The trees made a wall, an oasis. They blocked out the rest of the world. A large, but shallow lake stood in the center, providing a cool and refreshing drink to all those that happened to find their way into the ring of trees. The tall grass swayed in the gentle breeze that managed to make it through the natural barrier, hiding all the birds and wildlife that lived below its top. The field was set, contestants ready, judge prepared, the winner would move on. The one that was defeated would be eliminated.

The stillness, the serenity, the peacefulness, was all disturbed as the wildlife sprung to life. Birds of all types, pheasants, falcons, and more, all flew away to a safer place. They could all sense the approaching presence. The watter rippled as a dark form stepped into it. He looked down at his distorted, rippling reflection and smiled. The time had come for his tournament to commence.

The Drow Weapon's Master reached back into the long grass. He pulled out a large bulging sack and placed it by the water's edge. Quickly pulling it open he knelt down beside the sack. Reaching in, Nafalen began systematically pulling out various weapons, pieces of armor, rings, and more. He made two piles.

The first pile held Sartana's Dao of Destruction, Sartana's Customized Falchion, Searing Trigger-Action Wrist Dagger, Throwing Knives, Ice Dirk, a Leather Cap, Gloves of Climbing, Aina'karythar's Scale Mail, a Black Cape, a Resplendent Waist Guard, Boots of Equity, an Emblem of Brave Sir Robin, a Potion of Suggestion, a Potion of Cure Disease, an Exploding Potion, a Mana Vial, a Dragon Scale Concoction, 50ft. Rope.


The second pile held a Mana Burn, Boots of Bloodshed, Silver Bangle of Strength, a Demon bow, Barbed Arrows, and a Lighting Blade

Gathering up his sack, Nafalen left the piles at the water's edge and left the oasis. He climbed a nearby tree to watch the battle that he knew was about to ensue.

It was late morning, and Sartana lay in his tavern bed, sprawled over the soft sheets, a silky pillow over his face. Unlike his home world, Arda was rich and adventure was plentiful; a recent dungeon raid had left the demonhunter with more gold and equipment than he could carry. He had donated most to the local orphanage in Lomedor, and saved the rest for food and lodging. At the moment he was staying in an upper-class tavern called 'The Scrumptious Scrumpet'. Honestly, he would have rather stayed in the forest, sleeping in a stout oak tree and enjoying nature, but his companion would not hear it.

"What do you mean? None? Not one!" Came a deep, throaty voice from the hallway, outside of Sartana's room. The demonhunter's foot twitched in irritation. Geoffrey Wilkington, adventurer and good-fer-nothin', stood on the fine oak floorboards of the hallway, two red fur-covered arms crossed over his burly chest. The lupine was sent by Ita the Reckless to aid the demonhunter in his travels, after he had finished his training with the Goddess, but Sartana had found that Geff (as he called him) was more of a nuisance than an aid. Especially in the mornings.

"I tell you," bellowed Geff, pushing his way into Sartana's room, "If there's one thing I hate about these fancy shmancy taverns, it's the lack of service. I ask for a bottle of Mordian Dreadlock wine- but do they have any? Of course they do! All taverns carry the damned common drink. But do they carry any bottles in season?" He asked, throwing his hands over his head. "I think not!"

A moment passed where nothing moved. The lupine held his arms over his head in exasperation, while Sartana's black-clothed form lay still on the bad. There was a sudden jerk on the bed, and a white flash through the air. All seven feet two hundred and fifty pounds of Geff fell backwards and hit the floor. A pillow lay on his face. Sartana slowly sat up, and shook his head, rubbing his eyes. Nafalen's tournament- it's today. He turned to the open window, where the sun peaked in and lit up the demonhunter's tanned features. I've got maybe an hour, and no time for breakfast. Damn that walking carpet- I told him to wake me up! Geff got up and assumed a pugilist position. "You wanna fight, Sartana? Huh? Hitting me with surprise attacks like that, I tell yuh, I won't take it! The demonhunter got up and walked past the angry lupine. He didn't have time to waste.

It was warm out, and perfect weather for a friendly battle. The darkly-dressed man held out his hand and let it touch the wispy stocks of grass as he walked. The fields, the lake, the wall of trees that surrounded this oasis, it was all so beautiful. The demonhunter loved nature, and he loved fighting. Today was going to be most pleasant.

He found a pile of armor and weapons where the battle was supposed to take place, and looked around him, at the sides of the clearing. Nafalen was supposed to be heading the matches and he would have liked to see that Drow. They had shared an adventure together some time ago, and parted on friendly terms, even if both of them had been eager to kill each other at first. He donned his armor, and sheathed his many weapons. He placed everything on him in their regular positions, and waited eagerly for his opponent to show. He wasn't sure who he was fighting, but he hoped to get a look at him before they fought. The conclusions he could derive from an opponent's appearance and movements were invaluable.

Aaris gazed upon the area where she would soon be ripping the very flesh of her to be opponent. Calmly taking a breath of the view she enjoyed the eerie silence just before the battle. Every fight for her was as serious as they could get, unless it involved someone familiar that she didn’t fully want to kill. Still then she would inflict as much torment as she could possible could. Aaris was a fallen angel whom lived to hear painful cries. All week she had waited impatiently for this glorious battle. Looking across the field, there was her opponent casually placing his armor and weapons on their rightful places. Her green eyes glared with anger as she thought of the drow who had asked her to give her possessions to him. He might have even spat on them for all I know, she remarked as she hurriedly began to walk towards her own pile.

There her possessions rest waiting for her touch; also her rage fueled to the fact her possessions were too close to the man she was willing to fight. Roughly she grabbed her quiver of barbed arrows, and demon bow. She than stood over the rest of her items, finding it to be very foolish to just casually ready herself in front of her opponent. Muttering curses of all sorts she quickly took her barbed arrow, and pulled back the string steadily. Her body was at a side in front of her opponent who looked like just a mere human. The bow and arrow were facing down, not quiet ready to begin.

“This is who they make me fight, a mere human man?!” She questioned loudly. It didn’t matter to her in the least that he was over a head in height to her. Size didn’t matter in those dark orbs of hers, it was the power that count and the speed. “I’ll make the quick for you. Tell Death I said hello,” with the last word spoken, she rose her bow up, than let the arrow rip though the wind. The arrow quickly shot towards Sartana, hoping to pierce his head. If hit truely, t he barbed would hopefully go though his skull thanks to the sharp barbs. Without looking to see if it had land, she bent downwards, and quickly placed the silver bangle of strength on her left hand, just in case this battle lasted longer than expected.

Than if she had enough time she took her mana burn in a shimmer blue case, and tossed the potion at her opponent whom Aaris was three yards away. If this were to hit him, than his mana power would be decressed slightly.

Sartana offhandedly slipped on his black gloves, wishing he didn't have to, so warm had the summer breeze been on his fingers, but knowing that he would need every advantage he could get in the coming battle. His opponent's pile of equipment lay several meters from him, and he eyed it, describing the opponent in his mind by what weapons were laid on the soft grass. So, I'll be fighting an archer. Fair enough. It looks as though he has some melee combat experience, as well, considering his blade and the strength-enhancing bangles. The demonhunter thought to himself. The bangle's magical abilities were known to Sartana, as he had been eyeing a pair for himself lately. They were very expensive, though. This was also noted by him. The opponent had enough coin for expensive gear; he was either a seasoned adventurer, or some snooty noble. Giving the lack of additional armor, he'd have to go with adventurer.

A figure approached from the opposite end of the field, and Sartana turned to face him. He was surprised. “A woman..?” He whispered to himself from under his crimson scarf. It didn't matter what gender his opponent was, really, but the demonhunter had not expected a female. He watched as the being walked, and approached her equipment, bending over to pick it up. Sartana's eyes glittered in the sunlight, even from under the shade of his wide-brimmed hat. As I thought. She has the stride of the warrior, and the movements of an experienced adventurer. This could be interesting. Just then, the woman looked up at him, and spoke. She cried out in incredulity, unable to believe that the tournament officials had pitted her against a human. The demonhunter was not sure of her race, but he was surprised that she would underestimate him based on his race. He didn't say anything, nor did he move. His eyes were fixed on her movements, and did not blink. She was evil, and would attack before they had introduced themselves. Or, at least, that's what Sartana predicted. One more insult was hurled at the demonhunter, and he soon found his prediction correct; her bow leveled itself, and an arrow spiraled towards his head.

Sartana's weapons weren't even unsheathed yet- but he didn't need them to dodge. The arrow was very quick, given how far the girl could pull her hefty bow back. A leap from the darkly-dressed man brought him out of the arrow's path. It tore through his trailing cape as he tumbled, and leaped up, just as a blue potion shattered on his forearm, splashing his body. Most of the liquid splashed on his hat and cloak, but the rest hit his face, and soaked through his pants. Sartana didn't care. Earlier, when he was inspecting her equipment, he had noticed the potion; he had owned one like it some months ago. Since he would be using very little magic, if none at all, he did not waste energy dodging it.

The potion's explosion created a cloud of thick blue smoke around the demonhunter. He used this cover to his advantage. Moving forward slightly, so that he could see the faint outline of his adversary, Sartana removed a fist full of throwing knives from a fold of cloth on his chest and flicked his wrist. The three daggers burst out of the blue smoke, aimed at the woman. Sartana unsheathed his Dao of Destruction with his right hand, and an exploding potion from his belt with his left hand. He hurled the potion in the air. It shot out of the blue cloud, aimed to drop around the girl's position.

Sartana hoped that, in being distracted with the throwing daggers, the potion would go unnoticed, and land at the girl's feet, injuring her. He dashed out of the cloud and circled around her, sword held defensively. He couldn't engage her in melee combat yet; he needed to keep his defensive footing against her powerful arrows.

A frown drew on those pale lips belonging to the fallen angel as she saw her black flamed barbed arrow harmlessly fly pass her target. In frustration she didn’t let this set back blind her from the fight. One false slip up and than it would cost her everything, the tournament, the prize money involved, not to mention losing. In delight she chuckled when the blue potion broke at the man’s body, indeed that would him in a small case. From his equipment there were many armor and melee type things, and a few potions of the like. Maybe this throwing act would give her enough time to have her wings out, and ready for flight.

Two rather large downward slits were at the back of her shirt, showing a black slit on her back to match. Straining, she pushed hard at her back, trying to get her medium sized wings from her back. Sweat beaded at her forehead at this feat, for this wasn’t such an easy task on a count that she hardly used her wings unless necessary. I must get up in the air, my archery doesn’t work up close, she had decided upon as she bent down to grab a hold of her boots in the right pale hand, and than her lighting blade in her left. Pale finger tips know turned light red as she grabbed her items with a death grip. With a final yell she got her both ashen wings out, they both had sprays of red on the feathers from blood.

Just as she jumped up in the air to go up, knifes shot out from the smoke quickly. Hurriedly she flew upwards, yet still it wasn’t high enough to evade their sharp edges on her ankles. Both ankles were badly cut, something that wouldn’t happen if she had taken the time to put on her bleed shed boots. Squinting in pain, she held in a yelp with a bite of her tongue while beating the air with her wings. “Pig,” she muttered in anger while placing her sword in her sash to hold it there. Since he didn’t seem to be launching anymore attacks at her, she took this time to quickly place her boots one, one at a time.

Down below her she spotted that he had tried to attack her with some sort of explosion. It hadn’t seemed as if it were cast, so Aaris felt there was more to him than met the eye. Something that did surprise her was when humans could easily hold their own against her. “So you’re not just a mere mortal, well than that is good to know. I wont fall asleep,” she spoke to him, almost in shock that she could actually give someone a compliment.

With her left free finger she began to mutter something in an arcane tone of voice. The soothing magical lyrics danced upon her lips and the concentration of the spell began. Soon red essence encircled her finger to the point it grew into a reddish ball. Not long after that the ball began to smolder until it burst into flames. “But can you take the heat?” She mockingly questioned him as she lunched off a fire ball hurled downwards at the human figure. If this attempt would work, even if he did try to run from it, it would still try to follow him and give him some medium burning damage.

At the signing of his contract for this competition, he had spotted several powerful-looking warriors and wizards alike, all looking to enter the tournament. He had hoped that luck would favor him, and he'd be pitched against another fighter; someone using two weapons was preferred even more, as such battles were relished by Sartana; four blades whirling and twisting in the air, slashing and cutting, only stopping momentarily to parry a blow that could not be dodged. He enjoyed such fights, and having entered the tournament for fun, some melee combat was just what he wanted. But, that's not what he got. Not only was his opponent an archer, obviously reluctant to enter sword-on-sword combat, but she was also a mage. She wasn't going to get close to Sartana's sword. He watched as wings sprouted from her back, and she took off into the air, his explosive potion landing harmlessly below her. The demonhunter growled as she hovered above him, in the sky. Damn ranged combat... He grumbled from under his crimson scarf, side-stepping below her. Sartana didn't excel in ranged combat. His natural talent helped some, but he had no real training. He looked up at her. She was saying something.

Flame danced around her fingertips, and Sartana dropped his Blade of Destruction on the ground. She was casting a spell, a fire-based one by the look of it. He made three quick hand gestures in front of him, using both gloved hands, and clapped them together, pushing both palms into the air as he watched the fireball descend on him. “Reflect!” There was a jerk of energy through his arms, and a blue sphere flashed around his form. The fireball was very close; Sartana was not as adept at casting spells as the woman, and his own counter spell came into effect just as the fireball touched- and scorched- his hands. His reflect spell lit up the clearing in a flash of blue light as the fireball bounced off it, headed back towards the winged woman who had cast it in the first place.

As the fireball spiraled towards the girl, Sartana grabbed his dropped sword in his right hand- and growled in pain. His gloves were magical; they were fine. But the heat had passed through them, and his hands were burnt. It hurt like hell, but he ignored the pain; he needed to counter attack. Holding his sword in both hands like one would a crossbow, Sartana aimed the tip at the winged woman. He concentrated, and held one eye shut, using the prominent upper half of the blade as an aimer. Concentrating on the inherent magic of the blade, he called forth one of its powers.

Shaking slightly with the power that surged through it, the tip of Sartana's Dao of Destruction lit up in a light red hue, lightening its already crimson, blood-caked form. A beam of chaotic energy shot from the tip, aimed straight at the woman in the air above. He turned the blade slightly as he aimed at her; the beam was straight, and continuous, though it could only fire the concentrated beam for a few seconds before the power was used up, and needed to recharge. He wasn't sure how long it took to recharge, but figured he wouldn't be able to use it again in this battle.