Rumble on RPA DreamLand vs KillaKittyofDoom9 (J Shepherd)

[Shepherd]

As you approach the Arena you find yourself surrounded by a misty haze which blocks out all sight of the world beyond it. After a minute or so of being enveloped by the thick grey darkness it fades away as quickly as it came. You survey your surroundings and realize you've been transported to an ancient cathedral of some long forgotten god.

Thick red velvet carpet, so rich and dark that blood would not even show on it, flows softly down the aisle ways between the rows of marble altars. Some are adorned with offerings, burning incense, votive candles, treasure of all types, and even the burned carcasses of animal sacrifices lend a thick smoky musk throughout the room. You notice that there are no doors, but behind you a dual staircase leads up to a wrap around balcony level that contains seats for watching the ceremonies below.

"Welcome," says a dark voice from the raised pulpit at the far end of the room. A figure in shining white clerical garb materializes behind it and continues speaking. "I am Shepherd and I will sit in judgment of you today. You have been brought here to battle for your lives. The match will last until either death claims you or you are unable to move, though you may forfeit the match at anytime. I shall heal you of all injuries after the battle, but remember only the winner shall advance to the next round."

With that the figure fades away, leaving only a soft whisper to echo around the room, stirring the smoke and candle flames. "Begin."

(You each get 5 posts, then the judge will appear again)

[DreamLand]

"Don't you dare lose, got it?"

Silence.

"I'm serious, if my champion loses in the first round, It'll take years to live it down!"

Again, silence.

"Bah! You're always like this. I've half a mind to just kill you myself and be done with it!"

This time, a response.

"Why don't you tell me something useful, like what I'm about to kill?"

A final reply.

"Can't help you. That would be cheating. Suffice to say though, it will be entertaining. Best of fortune, just don't rely on that wench named luck." The voice faded, and the Dream master had left his mind. Good riddance, he needed to focus.

Amleth approached the arena, anxious to begin his first fight. He had been assigned to a match in the preliminaries, but he was not concerned about suffering additional pain. If anything, he was worried that this extra fight would reveal to any spectators more about his unique combat style than he cared to share. He would just have to make due, get creative, maybe invent a couple of new tricks. Maybe today's battle would give him some much needed inspiration.

The fog in the area was dense, making a mockery of his already weak vision. He could barely see the hand in front of his face, never mind the extravagant piece of architecture that laid in the near distance. Was he expected to do battle in this? He had difficulty enough just trying to find his way! No matter, he would just have to make due with whatever circumstances he was handed. He thought of drawing his flaregun so that he could be given some clue as to what laid ahead, but then decided against, instead preferring to conserve his limited ammunition.

----------------

This conservation of flares had proved to be a wise choice, for within the next minute or so of walking, the fog had begun to dissolve without a hint as to how. As he began to look around himself, The Alk's curiosity as to just where he was grew. Where was he? Was it a temple of some sort? The carcasses that adorned the setting seemed to imply such, if the idea of animal sacrifice was not exclusive to his world alone. While unfamiliar, the architecture still proved fascinating. He had never seen such a shade of red, nor had he seen that odd construct on the other side of the building, of which he could only presume was an altar of some sort. He saw no exits, only that single staircase that led up to the balcony above. The building had a fair deal of cover, but no means of disguising his traps. The ex-miner knew that he could not afford to rely upon them too much then.

Amleth only then noticed the opponent that was standing a few feet away from him in the following moment, much to his anxiety. How had he noticed her only now? No matter. A glance at the opponent gave him far less information than he thought it had. He was unaware of her true nature, seeing only the beautiful artificial visage that was worn by a creature not seen in even the darkest of catacombs. She wore little (albeit impressive looking) armour and carried by far the largest axe he had ever laid eyes on, which proved to somewhat intimidate even one so stoic as him. Amleth could think of no pre-game trick and thus did not attempt one. She was a woman, yes, but she seemed to him a warrior who would not care for his flowers nor his cigar.

After having taken the opportunity to make quick analysis of the arena and his opponent, Amleth's thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of a mysterious figure whose robes where a white so clean that the Alk could not help but be envious of. The mysterious one made claim to being the overseer of this match while offering a refreshingly concise explanation of the rules. The promise of healed wounds meant little to Amleth, for he would have sooner permanently lost two more of his fingers over the fulfillment of his goal.

The specter of a man vanished, leaving behind with him a single word whose power was enough to shake him to his core.

----------------

Amleth took no time to stall, lest that axe come down upon him. Wising to put some distance between himself and his opponent, he flexed his right hand to the inside of his coat, drawing a smoke bomb which he promptly threw to the ground. It erupted in a large, toxic cloud which Amleth then used to retreat a number of paces back, to the first altar he could see. Hoping to take advantage of the smoke and the arena's surroundings, he swiftly removed from the altar one of the candles from it's holders and gently threw it behind the next alter, before replacing it with a stick of his dynamite. The explosive would make an excellent trap to activate later with his pryokinesis, if it's thinly veiled disguise was not compromised beforehand. It managed to fit, albeit awkwardly and with a quick tare, the fuse was shortened to roughly five seconds. As the smoke began to dissipate, Amleth began to run towards the back of the next altar in the column.

(I apologize if that is considered too much action to reasonably complete in one turn. I'm uncertain of exactly what the standard is, but will alter this post if necessary.)

[ILYTH]

“Amleth, that’s the name of the boy your going to kill for me today Lysi my old girl.”

“How about you go die in a fire Killa! I could help if you so wished” Lysette hissed her hand crackling with an arcane threat, her usually smooth french accent perverted by bitter hatred.

“Now, Now Lysette, don’t you remember the one your gods bid you to serve? I own you now. Now stand still and I’ll send you down to the arena, I think it might be to your rather morbid tastes.”

Before she had a chance to protest the ancient witch found herself in new surrounds, far from the Killa compound. Her fool of a master had said the place would suit her but she could see nothing but fog “Byjerra” Lysette whispered and her eyes were given the power of the old world seeing not the physical plane but the spiritual plain inhabted by ephemeral rather than matter affected by obscurations or other such trickery.

Lysette could now see that she was within an ancient chapel to a god she had never heard of or met. The Building was lined with pews that had clearly spent centuries gathering dust and the walls were adorned with the carcasses of man and beast, their lives given up in service of the unknown deity.

The witch sauntered though the ancient cathedral with an air of confident disregard for her challenge, that idiotic panther had sent her to kill some poor fool in this gods forsaken place without even telling her what it was, for all she knew she could be fighting a dragon. She glanced unimpressed at the imposing decor of the neo gothic setting that was to be the battle ground and scoffed. The altars and sacrifices that dotted the area had lost their shock value after a life or two in service of gods so dark to say even their names was to invoke the darkest evil onto oneself. The sickly sweet smell of the burning incense and the rotting carcasses of the sacrifices stung Lysette's breathless nostrils.

The blood red carpet felt soft and luscious under her bare feet, Lysette had often said that touch was the most decadent of sensations. The chapel was cold as she approached the central point the fog that she ad until now been gazing through with eye’s not her own was receding as she reached an impasse at which stood an alter. The Arm of Ashes sprayed sparks as she dragged it along on the stone floor to her left, the axe would not blunt however as it was kept sharp by forces even she did not understand.

As she reached the very centre of the chapel where corpses of various animals and other more sinister victims hung nailed to the wall she saw a figure emerging from the fog. It was dressed in a long leather jerkin with a curved leather beak, Lysette cursed, a plague doctor or at least someone wearing the garb of such a physician. Lysette as a living corpse had been hounded all throughout the plague by those leather beaked meddlers. No something told Lysette this was no ordinary doctor, he was something all together, different.

The new comer didn’t seem to notice Lysette as he approached; either that or he was ignoring her. This detachment from her opponent made Lysette anxious, with no fears to play off the fight would be no fun. Lysette lived for moments of anguish and terror in the hearts of her opponents just before the arm drained them of their life energy in service of the old gods.

Lysette made a slight coughing sound getting the attention of the fighter; he turned and surveyed her, definitely a man Lysette chuckled to her self. Lysette loved fighting men the moment when her body started to decay mid battle and the beautiful sorceress turned into an enraged corpse had driven many past opponents to madness Napoleon Bonaparte had the misfortune to witness the change while in bed with the centuries old witch.

As the two fighters sized each other up a shadowy figure high upon a raised gantry appeared and bombarded her with information she already knew, she couldn't leave until whoever stood before her was nothing more than a puddle of visceral mess and offal, standard fare for her really. Lysette listened disconnectedly scraping into the carpet with the head of her axe.

Lysette glanced toward the other end of the cathedral where the ominous figure of her opponent stood ready for battle. Before she had a chance to cast a spell or swing her axe the air filled with a dark cloud, Lysette guessed it was smoke but it’s hard to identify gasses when you don’t breathe. The fool Amleth darted off in another direction beyond Lysette’s smoke effected view, the temptation to use the eyes of the ancients was great but she resisted, her reserves of magic would need to be saved for later use.

Lysette stepped out of the cloud of dissipating smoke to a seemingly empty wall, she called out in a mocking voice, as seductive as it was smooth and silky “Amleth please, don’t hurt me. I am but a slave sent to fight against my will, please help me escape.” The gambit had worked in the past but Lysette held out little hope of it’s effect this time, hopefully it would distract the fool long enough for her to see where he was hiding.

[DreamLand]

With a quick dash, turn and crouch, the Alk was in hiding. It was with fortune that Amleth managed to make way to his chosen destination before the cloud of smoke dispersed. He quickly determined that as his opponent was not charging at him with that axe of hers, he would be safe for the moment - just the moment. With that brief security, the tactician began to do what he always did when offered the opportunity: strategize.

The stairs were within close running distance, around under twenty feet, and could prove to serve as an excellent bottleneck, the stairway likely being to narrow for her axe. However, it was only safe to do so assuming that the warrior was in fact just a warrior with no projectiles or superhuman abilities. He dared not try his luck on that information alone. The dynamite that he had planted seemed to have went by unnoticed, as he had not heard it removed or otherwise tampered with. Its' usage was out of the question at the moment however, as view of it was obstructed. Lobbing an explosive was worth a try, even if only to test the foe's abilities. But the risk was far too great; what if he incorrectly estimated the distance between the two of them and the explosive went off prematurely, or even worse, too late, allowing her a chance to send it back his way with that pillar he was hiding behind possibly collapsing on him as consequence? Furthermore -

Oh, hell. He had done it again: took to long to make a decision. The girl had not seen him yet, but was now standing within under a dozen steps to striking range. It was no longer safe for either a mad dash or explosives. He figured he could use another smoke bomb or fire cracker to cover his retreat, but it wasn't as likely to succeed now as it had been before. But wait! That can-

Oh? What was this? Rather than bringing this place down until she found him, the girl was now attempting to make a plea of her supposed case. Apparently she was a slave, poor lass. Well, this scenario required no thought; tough luck. She was likely lying and if not, he had higher priorities than helping her. Let it be a knight in shining armour rather than him who falls in love for her trick or distress, whichever it may be.

Amleth shrugged off the cry for help as soon as it was given, responding within the next few seconds. He would hesitate no longer. His thoughts returning from their brief detour to where they had been before, he picked up the candle that he had thrown over from a minute ago when disguising his dynamite. It would serve him a second time; how kind. Standing up, he gave the piece of wax a strong flick of the wrist, sending it flying in his opponent's general direction. The Alk's position was compromised, but hoping that the distraction would work, he swiftly drew from his coat and into his hand the flaregun whose earlier use he had decided against. In the next instant he turned from his hiding place, revealing himself to her in a dizzying flash of light. The flare had been fired, albeit not exactly with much precision, leaving him with only one other immediate goal in mind: get to the stairs.

Without any delay Amleth ran for them, as quickly as his diseased, weighted down body would allow. He was still vulnerable provided the warrior had magic capabilities or something else of the sort, but digging oneself out of one's own cave-in was never an easy or guaranteed success.

[ILYTH]

The chapel stayed silent as Lysette slinked along pitifully, she was putting on the front of a distressed slave girl hoping to lure her opponent out to meet a quick doom before The Arm. Treachery that had undone many great witch slayers and warriors in the past. Lysette began to imagine the glorious feel of his blood leaking over her cold hands as her foe bled to death on the head of her great axe. She snapped herself out of the morbid fantasy, now was not the time to get distracted.

Lysette hissed as her plea had apparently fallen on deaf ears, the fighter was not as stupid as he looked apparently. She could feel him close, the gods were whispering in her ears, the dark bloodlust telling her that he was near. She padded around the area of the chapel she has decided must contain her quarry, her ears pricked for any sound and her breathless nose poised for any scent that might indicate his location.

She hadn’t thought to check for any traps but began to question the sense of her opponent fleeing if not to lure her to some unknown doom. It was too late now and to waste time checking for traps would allow her foe to slink away to attack her at his leisure.

Lysette was surprised when her face began to burn, hot wax from a candle had flown from a shrouded hand peeking out at her from behind a nearby pillar. The wax burned and sizzled at Lysette’s face marring the perfection of her illusionary beauty. The witch was incandescent with rage and was about to smite down the foolish Alk with a quick pull of her axe when a shot fired and her world went a burning white. Lysette could just make out a hunched figure retreating up the stairs toward the next floor of the chapel, the ancient wood cracking and creaking under his shambling weight.

Lysette quickly weighed up her options, she could run after him and hack blindly with the arm hoping to smite Amleth with her axe before he made her temporary blindness pay. The plan though was foolish, even with her unnatural strength she was impotent without sight. A spell was the answer then, was it time for her to use the pillar? No she would rather not exhaust herself with such a potent spell so early in a fight in the blind hope that it killed her foe before she became too drained to fight. An elemental bolt seemed the most reasonable compromise, although it was always a raffle what type of bolt the Ancient Gods would form using her as a catalyst.

Lysette cursed and began a quick incantation, the burning in her eyes would soon fade but for now she had a shot at her fleeing target. She focused all of her energy and rage toward the back of her prey, channelling the malice of the ancient gods spurned by the fledgling sun through the palm of her hand. Lysette felt a familiar coldness rush through her body emanating from the hand holding the axe that contained her only physical remains.

The magic circled her heart and drained the warmth from her skin as it grew in power and purpose. The air around Lysette’s hand began to burn and crackle with paranormal energy as a molten ball of steel formed in the space beyond her outstretched fingers. The heat of the flare and the burning sacrifices dotted around the church lent themselves to an elemental bolt suited to hot locations that would give her opponent pause for thought if not wound him gravely.

[DreamLand]

Amleth gave his best effort to escape a counter-attack as he fled for high ground, but, not exactly one in good health, failed. Such of course, was the risk that he had chosen to run. His breathing may not have yet become heavy from exhausted lungs, but given their fragility, the need to relieve himself of phlegm and blood would certainly occur at least once before this was all over.

Old advice given to miners was that when you are running away from death - which is something you would be doing constantly - never look back. This was something that this particular miner had never believed in. His uncertainty got the better of him, for as he stood but two feet away from the staircase he hoped to ascend, he turned his head back in an attempt to learn how his opponent would cope. The Alk did not panic when he saw that ball of molten fire flying towards him at high velocity, for he had not enough time to do so. Instead he reacted as best he could, pivoting around on his right foot in an attempt to put his trusted shield between him and flaming death. The attack collided with his shield and was repelled before dispersing, effectively saving him from the attack and the possible detonation of his explosives, but subsequently created another issue.

The pivot had been far too fast, and despite the fact that his shield held firm, the momentum of movement itself was enough to knock him prone, consequently causing his flaregun to fly lose from his hand and several feet away. He fell on his back with force that his overcoat did little to prevent. The back of his mask, while now cracked, had done well in protecting him from concussion. Still, it was a painful spill for anyone, but to Amleth, the fall proved doubly grieving. Wind was knocked out of his lungs, of which he could not afford to give any time to recover. He got back to his feet as quickly as he could, coughing and wheezing as he did so. Amleth could feel the blood in his throat wishing to emerge, but he held it down as he began to make his way up the staircase with all due haste.

He said not a word, for such would be a waste of what air he had left. His foe would surely give pursuit, which he hoped, could be a choice easily exploited. Lowering his now free hand to his coat, Amleth pulled withdrew a small sack of marbles and steel barbs, throwing it down upon the stairs behind him. The bag spilled open, allowing the contents to flow down freely. The Alk knew it foolish to rely upon such a weak trick to repay the favour done upon him, and rather, he trusted that it would give him enough time to make his way to the top of the stairs and catch his breath.

[ILYTH]

Lysette felt the warmth and energy gifted by her masters drain the moment the bolt left her hand. Magic was a funny thing and casting too much at once could be fatal, she would have to rely on other means whilst she once again gathered her energy. The magic had not only drained the power that allowed Lysette to cast her various spells and charms but was sapping the arcane fuel for the illusion that kept the visage of the living prevalent in her opponent's eye.

The skin of the long dead witch began to rot on her face whilst her hair became dry and split, her eye's sank into her skull and began to take on their blood red tinge. She had not yet been fully exposed but soon her glamor would come tumbling down as more of her reserves would be devoted to magic for survival and slaughter.

The Alk had seemed to make light work of her bolt and the shield he carried puzzled Lysette to no end. She had seen the fire bolt eat through Damascus steel as if it where paper but that great barrier had shrugged of the bolt and dealt with it's napalm like remnants. Lysette reasoned that it must have been an ancient artifact that the doomed fool knew nothing about.

The Alk was sent tumbling to the floor, bruised and battered but far from beaten. Lysette sighed with relief as the flare gun that had caused her such pain before went skidding harmlessly across the stone tiling of the cathedral floor. Lysette would deal with that later and began to think of ways to use her foe's weapon towards his downfall.

For now though Lysette felt that the initiative was hers as she strode over, axe in hand ready to split the skull of her troublesome prey as he lay splayed on the stairs. Her hands gripped on the shaft of the weapon her fingers quickly becoming gnarled talons of bone and rotted flesh. She was ready to bring the axe down on the prone Alk when Lysette heard a sound not unlike that of rain as hundreds of marbles and barbs cascaded down the stair robbing her of her grip and causing her to tumble down the carpeted steps whilst she watched the Alk recover himself and move up the stairs.

Lysette wished not to risk the stairs again for fear of more traps and fowl play and instead darted her eyes around the arena, analyzing the strategic possibilities of her surrounds. Eventually Lysette noticed a balcony gallery that connected onto the next floor. Lysette quickly formulated a plan for her ascension which she sprang into action cutting one of the nearby ropes supporting a foreboding symbol of the chapels mysterious religion causing one side of the great iron object to fall towards her crushing ancient pews and statues beneath it giving her an easy walkway to the upper level.

Lysette decided to let her foe chase her for a while as she scampered up the fallen idol towards the shadows of the chapel's upper level.

[DreamLand]

Amleth could see his foe giving pursuit, and so he strove on even harder. As he ascended those last few steps that lead to the higher grounds he so desperately longed for, the Alk could hear the unmistakable sound of a tumble that unexpectedly came. The trick had worked much in his favour, providing him with what seemed the best possible scenario; joy.

Those last few steps proved the most taxing, but Amleth managed all the same. Emerging from the staircase and onto the balcony above, the tired man allowed himself a well-earned moment to breath. Although he knew that it was far from mandatory at this point, Amleth raised his peculiar mask an inch above his mouth, so that he would be allowed to expel some of his bodily fluids before they began to collect and prove paralyzing later.

Before he had lowered his mask back down, the ex-miner, despite his poor sense of smell, could not help but catch scent of his shield doing something he hadn't expected it to do. It was then that he finally came to realize that his portable fortification had been smoking somewhat, presumably after having been impacted by that woman's powerful spell. He had not the time to remove his shield and better observe it, but Amleth could identify from the weight and balance of his tool that its' structure had not been compromised. Nevertheless, it was a matter of surprise. Entire bundles of dynamite, in all of their destructive glory inflicted little harm to his shield, yet this woman had made noticeable effect with a single spell. It became all to apparent at that point, that, should he allow himself to be struck once with either spell or that axe of hers, just once, he would die. Extra caution would have to be practiced.

Fully aware that time was of the essence, he lowered his mask back down to it's proper level, allowing his sense of smell to once more be enveloped by those powerful herbs of his.

No more than a few moments later, he heard the crash that his opponent had made with so little subtlety. Quickly but cautiously, he approached the direction from which he had heard it, finding what was an unwelcome sight. The foe - who he knew had changed in apperance, but due to his poor sight, was unable to determine yet exactly how - had found an alternate way of reaching him and in less than a minutes time, would be upon him. With even greater haste than before, Amleth began to analyze the change in setting that laid before him. There was not much to make commentary on, other than the rows of seats that inhabit the large playing field above.

Amleth had little time to contemplate his options, and thus decided upon what seemed the simplest and most faithful of choices: explosives.

Dropping three shrapnel bombs upon the ground, unlit, Amleth made a run for cover behind seating that rested fifteen feet away. He had no time to make any more distance than that, and remained hopeful that the seating would provide adequate protection from what was to come. Wishing to create a more reliable ignition than his feeble pyrokinesis would allow, the Alk pulled from underneath his coat a beloved flambe, igniting it as he did so. Aware that the flames to come would completely envelop his shrapnel bombs, causing them to go off instantly, Amleth hoped to wait until immediately before the point that his opponent would be able to easily gain sight of him; if this plan failed, he wanted to have a chance at hiding. Uncertain of what was the perfect moment to throw, he gave his flambe a gentle toss towards the target at a point that he instantly came to decide as likely having been slightly premature.

It would have to do. He took cover.

[ILYTH]

Lysette lurked soundlessly in upper level of the dank cathedral, her breath misting within its icy stone walls. The balcony seemed to have none of the warmth of the lower level, it being devoid of burning sacrificial offerings. The cold had decayed Lysette further and now little remained to distinguish the beautiful French sorceress from an enraged corpse sparking with forbidden magic.

Lysette grew tired of waiting as the Alk was clearly interested only in fighting on the retreat, letting his traps and tricks do all of the work for him. Lysette loathed him immensely; he was like any other man, reveling in the kill but afraid to do it by his own hand. Lysette felt a rage grow within her and all plans of waiting and laying her own ambush gave way to a wish to break the little miner. Lysette knew just the spell to bring terror to his heart and end this fight once and for all.

Lysette stepped into the open aisle between two rows of ancient pews, their cherry red wood cracked and splintered with age. The undead witch spread her arms wide, arched her head back and screamed a curse, the foulness of the ancient language piercing the minds of those unfortunate enough to hear it. Lysette focused on the familiar cold feeling of the magic process as it coursed through her and froze her limbs from the inside. With great strength of will Lysette began to force the coldness back through her body into different shapes and forms, forming muscles and limbs that weren’t there before and enhancing and exaggerating helpful features to create her new form.

In the split second this process took Lysette felt enough pain to for a life time as her body split, ached, grew and bent driven by magical ferocity. There was no longer a witch standing in the aisle between the two rows of pews, now there were eight hairy legs straddling the rows of seats, leading to a horrific shiny black torso suspended a meter above the ground. Staring forward into the shadows of the balcony were eight eyes like black diamonds glinting in the candlelight.

The great spider skittered forward, carefully placing it’s legs in the gaps between each row of pews, the Alk would soon be either crushed under the weight of the thrashing limbs or steadily succumbing to a poison most foul whilst hanging in a silken tomb. The thought made Lysette bristle with excitement and glee.

The spider balked and tried to turn however when out of the darkness came a circle of flames, no harm to the spider in itself but Lysette was well aware of the Alk’s trickery and was wary of further traps. The narrow width of the balcony prevented Lysette from getting away in time before two great explosions rocked the cathedral.

The Spider gave out a hideous scream as it’s legs and body were peppered with shrapnel and buckled under the shockwave of the blasts tipping the spider onto it’s side. Lysette righted herself back onto eight legs, scarred and blind in three eyes but with an anger so great that the pain was put at bay for the time being.

The spider raced towards the source of the flame and saw the hunched up figure of the Alk a number of rows away. She had not been seen yet even if the blast had alerted the Alk to her presence, Amleth also would be expecting Lysette in her true form, Lysette delighted in her plan as she pressed herself lower to the ground before creeping over to the wall and scaling the stone masonry her weight held up by the grip of the sticky hairs on her legs. Slowly and silently Lysette made her way over to Amleth , stopping vertically above him. Lysette drew the Alks attention with a hiss before preparing to loose herself from the wall to fall upon the hapless Alk.

[DreamLand]

As the beloved fire bomb flew towards it's inhumane target, Amleth had taken cover, but not before hearing that wretched, ear piercing scream of the witch. Despite the violence in her voice there seemed some semblance of purpose to it, almost as if she was calling out for something. What exactly this something was, he had no clue, but (un)fortunatley he would not be waiting for many moments more before he received his answer. All he knew was that the scream had come from the balcony, meaning that he had seriously misjudged her placement. Had she used another spell to cover her approach, or was their some other explanation as to why she could carry that axe while remaining so subtle in step? It was likelier yet that his hearing was simply failing him. Such would not have been unusual either.

He held firm in anticipation, for the Alk had predicted that his trap would be quite devastating given the supplies expended on its' execution. The bombs set detonated with the usual flare, leaving all things in a twenty-foot radius shrouded in metal shards. Any possible satisfaction he could have had over the matter was quickly quelled when the scream he heard did not match up with the one he had quite intended. People were capable of some horrendous death cries, yes, but what his ears registered was something they knew from memory all too well. Curious, Amleth raised his head to examine the situation, only to wish he hadn't.

Before him stood a great Liloth, it's size rivaling that of the grandest one he had ever witnessed. Granted there were probably some subtle differences - the like of which he had no time to bother discerning - but from all immediate appearances, it seemed that whatever astral-forsaken world she came from had something similar. Needless to say, this did not bode well for him. He had experience dealing with such fiends with lesser equipment in times past, yes, but such had always been in the company of his strong and well-coordinated friends. Never before had he been required to kill a Liloth of such size by himself. Fear entered Amleth's heart, but he would not allow it to overcome him. He would survive this...probably.

It did not take one wizened in the knowledge of this creature to recognize the warning signs of it's rage. Despite the grevious injuries it had sustained, the depraved thing charged in his direction with little regard towards it's own well-being. It seemed to exude some sort of venom he had faith his mask could repel, but he knew such would only remain the case if it was left without further damage. Surely the detestable beast knew not yet where he was, but it hardly mattered. The Liloth was huge, the surroundings were crowded, and he had not the speed to evade; to grin and bare whatever pain to come was the only option available to the trap-master at this point.

Remaining crouched, Amleth braced his knees and raised his stalwart shield above him, hoping that the metal's properties to repel force would be enough to endure the crushing force from above. In an effort to reinforce his own ability to hold, he brought up his free arm to behind the shield so that it could aid in his defense. All four strikes came too fast to count. The first was unable to crush him, but his arms were already fatigued. The second caused him to recoil his supportive arm in a flinch against pain, lowering him further to the ground and leaving him unprepared for what came next. The third blow fell and was blocked, but as it was still acting alone, the knockback from the leg shattered his left arm, with next leg coming in so swiftly he had not the time to let out an agonized yell. When the fourth leg fell, Amleth was only able to weakly raise his shield 45 degrees, which proved ineffective. The blow was not a fatal one, but it pierced his torso from an angle, crushing at least one lower rib while causing that which laid below it to tare open and bleed significantly. The Liloth then marched pass on its' mindless rampage, no doubt willing to backtrack once it realized that it had in fact hit something.

The pain was immense, but the stubborn Amleth would not allow any more than a muffled whelp to escape his lips. He was in danger, and if his wound was allowed to grow any larger (which with movement, it would), he would stand the risk of bleeding out. He had to make distance, as he would be unable to defend against such an assault twice. His speed kept steady thanks to a much welcomed burst of adrenaline, the injured Alk pulled his body along, shield included, towards the fallen pillar that his opponent had used to reach him. The staircase had been an option, but an ill-advised one. While it would have been far too narrow for the Liloth to give pursuit, it also would have left him stranded in between his own trap and an axe-wielding witch.

He reached the pillar, but aware that he had not the time to spare to safely scale his way down, he sat down and slid to the level below, thankfully falling with only a small tumble. From this point Amleth knew that his best chance at victory was to trick this twisted abomination in approaching his dynamite trap. This, coupled with a desire to remove the quipment he was now having difficulties supporting, gave him a flash of inspiration. He fancied that he could perhaps use his coat -all explosives and traps included - as a crude distraction next to the dynamite planted at the start of the battle while he obtained his flaregun. If he could reach this tool while the Liloth was (and if it even became) distracted, then a carefully placed flare could end the fight with a big bang. All odds said that the intended results were unlikely, but little other option remained available.

Thankfully the "trap" pillar was close to where he had landed, allowing him to strip his gear with all due haste. He unbuckled his shield and placed it behind the pillar, hoping that by partially disguising it, the feeble body double would stand a better chance of working. He then removed his coat as well, and from it took one of his metal spikes, which he held with his left hand supported by the wounded arm. Unsheathing his warpick from it's holster on his back, Amleth held it in his right hand, using the butt of it to drive the spike in. Luckily it sank in with relative ease, although by using only a single strike, he risked its' ability to hold. He took little notice of this as the pain and flowing blood of his body rendered his vision increasingly blurred and his head progressively more dizzy. He stumbled slightly, but remained standing. Dropping his warpick he removed his mask, - which, as it was already cracked, proved a feat not to difficult to accomplish - and held it in his weak hand. With his strong hand he brought up his coat from the ground, hanging it from the spike, which he then did with his mask.

Having paid total attention to his work and not his surroundings, Amleth feared that his foe was already upon him. He took no immediate notice. Instead he removed from his pinned up coat two flares, one of which he pocketed, the other which he held as firm as his crying left hand would allow. He then ran behind the pillars, once again towards the stairs where his saving grace rested but a few feet away from. If all did not go according to plan, he would die a horrible death.

For some reason this possibility of death seemed pleasant compared to his continued existence in my presence, but naturally, his promised prize kept him going in spite of the witch and I.

[Shepherd]

A soft white fog begins to flow around the cathedral, radiating with a soft inner light. Slowly encircling the two combatants with its gentle caress, it begins to restore their strength. Blood ceases to flow, bones are mended, flesh knit back together as the judge's glowing form begins to condense from the mysterious fog.

"A very well fought match to be sure," he breathed, letting his words flow over the healing warriors. "You have both done well, but I'm afraid only one of you may advance.... Amleth," he announced in a boom that shook the foundations of the hallowed halls, "I hearby declare you the victor of this round and allow you to advance to the next. I trust you will not disappoint in the coming matches. And as for you Lysette," he said as his magic restored the sorceress to her illusory beauty once again. "I'm afraid this marks the end of the tournament for you, but know that this judgement was not an easy choice by far. You did well."

And with that a familiar grey blackness decended upon the restored warriors, transporting each of them back to the Arena, as if no time had passed at all.