Chiefs' Hall, The Arena of Gurata

To begin with, Cyril didn't seem to notice the Jasian who was speaking to him. His gaze remained focused on the forms of the disappearing Chief and her companions as they left the Hall. His hand remained on his sheated weapon, curling around the pommel before he blinked, mind seeming to return to the scene around him as he looked towards Drosil. Only tuning halfway through Drosil's rapid fire of words, the Prince seemed briefly confused before he finally caught in to what was being said to him. He was silent for just a moment after Drosil finished speaking, looking over the man carefully before he gave a nod.

"Alright, Drosil. Chief Yihira, Chief Kisarin, what about what he asked for?" The Prince looked over to the remaining Guratan Chiefs, hand finally dropping from his blade once again. Both seemed to go over the request, before Yihira shrugged slightly, giving a nod.

"Don't see why not. If the room doesn't work for you, we'll find a place to set up a tent. Is your brother keeping watch over the horses, or something?" Though she directed the question towards Drosil, Cyril was the one to answer as he rubbed the back of his head, before glancing over to the side.

"It's, uh... complicated. Drosil will make sure they're both good to go, like he said."

Cyril's gaze had been drawn over towards the back of the group, where Gortul stood with the man that they had saved and picked up. The Sentinel had been quiet while carrying the man even after he had woken up for two reasons; one, to keep track over everything else that was going on and being said, and two, to try and avoid talking to the new person in general. It wasn't out of being rude, or anything like that at all; no, Gortul was used to others introducing him and being his voice, with him only having to say a few words in general. Enough silence was enough though, and Gortul gave a heavy sigh. Briefly he pursed his lips, before slowly saying in his heavy accent, "Gortul is not a mute, no sir. He is just... a listener! Yes, he prefers to listen instead of talk. You are better, yes? Let us see if we can get you on your feet."

Not bothering to answer the question about being a "ladies' man," Gortul suddenly turned the former invalid in his arms, getting him upright. Though the movements were very suddenly and somewhat disorienting, the big man set the one he carried onto his feet, making sure to brush him off with heavy pats. "There! Good as new! Be sure to thank Lady Diane whenever you have a moment. She's the only reason why you can walk at all right now, you know. Just, uh... say it quickly." Before Gortul could explain with somewhat difficulty how he had become a Sentinel, he felt a pat on his arm from the Prince himself, who had approached after brushing off Yihira's question.

"Thank you, Gortul. And glad to see you on your feet." The latter sentence was, of course, directed to the man that they had found just a few feet from death's door. "Thankfully it's not every day we find some collapsed and wounded in the middle of the road, but you were lucky we happened to be passing by. Apologies if this happens to be an inconvenience, but we brought you to the Homestead of Gurata with us. We didn't exactly have time to just stop where we found you. Do you have a name, and why were you wounded in the middle of the road-"

Whatever the man would have to say would have to wait for a few moments as the Prince's eye was drawn away by movement from the Divine Paladin. He looked up to the much taller man who approached with heavy steps, and Cyril almost seemed to be anticipating something. Clearly, the Prince was expecting the Paladin to volunteer for the fight the next day, which would make their victory certain...

"Shit-!"

The Prince was not expecting how Christopher Nocte was sent tumbling forwards, down in front of the Prince with a sudden shove from the Paladin. Cyril also didn't expect what the man had to say next:

"The boy will be fighting with ye tomorrow. Put him to good use."

"Wait, what?!" Christopher snarled as he jumped back up, throwing his arms out to the side. "You ever heard of consent you massive walking catastrophe?! Don't I get a say in this matter?"

"Consider this yer next test, boy. I want to make sure ye haven't been a complete waste of my time." The Paladin hadn't blinked at the insults hurled by the young man, nor did he seem bothered when Christopher flipped him off with such a sudden and intense movement that sparks crackled along his gauntlet, before he just dropped his hand, looking up towards the ceiling with a drawn out groan.

"Gaaaaaah... Divinesdammit! Fuck it, alright! I don't want to walk anyway!" Christopher looked to the still very startled Prince of Barcea, even as Diane glared at the young man so fiercely it was almost amazing he didn't burst in flames, all as she kept Ayano's ears covered throughout the conversation. Christopher paid her no mind. "Fine, I'm in. I'll be a part of this train wreck." He didn't say another word as he instead turned, in order to push past the Paladin. Cyril blinked once, then twice, mouth opening slightly in yet another confused expression briefly.

"What the hell's a train...?" After a moment he quickly shook his head, looking back towards the rescued man. "Er, sorry about that. The latest business we're dealing with, you know. Where were we, again?"

The Prince had a feeling that, by the end of all this, he would have a unique kind of headache.

"Hey!" Dalious grunted at the sentinel as he lifted him and patted him off. "I can do it myself!" He gave Gortul a displeased look. Dalious would never admit to it, but he was thankful for the man's aid to an extent. "I liked you better when you were a mute! Who's Diane?"

Before the conversation could go on, the prince had approached and Dalious found himself naturally giving a slight bow. "Ah, young prince," he said as he prepared to answer him, though they were interrupted by others. A paladin brought forward what appeared to be a pupil of his. The unwilling young apprentice was to fight in the arena under the princes' name and banner, which gave Dalious an idea to pay back the favor of saving his life.

As they continued to speak before him, the pirate pulled out a coin he had pick pocketed from Gortul just moments ago, flipping it through each of his fingers in thought. He often liked to think amongst silver or gold, for no other reason then he liked the feel of it. He also began to wonder if he had any warrants of arrest in Gurata, but that subsided once he realized he had never been this far to the north. At least on land. It was when he realized Gortul was staring at him that he smiled and flicked the coin back to the large sentinel. "Sorry, pirate."

He turned and bowed again to the prince once his attention had come back to him. "No inconvenience young prince," Dalious spoke. "In fact, I see but opportunity. My name is Dalious Durendail, famed pirate and adventurer of the southern seas! Perhaps you've heard of me?" He spoke proudly but falsely, as his fame was clearly only in his own mind. He ignored his own question and continued. "I was amongst the villages attacked by H'kelans. Minding my own business, selling fish to the locals and what not." He lied as he didn't think his sentence of being hanged that day added to the story in the very least. "Ahem, then out of the forest they came in great number. It was a massacre, young prince. I barely escaped and rode to the north, where you found me and my horse...." The pirate looked around the company and had just realized the stallion that he rode out with was indeed taken along with them. He gave off a sigh, as he also owed something to the animal.

"I would but pay back the favor," he started again. "Allow me to take place of one of your men in this arena battle, allow me to pay you back for my life. Worst comes to worst, you save one of your men and but lose a meesley pirate."

Lora Kadar

Reaching the border of Gurata had brought forth a feeling Lora welcomed, but reaching the Homestead brought along an entirely different feeling. She had never lived there, only visited a few times before, and her longest stay there had been at the beginning of her leave from her pack. The uneven buildings and free-roaming animals had always reminded her of Gurata’s true spirit, but as she approached them with her present company the sight lighted her nerves. The dominating Arena and the forward march of the Sentinals’ horses set upon Lora the feeling that the Prince’s undertaking was about to change everything.

All roads lead to the Arena, and as they marched along the twists and turns the Homestead, Guratans turned to watch them. Recognition dawned on the colors of the travelling party and familiar curiosity fell on her, wearing Kisarin’s loyalty in a sea of Barceans. When they reached the Arena she moved forward to pass off the horses to her fellow Guratans: loosening girths, arranging stirrups, and holding them until one of the hands could take them. Once they were taken she caught up to the group with ease—following the nonsensical direction of the halls was natural after so many years travelling about Gurata. She reached the back of the group as the front reached Chief Yihira: her voice familiar on Lora’s ears and her appearance distinct as Lora peeked over a Sentinal’s shoulder.

She knew the Chief from distant glimpses and heard announcements, but nothing more intimate. Catching her so casual and close was almost as exciting as Cyril’s recognition, and she pressed her way through the crowd for a better look. Yihira recognized the man they had saved and then she took off with them, ordering one of the residents to go fetch the other two Chiefs. Lora’s pulse picked up further at the prospect of seeing all three Chiefs (and Cyril) all at once. (Of course, no Chief would have ever denied Cyril’s audience, so the surprise was mainly that the entire travelling party was tagging along. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so unwelcome if she joined them.)

She knew everything about the Arena that Chief Yihira told them, but she listened carefully regardless. She had never been inside the Chief’s meeting place before but she had sat outside it with her uncle once, waiting for the verdict on the northern mountains. Walking inside of it with the Prince of Barcea, Princess Ayano, and Chief Yihira made her wish, just a little bit, that she was heading home afterward simply so she could tell someone about it who would be as excited as she was. As polite and accommodating as the Sentinals and company were, they were a little too comfortable with their positions near power to understand.

Kisarin joined them and Lora couldn’t even pretend she wasn’t grinning—him she had seen more often and a bit closer than his sister, though seeing him again was just as exciting. For the most part she liked the Chief whose region she lived in and she wore his colors proudly. Seryosa joined them shortly after, accompanied by a few (that included a massive snow leopard and a fellow but different nonhuman) and Lora bounced on her feet a little, trying to rearrange her face to match the seeming indifference everyone else appeared to be wearing.

The meeting was going along until Seryosa objected, her disregard for the Prince and Barcea’s call for help irking Lora greatly. But then he called for Decision by Battle, and Seryosa accepted, and Lora was caught between desperately hoping he knew what he was calling for and trusting that he knew the best decision for his country. Seryosa called for the Decision at noon, with eight fighters on either side. Lora’s eyes skidded over the group around her, their numbers more than double that, and wondered exactly who would be out there, fighting with and protecting the Prince.

The meeting broke and the two Chiefs responded to Cyril’s decision in their own ways. Drosil approached and he volunteered and Cyril welcomed the offer, and Lora understood how this was working. Her fingers knotted into each other and her gaze skipped over to Ayano, for once glad she couldn’t make eye contact with the girl. If this was a volunteering opportunity there was no question Lora would be one of the first on the list, and finally making use of herself would eradicate the need for a terribly awkward and embarrassing conversation about continuing to follow him around. She would follow him anywhere, of course, but it would probably be more than a little humiliating for both of them if she had to ask if he even wanted her to.

The Prince headed towards Gortul and the new man, ever-caring about those he saved. The Divine Paladin stepped up and his companion stumbled towards the Prince. She didn’t want to interrupt any important conversations he needed to have—but she could see that his was the time and she knew that if she didn’t step up now she would back down with doubt. The Paladin and Christopher stepped back and the Prince turned back to Dalious. With a last glance towards Ayano, Lora moved forward from the group towards Cyril.

She caught the end of Dalious’ offer, and stepped up to the opportunity. “Me too, Your Honor.” She inclined her head and then peeked back up towards the pirate, realizing her fault. “Well—not the bit about the measly pirate, of course—or that you should lose any of your men—“ she winced and straightened, trying a smile over her flushing cheeks. “I mean I’d like to volunteer as well,” she glanced at Dalious and nodded gently in his direction, “If you have the room, to fight with you.” Her eyes found the Prince again, and her mouth started up again before she could stop it. “Of course, you have your choice of fighters and wonderful Sentinals and you’ve picked up quite the few along the way, so if you’d rather someone else take my place, please don’t feel any hesitance in having them do so—the state of Barcea is vital and this Decision is incredibly important and I’m no soldier so I completely understand. But, um, if you don’t…uh, that is, if you’d like to have me—wait—no, that’s not—“ Lora snapped her mouth shut, closing her eyes and gathering herself with a deep breath. “I’d like to fight for you in the Decision by Battle.”

It had been years since the woman had been to the Homestead. Back in those days Vesta, Joy then, was something else. She had made a name for herself fighting in the Arena as a gladiator; her steel had left a countless number of men and women maimed or dead. Things were simpler, easier back then; the woman fought to live and lived to drink. Sometimes she fought while she was drinking, and sometimes she fought in the Arena when she was drunk. That was the case in her last fight. She was completely hammered going into the fight and came out of the fight after getting hammered by a maul the size of her head. It was followed by bedridden weeks of getting hammered to ease the pain.

Vesta could feel her knee shattering all over again as the Arena came into view. She moved her flask away from her chapping lips; the pain effectively killing the buzz she no longer seemed interested in maintaining. Vesta slipped behind the rest of the group as they aimlessly entered the Arena. She doubted anybody would recognize her unless she drew her blade and flashed it through some poor sap, although it wouldn’t have been an issue anyway. With Cyril’s haphazard way of recruiting anybody he saw, able or otherwise, he knew that she wouldn’t have been turned away for being a gladiator. Hell, she would even let herself be convinced that the man would wait until after they had completed their mission to throw her away if he had found out about her banditry.

Still, being in this place filled her with unease, and the feeling doubled as she met eyes with the Direwolf. They had been contemporaries back in the days of Olain, although he was more often by the King’s side than she; even then Vesta had often wondered why Olain had made her Captain instead of the Direwolf. After the failed campaign West, the nights that did not end in a blackout were filled with endless tossing and turning as she thought more and more how Olain might have been saved from himself if the Direwolf was there instead of her. In her head, she could hear him blaming her. Whatever form of comradery that she had for the man was gone, replaced by just a lingering sour taste in her mouth. She lifted her hood over her head and leaned against the wall, trying to disappear.



The ambassador was practically bouncing up and down as they walked through the halls of the Arena. Whatever aches that had been holding him down from that morning were now gone, healed by boyish enthusiasm and a few secret spells to keep his peculiarity at bay. As Cyril explained the situation to the Chiefs, Ennis nodded along approvingly. It was good to hear that disdain for Gartian had spread to Gurata. With their allegiance they could quickly dispose of Gartian and put a more suitable, levelheaded individual on the throne. H’kela had more important things to focus on than fighting a disastrous war, like—Wait, why did that gray woman say no? thought Ennis.

“If I may—” started the ambassador softly. Too softly; he was cut off. He tried again.

“I think that—” Again, interrupted.

“If we took a se—”

“I call for Decision by Combat!”

Ennis hung his head. “Oh, great, yes, let’s go ahead and not try to talk through things peacefully,” muttered the ambassador. He rapped his knuckles against his head. “Glad to see those years of taking blows to the skull have done none of us any questionable damage.”

He heard Vesta snort at the suggestion that many of them seemed like good fighters. The ambassador shrunk back away from the group and quietly put his fist in his mouth, chewing on his knuckle to keep himself from speaking out any further. He knew that the Guratans had a sort of backwards way of government, but just because they chose to be barbaric did not mean that more sensible people had to step down to their level. Damn it, Cyril. Pain shot through Ennis’s hand as he bit harder; he let out a soft yelp and shook his hand wildly.

He quickly straightened himself out in fear that perhaps the noise would be taken as some kind of volunteering gesture. Ennis wasn’t made for fighting. It made him sweaty, ruined his clothes, and he had to be extra careful when it came to dealing with mages; not to mention that the man could barely use a sword any better than a five-year-old playing soldier with a twig. No, these sorts of things were much better suited for the son of a bloodthirsty king, a talented wizard with a fine taste in animals and poor tolerance towards alcohol (He was drunk yesterday, yes? thought Ennis), the Paladin’s protege, and—

“A pirate,” said Vesta with a hoot, shaking her head and smiling knowingly.

—a pirate. Ennis couldn’t help but think how the man was far from any seas, let alone the southern ones. Then again, since he had chosen a career of piracy the ambassador couldn’t really hold it to the man to always pick the right path to follow. Still, he did appreciate the pirate for offering to take the spot for one of them. He mulled over the best way to capitalize on this prospect as even Lora volunteered her services.

“As eager as I am to help, I would not be able to live with myself if I knew that I prevented a man from repaying a debt, nor would I want any of the Sentinels to feel left out of the opportunity to prove themselves to their Prince any further. You may have my spot, Dalious,” said Ennis as if he was doing the man a favor. “I will try and find out what I can about our opponents, and you will all have my unbridled support from the stands.”

“Nobody expected or wanted you to fight anyway, Cade, but at least you had the decency of waiting for some sacrificial lamb to step forward instead of throwing your own onto the chopping block like Damon,” said Vesta, picking herself up off of the wall. He shot her an annoyed look that she seemed to ignore as she pushed her way towards Cyril. To Ennis’s surprise, she walked right by him. He could barely make out her words, her shoulders slumping as she sighed.

“I guess one person who can actually fight will have to join you tomorrow if you want to win this,” she said. “I’ll see you at noon.”

For the majority of the trip, Chi had tuned just about everyone out. She had stayed close to the Wanderer—the only one she truly trusted out of this band of misfits. Compared to how the group had found her, she was a bit subdued. This was mainly because of the toll saving the village they had just come from had taken on her bones. She would have preferred being able to sleep under a nice tree or swim in a nearby river, but when the Prince and his Sentinels marched, they _marched._

In her lifetime, she had heard of Gurata and their methods of decision. She’d be lying if she said that she’d never want to go to Gurata to participate in their Arena battles, wanting to test her skills against the gladiators. Plus, she just loved the thrill of a good match.

The politics were lost to her as she leaned against one of the worn stone walls, hands in the pockets of her sweater. Her pinkish eyes examined the room they were in, taking in the pock-marked floors and the way it felt more like a warrior’s barrack than some place to deal politics.

She was starting to fall asleep, her position against the wall more than comfortable enough for her, when Cyril added his own marking to the floor, punctuated by the declaration of a decision through battle. It woke her up and she watched with a raised eyebrow and a growing smirk as the terms were set. It would be Seryosa versus Cyril, certainly a match that would rouse the crowds more than usual.

Her subdued state left her to observe those who were willing—or unwilling, in the case of the Paladin’s boy—to volunteer their battle prestige to the Prince. She half-expected the Wanderer to offer himself, however she figured that after the slight run-in with the Direwolf was enough to make the Wanderer keep to the shadows. Her eyes watched as, one by one, the eight spots for fighters diminished. After Vesta—or Joy or whatever the hell she wanted to be called, the Cripple in Chi’s mind—claimed a spot for herself, Chi left the wall and approached the Prince. If the Wanderer had something to say, well, it’d have to wait.

”Count me in.”

Arvis & Lyrena
Homestead Arena

Arvis
The prince was bold, you had to give him that. It is no small feat to challenge somebody to a duel, but to go for a decision by combat is something else. Arvis watched as Cyril stood, weapon drawn, before Seryosa. She too, as well as the majority of her people, had drawn their weapons. Arvis took a step forward, making his presence known and drew his blade. He looked around and saw that although weapons were out no one was advancing to attack, so he stayed put.

"I would like to volunteer, I will fight alongside you." he announced, from behind him he heard Lyrena approach, and she placed her hand on his shoulder, she was always looking out for him and knew that this battle would be no walk in the park. She knew also that he could get injured in this bout but she pushed that thought from her mind and pushed a smile onto her face as Arvis' gaze met hers.
He gently stroked her hand and gave her a reassurimg smile. He would be fine, she knew that; but most importantly he knew it too.

Various Places in the Arena of Gurata

As Gortul's big hands went out to catch the coin, the Prince quietly listened to what Dalious had to say. So the man was a pirate, which presented a unique sort of problem to the royal, but in a way Dalious brought up a way to deal with it. Having him fight in the arena, an enclosed space where he couldn't get away, was probably a good idea to make some use of him no matter what... But at the same time, the Prince couldn't help but be suspicious of the man's intentions. To just tell him that he was a pirate was a risky move, so perhaps Dalious had something else in mind... But his story about what happened far to the south just reminded the Prince of how desperate the situation was rapidly becoming, and that even more difficult days were ahead. What was one more minor risk to add to the pile?

"Sorry to say I haven't heard of you... but perhaps that's a good thing, since I'm willing to give you a chance at all. Consider this a start, Dalious; I don't know what you've done before, but I won't consider it atoned for with just one battle." With that said, he then looked to the next person who had offered to fight, and had to fight off the instinctive urge to refuse. It had more than a little to do with the fact that when he had last seen Lora, she (and he, for that matter) had been so young, and it carried over into a desire to protect rather than accept. Even as he thought this he corrected himself, acknowledging that Lora had grown, and if she felt like she was strong enough to help then he had no reason to stop her.

"If you're sure, Lora." He gave her a nod, and even as he did so he carefully adjusted to the side slightly as Vesta passed. At the woman's words he blinked in surprise, quickly looking over his shoulder at her back as she continued on. The Prince was no fool (though one could debate he had foolish tendencies); he knew that since their conversation the night before, things had been... tense with the woman. It showed through her words, and how he simply ignored her for the most part. He hadn't been expecting her to volunteer, but even with her apparent injury from long ago he had no doubt she was still a capable fighter. He nodded once more.

"Thank you, Vesta." Another person volunteered that the Prince could only hope for then, being one of the two that they had picked up in the village that they had saved. He gave the small woman a grateful nod, before glancing around briefly, looking for her companion the Wanderer. He almost missed the man, who had moved to a position to hide behind Gortul's bulk, but the Wanderer didn't even looked to the Prince or seemed like he would volunteer. The Prince was more than comfortable with taking what he could get, though.

"Very well then, traveler. Thank you." The last space after her was filled quickly by one of the possible recruits, Arvis. Though young, he seemed to have at least a little experience, so the Prince didn't feel like giving him a chance would have been too much of a detriment. In general, the group that had volunteered wasn't made up of the strongest fighters available to the Sentinels, but the Prince felt that there was more than enough strength overall to balance everything out. The Prince's hand came up as he turned to walk a little, patting Arvis on the shoulder.

"Alright, Arvis. Guess this'll be a way to see if you're up for what we do." Giving a calm sort of smile, the Prince's hand dropped as he turned to give one last look to those that had volunteered once again. After a moment, his calm smile gained more confidence as he gave another nod, pleased with himself and the group in general. The next day they would finally have the support of Gurata; the Prince gave no thought to the alternative, not even considering it as an option.

"Thank you again everyone. The day is yours to do with as you please now, just be ready for the fight tomorrow. Those who aren't fighting, make sure to be there, just in case. You especially, Diane, in case someone gets hurt." He looked to the Sentinel as he said this, who gave a nod while bringing up a hand to brush through her hair dismissively; her being there for healing was obvious. The Prince continued on to say, "Those of you who are fighting, make sure to eat well, get plenty of rest, and do whatever you need to prepare. Chiefs, is there anything else we need to know?"

"I'd say you're good, considering as you have eight, Prince." Kisarin said. "You won't know anything about the champions Seryosa picks for her side until tomorrow, but that goes both ways. For the time being don't sweat about it, because tomorrow is all that matters." Suddenly, a grin appeared on the Chief's face. "So with that said, who wants to gorge themselves and black out? You haven't lived until you've eaten with Guratans."

Yihira gave a very, very loud and exasperated sigh then, shaking her head as she rubbed her forehead. "I suppose he'll lead you to the dining halls, then. Those of you who want to remain coherent for a little while longer, come with me. I'll lead you to what I have in mind for your rooms, and then to the food. Other than that, I'd say the Arena is open to you all."

With that, the group split up once again, most following one Chief or the other. Those who followed Kisarin were led through the hallways and stairwells back to the first floor, where they were led through the double doors into the largest of the dining halls within the Arena. The room could only be described as beautifully chaotic as members of the various tribes dined together with a rambunctious attitude. Among the various Guratan natives were a few foreigners, those who had earned a place by fighting in the Arena, and seeing as the news had already spread about the fight to take place at noon the next day those who travelled with a Prince were treated in the same way. An unorganized band playing strange, old, and mostly percussive instruments were hard at work adding to the chaotic racket made by everyone else within the dining halls. More than once did a fight break out, often broken up by Kisarin himself as he held full sized men apart with the same ease that one might lift a kitten, but it did nothing to lower the overall mood of the dining hall, and in fact seemed to be another form of entertainment.

Those who followed Yihira were led to the second floor, to the rooms mentioned before. Even though they were in another nation entirely, the way the rooms were lined up along the curve of the hallway reminded the Sentinels of home, even if the general look and decoration of the Arena was very different from typical Barcean tastes. Each room was very simple, but at least enough for a single night.

Time passed as each member of the Sentinels and those travelling with them did whatever they desired to help it speed along. Some ate and enjoyed themselves, some prepared, and some kept to solitude. The Prince made it his goal to check on everyone to some degree, and for the most part he was successful, though there was one man who eluded him even after the sun went down outside and the moon began to rise: the Wanderer. The man had seemed to simply disappear after the Prince's dismissal, and Cyril hadn't seen him when he had gone to eat, nor at the rooms that had been provided for them. To begin with the Prince hadn't been too bothered by it, but now a sort of unsettled feeling had settled upon him for whatever reason, and sleep at least at the moment seemed impossible.

He made an opportunity out of the circumstance, and decided to walk through the Arena a little bit more, now that it was night and much quieter. Torches provided the halls of the Arena with decent light, though many Guratans had made different parts of the floor their place to sleep, whether due to too much merry-making or simply because they could. Cyril carefully passed through these parts to the more empty sections of the Arena, often going up and down the various floors.

It was on the third floor he found the Wanderer, something that made him blink in surprise. The small, odd man was standing in front of a closed door, staring out it without blinking. His hand hovered just a little above his sheathed blade, as if he were prepared to draw the curved weapon to cut the door down. It was a strange sight, made even stranger by how intently the Wanderer stared, all traces of emotion gone from his face... But for some reason, Cyril felt more at unease than amused.

"Wanderer?" At the sound of his voice, the man jumped slightly, his concentration breaking suddenly and his hand recoiling from his blade. Quickly, the short man looked in the direction of the Prince, blinking several times with a startled expression on his face.

"Prince? It's quite late, and you have a fight tomorrow. What are you doing here?"

"Decided to take a walk to clear my head. What are you doing?"

"Uh... It's... complicated........"

"Fair is fair," Dalious said to the prince. He was honored to be allowed to fight for him, as he saw this opportunity as one to wash away many of his past sins. A second chance in his mind, not one many in his shoes could ever hope to achieve. The prince was right in being cautious of him though, as his main intent relied on making out for himself. A clean slate and a lot of coin. Those are what motivated the pirate, as it has always been so, except now he could do it in the legal sense.

He gave a nod and a wink to Lora, who accepted the challenge after him. Her beauty and kind awkwardness made the pirate raise an eyebrow at first, as he was not accustomed to females fighting in any battles. It was bad luck to bring a woman along where he came from, but at the same time he accepted the prince's word, though he could sense a bit of unsureness in his tone. They were a group together before he came along, so he said nothing and accepted it for what it was. In the back of his mind though, he predicted he may have to help the lass out in one form or another. Or perhaps she would get him killed, such is the way of woman.

As the eight spots quickly filled up, Dalious found himself sighing and rubbing his temple from the amount of females and would be warriors fighting by his side. They seemed a weaker choice then the sentinels that surrounded them, save for the one called Vesta, who he could tell had been through some fights based on her confidence alone. He was only assured in his own fighting skills, however, he was but one man. He just had to trust in the prince, though he was a young prince and whether experienced or not remained to be seen. It mattered not, dying in a battle with a greater cause felt like a good way to go out anyway. If only it were at sea. The pirate gave a slight laugh to himself, thinking about how all of his dead friends must be turning in their graves right now.

When the words were said and done, he made his way over to the lady known as Diane. Making sure to nod to the companions as he passed them all by and unintentionally completely ignoring Ennis, he grabbed the woman's hand and kissed it without her approval. "Apologies," he said, unsure how she would take the gesture. "I just wanted to thank you for patching me up. I may have to get myself yet injured again tomorrow, so that I may be conscious this time. Until then." He brushed back his hair and walked off, assured in his idiotic mind that she wanted him.

The dining hall was his choice of travel, as the man felt his stomach aching from hunger. He had eaten not but berries and thistle for more days than he'd like to remember. His eyes first spotted a roasting skewed hog that made his mouth begin to water. He devoured everything in his path, from the meats to the greens, and everything in between. After he was satisfied, the man moved to drink. He grabbed a few pints of ale and moved over to one of the long tables, enjoying the music and the fights as if he were on his very own ship at sea. The Guratans really knew how to make a man feel at home, though he suspected it may have been to fatten them up so they would be slow in the arena. Such was not a worry for himself, though, as he was used to this sort of thing.

"Gortul! Come, drink with me mate," he shouted once he spotted the large sentinel. At least he thought it was Gortul, his vision was slightly blurred at this point though he was still just getting started. The pirate grabbed some whiskeys and more ale. "You are large in size, my friend, but I think I can take you when it comes to drink. Here, lets have a contest!" Whether or not the man was to agree, Dalious downed a shot and continued on.

Lora Kadar

Prince Cyril accepted the pirate’s offer as kindly as Lora had suspected he would, and then he turned to her and she saw something odd in his eyes. But it was fleeting and gone when he spoke, and she couldn’t have said what it was even if she watched it for hours. Nothing he would ever feel towards her fit that look quite right. He accepted her offer with a statement that sounded like a question spoke with the wrong inflection, but he moved on afterward so she accepted that was a yes—she could fight for him. Others stepped up and Lora took a step back, making room. She caught Dalious’ gesture towards her and her eyebrows furrowed together for a brief moment; she wondered what in the world a pirate was winking at her for. Then again, he was a pirate. He seemed to experience a brief headache next, and headed off (perhaps to lie down and cure said ailment) once the eight spots were filled.

Lora left when the group disbanded, following Kisarin to the dining halls. She spotted a few familiar faces before she had finished grabbing her food, and sat down where she could greet each one of them. They all clapped each other on the back and the nonhuman from her neighboring pack lowered his head in respect, and then they resumed their usual eating, drinking, and yelling over each other to be heard. Cyril passed by and Lora finally got to share her excitement at travelling with the Prince. Her friends did not disappoint her in their enthusiasm—a few laughing and the others howling as she told them about the saved village and the Prince’s arrival.

A fight broke out next to them and they simply shifted over a little and watched, the conversation continuing as Kisarin grabbed the two by the scruff of their neck and set them apart as one might do to puppies who were playing too roughly. The night wore on in exactly that manner of eating and talking and fighting, and when the moon rose Lora started to feel the impact of the day’s travels. With many excuses, insistences, and a loud but playful growl, she set off towards the rooms Yihira had given them.

Upon reaching an empty one, however, the threat of tomorrow loomed over her. The exhaustion still hung heavy but swirling thoughts of tomorrow wouldn’t calm, and Lora knew there would be no sleep for her right now. She kept on down the hall and stepped her way around her countrymen, their unconscious presence rather comforting. It didn’t take long to find an empty hall, though, and here Lora ambled along.

She had volunteered, naturally, but she wasn’t too much of a fighter. Not like some of the others from the pack—she felt none of their bloodlust, got nothing from the kill. Hunting animals and playing were different from intentionally injuring others, but it was what the Prince and Barcea needed. And it was her way, also, as a Guratan. She didn’t enjoy it but she wasn’t bad at it; she had earned her place as Beta from more than her birthright. And it would take more than a little unease to keep her from fighting for the Prince, she told herself, and she would fight well for him.

It was right as she was convincing herself that the fight tomorrow would go well, when she heard the man from her thoughts down the corridor. Curiosity dawned and Lora stepped up her pace, rounding the corner to find Cyril…and the Wanderer, of all people. The man was standing in front of a door but looking to the Prince, who was speaking with him. Cyril looked as though he had just found the Wanderer—the way Lora had just found both of them. She heard the man squeak out an ambiguous excuse and wondered if she had walked in on something she shouldn’t have. It didn’t seem important, but they were in a deserted corridor and the Prince probably didn’t want an audience for this. Then again, the Prince seemed to have just arrived as well, and what if the strange look the Wanderer had was something that would work against the Prince? Sure, he had come along with them, but Lora had seen his skill first hand. She couldn’t risk him attacking the Prince. But, if that wasn’t the case, she didn’t want to seem rude. Caught between worry and manners, Lora stayed right at the edge of the shadows a little ways behind Cyril.

Empty Hallway/Room in the Arena of Gurata

"Complicated? What do you mean?" As the Prince asked his question, he saw how the Wanderer seemed nervous in a way and almost out of sorts, as if he had an especially bad headache. The short man's hand came up, scratching at the bandages on his cheek as he looked back and forth, more often than not towards the door. He seemed to be thinking how to answer, before he sighed and hung his head.

When he looked up his gaze passed from the Prince entirely, looking towards the door with a glare that was surprising on the soft face of the man. "Enough of this." Suddenly his foot came up, kicking the door in and off its hinges before he stepped through. Cyril had yelled at this sudden display, before quickly following after the Wanderer and into the room, more worried than before. Something was very, very wrong with the situation.

The room was conspicuously devoid of decoration and furniture, even for Gurata; it was completely emptied, possibly cleared out earlier in the day. It was a large but simple room, square and with stone floors and walls, as expected from rooms within the Arena. It seemed to be carefully lit by torches, so that the center and sides were fairly lit but the corners were dark. One man stood at the end of the room opposite the door, smoking a cigarette calmly: The Direwolf, Alsius Argentum.

When the Wanderer kicked open the door and stormed inside and the Prince followed, Lora really had no choice. She rushed after the two of them and then froze in the doorway at the sight of who was inside. She lingered behind the Prince, still out of sight but just close enough if he needed help.

"Well, it seems like you had some trouble finding me. You're not what you were, are you?" Slowly, the tall, armored man rose from where he sat against the wall, having waited for the door to open. Slowly, he took a few steps forwards, before stopping a fair distance across the room from the Wanderer, whose body was somewhat tense. He exhaled, blowing the smoke out gently before he spoke. "The last time we fought was just before you returned West. That makes it... About ten years, perhaps eleven..."

"Wanderer..." Cyril asked quietly, slowly looking over to the shorter man. The Prince was tensed slightly, clearly sensing the massive amounts of tension between the two men in front of him. The Wanderer only briefly looked to the Prince out of the corner of his eye, though he never took his gaze away from the Direwolf entirely.

"He knows the Direwolf Argentum... From the war that ended ten years ago, from when he hid in Kyora during the time the Gifted went into hiding."

Cyril's eyes widened with shock, physically reeling as he took a step back. "What?!"

Slowly, Alsius pulled in another full inhale of smoke, before letting it out in one long sigh. "Ten years... When said, it's only two words... But to live it is quite awhile..."

"... Yes. It seems enough to make a man rot." At the Wanderer's words, the Direwolf's eyes narrowed slightly, but the Wanderer simply continued: "Many of those that he fought were crazy to begin with... But that wasn't you. There were twists to you that he couldn't begin to fathom, but in battle you were honorable and came straight at your opponent. Skulking around, luring him along... You never used such petty tricks then. The Alsius Argentum of the past... He was impressive."

"... Huh. Huh-huh-huh. Huh-huh-hah-hah! HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAH!" Head tilted back as he burst out in loud, full laughter, Alsius' reaction made the Prince pale; Cyril had barely ever seen the man smile before, much less laugh like this. The Direwolf began to take steps forwards. "Ah... How humorous. I figured your sword had gone dull, but I never expected your head as well! We who have fought the Fearsome Phantasm know his strength greater than any other, but to see this.... This refusal to kill that I've heard so much about, from the rumors that have been left behind in your travels... Clearly, it's made you weak." At those words, his face turned into a sneer. Having taken steps back in response to Alsius' steps forwards automatically, as the sheer aura of the man was palpable, Cyril had paled even more at the revelation.

The Wanderer... The Fearsome Phantasm...?!

The name itself was enough to inspire fear... One of the so called "Gifted," one who was known for how the amount of men he had killed numbered in the thousands, maybe the tens of thousands... The man who lurked in the shadows and was never seen before all before him was cut to pieces... And the one Gifted who was known to have come to the West in the time of the war. In hindsight later, the revelation would seem quite obvious, but in the moment to the Prince the thought of the Fearsome Phantasm himself in Barcea seemed almost unthinkable.

Lora barely heard the plot twists—all her attention directed at the Prince. She watched him tense and talk and reel from the shock, with little reaction of her own. Tension was boiling between the Direwolf and the Wanderer, tension she could pick apart and piece together later on. Now, her only desire was to make sure Cyril wasn’t burned in the steam.

The Wanderer's gaze remained forward, his expression emotionless. There was no physical reaction to the Direwolf’s approach, unlike that given by the Prince. Instead, he just reached up to those bandages over his right cheek and neck, tearing them away to reveal a strange, wavy sort of scar that curved down from his cheek all the way to his neck. "It's enough to have a Wanderer's strength to protect those who require it. The Phantasm's strength is no longer required in this world."

"A Wanderer's strength, eh?" Alsius reached up then, unfastening the cloak around his armor, allowing it to fall heavily to the floor as he continued to walk forwards. "That strength is pathetic. Look at how they so easily trusted you. What if someone with true negative intent were to do the same, H'kelan or otherwise? You would not be able to stop that person before it was far too late. They could be killed at any time." He tossed the cigarette to the side, before his hand went down. He brought his blade up from his side, slowly unsheathing it only to toss the sheath to the side. "It will always be like this. That danger will always be present. You can do nothing to prevent it as you are. Unused strength is the same as none. Your hypocrisy disgusts me."

The Wanderer didn't say anything, gaze only narrowing slightly as the Direwolf continued. "As you put it, ten years is long enough to make a man rot. Drowning in self-satisfaction and phony righteousness, how can the Fearsome Phantasm protect people without killing? Have you forgotten...?" He brought his blade up, holding it vertically in front of him, so that it blocked out part of the left side of his face. “Swift, relentless death to anything evil. That is what I live by, and it is what you lived by. I can't stand seeing you like this.”

The Wanderer was silent for a few more moments, before saying, "No matter what you say, he refuses to take more life."

"... Is that so...? Then come." Alsius slowly slid into a stance, sliding his left foot back and turning his body with the movement, sword held in his left hand as he pulled it back, held almost horizontal to the ground as his other hand was held forward and hovered above the end of his sword. “Let me show you your futility.”

Everything was quiet, everything was still.

"... What's wrong? Will you just stand there and let them all be caught in my attack?"

The Wanderer's eyes narrowed slightly at the implicit threat from the Direwolf before he stepped forwards, but Cyril did as well. The Prince’s hand came up, going to grab the short man’s sleeve to try and stop him.

"Wanderer-!"

“Cyril!”

Lora surged forward, grabbing the Prince’s sleeve as he had grabbed the Wanderer’s. Her fingers twisted tightly in the fabric as the Prince jumped in surprise, finally alerted to her presence. The Wanderer stopped, before looking back to the Prince, and then to Lora as well. "... It will be fine. Now, he is after life. This fight cannot be avoided... But afterwards, he will explain all that he can."

And then he continued stepping forwards, shrugging the Prince away. Lora grabbed Cyril’s arm and pulled him back, out of the way of the two men. Only once they were far enough to be safe did she let go of him. The Wanderer, meanwhile, moved to the side as Alsius relaxed his stance to just watch him, so that they stood perpendicular to how they did before.



"Come."

"Aren't you the challenger, Direwolf?"

"Heh." Once more, Alsius slid into his stance. "Fair enough. I'LL BEGIN!" With the shout, suddenly he charged forwards, tip of his sword dropping towards the ground a little as he leaned forwards before suddenly thrusting-

Into the empty air, as the Wanderer had leapt, beginning to draw his blade, eyes narrowed more-

"Do you think you can dodge like that, Phantasm?!" Suddenly, Alsius lifted his blade upward, thrusting upwards as a continuation of the first moment. With the tip of the blade coming close to impaling the Wanderer in the torso, the man turned in the air slightly so that he was only cut, eyes widened in surprised.

"Not enough!" Suddenly turning his blade, Alsius cut deeper into the Wanderer, swinging the blade to slash and send the Wanderer down slightly as the man leapt upwards to meet him, rise above him, and then kick him down to the ground, the Wanderer crashing heavily while Alsius landed solidly on his feet. The movements had been so fast that it was hard for the Prince to keep track of them.

"Do you not remember, Phantasm?!" Alsius' blade was already dripping blood at the upper half. Beginning to take the same stance as before, the Direwolf said, "There is no escape, and that is not even the full form!"

Alsius charged forwards, still in the same stance as before. To Cyril, this didn't come as a suprise; the thrust was Alsius' mastered move, and what he was known for. The Wanderer moved forward that time to meet Alsius's thrust, trying to deflect it with his a slash from his own blade.

"WASTE OF TIME!" Suddenly, the Direwolf swung his blade upwards, the force of the clash sending the smaller man back to crash against the wall easily. From where he hit, the Wanderer slumped down afterwards. Alsius began to step forwards, asking with a sneer on his face, "Is that all...?"

And, slowly, while breathing heavily, the Wanderer brought his head up slightly. His eyes were narrowed into a deadly glare, black cracks beginning to appear throughout the whites. There was a subtle glow to his scar, brightening and darkening in slow pulses. Cyril's eyes widened as he stepped forwards, trying to block the way quickly as he called out, "Alsius, that's enough!"

The sneer faded from the Direwolf’s face, replaced by a look of vague irritation. "... Move out of the way, Prince Serio." Cyril opened his mouth to speak again, but stopped when a hand landed on his shoulder, the Wanderer gently pushing him to the side and out of the way. Lora had stepped forward when Cyril rushed in again, but Wanderer reached him first this time and pushed him back towards her. Though the short man was still glaring, it was much calmer now, and the black cracks were gone.

"Let's go..."

For a while, both were still. Alsius watched his opponent carefully, eyes narrowed as he thought, recognizing how with each moment of combat, and probably with each fight the Wanderer had experienced in the last ten years, his opponent was slowly but surely returning to his former self. It was something he was intent on continuing to draw out, until the process was complete.

Suddenly, the Wanderer was on the attack, shooting forward with his blade at the ready. He dashed with his left hand down and in front of him, his right holding his blade behind him. He was much faster than before, and Alsius quickly slid back into his stance to thrust forwards, directly into the Wanderer's head... But the man suddenly disappeared with a strange black and purple shimmer, Cyril yelling out in shock as Alsius' eyes widened. The Direwolf's eyes dropped down, to where the Wanderer had suddenly appeared to the side slightly, low to the ground, slashing upwards towards the Direwolf’s armpit.

Barely in time, Alsius' foot shot out as he yelled, kicking the Wanderer across the head and sending him back against the wall he had crashed against before. Slowly but surely, he began to rise, stance weak and breathing harsh...

But, with each breath, it was brought under control, his stance solidifying as he slowly looked back up with that deadly glare from before, but now there were purple cracks along with the black ones, and much more than before. The scar had a stronger glow, one that remained constant and didn't pulse. As the Prince paled even further, Alsius’ eyes just narrowed slightly.

'Could it be...?'

The Wanderer began to step forwards, each step deliberate, slowly swaying as he did so. Had he returned to the Phantasm, or had he simply gone insane? This was the question Alsius asked himself, and he intended to find that out the only way possible. His left hand came back, still holding the blade, but now he held it high, over his head, his other hand hovering along the end to the side. It was his full stance. "There will be no holding back."

Suddenly, Alsius charged forwards, to the still slowly approaching Wanderer. The thrust was quick, the deadly blade stabbed forwards in a blur that was impossible to truly see for the Prince… And yet the Wanderer still leaned to the side just enough to avoid the blade. That was enough to make Alsius think he had simply lost his mind, however. After all, he had the side slash, and he went into it without hesitation-

And, suddenly, Alsius' eyes widened as the Wanderer moved, spinning around him in multiple steps, yelling as he swung his blade, bringing it against his back in a sudden, terrible blow… Yet there was no real blood save that which left Alsius's mouth along with saliva in the instant of impact, as the Wanderer had flipped his blade around to use the blunt back. Alsius was launched forwards by the swing, crashing through the wall that the Wanderer had been sent against easily. The stone crumbled away from the wall, ceiling, and floor after the Direwolf went through it. There was no movement in the dark afterwards initially, the Wanderer slowly straightening and looking towards the damage.

"However strong your attack may be, when it's shown four times in a few minutes, any idiot can come up with a few ways to counter it. It doesn't matter if the move is mastered or not if it doesn't kill one's opponent. Get up, Direwolf. A ten year duel can't end this quietly."

There was a slight scuffing sound, and slowly Alsius emerged from the hole, stepping through as the gaping edge crumbled slightly as he brushed by. He was bleeding heavily from the forehead as more blood leaked from his lips, a deeper glare on his face even as he smiled, his features becoming much more feral in the process. "Very well then... I was considering the wishes of the Prince, but right now I don't care. I will kill you now."

"That's my line."

Suddenly, the two charged towards each other. Metal clashed against metal as they stabbed and swung, Alsius a little more stationary than the Wanderer as the smaller man leapt around, extremely agile. There were points where he leapt from ceiling, to wall, to shoot past Alsius and strike only to kick off the other wall to pass by and strike, blades often locking for brief moments only for things to become mobile once again-

With his attacks, the Wanderer often sheathed his blade, only to draw it again to unleash a chain of strikes. Any moment he could do this he did, it clearly a fundamental part of his style. As he moved, it was as if he left a trail of strange embers of black and purple in his wake, his body seeming to burn along the edges with these colors and his scar continued to blaze.

There was a point where Alsius did move, suddenly shoving the Wanderer against the wall as their blades locked, threatening to twist the blades around to slice the Wanderer deeply across the throat. However, the smaller man elbowed the Direwolf away, hard in the face, before leaping over him back towards the center of the room. Slowly, Alsius turned, wiping his mouth as he stepped forwards, spitting to the side.

A tooth bounced across the floor, sliding and spinning before coming to a stop.

Both yelled and once more charged each other. There was a snap as their blades clashed once again, both passing one another... Lora saw the blades clash and lunged, catching Cyril at the shoulders and knocking him to the floor as the end of Alsius’ blade buried into the wall right where his head had just been. They rolled off the side and once more to safety, where Lora held him against the ground and turned to keep an eye on the fight. The Direwolf slowly brought his now broken blade up to look at it, before looking over his shoulder towards the Wanderer who did the same behind him.

"The next time it will be your head."

When she was sure the men had no intent to harm him, she let Cyril up and moved between him and the battle, determined not to let him into danger any more. The Prince, meanwhile, quickly got to his feet, making no move to push Lora aside but instead just continuing to watch in a mix of fascination and horror.

Both turned to face one another again. Even with his broken blade, Alsius took his stance once more. There was another moment of stillness before he suddenly rushed forwards, the Wanderer's eyes narrowing.

"You never knew when to withdraw."

"THERE IS NO RETREAT! FLEEING AN ENEMY PROVES YOUR LACK OF DETERMINATION!" With his shout Alsius thrust his broken blade forwards, even though he was nowhere near the Wanderer. It sent the blade flying forward as a projectile, the Wanderer's bare hand flying up to knock it to the side, getting sliced in the process. He would not create an opening by blocking with his blade.

"You choose your pride over your life. Works for me."

Alsius reached the Wanderer at that point, swinging with his hand... And suddenly the belt he had pulled from himself whipped around, having been hidden in his grip. The Wanderer's eyes widened as the clasp struck his hand and cracked several of his bones, forcing his blade to drop.

"I HAVE YOU!" With a flurry of fists, Alsius forced the Wanderer to stagger back in a series of vicious blows, blood flying from the smaller man's lips from the sudden and severe blunt damage. Alsius wasn't done with that, suddenly kicking up his cloak from the ground, picking it up as he got around and behind the Wanderer. "THIS IS THE END!" He wrapped it around the Wanderer's throat, easily lifting the smaller man into the air. He was pulling the cloak too tight to simply try and strangle the Wanderer. He was trying to snap his neck.

The Wanderer struggled, eyes widened, before suddenly his hand went down to smack the end of his sheath, sending the other end upwards under the Direwolf’s chin. It forced the other man to get knocked back against the wall, the Wanderer leaping forwards to land and slide, slowly turning to face his opponent.

Both were breathing heavily, bleeding and bruised. It looked like the fight was coming to the end. Alsius brought up his hands, cracking his knuckles. "Shall we escalate this?"

The Wanderer, in return, brought up his sheath. Around it the air seemed to shimmer slightly, before a strange dark purple energy erupted into existence, forming a sharp looking blade that roared deeply. "Why not?"

And, suddenly, both were once more yelling as they charged forwards. However, one word was shouted louder than either of their yells, coming from behind both Lora and the Prince:

"ENOUGH!" The massive form of the Divine Paladin filled the doorway as he stepped through. Both the Direwolf and the Wanderer froze in place, their only movement being as they slowly looked towards Dubois as he continued to speak. "Enough with this pitiful display. Leave the past in the past. You are both in the service of Barcea now; act like it!"

There was a moment of silence as it looked like, very briefly, that both the Direwolf and the Wanderer might turn on the Paladin together... and then the tension almost completely released as Alsius left out a scoff, turning around to pick up his cloak. "Best duel I've had in ten years, and Ambrosia's attack dog ruins the mood. Typical." Cloak in hand he turned, walking past the Wanderer calmly as he said, "We'll just have to wait for the next opportunity."

"Don't die before then." The blade made around the sheath disappeared.

Alsius gave the Wanderer a brief smirk as he kept walking. "I'd be more worried about yourself." As Alsius approached, the Paladin stepped out of the way so that he could leave, but the Direwolf stopped just before the doorway. He looked to Cyril, calmly saying, "The Wanderer is useless to your cause... But Joachim Raizen, the Fearsome Phantasm, may have some use yet." With that, he kept walking forwards, turning and disappearing down the hallway.

The Prince didn't say anything to Alsius in return, only watching the man as he left before he looked towards the Wanderer. The short man still had that terrifying look on his face, his scar glowing brightly as the cracks in his eyes seemed to continue to deepen... and then, suddenly, the Wanderer drove his fist into his own face heavily twice, staggering with the second blow on himself with his head tilted back. When it came back forwards his gaze was still serious, but it was much softer with the cracks in his eyes gone and the glow completely missing from his scar.

"He apologizes for that display, Prince, Ms. Lora. It was probably inevitable."

"It's... alright." It took a moment for the Prince to speak, and when he did so he let out a heavy exhale. "So... you're really him, though?"

Joachim slowly nodded. "Yes, he was known as the Phantasm during the God King War... and he knows that he fought against the forces of Barcea more than once." He walked forwards slowly, taking a few steps before he knelt, bowing his head as he did so. "He understands if there is some punishment to pay for his deeds, and he will accept them. However, he asks you to spare his companion, as he believes affairs may get a little... messy if you attempt otherwise."

"So she's-"

"Chikako Momomiya, the Bone Thief."

"Makes sense in hindsight..." The Prince thought for a moment, before looking to the Paladin and giving a nod. The Paladin returned the gesture before he turned, beginning to leave as well while Cyril said, "I'll leave the decision to my sister, Kori. Until then, I ask you to stay with us and continue to offer your services."

The Wanderer rose, giving a nod as well. "He understands, and will comply. If you will excuse him for now, though, he must go attend his wounds." With that, the Wanderer turned to pick up his blade, sheathing it and placing it at his side as he quickly walked past the two with his head down. The Prince watched him go, before looking towards Lora and gesturing slightly towards the door as he too turned to make his exit.

"Let's go. And, uh, thanks for saving my head."

Drosil was quick to follow his guide to his room, paying little attention as he began to review his current chemial reagents and incense sticks. Once he arrived, he gave but a quick hello abd good-bye before shutting the door. This was followed by the sound of clanging, foreign curses, and a few more odd noises as the summoner got to work. First, a rune would be painted onto the door, keeping it from opening without his say so, and keeping all noises and smells from exiting the confines of his quarters. Then he'd get a bunch of incense holders, placing them around in a very specific way. Once that was done, he'd begin connecting thw holders, slowly and carefully drawing a intricate magic circle. He then cast a spell on it to keep it from smudging and turn his attention to another space on the floor, in which he began another circle, only this time he did it in reverse.

Once that was done, he would look over this handiwork, giving a nod of contentment once he was certain that no mistakes had been made. Just one wrong rune and he ciuld unleashingnsome powerful havoc on this plane, and he didn't want that.

"Okay, now that I have everything set-up, I need to chose what to summon, so what do I need? Not a incubus, nor any form of demon. Maybe an elemental or cosmic spirit, but then what kind . . . Hmmmm. Time, no, too contemplative. Shadow is too untrustworthy and tricksy, Air is too rambunctious, Earth's too stubborn, Water's too mellow . . . but Fire mighy be perfect. And instead of just a fire elemental, I could get an Ifrit." Drosil shuddered, thinking about the horror stories of those who have summoned these fire spirits unprepared and left not even bones behind, just ash. Still, getting a portion of thst power woukd be very nice to have indeed, and Shadar would be able to use it too, if less efficently, but who needs efficacy when you've got strength. "Okay, let's get this started."

Lighting all of the incense in the room and called out the name of the spirit he wished to appear, speaking in the voice of crackling embers and fading cinders. And the more he spoke, his voice echoing in the small space, the deeper into the trance he got until, suddenly, the chanting stopped. The circle across from his seemed empty, but he knew better.

[i]What do you wish, summoner of dual souls and annoyingly precise caligraphy?[/i[

The voice, deep and smooth like silk, spoke into his mind, and Drosil smiled.

As the night continued, so did the discussions, teaching each other interesting facts as all the while Drosil took the Ifrit into his body. This would allow for casting instinctively rather then having to think about it, andby choosi g fire, he's gotten himself quite the dangerous tactic. This would take the entirety of his night, but he'd feel plenty rested thanks to the fire spiriy in his body.

Lora Kadar and Cyril Serio

Lora was silent through Joachim's apology, only nodding slightly. She didn't speak at all until she was spoken to, shrugging gently and following the Prince from the room. She wanted to piece together the bits of what had just happened, but she was too busy calming her mind back down - the fight was over, everyone was alive, Cyril was safe. She stayed a step behind him and when she realized he couldn't see her nod, she cleared her throat softly. "Of course...Your Majesty. I wasn't about to let you lose it...I-" she winced, her hands fisting together. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, promising herself she wouldn't stutter. "I'm incredibly regretful I failed to use your title earlier and overstepped my place. You have my sincerest apologies, Your Honor, but please feel no obligation to accept them."

At her words the Prince suddenly came to a stop, blinking. He looked over his shoulder towards her, a confused expression on her face as he turned to face her a little more. "The Hell are you talking about, Lora? What does any of that matter?"

She stopped as abruptly as he did, peeking up at him. Her eyebrows came together and her mouth opened, but sound halted as she tried to figure out how best to explain that he was the Prince of Barcea and she had no right to touch him or use his name and really why did she have to explain herself at all? He was the Prince - he of all people should know how others were to act towards him.

Finally she gathered herself, still a bit thrown with his confusion. "It wasn't right - you're the Prince of Barcea," she explained slowly, careful not to overstep herself again. "You're about to lead a fight in the Arena for your country tomorrow, I should think that would matter more than ever now."

As she explained herself, the confusion faded from Cyril's face to instead be replaced by something like disbelief. He just shook his head quickly, clearly displeased with what she had to say. "No, that's nonsense. We're friends, Lora, and besides no one is around who gives a damn. Forget about formality for the time being or I'll actually go insane."

Something warm blossomed inside her and a small smile crept up. "Thank you," she said, pausing before she continued. She still didn't agree, and she was empowered enough to argue back. "But it's still dreadfully disrespectful! You earned your title and you make a wonderful prince and I'm not even near close enough in title to simply ignore that!" she insisted.

He laughed at that, hints of nervousness creeping in from what he had seen moments before. The effect of the battle hadn't faded entirely, but such a simple conversation seemed to be helping the Prince at least a little. "I was born into the Serio family. I didn't earn anything, it was given to me. I'm just Cyril, that's all, and enough about it. You got that?"

Her mouth was already open to argue - he was the most amazing person she had ever had the pleasure of knowing and Gurata wasn't rocky if that wasn't the entire testament itself to how much he deserved his title - but she closed it when he said enough. She would argue for him if he let her, but if he wouldn't she would never disobey him. She caught the tension in his shoulders and gauged how much was just proper enough for her to get away with it. Deciding he needed the laugh, she fought back a smile and raised a hand to salute him. She brought her hand down and nodded. "Yes, Just Cyril, I've got that loud and clear. Any other messages you'd like to share, Just Cyril?"

"Nope, so long as that's understood then we're good." He smirked ever slightly, before it faded as he turned to walk then. "Though... seems like your heroes have plenty of surprises in them."

Lora followed after him, her face furrowing in confusion. "I'm not sure what you mean," she admitted, watching him carefully. "No offending remarks meant but you don't seem that surprising to me - I mean I could only imagine, but it's not too hard to understand...Unless you want to be surprising, in which case I'm shocked!" She offered him a smile.

"What?" Once again he looked to her in confusion, though this time it was just over his shoulder and he didn't stop. He shook his head quickly as he looked back forwards. "No, not me. The Wanderer- er, Joachim, and Chikako. Your 'angels.'"

"Oh!" she nodded, catching up to him. "Yes, my angels, though not quite my heroes - though I suppose technically they are heroes, and they did save me...But yes, they seem quite surprising. He said he was the Phantasm?" she asked, a mixture of uncertainty and confusion.

"Yeah, it's definitely him." Cyril said with a nod. He brought a hand up to his right cheek, lightly tapping it before tracing down a little, allowing his hand to fall away entirely afterwards. "The scar proves as much, nevermind the fact that the Direwolf recognized him. Wonder why he didn't call him on it when we first met up earlier today...?"

Lora watched his hand carefully until it dropped, and then looked away and cleared her throat. She shrugged once he finished speaking. "Maybe he was trying to give the Wanderer time to announce it himself? It's quite a big reveal and he was pretty clearly trying to hide who he really was...perhaps the Direwolf was trying to give him a chance to come out and say it himself? It's quite nice of him, if that's why he did it."

"Uh... I don't think so." Cyril gave a light chuckle. The idea of the Direwolf being nice about it, especially after what the Prince had just seen moments before, didn't seem to quite fit into the situation. "Well... whatever it is, the cat's out of the bag now. Here's to hoping they refrain from trying to kill each other until Kori's had a chance to say something."

Lora just shrugged, unwavered by the previous display and Cyril's lack of confidence. "Maybe not, but if he really didn't like him that much there's no other real reason not to have outed him and declared a battle the moment he saw him." She then nodded, humming in agreement. "They probably will," she offered lightly, "if they stopped now I'm sure they can hold off killing each other long enough for Her Majesty."

"Eh... We'll see." The Prince shrugged slightly once more. "Until then, though, we need to get focused on tomorrow. Anything I can do for you before we part ways?"

She nodded resolutely. "Yes. I mean - no. I - no, there isn't anything you can do for me, thank you very much for the offer, and yes, we should get focused on tomorrow. A bit of sleep - or at least an attempt - is probably in order. Is there anything I can do for you?" she offered, her eyebrows raised perhaps a little too high in hope.

At her stuttering he chuckled slightly, bringing up a hand to calm her as he also gave a shake of the head. "No, you've saved my life once tonight, that's probably good enough. Good night, Lora, and rest well. I'll see you tomorrow when it's time."

“Yes,” she smiled, nodding gently and turning to the rooms. “I’ll see you.”

The Arena of Gurata

The night passed. Each person allied with the Sentinels spent it in different ways; some rested, some prepared, and a few licked at newly gained wounds. Once the eating, revelry, and fighting was over, the night passed in a merciful sort of quiet.

When the next day came, the Arena was even more crowded than before. The news about the Decision by Combat had travelled through the Homestead very quickly, and had even spread beyond to the nearby tribes. It brought in a new flood of Guratans, eager to see the brawl that would be happening at midday that would be deciding the direction their nation would be taking in the coming days. For the most part, the Guratans didn't seem to care what the result might be, strangely aloof to the whole matter. To them, it was just another day of Guratan politics, though the idea of going to a full-fledged war seemed to almost excite many of them.

The first half of the day passed by too quickly for some, too slowly for others. The Prince was lax on waking everyone up, so long as it would be on time. For the most part they gathered together and stayed together, eating and passing the time quietly conversing and creating minor plans. With no knowledge of just who Chief Seryosa had chosen to oppose them, the most they could really discuss was maximizing their various strengths.

At around eleven both Chief Kisarin and Chief Yihira came to them, and the Prince made sure that everyone was gathered together. As they moved through the hallways, making their way back down to the first floor, Kisarin gave them a rundown of the rules one last time, to make sure they were absolutely clear:

"It's pretty straightforward, you know. Your eight versus her eight. I don't think you have to worry about Seryosa being on the other side, since she's the defender and it's almost taboo for a defending Chief to take part in one of these battles, but that means you really don't know what to expect from one another. Fight as hard as you can, but if an opponent yields then do not kill them. The same will go for any of you, in case it happens. Last side standing wins."

By the time he finished with the summary, they had reached a set of very large metal double doors, shut tightly. Yihira gave a nod towards them after she turned to face them all once more. "That's where your eight will enter through when the times come. They'll be opened, so don't worry about it. Just enter and stand in a line parallel to the one that's formed by Seryosa's eight. I'll be the one to give the call to start, so it'll be absolutely clear when to begin. The rest of you, come with us; we'll lead you to some good seats saved for you." With that, she began to turn, though she blinked and stopped as she looked back to Cyril. "Uh, Prince. Some of the men came across a... rather damaged room. You have any idea what happened there?"

"No idea whatsoever!" the Wanderer squawked, moving to conceal himself behind Gortul once again, well bandaged over the cuts from the night before. He no longer had his scar covered, however.

"No idea whatsoever." the Direwolf calmly said as he continued to smoke, unconcerned with the new sets of bruises that covered him.

Yihira briefly looked to the two in confusion, before looking back to the Prince. When Cyril just gave a slow sort of shrug, her eyebrow raised slightly in disbelief. However, she returned the shrug, saying, "Eh, no major harm done. Come on, you lot." She waved her arm forward as she and Kisarin began to move once again, leading the rest of the group away. Various good-byes and gestures were given, the one that stood out the most probably being the one from Ayano, with how excitedly she said, "Good luck everyone!!!"

The eight had to wait only a few minutes. Last minute preparations and adjustments were made, such as how Cyril adjusted the place of his blade at his side slightly, or how Christopher stretched and loosened up, often cracking his knuckles. When the doors opened they did so without warning but slowly, so they had plenty of time to look over and realize what was going on. As soon as they began to open the roar of the crowd could be heard instantly, casting away the silence. Back and forth Cyril looked to those still with him, before nodding slightly as he stepped forwards. "Let's go, everyone."

Beyond the doors, they were actually able to see the purpose of the Arena for the first time. The floor was stone, both heavily damaged and repaired throughout. There were plenty of stains deeply sunk into the stone as well, and little imagination was required to tell where those stains had come from. The space for battle was a circle fifty yards in diameter, surrounded by walls that were twelve yards tall. Immediately above and just behind the walls the seating began, extending upwards and outwards to all the way to the very high open ceiling above. The stands were positively filled with Guratans, their cheering growing even louder as the combatants began to enter the arena. With two brief glances, Cyril saw how the rest of the group had been seated together to their left, closest to the battle area and that high up above in their own separate section were the three Chiefs. Across from them a set of metal doors similar to the ones they had entered through also swung open, Seryosa's eight entering.

Both sets of eight moved, forming lines parallel from one another. From left to right the order went Dalious, Drosil, Arvis, Vesta, Cyril, Lora, Chikako, and finally Christopher.

Across from Dalious stood a man of decent height and slight build. He had slightly shaggy black hair, and he wore various greys with bits of armor made from leather. He had different bags at his side and one slung over his shoulder, and he also carried two long daggers with him. He didn't seem to be a Guratan native, though he did seem rather aloof to the whole matter.

Across from Drosil was the scorpionfolk from the day before, Thuraya. Emerald eyes scanned everyone on the opposing side to begin with from beneath her near-pure-white hair that fell infront of her face slightly. She took another step forward and looked directly at Drosil and smirked. A look in her eyes that clearly stated 'don't think I'll go easy on you'. Left hand grasped at her sword a little tighter as she brought it up from against the ground and over her shoulder, tail curled upward slightly and turned so her right side was toward him, arm dangling lazily at her side.

Across from Arvis stood another young man like himself. Though he had somewhat tanned skin he didn't seem Guratan, wearing various shades of brown with light blonde hair of short length. He carried a spear freely in his hand, and he seemed to be nervously smiling as his eyes looked back and forth down the line of eight that stood with the Prince.

Across from Vesta stood a very tall and muscular man. Lightly tanned with dark brown hair, he was dressed in furs from the waist down, his torso and arms bare. This allowed one to see the various scars over his body, along with fresher bruises and healing cuts. Over his shoulder he carried a warhammer, and when he first saw Vesta he looked her over curiously before he blinked, eyebrows raising as he said, "Well, I'll be damned."

Across from Cyril stood a strange man. He was just a little taller than the Prince, but he was very thin. He wore warm, covering clothes of tan shades, and he had short dark hair. The strangest thing about him though was how he had cloth carefully wrapped around his eyes, concealing them entirely. At his side he carried a thin, rapier-like blade.

Across from Lora stood a young woman. She had longer brown hair and brown eyes, wearing simple clothes of dark blue. She carried a bow in her hands and a quiver over her shoulder, and she smiled at Lora, paying attention to only her and no one else.

Across from Chikako stood another short woman. Standing at five foot nothing the woman stood with her back straight and her chin barely above level with staring green eyes. She was devoid of any kind of makeup though it was clear she was a woman by her figure alone. Though short, she was very clearly well endowed- even with a collar high crisp white shirt on and worn leather jacket with sleeves pushed up past her elbows. Tanned pants and rather impressive knee high boots only added to her figure. On her hips rested a series of pouches and hidden weaponry, like that of the knife holder on her left leg. The weight of her weapon on choice weighing on the small of her back- a collapsible bo staff. One made of metal and costing her a rather shiny penny. It may not be her main weapon of choice but she didn't feel shooting someone would be a 'fair' fight. Despite the rather basic weapons and the bland touch of attire was a rather curious bit of personality. A single vibrant pink flower was tucked into the tight bun of her tawny hair. Her gloved hands fell from their position crossed under her chest to resting gently at her sides, waiting for the sound to call and waiting to reach for a select weapon.

Across from Christopher stood a strange woman. She was fairly tall and had long green hair with very yellow eyes. She was almost deathly pale and wore blues and whites, including a pointed hat. All over her clothes were yellow symbols that mostly consisted of suns, moons, and stars. In one hand she held a long staff, the body of the staff dark with a bright crescent moon-shaped blade on one end of it, and a heavy looking metal ball on the other.

While the sixteen faced one another, cheering grew to a climax before it suddenly ceased as Yihira stood up above. With the silence the eight on Seryosa's side that weren't already holding their weapons began to draw them, so Cyril did the same as he drew his own blade. For a moment the silence continued, and then Yihira brought her arm up, before swinging it down-

"Begin!"

"Let's go!" Cyril shouted, as he charged forwards.

It was strange how long the day seemed to drag on. Vesta had spent the better part of the morning examining her gear, double and triple checking her sword for any dull edges. When was the last time she had used it as anything but a cane for her crippled knee or to emphasize a threat? Weeks? Months? Years? History all blurred together. She flashed the sword out of its sheath, effortlessly slaying invisible foes within the blink of an eye. At least her hands had not lost their speed; hopefully it would make up for the stiffness in her leg. The rest of the morning was balanced between practicing motions and rubbing the knot out of her knee. By the time Cyril had come around she had worked up a slight sweat, but her hands had yet to begun to shake. Good, she thought. I'm no longer what I was; I need to be at my best if I'm going to be anything but dead weight.

Vesta felt an excitement that she hadn't felt in years swell up inside of her as she entered the arena with Cyril and his six other sacrifices. A smile twisted across her face as she looked around the ring, her eyes falling on the dried stains as she reminisced about past matches (as if the stains could have been from that long ago). That was the spot where she had liberated the people's champions head from his shoulders within the first second of the fight; over there was the spot she had hurled before taking out a trio of neophytes while violently hungover. She looked over the crowd. Vesta was never one to play to the audience, however, and always went for the quickest finish over the most theatrical. The woman spotted their traveling companions; a certain ambassador was noticeably missing. She had no time to pay any mind to it, however, as their opponents entered the field.

"Well, I'll be damned."

She looked at the man across from her. Vesta did not recognize his face—she had been blind drunk when she had first seen the man—but she knew his weapon. She grabbed her sword with both hands to keep herself from doubling over in pain as her knee flared up, cursing in pain underneath her breath. His hammer had been the one that had shattered her knee, her career, and her future. If not for that damn hammer the last few years of her life would have been vastly better. Vesta could taste copper as her teeth bit into her lip. Her heart was racing; she was seeing red. Every single muscle in her body was ready to lunge on the man and rip his throat out. The only thing holding her back was knowing how severe the Guratans punished gladiators who broke the rules—and the knowing how terribly anger made someone fight. She took several deep breaths, straightened her posture out, and nodded to the man. Her eyes cut sharply through him. There was something different about her this time from their first fight that he had crippled her in, and it wasn't the years or the new wounds.

This time she was stone cold sober.

"You don't know how good it feels to finally see you," said Vesta.

Silence fell over the Arena. Vesta did not looks up to the Chiefs, although she did draw her weapon as she silently continued to bore a hole into her opponent with her eyes. The weapon was worn but the blade was well-crafted and carefully maintained. As the fight begun and Cyril announced his charge, the woman lifted the scabbard she had been leaning on off of the ground and began walking towards the man slowly. There was no signs of her limp, and the she kept the sheer pain running through her knee to herself as she leisurely closed the distance between herself and her foe with her sword leveled in front of her. She stopped just out of striking range of the large man and sheathed her weapon, resting once again on the scabbard. A look of boredom settled on her face, her eyes losing their edge.

"If you ask, I will give you the mercy of a quick defeat," she said. "I won't even make you beg."

The man was patient as she approached, not feeling to threatened by her glare. He just slowly brought the warhammer around, holding it with both hands in front of him in a ready stance as he waited for her to get close, even as all around them people moved much more quickly. It was when her expression became bored that his eyebrow raised slightly, faint and almost amused surprise coming over his gruff features.

"Still harboring a grudge, huh? Should have blamed the alcohol, not me."

He made no effort to conceal his movements, bringing the warhammer to the side as he prepared his swing. He stepped forwards with his left foot as he swung from the right, aiming for her midsection but not expecting a hit at all, even with her crippled condition. The way she had stopped just outside of his range told him that she had at least some experience, and wasn't drunk as well.

"You remember my name, or am I going to have to introduce myself again?"

"I heard they named you after a match you won by dumb luck," she said, stepping back to avoid the blow from the warhammer. She didn't hesitate a second, stepping low with her left foot and slicing her sheathed weapon at his outstretched hands as if to rap the man on his knuckles like he was a misbehaving child and she a strict schoolmarm. She intended to land a blow that was hard enough to let the man know that he would have lost some fingers if she had drawn her weapon, both in an effort to equally taunt and warn him that he was not dealing with the same fighter from so long ago.

The man's hand snapped out however, twisting around to actually grab the sheathed blade and bring it to a stop. Though the blow landed in his palm heavily, he didn't flinch, nerves dulled to such pain. His other arm kept a hold of the warhammer as it finished its swing at his side, and for a brief moment both were still as he elected to continue speaking instead. "Wasn't dumb luck, I simply took advantage of some mistakes that both the employer and employee made. Keep up at this rate and history is just going to repeat itself." With that, the man named Oubera gave a harsh push against the sheathed blade in order to force the both of them back, him taking a step back as he reset his stance with the warhammer and once again held the weapon with both hands.

He was faster than she had anticipated; she should have known he was going to be a good fighter if he was still hanging around in the Arena after so many years. Her knee howled in pain as she was forced back by Oubera's raw power, but Vesta's face was still a blank canvas. She stayed low and put her weight on her good leg as she shifted her scabbard back into her right hand, her left hand flitting across the hilt of her blade.

"Yes, I am sure they will sing great songs about you when you fade from the limelight for your abilities to best blind drunks and crippled women," she said calmly. "Since you haven't asked, I suppose you want to take the slow and painful route then? Okay." She slowly drew her blade and held it defensively out in front of her, her grip on her scabbard tightening ever so slightly to keep her balance and to prevent any further strain to her knee. "The offer still stands. You can ask for mercy whenever you want."

"Are you still talking?" Even as he asked he was moving forwards, bringing the hammer up and then down in a massive blow. If it hit her, it would crush her into the ground, and if it hit the ground it would leave a shattered crater behind, undoubtedly flinging sharp bits of stone in all directions. Whether or not it hit her didn't really matter to her opponent, it being just another display of raw power that would eventually be set to overwhelm her.

"Hate it when people hold grudges. It's petty."

She was already moving as the man began to raise his hammer, pushing herself to the man's right with her scabbard to avoid the blow. Rocks smacked against her back as she bounded past Oubera, swinging her blade in a shallow cut towards the man's side. It would be just enough to draw first blood if it hit, but it wouldn't do much more than that. As she twisted past the man she felt a sharp shooting pain in her knee and cursed quietly, trying to maintain her footing as she spun around to face Oubera.

Oubera didn't waste any time dodging the slash from Vesta, and the relatively light strike landed true. However, once again (and perhaps more surprisingly this time around) the large man didn't flinch or even blink at the new wound added to his body. Instead, he just used the time she had made her attack against her to prepare his own, bringing up his warhammer with a slight grunt to send another heavy swing towards her side, entire body turning with the blow.

She didn't have the time to dodge away from his attack without risking stepping directly into the arc of the hammer's head, so she began to move forward. Vesta pulled her scabbard up and blocked the shaft of the hammer just in time. However, she wasn't strong enough to completely stop the man's blow, and the scabbard was smacked free from her grip as the shaft hit her in the side. Pain shot through her ribs. Still, it had done enough to slow the blow down from knocking her off of her feet, although she was pushed with the turn of the hammer. However, now that she was close she could attack freely. Twisting her sword in her left hand, she shoved the blade upwards at the man's armpit.

Once more, the man reacted by letting go of the warhammer with one hand as the swing came to the stop. His right hand snapped forwards, grabbing her blade at the base and clenching, the edges of her blade grinding into his bone as with his massive strength he brought her swing to a stop.

He wasn't done with just that, however, as he stepped forwards towards her. There was a strange look in his eyes, like a fog, as he closed the distance with her before he suddenly drew his own head back and then brought it down and forwards. His head came crashing into hers as he grit his teeth, both of them being rattled to the bone as the hit came with enough force to bring her down to her knees. There was no follow up as he instead stepped back and away a little, bringing up his deeply cut hand to his head briefly before he once again gripped the warhammer with both hands. The fog was gone from his eyes.

"Sorry about that. Been in battle so much that my body just reacts."

Vesta felt the strength in her wounded knee go out as his head smashed down upon hers, forcing her to drop to the ground. She could feel blood flow freely from her nose. She couldn't will herself up as the man backed away, her blade lashing out at the space he had once stood. Damn this knee, she cursed, grabbing her scabbard and driving it into the ground as she slowly tried to draw herself up to her feet as her knee howled in protest. So much for deftly dodging his heavy blows. Her eyes watered with pain as she drew herself to her full height, pointing her sword out towards the man like a fencer. Vesta stared at the man as blood dripped down from her chin and splashed against the stone floor. She bared her teeth like an animal that felt threatened as she locked eyes with her old adversary; however, her look quickly softened into an almost pleasant smile if not for the blood. She sheathed her weapon, rolled the stiffness out of her neck, and pushed her hair out of her face.

"Are you still talking?" she said, her left hand teasing the hilt of her weapon.

"Still conscious," he replied.

Chikako stood in front of her opponent, looking almost subdued. The loose jacket that normally hung from her small frame was wrapped around her waist, revealing her bandaged--though very flat--chest. Even with the Prince’s attempt at a war cry and as all hell broke loose around them, Chikako didn’t move. Her face held no expression as she looked at her opponent, who was probably about the same height as she was. Had there been no context, someone might’ve thought Chikako was lost in thought. Sure, lost in the thought of crushing her opponent.

Emotions remained unseen on the shorter female’s face as the fighting began around them. She’d expected the other girl to move first but it seemed she was wrong. “You’re the wait and see type aren’t you?” Alice calmly questioned as her right hand pulled the bo staff from her lower back- the metal rod extending to its full length. The weapon was twirled a few times in her hands before she felt her body fall into a stable position with her feet apart and the bo staff secure between her arm and her side.

She didn't give the female a moment to answer before she took off towards the pigtailed female, twisting her body in a quick rotation, bringing her bo staff down upon her.

Chi waited for her opponent to get close enough that it looked as if she might’ve broken her skull with the bo staff. However, if one looked close enough, they would notice movement in her right arm. Without so much as moving, Chi brought up a blade that was pure white, from tip to hilt. The odd thing about it?

The blade came right out of her arm.

She held her sword with both hands, however her subdued facial expression gave way to a smirk.

“Good things come to those who wait.”

Alice’s brows drew together in mild confusion before realizing what she was seeing. Her body moved backwards a few steps as she got a full look at her opponent. Her mouth opened and closed as she stared at the woman’s arm for another moment. Something of a groan and a whine escaped her lips as she felt her guard drop for a moment. Alice understood what she was dealing with and was far from happy about it.

“I’m about to get boned aren’t I?” The smirk on her lips and the serious tone to her words contradicted one another yet seemed to work as she reset her stance as her mind went to work trying to figure out a new plan.

The pigtailed young woman’s smirk turned into a frown as she swiped her sword in the air, causing some dust to fly around her. She clearly wasn’t very happy about the the pun. Figuring that her opponent was going to say something stupid again if she didn’t do anything, Chi went on the offensive, lunging forward with her bone blade aimed right for the midsection.

Alice went on the defensive as she lowered her bo staff to clash against the bone blade, the shorter female’s pushing into one another as their weapons clashed. “Oi, you got a bone to pick with me or something twintails?” The sarcasm was clearly evident in her voice but it would soon be answered with a response all of Chi’s own making.

Chi was beginning to growl in irritation. Her pinkish eyes--which were slowly turning red--narrowed as she brought a knee up to her opponent’s stomach. Alice knew she’d fucked up the moment Chi’s eyes began to change colors. ‘I’m not getting paid enough for this shit.’ The words blazed across her mind as the knee made contact with her middle. Alice’s jaws clenched together tightly while her grip on the bo staff tightened her another moment. She knew she was open and she knew she was about to pay for it as she doubled over on herself. With an opening, Chikako brought her left elbow up and sent it crashing into Alice’s head.

Her eyesight went white for a moment as her head was sent flying forward from the blow coming from above her. The staff forgotten as she extended her arms before herself to catch herself. Alice hit the dusty ground hard before rolling out of the way of Chi’s feet. She rose from the ground with a bit of a flourish, shaking her head to get rid of the dizziness steaming from the back of her head.

“Feisty little thing aren’t ya’?”

Chi stepped back from Alice, bringing her bone sword up once again.

“I’m a born fighter, whaddaya expect.”

“I kind of expected literally anything ASIDE FROM BONES...but, you know, that’s just me.”

Chi shrugged, shifting her weight to one leg.

“Guess you didn’t get creative enough.”

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes as she reached to her thigh holsters and withdrew throwing daggers. She toyed with them for a moment before launching them at the black haired female, sprinting at her in their short distance. Chi deflected the blades like they were nothing but they were enough for Alice to get in close once more, front rolling to grip her fallen bo staff.

The chesty woman was back on her feet in no time. The girls exchanged blows back and forth with a sizable ferocity. It was quite the workout for either of them but Chi’d slipped up for a moment-giving Alice the chance to land a solid blow to the left side of Chi’s ribs. Alice withdrew for a moment to catch her own breath with a brow raised and a grin on her face.

“Did I hit your funny bone?”

Lora Kadar and Sarah

Lora spent most of the night rolling around her bed, caught between nerves for the next day and replaying the last hour or so with Cyril. Eventually sleep took her, but it gave her back far too quickly. She was one of the first up and sat quietly when the others talked, trying to keep herself calm in the face of fighting the unknown. Knowing Cyril would be in there with her would be consoling if she wasn’t also worrying that she wouldn’t be able to help if he got hurt. She tried to keep herself calm with the thought that he knew what he was doing—because he did—but it was barely enough.

The Chiefs came to get them and she followed right behind the Prince, focusing on Chief Kisarin’s words. When Yihira asked about the room she stayed silent, watching the exchange with assumed indifference. She heard Ayano’s voice ring out and smiled briefly, bits of her worries turning to enthusiasm at the encouragement; maybe this fight would be fun. Fighting was never particularly fun to Lora, but it could be exciting with the right opponent. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bloodbath but a playful sort of battle.

She psyched herself up with that thought and when the doors opened Lora followed Cyril’s direction into the Arena. The space was relatively familiar, but the angle was new. She looked up and caught the filled audience, and their company off on the left. She spotted the Chiefs, and then looked back down into the arena. She was practically vibrating with nerves and a little bit of excitement, and she kept bouncing from one foot to the other.

The other eight entered and Lora found her opponent easily: she was directly across from her and paying attention only to her. The girl smiled and Lora returned it on impulse, if with a little surprise. The girl’s smile was soft and easy, and Lora relaxed to stand still. The kindness would make it hard to wish any sort of hurt on the other girl, but she found she still preferred it to a mean snarl—perhaps this could be a playful battle. Perhaps the girl would yield before Lora had to go too far…yes, she rather hoped that, actually.

She dragged her eyes away from the girl’s face and she briefly sized her up, taking in the bow and set of arrows, and the deep blues in her clothing. She had chosen for ranged fighting then, which would surely be interesting. Lora had brought in her spear, but had been waiting to decide how much she would actually use it based on her opponent. It was good for one solid long-range, and then she would have to retrieve it. She didn’t see any other weapons on the girl, though—maybe getting close enough to retrieve it would be exactly what she had to do to make her only weapon futile.

The cheering from above cut short suddenly, and while everyone else looked up Lora cut a glance towards Cyril. He pulled his sword and the motion set Lora exactly where she needed to be. She pulled her spear and bent gently, turning her eyes back to the girl.

Yihira yelled and then Cyril cried out, and she ran forward towards her opponent.

Immediately the girl moved, jumping backwards. As she did so she brought her bow up and reached over her shoulder with her free hand to grab an arrow, nocking it into place and releasing it before she even hit the ground. The arrow was meant to slow Lora's advance more than hit her, so it flew towards her legs.

Even as she landed, the young woman prepared another arrow, aimed, and let loose towards Lora's head. "Wow, you're fast! I'm impressed!"

Lora saw the arrow coming and jumped, twisting out of the way and sweeping the end of her spear through the air where she had just been. She knocked the arrow from the air with the end and it fell from the air and skidded harmlessly across the ground. She turned back to her path and saw the next arrow coming, and she dropped to the ground quickly. The arrow caught the air at the end of her hair as she fell, but lodged itself into the ground a while away. Lora rolled out and then made to stand again, looking to the girl with a wide grin.

“You’re not too bad yourself!” she answered, pushing off the ground and racing towards her.

"Hey, thanks! That sure is nice of you!" Even as she said this, the girl kept firing arrows, constantly backing her way towards the curved wall as she did so. Clearly she was intent on keeping the distance from Lora, and didn't feel like she was being back into a corner, so to speak. She kept grinning, as if enjoying herself-

"My name's Sarah! What's yours?"

The girl kept talking but her arrows never relented, and in a very strange sort of way it was quite endearing to Lora. She kept firing and Lora kept dodging—sidestepping, jumping, tumbling, and rolling. With each step forwards the girl took a step backwards, and Lora could see the stalemate they were quickly working themselves into. She would need to change things if she was to get any closer, but it wasn’t quite the time.

After a particularly nice spin away from an arrow, Lora returned Sarah’s smile. “Lora!” she called, dashing forwards and ducking under another arrow. There was barely any pause between each one, and Lora’s running was turning into a series of quick dodging in Sarah’s direction. “I’m pleased to meet you!”

"Same!" Even as she shouted the word towards Lora, Sarah had apparently decided to escalate her efforts a little. Rather than firing a single arrow at once she unleashed two, and then settled into launching three at a time. Typically the middle arrow was the most accurate one actually aimed for her, with the other two being anticipations for the various directions Lora would dodge. Still, it was all really in an effort to slow her. Any slight wound would be a bonus.

The girl fired off two arrows and Lora understood the development, barely dodging both of them before she watched her draw and fire three. The first set she managed to roll under and get slightly closer to Sarah; she was ready for the second set when they came. She pulled her arm back as Sarah did, letting go of her spear as the other girl let go of the arrows. She threw it at the girl’s middle, for the maximum chance of hitting her any which way she moved.

Sarah yelped as the spear came out her. Reacting immediately, she dodged by actually leaping to the side, making sure to use the time to fire off another set of arrows before she hit the ground, rolled, and popped back up afterwards.

Lora rose from kneeling to standing in the throw, and when the arrows came there was only time to shift so that the middle arrow only sliced through her arm. It caught the skin right on the edge and ripped it apart, following clean through and clattering to the ground behind her. The gasp she let out was involuntary, but she managed not to grab her arm, instead clenching her good hand into a fist and sprinting forwards towards Sarah. She couldn’t lick her wounds yet—the hunt was still on.

Dalious vs. Tihn

Dalious smiled as he looked upon one of the most beautiful woman he had ever encountered. Her hair was long and white and her eyes golden as the sun. She lie next to the man giggling in his ear, as he gently brushed his hand down her nude form. He had no idea who she was or where she had come from, but her presence was relaxing for the rugged pirate. He touched her soft hair and brought her face toward his for a kiss.

"You're beautiful, love," the man whispered as their mouths connected.

Yet, it wasn't as he expected. Something was off. The woman started licking his face furiously, slobbering all over him.

He suddenly awoke from the dream. There was a small goat hovering over him, licking him to death. Simultaneously the beaming brightness from the morning's sun blinded the pirate.

"...the blooming hell!!?" Dalious shoved the animal off and sat up.

As he wiped his face from the disgusting slobber, he saw a small dirty round man staring back at him. He was holding a bucket of water and shaking his head.

"You're a certain kind of sick, mister," the man spat, then tossed the bucket's water all over Dalious. "Get out of here and leave my Tabitha alone."

"Oh, piss off!" Dalious spat back, shaking off the chilling cold water as he arose. "...Where the bloody hell am I?"

He realized he was just outside of the city in some farming stable, near to the entrance. A few locals were around shaking their heads. Dalious took off his wet clothing and tossed it, now only wearing his sand colored under tunic, sleeveless and armorless. He wobbled around for a moment trying to get his footing back, as his head ached from the night's drinking before.

Dalious eventually made his way back to the arena. By this point in time he was himself again, except still hungover. Being weaponless, he was led through an armory on the way through to the others. He observed the various forms of wood and metal, wondering what kind of weapon he was to face off against. He found a pair of rusty, yet sharp, steel daggars and strapped their sheaths around either side of his waists. It had been awhile since he held steel, but as he gripped the leather handles the feeling came back to him quickly. He spun the blades around and twirled them a bit, until he was satisfied and ready.

Moments later he was among the others he was to fight alongside. As the preparations were beginning, he turned to his side and patted the mage on his shoulder.

"Drosil, shall we wager?" he asked. "Whomever finishes their opponent last buys a round of shots?"

It wasn't but seconds later that they saw what they were up against. A few woman, a few seemingly capable men, and a scorpion folk little person. After he looked at everyone, he paid his attention to the man he would be facing. Similar weapons, though he wore a sort of armor and had various bags attached to him.

"I suddenly feel a bit underdressed," he muttered to no one in particular.

"Begin!"

As the prince went forward, Dalious found himself at a calm walk toward his opponent. He smirked to the man as he unsheathed his daggars, spinning one impressively between his fingers and wrist. The two formed their own circle within the arena pit, off to one side away from the others. He eyed his opponent, cautiously awaiting an attack.

"Nice armor," Dalious said. "It would look better on me, mate."

He spoke to the man to see if there would be any distraction in him, but the pirate paid most attention to his foot work, without eyeing down. Dalious could fight in either stance, orthodox or southpaw, and depending on how the man stepped, he changed his own footing very subtly. He waited until the angle was right, then cross stepped inward the circle and drove a straight blow toward the man's face. He expected the man to duck from the attack, while at the same time bringing his second blade in a swiping manner at the chest.

Dalious' opponent watched him with disinterest as the two circled one another. He hadn't seemed too impressed by the pirate's display of drawing his daggers, nor did he seem too impressed with what he had to say about his armor. He just gave a slight scoff even as Dalious went on the attack. Rather than ducking as Dalious expected, the man brought up one dagger to deflect the more deadly of the pirate's blows while he turned and leaned away to avoid the more blunt punch. Sparks flew as their blades slid along one another.

"I don't think you could make anything look good, mate."

With that the man suddenly moved, bringing up his second dagger in a stab towards the pirate's chest as he pulled the blade he had blocked with back, keeping it readied even as he attacked.

Dalious rolled to the right and out of the way, swinging the daggar in his left hand at the man's heels during the motion. The pirate stanced into a kneel and brought both blades across his front in the form of an x. He huffed at the opponent's comment and blew his hair out of his face.

"Now you've crossed the line!" he said.

Dalious spun the other way, pushing off with his legs and jumping into the air. He brought his blades around in a whirlwind toward the opponent.

The man had jumped over the swing towards his feet in order to avoid the blow entirely, not pursuing Dalious any farther. He allowed the pirate to come to him, flipping both daggers around into a reverse grip and holding them defensively as the man approached. With the pirate's sudden attack his opponent blocked with minimal movement, adjusting his arms back and forth slightly to block with the daggers before suddenly pushing with both forwards to force a lock with Dalious.

"Pretty sure that line was already crossed when you came in smelling like a barn, just so you know."

Dalious gave the man a nerved look and a raised eyebrow. He pushed off from the connection and backed away to sniff his pits. He then nodded in agreement.

"You have me there..." he said. "Damn you!"

He lunged forward again, this time with consecutive strikes from left to right in a rapid motion. Then right to left, and a continuous mixture of the two.

Keeping his daggers in the same reverse grip, the man continued to focus on block. As it became more and more apparent that Dalious was resorting to similar strikes in his speed, the man made his move. Suddenly using one dagger to block, he thrust with that arm to throw Dalious off balance. In his other hand he flipped his dagger around, suddenly stabbing forwards. The dagger sunk deep into Dalious shoulder and was ripped away quickly after he kicked forwards, hitting the pirate in the stomach and knocking him back.

Slowly straightening, the man ran his hand through his hair briefly, before shaking his head slightly. "The name is Tihn, by the way. Doubt you'll remember it, though."

The pirate rolled a bit backward, gripping his wound which was parallel to his previous one. He looked across the floor and realized he had also dropped one of his daggars. He winced and stood back up, cracking his neck and gripping his blade tighter.

"Well, you're right about that Todo," he said. "Lets finish this."

Drosil couldn’t help but look on excitedly as they approached the battlefield, checking, double-checking, evne triple checking himself to make sure he was properly prepared for the battle ahead. He had forgone his usually robe for something more easily maneuverable, a thick leather jacket over similar-insulated long sleeved shirt, with thin woolen breeches and a few small pouches here and there. He even wore some armor, mostly in the case of his legs and arms, thick leather armor, and a rather dull-looking leather cuirass. All of his clothing was covered with runes of protection, fortune, and swiftness, as those were the three things he’d need of he was to succeed in today’s endeavor.

As the rules were announced to them all, Drosil found himself being measured up by an interesting individual, apparently another of the beastfolk, only they seemed to be part-scorpion. Her entire posture spoke of cockiness and the look on her face clearly stated that she didn’t seem to think much of Drosil, which he was rather fine with. It was always best to have your opponent over-estimate their own abilities, as then it’ll be easier to surprise them when the moment finally came. While he had the time to prepare, Drosil would place his staff in front of him,eyes closed as he tooka knee in what seemed like prayer, mutter silent whispers in the language of magic, each one resounding in his own mind with every syllable uttered. As he spoke, the runes that decorated his clothes would activated, shimmering in the light as they temporarily took on a golden hue.

As soon as the battle was called to start, however, his voice would quickly change as he let out a quick and sharp command in the voice of the crackling embers and raging wildfires, a duality creeping into his voice as the green in his eyes was overtaken by a shimmering, fiery red, small embers flitting from his hair as he pushed it back, bringing his staff to the fore ground as a cocky grin of his own spread across his face. If one were to look at the mage from the corner of their eye, his form would seem to shift and cange, switching between the man standing there and a more intimidating humanoid figure with red skin, charred horns, and large cloven hooves, fire licking at their body as they stared down their oppoenent.

“Come then, half-blood, show us the best you have to offer.” As he spoke, he cast out a hand to send forth a barrage of small stinging embers hurtling towards the scorpion-tailed woman. They would do little in terms of initial damage, but they were certainly hurt like hell if they came in contact with any skin and flesh. Drsoil would then proceed to back away, not intending to get in range of the scorpion woman’s blade and stinger anytime soon if he could help it.

Thuraya didn't move too quickly to engage when the word was given to start. Instead she took the time to watch, learn what she could about him, gather the information needed to proceed. Did she need to be cautious? Aggressive? Sneaky? Tactful? These were the things that ran through her head, though she did step forward slowly- As the embers came toward her, eyes widened and with a swift movement, her sword came off her shoulder and dug into the ground infront of herself. She ducked a bit behind it, mostly covered by the massive blade. A few stinging burns came across her shoulders and thighs but she'd managed to shield her face, the rest was coated in plate, chain and scalemaille.

As he spoke, her head peeked out from behind the blade and she gave him a genuine smile. So, he was a mage of sorts, clearly from his initial attack. Though she'd noticed something else- an illusion? The way he spoke lead her to believe otherwise... Though it was hard to make certain the voice and way of speech was not also part of his little illusion. Caution, regardless, would be taken, yet not so obviously.

Sword came up from the ground, and her feet took her off in a quick sprint toward Drosil. Her smile changed as she gained on him, first to a small smirk, then more sadistic as her feet carried her closer. Her tail straightened behind her, curling only if she needed to turn at all to follow him as he backed away. If he was going to back off and cast spells the whole time, it might turn into an issue. But that thought simply caused her to quicken her steps. Once in range - a slash of the sword, vertically, slightly to his side to lead him the best she could for a horizontal strike next.

How interesting, so she uses her tail to help her keep her balance when moving at high speeds, which makes it easier for her to swing that giant swords straight at my- WOAH!

Drosil's analysis was cut a bit short as his opponent attempted a vertical slash, the blade only barely missing him. Unfortunately, this caused for him to loose his balance a bit, keeping him from getting out of the way of the woman's next attack, a horizontal slash this time. Seeing no way to dodge, he went for the next best thing, casting a short spell on his staff as he thrust it to his side. Thuraya's greatsword would clash against his staff with a melodious ringing sound, like that of a crystalline bell being struck. The sound would continue as Drosil used one hand to divert the horizontal string over head while he ducked, the spell he'd cast on the staff causing it to temporarily float, saving him the trouble of watching his fingers.

While this was happening, one of his hands would burst into flames all of the sudden for no discernible reason, and by the wincing on Drosil face, it seemed to be affecting him. However, the reason for it was soon revealed as a red hand would appear behind the Scorpion woman, rushing forward to grasp her tail by the base of the stinger, radiating such intense heat that it would nearly burn her if it succeeded in it's maneuver. Once she was in hand, the arm would pull her away from Drosil, aiming to toss her a good distance away before dispersing in a burst of heat and fire. While this was happening, Drosil would be backing away, the staff returning to his hand as the flames on his arm died down. The cloth of his shirt had been burned away and he had a few minor burns as well, but if he'd managed to get the scorpion woman away from him, it was worth it.

"Focus." He whispered to himself, taking a breath before she raised his staff, the orb changing to a fiery orange color that was soon laced with silver. Slamming the staff into the ground, he'd bring forth 3 Sentry flame elementals, there silvery bodies bursting outwards to make a rather impressive display. He'd stay behind them, making sure to keep the motionless creatures between him and his opponent as he prepared to cast a more decisive spell. Chanting to himself in the that strange flame tongue again, he'd keep watch on his opponent, circling the elementals around her and hoping she wouldn't figure that just one good hit with her great sword would be enough to end his creations.

It was a surprise, for sure, when he managed to block her sword with a measly staff - though she had noted the magic as why it was possible. This would be an annoying opponent for sure. Emerald eyes glared daggers as she thought of how to proceed- it would need to be fast, but that thought was cut short. She felt a searing heat on her tail. Head moved to look just as it pulled her away. A small yell escaped her lips just before feet left the floor. Eyes closed as she was flung away, and tail straightened the best she could make it so she could let her body roll, rather than slide across the ground.

He was backing away again... This of course, wasn't going to fly. She quickly got herself up off the ground, and sprinted toward the man. Sprint nearly came to a skidding halt as the flames came up between them. She stared for only a moment before lifting her sword to the side and swinging across to cleave through and continued. Even if it hadn't destroyed his sentries her mind was set, and she would get him - she'd made a promise she wasn't about to break. She would win, if it was the last thing she did.

There would be no bigger cast. If she was to be his opponent, he would play by her rules now. Not his own... "Come on! Quit the light show and show me what you've really got!" she called out to him as her sword came in for a few more strikes- leading this time with horizontal and followed by vertical. He'd dodged to the side before and ducked under, but if she could simply bring her blade down over him, then that would be it! Behind her, her tail coiled for a moment, stinging still from the flame's heat, yet managed to uncurl enough to linger over her shoulder. After her vertical strike, her entire body would crouch, low to the ground. Tail striking forward at Drosil as she gave a small hiss.

Well, that plan going down in flames, pun very much not intended

Drosil continued his chant, going slower now as he had to keep his focus split between keeping the magic he was building stable and not getting diced to pieces by the determined scorpion-woman. As she charged to the flames, cutting down the Sentry elementals with ease raised his staff, aiming to blast her away with the spell, but quickly switched to the defensive with a low mental curse, continuing the chanting in order to contain the magic and keep it from mis-firing. She'd swing at him a few times, and each time he was forced to block her, as her reach and speed made it impossible to get enough distance to safely cast his spell. Not only that, but with each ringing clash of steel against crystal, he felt his grip loosening as his fingers and arms began to lose their feeling. His muscles were not use to such constant abuse, and soon enough, they would give out at the worse possible time.

The horizontal strike would knock the staff from his arms, as well as slashing through his cuirass and biting into his chest. The pain caused his teeth to clench together for a second, the area around him heating up as the magical energy began to leak out of him, but he continued his chanting as he saw the overhead coming down on him. His voice never breaking, his left hand would quickly burst into flames again, and a fiery portal would launch outward from a space next to him to grab the descending blade, holding it place with relative ease, though from the look on Drosil's face, it wasn't so easy on him to maintain this magic. And then they would both make their move, Drosil reaching towards the gun on his hip and Thuraya crouching low to the ground.

A shot and a scream of pain would ring out as they both struck at the same time, his flying out of the barrel towards her shoulder at the same time that her own would strike his. The stinger would dig in deep, meeting some resistance from the rune-enchanted clothing, but ultimately sheathing itself rather firmly into his flesh and even managing to make it's way into the joint between his shoulder and arm. However, if his shot had managed to make it's way into his opponent's flesh, then she'd have a bit to worry about as well. A rune would be emblazoned on her flesh, sending an intense burning pain running through her body. And finally, the worst thing that could happen would happen, as Drosil's spell suddenly flared outwards in a rather violent explosion of heat and force, pushing both foes back quite aways from each other. Drosil's body would go into the air before hitting the ground hard, skidding across the arena floor before coming to a halt. For a moment, he seemed to be unconscious, his form silent and still, until one of his hands started to scramble along the ground, struggling to push him up off the ground.

Drosil's skin was covered with lacerations and developing bruises, and if his troubled breathing was any indication, he was suffering from either a broken or fractured rib. Not only that, but his right arm was a bloody mess of burned, blackened flesh and bleeding red cracks. However, despite these injuries, he managed to stand up from the ground, his breathing rough and ragged as he looked up towards his foe, a smile on his face as he chuckled to himself, wincing from the pain of his protesting ribs as he walked towards them.

"Well. . . I must say, that was . . . rather exciting. Sadly, I seemed to be very much outmatched as I currently am. So please, let me slip into something . . .more fitting for this type of fighting." Drosil's face would twist into a cruel grin, one he's practiced many, many times before that day as he began to commit the switch. With each step, dark shadows and brilliant red flames would erupt from his feet, coiling around him like a nest of ferocious vipers until there was nothing left but an inferno of black flames, his form completely hidden with it's destructive caress. However, it wasn't for long, as the inferno would quickly die out, leaving behind something even more frightening in it's place. Towering over with a glare holding no small amount of dark rage and barely repressed killing intent, stood a monster that took a form barely resembling that of a mortal man. The black armor would shine as flames would flicker at the edges ever so faintly, it's clawed hands clenching and unclenching as it seemed to be struggling with something deep with in it's twisted mind. But the worse part of the beast was that behind it's helmeted head were two burning white eyes filled with such a feeling of rage and darkness that it would probably make smaller men wet themselves in fear.

What Thuraya wouldn't know, however, was that while the flaming inferno had raged, a spell had been cast by Shadar to make himself exude and aura that breed fear and self-doubt. When looked upon, the weak-willed would flee and even the strong-willed would find themselves intimidated by the towering figure more than they normally would.

"Well then, girl, you wanted me to show you what I really got . . ." Shadar would mutter darkly as he reached to his back to draw his own greatsword, it's black blade gleaming in the light of fires that danced across Shadar's midnight scales. It's was likely equal in length to Thuraya's own weapon, but the blade wasn't that much thicker than that of an average sword. Easily flipping it around in his hands a bit, he'd level it at the scorpion woman, though something in his stance made it very clear that he didn't really fear her, or even respect her. "But in truth, I don't think you're shown enough skill to take me on at my full strength. But I'll humor you for now and make your defeat, or death, as quick as possible. No need to embarrass you in front of your precious chief now, is there?"

The Arena of Gurata

Even as everyone on either side of him went to go engage their opponents, Cyril continued to rush forwards. In contrast, the man in front of him walked forwards calmly, his head tilted ever slightly so that the left side of his head was directed some towards the Prince. As the two began to take those last steps to close the distance entirely, Cyril brought his blade up with both hands, swinging down towards the man's head. Only to the Prince's half surprise did the apparently blind man bring up his own thin blade to block, but what truly surprised Cyril was with how much strength the thin man did so. The two stopped there, not breaking from their engage.

"Hm... It seems like you've had a teacher or two, but you found your style on your own." The man spoke calmly, head turning so that neither side was directed more towards the Prince. "Is that about right?"

The Prince blinked, taken a little off guard by the sudden attempt at conversation. He gave a nod, even if it didn't really matter, though he made sure to follow up with, "Pretty much right. Cyril Serio."

"Ah, the Prince of Barcea himself! This is certainly a privilege. Badain. I'd bow but, well, you know." Smiling at his own little bit of dry humor, he suddenly gave a shove with his blade to force the Prince back before Cyril could respond. Grunting, the Prince barely had time to move his blade in position to deflect stabs from the thin, quick blade, forced entirely on the defensive by Badain. The man was good, very good, and clearly had more experience than Cyril. It was all the Prince could do to simply keep up.

Badain's blows were directed in precise strikes at different parts of Cyril's body, forcing the Prince to continue backing away constantly in order to not be immediately and completely overwhelmed. Stabs towards his head suddenly transitioned into slashing at his arms, before slipping fluidly into attempts to gouge his legs. The Prince grit his teeth in concentration as he continued to move defensively, a bead of sweat forming in his temple and dropping down the side of his face as Badain continued to push him.

The slip up came when Badain suddenly feinted with a blow, instead turning it to smash the hilt of his sword into Cyril's forehead. With a slight yell the Prince staggered backwards, but the real pain came when he felt the tip of the thin blade slashing across his torso upwards, before it jumped up to slice into his chin. He jumped back with a stumble, hand coming up grip over the wound over his chin, which was just a little deeper than the slash in his chest.

Badain chose not to follow, instead taking a step back. Briefly, he tilted his head, before shaking it slightly as he flicked his blade out to the side. "Hm. Not quite as close as I wanted to be. I apologize for that Prince, the noise from all the other fights must be throwing me off. Please bear with me." In response, the Prince just lowered his hand back to his blade, gripping it a little more tightly.

Meanwhile, the situation had escalated for Christopher just as quickly. As the battle begun, he brought both of his fists together heavily, a burst of electricity crackling around his hands before he rushed forwards. In front of him his targeted opponent, the woman with the strange green hair, just watched his approach with a grin, her staff still held out to the side...

Just as he entered her range, however, she moved, arm whipping up in a blur. He snapped his own hands up in response, have expected such a move, and caught the crescent moon-shaped blade along the inner curve. His gauntlets crackled as blade collided with plates, sparks leaping around the blade and down the staff. Her grin still on her face, the woman gave a sudden push with her staff, a movement that actually forced Christopher to lean back slightly, to his surprise.

"Oooh, nice reflexes, kid! Honestly thought you were just a charging idiot to begin with there!"

"Gonna take a lot more than that." Christopher grunted slightly, before pushing back forcefully in return, forcing them to disengage. The woman willingly backed up to keep her distance, even as he pursued; using his forearms to block, he constantly angled his arms in different directions to keep her from slicing him with the blade. Her motions forced him to slow his advance, always keeping him out of his own range, though they continued to back towards the wall. Every time he tried to grab the staff to force her to hold it still, she simply twisted it in her hands, sending the blade turning wildly and forcing him release before he got shredded.

"Just hold still, dammit!"

The woman laughed, before actually coming to a stop. However in that same moment she thrust forwards with her weapon, the crescent blade hooking one of his arms and then the other, actually pinning them against his own body. From there she actually swung him around, reversing their positions entirely. Though they were still a fair distance away, his back was now the closer one to the wall, and his eye twitched as he tried to wrench away from the crescent. With a twist, though, the woman managed to keep him locked.

"What's your name, kid? We've got to know what to carve, don't we?"

"Christopher Nocte, and fuck you-" However, even as he finished his curse, a violent change came over the woman. At the mention of his name, her grin turned into a violent snarl as she pushed forwards once again, forcing him to back awkwardly.

"Nocte? NOCTE?!" She snarled these words, and Christopher's eyes widened.

"What the hell is your problem, you crazy broad-?!"

"NOCTE?!" The woman shrieked this now, continuing to force him back. Something was wrong, extremely so; in different places, her limbs were beginning to twitch in ways that they shouldn't, such as in the middle of her limbs, and all over her skin began to writhe, as if something was twisting about within her from head to toe. It was at its worst across her face, before quite suddenly the left half seemed to shred itself, strips of flesh and muscle curling around themselves to form strange tendrils that squirmed rapidly, as if irritated. Christopher continued to pale even in this moment.

"What the actual fuck-"

"The name is Mizra, and this is all I have left to say to you: DEATH TO THE DIVINES!" Suddenly, the blade of the crescent began to glow brightly, a high pitched whine filling the air. Before Christopher could even begin swearing, the light spread down the length of the staff, before suddenly a beam of energy exploded forwards. It enveloped him and sent him flying, crashing into the wall of the arena with enough force to crack and crater it, leaving him embedded in the strong stone briefly.

Coughing, Christopher's head hung briefly before he groaned loudly, trying to pull himself from the wall. Burns were spread over his face, his clothes charred and smoldering in places, especially around his sleeves. However before he could drop to the ground, Mizra was there, grabbing him by the face with her left hand and smashing his head back against the wall. Even from the disorientation created by the blow, he could still feel how the palm of her hand squirmed against him, before it began to rip open and tendrils began to curl around his cheek-

"Little servants like you aren't worth the air you waste." Snarling this, Mizra suddenly took a step back, swinging her staff around. Across Christopher's throat the blade went, slitting his throat with one easy movement as she completed her turn.

The invitation was rather sudden, however it was one that Etsuko figured they couldn't refuse. Upon separating from Cyril and his Sentinels, she and Calypso began to journey back to their home in the mountains. Because their small village was closer to the mountains, the air was a little crisper than the more desirable air around the Capitol. It was a humble village, with many a hard worker. By the time they had arrived, the villagers were beginning to shut their windows and lock their doors; the shepherds were rounding up their sheep and the children were getting one last game in before dinner. The journey took them two days, however the company was good and it was something they were both used to at this point.

When they arrived to the small cottage they shared, she was happy to see that a fire had already been started. Her family lived in the village as well, however after Etsuko’s affinity for divination became clear, she chose to live away from her family, worried that the other villagers would accuse them of dark magic.

The inside was large enough for the two young women. Upon entering, a fireplace was placed towards the left side of the room, guarded by a stone wall. Bookshelves and rather comfortable looking chairs accompanied the area. The center consisted mainly of a dining table and a kitchenette and further were two doors that led to their bedrooms.

They were there for at least an evening before an invitation from a certain Lady Renata appeared. Both young women had just been cleaning up after breakfast--Etsuko cleaning the dishes and Calypso putting them away in the high cupboards--when the fortune teller turned and found said invitation. She mumbled to herself, swearing that it hadn't been there before, however, once she saw who it was from, she knew right away that it was clearly from a very important person. The name was one that Etsuko had heard before, and figuring that it'd be better to be on this woman's good side rather than her not-so good side, she prepared for another trip.

Etsuko stayed quiet for the majority of the journey there. The changing surroundings seemed like something out of a story and something she might have spun in her imagination. But the fact that it was all real…made her nervous. She was glad to have Calypso by her side; having to navigate this on her own would have probably resulted in her turning back and trying to find her way back to her own village. Chances were, she would have gotten lost and perished.

Shaking her head, she gulped and tried to clear her mind. She had no idea why a demon, let alone Lady Renata herself, would ask for her presence. She doubted it had nothing to do with her fortune telling skills. There had to be something beyond that, a catch.

They had left early in the morning, with the rising sun in front of them as they entered the mountains. Very quickly the trail they followed became overgrown and disused; the superstitious villagers they lived with were comfortable with going any direction but east, and probably for good reason. Something about the mountain range became distinctly unwelcoming the further they went. The old trees seemed to crowd together, looming over them as their gnarled roots tried to trip the two up with every step. The subtle sounds made by animals began to fade away as they were left behind. Everything began to turn grey as life seemed to fade and a mist crept in. The silence was suffocating, even their steps muffled as they continued on.

The mist continued to thicken that it became almost impossible to see. The thick branches of the trees above did little to help, blotting out the sun entirely before long. Their journey was cold, dark, and uncomfortable. Though the forest seemed truly lifeless, the feeling that something was watching them made their hair stand on end. Despite this all, little about Calypso's smiling expression changed...

And then it was as if they suddenly broke through a wall. The mist and treeline cleared immediately, the feeling of being watched disappearing with it. The sun, however, did not return. Though their journey had been long, it couldn't have been any later than midday, and yet up in the sky hung an impossibly massive and very red moon. The night sky was dark, twinkling with stars of red and white. This beautiful sight was above a just as beautiful and massive mansion, made of deep red brick and wood. There were many wings and floors to the mansion that sprawled out in front of them, complete with tall tower-like structures. Dozens of windows were spread evenly over the various shapes of the structure, glowing ever softly with faint light from within.

All around the mansion was large expanses filled with gardens and paths. Just in front they could see several fountains spread out, with long stretches of bushes, trees, and flowerbeds spread symmetrically out. The flowers were all a deep red. These well-maintained areas were surrounded by a fence that apparently went around the entirety of the mansion, the trees suddenly stopping at least five yards from it in all directions, and where they exited was directly in front of the gate. As they approached, both doors of the ornate gate swung inward, and a path of dark stones led from the gate all the way to front of the mansion, where there were two large and heavy doors.

It took them over a minute to make the slow walk from the path from gate to the doors; such was the size of the space they had to cross. The double front doors of the mansion were set at the top of several covered steps, and as they reached these steps the doors swung inward on their own accord. There was a man waiting just beyond the doors. He stood straight with perfect posture, and though he was clearly in his sixties he was physically fit. His grey hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and over his left eye he wore a monocle. The man wore a dark black vest with a deep red shirt with long sleeves beneath it, and his pants were dark as well. He wore very black but very shiny shoes, and he also wore gloves as well.

This man was the first sign of true life they had seen in hours, and the man gave them a perfectly composed smile as he bowed before them.

“Ms. Tanaka and Ms. Calypso, you're right on time. Please, enter. I am Richard Leto, head butler to the Lady Renata, and it is a pleasure to meet you.”

After feeling lost for a good few hours, the fact that a goal was in sight put Etsuko at ease. The Diviner allowed herself to be taken aback by their beautifully red surroundings, probably the most color they had seen all day. As they reached the entrance of the mansion, with the doors opening just as they arrived on the final step and the butler introducing himself as Richard, she found herself relaxing. Perhaps it was because of the butler’s demeanor or the fact that they were finally out of the forest, but whatever it was, Etsuko began to breath easy.

She didn’t say anything, deciding to simply approach the butler who called himself Richard. There was something about him that was awfully familiar, however she couldn’t quite place it. Again, she continued to try and clear her mind of anything negative and told herself that at least she was here with Calypso.

Though it took a moment, her teal eyes came to focus on the butler in front of them. She managed to give a smile and a small curtsy.

“It's nice to meet you, Mr. Leto.”

The butler continued to smile at the both of them, giving the both of them a nod as Calypso brought up her hand to wave by wiggling her fingers. The man took one step back before turning, allowing them to enter the mansion fully. Within, the entrance way was dark, lit just enough for them to see. The high ceiling was far above, and there were stairways on either side that led immediately to the second floor and beyond. There were many doors that led deeper into the mansion, and many hallways as well. Paintings of scenes from everything from still life to scenic artwork hung on the deep red walls, and there was plenty of decorative furniture that vases of more flowers sat upon.

“This way, if you please.” Richard led them to one of the hallways to the right, at an easy pace. As they walked along through the hallways, to their left the walls were tastefully decorated in a similar manner to that of the entrance way, with closed doors every so often. Just like in the entrance way, there was just enough light provided by candles for them to see where they were going. To their left were windows, allowing them to see the gardens and grounds from a different angle.

The path through the mansion that Richard led them through had many turns. There were plenty of places where hallways converged and split away from one another, and windows came and went. The farther they went though, once again the unsettling feeling that something wasn't quite right set in, though it wasn't immediately apparent; they had seen the mansion from the outside, and yet through a combination of how often they turned and how often windows appeared and disappeared on their path, the path took them through a space that didn't quite fit in the confines of the mansion they had seen before. More often than not they turned several times in quick succession, in such a way that they would have followed a square around to the side they had initially started on, and yet the paintings and decorations were different...

From the night sky outside to the halls within the mansion, it was impossibility after impossibility.

Etsuko was beginning to feel dizzy with all of the twists and turns that the mansion seemed to be full of. She almost feared for a day when she would have to find herself alone in these hallways, trying to navigate her way back to the entrance. In a way to keep herself entertained, she tried to find landmarks, things to remember and mark the path, should she ever find herself alone. Unfortunately, all of the stimulus overwhelmed her brain and almost leaned on Calypso for some support. The fortune teller gave her kudos to Richard for being to navigate through these hallways with ease.

They eventually reached their destination as the hallway came to an end to a set of double doors. In front of these doors Richard stopped, turning to face them once again. His polite, reserved smile was on his face as he gave another bow of the head before he said, “Allow me to present the Lady of Demons, Karin Renata.”

With that he turned, opening the doors.