emerge? Moisture spattered on the faces of all three men, whether from the heat, mist, sweat, or even a combination of the three. "You know me, and I know you do!"

Who is this man? I do recognize him... somehow. The other is unknown to me. If he helps my enemy, he is my enemy. I will focus on destroying him first, then I shall hold the other for questioning. Pyralis thought with a coy grin, reaching back to remove from his robes what appeared to be a small gun and aiming at the armored opposition. Following a small clicking sound, a disc flew from the opening of the weapon, lit on fire. Clang! Jubril easily blocked it with his shield.

"Is that all?" he scoffed with a smile.

Pyralis's amused smile faded instantly. "You mock me?" he shouted, the flames about the arena increasing in height, blocking the way out.

It's no use. Lucien thought quickly. He doesn't have enough evidence to awaken. He needs something else. Wait, that! That might work! If I show him... and if I lure him from here. There's not enough water, and the heat is too much. I can't beat him now. After I free him, there's a chance. It will give me time to think about what or who is controlling him as well. "You, there! Jubril, you said? Come! Now is not the time to fight him! We must go and return when we are better prepared!" Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow I will be ready.

The heat of the flames costantly grew harder to stand, until Lucien formed a small sign with his hands. "From the ocean I call upon you, come and trample those who oppose us under the thunder of your footsteps!" A loud, blurred whinny erupted from the air as the water in the pool began to swirl. It fluctuated, grew larger, and took the form of a horse. Every detail from the flowing mane to the sharp, attentive ears appeared quickly, made completely from the water. Its eyes glowed a righteous white color as it began to charge straight towards the heroes. "Grab on!" Lucien shouted just before it tore between them.

Jubril was not unused to horses, despite this one being made of water. He successfully grabbed ahold of the saddle, the water as solid as if it were real skin, smooth and silky. Swinging himself over to the back of the horse while Lucien took the front, the animal leaped over the firey wall, steam hissing from the fire touching the tips of its hooves. It thudded to the ground, continuing to gallop faster than any normal beast would. Mist streamed from its nostrils in the cool night air.

"Why did we stop?" the back rider asked abruptly, unsure of the reason.

While whispering a soothing word to the Kelpie to stop the waterhorse from going so fast now, Lucien simply gazed ahead to see an upcoming inn. It would make an ample place for both of them to stay the night while he sent the Kelpie to get what he needed.

"We stop because we are not prepared. If you cannot fight something, don't try. We would have both died." Before the man could reply, he continued. "We will rest here for the night, and get a good amount of sleep. We will need it for tomorrow, when the true battle takes place." Stopping the animal to shift off its back near the stables, he patted it and spoke in Atlantean. The Kelpie simply nickered once and appeared to melt, the water droplets soon absorbed by the ground.

The calm man motioned for Jubril to follow him, entering the inn and taking a key, leaving a small bag of gold coins on the counter. He did not need to waste time by speaking to those whom would surely question his motives and nationality due to his appearance. Besides, being in control of the werewolf's body for so long wore him, and he needed to take a rest while Raziel took over for the night. He climbed the corner stairs, the creaking causing a few guests in the bar to glance up towards the noise before disregarding it.

"You did not have to pay for me," the guest stated gruffly as Lucien solemnly removed the key for their room from his pocket.

[Silver]

Jubril stepped onto the wooden floor of the inn the next morning, his armor already in place and his shield and spear in place. A soft voice murmured something from behind him and the sounds of shifting bed sheets had to be stifled by the heavy door. The hero smiled with genuine pleasure and made for the staircase, his footfalls heavy but steady; he was neither quiet nor overly loud, but he was accustomed to living in castles of stone, where a hard footfall may be but a whisper of sound a few feet away.

The metal of his armor made little noise as he descended, taking in the room easily from his higher standpoint. His ally was nowhere to be seen, but that could be easily ignored. The man had known nothing the day before ... at least, nothing about what was important. A puppet is only as strong as the puppet master, and the puppet master for this ‘Wishmaster' was not likely to give his secrets out to the enemies of his toy.

Honestly, the hero had found himself wondering what connection this Atlantean had to such a man as the one he had been sent to examine. It was definite that this was a man. In the meager amount of time he had been able to spend in the company of the spell-throwing, wish-granting slug had revealed to him that much. Either he was human or he had been human sometime in the past. He resembled mortals in his manner and his appearance, to be sure, but it was the way he used magic that was the most obviously mortal—a god or a genie would have killed Lucien in a moment, as a passing thought, and given no care to any possible fallout.

Cold air brushed his tanned face as he stepped out into the morning air. It was pleasant to be in such high mountains. They reminded him, dimly, of the more lovely areas he had visited in his tours of the otherworldly realms. He had trained rigorously to become what he was, to enjoy what he did, and it was no coincidence that he was a great warrior. His eyes narrowed on the high places of the mountain.

Magicians could die just as easily as anyone else.

That was something he had learned from one of the senior instructors at his gladiator school, and he found that it applied more in the service to his mistress than it ever had in the sand and dirt of the desert arenas. Blood from a dozen or more wizards had been spilled by his sword and spear, and he had experienced no greater hardship in parting their heads than he had in killing to please a crowd. They were only flesh and bone, after all, and both were relatively weak. The spear in his hand trembled as the adrenaline began to flow into his veins. This would be an interesting fight.

If his ally ever showed up.

[Sakume]

Raziel, though he liked the relatively soft mattress of the inn, loved the outdoors even more. While Jubril slept inside, the werewolf chose to rest under the stars, just beyond the inn's borders, behind a storage shed. He stretched a bit, in no hurry to go anywhere. "Are you ready?" he asked. To any normal individual, it would appear the man talked to himself. Not necessarily a bad thing, but not quite smiled upon in this part of the country, either.

Either way, it appeared the Atlantean was indeed ready, for following the werewolf's quick smile and nod, came a flash of white light to replace the man with the prince. He stretched again briefly, still unused to being cooped up inside a man's soul. It was difficult to explain, but best seen as a dark void in which you felt entirely at peace. Then again, it could fluctuate with the type of person you lived in. He shook his head slightly. Now was not the time to think upon such things.

A gentle nudge on his back drew his attention to the Kelpie, who had returned with the sketchbook, as commanded. "Thank you." Lucien gave the animal a pat on the nose before it disappeared once more. He looked over a few of the drawings, feeling nostalgic. Most of the pictures consisted of the ocean or sunsets, quiet, modest things of life, even a few pictures of children in a village. All of them were amazingly detailed, down to the last freckle on a child's face. The yellowed, frayed edges of the paper soon collapsed together as Lucien closed the cover and tucked the precious item under one arm. "If this does not jog his memory... nothing will. Of course... that's what I'm afraid of." Moving swiftly back to the bustling part of the inn, he soon sought out his partner.

"Where have you been? I've been up and waiting for a while," Jubril remarked, clad in his armor and prepared for battle. "Did you forget anything? I'd rather we get this over with now, unless you find out you need another item during the fight?"

"No, what I have asked the Kelpie for is right here." He inhaled the sweet scent of the fresh air. "Did you sleep well?"

"You have no idea." A smile on the man's face made Lucien slightly curious, but the prince had more troublesome things at hand.

"Then we are ready to go. We will walk this time. Be ready. This is going to be a very difficult battle." It was not far to the clearing, perhaps a few hours at best. Traveling there turned out to be much quicker than expected, since time flew. "Johnathan? I've returned," he announced with his appearance, the settings mostly clear and eerily silent.

"I've told you already... I don't know you." Pyralis smiled coyly as he stared at the men from a rock outcropping over the pond. "You seem insistent to have things your way. Who is this Johnathan you keep speaking of?" The voice did not speak, and was nowhere to be found, something not uncommon for the wishmaster.

"Don't tell me you don't remember this." Lucien tossed the notebook where it plopped into the pool, floating over towards the evil being, who picked it up from the water and dried it instantly with his touch.

He began to lift each page, tracing the lines and mouthing words with his lips. "Eleshin..." he finally said, staring up slowly at the prince. "... Who are you?"

"Friend..." Lucien replied, the two sharing a moment long forgotten in the deep past. "Johnathan... it's me... Lucien. Don't you remember? You were friends with me. We were best friends all those centuries ago. What has happened to make you like this?"

A thread previously placed in the wishmaster's mind snapped, breaking the dam of blocked past and causing the memories to come rushing down into his mind, almost too fast for him to handle. "Lucien! Lucien..." His hair color began to change from a deep red to a soft chocolate brown, hanging down instead of its slicked back spiked appearance previously. "What's happened to me?" he finally asked in a whisper, looking at his hands.

"You are under the control of someone. You must break free before it's too late!" he replied, extending a hand.

Suddenly, his head jerked up towards the prince. "Where's Mina?!" he half-demanded, half-questioned.

"Mina?... she's dead. Centuries have passed, Johnathan. You should be dead." His tone was laced with pity and a tinge of guilt.

"Shouldn't you as well?" he responded in an almost desperate tone. "Why aren't you? What happened to her?"

"I have sealed myself away for those years, and only just awakened. Your spirit must have lingered... and that's what made this... please, understand when I say I'm sorry. Mina died from heartbreak after you perished in the volcano. I... I grew jealous."

"You grew..." His eyes widened. He seemed to put the pieces of the puzzle together. "Lucien! You... you killed me?"

"I'm so sorry, Johnathan. I never meant to kill you. But I've come to put you and I both to rest."

"You stole her. You stole the only person I ever loved. And then, you killed me. You... you..." The ground below the warriors began to tremble, heat filling the arena as his hair glowed a bright red. Rage filled his eyes, fire encircling his hands. "Murderer!" he roared, starting a battle that would not soon be won.

Jubril readied his weapons while turning to give Lucien a sarcastic look. "Got any more bright ideas?"

[Silver]

A wall of steam blasted into the air as the Atlantean and his fiery enemy went at it, fire against water, in a battle without evident purpose. Jubril looked on and circled the field, careful to avoid both the scorched earth and drenched soil areas in between the two magicians. The hero was experienced in dealing with mages of equal caliber to these, or at least to the Atlantean, but the Wishmaster employed a kind of magic which was unknown to him.

He paused in his trotting half-circle and pivoted, spinning around in a closer arc to complete a crescent moon scouting maneuver against his enemy. For what it was worth, the redheaded man seemed intent upon his childhood companion and was paying little attention to the meagerly capable skirmisher. It had been a few minutes since the battle started and neither participant seemed to be weakening.

Pryalis was a creature of habit. It looked as if he had set into a routine of fire, counter-water, and fire again; though Lucien tried to keep his water coursing in different directions and had tried on multiple occasions to pierce through the heat shield, it was a losing battle. Nevertheless, even in this stage of obsessive anger it looked as if the flame user was no more able to think of himself than he was able to breathe underwater. That could be used as an advantage, if combined with the lack of attention he was giving to Jubril, a relative non-participant thus far.

The hero paused for a moment to eye the weapons his enemy possessed. The Wishmaster had used neither, but it was a distinct possibility that one or both of them possessed an immense amount of magical power. That could become a worry. Even ebony, the second strongest alloy known to the gods of the Otherworld, was not completely indestructible.

It was time.

The warm gray of his eyes cooled, his movements becoming deceptively liquid as he moved closer to the Wishmaster. His spear impacted into the earth as he ran, sprinting into the scorched earth between the two magicians as his hand closed on the shaft of a javelin. He was within feet of the fire user—who had finally taken notice of him and thrown up a cursory gust of fire to deter him. Jubril leered and took the flame on his shield, passing through it as one would a spray of cool mist. The javelin bucked forward, flinging from his hand and towards the Wishmaster's thigh.

[Sakume]

He'll die. They'll all die for their insolence! He killed me! I'll never let it go at that! Pyralis hurled vortexes of flame towards Lucien without any regard to his surroundings, catching several of the nearby trees on fire. He wasn't even getting started. He was toying with Lucien, playing with his prey as a cat did to a mouse before finally devouring the animal.

Realizing that the other man with his former friend wanted to kill him, as so many others did, Pyralis turned a bit of attention towards him as well. His fire did not slow the man down, and he watched the spear fly towards his body. After a sickening thud, he glanced at his thigh, the spear well into his body so the head and about at least four inches worth of the grip were completely invisible. Lucien must have expected him to fall or at least cry out, for he dropped his guard briefly.

No, the wishmaster made not a sound. It appeared he was as surprised as his past friend looked. Strangely, no blood came from the wound. Instead, Pyralis bent down and removed it, watching a steady stream of dirt fall from the puncture.

You're both more pathetic than I thought. He is indestructable. I formed him as man should be formed, and you cannot defeat him. Attack, my servant.

Pyralis looked up at Jubril, his eyes flashing briefly red as a small zip line of flame sketched up his leg to seal the wound, stopping the dirt from escaping. His lips formed a smile, and he reached his hands back to draw a previously unrevealed sword, now completely focused on the man who dared strike him. The weapon he now wielded looked incredibly like Lucien's, perhaps even a twin, with the same cryptic language written, but not on metal as the Atlantean's. This sword did not visibly seem to have any alloy, instead, it was completely formed of a red glowing substance. The metal was not visible because it was superheated, as if it had just come from the blacksmith's oven.

"Things are about to get much hotter!" Pyralis shouted as he plunged the weapon into the ground. At first, nothing happened, but then an ear-splitting crack resounded.

Lucien backed up, readying his own sword for a summon. If it gets too hot, I cannot call for the mythological beings for help. I need more water. He concentrated, readying to perform Tidal Wave, a spell he only used when neccessary to get the water he needed for his beasts to appear. Lucien aimed to get enough water in the area to call for the ultimate weapon, the greatest creature ever to scour the ocean- the sea serpent. He needed to hurry, too.

The cracks in the ground began to grow larger and more spread-out, a bubbling sound getting more audible by the moment. Pyralis merely chuckled as a small stream of orange glowing liquid flowed out of the earth. Lucien understood immediately what it was. They were above a dormant volcano, or at least, it had been once. Now, it seemed to have been awoken once more, and this would make things much more difficult.

[Silver]

I piss on your magic, he snarled internally. Jubril's hand closed on the haft of his spear, callouses unfeeling to the abrasive runes carved along its length. He jerked his arm, pushing the rim of his shield under his helmet, and pushed it off in a single, fluid motion. The heat from the volcano was spilling up from below, but he could deal with that. He had dealt with much worse than such a pitiful display of magical might.

"I've tested the mettle of gods and demons," he half-roared, "do you think this frightens me?"

Pyralis said something, but it was cut off by a massive, blinding wave of pure, white light. The hero sprinted forward, the faceplate of his shield held in front of him and pointed straight at his enemy. Light poured from his weapon, his shield, his armor, and the heat from it seared the very ground his feet touched. The spear in his hand flashed—literally—with a vivid white-gold aura for a single moment before he arced it over his head and slammed it down into the crook between his neck and shoulder.

The flesh and bone changed to earth upon contact and instantly combusted, the sheer weight of the light a horrible physical force and the heat an intolerable and amazing force. The goddess was with him, and her specialty was light and fire. He smiled, moving catlike on his feet, and dodged sideways from the opening of a lava-spewing chasm. His spear thrust forward again, piercing the Wishmaster low in his side, and punching all the way through his body, before the insane mage put his own weapon into action and thrust out against the tenacious skirmisher.

Jubril leapt back instantly, avoiding the reach of the sword just barely, and counter-swiped with the blade of his spear. It drew a line on the arm of his foe and drew forth a snarl. The light diminished, then vanished. That was not as much help as she could have given, he thought.