TOA Round 3: The Ragnarok VS Schorl

[psychosyd]

Alright, we only have 16 fighters left... and what a show it has been so far... lets continue to keep this thing going with a bang!

1. NO SIGNITURES!

2. No God Mods... you know the basics, "possesing characters", godlike abilities, cheapo moves, power dodging or Didging killing opponents stuff like that.

NOTE: The small time taking over, for like adding to battle posts are legal, as long as you dont hurt them or whatnot

3. 2 ways to win- Killing your opponent hte legal, way, getting them to accept the win, when you have bested them, or by a judges decision. ACCEPT it... if you have a problem with there decision, then PM me....

4. Judges will post who won, and a short paragraph on why they believe that person won

5. Round 3 starts on Sunday September 22... and will run till saturday the 28th

Round 4 starts that following sunday

So each tournament round lasts a week, you will have that much time to defeat your opponent. Topics will be closed on Saturday night, or sunday morning... if possible, and the next round will start. This tournament will be done in 6 weeks.

YOu may begin anytime

(ooc i hope you don't mind me recycling my unsused intro from the last bout, good luck ^_^ )
Schorl sighed angrily as he leant back against the cold stone wall, his robes unable to mask the impression of the gaps between brick and brick and he shuffled uncomfortably in an attempt to find some purchase and gain some comfort, he sat on a low wooden bench in one corner of the long hall, three brass chandeliers set at equal distances and set into the high ceiling cast a flickering half light down upon his blood stained robes.

Crimson, Red, the colour of passion, wild, unheeding to those who would place boundaries upon it, the simple testament of the unblemished emotion, tainted by the sharing of its colour with that of blood, the very colour and shade spread across my robes, a silent testimony to my own particular vice, and an unmistakable trophy of my past opponents... may the next soul to face me enjoy the last pure thing that remains in this world... Death... to he who waits, may his soul be free to wander

A single globule of white wax works its way down one lighted candle and over the already filled shallow ditch around its base, it rolls further, leaving a glittering liquid trail behind it, further, gathering at the bottom of the holder and reaching itself toward the ground, finally, it falls, silently, freedom is grasped to its non-sentient bosom for the single second before it dashes against the rocks and scatters itself around a 5 inch radius, Schorls eyes pass unknowingly over it and steal a glance at those other contenders gathered in the waiting room, healing from the last fight and anxious for the third, his eyes smile and he looks away, his expression turning suddenly serious as he catches the whisper of a distant voice, his long training allows for him to easily tune out the hum of conversation filling the hall and he focuses upon the voice for a mere second, 'Number 20 - Schorl' was all he needed to hear.

"At last its time for some fun, all this relaxation was making me tense."

Schorl extends one arm and wraps his unblemished fingers around the gnarled wood of his staff, it hums in greeting and grows warm to the touch, Schorl sighs, the air escaping his throat as if grating across his vocal chords, he slowly rises to his feet, his robes smoothing the folds of fabric and interwoven metal against his slender build and trailing slightly across the floor at his back as he steps forwards, The centre ring... how fitting, other bouts were being held in the outer rings, or the grounds outside the coliseum, it seemed to Schorl as if either he or his opponent had given the crowd a good show the last time.

If it is me they are pleased with, may they enjoy this specatacle... otherwise... perhaps i should be somewhat cautious...

His forehead creases with thought, quickly dismissed as the regular pleasurable insanity runs rampant amongst his thoughts once again, he motions absently with one hand and utters a single word as a gusty wind gathers around his feet, whipping up the thin layer of dust covering the floor as he begins to rise, first slowly, then quickly, picking up more and more speed as he heads on a collision course with the roof, the jewel in his staff burns brightly and bathes the ceiling in a blinding light, when the light fades, Schorl is lost from the searching eyes of those still inhabiting the waiting room.

Schorl emerges from the sand covering the centre ring, his long silvery hair breaking through the surface, sand dunes and small hills give the impression of a tossing sea, trapped in a still life of glittering diamonds glimmering in the noon sunlight, and Schorl, rising slowly from the murky depths, his head raised arrogantly as if the ruler of this territory, setting the crowd in a clamorous roar of appreciation and anticipation, his feet emerge last, clad in leather boots and the trailing back of his robe dangling by his heels as he settles his feet into the soft sand, he frowns as he looks out over the sand once again.

These people have no imagination, it may be a bigger arena, but there's more to a fight than size...

Feeling a little disheartened at the similarity of this arena from his last he communes momentarily with his staff, Korendor, nodding appreciatively at what he hears he draws the staff up from his side and places it across his waist before drawing his feet off the ground and folding his legs in mid air, a slight portion of his mind holding the levitation as he releases his staff and allows it to rest against his hips as he makes several wide sweeping motions in four seperate directions, a slight sliver of light left behind his fingertips as each sweep is made.

The lines of light begin to legthen, as if tearing a hole in reality itself as they draw towards each other and encompass the floating mage before spreading similar threads across the gaps, in a matter of seconds a glittering web of light cups the mage in its curved bottom as it draws itself from a web into a fully encompassing sphere, blocking Schorl from sight as he disengages his levitation and settles himself inside the spherical force, he reaches his magics outwards, forming another slender trail of light just under the sphere, it expands until it shrouds the arena floor, a shimmering yet distorted reflection of the hastily created floor shows on the spheres reflective surface, yet reveals nothing of Schorls actions, inside the sphere, the mages eyes are shut tight, working purely on knowledge and instinct as he continues to weave his magics into the sand and the light, his voice reverberates and echoes inside the sphere, hearing nothing of the outside he continues to chant and weave, many members of the crowd leap back in terror as the floor of the pit ignites suddenly, a quick flash of painfully bright light and a momentary wave of blistering heat and then the flames die, no light remains atop the sand, yet neither, now, does the sand itself, Schorls magics fusing what was once a million glittering crystals into one gargantuan one, a single layer of thick glass, perfectly preserving the dips and rises of the arenas floor.

Schorl casts the sphere from the existential plane with a wave and a thought and drops silently back to earth, landing in a soft crouch and using his magics to steady himself upon the slippery surface, he look over his handiwork and down upon his faint reflection, he grins at the silent crowd and his grins grows wider as he notices a few half charred corpses hanging over the arena edge, the smell of burning flesh and scorched hair filling the coliseum, Schorl slams his staff against the glass, testing its ability to hold under pressure, the nods to himself as the crowds shouts and catcalls start up again, more intensity buried within their voices and the noise created dwarfing any previous that Schorl has had the displeasure of being a target of, he flicks his hair over one shoulder and stands unmoving, wondering if the reptile would be more suited to this battleground, nodding to himself, his face set in a grim expression and his knuckles beginning to whiten as his grip tightens on his staff, its gnarled oak surface pressing each and every curve into the soft flesh of his palm as he withdraws inside himself, mentally nudging the reptiles conciousness into action, his body becomes wracked with pain yet he stands against it, hardened against the tumultous storm arising inside him from centuries of endurance.

The many shadows engulfing the west wall shake off their physical boundaries and wriggle free of their chains as they make haste on their path towards Schorl, as they grow nearer they seem to rise from the ground, two dimensional blankets of darkness twisting around Schorls miniature form in some perversely intriguing dance, as one they tighten their hold and wrap him in darkness, clinging to his skin and stretching over his mouth as he opens and shuts it in many a number of silent screams as the pain rises inside his body, twisting his organs and reforming them to suit his chosen form, the shadows expand as his body swells, his skin blistering and his tongue splitting in half as his body is rebuilt to suit his silently voiced needs, the strangely shaped blisters harden and take on the texture of leathery scales, his hair flattens against his scalp and moulds itself into his now scaly flesh, his staff, untouched by the dark shadows, hums violently and the jewel flashes as it reacts to Schorls pain, then fades abruptly as the staff is torn from the physical plane and placed back inside its home ready to be called upon once again.

Schorls eyes open, two red slits of bestial fury peering through the dark shroud, mirroring his undiguised pleasure at being released as the heavy robes begin to twist around him and change in consistency, the shadows flee this new creature as their physical boundaries are reinstated upon them and they return to the western side of the arena and lay dormant, continuing to struggle for freedom yet finding no purchase against the suns rays.

Schorl flexes his diminutive wings, lean, taut muscle pulling under a covering of muddy brown scales, his black mythril plate mail seeming to dismiss the sun as no glint nor gleam is cast from the dark metal, his greaves extend from his foot to stretch slightly above his knees and end with sharpened points and his helm covers all but his face, leaving the squat bulging face to leer menacingly at all who earn its gaze, his red eyes glimmer seductively with a delighted bloodlust and his parched lips part in a sneer to reveal row after row of sharp soot encrusted teeth, his recently forked tongue extends between the razor sharp points and flickers up and down in the air as he wraps one pudgy hand around the hilt of the katana hanging by his waist, in one smooth liquid movement he draws it from its sheath, the expected hiss of metal replaced by a smooth silence, the crystal blade creating no noise as he experimentally slices it through the air and hisses approvingly, its crystalline blade shrouded in a shimmering half light, an ephemeral fog that seems to grate upon a persons sanity as it begins to scream, whisperings of death and decay contained within the keening wail, it dies to a hum as it senses no souls to harvest yet, but one is approaching, it can wait them out... Schorl raises his reptilian voice, the words seeming more to be hissed than spoken as his massive lungs raise his voice above the crowd, several octaves lower and emerging a reverberating bass hiss that he hopes will reach his opponent.

"Come warrior, may your blade be swift, and your sssoul be strong."

[The Ragnarok]

Arrogantly rising from a perched knee, Nanjing's head hung aghast in the late evening air, he had obliterated his second opponent with but a bit of hardship. The battle had raged on for several grueling hours, the day turning to night, casting the Forrest of Illusions into a grimy, hollowed tomb; the trees were decimated and had fallen from the horrendous war.

Cracking his neck slightly with shaky hands, Nanjing began to hear louder hoots of deranged owls, the soft chirping of annoying crickets, and animals scurrying throughout the shady evening. It was a calm, peaceful, and chilly evening indeed. "I hope that tournament official will show himself soon. I'd hate to travel all the way back to the arena, in a pathetic manner such as this." Nanjing's words flew about his mind several times, for he was too weary to travel from the fierce battlegrounds, which drained much of his incredible energy; his thoughts were the undeniable truth.

Crispy, burnt flesh spots were scattered around Nanjing's facial area, mostly his cheeks, and two larger spots of coal arched upon his forehead; his whole body was ignited with electricity in a previous defense attempt. "My face...curses. I should have known better than to use an untested spell!" He shouted with tightly clenched fists, as his body shivered in the horizon's tranquil glow.

After a few placid moments of breathing, Nanjing soon began to feel the harsh affects of the onslaught that had taken place. He gasped madly for air, for his adrenalin had finally stopped pumping itself into him, and with a groans of pain Nanjing stood, quivering, praying that the priest of the Tournament of Arms would arrive soon enough to stop this throbbing pain; for it was his first battle against anyone as tough as Tsunami.

As if God had answered a rare prayer, a portal of shimmering silver encompassed a dark, dry, and dusty particle of ground, massive wisps of glowing light poured into this oval shaped grail. Many odd noises made themselves abundant from this metallic void; white cloaks began to emerge from the blinding rays, and slowly sloped their way downward ready to confront Nanjing. "Heh, just in time..." He whispered under a hoarse breath.

Finally, a priest covered in saintly pastel white robes with strange, scarlet decals stalked his way toward Nanjing, his pointy zucchetto stuck tightly around his old, fragile head. "There you are, Nanjing Rou. I've been wondering where you have been. It took you this long to complete combat? And look what terrible burns you have shrouding that face. My, my...I believe you shall need this" The kindly old man reached into an unknown pocket within his cloaks, and thrust his left palm out toward Nanjing, there appeared a small, simple vase, with glowing azure liquid filled inside. "Take it,” He said, "Drink it, and it shall heal you. It is one of my own creations. You'll find that it mends wounds very quickly." The tournament priest handed the wounded man the container of healing, and smiled elusively. "Well, you're next match is back at the coliseum. I hope to see you there soon, all freshened up. I had better be going now...good luck in your upcoming match." With those friendly words, and the potion delivered, Matthias, Nanjing's assigned white mage, set back off into the teleportation crystal; it closed menacingly.

"What the...he didn't even let me speak! That old fool! He could have at least let me come with him...blast..." He scorned in disgust, and sat down on an old, cedar stump, preparing to devour the liquid. "I wonder what this stuff tastes like. Hmm…my face really needs some stitching up. Well, here goes nothing!"

Swiftly, Nanjing opened the metal cork screwed into the top of the holy vial, and prepared to drink what felt like a warm, oozing substance. Without hesitation, he allowed the medicine to trickle down his soar throat; it felt and tasted divinely. "Delicious! Just like the stuff we drank deep in Midgard! How I miss my home already...I'm growing weak."

Shortly after he had finished consuming the godly liquid, Nanjing's face began to contract a bright bluish color, each wound with a corresponding light. What was once a devastating burn soon began to diminish, reforming Nanjing's skin into a fresh new layer of flesh. Before he could even admire these healing procedures, Nanjing's plump, handsome face was in perfect condition, as was the rest of his body. "Holy...I feel pumped! Time to go demolish..."
His phrase stopped short. Feeling quite agitated, Nanjing fiddled around with the insides of his pocket, but to no avail, he had lost the information sheet he was given. "Curses! Damnit...what to do...all I remember was that I was fightening in the center ring...the main arena of the coliseum. Well...I know where that is...I might as well use my plain shift to get there much quicker. But first..."

Wriggling out of his now ruined black leather jacket, Nanjing perused it carefully, checking to see if the thunder had mauled his outer wear; it was brutally burnt and unwearable. In a moment of sheer anger, he chunked the jacket far into the woods, into a cloister of collapsed trees, crumpled grass, and butchered bushes. Now, only wearing a tight, sweat stained egg white muscle shirt, a pair of trousers, which were as dark as space itself in a cold dreary corner, his equally black short gloves, and the Elvin crafted boots with silvery dew dripping off the mahogany, and of course, the imbedded jewel within his glove imbued with all of Lezard Valeth's mighty sprit and soul; he could never loose that precious gem. Short, hard onyx shaded hair stood itself on end as well of Nanjing's near perfect circular shaped face; with three organically fused light brown freckles tatooed upon the nose in a triangular fashion.

"There we are...another destroyed jacket" Nanjing sighed as if loosing something of small value "Oh well...I have many more in my preparations area. I'll make do. Time to go..." He smirked wildly, clasping Tyrtu Yorai, a magnificent, fully tanged blade, to his heart. The soft, vibrant black velvet enshrouding the sword's hilt could barley be seen in this nightfall, only the simple, metallic pearlescent eye engraved into the guard, as well as the ytterbium blade, could be seen, glinting off of the disappearing red-orange azimuth.

Skillfully, Nanjing gallantly rose his sword high into the misty air, mauve clusters of faded energy gathered and appeared around the edge, and brought it down with a swift slice, cutting a hole into this plane of reality. For a Plane Shifting technique, this void was gargantuan, enough for at least 3 people to walk in and out of; it grew larger by the second. "Excellent. Off to the center arena!" A great, valiant shout pulled its way out of Nanjing's lips, he was ready to duel; and with that, he stepped into the twirling purple portal.

Upon his entering Nanjing realized that the portal enclosed him, vastly. Staring into the nexus of purple swirling violently counter-clockwise was like looking into several stands of nebulas of luminescent violet shades, spinning like madmen. However, Jake had taught him, under extremely severe conditions, how to manage a Plane Shift perfectly, and how to keep your focus during an intense travel shift such as this one. Burgundy marked the Plane Shift of journeys, it could take you anywhere you envision, as long as it exists somewhere in the millions of universes. Nanjing himself dared not travel between planets, let alone galaxies or massive other planes of existence.

Meditating intensively, he closed his eyes, both hands stood palm to palm, the tips of his phalanges rested square beneath his nose, the focused son of deities used his what was left of his concentration to keep his sword afloat, right along side his unmoving fingers. It was nearly time, and all Nanjing's could see or hear was his own mind, comprising an image of the center arena the tour guide had shown him during pre-combat, and demanding that he be taken there.

Silence soon turned to massive cheers and several boo's from a wild crowd, the havoc decrypted his mind; he had arrived. Finding himself standing upon a hard, glassy substance, Nanjing stood in disbelief, he had been so focused, he totally forgot about the arrival! Stomping on the strange, clear flooring, he thought for a moment, "What the...I thought this coliseum was somewhat like a dune...or a desert. Strange...wait a moment..." Nanjing looked through the clear glass, noticing billions of grains of sand resting silently below. "Heh...just a mere polymorph spell. I should have realized it sooner. Sand to glass...hehe. How well crafted too. Oh...shit! Where's my opponent?!" Nanjing shouted at random, realizing he had spent all his time admiring what he stood upon instead of the duel itself.

Frantically, his bloody, crimson eyes darted about, observing how this arena actually contained a roof, spying the fires that illuminated the coliseum, the agitated, impatient crowd, and finally, a demonic looking creature; it presented many reptilian features...almost like a lizard-man. Having never seen his adversary's previous fights, Nanjing stood appalled, he never knew there were half-beasts in this tournament. Suddenly, the name of his opponent struck him; it was Schorl, the half elf, and half reptile.

Gazing in awe at this broad, menacing, heavily armored creature, clad in an outfit of nice, smooth black piece of mail, a dangerous, spiky helm, and red eyes, quite like Nanjing's, but without the slit. Schorl also gripped an amazing katana in a large, scaly hand; the crystal blade was frighteningly demonic. Several words slid their way out of his opponent's mouth, the hissing was sharp in texture, and Nanjing had a tough enough time decoding the message. "Come to me warrior...may your blade be swift...and your soul be strong" Were the words.

"Heh...he thinks he can win, using phrases like that," Nanjing chuckled softly, "Schorl! You'd better hope you have the skills to handle all my incredible attacks! You soul will need to be much stronger than mine..." He gave a debonair wink, which probably could not be seen, since the arena happened to be so gargantuan.

Tyrtu Yorai still hung in the air, supported only by psychic forces being emanating constantly by Nanjing. He grasped the sword, slowly, tightening his phalanges around the comfortable hilt, and let it drop, hitting the glass with a loud thud. Carefully looking backward, into the recesses of his mind, Nanjing concentrated hard, trying to conjure up a spell of some use against a gigantic lizard man.

A calm gentle voice worked its way into Nanjing's head, reminding him of a spell Lezard had once used against some stone fiends; they were reptilians as well. Twas Loki's voice, seer of mischief, who's life was sparred generously by Platina, it spoke in a crackly voice inside the inner sanctum of the mind, "Remember the Frigid Damsel, or the Absolute Zero, son of my betrayer? Monsters as foul as these cannot stand the cold wintry breezes..."

"That is right...Loki...thanks for the help." Nanjing responded telepathically, and prepared a stance to fully support him, and allowed Tyrtu Yorai to drop, it's platinum guard bounced of the see-through material flooring, and plopped down majestically; the sword was of no use to him now.

Legs spread partially apart, and the edge of the pants lingering on Nanjing's red brown boots, Nanjing appeared to be standing aloof, but in actuality, it was a good stance for calling upon minor magics, such as a spell he was about to cast upon the arena. The crowd stilled, knowing the battle was about to commence. His left arm elegantly intersected the under section of his right arm, and was thrown out, fully straight, and palm as flat as the human hand would allow so. Breaking what was thought to be an immobile seal of incoherent breathing, Nanjing sighed, and calmed his sprit, his rugged, double-jointed fingers bobbled up and down, summoning some sort of icy elemental magic.

Lowering his voice to a deep, nearly devilish voice, Nanjing uttered, "Frigid Damsel." in a rather coarse tone. Upon the arrival of these words, three ridged icebergs, about five feet in diameter, slowly materialized out of cadet blue diamonds above his head, each were a deep royal blue, and began charging with sheer rage toward the deadly beast that was Schorl. Whilst gaining velocity at an incredible rate, the spectators noticed small females erupt from the ice, their midnight black hair was cold, and nearly frozen over, and they also carried a fierce looking icicle blade; each one was poised to maul his foe in a gory death. However, this was not all Nanjing had in store for his opponent. He had something far more clever in store for Schorl, which flowed deviously through his zeitgeist; he hoped this meager attack would keep his opponent occupied for at least a short period of time.

Screaching, like a pipe being bent in half, a zephyr of wind wailed through the arena, causing the sound of a perfect circle that formed around Nanjing's aghast pose, to become very eerie, almost as if a portal was opening up into the netherworlds. Inscribed in this crazily glowing sphere were ancient markings, used to display the sacredness of this holy swirl which willingly derived itself from the sand dunes and glassy plates upon which he was poised; it was time to unleash another untold havoc.

Pushing his left arm forward, Nanjing, in a blur, slapped his right, dirt stained hand upon the back of his outwardly thrusted wrist, carefully placing, and insuring all gloved fingers were adjacent. The rune imbedded sphere was rising upward, growing taller by the second, entangling him in flickering celestial rays; it would willingly disperse its energy to feed Nanjing's attack. "Even the deepest unlit pits of space could not produce the sheer coldness needed to conjure this attack from the graves of sorcerers long past. ABSOLUTE ZERO!" This hideous shout blasted painfully from his red, abused lungs and throat.

Clusters of sturdy, clear wisps of ice formed in a nexus around Schorl, encircling him, and spawning until they had reached a substantial height; they had formed a triangular prism around the soothing umber brown Elvin reptilian. Nanjing, with sheer psychic willpower, commanded the cool azure crystals to enclose upon his adversary; they would form a mountain around Schorl, the temperature would soon reach the coldest in existence, absolute zero

Letting go of all that energy, the bright, sunny sphere had evaporated into nothingness; its energy had flown into the creation of this massively devastating spellbinding attack. Relaxing, and feeling fully confident, Nanjing let his right arm drop, his stance slack, and gave an arrogant twist of his wrist, his fingers coming forward and shooting downward, repetitively; mocking his foe to come forth, and show what he was made of. "Come on Schorl!" He screamed with his head curved to the right, "Show me your limitations!"

(ooc excellent intro)

Schorl narrowed his eyes as a slender tear in reality formed amidst the tumultuous storm of clashing voices filling the pit, a flickering opening in the physical plane widens into an arch, its twisting depths drawing Schorls eyes deep, his elven form had something similar, although he used it to pass into the earth rather than between the dimensions, the hope was still there, knowledge of his opponents possible attacks may prove useful, its hypnotic depths drew the Reptile out of itself on a wave of bliss, he shook his head and drew his eyes away, observing such a vortex and not losing oneself must be a difficult task, and in the Reptile had neither the discipline of mind to resist, nor knowledge enough of this anomaly to draw his eyes away sooner, his reptilian crimson eyes flared as blood as they drew around its edges, waiting for it to fade yet somehow being drawn back, he wrenched away once again and contented himself with watching its reflection, somehow it reduced the hypnotic effect tenfold.

Tell me Elf, what magical trickery is this.

A planeshift, Lizard, be wary, those who use such powerful magics are seldom unpracticed in the other areas of the arcane.

The arcane does not interest me, this... this folly of magic does however, what can i expect from my opponent after witnessing this?

I do not have to answer such questions you do realise?

Perhaps not, but although its shape may change, we still share the same body, if i perish, so do you.

So be it, he is likely to be practiced in other magics, flames or ice are what you should be wary of, it is also likely he is practiced in the physical as well as the magical, keep your distance until you find what he favours.

The Lizard nods to himself, his head bobbing atop an almost invisible neck and his helm clattering against his plate mail with each dip of his chin, his eyes taking a more subdued shade in concentration, then resuming their violently crimson red as he notices the void to be closed and his opponent admiring the Elf's handiwork, and for a second, he allowed himself to do the same, he has admired the reflections yet never the diamond itself, it was a truly magnificent site for combat, atop the raging waves of a tossed sea preserved in glass for an eternity, somehow spiritual as well as invigorating, he felt somehow as if the elf had designed it to impress upon the senses, as if it would ensure him a memory in this tournament even if he himself were to stumble on the track to the final bout.

Clever elf, although my memory shall come from battle, yours shall come from art and skill, intriguing how you should choose such a memory.

Not expecting an answer he flickers his tongue across his teeth and the smells of the arena and his opponent remind him of the combat, he shakes himself again as he glances towards his opponent, each eye swivelling of its own accord as his left searches the left half of the arena, whilst his right observes his opponent, taking every detail, every ripple of muscle and each singular rend in his shirt, his left eye turned also to his opponent and his right scouted the other half of the arena as the left continued its search, he who said know your opponent had no idea how literally Schorl took advice if he thought it could better his instinct and ability, the corners of his mouth twitch with humourous entertainment at his opponents retort accompanied by a wink, his draconically enhanced vision likened to an eagles in past wars, mainly by the elf in their many conversations, he had grown to think of the elf as a seperate conciousness instead of a vessel, though none could really call the Reptile a friend, Schorl was a close to one as he had ever desired, a little too close.

"Soul is nothing, strength and instinct are what decides a battle, test my skill warrior, all i ask is a challenge." his voice comes out a whisper, barely audible to himself above the noise that stirs the tides of emotion and bloodlust.

Schorl had learned long ago never to judge his opponents by appearance, the elf seemed to be weak, yet his strength lay not in the body, it hung beyond reach, beyond sight, yet it was there, as strong as his, merely displaced, Schorl watched his opponent, his left eye staring at a three small disturbances in the air, joined quickly by his right eye as the shimmering distortions took form, burning with a cold flame they took the shape of small icebergs and began the journey across the arena, their large bulk belieing their speed as they quickly closed the distance.

Their surface cracked, a slender rip in such perfection as three dark haired maidens broke from its depths, their black hair frigid and stiff, unmoving as they flew towards him at a speed that made the icebergs movement seem like a crawl, perfectly crafted spears of ice grasped in their white, frost flecked hands and they raised them ready to strike, Schorl drew himself close to the ground, his katana held by his waist and its blade crossing his chest and over one shoulder, his other hand flexed, long nails, unsuited to handling a sword, clicked together in a chilling rhythym and his lips parted, drawn taut to bare his teeth, long, soot encrusted points of ivory staring out as he opened his shark-like jaw to make a bite easier, the hand wrapped around his katana kept its unmoving grip while his arm slowly, fluidly, drew the katana horizontal across his chest and brought it round in a lightning fast swipe, ending as his arm straightened, the sword seeming a crystal extension of the murky brown body, the fog swirling around it revealing glimpses of the blade as it draws back and forth across its length.

Schorls mouth twists into a smirk and his eyes take a hard edge as the first of three maidens draws close, he calls upon his skill and sets the whirlwind blade in motion, his katana seeming to dance upon the spectators vision as it flickers back and forth at an almost intolerable speed, the Maidens spear snaps in three places and the females head falls from her body, body and diembodied head smashing upon the ground as they return to the ice that formed them, his blade never ceases movement, each strike flowing fluidly and smoothyl into the next, leaping forwards then darting sideways as yet another ice maiden smashes into the hard glass, the glass cracks as the icebergs falls to earth, momentarily taking to the air again as it tops a rise in the glass and leaps skywards before crashing back to earth, each one of the three heading in on slightly different courses and blocking all but one route of escape, the third maiden shatters her spear upon Schorls helm as his attention is distracted, his blade still alive with the dance of death yet no longer directed flawlessly, he quickly regains control as his helm jars his head back and upwards, he stares for a moment into the furious eyes of the damsel before her head follows its brethren and she shatters against the glass.

Schorls eyes stare unblinkingly at the approaching icebergs, his sword ceasing its flickering and resuming a place by his side, hanging loosely, useless against the chunks of ice hastily making their way towards him, he bends his knees to gain some leverage and sets them in the numerous ruts atop the crystal battle field in order to gain some purchase on the otherwise slippery ground, he sheathes his katana and flexes his wings, spreading them wide as he readies himself for a leap of faith, all at once he leaps, uncoiling like a spring, reaching a full 15 feet into the air with the aid of his madly flapping wings, the icebergs pas below him and slam against the arena wall, the thick stone holds fast and shards of ice scatter across the wall and a short distance from their hulking mass, he flaps his wings again as he begins to descend, taking the edge off the landing as he falls into a crouch, his heavy feet slapping against the clear ridges of the glass and sending a shiver of pain through his body.

Another flaw of this impressive battlefield... its near impossible to judge the surface from almost any height.

Schorl realises his folly immediately, the frigid damsels had been a distraction, a ruse, and it had worked perfectly, keeping Schorl too occupied for too long and allowing Nanjing the time he needed to produce a new spell, Schorl was impressed at this use of time and power, seldom had he met someone so adept at the ways of subterfuge, he inclined his head impercetibly, he had learned enough of his opponents ways to gain the advantage in time, don't give him a chance, no distance, no respite, that way it will be down to skill, he won't have time to throw me off course.

Schorl rises from his crouch, once again seeking out his opponent, his head twist one way, then the other after losing track after the jump, he notices the comparitively small warrior, a large rune impressed upon the air around him, the runic magics were the elfs speciality, taught to him through the staff after which he took his last name, Schorl draws himself to his full seven feet in height, his powerful muscles rippling under armour and scales as he once again laid a hand on his katana and immediately drew the hand back as Nanjings spell set in its effect, Schorls body reacted immediately to the drop in temperature, the shimmering crystals of ice began to rotate in place, millions of glittering shards, their points revolving around their respective centres as it grew steadily colder, Schorls body temperature dropped also, his mastery over the body allowing him to stay at ease even in the freezing cold surrounding him, yet even his mastery had limits, the cold was rising faster than he could correct his own temperature, he clenched his teeth and crouched again, setting his chin against his pure black breastplate, he could feel the heat rising as he called upon the fire within himself and unleashed its fury contained within his maw, the flames raged unhindered inside his mouth for a fraction of a second, his scales were cold yet his organs warm from the momentary burst of heat.

The Reptile rises smoothly, his mouth blistered and burned on the inside, and he drew his katana as he leapt forwards, breaking from the icy prison in a shower of crystal shards and a swipe of his sword, his mastery over the body compensating for the arenas change in temperature, not as drastic as the drop within the prison yet still substantial enough to warrant the use of his mastery, his footfalls clapped out a steady slap of scale upon glass as he sprinted forwards, his Katana held straight behind him.

His eyes flicker with concentration as he fights down the strain of keeping up his speed despite the heavy armour, practical as it may be it hinders his progress when speed is of the essence, his legs ache with protest as he lunges forwards and lands a mere foot away from Nanjing, his voice yet more distorted by his burns as he speaks again.

"You have proved strength of mind, but magic issss not all, put that blade to ussse or lossse your head to mine!"

With those words he pulls his skill into play again and tightens his grasp on the katana so as not to lose his grip whilst it dances with his soul, it flickers round from behind him, a vertical slash approaching from Nanjings right side, moving quickly towards his upper arm and chest, the blades misty shroud begins to wail anew as it sense a soul to make its own with one slice, one death, another soul for its devices, Schorl turns with his blade, setting his side parrallel to Nanjings chest and pushing off with his left foot.

If the blade finds no way past, perhaps the shoulder will.

[psychosyd]

Alright...

First off... to both of you...

there is a point where posts just go beyond what they need to be... you guys went a bit far into yer lengths.... I love the fact you have nice full posts... but enough is enough, thats for sure.

Schorl, I love your reptile/wizard idea... it was quite nice... but, you got a bit verbose... unessecary talking, or movments went into your actions. Like I said, description is nice, but enough is enough. I didnt really catch anything totally unique in your attack patterns... your skills, I like the fact that Rag cought a lizards weakness, and exploited it in a interesting manner. You had quite a bit to work with Schorl, but I am awarding this battle to The Ragnarok