Tenport Arena [Anyone]

OOC:

ROSTER NOW FULL
Alright, folks. This is my first battle here in EH, but I've been RPing for about ten years now, so hopefully I won't come off as a complete noob.

Tenport Arena is in a nondescript place. As the name suggests, it is primarily reachable via ships, but teleportation is also an option. We are to assume it is an island of some sort, but nothing is set in stone yet.

I don't care who jumps in here, but I would like to maintain some order. So, here's two stipulations: I need medieval/fantasy characters only, and I would say no more than a total of four total, just to keep the chaos to a minimum without tossing it entirely. So here's the character roster so far.

1. Mathias Blackharrow
2. Ren Nevisu
3. Tierra Nena
4. Kartaikian "Stormcloud" Syriax

Just post your entrance in the arena and dig into the fighting right away. My first post will be a set-up opener, so expect me to post my battle entrance once someone else joins. Sounds exciting! ^^

For reference purposes, it does not have to be 2v2. It can be a free-for-all, but an allied victory of two people is allowed. For the winners, there is a prize, and you can decide what it is-- whatever you want.

If you desire, you can fight to the death. However, it is up to each contestant when he or she has had enough, and can forfeit. Post a defeated scene, followed by an exit by some means and remove yourself from the fight.

If this takes off, we can do more rounds after the first!

IC:

The roar of the crowd overhead made the wooden rafters shake beneath the arena. As fighters prepared by suiting into their armor and sharpening their weapons, Mathias sat along the sides on a wooden bench, writing. His mind was on his faith as he scribbled into his journal. 'They say this arena doesn't care for fights to the death,' he wrote, 'but I see the weapons these warriors use. There is no other outcome possible in these fights. There is no protective enchantment, no guards or healers on duty; just metal, and flesh. If I take a blade to the gut, I don't expect I should be revived.' As he mulled over his own words, he let out a soft sigh, and closed his eyes, speaking a silent prayer in his mind.

"Jintus, Great Builder, mighty and divine; watch over me, that I may bring honor to my homecountry, and to You. Akaila the Icewind, Oren the Skullbearer-- grant me the strength, as you have so many times before, to defeat those who oppose me. The glory is yours, Jintus, and Ipsxilliovn's. Amen."

His eyes parted, and his mindset shifted. As faith gave way to preperation, he pulled his bag from beneath the bench and opened it. The clatter of glass and wooden containers clicking together echoed dully throughout the wooden underground in which he sat, but was lost to the noise of other fighters talking, laughing, and sparring around him. Mathias contemplated his actions as he took various potions, choosing mostly the glass bottles, and tucked them into a heavily padded sack attached to the back of his shield, and a few spares into a smaller sack on his right hip.

As he stood, he ran checks over his armor, to ensure it was all in place. His brigandine was in place, covering his torso, and his molded leather greaves and boots protected his legs. The chainmail sleeves that were riveted to his thick leather pauldrons protected his upper arms, while a molded leather gauntlet covered his right forearm and hand. All of the leather that covered his body bore newly-adorned studs of brass, installed in preperation for this arena. As he patted his trusty mace on his hip, he set his shield down on the bench and fished the targ spike from his bag. After screwing it into place in the center of the steel knob, he slung his shield onto his back and reached for nis new helmet; a steel helm molded into a Corinthian shape. Just as he touched it, he heard the shout.

"Alright, Pit Dogs!" cried the Warmaster. "We got another fight for you. The game's got four contestnants, see, and it's gonna be a real brawl." The man looked to Mathias and grinned. "Blackharrow! Fresh of the ships and into the sands-- that's what you wanted, eh? Get yer ass to the gate!"

With a sneer, Mathias slipped his helm over his head and moved past the shouting Warmaster to the stone steps that led up to the arena. As he armed his shield and unleashed his mace, he heard the large iron doors close and lock behind him. Between him and the sandy arena stood a large gate, and he knew that once the gate fell, the games would begin. Perhaps there would be some fun after all.

Rontu sat in the benches with the rest of the crowd, chin on his palm, watching as if it were just dogs fighting in the street and was briefly reminded of the brawls back in the dark elf city of Delu. How much different was it really? Just more organized mayhem and death for some petty reward or prize, be it glory, pride, riches, or just the joy of cutting into another being. He knew so many who just cherished the feeling of their steel cutting into flesh, like teeth through their meals, blood like the oily juices of rarely cooked meat. Which brought him to remember Ren down below, preparing for the blood shed. The short-tempered dragon spawn had nearly torn into the clerks for the registry when they had only slightly mentioned that he might be too young for this kind of thing.

Needless to say, the boy had convinced them otherwise.

Ren tends to be … very assuring.

“I can’t believe this.” He barely heard Khaz over the roar of the crowd, but he had made it loud enough that he had meant for Rontu to hear it.

The drow turned his limp expression to the Hylian sitting next to him, who was staring down at the arena with great disapproval in his black brows and dark blue eyes. Unlike Rontu, his companion was very pale skinned and had dark ink black hair that stuck up at messy and odd angles.

He tended to find Khaz so very ironic when he criticized this … Of course, Takai only liked blood shed when he was tearing apart the sinful. Rontu supposed he would find such needless slaughter annoying.

“You’re so sheltered in Hyrule. Things like this happen all the time in the world. Face it; people like to watch each other die. It’s amusing to them,” he drawled, turning his apathetic gold eyes back to the arena.

Rontu could feel the heated glare that he didn’t see Khaz give him. And then his voice red and self-righteous babbled its way into his ear.

“Not me! And the people of Hyrule certainly don’t either! And what about Ren … what if he really gets hurt? There aren’t even healers around …”

The drow smirked, finally bringing life to his black tinted face.

“I think you should be more concerned with those he is fighting …”


Ren paced down below impatiently. They told him to wait down here and get ready. What a laugh. Like he needed to get ready. He had everything he needed on him already. The Retuson had only discarded his coat so that it wouldn’t get in the way. He fingered Akane’s hilt at his side, itching for the fight. Isamu bumped gently against his leg and his leather pad. Ren hated waiting like this. It made him so restless. He just wanted to get moving already.

Finally it came. He heard the announcer.

"Alright, Pit Dogs!" cried the Warmaster. "We got another fight for you. The game's got four contestants, see, and it's gonna be a real brawl. Blackharrow! Fresh of the ships and into the sands!”

Ren smirked, ready and eager. His grandfather would have told him to ask Faia, the Great Warrior, for guidance and glory in battle. But he didn’t need any guidance. His own person was all that it would take. He would win his glory with his own power.

“Nevisu! The young albino!”

The young what?

Ren would have to remember to pound the Warmaster’s face in later for that one. He stepped up the stairs and into the area, the huge gate awaiting him. The Black Arrow guy, or whatever his name was, was on the opposite side of him.

OoC: heya, thought I'd give it a whirl. You can find Ren in my sig under Figments of My Imagination.

OOC: Hehe, happy to have you join. I hope I can get some help, though-- things look grim for poor Mathias against a character like Ren. xD

IC:

Across the wind-strewn sands stood a man-- no, a boy-- who looked too young to be here. Mathias had seen, and killed, younger though, and knew better than to presume. 'If he is here,' he told himself, 'then he is a threat.'

Mathias sized him up as well as he could from the distance. A blade, and a sidearm, were visible. The boy's muscles were defined, yet contained; Mathias accepted the possibility of superhuman strength. He took note of his pointed ears, and reminded himself of the grace with which the elves fought. Agility could be an issue against him. As Mathias scanned the boy, he decided his chances in close-range combat allowed for too many variables. 'I best even the odds a bit.'

Mathias leant his mace against his shoulder and pulled a small wooden bottle from the pouch behind his shield. He popped the cap off and drank the fluid in two swallows. Tucking the bottle into the pouch at his hip, he narrowed his eyes a bit. As his fingers grasped another small bottle, this one made of glass, his vision sparkled before his eyes, and things began to illuminate. The settings around him turned to shades of blue and green, and the boy before him became outlined in a bright purple.

Soon, the gate collapsed before him with a loud clatter. Mathias took a step onto the sands, and instantly hurled the small glass vial at the ground, upon which it shattered. A massive flash billowed the arena, and the crowd gasped in response to the blinding light. Mathias had previously closed his eyelids in a blink as the flash resonated. When the light cleared, a thick layer of dark grey smoke plumed through the arena; two reactions of one fluid touching the air.

Mathias' "nighteye" vision penetrated the vaporous smoke, and he dove into the fray. Once in range, he shoved his shield forward to open up his enemy with the spike of his targ, and hurled his mace horizontally toward the legs. He hoped the spike could make quick work, and that the blinding effects of the potion in combination with the smoke would help to keep his enemy distracted while he took his shot at the lower quarters. He made every attempt to continue advancing in hopes of knocking his foe down; as he shoved forth with his shield, his steps were close and aggressive, hoping to land his foot on the boy's toes to trip him to the sands. If, by chance, this had worked, the elevated stance of his mace would allow him to bring it full-force down on the boy's vital areas, utilizing a pommel-swing that allowed for the maximum leverage on the weight of the mace.

The crowd may have roared in response to such sudden aggression, but sadly, they could not see.

"You're late," Aaron said flatly as Tierra hurried into the rooms beneath the arena. She shot him a wicked glance, but otherwise said nothing. "If you don't hurry out to the gate, they're going to start without you."

Tierra nodded as she patted herself down, checking to be sure she had everything. Aaron frowned at her, his voice was concerned, "I had some trouble with entry for the event. Don't worry, no one's dead." She stretched quickly, popping joints in her neck, back and arms. She reached up to the gray-blue scarf that kept her hair in check and wrapped its tail around her face, securing it to the knot at the back of her head. It wasn't the most ideal mask, but with a little adjustment, it kept her all of her face beneath her eyes covered, and thus prevented people from recognizing her for a woman. She glanced at Aaron, then took her warhammer out of its harness, the quarterstaff of her back, and clasped the two of them together into a bec de corbin. As a polearm, it was shorter than average, barely more than seven feet long, but fit the young woman's stature finely. With a glance and nod to Aaron, she ran for the gate.

The arena was large, sand-floored and mostly empty. In a cross of gates, she could see that there were other fighters, but their features were hard to make out from her vantage point. The basics were already given, though. At the most, she'd be fighting three other warriors. The Warmaster began called out names, "Blackharrow! Fresh of the ships and into the sands!" He paused briefly, then called, "Nevisu! The young albino!" The gates fell. The fighter on her right threw something small out onto the arena, and it exploded into light and smoke as the Warmaster called out, "Nena! The fire-eyed hellion!"

Tierra grinned to herself and cursed at the same time. On one hand, she didn't know she scared the clerks in charge of entry enough to be awarded a title like that, and it amused her. On the other hand, the explosive phial had dazzled her, and the billow of smoke that filled most of the arena didn't help, either.

There was definitely movement in the cloud, but Tierra knew better than to charge into that mess. She stayed back, and began talking with Gilda, the spirit of her earcuff, questions about the other fighters. Not that anyone would hear her, or even see her speaking with the tail of her scarf covering her mouth. With her bec de corbin in her right hand, she climbed the stairs into the arena, lingered on the edge of the smoke cloud, and readied herself in a defensive stance.

OoC: Heh, don’t worry, Ren is a tank, but he’s younger and less experienced than Mathias.

IC: Ren stared at the other man, his perfect vision making this easy to do from the opposite end of the sand pit. The Retuson watched him take a small glass from his pouch, drink something out of it, and then put it back and grab another one from inside.

Oh, great … he used potions. Leita, the best potions maker he ever knew, told him about all that. They could give you different abilities for a certain amount of time, which is what it looked like this guy was up to. Leita said it was also more formally called “alchemy” or somethin’.

How lame. He had to use potions for this? Ren hated it when the opponent had to use cheap tricks. Was this just a big waste of his time?

Of course, then he also wondered … what the second bottle for?

The gate fell shortly after this. So Ren jogged in almost half-heartedly. That was when the Blackharrow guy threw the bottle down. There was a bright flash, turning Ren’s vision white.

Damn it! He closed his eyes out of reflex, and when he was able to open them there was grey smoke all around him. Ren’s blood boiled with annoyance. Stupid cheap tricks … Oh well, the drow soldiers of the empire liked to do the same things, only more back-stabbing like.

As a matter of fact … this felt familiar. There was that one really stupid spell Hyde Kushin used to cast during his old training sessions with the Scarlets. A black orb that would send them into absolute darkness in which Ren had to fight whoever was in there with him.

Oh.

Then he heard him coming, his big stupid feet made a lot of noise. Jeez, if this guy was going to do the no-vision bit, he should learn to be a lot stealthier. Ren couldn’t count the number of scars Dito had given him for being so loud in the orb of darkness routine. So he rolled with ease to the side, back up to his knees, yet still not drawing his weapons.

He wasn’t gonna kill anyone here. Ren didn’t do that kind of thing … anymore.

He rolled just in time to finally see the Blackharrow guy charging, shield up, which would have bashed Ren down if he hadn’t moved out of the way. And then saw the spike that he would have rolled right into if he hadn’t rolled to the right instead of the left.

Heh, close one. Good, it gets the heart warmed up nicely for more action.

Strangely, this guy seemed to move and aim a little too easily for being in smoke … Oh. So that’s what the first bottle was for. It probably gave him an extra type of sight, like the dark elves with their infrared vision. Wow, this guy sure brought back a lot of empire memories.

He’d have to move quickly while this cheap bastard was still in his range of vision. Ren grabbed a spare knife from his belt with his left hand. He would use his right fist for offense, lefty for defense with some metal in case he needed to block the spike. But reminded himself not to hit too hard. So fragile humans and elves are. This was really just play for him. Training. Had to stay in shape, and lately all this travel he’d been doin’ hadn’t been full of chances to practice.

So now that he was close to the guy’s legs, Ren leaned to the side, hands to the sandy ground for support, and swiped at him with a sweeping kick.

As Mathias saw the boy roll from his path, he cursed in his head took a few sharp steps forward. He could see that the boy ha been startled by the potion, but his elven-looking ears were apparently better than he had expected. An armored, wace-wielding, shielded warrior typically had some difficulties covering his own noises.

When the boy rolled, Mathias turned sharply and proceeded to pursue. For a moment, he felt as though he may have been able to bring his mace down onto the boy as he remained curled up, but by the time he realized this, he estimated the boy to be just out of range of his mace. Still, Mathias heard a noise that snatched his attention, and beckoned him to back off a bit: the sound of another gate falling open.

His dark brown eyes shot over, the blue-green illumination giving way to the purple outline of a new foe. Mathias instantly acknowledged the weaponry; a bec de corbin. Polearme adversaries, he felt, were some of his favorite opponents to dispatch. Still, the new challenger appeared to be playing a defensive game, hanging back from the fray. Perhaps he was waiting for hte smoke to clear?

Mathias took the brief moment to put a bit of distance between the three of them. As they formed a triangular patter, he cast another glance to ensure that the newcomer was still in the same spot, before his attention was snatched back by the all-too-near boy. He saw the trail of the kick, and his mind calculated in fractions of a second. He knew the boy was too quick for Mathias to be able to jump over the leg. He briefly concidered bringing a stomp down on the elongated knee, but decided that the odds of his hitting the leg were too slim. So, instead, Mathias matched the kick.

With a solid, sure-footed push, Mathias' leg connected with the boy's foot, but Mathias was caught slightly off-guard. He felt the hard impact of the kick absorb into his now-slightly-buckled right greave, and realized this boy must have had superhuman strength as well, just a she suspected. He hoped that the boy would be hurt or at least distracted by the kick, because Mathias had a split second to recover before responding by shoving his knee forward, neck-and-shoulder level with the boy. Whether the knee connected or not, it was only a distraction: Mathias' mace lashed down for an underhand swing, hoping to collide with a limp on the right side (the boy's left side) as Mathias sent the knee forward.

Whether or not the knee landed, Mathias intended to move cleanly over the boy, either trampling him or moving flawlessly over him. And whether or not his mace touched the boy, he made certain to spin as soon as his feet touched the sand on the other side of him, and hurled a low horizontal swing at thigh-level of the boy, were he standing. He hoped that at least one of his attacks would land, and incapacitate the boy, leaving him with one challenger to face instead of two.

Kartaikian Syriax was pulled quickly out of his dreams as he fell to the ground. He blinked, and looked around. He was on the ground in an alley between two buildings. He'd slept there for the night, as he hadn't the money to pay for the local inn. His horse was standing nearby, already awake. He wasn't sure why he'd fallen off of the row of crates he'd slept on, but he got to his feet and brushed himself off. He had the distinct feeling that he was supposed to be somewhere. A shadow shifted behind him, and as Kartaikian turned to look at it, he suddenly remembered.

Supposedly there was a fighting tournament taking place in the nearby arena. He could win some much needed gold there if he took place in the competition. You're late, the shadow hissed at him. Kartaikian looked up at the Sun, checking the time. Oh dear, he thought. Indeed he was late. He told his horse to stay where it was, and picked up his shield from the barrel it was leaning against. He strapped it to his back, pulled his scarf over his face, and made his way towards the arena, at a brisk walk.

He soon made it to the arena, and entered the waiting area. A man approached him, looking at a list he had on a piece of paper. "Name?" he asked.

"You can call me Stormcloud," Kartaikian said.

The man looked at his list, soon finding and pointing at a name. "You signed up yesterday, Mr. Cloud. You're late for your competition, it's just begun. You'll have to wait for the next-"

Kartaikian walked past him without waiting to listen to the rest of whatever he had to say. "Sir, you're too late!" the man called after him, but Kartaikian ignored him. He found the gate and demanded it be opened to let him through. The Warmaster was apparently more forgiving of the contestant's lateness, and of course he liked to see a good full battle. The gate was lifted and he heard the Warmaster introduce him as he entered the sandy arena.

"A late arrival, the mysterious Stormcloud, a warrior from far lands unknown!"

The other three contestants appeared occupied (two of them in the midst of a skirmish, the other one defensively standing nearby) and Kartaikian took a moment to prepare himself. He tightened his armor, and drew his glimmering malachite sword. The sword gleamed in readiness, and Kartaikian waved it in a few practice swings, a streak of darkness trailing behind the blade. He got his shield ready as well, strapping it to his left arm. He held up his blade for a moment, absorbing a bit of an impression of the other three warriors, learning more about them in ten seconds than they would learn about him during the whole battle.

Now fully prepared, Kartaikian tightened his grip on his sword, and dashed towards the standing warrior, who was wielding a poleaxe of sorts. In his initial impression, he had noticed that this contestant was female, but he would fight against her just as hard as he would against any other opponent. He leapt into the air, crossing the distance between them in a matter of seconds, and unleashed a flurry of sword strikes before hitting the ground. She noticed him at the last moment, and quickly dodged out of the way.

These warriors were nowhere near Kartaikian's skill level, he should have them all dispatched in a matter of moments, he figured.

The Warmaster announced another opponent, "A late arrival, the mysterious Stormcloud, a warrior from far lands unknown!" The crowd roared in approval, and Tierra's eyes shifted across the arena, catching the newcomer as he brandished a magicked sword at the air around him, warming up. He lifted the blade, and Tierra returned her attention to the other combatants. The stone on her neck was thrumming quietly against her. "What is the danger the demon is warning me of?" she asked the spirit of her earcuff.

The wind jingled in her ear, "The latecomer is assessing your abilities through magic."

"Is he the Kartaikian you mentioned to me before?"

"He is."

Tierra nodded and lowered the head of her bec de corbin toward the ground. Her foot turned outward; she expected Stormcloud to charge her, and he did, but her attention seemed to be on the other two. A glimmer of light appeared in the stone of her collar as the warrior leapt into the air, throwing a flurry of swipes before him. At the last moment, she lunged into a roll beneath him, and brought the blade at the end of her bec de corbin up, across his legs, as she came to a stand. The strike was harsh enough to pierce leather, but the maneuver wasn’t meant to wound the other warrior, only graze his flesh and make him bleed. Whether her counter struck or not, she hopped back, putting some distance between them. 'No magic. Not yet,' she thought to herself.

Tierra admonished the laggard, "Shame, Kartaikian. I won't be defeated so easily." She kept her eyes on him, skirting slowly around the man while keeping ready her defenses. Should he attack her again, she would dodge. She called out to another of the arena's entertainers, her voice as masculine as a young man's, "Mathias, I'm with you until we've dispatched these rabble, aye?"

The gem of her collar shuddered gently against her neck, but the light was gone from its depths.

The blade of Nena's poleaxe brushed across Kartaikian's legs as he landed on the ground, doing no damage. He quickly turned around to face the fighter, and watched her as she slowly sidestepped around him, her weapon ready. "Shame, Kartaikian. I won't be defeated so easily," she said. Kartaikian looked into her magenta eyes with his own stone gray eyes.

How does she know my name? he wondered, lifting his sword defensively. The light of the Sun reflected off of the emerald blade, shining a beam of light past Kartaikian's face. The beam wavered and he heard a voice in his mind. One of her spirits told her, the light said. Psychizo had detected not one, but three souls in Nena's proximity, one of them filled with the darkest of magicks.

He played with her mind, deriving her own name from it. "We'll have to see about that, won't we Tierra," he said with his deep low voice. In this moment he sprinted forward, faking to the left but quickly changing direction to the right. He slashed with his sword, which was quickly parried by Nena's polearm. She jumped away, jabbing her weapon at Kartaikian. He held out his shield arm, and the pole weapon glanced harmlessly off of the steel surface. Kartaikian pushed out with his arm to brush aside the weapon, and stabbed at his opponent with his blade.

She dodged backward in time to avoid the sword, and stood with her weapon ready. She appears to be a moderately skilled sorcerer, do you suppose she'll bring it into play? That would certainly make this a challenge.

I should think you would hope not. You don't have a deathwish now, do you? his shadow whispered to him.

OOC: Shrub, I really don’t mean to leave you behind, but I need to post. : / Sorry bud! Just post and jump back into the fray when you can!

And Et Cetera, I don’t mean to be a bother, but please don’t include in your post the reactions of the other characters in the arena, even if it in no way harms them. Even if it’s just a menial thing, let their player respond. ^^;

IC:

Sand flew from the sides of his feet as he landed firmly on the ground, sliding to a stop on the other side of the boy. Off to his right flank, he saw the other two warriors break into a skirmish, and spun quickly to guard himself from all three opponents. But when the man spoke his name, Mathias realized two things: one, this man was a woman, and two, this fight just became far more entertaining for him.

He did not bother to question her loyalty or her trustworthiness. Instead, he broke into a sprint towards the two warriors. Grasping his mace briefly in his left hand, in addition to his shield strap, he pulled a wooden vial from the pouch behind his shield and popped the cap free with his thumb.

"Agreed," he called out to her, glancing to their opponent. "I will guard. Try to stay behind me and watch your flanks."

When he reached the two, he leapt over the woman’s bec de corbin and waved his hand out in front of him. A tinted-green liquid flew from the bottle toward the other warrior, in a semicircle-shape in front of him.

The bottle contained two chambers: one contained the green liquid, and the other contained simple water. When the two liquids met, it caused a chemical reaction that melded into a highly-deadly acid. Mathias quickly dropped the bottle back into the pouch and stood, mace in hand, at the ready. He was now an armored, shielded foe between the warrior and the woman, giving her plenty of room to attack low with her bec de corbin and keep the warrior at a distance. If the warrior came in range, Mathias had a mace to introduce him to.

Mathias was highly trained, and knew how to work in a unit like a well-kept machine. But he also knew that they would have to match one another’s aggression: the front lines can move no further than their reinforcements can, while still acting as a unit. Regardless of that one disadvantage, Mathias knew the advantages would greatly outweighed it. He also knew that, should the other two decide to band together, he and his femme friend could have a problem on their sands. So, as long as she moved along behind him, he would back off a bit and let them draw nearer to one another. Hopefully, they would engage seeing one another as a lesser threat, and give the newly formed unit an opportunity to flank them.

From across the arena, the fighter who apparently went by the name Mathias ran up to Kartaikian and the woman he was locked in combat with. Tierra had called to him and proposed a temporary alliance, and he apparently decided to comply. Mathias leapt over Nena's weapon, throwing some sort of liquid out of a vial at Kartaikian's face. Instinctively, Kartaikian raised his weapon up to meet the projected liquid. Most of the green acid splashed against the blade, hissing momentarily and doing no damage to the adamant metal that comprised the mystic sword.

A fair amount of small droplets, however, landed on Kartaikian's face. He winced as the acid began to burn his skin, and then wiped it away with the back of his gloved left hand. Small jade bolts of magic quickly crawled from the blade, up Kartaikian's right arm, and up to his face, healing the wound almost immediately. A fighter of chemicals, this one was. Potions, poisons, and acids. Nothing Kartaikian couldn't deal with, surely. Essence did not detect any magic with this fighter, so he shouldn't need to worry about anything too unexpected or out of the ordinary.

Kartaikian brandished his sword, a trail of darkness following it. "It looks like it's two against one," Kartaikian said, preparing a one-liner. He raised his sword, and the light shined fiercely against the smooth cool surface of the metal blade. Behind him his shadow wavered and darkened. In a short, sudden moment, the light reflecting off of the blade and the darkness from the shadow intensified and combined, filling Kartaikian's soul. A sudden bright wave of viridescent light filled the arena, and standing in Kartaikian's place were three figures.

"But really, it's three against two," the gray figure in the middle said.

Dark Kartaikian rushed forward, gripping his half of the sword firmly in his right hand. Light Kartaikian rushed forward as well, gripping the other half of the blade in his left hand. Gray Kartaikian stood back in readiness, wielding the Essence blade with both hands. Dark Kartaikian sprung into the air, slashing his blade wickedly and with no mercy at Mathias' face. White Kartaikian made an energetic thrust with his blade at Tierra's stomach.

Initially, Kartaikian wanted to make this a somewhat fairer battle by not using his magic, but that was no fun now, was it?

OoC: Tis fine, tis fine. This seems more interesting anyway.

IC: Ren heard the Nena guy call out to Blackharrow guy. His voice seemed just slightly out of place. He kept that in mind, but for now it didn’t really seem that important. The cheap bastard rolled away to comply with Nena’s offer, by now most of the smoke had drifted away or dissolved into the normal air.

The Retuson stood and took a quick moment to assess the new situation. Two new people. Everything had just changed. His sharp eyes watched the gray-looking fellow become three.

"But really, it's three against two," the gray figure in the middle said.

He slowly raised one brow.

Damn. Magic user. A good one.

This turned out to be well worth his time. The boy felt his mouth turn up in a pleased smirk. They were all very decent fighters. He supposed it would be a good chance to exercise Tejison.

Ren didn’t even need to really concentrate anymore to do it. He wouldn’t be able to explain it to anyone if they asked exactly how he did this. How do you explain exactly which muscles you use to sit or stand up? He just did it. That’s all.

He felt that curious sensation flutter through his body. His flesh and tissue became harder, denser, and heavier yet not. His muscles were made for it. They changed with everything. Everything seemed to slow slightly. He saw it all, perfectly, as his eyes changed--pupils mutating. Energy tingled through his body, down into his fingers and jaw, tooth and nail growing longer. Then finally, shooting out his back like a volcano bursting. He barely noticed the white the formed his wings. He just felt as if that great power he held inside unfolded itself and flexed, allowed to expand to its fullest.

When Dark and Light attacked Blackharrow and Nena, Ren charged the one that stood still. Slipping his knife back quickly and then grabbing Akane at his side, he slid out in a slashing attack at the same time as he rushed up, allowing himself to use more of his advanced speed. Ren had a feeling this guy could handle it just fine. The gray figure would probably see the now paler boy with strange red eyes, pearly white dragon wings, and a wicked grin exposing his sharpened canines slashing at him.

Ha! Three against three, prick!

Kartaikian felt a burst of energy coming from the third contestant. Gray Kartaikian glanced in his direction, without moving, and watched as the fighter transformed into a dragon-like figure. Gray lowered Essence to the sandy ground, concentrating on his magicks of ice and cold. An electric charge crackled and sparked in his hair for a moment. Water vapor in the air then instantly froze and crystallized against the cold enchanted viridian sword, forming a thin white layer of ice on the blade. Without looking, he could tell just how close the dragon shape-shifter was to him, and he prepared his counterstrike.

Just as the shape-shifter approached, about to attack, Gray Kartaikian quickly spun to face him. With his cold gray eyes he stared into the boy's violent red eyes, seeing deep into his troubled soul. He then raised Essence to parry the dragon man's vehement slash, and metal clashed against metal in a resounding crash. Sparks flew, and the ice covering Kartaikian's blade shattered on contact. Syriax heard the audience in the arena grandstand roar as the action began building up. Gray then reached out with his shield arm, holding out the palm of his leather-gloved hand and calling upon Essence for energy. Sharp crystal shards of ice formed out of the water vapor present in the air, and began to rain against the shape-shifter.

"Just as I had planned. And don't call me a prick, boy."

Ice and cold shattered and smacked into him. It’s not really that they pierced him so much as the blunt force coupled with the chill and freezing touch that startled his fine senses.

Worse, his heart skipped a beat at the gray figure’s words.

“Just as I had planned. And don't call me a prick, boy.”

Ren hadn’t said that out loud. That meant this prick—no this insolent bastard—had read his mind somehow. He didn’t like—wait, no, he loathed anyone being in there without his permission. How dare this—this stranger … Ren’s mind ranted. The temperature around him, his surrounding aura, flared up with his hot, red anger. The ice forming splattered to the sand in rainy drops and covering the half dragon, making him damp.

Stormcloud must have seen it. The instant rage, his eyes narrowing so sharply. His jaw tense, lips forming a snarl. No longer a smirk in his almost playful attitude from earlier.

Stormcloud must have known, this boy was feeling the impulse to see blood.

Lots of it.

A clawed hand zapped forward, a blur, no longer holding back his true speed for that moment, grabbing him, pulling him suddenly down and closer. The dragon boy met him with his head. Slamming his hard skull into Gray Kartaikian’s softer one. Their eyes were exactly across each other’s. Savage and blood red eyes with strange inhuman pupils staring into the apathetic and cool gray.

Something, Kartaikian presumed it was himself, had seriously set this boy off. This was to him a competition no longer, but a raging battle fueled by bloodlust. Murder was all that was on the shape-shifter's furious mind, but Kartaikian had no intention to die. The dragon boy grabbed Gray Kartaikian by his shoulders with two clawed hands, and brought his head down to crash into the beast's hard skull. Anger, fury, and wrath filled the boy's fiery crimson eyes. Kartaikian narrowed his cinereal eyes but didn't blink at the pain, pushing away from the violent creature. His head was ringing, but it soon cleared with a flood of healing magic.

Kartaikian had noticed in his attack against the dragon boy that the freezing cold ice had been somewhat effective. The ashen man took a backwards leap away from the livid shape-shifter, brandishing his sword and preparing his next attack. He decided to take a mostly defensive strategy, and let the overactive fury of his attacker burn itself out, hopefully leaving him weary. As the shape-shifter approached to attack again, Gray unleashed a blizzard of ice crystals at the dragon boy, and then rushed in with his sword, skirting around him and staying active.

OOC: Hrm. I guess autostrikes of a less-than-fatal nature are the RPing style around here? I'm not used to that. I suppose I'll go along with it then. Sorry to call you out, Et Cetera! ^^;

IC:

Mathias quickly moved to his left, allowing Tierra's bec de corbin full range on his right side. He spotted the copy of his foe attacking her, and suddenly, due to his side-lunge, he was between them.

The first copy of the mage-warrior, who had engaged Mathias, hit nothing-- his swing went slightly wide, and coupled with Mathias' lung, missed swiftly. But Mathias jerked his shield forward to stop the blade, and it glanced off the edge, sparing his unit-comrade the blow, allowing her full attention to focus on the other. As soon as the blade touched his shield, Mathias brought his mace down vertically toward the foe, but the shot would likely only meet his shield. When the warrior was rocked back by the blow, Mathias would turn the bounced momentum into another swing, and shoved a horizontal swing toward the copy's left hip.

None of the shots, although equally fatal, were intended to dispatch the foe; simply to back him off. Mathias backpeddled to put a little more distance between his unit and their foes. If this succeeded, and he was able to put some space between them, he would temporarily set his mace in his left hand and pull another potion from his all-too-near-empty pouch. It was time to even the odds again.

As Mathias saw what was happening between the dragon boy and the split warrior, he suddenly felt a loath in his gut. He had unknowingly found an arena that regulared superior beings to himself, and now he stood in an arena with two-- possibly three-- of them. He was suddenly much more thankful to have an ally here.

Tierra made a face. Kartaikian had used magic to break himself into three different people, and the magic wasn't very articulate, by the look of it. White, silver and black? It was more like a child's idea of magic than the real thing. What's worse was that his behavior just moments before had been cocky, and this magic clearly announced how he had underestimated his opponents. Nonetheless, there were two Kartaikians to worry about, now. One that was being handled by her ad hoc comrade, and one that wanted to die.

She didn't even bother with the bec de corbin, she had already seen he'd be agile enough to dodge it from that angle. Instead, she propped her weapon against the inside of her shoulder, its butt meeting the ground as it stood tall, and fought fire with devilfire. He began to lunge low at her with his broken half of the sword – "Thyre," she uttered, gesturing with her left hand. A brilliant shield of white light and astral steel sprang up in front of his face, stopping him in his tracks while she snatched a withered bat's wing and a hard block of vanilla incense from the pack on her leg. Tierra tossed the incense block to her left hand.

She would regret this next casting, in about fifty years. Her voice filled the arena with the sickening, otherworldly pull of demon magic, "Urrogh Vel Ors." She gestured with her right hand, which still held the withered bat's wing, and a cyclone of red and gray flames, which dripped bright orange sparks in all directions, sprang out from her hand as the lucent shield vanished, scouring her enemy with a fire that burned body and mind alike. It was a vicious spell; its flames alone were hot enough to torch green wood in seconds, and there were few proofs of liquor strong enough to equate what it did to one's mental state. She opened the cyclone wide and bathed the Light Kartaikian in it; its wicked stream could go on for as long as a minute.

Meanwhile, she had slapped her left palm against Mathias' back, waiting only long enough for the fires to begin before she cast the hale. Silver light limned her hand, the scent of pure vanilla erupted into the air of the arena, and astral energies infused him – perfection pulsed through Mathias' veins.

When the ray of devilfire ended, or its victim left its range, she'd end that spell and drop her bec de corbin back into her hands. Where Mathias went, she would. Where any Kartaikian came, she'd defend against them and let her new titan-friend destroy them.

OOC: Short post, but just running through the effects of the Hale buff.

IC:

The sudden pillar of fire made Mathias jump, and started him a bit. So, his new ally was a magic user as well? For once, he was glad to have a mage on the battlefield. He cast a brief glance over his shoulder when he felt her hand on him, and then, everything changed.

A brief pulse of pain at first told him that she had betrayed him. But as the pain subsided after a split second, and gave way to the mighty feeling surging through, Mathias understood; she was enchanting him, making him stronger. And it had worked. Gritting his teeth, he could not help but grin through his Corinthian helm, wondering just how much stronger she had made him. He was almost eager to bring his mace down onto one of his opponents and see how much of them he could crush in one swing.

He instantly realized that it was not only his strength that had been increased. He found that not only could he move much faster, he could see, hear, even smell better; he could calculate his enemies better and he knew it. His mind worked faster, and his body could take more. It was a magnificent feeling, but Mathias was unsure how long it would last. He eyed the dragon boy-- presumably another ally, for the moment-- and then looked to the duplicating foe. Three on three in a four-man fight... That was an interesting concept. But finally, for the first time since the fight began, Mathias felt that he could operate on the same level as his opponents.

As Dark Kartaikian moved in to attack Mathias, he dodged out of the way and blocked the blow with his shield. He then counterattacked with his mace, which Kartaikian blocked with his own shield. The heavy blow knocked Kartaikian back a few steps, and Mathias soon followed with another strike from his mace. Dark Kartaikian jumped back from the attack, and Mathias quickly back-peddled away from him to put more distance between them.

As Light Kartaikian moved in with his attack, he felt a surge of magical energy emanating from Tierra. With a magic word a shield of brilliant white light surrounded her, breaking Kartaikian's attack. Kartaikian noticed her bring out some conspicuous objects, certainly ingredients to be used in some sort of spell. Sorcery and witchcraft; Light Kartaikian scowled at the thought of the tainted black devil-magicks.

Sure enough, he could feel the darkness of demon magic fill the arena as Tierra uttered the words to her next spell. A demonic fire was summoned to burn Light Kartaikian, and he quickly created a force field of green energy to counter the hellfire. The viridescent energy surrounded Light Kartaikian, and he watched as the flames washed over and around him. The enchanted orb was filled with light as his angel protected him from the demon fire.

Dark Kartaikian noticed Tierra's next spell, an enchantment of hale upon Mathias. The spell filled its target with strength and health, making Blackharrow a potentially dangerous opponent. This battle quickly went from a simple match of close combat, to a dangerous and deadly barrage of magic and sorcery. The audience was going mad with excitement, certainly getting their money's worth to watch the fight.

Dark Kartaikian summoned up his own fire, a verdigris flame igniting his sword. Kartaikian turned this flame into a wildfire, directed at the enchanted Mathias.

The spell caught Mathias' attention all too late. He knew that, even with his newfound speed and agility, there was no route of escape. In light of this, he did not try. Hefting his shield up before his face, he lunged forward, trusting his ally to be close behind.

Flames licked away at his armor and slashed over his skin. While his shield protected his face and upper chest, he could feel the pain searing through his knees where there was a slight bit of skin exposed, and over his right knuckles, which were elevated past his shield. As he lunged, he switched his mace to his left hand and pulled another glass vial from the pouch behind his shield.

It was one of his most expensive and rarest potions. He hoped he was not wasting it. While the flames poured from Dark Kartaikian's blade, Mathias' hand would erupt from from the spell and hurl the vial the short distance to the enemy. If the vial hit any part of him, it would shtter, and the pearly liquid would splash over him.

This was a Dispel potion. Any magical effects cast on those whom the liquid touched would instantly be dispersed. Mathias hoped earnestly that this warrior was a magical copy of its originator, or a summoned spirit-- were this the case, the magic would be broken, and the copy would vanish, eliminating one of their three opponents.

Of course, Mathias never trusted his own magics, no matter how reliable. Just in case, he continued his charge, swinging his mace to smash everything between Dark Kartairian's left shoulder and right hip. Even with a burnt pair of knees, singed and melted armor, and a red-hot shield, he did not stop his rush-- if the foe was still there, somehow despite the potion, Mathais would plow into him with the hot spike of his shield pushed forward, before retracting his mace and swinging low for his legs.