Round 1: Enchanter (Emonalach) VS. Monk (Hodor)- Judge Kris

[Kris]

You are found in frozen land with a giant mosaic floor made of three fish in the middle. The fish are close to each other, however, not that close, allowing a space to move about as you like.

http://www.ideashomedesign.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/Bathroom-pebble-tiles-floor-ideas.jpg

The air is thin and it is hard for you to breathe.

The rules are simple, in order to attack you must stand upon one of the fish, and you must make sure that your rival does not stand on your own fish symbol.

Any attack outside of the floor, or even on the same fish, will be canceled.

Each of you must post three time and then you need to wait for me to post before you can continue your lasts post.

Each of you have 72 hours to respond between each post


By the flick of a coin the first to post will be TheDoctor

[TheDoctor]

Come wind, come snow, come winterland.

The maw of oblivion snapped shut, a sign of rejection from the endless abyss. It was not his time, not now. Not yet. The material realms still demanded his presence. He knew not why, or even how, and yet their call was unambiguous. Answers he searched for, but more questions he found. All he could rely on was that of his own twisted soul.

I have resigned myself to death.

A solid surface coalesced beneath his darkened boots, the tails of his midnight black coat billowing gently before a plain of snow. The land was caked with a thin layer of ice, and yet through this ice he could see the patterned tile below. The tripolar transcription of fish gazed with empty eyes upon the milky, clouded sky above. Gentle flakes drifted across his vision, not enough to hinder it but plenty to provide a serene ambiance of peace.

And on the other side stood another figure. Shorter and smaller than that of his own, this stranger resembled a boy at first glance. However, his wrinkled face and worn skin seemed to imply age and wisdom, along with physical discipline. Humble cloth and a belt of various trinkets constructed his attire. His overall appearance embodied a peaceful lifestyle, but appearance alone was not so bold as to deliver such judgment. No, this creature was not to be brushed aside.

Come will to show the hidden hand.

He knew not why he moved upon the stage. He knew not why he navigated towards the fish farthest from the small stranger. He knew not what drove him to participate in this intwining of fates. What little knowledge he had of his situation was limited to the environment and that of his own abilities. No matter how prevalently he pushed upon the mists that clouded his memory, they refused to yield, shrouding him in the mystery of amnesia.

An anonymous thirst for blood nudged him ever so lightly down the path of conflict, and that angered him more than anything. What deity dared to play him such a fashion? What had the nerve to toy with his desires and memories, to make his hunger for knowledge be sated only through murder?

He would see this through to the end. He would find this omniscient game master at the end of his travels. And he would rend this being’s entity by force, drink its seeping aether, and brand his name into its crippled mind.

Emonalach.

So I can draw my final breath.

The moment his boot touched the crusted ice over the mosaic fish, the patterned leviathan illuminated with a gentle sapphire aura. His twisted grey eyes leveled upon the half-man as his lips moved wordlessly, but not without speech. What flowed from his throat was not a language known to any, and to call it a language at all would be an insult to its impossible sound. Limiting such a chant to societal communication would parallel to classifying the sounds of nature; such an act is impossible. Rather, the guttural fluctuations and airy vibrations were felt more than they were heard. They embodied the power at the Fallen’s hands, the immeasurable disharmony at his unnatural voice.

Snowflakes melted as they encountered the warmth that radiated from the enchanter, but such a warmth was only a harbinger for what was to come.

[Jacogos]

Let The Wheel of Fate Watch Over Our Engagement... (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SDHZgVf8xsU&ab_channel=F4m1LyGuy10)



The world around seemed to... alter. It twisted and turned, then seemed to vibrate... and then was still once more. Even before Hodor opened his eyes again, he knew the world around him had shifted, changed to become something else. The cool air settled upon his skin, drawing out goosebumps that forced him to shiver at least once.

The monk drew a breath. It was a much more difficult attempt than he had first expected, causing the motion to be long and drawn out. When his lungs were filled, he exhaled slowly, enjoying the rush of chilled wind through his body. This was life. He was alive, still. Being toyed with by these outside forces had not taken his existence yet. Yet... There was always that feeling of... what one might feel just before a long drop, before a grueling fight, before a performance, even... An expectation... One that happens just before a finale.

Hodor opened his eyes, a stunning green that flicked around his environment from his seated position on the ground. He drank in his surroundings slowly, determining every piece of information he could in about a minute. The icy landscape that encapsulated this 'arena' was barren, devoid of other life. Quite the shame, really. If there had been others, perhaps there might've been some actual reasoning for him to be here, destined to combat this... being before him.

The monk locked eyes with this man who was just across the mosaic from him. He was tall, at least by human standards, easily twice his own height. His facial appearance was dirty and unkempt at best, as if he had not been getting enough sleep. In contrast, his outfit was pristine, though completely black in coloration. A thief, likely, or some dark mage. He was eying Hodor in a villainous manner, muttering something in a language he did not know. Ice melted around his feet, which made Hodor believe he was either otherworldly or exuding heat from some manner of spell preparation. This would not do, if that was the case.

Standing from his meditative pose, Hodor planted his bare feet on the ice and bowed to this other being, smiling reservedly. The monk began to walk towards the other one as he also started speaking.

"Greetings," Hodor said good-naturedly, his steps slow and precise, careful not to slip on the layer of ice crusted over the mosaic. His voice was naturally lilting, but not too high or low on the scale, which probably meant it was low for a halfling. As he approached the dark-dressed man, Hodor made it a point to begin circling around to his right, stepping onto the fish that Emonalach was also on.

"I am Hodor, monk of the Order of..." Strange. He couldn't quite remember that part. No matter. "Might I know your name, stranger?" Hodor's eyes brightened in curiosity to know the other man's identity. Perhaps this might allow him more insight into the reasoning behind his being here. In the back of his mind, Hodor knew that he was here to fight, here to defeat this man in combat. But that was not his way, not his method. If there was some other way to appease those that drew him here, he would find it.

This was why he joined the man on his fish. For some reason, he knew that this would leave the man unable to harm him. Why, Hodor knew not, but he was happy to believe it until proven wrong. It would expedite things quite well if the man was not set on murdering him immediately. He must know why he was here... Or perhaps had some idea as to what had brought them here. Hodor watched the man as he awaited his answer; he would attempt to stay on the same fish as the man should he move away, to help avoid conflict...

For Eternity could not be achieved through war... Only Peace. War was Fleeting... Peace, Eternal.

[TheDoctor]

Patience; a virtue that any man of power must harbor. Lack of so spawns dissension in his thoughts and actions, causing contradictory decrees and weak-willed repeals should he find previous measures to be incorrect. Should anxiety seize his wit, then the twins of error and flaw shall conquer his command with ease. Mistakes of such a caliber always cost man his power, if not his very life and soul.

Ambition, no matter how admirable, requires restraint to come to fruition.

Upon contact with Hodor's foot, the fish's glow dissolved into a full, orange hue. The monk clearly did not share Emonalach's hunger for answers, appearing to put his ideals ahead of his questions. Or perhaps, did he know something that the Fallen did not? What answers could he offer to him in light of their current situation? Could the halfling be correct in his manifest desire to avoid this conflict?

Impossible. He was little more than an obstruction in this twisted game.

Nonetheless, as the halfling approached the towering man, Emonalach’s chanting ceased. The hearth-like warmth that seeped from his figure slowly retracted, and the vocal modulations halted. As crisp winds licked his exposed cheeks, tossing a slender strand of black hair across his face, his sunken eyes softened at the smaller monk. He was silent for a moment, permitting the serenity of their circumstance to fill the air. Then, a gentle, calm smile spread across his drying lips, parting the finely-trimmed beard around his mouth.

“Emonalach.” The enchanter’s tongue was neither throaty nor sly, but elegant; a voice of social competence and confidence. It was strong and certain, and yet the light, ringing resonance that paralleled his oral movements, almost indistinguishable amongst the distant howling of winter’s breath, was only just unsettling enough to raise hairs on common folk's skin. Fright and intimidation, however, were not his intention. Such blatant forms of mental interference were far beneath him.

No. There were much better ways to obliterate an opponent's will.

Hodor's gesture of peace seemed to be denied as Emonalach pivoted, the snow under his foot crunching. A gust of air whipped his coat about, and in the flurry of movement, he vanished, reappearing instantaneously upon the fish farthest from the halfling's positon. Both mosaics assumed a cerulean resonance from their vacancy, illuminating the circles beneath his eyes. His hands clasped behind his back as he took a deep, cold breath, his mind hardening in anticipation.

"I would say more, Hodor, but I am not a man of many words." As the enchanter spoke, his tongue seemed to divide into two separate voices. While one conveyed the common tongue, the other articulated a light fast language of indiscernible origin. Unlike the previous chant, he constructed this of worded phrases, although they flowed so quickly that it was over nearly as soon as it had started. "Conversation is not my strong suit."

In his briefest moment of vocal enchantment, Emonalach had extended a continuation of his own soul in an attempt to seize that of Hodor's. He would seek to have the monk's very essence bound to his own, a spiritual fettering of their physical entities. The ethereal lunge was not visual, let alone tangible, and instead shimmered with a hair-raising quiver.

Patience; a virtue that any man of power used to his utmost advantage.

[Jacogos]

Our Destinies, Now Entangled, Must Clash (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_7yck2GRUMo&ab_channel=BrawlBRSTMs3)



'Emonalach' came the answer to the monk's question. A powerful name, that of someone destined for something great. Sadly, the name brought no further memories to Hodor's mind. Alas, he would have to find some other method of extracting his memories. Surely this man had some form of answer, something that would help him remember.

Hodor was about to further his line of questioning when the Enchanter turned suddenly, his motion resulting in the sudden disappearance of the man entirely. It only took a quick glance about the area for the monk to relocate his opposition, but it took another moment for Hodor to realize what this meant. Instant relocation... Teleportation... That will be no easy power to combat, should it come to that. He was still not convinced that a fight was the only way to proceed in this... Event.

Of course, the other being was not so convinced. He spoke more, informing Hodor of his antipathy to wordiness. Hodor smiled faintly, turning to face his opponent once more.

"Perhaps any other time, I might be the same... But surely you have questions, friend! Surely you desire, as do I, to know what more there is to this charade, do you not?" Hodor began approaching Emonalach once more, heedless of the man's attempt to keep distance between them.

Then, a shock. Hodor paused in his approach as his body shuddered. He had noted part of Emonalach's chanting sounded akin to what he had been speaking before, but with a different tinge, a less... violent timbre. The monk felt his very being quiver as something overtook him, melded with him even... His essence grew hazy, and his oneness with the universe... shifted. As the continents create earthquakes when their plates shift along each other, the fiber of Hodor's being shook as this outside force sought to merge with his.

The monk felt the breath leave his lungs as he withstood this... attack (for what else could it be?). He stood for a moment, not knowing what had happened to him, knowing only that some integral part of his being had been... tampered with. He stood, one foot on the line between where his and Emonalach's fish merged, the lights of both glimmering from below to signal their non-inclusive activation. Hodor stood, facing down the other man with an expression of bewilderment on his face as if he had been struck on the face.

What in the Hereafter's name was that...? Hodor asked himself, his breath slowly coming back in short gasps. Steeling himself, the halfling took another step forward, placing himself fully on the fish that was also aligned to Emonalach. The change in coloration reflected the change in Hodor's sense of self; he wondered what had been done to him that had so thoroughly shook his being. To that end, the monk began to speak once more.

"You continue your offense... For what purpose?" he asked, peering at Emonalach inquisitively. "What wrong have I done to you, Emonalach? Do creatures such as yourself throw themselves into combat so rashly? Is there no alternative? No choice? Perhaps something within you that yearns for something else?" At this point, Hodor had regained his breath, allowing him to straighten and assume a more self-assured stance. This man might not back down... And if it continued to resort to these attacks of the soul, Hodor would be forced to fight him...

Surely there was another way, though... Peace should always triumph, he believed. Today, it would.

[TheDoctor]

"Perhaps something within you that yearns for something else?"

How could that be possible? Like a persistent itch, the bloodlust demanded for the death of this unfortunate halfling, but it was not the driving force behind his actions. Rather, his indomitable curiosity for their questionable circumstances overwhelmed all other needs and desires. Even at the risk of losing his own life, he would know his precedent, for what could he hunger for more than answers to his infinite questions?

Only, perhaps, vengeance upon the impudent soul who pulled him into this tundra and puppeted him so.

"You have not wronged me at all, monk." Emonalach inhaled a shallow breath, feeling the cold dry the back of his throat. The air was thin and difficult to breath, but he would finish this encounter before it became a handicap. "I play this game exactly because I have questions, and I know that you alone cannot provide me with any answers. The absence of your order's title in your mind tells me that much."

The sapphire tiles dissolved into orange, the color of futility, as Hodor stepped upon the fish. His attempts at peace had fallen upon deaf ears. "I wanted to end this quickly, monk, yet your persistence has soiled it." His smile descended into a disappointed frown, his eyes settling into a proud glare once again. "Perhaps this shall sate our devious masters' thirst for death."

His left index finger rose nonchalantly to his lips. "May you feel my pain, and relish in it." Then, seizing his fingernail with his front teeth, he ripped it off.

Pain was a fickle friend, indeed. It informed the physical body of damages and tears, utilizing human instinct to withdrawal from the source immediately. It was a wise and knowledgeable sense, one of the many that mankind had yet to train and control. Such a useful sense, however, had a deadly exchange. It could paralyze the body and the mind, and it could make men say and do the unspeakable. It was selfish, vouching for self-preservation over any moral code.

Pain, however, did not command the Fallen's body and mind as it did to others. It was tamed and chained to his will, which refused to allow command over his nerves. The crippling sting, in fact, was completely inhibited, feeling like a pressured touch instead. He knew that despite a fingernail's construction of dead cells, it retained an immense plethora of nerves. For how strongly they clung to skin, they were certainly crippling when removed.

The Fallen spat the fingernail to the frosted tile as he flicked away the blood now pouring from his finger. With their entities intertwined, Emonalach knew that without any sort of mystical counter to his self-inflicted wound, the halfling would feel an incredible lance of pain through his own left index finger. It was a mere taste of what was to come, a warning of dire circumstances. Somehow, though, he knew it wouldn't be enough. He needed more.

With his eyes on Hodor, the enchanter dug the nails of his right hand into his own left forearm, moments away from flaying the skin from his wrist.

[Jacogos]

Entwined Together, They Watch Our Every Move (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Uo7OziwwGQ&list=PL4619CDF2FD0D8394&index=2&ab_channel=TheOSTcorner)



So he believes that by defeating me and continuing on after the battle, he will get the answers he seeks... Then surely, the same must go for me, Hodor thought, now within a mere 5 feet of his 'opponent'. The comment about his Order's name stung a little, but Hodor was not about to let an aside bother him too much. He was much more concerned about the Enchanter's inherent desire to see him dead. At least I know it isn't because of something I did unknowingly... He thought with a low chuckle.

"So you believe defeating me will give you the knowledge you so desire... And what part of that requires you to attempt my destruction?" the Monk asked, knowing that very much sounded like someone who was simply seeking his own preservation. Perhaps he was, in a way, but truly there was no greater desire in his heart than to avoid conflict and all its self-destructive tendencies.

And self-destructive it was. As Hodor asked that question, the man known as Emonalach drew a hand to his face, a finger to his mouth. Before the halfling had time to think about what he might be doing, pain tore through his hand like someone sticking a white-hot iron through it. He caught himself just before he screamed, reducing the sound to a muffled groan inside his mouth, jaw aching from clenching his teeth. He felt dizzy, but he kept himself erect.

His mind spun from what he just experienced, eyes shut tight from the effort of not voicing his pain. What... happened...? He knew, from the moments before the pain, that the man had... Emonalach had... ripped his fingernail off. The result... was this? Hesitantly, Hodor brought his own hand up, opening his eyes to look at the nail that had felt like it was being ripped off. To his surprise, it remained. Hodor stared at his hand for a moment, pain still throbbing where it felt like a fingernail should not exist.

"So this is your power..." Hodor wheezed, eyes flickering back to his opponent, whose blood was now staining the mosaic at his feet. "Surely the same would've happened had I attacked you, no doubt." Hodor chuckled lightly, his voice still a little weak. Strangely, he was still very dizzy. This thin air is getting to me... he thought, drawing in a deeper breath than he had been taking. It was difficult, without a doubt.

"Regardless, I seek no quarrel with you. And this simply reinforces my lack of desire to do you harm. If you believe this will give you the answers you seek... Well, there is little I can do to stop you, now is there?" Hodor smiled softly, bringing his hands up and together in front of him, pressing his open palms to each other. He began to clear his mind, attempting to calm his nerves and return to his previously zen state. As he did so, he noted that the feeling of some outside force acting on him was retreating, slipping off of him like oil in the rain. Was that how he did this...? Or was that something else entirely...? he thought for a moment. Allowing his face to slip into a facade of serenity, Hodor meditated, heedless of what his opponent might do with this opening.

He drifted for a moment, mentally reaching a state of weightless bliss that made the pain and dizziness seem like distant problems. Within him, his heart slowed its pace, his breathing regulated. He heard the faint whispers of the wind around him, the slight movement of ice and snow falling around them, shifted with the minute changes in weight standing upon them. The crisp smell of clean air permeated his nostrils, enough where he could even taste it despite his mouth being closed. The chill was beginning to get to him, goosebumps riddling the entirety of his skin and beginning to make him shiver. Here, however, in this state of calm, temperature was a minor hindrance, one that bothered him not.

He emptied his mind, forgoing mulling over his predicament or the fate of his opponent. He desired complete balance, peace, and tranquility. He achieved it with the trained effort of many years in practice doing this same thing in far more stressful situations. Under waterfalls, amidst the intense heat of an active volcano, deep in the forest with no food or water, at the top of a pole from which a fall would be certain death. Compared to those, this was an entry level challenge... Hodor would realign himself and face this entity with his mind clear once more, perhaps even convince him to rethink his ways.

For Peace was the true way... and no other path brought you to your destination quite like it.

[Kris]

The fish on the marble floor glow and before you realize what's happening, you see that water soon cover yourselves up completely.

Oddly enough, you are able to breath and walk just fine, as though you were in the open air.

However, fish in every color and size soon turn to swirl and breathe and swim by you.

It is difficult to move with so many of them and... some they even bite?!


http://slides.worldofstock.com/NFI1172.jpg


[Note: The limitation that was previously presented is gone. You can fight as you see fit. The only thing which may hinder or block you is the fish that surrounds you in packs.
They may slow you down, make you hit a fish instead of your foe, or even attack you (small bites, nothing too serious).

Good luck,

Each of you have 2 more posts to go]

[TheDoctor]

The halfling’s mental discipline was, without a doubt, admirable; annoying, yet admirable. Unlike the enchanter, Hodor had experienced the fiery pain in his fingertip, and yet he remained true to his vow of peace. Even with the knowledge of further physical torture to come, he chose to meditate instead, to find tranquility in the tumultuous storm of his flaring nerves. Yes, such patience was indeed admirable. That’s why Emonalach found himself hating the man for it.

But the art of flaying was not so easy to disregard. Skin was without a doubt one of the most sensitive organs of the body—definitely the most sensitive that Emonalach could desecrate without crippling himself in the process. The peeling of such a material caused even the strongest men to wail, a fact that, despite his amnesic state, the enchanter knew well. Coaxing the monk into a screaming mass of flesh would take time, but it was all but inevitable at this rate.

You bring this upon yourself, halfwit.

The moment before he pulled at the skin on his forearm, however, the snowy landscape was immediately plunged into the waters of an endless ocean. No, it was as if the water had simply appeared, prompted by no cascading tsunami or monumental monsoon. They had not teleported, for the tiled fish beneath them still remained, although their restricting power had apparently subsided. Ironically, their watery tomb was now absolutely brimming with corporeal creatures: shimmering marlins and slithering eels, brisk swordfish and bulging salmon, stingrays and sharks of all kinds. While some of the seafarers were no larger than minnows, others swelled to proportions even beyond the enchanter’s towering build. Light pierced through the watery heavens above, and Emonalach was surprised to find that he was entirely unhindered by the choking substance.

It was a beautiful sight to behold, but the Fallen was not here for sightseeing.

With the mosaics now void of any ability to halt their engagement, he smiled, digging his fingernails even deeper into his skin. Finally the ominous shadow in his mind could have its thirst quenched by the destruction of this monk, for no longer was he required to abide by this twisted arena’s fetters. Drawing out the halfling’s suffering was a necessity no more, despite Emonalach’s rekindled desire to break his will. Patience had rewarded him with a most certain victory.

He wrenched his arm violently, ripping a patch of bloodied skin the size of a decorative quill from his forearm and tossed it aside, breathing in the phantasmal fluid as it fluttered to the ground. A cluster of fish immediately swam for the discarded skin to snack on while several braver fins ventured closer to nibble at the exposed flesh upon his arm. But after a moment to permit the pain to strike Hodor, Emonalach reassumed his mystical chanting from earlier. The smaller marine life nearby frightfully scattered as the water around him vibrated with unnatural convulsions, pulsing with perverted growls. It became lukewarm, then like bathwater as the surrounding temperature rose higher and higher at the binary high and low frequencies that discharged from his very being.

Upon his chanting, their ethereal tether severed, relinquishing Hodor from the masochistic pain that trembled through his body. All was not well, however; the macabre chant from Emonalach’s soul was hideous and undoubtedly of ill will. Its inevitable release was not to be taken lightly.

[Jacogos]

So Fate Decrees That We Dance (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hJk_ygHxZxo&ab_channel=FamilyJules7X)



Hodor continued his meditation for mere moments before something around him altered. Unlike the jarring attack that had come from Emonalach a bare couple minutes prior, this change was subtle, a mild shift in the way the world around him felt. Even before he opened his eyes, the monk noticed this change, how the air was no longer thin and complicated to breathe, how the chill no longer stung his bare skin. Finding it strange, to say the least, Hodor opened his eyes slowly.

What a sight it was. Dozens- nay, hundreds of species of fish swarmed around himself and the enchanter. Some brushed past his arm, others flit away quickly when he moved slightly to reach out to them, mesmerized. He found that his movements were not impeded by the 'water' that surrounded the duo, merely seemed to be there for the purpose of allowing the fish movement. As he left his right arm outstretched momentarily, a long, silvery pike shot out from the other fish and snapped at his finger. Blood was drawn and Hodor hissed in shock as he withdrew his appendage quickly. He merely blinked and lost track of the culprit in the masses, causing him to frown thoughtfully.

His thoughts were interrupted by a far more intense pain, however. Lost in his revel at the world around him, Hodor had managed to forget that the other man still wished him harm. And harm he did; agony tore across his lower arm, the very same one that had been subjected to the rending pain of having its nail falsely tore off. This time, it seemed as if he very flesh was being peeled off in a thick chunk, slowly causing his nerves to scream their anguish as they shot lightning bolts up through his body to inform his brain.

The monk knew this pain was false, as with before; perhaps that was what helped him endure. Yet all the same, he inhaled sharply and groaned into his clenched mouth as the torture dug its way through his body. After a moment, Hodor reopened his eyes (Had he closed them? In pain, likely), peering through his unwilling tears at his assailant. The man's arm bled from where he had gouged himself, aquatic creatures now attempting to feast upon the open wound hesitantly. Even through his blurred vision, the monk could see when the fish scattered however, as even he felt the heat begin to exude off his opponent.

This again... Unfortunately for me, I had the mosaic's protection last time I had to deal with this... magic. Without that allowing me to escape true harm... the halfling frowned sadly, blinking his tears away as he regarded Emonalach once more. He had not moved away since Hodor had last approached him, leaving them still a mere 5 feet away from each other. In addition, Hodor noticed that the presence that had been within and without his being, the one that he assumed had been Emonalach's power of mirroring, had disappeared completely. It seems I am at a deciding point...

With the magic of the arena changing and forgoing the previous inhibition on their fight, Hodor no longer had a surefire method of avoiding conflict. No, now his opponent had free reign to inflict harm upon the monk in whatever method he saw fit. No matter what method the Enchanter had available to him, that meant only one thing for Hodor...

His life was now at stake.

The realization was bittersweet. Some part of him knew that he could not dance along on the mosaic forever with this entity; Emonalach was far too bent on seeing him harm to simply allow Hodor to avoid injury forever. Yet his way of thinking, his very way of life, even, demanded that peace be sought over war at all times. It was who he was. And yet, as with all things... There was an exception: defend your life or that of another less fortunate than you, even if it would drive you into conflict; seek to end that conflict as soon as possible, even with force of your own.

It seemed it was finally that time. There was the bitter part; Hodor knew it would have to come to this. That did not make him enjoy it any more... Nay, it only made him feel worse. In the ideal world, peace was the only answer. Surely there was a way to sort this out without resorting to mindless violence...

Enough moping about what could be, Hodor, the monk thought, centering himself. The future distracts from the present. Ignoring the searing pain in his left arm, from both instances of Emonalach's power, Hodor took a stance, curling his fingers loosely in preparation for what was about to come.

"It seems that the hand of fate has decreed that I can no longer run from this fight..." Hodor murmured, looking at his opponent with a sad smile. "If that is to be the case... Then I am forced to seek my own self-preservation over that of my ideals... I regret that we might have been able to see this through peacefully, in another life..." Hodor closed his eyes and bowed his head momentarily as he finished speaking. Forgive me, brothers. Would that Peace could have ruled here...

Without another word, the monk channeled energy into his hands. In his current stance, he held his right arm forward and prominently, keeping his left closer to his body and reserved, as if favoring it. Because of this, the Enchanter would likely notice that primarily Hodor's right hand began to spark with electrical energy. As Hodor suspected, the energy did not disperse into the water around them, removed from its influence as they were. Which meant all of it would be traveling where Hodor decided it would...

Using speed that had been left unused throughout the 'fight', Hodor closed the 5 foot distance in a near-instant. With his right arm held in front, Hodor made as if to strike Emonalach in the chest....

Or rather, that's what he hoped the enchanter would think. Expecting an easy dodge to such an obvious attack, Hodor moved in preparation for what he assumed Emonalach would do: a quick dodge to his right to avoid Hodor's strike. Hodor moved first, however, slipping down and to his left to get where he expected Emonalach to be before the Enchanter fully committed to the dodge. He moved, shifting his body behind his opponent's much taller form, and struck out with his left hand for the back of Emonalach's right knee. This hand was also charged with electricity, as was how Hodor used his technique, though hopefully the enchanter hadn't noticed that until now.

But of course, the monk was not finished there. This technique was three parts in total, as he was taught, as his muscled demanded him to follow through. Like clockwork, his body continued to move, muscle memory now taking over for his mind. Committing more to his movement, Hodor now was fully behind his opponent, compensating for any sort of alternative movement he made. Expecting his opponent to fall from being hit in the knee, Hodor now aimed his second strike at Emonalach's back, aiming to deliver his discharging punch to the man's spine via his right fist, a jab to the small of the back to incapacitate the Enchanter.

Two strikes down, and the last to finish the technique. The third strike Hodor did not truly have a planned location. So much depended on whether or not the first two strikes landed correctly and where they had been intended to that Hodor couldn't accurately predict every possible outcome enough to place this last attack somewhere logical. Opening his left hand to a flat palm, Hodor sought to strike the humanoid in the closest spot left to him at this point. The third blow would be delivered with the flat of Hodor's hand, an attack that Hodor would put all of his rather inconsequential weight into in an effort to further incapacitate his opponent. Perhaps if Emonalach could not get up to retaliate, then Hodor would be free to amend for this attack with a gesture of peace.

That's all I aim for here... To further peace by ending the violence... I pray that it how I will be looked upon for these actions... Hodor thought as he dedicated himself to this course of action.

[TheDoctor]

That was exactly what I needed, halfwit.

As the halfling immediately struck towards him, Emonalach made no move to avoid his strikes. He was smart enough to know that little could be done against such physical prowess, and so he did not act upon it. After the feint attack, the enchanter crumpled to the ground as his left knee was knocked out from under him, yet he took no notice of the pain that should've exploded through his leg. Even the electrical shock charged at Hodor's fists seemed to dissipate upon contact, for the enchanter's resistance to his elemental magic reduced it from an electrifying burst to a welt.

Nonetheless, he had fallen, and so the monk's second strike landed precisely where it was intended, knocking him flat onto his stomach. Once again Emonalach felt the impact, but not the nerve-crushing pain or paralyzing shock. He had no doubt that if the monk's magic was sufficient to overwhelm his resistance, he would've momentarily lost the ability to move. Yet his lungs still swelled, and his hands still moved beneath him to push himself upon his knees. Not quite, little man.

Then the third strike came to his right shoulder, and a muffled pop emitted from the joint.

Emonalach snarled in fury as he threw his bloodied left hand beneath him, holding his weight from hitting the ground once again. His right arm lacked many of the functions that it had previously retained, for the shoulder was dislocated from its socket. It now hung pointlessly before him as he glared at the mosaic below, his gaze livid with anger. Now that the monk had finally acted upon their situation, the enchanter found himself relishing and thriving in his newly-found hatred for him. It seemed that Hodor once again wished to prolong his death.

But Emonalach's chanting had never stopped. You're too late.

After the monk's strikes, Emonalach struggled to rise, trembling as he straightened his weakened back and planted his right foot. "Are you finished now, halfling?" Even as he spoke, the preternatural calling rose higher both in pitch and volume, and the unrestrictive water around him rose to a simmer. His left leg buckled as he placed it beneath him, and he slowly and unsteadily straightened. The agony that his body must've felt would render any other man incapable of standing, but the Fallen was unlike any alive or dead. Willpower before compulsion; presence before body.

Emonalach's snarl fell as he rose, a despicable satisfaction budding in his eyes. Not only had the enchanter known that he had been unable to evade Hodor's attacks, but he had embraced them with open arms. In the blow upon his knee, he felt the monk's regret at his hand being forced to violence. In the blow upon his back, the monk's body's instinctive anger that came with any sort of brutality. In the blow upon his shoulder, the monk's natural fear of death, of the lifeless husk that his body would become should the call be finished.

Each of these emotions, these terrors and sorrows, the enchanter wove into a spell of immense proportions. He lit them as an effigy in the name of oblivion, and in response he felt his chest ignite with a celestial fire. It was a burning element of demonic origin, a curling, spitting flame that threatened to devour him should he refuse to tame it. Yet his will was of iron, and he chained it to his command at its summoning.

Turning over his shoulder to look upon the monk, Emonalach exhaled. "In the name of our shrouded masters, I command that you burn."

Absolute silence enveloped their arena as Emonalach was set aflame. Then, with an ethereal, infernal roar of a hellish domain, white fires exploded from his body in all directions, cascading from his figure that was now extinguished. The screaming flames, should they make impact, would burn the monk's skin and devour his mind, causing unparalleled fright, demonic hallucinations, or the destruction of his will to even move.

Emonalach closed his eyes gently as the flames ravaged some of the surrounding marine life, burning the fish to charcoal that drifted soullessly to the ground. "May you find comfort in the swaddling of the abyss."

[Jacogos]

And At Last... Curtain Call... (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3gY9k85ld6I&feature=youtu.be&ab_channel=pppg547)



The monk was completely surprised when his entire attack went off without a hitch. Emonalach did not even attempt to dodge him, simply allowed every strike to connect effortlessly. This caused Hodor to worry greatly.

No... He must gain something from this... Would that not make sense, from what I already know of his powers? he thought grimly, backing off as Emonalach rose back to his feet unsteadily. Hodor cursed this development; why could the man not stay down? His arm was disabled, his legs only half willing to heed his commands... Surely his own life was more valuable than pursuing this horrid war effort, was it not?

Perhaps not... Furthermore, the electrical power behind his attacks didn't seem to affect the Enchanter in the slightest, despite the obvious success of his hits. There is no reason to continue with the finisher if that is the case... I'll have to defeat him naturally... Hodor stepped back a few more paces, discharging his magic from his hands; he felt his body surge with energy now that his finishing move was rescinded; his agility would surely be at peak performance.

And at its peak it would need to be. As Hodor had suspected from the surging aura surrounding the Enchanter, the man announced to him that he desired him to burn. What else was to come but a fire attack? Hodor's muscles tensed in anticipation as Emonalach caught aflame. Despite the curious sight of someone being on fire underwater, the monk knew that this was not something to be amused at. When the fire erupted from the Enchanter's body, Hodor was already moving.

Move!1 he screamed at his body, willing it to retreat from the surge of flames that sought to consume him in his entirety. Multiple back handsprings in quick succession were his chosen method of escape, his hands and then feet switching between propelling his body in the direction furthest from this attack that would surely be his demise. Even from this distance, Hodor could feel the malevolent energies that swirled about the hellfire.

Perhaps that was because the 'distance' wasn't as far as he thought, however. Just as Hodor began to stop his retreat, flames licked the lower part of his legs and feet, mid-somersault as he was. Once again, pain desired to rip him apart. On the surface, his feet and legs burned, the hairs on his plus-sized feet burning away in the hellish grip of Emonalach's magic. Even skin seemed to be frying off as the fires ate away as his being, desiring him to become ash.

Yet that was not the only thing that happened to him due to the fire's dark influence. Even grazed by the flames as he was, Hodor began to feel his mind shake from something sinister. A dark presence imposed itself on his psyche, willing him to heed its words. After Hodor came to an abrupt stop flat on his back from missing his leg spring, he slowly opened his eyes to see the horrors that were being inflicted upon his vision.

In place of fish leisurely swimming through the endless sea they were fighting in, Hodor's vision was replaced with a visage of sheer horror; he was drowning in blood, hellspawn darting through the ichor and grinning toothy macabre grins at him as they passed through his sight, gnashing sharpened teeth at him as if waiting for him to look away so that they might feast on him. Startled yelps filled the surrounding area; were those his? He grasped at the ground in fright and found thick, sandy flesh, which appeared to be stitched together in a grotesque manner.

As all of this pervaded his senses and sought to drive him mad, however, something rang out in the innermost part of his mind...

The World is But an Illusion...

Hodor's gasps of fright slowed, his breathing steadying. He closed his eyes, no longer heeding the voice that told him he was nothing, that he should simply give up now. No... Hodor would not be so easily cowed. Still lying on his back, the halfling once again meditated back into a state of zen and control, slowly pushing the dark presence away from its position of influence on his mind.

At length, Hodor regained his upright state, planting his scorched feet on the sandy bottom of the deep blue. He opened his eyes once more, greeted by the surreal scene of fish flying through breathable water rather than the hellscape he had previously experienced. Upon remembering it, Hodor felt the presence attempt to exert its vision once more, but the monk pushed it aside, asserting his own view; the World is But an Illusion, Where You Must Decide What is Real. An old mantra, yes, but one that spoke true in his heart especially now. Whether or not their current 'arena' was real or not, the monk chose to believe it was, and that drove him to continue this fight.

I will finish this now... Hodor thought, now approaching Emonalach once more. His feet cried out their pain, but the halfling had experienced worse and continued before. This would be nothing, for now. I will finish this. For the peace I desire, and for the war that he does. One will prevail... And in victory or death, I will find the Peace that seems to forever elude me. Steadying himself, Hodor prepared himself to make the final blow.

"War is Fleeting... Peace, Eternal..." he chanted to himself in a breathless whisper, even as he charged the Enchanter one final time.

[Kris]

I hate you both for making me choose :/

I think you both did an amazing job, and I have to admit I read it more than 3 times, kept changing my scores, closing the tab, reopening the browser, closing it, forcing myself to open and read it again, give up half way and then finally cursing you both for making me choose.

But a winner must be decided.

So... here are my results.


Jaco:

Writing Style: 9 (Ideas 3; Flow 3; Conventions 3).

Effectiveness of Combat: 8 (Character Consistency 3; Ingenuity 2; Interaction 3)

Control of the Field: 7 (Environmental Awareness 3; Strategic Awareness 2; Control of the Fight 2)

Total: 24



The Doc

Writing Style: 9 (Ideas 3; Flow 3; Conventions 3).

Effectiveness of Combat: 8 (Character Consistency 3; Ingenuity 3; Interaction 2)

Control of the Field: 8 (Environmental Awareness 2; Strategic Awareness 3; Control of the Fight 3)

Total: 25

Congratulation Doc. You are moving to the next stage, you better keep up your awesomeness and Jaco, you were brilliant too, I really want to read more from you in the future :D