Rumble on RPA. GOLD MATCH. Auki vs Car'mael

[Nazgul]

A hot breeze blew across the arid desert wasteland which stretched on as far as the eye could see. There were no signs of life and the sand appeared untouched by anything other than the wind. Despite the breeze and the moving sand, there were no dunes. The desert was flat and did not appear to change as it faded over the horizon, and it seemed that all sounds had been muted, even that of the breeze.

However, the silence didn't last long as there was a popping noise and Nazgul appeared. He was clothed in a baseball hat, tee shirt and shorts, all of which were yellow. Next to him, a sofa appeared and he promptly sat down in it.

With a wave of his hand the sands started to churn and a large circular coliseum rose up. The walls rose up to a height of 200 feet and the diameter of of the playing field was 600 feet. The seating area was made of stone and empty, save for Nazgul and his couch who were positioned at the edge of the wall with a perfect view of the arena floor. The walls themselves were made of a smooth mirror-like substance. The reflection showing only the contents of the arena, which at the moment was the sand, now still as the walls of the arena blocked the breeze.

“Ahem,” Naz cleared his throat and then stood up, snapping his fingers. In an instant the two combatants appeared on the field about 250 feet apart, though they did not appear reflected in the mirror.

“Greetings to you both,” Nazgul spoke, his voice clearly audible to the two despite their distance. “Allow me to welcome you to the final battle. I expect this will be quite entertaining, and at the end, one of you will be crowned champion. The other, gets to wash my thongs..” Nazgul smiled and sat back down, a glass of iced tea appearing in his hand.

“You have both faced many challenges and only this one remains.” Naz took a sip from the glass. “But I have to wonder if the greatest challenge you face today will be each other, or yourselves.” Naz then made a motion with his hand and the mirrors surface became as black as sackcloth. After a moment, what appeared to be hundreds of pairs of glowing red eyes appeared in the blackness.

“And before I forget, do be careful of the mirror. It can be rather... excruciating to the touch.”Naz paused and then clapped twice.

“You may begin.”


*The mirror is unbreakable and if you touch it, you feel excruciating pain in the form of whatever you are weakest against. The more you come in contact with the mirror, the more intense the pain will be. The mirror is unbreakable.

Post three times each and then wait for me

By a toss of the coin, Car'mael is first to post.

There will not be a single judge for this battle. Instead it will be judged by a panel which will be made up of Imp, Imposter, Jacogos, Kris, Wattz, Mary Sue and one more to be determined

If either of you should have an issue with a move done by your opponent, I would ask that you contact me about it and I will bring it to the attention of the judges.

And let me just say, good luck to both of you. It's been a long Rumble and you both have definitely earned your spots here. Have fun!*

[Car'mael]

Background music if you need it... may need more volume, tho.
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Some days, Terhon wondered why creatures as powerful as gods, capable of creating whole worlds from the most minuscule details up, bothered to toy with him instead. Was revenge or punishment because the Mara species had rebelled and told off those higher powers, choosing to be elemental observers more than pawns or players? Was it simply due to the irony of not wanting to be part of such intricate plans? Were they merely too stubborn to heed his desire to be left alone, like all his kind? Were they that damn bored?!?

Not only had the Mara arrived here unwillingly, “here” constituted as a hostile environment to his very species from the start. Bright. Sunny. Hot. Dry. Sandy. Beneath the concealment of his dark robes, Terhon’s armored feet crunched onto the sand, only to sink a couple inches before he used his levitation to prevent being bogged down by his own weight. The sand itself slid between scales of armor in his feet, a mild irritation yet a persistent one. The sun beat down on his dark robes, too intense to be comfortable, making him start to sweat beneath his armor and wings. A taloned hand hastily drew his hood even lower over his eyes, squinting against the intense (for him) light refracted by the mirrors.

Mirrors again. Really? Idly, Terhon had to wonder if their frequent reoccurrence had something to do with godly narcissism, perhaps. It was something to ponder while the powerful being that had Summoned him away from the other battle went into a lengthy explanation of this new venue.

Wait… did that godling actually mention doing his laundry?!? A silvery eyebrow rose beneath the hood’s concealment, and the Mara frowned. Not that he cared about the fight as much as the one who had brought him, other than that he had no wish to be decimated back to insubstantiality with his “death” on this plane, but had the godling considered the plausibility of that? He and the dragon had claws. To have either do laundry afterwards was to ask for a pile of clean string. That was if either of them even figured out how. Mara did not do laundry. He doubted dragons did, either.

What was a “thong”, anyway?

To his relief, the mirrors darkened. That weaker light didn’t mean they were safe to be near, however. His instincts and telepathy suggested something dark and spiritual in nature now contained within them that was best avoided—and so he fully intended to do so throughout this battle. No longer squinting, Terhon pushed his hood up slightly and peered at them thoughtfully. Glancing over the arena, the Mara weighed his options and considered the scaly bulk at the other end. A mental probe sweeping his surroundings for edible life-force immediately identified his opponent-to-be: an old dragon female. That knowledge was enough to draw a puff of a sigh from the Mara. Dragons of any age were at best difficult prey, their armor on par with his own, their claws of at least equal strength if not more, and often carrying magical abilities sufficient to a powerful mage (who were bad enough). Normally Mara steered clear of such ancient beasts, as they were more trouble than the life-force was worth fighting for, especially if he was forced to face it from the open in a setting like this. She didn’t look her best, but that didn’t mean she was easy prey. That would be too much to hope for during these battles, wouldn’t it? But who said he had to try and kill her? After all, the god wanted his clothes washed.

<Old one,> he murmured to her mind respectfully, mental voice as dispassionate and calm as his natural demeanor. After all, she was his elder and Mara respected their elders. <I care not to take you on. I would far rather you had a coin of your hoard so we might flip for who ends up shredding these “thongs” of his, considering that might be a pleasant destruction. As it is, entertainment is being sought whether we wish it or no, though I propose this be merely a contest of skills and no duel to the death, especially over, of all things,> he paused in distaste and disgust, <holy laundry.>

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<Telepathy.>

Thoughts.

"Vocal Words."

[Auki]

For a rabbit, it was the few moments before an eagle swooped down, those seconds of fate that drew forth terror and adrenaline. The fluid stream of life branched in two directions at that point - one offered life and hope, the other death. Neither bird nor prey could tell you which path time would flow towards. Instead, for those moments, they hung on, waiting for an answer.

And sometimes, the rabbit would escape, dart between the grass to blessed freedom. Other times, the hawk would sink its talons into blood-rich flesh, mercilessly pecking at skin to ward off the itching of hunger.

Ruan entered the final arena pondering the hypothetical, her thoughts wrapped around a sole focus. In the battle coming, which would forge itself as predator and which would be their prey? In what direction would the time-wrought river surge towards?

Shamefully, her gut twisted with such nerves of the rabbit, an innate desperation to avoid the bite of death. She was old, true, and perhaps wise for those years, but it did not mean she wished her bones to rot in soil just then. Her opponent was still a mystery, but they would be strong to make it to the final round.

She breathed deep – apprehensive – as the area finalised its formation around her, those brief milliseconds of peace in teleportation coming to a close. There would be little time for contemplation now; from then on, every move and word would affect the battle.

Her first task, while the judge droned the necessary formalities, was to gather as much information on the environment as she could. Every shift of the terrain was nauseating to her senses, its transformation disturbingly stark to one with hollow eyes. She moved all four feet across the ground, finding footing on earth that seemed to dip and bulge beneath her weight. Nit and grit between her toes. Her claws carved soft grooves through its surface - barely a resistance - and she guessed it to be sand. A hesitant assumption for selfish reasons. The soil of the desert was detested by her very nature.

The heat was not pleasant either, sun-scorched scales burning against her skin. Although her species survived with fire in their throats, the flames were short-lived wonders. The baked air was different; it already had her panting, aching for moisture she would not be seeing any time soon. Her tongue she allowed to loll uncharacteristically from her mouth, an accomplice to a future tactic. Wings stretched uncomfortably as though trying to shake sweat clinging to her form.

“And before I forget, do be careful of the mirror. It can be rather... excruciating to the touch.”

…Wonderful.

…Simply wonderful.

How the judges liked to mock her sightless eyes with smoke and frivolity, asking her to dodge what she couldn’t tell the position of. These ‘mirrors’ could be edging the tip of her tail or a mile’s distance away; there was little way to tell that wouldn’t be detrimental to her being. Only one true assumption could be made; if these obstacles posed as much threat to the foe as it did to her, then wherever he stood unharmed, she could delegate as safe to step upon. Even that logic held flaw, but it was safer than charging in… well, blind.

She looked to him at that point, the last opponent in a tournament too long. His foreign scent kept her guessing at his race, but he was small. A recurring theme in the combatants that she’d stood against, but not enough to encourage arrogance. With so many factors unknown, caution became a welcome ally.

And that was why she allowed her tongue to slip from between her teeth, her breath an arid wheeze upon the stale air. Inelegance; it didn’t suit her, but that became its purpose. Her behaviour gleamed of ignorance, conveying only the bestial nature most quadrupeds paraded shamelessly. Her eyes, useless as they were, stayed locked upon where she knew his scent to be. A simple persona that she took on so readily, wisdom masked by primitive behaviour and instinct. A foolish trick perhaps, but any advantage was golden in such a fight.

When he spoke to her mind, she took her chance. Though his words were not malicious, she could not allow sentiment to sway her. Men who thought ‘Victory always carried dignity’ had not won enough battles to know. As he invaded on her thoughts, she gave a small whimper and lowered her head to the ground. With each additional word, her panicked cries grew louder and she scratched desperately at her skull, as though trying to rid herself of the disturbing noises she couldn’t understand.

[Car'mael]

More mood noise...
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Pale eyebrows switched roles, the opposite rising while the other sank, pondering what the Mara observed during his brief communication. To his squinting eyes, the dragon contorted in the oddest of ways. Had Terhon spoken his words audibly he would have wondered if his breath stank abominably from the way she appeared to take each mental concept he tossed to her as rancid in nature. For a brief moment he considered testing her mental shields if just to gain a bit of insight as to this rather unflattering reaction, but brushed the idea aside. Not only were those naturally strong enough to test his telepathic skills due to sheer age on her part, but the last sentient creature who had produced such an offended response had turned out to be intricately insane beneath the containment of those shields. The result of his simple probe had been akin to setting off a powder keg. Not wise to instigate in a creature as large and powerful as a dragon.

Hmmmm... Intriguing.

That cowled head tilted to one side as if to physically instigate considering his opponent from a new angle and the Mara tightened his grip on his glaive slightly, indenting his grip into the metal. Tucking the pole against his side, he flipped the weapon point-down to rest the tip in the sand by the hem of his insubstantial robes.

The dragons he had known and met were intelligent by nature. That this one made no effort to respond and showed distress at his attempt to communicate was rather disappointing actually, as Terhon enjoyed a bit of “dinner talk” at times with those he fed on. Surely there were plenty of plausible reasons why she acted this way, such as senility, dementia, insanity, and (though far less likely) duplicity. Had he not been standing here with her, the Mara would have simply chalked it up to senility. But a senile dragon was hardly likely adequate sport for this godling who had Summoned them to tourney. She had to be comparable as an opponent in some way, and a drooling barely-reactive beast was simply unlikely, being too easy prey for any opponent and boring to watch. A demented dragon had more plausibility for all that any living creature was susceptible to that mental decline, but such degradation of coordinated reflexes and problem solving skills were a serious handicap in any battle. Duplicity and pretending to be a “mere” beast, in turn, seemed a waste of acting skills to the Mara, especially with battle inevitable. After all, any good predator had to have some intelligence and a capability for learning from mistakes or it starved to death at a young age. So that left insanity, Terhon’s least-desired but most logical conclusion. Deadly reason would remain, yes, and cleverness, but a high degree of unpredictability to at times the most ordinary of stimuli...

Truly, if this was what he had to look forward to because of frequent demands by the gods for this absurd entertainment, Terhon preferred to die and be reduced to wraith-status!

Yet for all his pondering, the Mara simply brushed aside his conclusions for now. The end result was the same—a battle had to be fought. The dragon, for all she showed age and seemed out of her head, had the bulk and strength to outlast him in an impasse. The god could outlast them both until the end of time. But between the sun beating down on him and having to levitate his feet beneath his robes indefinitely (to avoid being mired in sand), Terhon was getting hungry. His only useful food source here was the dragon. Regardless of her mental status, the Mara had no choice but to draw her blood somehow so he might feed off her life-force.

Being more a jaguar to her old lioness, he was at a disadvantage. Mara were equal opportunity eaters, the ultimate omnivores, but they were primarily patient opportunists when taking on prey items. They struck from the cover of invisibility and shadows, typically quiet and quick and unexpected. He couldn’t wait, though. Also, the dragon was staring right at him. Not so easy to strike hard and fast when there existed no cover to speak of and your attack was anticipated by a formidable foe.

Dark robes went invisible, his form fading from view. Terhon could only hope her sense of smell had deteriorated with age and she might not detect his movements in the idle air. A kick of his feet under his robes sent him ghosting well to the dragon’s right, yet also coming to roughly 50 feet ahead of her. As he moved, the Mara reached within his robes with his free hand and ripped out three of his own metal feathers. Drawing to a halt and setting taloned feet back to sand, he threw them at what to his squinting eyes seemed a weak spot in her natural armor at her chest and shoulder.

Idiots who attacked dragons directly from the front had a particular name, after all.

Toast.

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<Telepathy.>

Thoughts.

"Vocal Words."

[Auki]

Ruan waited, tethered to her erratic behaviour until his attempted conversation had finished. Eventually, the whispered words died, flittering to be memories, and she lessened her confused stance with it. Scent as her sole guide, she could not tell his reaction. His lips could have been parted by silent mirth, and she would be ignorant to his laughter. He could have fallen sway to her charade, and even then she wouldn’t know. It was a game of logic, battling, but some things were thickly wrapped in guess and chance. Without knowledge and with nothing to lose, she was best to continue her play of superficial simplicity.

As her thoughts returned to be her own, she lifted her head from its cower, gently shaking the sand from between her scales. The whimpers that rattled her throat gained a sudden defensive tone, an animal gaining courage while the threat seemed subdued. After a few seconds, it deepened to a growl that rumbled against her skin, lips quivering with the force of its aggression. The snarl of a beast; it was not hard to imitate.

As any that knew the dragons were aware, the ancient creatures walked a fine line between an elder’s mind and an insatiable hunger. So many fell to the lust for flesh…too many. With each generation, her race’s will grew weaker, the intelligent standing few in numbers, and shamed. The White Dragons…diminished. A tragedy, of course, but so useful in the heat of that moment. She remembered how the lost ones growled – brutality sharpened by life-honed cunning, anger fuelled by the passion to feast. The taste of blood was like ecstasy to the tongue, a pleasure beyond anything previously known. The yearning had almost overcome her last year’s tournament, subdued her to a mindless need. Standing strong against it had been the window to her victory – now, she took what she’d seen of the fallen, and she made it her own.

The snarl held power even as her target began moving. To her eyes, it was impossible to tell he had faded from the vision of humans. His scent remained as clear as before; with no other life around them, his smell was like black paint on a white canvas. Even her tired mind was unable to miss the contrast. No sight to distract her thoughts, she was free to concentrate on what she could sense.

Although it was a challenge to keep up with such speed, he came to a gracious halt soon after. Thankfully, he had remained at her front, albeit diagonal to his original position. For all his alien taste against her nostrils, she felt soothed in knowing he wasn’t an experienced dragon-slayer. Jagged scales grew towards her rear, a shield against whatever stood before her. It left her vulnerable against offence from behind, but few warriors felt inclined to enter the proximity of her tail. If not for disease rotting her flesh, she would have been awe-inspiring.

A husk was all that trailed in its shadow.

Considering his haste to action, she should have expected more than simple movement; an attack.

The speed with which the projectiles hit made them impossible to count. A flurry of sharp edges and rage-fed ambition. They ran grooves through scales that usually repelled swords with ease. One embedded its tip, but dislodged upon the recoil of her reaction. Had he not so foolishly attacked from before her, he would have likely drawn blood. Just the thought was a shock to a creature that rarely took a single blow of damage.

Jealousy rent deep when she considered what eyesight would be needed to make such a shot. The thought, however, was not wasted envy; it inspired her next move instead.

Still snarling and snapping furiously in her opponent’s direction, she relaxed her wings away from her side. Tendons, ligaments; taunt as she flexed. Nerve, jolt. Age-withered muscles were awoken by ambition. They strained, beating the air slowly at first, but gaining vigour each second. She feigned a grunt of pain, as though trying to rise to the air but struggling.

In truth, flight was the last thing on her mind.

What she wanted formed around her, the whip of sand soaring from the beat of her wings. A storm of golden grit, a tempest of the barren land. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel its howl.

If Ruan wasn’t allowed to see – cruel age, a thief of vision’s blessing – then she planned to level the advantage that health had so whimsically granted him.

[Car'mael]

Some ambiance...
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Terhon’s head tilted again as he puzzled over the dragon’s growling and snapping in his direction. Why was she wasting her efforts? That his feathers failed to taste blood was not a huge surprise, however. Terhon had cast them at a mere possibility and tested the waters with the caution inherent to his kind when facing a formidable foe after other options were ruled out. He stood beyond biting range but ready to dodge. Any dragon he’d known before would have summoned up magical skills and flung such attacks at him even while he stood here, or simply opened their mouth to spit fire or other dangerous substances to wipe his threat off the very sand for his audacity. If they were bored, they would have stepped closer before swiping a claw at him to make him run around more, like a cat with a mouse. Not simply… snapped at air in irritation. Or was that insane reflex? Did those eyes even see him? The head followed his movement, so she sensed his direction. But just what was wrong with this dragon?

Was this creature a dragon like those he had known before? For the first time, the Mara questioned his knowledge of the species and considered the possibility that this was not a degenerated creature but a different type altogether. He had known wise magical creatures, dragons who shifted their shapes at whim, hoarded books with gold, commanded armies, taught wizards, their telepathy as formidable as his own or heavier. Those were not beasts until you crossed their tempers or prodded their pride, or they felt the wild drive of deep hunger. Those were creatures one should try to bargain with and fight second, all to avoid unnecessary personal damage in the need for life-force. But doubt had set in—maybe this one had an old bestial mind after all?

Huh. Intriguing possibility. Regardless, formidable in ways I unlikely comprehend yet, or else why would she be here? The balance of experience and senility and debility, whether there is intelligence beneath or not, is the main concern.

The brief taste of a pricked scale contained no more nourishment than for a jaguar licking the hide of a gazelle. Yet that taste encouraged his hunger and the Mara narrowed his eyes as he considered his next move. Beast or not, he still had to draw blood.

Terhon didn’t get a chance to plan at leisure. Large wings opened and began to flap, stirring up blinding sand like a legendary storm of ages. Levitated still, the Mara was swiftly thrown back across the arena, feet skidding on the sand. He could sense himself being tossed towards those odd-feeling mirrors and desperately rammed his glaive’s shaft into the sand with both hands to help brake, hooded head ducked against the wind and grit. The Mara hadn’t time to pull up his mask to shield his face, the pseudo-cloth of his spirit-robes being no sort of protection to this attack, but discomfort was the least of his worries! Instead he focused on making his robes allow his weight to increase, taloned feet sinking into the sand at a crouch. He was desperate to avoid the curse of godly conceit—the mirrors.

Just as the armor of the back toe and side of his left foot touched the eye-filled glass, the Mara’s progress finally halted.

Iiiieeee!

With a snarl of pain, Terhon dove forward, throwing himself against the winds and sands blindly, feeling burned and drained by that touch! Metal wings whipped out from his robes with the vibrating ring of shaken steel, the shoulders scooping at the shifting ground with taloned hands and feet as he crawled away from that vile touch on all fours. Once safely out of range of possible contact with the mirror, the Mara curled forward into a ball as if setting forehead to the ground, his wings sweeping around and crossing over himself in a protective umbrella. Hunkered down, feather-tips of those wings sank into the sand with him and let the winds and their contents whip up and over that dome, an igloo of metal.

Eyes kept shut, Terhon spat sand within the limited stillness of his wings, irritated, feeling gritty scarlet tears sliding down his face and the itch of it under his armor. That foot burned with pain still even if there was no physical damage he could discern yet and he had lost life-energy to that simple touch, adding to his hunger. Only feeding could heal him. Only levitating high might he shake the grit out. How annoying.

Yet against gale-force winds this was all he could do. Even hungry jaguars knew haste was foolish, even deadly, and a hasty move might throw him into the mirror again with more detrimental side-effects for the experience. She was old and not likely able to endure such activity for long, her mind’s shields easy to track in a place otherwise devoid of life if she changed her tactics. So he hunkered and waited, gripping his glaive where it was buried in the sand, listening to the winds and grit make his feathers vibrate, letting it pile up over him.

His time would come.

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<Telepathy.>

Thoughts.

"Vocal Words."

[Auki]

He slid across the sand, seeming not to resist the air that pummelled him. Levitation was not a detail that her sense of smell could easily tell, his body too close to the ground for her to suspect anything other than standing. So, despite the creature’s smaller stature, Ruan had not expected him to be tossed aside so easily.

Her surprise was – perhaps - an ode to the strength she forgot to appreciate. When one grew old, frail, there was difficulty not to compare oneself to days of former glory and prowess, to catch sight of youth and reminisce on failed goals and creaking bones. It often slipped her mind that other beasts, so tiny in their scampering lives, would never taste such might, not even knowing the withered wisps of tenacious vigour she clung onto in her dying years.

He flew back a hundred feet – probably more, but it was difficult to sense with precision – until he came to a sudden halt. Finally found some backbone? She only hoped that such were true. Anything other would quickly bore her mind, a hint that the battle would be no more challenging than those before.

The location of the mirrors was still an unknown entity; his snarl, one that might have warned her, was drowned out by the raging sand.

Would he charge back towards her towering form? No…he seemed to be practising patience, waiting on the far side of the arena. Distance was not a friend to her, especially when she did not know what he was planning. Too many mages fought, with their incantations and their spells, made her sceptical to allowing pause in battle. It would be a blessing under normal circumstances, a chance for her body to recuperate without losing her prey, but a constant reminder, that this was the final battle, surged through the foremost of her thoughts. There were no minutes wasted in such a fight; every breath held the whisper of a tactic yet coming.

She inhaled deeply, relishing the moment for one silent tick of the unseen clock. Air filled her lungs, expanding tissue that grew tired of the menial task, craving rest from their endless labour. Th-thump. Blood pumped thick. Her nerves felt alive with every passing thrash of grit-brimmed air upon her skin. Mind, turmoil. It strove to find peace where there was none, hopeless dreams of a soul past its prime. She breathed out, and that was all the time she gave herself.

Either her opponent was planning something or they waited on the edge of the tempest until the air died down. Both options encouraged her to get closer; the only other she could think of – that they were charging an attack – would be unavoidable no matter the distance she maintained.

Her wings were allowed a temporary rest as she shifted her feet, one in front the other, making a cautious approach towards her foe. The dunes almost collapsed under her weight, but after a few seconds fear, the sand beneath held firm. Her soles burned on the hot ground, branded by its white-hot kiss, each particle bathed in the sun’s embrace. Panting, as foolish as it looked, was undoubtedly beneficial against the temperature’s cruel caress.

The beat of her wings grew intermittent as she advanced, only enough to uphold the sand’s hectic flight. Muscles ached from such strain, but they would soon find rest. She only needed to move with enough proximity that her tail might be able to reach her opponent. The exact nature of the attack still reeled through her head but, by the time the distance between had been relinquished, she was sure to formulate a plan. And, if he tried to flee…? Well, she only need return power to the storm, and she would gain the upper hand it seemed.

Her pursuit of a challenging roar spiked pain through her lungs, her throat scratched by the dust-filled air. Instead, she produced only a few choking hacks, flecking the ground with saliva and phlegm, before embarrassment throttled her attempt.

[Nazgul]

Naz sat on his couch comfortably watching the battle. Unfortunately, the swirling sand was making that a little hard to do. Not only that, but it was obscuring the view of his wonderful mirrors. With a wave of his hand, the sand stopped suddenly and then crashed to the ground. The sand on the ground now appeared to be completely immune to all effects of wind on it, through it did still move when stepped on.

"Ruan," Naz's thoughts whispered in the dragon's mind, obscured completely from the mind of the Mara. "You're going to want to see this." Instantly, a vision of the surroundings in real time entered the mind of the dragon allowing her to see the field and all of it's contents.

"What do we see when we look in the mirror!?" Nazgul's voice rang out for all to hear. "Does it scare you?" The moment Naz stopped speaking, the blackness in the mirror cleared to reveal the reflection of the arena, though the combatants still did not appear reflected in it's surface. Also revealed in the reflection were the owners of the red eyes. The creatures appeared to be oversized spiders, standing at about two feet high. Their legs were the arms of people that were stitched. Their fingers were elongated and ended sharp metal talons which gleamed in the sunlight. Their mouths, which were that of a human, were lined with razor sharp metal teeth and dripped with saliva accompanied by a noise which sounded like a baby shrieking.

"Do you like them?" Naz shouted. "I got them at an inter-dimensional yard sale. And their just itching to say hi." And with that swarm of spider things leaped out of the mirror and began to rush at the competitors and the vision left the mind of Ruan.

(Okay, the creatures are not tough at all. For simplicity's sake, we'll say they have the consistency of paper. As for how many, easiest to say that you each have a very large swarm to contend with. They will keep you both busy for the next three posts, maybe, and despite how easy they are to dispatch, those talons and teeth are a very real threat for both of you.

Each of you post once and then I will need to give a very short detail post please.)

[Car'mael]

Some more music to set the tone...
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One way to evade the torments of discomfort was to focus attention on something of greater importance. For a creature as mentally disciplined as a telepath, coupled with the patience of a wise energy-conserving predator, focusing was not such a difficult task. Oh, the Mara still felt the annoyance of grit amid clothes and armor, sensitive eyes and skin, the burn of his foot from the mirror’s kiss, the hum of his feathers vibrating from the dragon’s winds. But his intense focus centered on his opponent, the cause of his discomfort, even as her winds began to die.

She was moving.

Now how she knew which way to move was beyond him. Terhon wasn’t certain himself where he was in relation to his starting position! The mirror was easy enough to identify—he’d touched it so he was absolutely sure it was not far behind him, confirming the faint mental echo its inhabitants gave off. But the grit was blinding and the winds scattered sound and scent wildly as both worked in regards to the air itself. Yet she drew nearer. Proximity could be detected but only relative to himself or the mirrors—telepathy worked much akin to a bat’s sonar but only noted things that lived. And it provided no insight as to what she was doing or her intentions, as none such leaked past her shields. The dragon just approached steadily.

That the winds lessened to merely stirring grit was promising, though. That was something Terhon could work with! Using his robes’ levitating ability again, he rose in the sand until his wings only just kept that annoyance from changing his level of discomfort, setting his taloned feet down in a crouch and making sure he had enough stability amid the sand below that he could launch himself to the side instantly when the time came. A hand left his glaive’s stem to retract its armor briefly and wipe his eyes clear as he waited… and waited. The dragon appeared to be cautious herself.

She would likely stop to strike if she remained this cautious. That would be his cue to act, to dodge and perhaps try a few more feathers at other parts of her anatomy. It didn’t matter her means of attack so much as the speed at which he had to evade it. After all, he could neither see nor hear her nor feel her approach vibrate the ground—his only means of monitoring her progress was his telepathy. Besides, she showed no sign of breath or magical attack skills yet, leaving only physical means which required she get close enough. With luck, she’d accidentally come in contact with the mirror in her effort as well, considering her bulk and momentum!

The grit stopped its soft metallic rustle against his feathers abruptly, unexpectedly, though the soft winds remained. In fact, a nice benefit of its sudden dramatic increase in gravitational pull was that a reasonable portion of it fell out of his armor, too. Odd, certainly startling, but to Terhon’s mind a generous gift, be it by the dragon or god, for all it exposed his metal protection to full view again. Did this mean the dragon wished to find him visually?

"What do we see when we look in the mirror!?" Nazgul's voice rang out for all to hear. "Does it scare you?"

Maybe not. Maybe the god got tired of not being able to see the action. Where was the fun of a sport when you couldn't tell what was happening after all? Or more likely still, the god wanted to show off his creation...

<I am not looking at the mirror, however,> the Mara mused back with heavy irony. <Rather difficult to be scared then.>

And he was not—yet. But he began to fold his wings back to his spine now that the grit had been dealt with, still crouched to dodge. The Mara's vision was still hampered by the moving air and bright light. Squinting eyes had time for a glimpse of the dragon’s bulk and proximity directly ahead amid the worst of the wind and light, and what to him seemed some rather ugly human midgets doing yoga with kitchen knives in the closer arc of mirror to his left.

Oh.

At least the mirror did not contain meeps. THOSE scared any Mara white! So cute, cuddly, friendly, innocent-looking… and with enough angelic purifying power to take out the entire Eastern Grid, not to mention fry a Mara to a crisp.

<Well, if that is all…>

"Do you like them?" Naz shouted. "I got them at an inter-dimensional yard sale. And they're just itching to say hi."

The creatures immediately began to scuttle out of the mirrors like a swarm of cockroaches whose nest was kicked over. They were damn fast! Then again, the Mara had the closest proximity to the mirrors so he hadn’t much time to react despite his inherent speed. What a blessing for telepathy, though! He felt but did not see as the nearest creatures leapt for his back.

Instinctively cued by the sight and mental sense of new foes attacking, Terhon leapt as he’d prepared to earlier, his trajectory aiming in an arc midway between dragon and mirror for the empty space beyond. Yet those things sprang high at him, and he flung a wing around, twirling in the air as he batted a couple aside. They seemed to squish on impact like rancid roadkill thrown from a height, though their talons cut slashes into his metal feathers. Others chased him as he fled and more came from his right where the mirror stood closer, intent on joining them. One that threatened with its proximity to make him deviate his path forced Terhon to swipe it with his glaive, dividing it in two with a splatter of more fluid like an overripe kiwi hit by a samurai sword.

Quite disgusting. Where the heck was Terhon supposed to wash that off later? Then again, from the glaive’s messy slice and the fluids that dripped along his wing's feathers he could taste a hint of useful and healthy life-force to it.

The dragon was not the Mara’s immediate concern right now, though he still hoped to angle past the cone of her wind-work and behind her to be done with her annoyance. He had no doubt they would keep her occupied as well and his own flight from both should ease her mind slightly in regards to himself for now. These new and faster foes sought his main attention, and actually gave him a bit of a thrill of excitement. They offered hope for his sore foot, a re-supply of metal feathers, and an end to his hunger, hinting of greater staying power in this fight… if he killed enough of them and evaded their unnatural weaponry in turn. A big “if” against so many in the open like this, thus why he continued to flee for the moment. If Terhon could keep moving, only a few might attack him at any one time and he could avoid being injured or overwhelmed. But moving expended energy, and only luck when striking the swarming mirror-beasts might return him the same amount for his efforts… and possibly that tidbit more. A possibility worth entertaining if it might give him an extra edge to win! Especially if it kept him from being torn apart by the voracious hoard.

Besides… these things actually tasted kind of good despite their minuscule substance.

Hmmm, something like a Russian cappuccino… with black licorice…

------------------------------------------------
<Telepathy.>

Thoughts.

"Vocal Words."

[Auki]

Ruan felt it, the moment that the sand was taken from her control. The specks in the air grew heavy, pummelling against her back as they descended to the familiar. She shook her wings to rid herself of their dusted coating, flexing muscles in the aftermath of exertion but beating them no more. The dying remnants of her display rebounded from the mirrors, air dispersing at impact; only the slightest of breezes returned to her before everything was still once more. It was clear that something had shifted, even if she could not see the reason why. Was this the power her opponent had been readying? - She felt a vague relief as the judge chose to speak up, revealing his interruption, halting her plans to formulate a new tactic.

“Ruan…” The dragon almost balked at the voice inserted to her thoughts. When had it become acceptable to pry into another’s mind? The recalcitrant part of her age formed half the intention to scold such invasive frequency, but learned patience wished to know the forthcoming words. “You’re going to want to see this…”

And suddenly, she was stolen from the darkness.

Light, like a forest fire, crashing through her mind and blinding her of all other thoughts. Even as she adjusted to its glare, she retained a mental squint towards the vision, the sun’s gaze not seen for so many years. Colours; the scene displayed enough hues to overshadow the most magnificent of her imagined rainbows, streaks of vibrancy painted across her mind, swirls of pigment like fireworks before her brain’s awed eye. Sparking, burning, fading – imprinting upon her memory with a vividity that threatened to draw her attention from the importance of the images.

This might be her only chance to see the arena for what it was.

The ground she could finally confirm to be sand, although there had been little doubt before. There was not much else enclosed that held interest, just featureless dunes of golden white and her previously faceless opponent. He was similar to the humans she’d fought but not quite the same. Black robes created a morbid appearance, blunt against the pale floor. Wings protruded from either side his spine, glinting magnificently in the light of the desert’s sky-bound spectator. All other details were lost on a mind unused to visual stimulation previous.

She had memories of what sight was like, how things looked before disease had overcome her. It was only now that she realised how faded those reminiscent images were.

The judge had been speaking, more frivolous words akin to human theatricality. It was when silence held his tongue, if merely for a moment, that she grew attentive. Shadow-dressed creatures haunted the surrounding mirrors (ones that she were glad to finally see). Bloodied eyes, thirsting fangs, limbs that seemed an amalgamation of different bodies. The judge allowed her a better look at them than anything else.

It was unfortunate that when the vision faded – the void of the blind swallowing her whole – their screams still found her senses, mercilessly scraping talons down any form of tranquillity that she still clung upon.

The first thing she noticed, as sight left her, was that the creatures had no scent. The only one itching at her nostrils was the opponent, his odour finally settling with the air. She was beginning to grow distaste for it, the feel that breathing it in would only serve to make her nauseous. Pathetic concoctions of a being under stress; she swiftly shrugged them off to focus on the urgent, the oncoming army that fringed just beyond her conscious perception.

I never predicted I would have to… The needless musing of her internal voice trailed off before completion. Action would help her more than idle thinking.

It was always there – always active – dwelling in the subconscious of her mind so as not to cause strain. An ability often forgotten, tweaking her awareness of the surrounding scene – a mere sense to what she couldn’t see – gently nudging her in the right direction even as it hibernated. Like an imprint of a shadow upon the darkness of her sight, until she called it forth…

…something which she did right then.

A spectrum of colour splashed in front her eyes, a pale imitation of the world she’d been shown before. ‘Infrared’ – was that what society called it? To her, it was the natural order of her species power; she cared little for how it worked. All she really knew was that it allowed her to see the monstrosities heading towards the duelling pair.

The fact that she could see them… she sent a prayer to some imaginary deity in thanks for such fortune. Although they appeared as little more than a mass of hue, at least she knew where they were.

She did not concern herself with the Mara for a few moments, relying on her extraordinary olfaction to keep track of his movements. If he were going to attack from afar, then staring at him would give her little more advantage in dodging. The strange horde rushing forth seemed to be the biggest threat. With age and illness her awaiting executioner, she felt no shame in feeling nerves at their very numbers, wondering if she would escape alive…but survival, was that not the forte of a beast? To weave beneath the claws of malicious intent, dance between the fangs of endless greed. An instinct better suited for a mouse, scarpering about in the underbelly of the food chain, but instilled in everything that breathed. Uncharacteristic, perhaps, that she might consider herself similar to prey in any form. Was it possible to ever do such without delving into empathy? She didn’t know, and neither did she wish to ponder the matter. All she knew was that her persistent yearn for life, that innate lesson of the earth-born, might be her saviour that battle.

A blast of air from her wings only served to slow them, leaving no mark of damage. They slammed into one another, tumbled across the ground, but arose no less eager to fight. A sweep of her tail killed far more, the bludgeon of its spikes piercing through their fragile heads. Without question, it made for an exhausting battle. They screeched – flattened by her wings, clubbed by her tail, or merely crushed underfoot – but there were always more. Within the first minute, she had found a dozen ways to steal their life, each one more tiring than the last. Her strength lay in hitting hard, taking down a single enemy no matter his power. In contrast, the surrounding swarms only preyed upon her weaknesses.

The hands of time were too fast for her to keep up, life dragging too long for her reactions to remain intact. Wisdom and strength, in all their might, were not enough to grant her speed. Claw marks soon decorated her scales, where just a few had ducked past her force-wrought attacks. They had yet to draw blood – she managed to bat them away the moment she felt their bite - but they were getting more skilled with each frenzied leap towards her.

As she tried to quell a vicious group gathering at her rear, a single fiend slipped past her defences. One defiant lunge upward and his talons took hold of her lip, razor edges sinking in her jaw. Blood spurted towards the air, its bitter taste flooding across her tongue.

Instinctively, she rolled to the side, body clumsy in the manoeuvre. Dozens whimpered beneath her weight, trampled mercilessly, but she only cared for the one attached to her mouth. With fortune briefly on her side, she lost the hell-child in the motion, unsure whether she had killed it or not. Her rage wished upon it death; she barely tried subduing the emotion.

It felt like only moments into their invasion – she panted, sunlight belting down upon them – and she feared more for her health than she had at any point in the entire competition.