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View Full Version : Rumble on RPA. GOLD MATCH. Auki vs Car'mael



John
08-05-2012, 07:26 PM
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
08-06-2012, 12:50 AM
Background music if you need it... may need more volume, tho. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AsM3u3_OFYo)
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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
08-06-2012, 05:35 PM
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
08-08-2012, 02:29 AM
More mood noise... (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1mjlM_RnsVE)
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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
08-10-2012, 10:07 PM
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
08-12-2012, 02:41 AM
Some ambiance... (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ED5DBUJgBZM)
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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 (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XxD_LYlr_9M&feature=related), letting it pile up over him.

His time would come.

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<Telepathy.>

Thoughts.

"Vocal Words."

Auki
08-12-2012, 07:46 PM
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.

John
08-14-2012, 06:19 AM
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
08-16-2012, 03:05 AM
Some more music to set the tone... (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WXRjg_QWN-Q&feature=related)
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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 (http://u.jimdo.com/www25/o/s5962ddb073f659b5/img/i972b637107399ec5/1278986942/std/candy-fuzzle.jpg). 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
08-18-2012, 02:46 PM
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.

John
08-19-2012, 03:44 AM
Not long after the first of the creatures fell, a loud humming could be heard which seemed to emanate from the mirror. Once again, the vision of the field entered the mind of Ruan as the remains of the fallen creatures turned into an ash like substance and were sucked into the mirror. As well, those life forces that were absorbed by Terhon were pulled from his body and also absorbed by the mirror.

Suddenly, an image appeared in the mirror of a dragon and a Mara locked in combat with each other as the mirror continued to absorb the fallen creatures and the humming grew louder. With each creature absorbed, the two combatants in the reflective surface seemed to grow larger. And with each creature absorbed by the mirror, the humming grew increasingly louder.

And on his couch, Nazgul smiled.

(Terhon will no longer be able to absorb the life force of the creatures. Ruan's vision only lasts long enough to see the mirror's effect. The mirror will continue to absorb the creatures' life force as they fall. Post once and wait for my go ahead. I may have to post depending on the action you take for the next round. I will post in the Rumble thread if I need to post or not.)

Car'mael
08-21-2012, 02:54 AM
Further background sound... (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6LtqqOc2REw)
------------------------------------------------

Some abhor battle; others exult in it. Mara, by nature, loved it. Typically it combined food and entertainment all in one, saving time and effort. Expediency was something their kind held in high regard, and entertainment was important to such long-lived creatures. While they hated being brought into a war on the human planes of existence for the sake of being used by others to their own agendas (and the misuse and abuse that often included), the battles themselves were something often looked forward to and thoroughly enjoyed. In fact, that initial “taste” made Terhon all the more eager for these oddly-flavored creatures much as a hungry child sought cotton candy at the fair.

He would have to find a way to wash off the stickiness later.

The dragon’s flap to try blowing the swarm away sent a bit of a damper to his strategy of striking then running to thin out his number of opponents. For all he caught just the edge of that gust, it bowled him over towards the mouths of that rushing population instead! Feeling himself being tossed aside, his robes’ ability giving him the agility of a cat in the air, Terhon tucked and wrapped up in his wings, then slammed his weight back onto the sand by cutting his levitation again. His tumbling weight smacked a good five of the mirror-beasts, which apparently was enough to make them pop like overripe tomatoes—not exactly the kind of soft landing he sought but what options did he have?

Immediately others leapt on top of him and the resulting mess with the eagerness of a shark feeding frenzy. Claws cut into his wings and armor; teeth sought to bite away his metal protection one feather at a time. Myrrh-scented black blood began to run in thin trickles from cuts under the onslaught—minor as of yet but more than the hungry Mara wanted right now. Surging up despite the burn of his foot, his wings flung the topmost aside and he whirled to swing wings and glaive around in a deadly arc at the rest besieging him. Those tossed aside scuttled back immediately like undaunted spiders, but they had to do so over the bisected and splattered remains of their brethren.

Having bought himself a measure of space to move again, Terhon took the opportunity to reach back and pull up his mask to protect his face and head before he gained more than a couple grazes across the cheek or lost another hank of silvery hair. As it was, the Mara could hardly be comfortable with first sand in his garments and now smelly glop gluing that same sand back to him, especially his feet… not to mention that with the dragon’s windstorm over, he had to endure their wailing shrieks and the hum of the mirrors in full force. The life-force of those he had sliced earlier had begun to sooth his burning foot at least, but the rest had yet to be processed; small gain for so much work.

At this rate I might end up homesick, Terhon mused sardonically. Not that he missed the dark and gloomy Fifth Shadow Plane, but its persistent and deadly fauna at least had more reward for his efforts and the environment was gentler than this sun-baked arena.

HEY!

Nobody liked having a gift taken from them, and the sudden sucking feeling of his hard-earned energy being taken back stirred resentment and a glare from the Mara in the god’s direction even as he swung around again, fighting to keep more attackers at bay. Another whirl of wings and polearm, but this time nothing came for his efforts but death. Why were they suddenly not producing any life-force anymore? But the byproducts of their messy deaths turned to ash even before his eyes and slid like living liquid back towards the mirrors of their origin, escaping with their pittance lives.

That did not bode well.

Nor did the fact that he now could glimpse a dragonlike form in the mirror, as well as a darker winged creature that could, to his squinting eyes, represent himself. Why now, and why did these things seem to be heading towards that like rivers feeding a lake? Yet he dared not stop slashing away at the army of mirror-beasts lest he not live to find out.

Time for a change of strategy.

Terhon leapt into motion again, sweeping aside a trio of mirror-beasts with his glaive, he sought a trajectory that should bring him just along the dragon’s strike-range yet still arcing towards the more open center of the arena. It was similar to his original aim. Putting to good use his flightless wings, they had the versatility of a second set of arms emerging from his back and their swinging of metal feathers had the scything effect of a thousand swords. Any who obstructed his evasive bounds and twists could be cut aside like a machete spliced jungle. It freed up a real hand to rip out four feathers from the right side of his mask as he leapt and lunged, his teeth gritted against the burn of his foot and the increasingly annoying hum reverberating the arena.

The dragon fought for her life as much as he did. She cleared space about herself with every blow, and her tail seemed the nearest active appendage without the drawbacks of being buffeted by her wings’ winds. In attempting to pass by her, he brought some of his own fanclub for her to dispose of when they foolishly ventured within her range, intent on letting her do some of the work for him. But he sought to take advantage of one other detail of her combat as he raced to angle alongside: she appeared to have little time for him. The Mara flung his blades at her hip as he drew close, hoping his squinting gaze was correct about an irregularity he suspected he spotted there.

Disappointed like a petulant child given cheap candy by the unfulfilling deaths of the mirror-beasts and feeling the reverberation of greater impending danger, Terhon needed her blood all the more!

I need it NOW!

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

Thoughts.

"Vocal Words."

Auki
08-23-2012, 11:34 AM
Again, colour blinded her in its startling beauty; she struggled to keep focus on the match while such images danced within her skull. The conjunction of her infrared vision with the judge’s gift would have disorientated even the wisest of mind. Picking out the details that were deemed important, the task was taxing to the worn-down beast. She could barely focus her efforts on what grew in the mirror – she fought as ruthlessly as she knew how, cut-and-dice, slicing through their feeble skin with fangs that chipped in age – but when her mind noticed the reflected copies, she felt a deep uneasiness.

The silhouette of a dragon was clearly visible; its opponent was a winged humanoid like the one before her. Perhaps it would be assumption in believing it represented the current battle, but coincidences seemed unlikely in the malevolence of the arena. The mirror puppets contorted and swelled with each returning wave of fallen soldiers, an ominous indication that the judge was not finished with his play. There was a hum to the air, partially drowned by the monster’s screams, quivering with the beat of her heart. It was a great deal of information to absorb, especially in such a short amount of time, but haste was all she had. The phantasm was fleeting, already fading just seconds later.

She shouldn’t have minded so much – she was quickly learning of this judge’s love to taunt and tease – if it were not for the pain that exploded after.

For the first breath of a moment, it was a small ache, an inconvenience shunned to the background after years of illness so frequently introducing it, a nag that caused her brow to furrow but distracted no more thought. Then, like a broken dam, more began to trickle through, from gentle stream to thundering river. It burst forth, searing against the inside of her skull with all the intention to scorch her thoughts and memories, a spider’s web of agony that snaked along the pathways of her conscious mind. It was almost impossible to keep focus on the battle, her sweeps and lunges spurred by distress more than tactic. There was a temptation in whipping her head to either side, vigour maybe shaking the pain loose, but it was a foolish notion of desperation. Infrared, her pathetic cry at mimicking sight, flickered to nothing, leaving her drowned back in her amaurotic state.

The blaze of the air, the overload of optical stimuli, the tired body of a life-weary entity. They all factored into the cause of her mental torture, and she felt bitterness towards them all.

It was difficult enough to defend against the creatures when she could see them, let alone tackling them blinded…and she had those shadow-clad profiles in the mirror to concern her…and-

The scent of her foe launched forward suddenly, pelting across the barren field with little hesitation at his feet. It did not take her long to realise that the situation was growing to be too much for her to handle. Dying pre-emptively would be more shameful than she wished to think about.

Leather-trimmed wings unfolded once again, stretching to their utmost length, raised above the ground as far she could with her dwindling supply of energy. She did not have time to test the once-infallible muscles in their tire; capable of carrying her on the hunt for days, now they buckled after just an hour in the air, as though accepting defeat to the illness that racked her organs. It was hard to remember glory, which was why she fought to win…against both herself and her foe. Wings came crashing down, gales billowing beneath them as she relentlessly pounded the air. The display was not a façade this time. Thin and battered membranes of whilom-magnificent wings strained to their maximum capacity with each daring strike of the air. The sand appeared to ripple as she crouched, the muscles in her rear legs bulging. It was an intrepid strategy, but the final battle called for nothing less if one expected victory. The desert heaved as she thrust herself upwards. Creatures of black leapt up to meet her, those not thrown away by the turbulent air, but she swatted them with claws and tail the moment she felt their touch.

Sinewy wings took her weight – just.

Her opponent was closer by then; she had not been able to move fast enough that she could avoid him altogether. His odour weighed upon her with apprehension, her instincts knowing not to underestimate his prowess.

There was no way for her to know of the two blades that were deflected so casually by the beat of her wing. They disappeared toward the ground, eternally escaping her notice.

The other two, however, she could not ignore.

They slid between the cracks in her scaly armour, tasting blood as they punctured her fragile skin. She might have mistaken it for the bite of the mirror’s creatures – they still pummelled against her defence with lusting hunger – but the irritation did not fade and she felt the slight cool of metal whenever she shifted her leg. Surprisingly, she whined in pain – it cruelly mounted on top the ache of her head – but felt mere relief at their minuscule size. Raw wound, sharp, but not debilitating… at least, not that she yet knew of.

Eager to deter him while she gained height from the massing creatures, she flicked her tail in his direction, a whip of rock-hard defence that she hoped would crush his delicate bones.

Car'mael
08-26-2012, 05:32 AM
Tilting at windmills... how fitting. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=muW9BpDR9S0)
------------------------------------------------

To many creatures, the sight of a tall winged ghost in dark robes and hood and wielding a blade on a pole rushing their way like a threatening black storm cloud tended to be rather disquieting. Well, unless you were a Mara and enjoyed that usually intimidating feature of your own existence, and so weren’t fazed by it in the least. Of course, there were plenty of other exceptions, including animals and races that didn’t recognize death or danger by that description, the extremely stalwart-hearted and infallibly courageous, the insane and those with a death wish, the religious fanatics, and of course those Mara considered physically formidable foes. The last included angelic species, demonic races, most dwellers of the Shadow Planes where Mara resided, elemental creatures, and many species of magical “beasts” (if you could call intelligence such for not ambulating on two legs). Like dragons.

Terhon hadn’t intimidated a dragon before by resembling Death and he hardly expected to now, though he mentally wistfully sighed over that same effect not working on the spider-creatures from the mirrors. Ever since he’d ducked from the blowing sand beneath his wings’ shell, those same appendages remained unfolded and thus kept him to full visibility while he fought off their attacks. Being exposed to foes like this for an extended length of time was annoying to him, being more an ambush predator—much as sand rubbing in his armor, the hot sun drawing his sweat and now mingled with small stinging runnels of black blood, the light forcing him to squint, and the burning of his foot were annoying. But just like those irritations, he could do nothing for it at this time.

A shame. He could use a breather. This non-stop combat didn’t allow him time to evaluate the threat of those damned mirrors to the depth he wanted.

Terhon’s resumed gliding “run” had the buoyancy of one freed from having to take an unnecessary bath, for all the other pains involved. Again at the will of the godling he was spared the indignity and frustration of having sand adhere to him in increasing quantities and undesired locations, this time by the mirror-beasts’ fluids and remains dissolving into ash and that ash in turn racing for the mirrors again. Such byproducts tended to be a Mara’s biggest complaint in melee combat like this and part of why they only indulged in it when Summoned, not so much instigating it on their own. Bathing with massive sharp wings and talons was anything but easy, after all. Mara had great difficulty wielding soap.

The scoop of dragon wings striking for height again sent a damper to the Mara’s goals, this time buffeting him and his scuttling entourage down against the sand instead of across it due to proximity. That he’d managed to get his feather-blades thrown between those beating down-currents was fortune itself. Terhon didn’t bother to attempt to monitor their progress once he cast them, not with other foes to attend to and the winds limiting his lunges to only the moment of her backwinging for another downbeat. Each push downward pinned him in place in a crouch and felt like he was trying to lift her up on his own shoulders, testing his strength and the levitation of his robes! Wings raised to shield and deflect the pummeling force of those winds, he swung his glaive at his equally-weighted and struggling pursuit, taking out a handful against the feather-blade and shaft like a broom wiping the floor of spiders.

He wasn’t expecting her to bother retaliating to his blades. They were lesser feathers, perhaps 5 inches in length at average, and he hadn’t aimed for anything vital; the main question was if they would penetrate at all with her on the move, his limited sight, and her thick scales, considering their track record thus far. Throwing them had been worth an effort, even against the odds. His only alternatives to this were getting within her swiping range with his glaive or the last-ditch effort of grappling with her, both far riskier than repeated casts of sharp feathers. Besides, her claws and tail were swatting spider-creatures over his head as they initially leapt at her rising figure.

The taste of success was a surprise as a result. If she cried out from his bite, he couldn’t be sure amid the multitude of other noises and whistle of wind vibrating his feathers.

I have had better vintages… but it will do!

An aged yet soured wine could be the best way to describe it. She didn’t taste quite right. Unhealthy, perhaps. Aged, definitely. Yet it was a blessed influx of life-force, one that brought hope to his heart and renewed his dream of a decent meal out of this unwanted battle. Would that blessing continue? The Mara couldn’t be sure and didn’t hold expectations either way. They could be shallow set and simply fall out with their own weight, reasonably into flesh and dislodged with movement, or remain and even be driven deeper, or get yanked out in some manner by her like irritating burrs—he was too far and too limited in his vision to see how they sat or be certain where, unable to tell if his earlier aim had held true at all even. But such blessings to a hungry Mara were not to be turned away.

The price came slamming down a breath later, though. Surprised instinct had his head angled slightly in her direction with his peripheral vision, and telepathy warned that her airborne position was closer than he had intended or desired. Terhon had been prepared to swing another round with his glaive at the mirror-beasts before moving yet another leap for open ground again, intending to increase the distance between himself and the dragon as he couldn’t find another target on her with these winds striking him full-force in the face, mask or no mask. Only her elevation and the fact that he was already crouched under shielding metal wings from the buffeting winds spared him the debilitating damage of a direct hit. As it was, the tail caught a glancing blow on his left wing, cracking the bones to uselessness. Terhon’s hiss of pain and the crunch of bones were lost amid the rushing winds, shrill shrieks of the mirror-beasts, and the increasing hum of the mirrors.

As an insane elf Terhon had met once put it, this “sucked”… lemons, at that, with salt.

Immediate instinct demanded the Mara get out of range of further retaliation of this caliber. Intelligence reminded that this was why Mara did not normally indulge in close and open combat with magical creatures of this size and strength. Lazy emotion stirred enough to be disgruntled and suggested more leisurely activities than attacking the dragon at all. Pain shrilled in his mind that he should immobilize the injured limb before it started to use four-letter dialogue in his direction.

Terhon followed the majority of internal votes and with broken wing dragging he lunged for further distance between himself and the dragon, almost tripping over her hoard of mirror-beasts who had become oddly inanimate while she flew, as still as stunned spiders. He didn’t bother to overthink the whys and wherefores of their sudden lack of action, swatting them as well as his own entourage out of his way and back from clawing or biting with his glaive as necessity demanded, but he did consider the usefulness of that altered behavior. Once clear of her proximity, it was worth considering gaining some height for himself so he might indulge in binding his broken wing to his back before its dragging weight and the swift mirror-beasts could rip it off. A pause sooner rather than later seemed wise as the mirror-beasts were starting to take a toll on his glaive, their talons and teeth scoring the blade and shaft and threatening to start removing whole chunks of metal.

So again he retreated—or, rather, attempted to advance past and onward towards the more open center of the arena as far as he could determine it—from the dragon. The Mara was not ready to latch onto her in his version of hand-to-hand, not if he could help it and certainly not while she was in the air. That was only a last resort. Now that he knew he could succeed, peppering her with feathers from a safer distance like a sneezing porcupine had greater appeal.

Besides, even from afar her vintage wasn’t that bad, and it paid for itself if one was patient and lucky.

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

Thoughts.

"Vocal Words."

Auki
08-26-2012, 12:48 PM
Panting breaths reduced to wheezes, the arid air sapping moisture from her tongue without restraint. It felt like a lifetime since she’d seen her chill-clad domain – the icy lash of an arctic breeze, the ghostly quiet that blanketed the land, snow so soft and deadly nestled between her toes – and it was surprising to find how she missed it so. Her form was not used to being slicked by sand and perspiration; the sun was never normally hot enough to burn. Although the battle so far had been relatively short, there were parts of her skin that felt strangely sore, touched too long by the light’s swelter. Her head was faring no better. The beat of her wings kept the sky in motion – a blast of lukewarm freshness accompanying each racing shift of air – but it did not cool her down. Even the sweat that seemed to pour beneath her scales did little to alleviate the discomfort.

Her skull felt baked, branding its heat upon her mind with nought for sympathy. While migraines before had been kind enough to leave after minutes stay, this time there seemed to be a stubbornness about. It dug its heels into her thoughts and sat itself just behind her useless eyes. If sight were gifted in that moment, it would have been blurred by sheer pain; as it was, she merely felt disorientated. Unfortunately, such a battle did not leave her time to pander every need of her well-being. She tried to push it back, if just for a few minutes while she secured victory, but managed only to subdue it slightly. It would have to do; her opponent was on the move.

He…retreated. While she climbed upward in the sky, giving enough space between herself and the had-been-leaping creatures, she pondered his choice of action. When she had glanced at him - albeit it only briefly - she was sure that she had seen something akin to wings. They had glinted strangely, yes, but one could not deny the avian-inspired shape of which they took. So why had he chosen to stay on the ground?

Could he not fly? Although his being had seemed to dip and sway at times, it had never truly been enough for her to confirm one way or another. Compared to her towering height, such elevation had been too minuscule to properly monitor. She wondered then if his wings were merely ornamental, like the theatrical tail of a peacock, a display of fierce size that might intimate his smaller foes.

It was either a lack of ability… or a decision. So why would he desire to flee instead of fight?

...Fear? Previous evidence suggested not; he had addressed her confidently from the start. Moreover, if he were that nervous, then the battle would already have been hers for the taking by then. He might have been pushed back by the minions of the mirror, yet he had sliced through their numbers so easily before. Perhaps it was the sake of tactic, but what was he planning?

If she could have seen, it would have been simple to assume that the broken wing held cause to his ground-locked state. However she could only tell that she had hit something, the slightest resistance to her pummel, but not the location of the damage. For all she knew, he’d blocked with magic or weapon… hell, perhaps one of the tougher spiders had managed to get in her way. She couldn’t assume anything outside what she could sense and, for the most part, she didn’t try.

Mages, warriors, beasts that children thought resided only in imagination… she had fought against them all and won. This opponent, despite his humanoid silhouette, seemed to be something new. He fought with different tactics to her previous foes. Others might be able to find a way around it swiftly, but for her – with handicaps that conjured weakness – the task would not be an easy one. Depending on his complexity, it might be an impossible challenge before she succumbed to death.

She hoped that, with her courage fading, she might find some hidden cache of youth from which she could draw power, the final defence of a warrior pushed to its limits. It would be better to die knowing she had tried everything than be forever haunted by the possibility of it making a difference.

One thing that she did notice, amongst her preparation for attack, was the demons’ cries, their shrieks to feast on flesh. Quite suddenly, the noise had been dramatically reduced. It was not gone nor quiet – those howls still matched the voices from her nightmares – but it was certainly…quieter. She tried not to pay it much thought, but the observation was stored away for later. She was oblivious to half their gathering freezing still. All she knew was that they’d stopped jumping at her and put it down to reaching an altitude beyond their offensive range.

She was beginning to notice the other warrior’s tendency to approach nearer before attacking. Perhaps distance could be an advantage for her, if she found an ability to utilise it. With nothing substantial in the depleted landscape for her to take advantage of, she had to rely on herself to conjure a projectile.

Fire – how she missed its flavour – the bittersweet heat tickling across her tongue as it streamed between her teeth. It had been so long since she’d released it but, should all go to plan, it would be the best choice for those few seconds.

Flashes of triumph flittered in the back of her thoughts, of beating back the bastard with her flames, of how it would feel to feast on him before the judge could intervene. Her tongue would run along his skin, savouring the salt-soaked bath that trepidation bought about, peeling off the outer layer with its roughened surface. As always, they smelt best when they knew their life was ending, coated in an acidic scent of sweat and urine that confirmed the absolute loss for hope. Many would resort to prayer, but she crushed their faith so readily. Lust; desire that pounded through her body like a pulse. Flesh and organs mashed between her teeth, fuelling greed instead of sating it. Sightless, she could concentrate on her senses – in particular, taste.

Such hunger pushed against her conscious mind, joining the pressure across her aching head, but her mental will held strong versus the beast internal.

With pride, she pointed her snout in his general direction, body twisting slowly in the air to follow. She breathed deep – once, twice. Fire glands reactivated and-

Although the air she expelled was hot, it was not fire.

Inside, she could only cringe as her body failed her again.

Car'mael
08-29-2012, 01:49 AM
All around is light alright... (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s5SsdrPbHHk)
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The Mara wanted distance but it was not so different from swimming upstream, a fish fighting the current. He had to deal with the dragon’s immobile population as well as his own mobile one. Yet his hopes for height were not to his advantage here, not with the dragon so close. Her wings kept buffeting the air, and even agility would not aid him in fighting those gusts when in reasonable proximity of their wingspan—his levitating robes allowed for some control of direction in mid-air without having to push off anything solid but not against gale-force winds (the price of being light enough to stay so high). Also, if he attempted to gain height and flung himself straight up, she had less of a distance to close to strike while he attempted to get above her position. Not good when he wanted to use height for stabilizing his wing and not combat. Besides which, she was more comfortable in the air while he found it too open, bright, and well... fluffy. So as he fought for distance he stayed by the solid ground for now.

Getting anywhere was certainly more difficult now. Terhon’s leaping advance required treading on the circumference of the dragon’s frozen audience, an experience rather akin to dancing on a carpet of balloons with cleats. Granted they died easily when heavy taloned feet landed on them. Yet their active brethren scuttled atop them with ease while he was forced to sink in if he wanted purchase with the ground. Unfortunately, he did need that until he was outside the worst of the winds and range of any immediate attack. Teeth from his pursuit closed on his trailing injured wing and yanked painfully, snipping off feathers like shears, and it dragged heavily on sand and frozen spider-beasts in passing, causing a minor clatter in comparison to the active creatures’ cries. When he touched ground to make another leap to use his strong legs for fighting the winds with speed and heavy momentum, he had to sweep with good wing and glaive to clear away toothy weight intent on ripping the appendage off. He’d lost nearly a third of the feathers on that wing, but at least he was getting far enough that he could consider taking a breather, as planned.

Luckily thus far the dragon only seemed to turn his direction, a flicker of red mouth visible, perhaps attempting a roar drowned out by the hum and whistles of the god’s devising. Or so it seemed to him as his squinting eyes caught a glimpse over his shoulder while trampling her entourage. Terhon was unaware of the danger he’d just evaded by sheer luck, for such a blast of fire as she’d intended would have turned half his armor and his entire working wing to ash, leaving flesh exposed to both mirror-beasts and her. A second such blast would have ended this battle and left only a Mara-sized pile of ash to mingle with sand. But she hadn’t blasted him before this during what seemed opportune moments to him, and so he was not expecting her to start now.

Oh well. What was another blast of hot air in this sauna?

Ironic how one’s intended enemy was more beneficial than lesser targets right now! So far the dragon hadn’t seemed to have dislodged or removed his two feathers from before. With them imbedded in her flesh and blood, the Mara still fed on her life-force. Whether she was aware of his draining or not, he didn’t know nor care. Every creature was an individual in that way, though from what he could gather of those whose minds he touched while he fed, most felt it and realized it at some point, some inner instinct against death notifying the victim. Then again, if she was as insane as his earlier speculations pondered, who knew what she noticed or not?

The benefit for him was that his burned foot was feeling better and his first handful of feathers had regrown. Lesser cuts in flesh and armor and two feet of missing hair from when the mirror-beasts dogpiled him, as well as those last four feathers he’d thrown, were on the start of recovering as well. The broken wing was more recent and severe and would take additional feeding to rebound, though. No matter—so long as he had metal touching or drawing living blood, he would continue to recover.

Additional life-force would do nothing for his sweating under the sun’s weight, nor clear away the dried blood under his mending armor, nor ease his squinting gaze in the bright glare. It healed his flesh, let him regrow lost feathers, and heal armor; it added to his stamina when he tired and knitted bad injuries in sufficient quantity. It eased his hunger and continued his health and existence. But no matter how he fed, the Mara could only reach full health and satiation of his hunger at best. There was no such thing as a fat Mara. A deadly leech, but none the greater for excess.

Excess was a laughable notion given his current opposition!

On achieving a safer distance, Terhon didn’t hesitate—that wing sorely needed attention. He ended one last leap in a deep crouch, gathered his robes’ energy and his own strength, and lunged straight up for the sky! Mirror-beasts leaping for him tumbled aside as he rocketed up, their talons slicing the armor of his legs in passing and drawing new trickles of blood. The intention was to rise above the dragon’s altitude to evade her wings’ winds, to get that bit of breathing space and utilize what he’d observed about her entourage when she was elevated in this fashion. Right now he was glad for his healed foot—it helped in this powerful launch, where soreness would have sapped some of his lift. As it was, once he’d risen above the mirror-beasts he dropped his glaive to a taloned foot for grasping, hands reaching to rip a long feather from his injured wing even as he pulled it close. Whipping the longer feather around his own waist like a belt with one hand, the other keeping his injured wing to his side and folded, he began to tie the appendage to his back even as his momentum carried him up. He didn’t wait until he achieved maximum elevation but began to bind the wing as soon as he was high enough to free his hands, the very start of his “flight”.

One could never be sure about his opponent’s reaction with him becoming airborne, nor did he trust the spider-beasts to obediently freeze for him as they did her—and certainly he did not trust this food-stealing god running the show! The sooner he bound this wing, the better for both preventing further injury and easing the pain.

At least until it heals, if the dragon would be so obliging?

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

Thoughts.

"Vocal Words."

Auki
09-02-2012, 10:27 AM
She bathed shamefully in the wake of failure, not knowing whether her disastrous attempts had been noticed or not. Every bone in her body wished it were not so, but her mind’s eye was pessimistic. She could see the slight smirk of human lips; if not from her opponent, then from the judge’s ever-present observation. Embarrassment was not a usual part to her persona - she was too wise to fall sway to the judgements of others – but this was more than what mere mockery could explain. She refused to believe that she had lost the ability to breathe fire completely. Such rich power was what defined the reigning might of a dragon, flames rasping along the tongue with grace unmatched, beauty unbridled. Should she surrender that gift to senility, she would be little greater than a hatchling, more worthwhile if she were dead.

Anger boiled again, but she suppressed it. Rage could not be allowed to control her. It did not matter how temptation coaxed; sweet tenderness of meat, accented by the metallic spice of blood that coursed throughout his body, as she gorged herself without restraint. Ripping back skin that imprisoned such passions of violence and hatred, inhaling the stench without its confining walls, the fetor of rage mixing with those of flesh and gore. Her claws renting upon the face that dared defy her with such arrogance, lacerating that insolent expression she could imagine upon his visage.

No… No! She shook her head vehemently.

Her foe was still retreating, extending the distance between them. With tentative wings, she allowed herself a certain level of advance. It would be idiotic to try catching him up, even more so to get close without thought of the consequences. Yet still, she did not want to be so far away that she could not reach him should his actions demand it of her. She breathed hard, keeping pace.

The dull spasms of pain between her thoughts were bearable, but how long before they blocked her senses? It was an ache that scratched at patience, made the sunlight seem a slight too bright, and right then, she needed her wits about her. Could she survive if her anguish grew worse? Both logic and reason held muttered doubts about such chances. Just the act of flight had her stamina draining, the monotonous beat begging for a break in its rhythm. However, she couldn’t forget what awaited her upon the ground, creatures with minds more lustful than her own. Fighting back their numbers had tired her also; it had stolen too much from her physical resolution. She was trapped between the earth and air – hell of two forms – with a demon itself sharing the experience. She did not need perspicacity brimming to realise that things looked bleak.

If the battle were not concluded shortly, there would be no time for caution. Curse that she felt so weak! Even her disease was not normally so debilitating.

With a sudden flourish of upward motion, her adversary soared into the sky, quelling all previous question on his abilities in flight. She had hoped he would be slower in the air, a dream that life would give her one glimmer of mercy. How cruel a mistress fate had become that battle... Ruan had no chance of competing with speed so finely honed. It was not that she gave up – no, not yet - but she became painfully aware of her limitations. There was only a positive in that now, she did not need venture to the ground if she sought to reach him. Those monsters might have gone silent, but she did not believe that they were gone.

Her opponent had been similarly subdued when compared to a few moments before. He had been so eager to attack, yet something else - unknown to her – had taken priority. It was too much to ask that he felt the same weariness, unlikely she would guess that he was actually growing stronger.

Even so, she knew that she needed to gain the upper hand.

Glands flexed and readied for a second time. She inhaled, steadying herself. Small dots of white were dancing across her vision, but they did not panic her. From the moment she tasted the wound to her jaw, she had been expecting such visual irregularities. Her essence of life, the blood through her veins, was tainted after all, a mild hallucinogenic upon ingestion. It was almost nice to see something play before her eyes, refreshing after shadows and alarming visions alike. She only hoped that it did not affect the senses that she actually needed. There was only one chance; perhaps, not even that. The world hung on a moment.

Then, with grandeur abound, the flames erupted from between her teeth, darting across the air with wild delight. Shadows lengthened, buffeted by its glow. Despite having to overcome her surprise, she swiftly aimed her gaping jaw towards her rival. Her happiness deflated as she realised how small a target she was trying to hit, with such distance in between them. Red and gold, it cartwheeled forth, like waves folding and crashing as they ventured too far from their source. If she could only keep it up for a few minutes more, perhaps there was a chance her attack would hit true, overcome the odds. That was all she needed – she convinced herself of that – just a single strike and the balance would be turned.

Pain blossomed at her chest, an age-old thief of tranquillity, stealing the pieces of her soul that still clung to hope. Each rib felt splintered, cracking under the pressure of her laboured breaths. It was agony that any onlookers, so blissful in their youth-pumped forms, would never know. Health was wasted on their careless minds; the bitter thoughts ran through her as she wheezed. Blood and mucus clogged her throat, drowning the growl she wished to release in her wrath, subduing it to a hacking cough that racked her body mercilessly. Her fire died with it.

The body of the scale-cracked goddess dipped within their air arena, barely able to keep itself lifted with muscles seized beyond control.

Car'mael
09-13-2012, 02:50 AM
And so to an ending... (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xLYiIBCN9ec&playnext=1&list=PL08230BC08BF305AC&feature=results_video)
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Energy was life, yet everything had its price. At times one might wonder why Mara didn’t feel grateful for certain aspects of their existence regarding it. They had wonderful regenerative powers when they fed on the energy of life. The sources only offered different tastes to the energy, and at times different results. Divine energy was far too pure and powerful, a poisonous thing. Angelic and holy energy were similar, but luckily weaker. Elementals and constructs were metallic, not holding much nutrition except what others imbued within them. Magical energy was as useful as candy, if you figured Mara didn’t usually have a sweet tooth. Mortal life was far more accommodating, each species and individual having their own flavor and nutritional level affected with factors such as age, health, strength, and even emotion at times. Demonic life tended to be oddly intoxicating, an acquired taste that deformed Mara over time and consumption. Terhon hadn’t earned his foot-talons lightly. Yet in trade for living off others, Mara were cursed to be creatures of Shadow and to obey the rules binding such: running water, foes of fire and holiness, the need to seek permission to enter dwellings.

A dragon’s energy usually meant swift nutrition. This one, being old and sick, wasn’t offering as much as he’d tasted from others before. Bound to his back, his left wing was slow to recover as a result. Terhon was not exactly pleased, nor overly surprised. Since when had anything in this fight been leaning in his favor?

Well, at least he wasn’t dead and Banished back to the Fifth Shadow Plane yet.

That notion did cross his mind. Unfortunately it did right about when he noticed bright orange in the dragon’s direction, and frowned behind his mask, squinting at it—

—and abruptly flung himself higher, faster, turning right shoulder to the flare of approaching scarlet and wrapping that wing around himself, curling up as small as he could within that shielding!

The fire roared as it struck him, an intense heat of a thousand suns as it charred feathers and armor and in spots flesh to ash. The Mara shrieked like a furious eagle in his agony, a sound akin to metal grating on metal as it rang through the arena both mentally and physically. His darting upward made the strike brief, yet even a short blast was sheer torture.

Ash the scent of frankincense and myrrh fluttered through the air, dispersing with the currents stirred by the dragon’s wings. The right wing was burnt away, burnt flesh in a spindly stub all that remained against his back. The armor on his right side, particularly by that shoulder in question, was gone, flesh exposed and blackened (Mara did not turn red like humans, but black). Much of his mask was toast and crumbled off with movement as he straightened and glared at the dragon with exposed stern features, singed hair fluttering about at mere shoulder-length. His huddling into a ball had spared his face, his arms, chest and front, and his slashed legs, and much of that armor with those limbs, as well as the upper six feet of his glaive. His turning his good side towards the fire had spared his healing wing somewhat, though it too had lost about half its feathers and that which held it to his side. Moving his right arm was painful with the shoulder burns, his lost wing echoing memories of its searing demise, and his back hissed a protest at his uncurling, but his fury was stronger.

As was his hunger, his need for energy to recover. It was fight or flight now, and he could not flee to consume easier prey. So he required her death. He had not cared about killing her before, seeing her more as simply an energy-source than anything else. However, her immediate death or a far more serious wound from him would increase his own feeding on her. And being this injured, missing a whole appendage and much of his natural protection, the ancient nemesis of fire sending his body into shock, it demanded greater and faster sustenance with a drive that made his blue eyes glitter, a feverish need. Normally he wasn’t one to hold much emotion to a battle, either, but being blasted with a blaze had a tendency to bring the anger up in Terhon’s heart, fire being an old foe and instinctive hate for his species. Emotion and instinct swamped reason and calculation, making him act desperately.

<So be it!> the Mara snarled.

Terhon dove for her back as she sank, hoping to hit between the shoulderblades if a wing or talon of hers did not buffet him aside or teeth did not snap him in two. Foot-talons, dripping black blood still from their small cuts under his armor, rose and opened, passing glaive to his stronger left hand to be raised and readied. His right hand, that arm weakened by burns, attempted to help steady the shortened shaft against the trembling of muscle-spasms from the shock now threatening to affect his entire attack. His left wing, now mobile but missing many feathers and still weak, swung around to slash with what feathers remained, for all the good it might do against her armor—perhaps it could aid him more as protection against defending talons and teeth. With luck, he might slam into the dragon feet-first, use momentum and his weight to drive talons and that glaive deep through armor into flesh. This was the Mara’s last hope.

At best beyond this without his armor or wings he was easy prey to the hoard below, flesh as vulnerable as any unprotected human’s, body shaking with shock and blows not as accurate, weapons reduced to mere claws. At the least he needed his wings to sweep so many foes down and shield against the damage their claws and teeth offered! He would not be able to hang on to his glaive after this strike whether it entered her or not, for any minor jarring, even the ineffective scraping of feather-blade across scales was likely enough to break his grip now. Any stronger reaction aimed by her was certain to leave broken bones on his part. If he failed to hit true and solid, to feed the stronger off her, he could end up tumbling down to meet the voracious hoard… and his end. Even lions died if attacked by enough rats, and these had numbers on their side with him so wounded.

The dragon’s death would end this fiasco… or his own would.

As he dove, an eagle of darkness striking desperately from the sky with spirit-robes rippling as he fell, Terhon could only wonder with an inevitable sadness in that brief instant of affirmed decision if he would ever see Carmen’s next reincarnation, or if they would be forever lost to each other from here on. Mara, the rebels of heaven and hell, if their weakened and incorporeal spirits were eaten on their home plane they were simply… gone. There was no place for them in the afterlife as there was for mortals. Mara had chosen freedom from the gods.

Everything had a price.

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<Telepathy.>

Thoughts.

"Vocal Words."

Auki
09-16-2012, 09:13 PM
With the creatures below still mysteriously silent, her opponent’s grating screams were clear to her ears, reverberating through the air, unremitting. For any normal battle, the sound of an enemy’s anguish would be a triumph. She should have felt relief and glory in the apparent success of her attack; unkind how pain of self would steal her defining moment. The shrillness of the screeches had her cringing, instead of cheering victory.

Agony across skull and ribs – cracked bone and bruised muscle – she knew that it would not die in time to make a difference. She could barely move except to keep herself afloat, conserving energy that seemed so sparse in the bite of battle. Teeth gritted, her lips peeling back in feint of a snarl, one that failed to vocalise over the whine in her throat. Dragons were supposed to roar terror into foes; this was pitiful.

She couldn’t even keep track of her prey. All infrared capabilities – subconscious or not – had been lost to her, too tired to carry on. The stimuli against her senses seemed disorientated, drowned by each reminder of her body’s torment, disillusioned by the toxicity of her swallowed blood. There was the dull realisation that her adversary was likely planning something, the vague hope that he had been too wounded to do so.

There was no acknowledgement from her that the Mara was drawing closer. Her head only sank in exhaustion; she felt defeated. Any movements she performed were necessary for survival; future attacks would be sparse and fuelled only by desperation. With the whirl of air and the pounding in her head, she did not even feel her opponent’s passing. The winds parted at the sheer speed of his advance, no hope to resist him.

His presence was only made clear when it was too late.

The chink of metal hitting scale, the splinter of its impact. Just the force was enough to catch her by surprise. For such a small creature, the strength that he wielded was monstrous. When had dragons become mere runts of the world’s species? Why did she feel hunted, instead of the hunter? At the first hint of her opponent’s attack, each muscle and tendon tightened, trying to draw away from the pain they knew was coming. Nerves desired to crawl from where the Mara had targeted, skin shying back, tense with apprehension. Futile were her body’s attempts, locked in by anatomy as they were. She could almost hear their screams of desolate hope.

The glaive cracked against her hardened armour and pierced, sending flecks of broken scale raining on the watching creatures below. Metal sank deeper, each lunge-offered slight of power digging his blade another inch into her figure. It wasn’t long before the tip found flesh, carving through her skin as if it were paper. Blood bubbled, a fountain of red just waiting to blossom when the weapon was removed. His wing, flailing, caught sharp edges along her lower neck. Despite her efforts to avoid it, feathers raked wide grooves onto the surface – it was fortunate that he was not near enough to maim her truly with them.

Her neck twisted, teeth snapping, trying to reach her rival. She was too weak though, the angle impossible to accomplish. She made plans to throw him off – the bastard deserved it for decimating her age-chafed hide – but reality had its own ideas.

With her debilitating torture layered freshly with new pain, her body began to lose all functionality. Wings buckled under her weight, failing to rise when the need called for them. There was one surreal moment where she floated, caught in a whimsical pocket of time, fire-wrapped agony tipping every nerve that webbed her form. Just a second; it was all she needed for dread to flood her mind.

From underneath, air rushed to meet her, slapping against scales as she plummeted down. Knees braced, jaw clenched. She only fell a dozen metres – a minute distance for one of her size - but bones were frail and joints not used to jarring. The sand became a pleasant cushion for her sharp descent, bending to the will of her mass, but it hardened quickly as pressure of her flattened feet compacted it. A grunt escaped between her teeth, spraying spittle and blood across the desert floor.

Before she had time to capture breath, mind-slashing howls refilled the arena, the mirror-born demons springing back to life. There was no way for her to see, but butchered faith let her believe she was surrounded. Where was her opponent now? She felt only pain, unable to distinguish his presence upon her back. It was too much to ask that he had left her in peace.

I must… keep going…

What foolish thoughts in her position – at her stage in life as well – but misguided advice was what she needed. If she had to fend off their army, so be it; her attempts before had been flawed but not in vain. Carefully, she steeled herself for the barrage she knew was coming, the finale of a fight that tore her pride to shreds.

John
09-22-2012, 07:58 PM
Before I announce the winner, I want to say that, for me, this was an epic read. Both of you did an awesome job and in my opinion both of you are deserving of the win. I also want to apologize again for forgetting the post count for the fight as I'm sure what I was going to do with 2 more posts would have been fun to not only read but for both of you to write. I also want to apologize a little for writing this out of character, but at least it's a safe bet that if I do it this way there won't be a thong dance in this post. I know. I know. You really wanted the thong dance but in all honesty, I'm a little tired today.

Anyway...

I want to thank Imp, Storm, The Imposter, Jacogos, Wattz, Mary Sue and Kris for helping with the the judging duties for this battle. I imagine it wasn't the easiest task and you are all awesome for helping out.

I also want to thank everyone who entered this year. All your contributions have helped to make the Rumble what it is. And despite a few hiccups along the way, all of it was awesome and I look forward to doing this again next year.

And finally, I want to thank the members of staff who contributed to this by judging the battles and coming up with wonderful and creative fields for the competitors. Also for putting up with my insanity, but they should all be used to that by now XD

So now, without further ado, it gives me great pleasure to announce the winner of the 2012 Rumble on RPA.

Auki/Rarity as Ruan the dragon.

Once again, congratulations to both combatants for making it to the gold match. You both worked hard at this and in my opinion both deserve to win.

As always Auki and Car'mael, you may contact Kris or I for more information on what the judges said on how they came to their decision.

Thanks everyone and see you next year!