A lone figure trudged through the sandy dunes of Anfauglir, the sweltering air above him, the scorching sand beneath him. Aloric wiped his brow with the back of his hand. As far as he could tell, there was never a good reason to travel to the desert. Well, besides money. Money was always a good reason. It was explained to him very simply: watch these would-be gladiators fight each other in a pre-determined arena, judge the battle, and choose a winner. Simple enough. Aloric didn’t bother to mention to his employers that he didn’t know the first thing about fighting tactics. But money is money, and money is hard to come by. Presumably, that’s why these champions of Arda were here as well. The purse for winning the tournament was a tantalizing reward, to say the least.

He found it highly unlikely that the choice of locale where he would be judging was merely a coincidence. “This place looks eerily familiar,” the ranger said to himself. He finally stopped walking and took a look at his surroundings.

All around was sand, sand, some more sand, a mirage that was probably just sand, and- you guessed it- more sand. There seemingly appeared to be one exception to all this sand however. A few yards in front of Aloric, a massive slab of stone stood just above the yellowish-white surface of the desert. More elliptic in shape than circular, it could hardly be considered an ideal place to fight. These contestants would have to do more than brave their challengers during this tournament; they would have to brave the elements. Unfortunately, so would the judges. Right about now Aloric wished he had the foresight to carry more than one canteen with him. He pulled at his clothing, trying to get some breathing room, as he waited for the contestants to arrive. “Maybe I should have also brought something to sit on,” he mused. He bet the other judges probably had thought to do that. Not Aloric. He looked around for anything that would allow him to make a makeshift chair, but he quickly realized that sand was not the ideal resource for construction. And now his hands were dirty.

He looked back down at his cheat sheet. The two fighters he was to be expecting went by the names of Azlateen and Arganol Deathstrider. “Deathstrider. Lovely. I’m so dead.” He gulped.

The two warriors were finally coming into view, beyond one of the dunes that was oh-so characteristic of this god-forsaken place. First their heads appeared over the sand, then their upper body, until they were walking down the heap of sand, armored and looking fully ready for the fight that was to come.

What was he supposed to do next? Oh, that’s right. Start the introductions. He tried his best to sound confident and imposing, a great judge of a great fight. He stood erect and pushed his chest out. “Greetings, you warriors of renown!” Okay, could he sound any cheesier? “Today, we gather here in this worthless mass of sand and heat to determine the better fighter.” His voice croaked. He wasn’t very good at sounding confident and imposing. “Which one of you shall be victorious? Which one of you shall move to the next round of this grand tournament of champions?” He hoped the winner would be jolly glad at his victory, and that the loser would be kind and spare his life after the decision was made. “And, uh, if you should pray for anything today, pray for courage, pray for boldness, and most of all, pray for some shade!” He fidgeted for a second, trying to find a suitable way to begin the match. “Uh, yeah, just, start killing each other when you’re ready.”

The desert. Perfect. It was blistering hot, dry, and too sandy. It's not like Az had never been through before, but it wasn't exactly one of his favorite places to fight. And it wasn't going to be any better with his bone armor and dobok pants. It got a little warm even in the mountains. But, in order to have a decent fight, he had to have protection, unless he wanted to get stabbed rather than faint of heat stroke. Az figured he'd rather go out in heat stroke than be stabbed. At least he would have put up a fight.

Approaching the huge area of stone, he stepped onto it and stood on one end opposite of his opponent, Argonal. He looked to their judge, Aloric, and was glad that at least this time there was going to be a judge visible, rather than fighting alone, afraid that if someone died no one would be there to see it. Yes, this tournament seemed to be a lot more organized than the last tournament he was in, and Az was ready to put up a fight this time. Az had a new weapon to go along this time other than his dagger. It was his newly forged by demons Demonic Blade. It could cut through any metal except adamantium and mithril, if swung hard enough. It would give him an edge, but it's no good if Az wasn't conscious in this head.

Having a hand on the hilt of his blade sheathed in the belt in the back of his pants, he looked forward, mentally preparing and checking off his imaginary check list. He was hydrated as of last night, he had plenty to eat to energize him, he had his bone armor on, and his demon side was psyked and crying for blood. He extended his wings to their full wingspan, to show no surprise in this feat. But he hid his demon form for the time being, waiting until he really needed to use it. Kind of like a second wind, so to say, but hopefully Az had done enough training lately to be strong enough not to use it. And he was confident he was. 20 years of martial arts training was too much to loose twice.

Aloric said go, but Az held strong, waiting for his opponent to make the first move. He knew he had to be the dominant one in the fight, but he never made the first move, and dominance came from years of training, and secrets he held up his sleeve. Well, his non existent sleeves that is. His bone armor was sleeveless, and he didn't bother putting on a shirt under it. So he was bare armed, except for his masterwork bracers. Those should help his steadyness of hand. He was ready to kick some ass.

He watched his opponent with his pure black eyes, looking like two holes in his face. There was no breeze to blow his short hair dramatically, and too much sun to make the ground and his skin glow. Well, he was ready, and wasn't going to go down without a fight. A good one at that.

Arganol Deathstrider traipsed throughout the Anfauglir Desert under his human guise, Zeratul Nightkreek, exhausted from the sun’s throbbing rays of refulgence and heat. He was sweating profusely, even though he was clad in naught but a white shirt and pants. He could not afford human shoes, so he just wrapped his feet in simple white bandages. Arganol hated traveling through the desert for many reasons; it was hot beyond normal measures, there was nothing to do there, and often bandits took the initiative to assault you when you were least expecting it. There was only one reason that he was there in the first place, he had signed up for a fighting tournament, held by the famed Demonhunter, Sartana Misirlou. He paid a small entry fee and was pitted against some fighter named Azlateen. Arganol had never heard of the name before, but was sure it would be no walk in the park. Fate, his new sword was in a comfortable position in a sheathe on his back, swinging slightly from left to right. A single breeze could be found in the Anfauglir at this time, but it was not comfortable and cool, it was burning and torture.

This desert might not be as bad if it had a path to follow, instead of trudging over sand dunes all of the time. he thought to himself, antagonized with the fact that he had to traverse so far. He faintly looked up, as to see what the positioning of the sun was at currently. The Nightsaber decided that it was sometime late in the afternoon, when heat and fatigue were at their peaks. An unusually loud groan escaped from the chafed lips of Arganol once he saw an enormous sand dune that he had to climb over. He began the trek up it, thinking about what his opponent would be like. Arganol knew that he would have to be ready for anything, and began to think of the combat tactics that he knew. When he reached the top, he saw what was either a mirage, or a very large slap of stone with an exhausted traveler on top of it. From where he was standing, it looked somewhat elliptical. Profuse amounts of sweat resulted in his clothes clinging dearly to him, so he took a minute to try to get some breathing room.

Unfortunately, it was useless because the sweat had been there for a long time. Finally, he decided to just take the shirt off. He grasped and pulled until he got the shirt off of his body. I might as well get my use out of this.. he muttered to himself within his subconscious. So he tilted his head back, opened his drenched mouth, and wrung out the sweat into it. It was very bland and salty, but Arganol ran out of water about an hour or so ago, and needed to stay hydrated. He tied it around his forehead to keep the sweat out of his eyes and continued the long trek over to the slab, to see if the traveler on top knew where Arganol’s fight would be at. Arganol did not want to hurry himself and get tired, so he calmly and casually started trudging on. Within minutes, he began to ‘glisten’ in the brilliant sunshine, looking like someone had anointed his body. He thought that he saw another traveler to the far left of him, but he couldn’t make out much.

Arganol reached slowly to his back and felt around for Fate’s hilt until he found it, and withdrew it from its sheathing. It was a finely crafted blade; it had a black and gold hilt, gold pommel, and a long, sharp blade. He had gotten it from a man he had saved earlier that day. He was tall and had a scruffy beard, and looked like he was in his sixties. He was traveling to Angband for a reason that he preferred not to reveal to his savior. The man was attacked by three demons, all wielding shortswords. The man had nothing to defend himself with, and Arganol pitied him, so he helped. He scared them away without need for physical confrontation, by just executing a large, intimidating roar in his true form. In thanks, the traveler gave him the alleged Infernal Sword called Fate. It is supposed to drain life from whoever is slashed with the blade, and grant it to the wielder. Arganol is not sure whether or not the man was even sane, but he did intend to find out in his next battle.

As he kept trudging on, his eyes began to play tricks on him. He thought that he saw a large mace swinging towards his head, and dropped down to the ground to avoid the blow. The mace dissipated as Arganol realized that it was just a mirage. He slowly got up and kept going, until a sword plunged forwards towards his heart. He clenched his teeth and let the mirage attack him, causing him no pain at all. Finally, he reached the stone slab. It seemed that this would be more then just a test of strength in combat, but also the strength of mind to endure the harsh weather and conditions. Already standing on top of the slab were two people, one of which had to be his adversary. He set the blade on top, mustered up all of his strength, and clambered up on top of the enormous slab. He could tell which one was his opponent by his stance. He was wearing some sort of sleeveless, demonic armor, some masterfully-crafted bracers, and had his hand on what seemed to be a sheathed blade’s hilt. His eyes were definitely noteworthy, being both of a stone black color. He could tell that below the armor his body was very toned, and that he didn’t use magic. His hair was as black as his eyes and kind of spiked.

This would be a match worth remembrance.

Then, he looked to his right. It was what he thought to be a man as well, with blue-green eyes. He had not seen many of those lately, most of them being of intimidating hues and shades. His hair was of a light brown color, and his body somewhere around well built. He was wearing some leather body armor, gloves, and a very nice belt. Arganol’s thoughts were interrupted when he heard the man to his right begin speaking. He seemed to try and look intimidating of some sort by puffing out his chest and saying, “Greetings, you warriors of renown!” Arganol was positive that he was not very good at these types of things. “ Today, we gather here in this worthless mass of sand and heat to determine the better fighter. Which one of you shall be victorious? Which one of you shall move to the next round of this grand tournament of champions? ” After that, he stumbled over his words a bit, trying to tell them to pray for certain things, but the disguised Nightsaber did not need any of that. Everything he needed was granted unto him by the Air and Wind, regardless of whether or not it visited this desolate, scarred wasteland. After he finished up his poor introductory, he added, “ Uh, yeah, just, start killing each other when you’re ready. ” Is he really certified as the actual judge for this battle? He seems a bit… unprepared… Arganol thought to himself, a grin snaking its way across his face at the thought.

He could tell that the other warrior was going to take on the defensive techniques first, as he stood as still as a boulder, a well-toned, armored, waiting-to-kill-people boulder. Arganol flipped Fate up high into the air, closer to the middle of them, actually. As it flipped and spiraled downwards, the disguised Nightsaber inched his way forwards, hoping that the other one was looking at the blade in the air, and not him. Finally, it reached about three feet above Arganol on its way down, and he caught it by the hilt, swinging it towards Azlateen at the same time. He let out a fierce war cry and slashed out at his new adversary, hacking horizontally at the unprotected arm of Azlateen, just about where his elbow was at, hoping to sever the arm. This was not just a simple brawl.

It was a war.

Az watched as his next opponent slowly made his way across the dunes to the slab. He already looked tired and worn out, and had seen him drop down once. Az thought the match was already over when that happened, but, fortunately for the both of them, he got up and made the rest of the way to the fight. Az still stood still, watching for his opponent.

He observed Argonal, seeing that he was slightly built, dark hair, and a very nice blade. Az wondered if he knew how to use it, seeing how unfit he seemed to be. But Az decided to just play it by ear, see what happens and not judge his opponent by the size of his muscles. But something seemed missing from him, like there was something he was hiding. Az couldn't quite place it, but he shrugged it off and turned to his attention to now engaged fight.

Az watched the blade fly up into the air curiously, wondering why he did that. It probably would have been more effective if Argonal just decided to punch him while the blade was in the air or something. But nope, he decided to catch the blade in mid air and strike from there. No point in that. Az thought to himself. I still knew he was coming, and know what he's doing. Argonal came awefully close before Az reacted.

Seeing the blade coming for his arm, he quickly snatch his Demonic blade and raised it just enough so that it deflected the silver blade of Fate and stopped it in its tracks. With the blade steady and harmless again Az's purple demonic blade, Az quickly threw a punch to Argonal's unprotected face. Being a half demon, he had unnatural strength and speed, so any of his hits hurt if knocked in the right place.

Az saw that Argonal was heavily drenched in sweat, and ever since Az stopped he found himself dripping pretty bad too. But he still felt at top performance, even in his hotter than hell oven of an armor. Az figured that Argonal might have been a little tired already from walking in the desperate heat. Az flew most of the way, but decided to walk the last bit of it. It saved him a lot of energy and heat, but he knew he wouldn't be able to last long in the energy sapping sun.

Arganol knew that his tactic would not be all that special and would probably not even work, and would most likely be parried or dodged. However, he did it to help and decide what kind of opponent he would be facing. If he dodged the blow and quickly attacked afterwards, The Nightsaber would know that he was facing an opponent that was elusive, meaning that they will dodge before they parry, and they favor quick attacks that leave moderate-sized wounds. If he watched the blade all the way up in the air and acted surprised when attacked, he was not facing a very good opponent. This one, Azlateen, seemed to contemplate what was happening, thinking out what had happened and what he would do to counter-attack. Arganol faintly noticed the sound of drawing steel when he sliced out at him, meaning that he was a strong, decisive opponent. Sure enough, an odd blade was retracted from its sheathing and blocked the blade from going any further.

However, Azlateen did something unexpected; instead of blocking the blow and pushing the blade away, all he did was stop Fate. He brought it up sharply but stopped in the middle of his parry, not the smartest idea. Hmm. Looks like I am facing a good fighter, but he could be better. Wasting the momentum he gained by blocking my blow? Arganol’s thoughts were quickly ended when he saw a punch flying in towards his face, obviously meaning that he was facing an opponent that favored hand-to-hand combat as well. He had to think what to do about this, and quick. He could tell that his adversary was not an ordinary human, he was something more… Arganol ducked and weaved to the right, avoiding the most likely powerful blow. Part of his fighting style was to use his opponent’s momentum against themselves, and this would work perfectly. With his free left hand, he grabbed Azlateen’s masterwork bracer and pulled sharply, exerting his strength to hopefully make his opponent come closer to where he was antecedently. After this, he swung Fate as hard as he could towards his opponent’s blade, trying to push it out of the way. Arganol didn’t pay attention to what actually happened to the blade, because he wanted to make sure that Azlateen would not surprise him with a sudden kick to the face or something.

Next, he ducked down low to the ground, Fate close to his side. He lashed out with his left foot at Azlateen’s right, hoping to send him toppling over, or at the very least catch him off-guard. At this moment, he looked at the blade that he was facing. It was extremely odd, and he had never seen anything like it. Its blade was of a dark blue tone, possibly even purple. It was radiating a small blue aura as well, meaning that it was no regular sword; it definitely had magical properties, just like Fate. After he was done admiring the sword of his opponent, he was ready to keep fighting. With one foot in the air rushing towards Azlateen, he could not move much without falling over, so he had to fight like he was. The desert had been taking a toll on his physical strength, but Arganol needed to prove that he could brave even the tepidity of the Anfauglir Desert. So, he held Fate out on his right, ready to strike his opponent. He knew that Azlateen would most likely dodge his trip somehow, so he pointed the very tip of Fate’s blade at the back of his opponent, and thrust it forwards as hard as he could.

At this point in the match, Arganol was assaulted with torridness and possible heat stroke. His sweat had begun to fall off of his body and collect at terra firma of the alleged battle arena. The Nightsaber was brought up to get the job done no matter what the variables were. He was taught to withstand just about anything that nature had to throw at him, but the Anfauglir was definitely the hardest and most desolate place he has had to fight within his entire life. His opponent, Azlateen must have also faced the unforgiving, god-forsaken trek here as well, because he was sweating almost as much as Arganol. He could tell that Azlateen was going to be a great challenge, but he was not sure why. He would need to be ready for everything, even if it was highly unlikely. With one foot going out to try and trip Az and his right hand, equipped with Fate was stabbing at him, hoping to lacerate his legs.

This would probably be the first challenging one on one match that Arganol has ever been in. Most of the other ones were just people that thought they were tough, never an actual fighter. The Nightsaber could not help but notice that there was just something eerie about Azlateen. He could tell that he was definitely not a human, but what could he be? The only other thing that Arganol could think of was a Shapeshifter, but if he was, he would probably be using magic and not relying on his physical strength. Another wave of heat smashed against Arganol, almost knocking him over while he was attacking his current antagonist. He was not sure what techniques Azlateen would execute to take the dominant position of the match into his hands, but needed to make sure to not let him do whatever he had planned. If he ever expected to win this match, he would need to make sure that he was always where he wanted to be. If he let Az have his way for naught but a minute or two, he would loose without a doubt.

Az's punch made no waver on his balance or anything. He retracted his punch quickly back to his side. He barely even put his body into it. But his opponent did dodge though, and just barely. It was a good and bad thing, since he would probably would have been downed and on the ground and getting a ruthless beating by Az. That didn't happen though, and Az had to watch carefully what Argonal did. Argonal had a mean looking blade with it's own magical properties, and he had speed too. If Az didn't think fast enough he could probably get a blade stuck through his body. He wouldn't ever let that happen to him, even if it his life depended on it. Well, like that was even reasonable, but one could catch the drift.

Though Argonal's blade smashing into Az's halfway unsheathed blade didn't do much, it still knocked him a little off balance from the exchange in forces. He steadied himself a little with a simple shift of his foot and moved on to what Argonal was doing. But Argonal didn't seemed to be focused on Az's demonic blade or trying to knock the half sheathed blade away. He focused his black eyes on Argonal dipping down and swinging a leg to his left leg. He was about to step back with his left foot, but saw something different about his stance. Argonal's right arm wasn't on the ground helping out his balance any. It was behind Az, and Fate was in it, Az just knew. Az didn't have much time to think about. He suddenly decided to jump into the air and backflip out of harm's way. His wings were outstretched to their 12 foot span, helping his balance in mid air.

He landed just a few feet away from his launch point, and dipped into a very low kneel, like a sprinter start in the Olympics. He grabbed his blade by the handle and drew it completely with his left hand. The purple blade came out, showing demon tentacles just above the hilt, each of them writhering like it wanted a piece of something. He brought his arm back behind him with his blade ready to strike, and launched forward. He pushed with his legs, and thrusted his wings down to give him a huge amount of speed forward. As he went forward, he swung he blade forward, tip dragging along deep in the stone. His Demonic blade was sharp and strong enough to cut through almost any metal, and could slice stone like butter. He followed through with the slice, aiming to slice at Argonal's mid section and slice him in half. Az moved with inhuman demon speed, almost as fast as the spell blur, but could still see him.

Az still had something he kept away from this fight. He wanted to bring it out so bad, but he didn't have a reason to just yet. Az hid his demon form, and he had a feeling that his opponent Argonal had something he was hiding too. Maybe Az would wait until Argonal brought out his secret for him to snatch out his own. If it came down to it, Az would have to use his demon form. Az never relied on magic, but on his own physical strength and demon abilities. Those would have to be flight, speed, strength and heightened senses. He believed in being all natural and use what he was born with, not waste mental uses with spells. He had wasted too many barfights, tournaments, street fights and years of training to be worrying about magic now.

Az maintained a hard stoic face as he executed his slice too Argonal as Argonal was still low to the ground following through his attack. Despite the head and sweat, his expression remained hard and focused. He had to if he wanted to break through everything and get a different terrain to battle on. Heat waves didn't really affect Az, as he was hydrated enough to survive for a hardcore match. He thought he saw Argonal sway a few times out of the heat waves, but he couldn't be sure as he still performed well in his ability to fight.

Arganol’s barrage of attacks did little to even faze the warrior that he was facing. He was definitely a supreme fighter; probably capable of many fighting tactics and techniques. His first onslaught, the kick to Azlateen’s foot was unsuccessful, but did serve its purpose. It distracted his adversary so that Fate could hone in on him, but unfortunately, Az saw that coming too. However, he did something that Arganol did not expect, and probably never would have. He leapt into the air and unsheathed two gargantuan wings from his back and back flipped over Arganol’s infernal sword. The instruments of flying were metallic-grey in color, and had spines coming out of the bottom. The span from one tip to another was about twelve feet long, an impressive feat. Arganol’s eyebrows rose up in astonishment, pushing a lone bead of sweat out of his eyes. Azlateen landed a ways away from the still-crouched Nightsaber in an athletic stance, while his blade came out completely from it’s sheathe. Arganol looked directly into his stone-black eyes, sensing that he was going to attack within seconds. His left hand moved back, ready to slice through anything.

Again, he sensed that the blade was different then an ordinary blade. He especially noted this when he saw the blade cutting its way into the slab that they were standing on. Suddenly, Azlateen rushed forwards at Arganol, his blade slashing through the ground like a hot knife through butter. If Arganol got hit by this blade it would go through the bone, which would definitely not have a good outcome. Azlateen moved with certain inhuman speed, almost as fast as the spell he had seen used before, Blur. When he got close enough to Arganol, he executed a perfectly timed slash at him. The Nightsaber held Fate close to his side as he was still crouched down. His facial expression remained determined as he concentrated on what to do. Suddenly he bolted up from his former crouching stature, swinging Fate wildly in an upward parry. He put all of his strength into the blow, trying to surprise Azlateen with his sudden defensive techniques. Steel met steel in a loud clash of metal and strength, ringing out sharply.

Arganol followed through with the parry, hoping to knock his opponent’s blade out of his very hands. Fate swooped low as he rammed its hilt towards the hand that was holding the beautiful and demonic blade, attempting to forcefully disarm his opponent. The tactic was crude, but would work if executed properly. His antagonist seemed utterly unfazed by the current unrelenting heat of the Anfauglir Desert, most likely trying to make Arganol believe that he was stronger then he is. Another wave from the god-forsaken wasteland pummeled into the Nightsaber, catching him off balance. He would need to find a way to brave the horrid conditions; otherwise he would not move on to fight professionally in another arena at another time. His left hand made its way to his face quickly, and wiped some sweat off of his forehead using its back.

Even though Arganol knew that his opponent was hiding something, was more then what met his two light-grey eyes, he also had something that he was keeping secretive; his true form. He had been avid to go into this tournament to practice up on his combat skills in his Nightsaber embodiment, but also wanted to become better at swordplay, blocking and dodging in his humanoid alias. He had gone this far into the battle and would not be turning back unless he absolutely had to. Every battle he had ever fought was using his claws and teeth, so now he had to learn how to get along without them.

He could not quite see what the judge was doing, but knew that he was critically critiquing their fighting styles and moves, probably being an expert fighter himself. Arganol swiftly made an ancient H’rathhian character over his chest, which to a present day Christian would be somewhat like a cross. He turned around sharply on the soles of his feet to ‘square-off’ with his adversary once again. This time, his palm shot out towards the Bone Armor of Azlateen attempting to knock the wind out of him, so to say. When his hand reached its destination, he suddenly bent his arm at the elbow so that it was now facing upwards, and quickly jolted it upwards. If successful, it would barrel into the fighter’s chin, waylaying and knocking him off balance. His next move involved Fate, and could possibly end the fight if executed properly.

His right hand, the one not engaged in battle was itching to be used, and would soon receive its instant gratification. His Infernal Sword was resting within its small scabbard upon Arganol’s back, when he reached out for it. His sweaty fingers met the eloquently designed hilt of his blade and grasped it. In one swift, fluidic movement, he unsheathed it and dropped the tip low to the ground. It made a minute sound when it crashed into the giant slab that was their makeshift fighting arena. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face, dripping down onto his chest. He was practically glistening in the desert sunlight, the heaps of salty water dripping down to the ground and forming small puddles. His head was exceptionally hot and wet because of his long hair.

Fate swooshed upwards at his opponent, screaming through the air. A war cry erupted from his mouth, varying in inflection and tone. It was a hollow plea of death to Azlateen. Arganol respected his opponent, but would never falter for just a moment, or it would cost him his life. It seemed like his infernal sword was practically anticipating bloodshed, as it neared his adversary. It was within inches of spilling blood from his opponent’s right leg, aimed directly at where his thigh met the knee, in an attempt to lacerate or rend it. Anything could happen in this match, and that was why the Nightsaber had to be very careful…

(A pretty poor post, I know. But I needed to finish it before tommarow.)

Az could see that his opponent was in fact better than his previous attempts to get at Az. Before there wasn't much agressiveness, not enough for Az to lose by. Now there was getting to be a bit more, but it was nothing Az wasn't trained for after 20 years. Arganol's next moves were great parries, and great moves to try and knock Az into a temporary stunned state, but toy and beginner's moves.

Arganol's parry sent Az's sword weilding hand up into the air, but he held strong and decided to use the momentum and swing his arm behind him. He could tell his opponent used momentum to his advantage, and if Az wanted to get ahead it would have to play harder than just using momentum. Bringing Az's arm back narrowly helped out a dodge away from Arganol's thrust to try and knock Az's blade away. It was smart, but too easily thought of and not thoroughly thought through. He should have known that the momentum of his parry would have sent Az's hand flying back and around. Too much force was put behind Az's blow, and it was only redirected from the parry. He could have stopped it, but better to be safe behind Az than to get knocked away. Perhaps Az's first parry of stopping Arganol's blade rather than using the momentum gave Arganol the impression that he didn't use momentum to his advantage. It helped a lot to change fighting styles, keep opponents on their toes.

Az suddenly stopped himself short right after his attack was parried, thrusting his wings forward to help stop even faster. He planted his feet on the ground, stopping just before his opponent. He gave his wings another little thrust forward, propelling himself backward a foot or two, just to get away from any long range sword attacks Arganol might throw unexpectedly. He stood and faced his opponent, starting to feel the affects of the desert.

Stupid heat. Stupid sand. Stupid random stone slab in the middle of the supid to the stupid sand reflecting the stupid head. Why were the both of them assigned the terrain of the desert to fight in? Couldn't it have at least been an oasis? And nothing helped the fact that his Bone Armor held in head and never let it out until taken off. Then there was the drenching sweat to deal with, and can't forget about the smell associated with sweat. It's like a double team tactic. You sweat, you smell. Maybe Az would take off his armor and let the smell of the sweat knock out his opponent. But the didn't last long, since it was held in in one spot, and let out and even distributed throughout Arda. By then it won't be noticeable. Az figured he'll just keep his armor on and stay safe. Better off that way...

Az swayed a little in thought, but snapped back into reality as soon as he felt his balance get a little off. And just in time, as he had to react fast to Arganol's next moves. He watched hard as his opponent raced towards him with his left charging for a strike. He stepped forward into it, seeing the slight adjustment in his opponents hip to turn his hand up. He brought his right hand over and knocked it to the side, and grabbed hold of it. He shoved it off to the side. Seeing that Fate was coming up his way, Az flipped his grip on his own unnamed blade so that the grip pointed the blade down is held out in front of him. But he didn't hold it front of him. Instead he flattened the blade against his forearm and thrusted it down to block the upcoming blade. It was like blocking a low kick with your forearm, and he blocked it with perfect accuracy, preventing it from rendering his leg useless.

He held for only a split moment, before spinning to his right. He still held Arganol's fist, so he brought that up and around, holding it over his shoulder. He was still in a low stance, so that it didn't do any damage to any joints to Argonal. In the process of spinning, he brought his left hand holding his blade out, flinging the blade out and flipping his grip once more. Spinning brought his body right up against Arganol's body, his back pressed against Arganol's front. Az's blade hand swung up in the process, and he brought it down again. In doing so, he flipped his grip once again, gaining momentum as he brought the blade down. He aimed the blade as it went down to lash out behind him. As the blade approached behind him, Az shifted his body to the right a small bit, so that the blade could pass beside him and into Arganol hopefully.

Az hoped to any deity that this would work, and knew this was complicated to get into if timed right or had the right combination of attacks. Well, it seemed to happen this time around, and if Arganol couldn't do anything, well, he was going to have a mithril blade slice right through him, causing the wound to suddenly have frostbite from it's magical properties. He followed through, aware of any sudden changes in Arganol's movements that would have to make Az fight harder than ever.

Az wanted to get out of this heat, badly. Actually he wanted to get the three of them out of there away from the heat. Of course, he wanted to end it quickly to get them out of there, but with Argonal, that was probably going to be a while. But the end seems to close to Az, and he couldn't let go of a win almost in his grasp. This match was almost like grasping water; it just got away from your grip once your had a hold of it. Just like every round here. Wins come close and pass you by even closer. Who knows, maybe Az wouldn't have to use his demon form, and he wouldn't have to find out Arganol's secret. But Az can't get too far away from his fight.

((Dude your post was amazing! It's people like you that keep me a healthy rp'er))

To tell the truth, the moves that Arganol executed were not fully expected to win the match for him. He tried to make them work, but they were just a disguise to help decided what his opponent really fought like. The Nightsaber could easily tell that his opponent was battle-hardened, and had without a doubt trained for a very long time, but if he ever wanted to win, he would have to discover Azlateen’s fighting style and devise a way to counteract it and defeat him. A cloud of smoke began to appear close to Arganol’s feet, the being within him desperate to fight. Arganol fought down the urge to transform and fight, trying to prove that he was a good fighter without using his true form.

The parry that he had used to try and momentarily stun his opponent did not work as he had predicted, only knocking it away for a split-second or two. Next, he noticed that his crude disarming technique did not work, which was no surprised as well. His adversary’s arm moved away from the blow narrowly, barely escaping from it. The fighter’s wings batted the air, moving him back a ways. As Arganol charged and lashed out with his hand at Azlateen, quick reflexes aided his antagonist as he grabbed a hold of the rushing would-be blow and hurled it down to the side. His next attack, the attempt to lacerate Az, was also blocked with pinpoint accuracy. His previous prediction held strong as his opponent began to get tougher and harder in this match that they were in. A sly grin snaked its sluggish way across the disguised Nightsaber’s mouth as Azlateen turned swiftly to the right, still clutching his from the previous barrage of attacks.

Arganol’s hand was brought over a shoulder, bringing the two warriors closer together. Using his peripheral vision, he noticed a change in the way that Azlateen was holding his weapon. Clever… Distracting me and suddenly attacking with your free hand… I believe that I underestimated you, Azlateen… he thought. The body that he was pressed up against to shifted to the right as well, hoping to make sure that he did not impale both of them, but rather just his target. Momentum was gained within the blade’s movement, proving his antecedent anticipation wrong, meaning that Azlateen used everything to his advantage, even small and minute things like momentum.

His thoughts were abruptly ended as the blade started rushing towards him, he had to act fast or die trying. With his hand still grasped, he could not do very much, considering his opponent was surprisingly strong for a human. He quickly sheathed Fate in the small, inelegant scabbard on his back, and began to move. His right arm bent quickly at the elbow and ripped back, an early attempt to dodge it. He pivoted sharply on his feet in a clockwise direction as well, already gaining momentum. However, these early attempts were futile when he felt the blade meeting his unprotected flesh. Arganol’s mouth opened up in sheer terror as the blade dragged along his stomach, leaving a trail of blood. Most of the time, just small cuts in the right places are far worse then actual battle wounds. Regardless of the anguish already caused, a new feeling sunk into his nerves. His whole stomach began to feel very cold abruptly, and he had no idea why. His peripheral vision kicked in again as he noted a frost covering over the wounds definitely the special effects of a wound from this magnificent blade of Azlateen.

There was something different about this ice covering over his stomach though… It had a sort of black tint, adding to its mysterious properties. It must have been a different kind of ice, because if it wasn’t then it would have melted within moments out here in the perilous heat of the god-forsaken Anfauglir Desert. His thoughts halted immediately as he let out a ravenous war cry, “Death to my Enemies!” This tactic was not meant to surprise his opponent, although that could have been an outcome. It was just meant to boost his spirits, so to say. He needed to get going in this fight and end it soon, because the frostbite torment and anguish was beginning to get unbearable from stomach wound he received. Again, he bent his right arm at the elbow and ripped it back, pivoting one last time on the soles of his feet. This time, he was not dodging an incoming blade so a tiny bit of the pressure was lifted off of his shoulders, so to say. Because he could not move his arm, he adjusted his body to play off of the position he was currently in.

As he sped through the air, while gaining as much momentum as possible, He turned and adjusted his feet so that his back was parallel with the side of Azlateen’s left shoulder. After this had been accomplished, Arganol moved to his right, attempting to get next to his hand. However, his plans disintegrated when he noticed that the grip on his hand was too tight, and he could not get there without breaking his arm. He only had one choice to get him out of this predicament and hopefully win him the fight, but all of the training that he was doing would be ruined within a heartbeat. His only option at this point would be to transform into his true form and out of his human disguise. This would most likely startle his opponent, causing him to wonder what had just happened, and give Arganol an opening to attack and possibly get out of the grisly heat and the Anfauglir Desert once and for all. The cons of this move would also probably be just about as numerous as the pros. For one, he would not be able to parry blows very easily anymore.

His only defense to the powerful blows dealt by his adversary would be to either dodge it or try and get at the sword-wielding hand, because his opponent was not ambidextrous, but if he was, it wouldn’t work at all. Within seconds, a full metaphoric depiction was created within Arganol’s mind. To the spectators, judge, Azlateen and in reality, it would probably only be a few seconds, but it could be as long as it had to be to get the point clear within the cranium of the Nightsaber Acolyte of the Wind / Battlemage. What appeared was an enormous, iron barred cage. Inside of it was a large monster, which was depicting his true form. The strong cage was presented as his human form, along with two stationary guards posted in front of it. Many attempts were made to try and break through it, but the bars could easily withstand the blows from the creature’s claws. Its right hand shot out of the cage and tore through the right guard’s back, and the same with his left and the remaining guard. This was symbolizing the previous struggles to hold it down and to stay in his disguise. Finally, the door was shattered and hurled across the lighted place and into dark, black nothingness from a barrage of bashes and punches to it by the ravenous creature within.

Arganol didn’t care if he would loose the fight at this point, all he wanted was to at least hurt his opponent or cause him pain in any way possible. A small, thin layer of smoke was excreted from the soles of his feet in reality, and began its sluggish trail up his body, hiding the changes that would be happening. Under the masquerade, his very skin and cells were deteriorating. Soon enough, you couldn’t see anything from within the smoke, and his hand had dissipated from his antagonist’s hands. Soon enough, the burning desert winds brushed the smoke away. It could be considered as a defense technique; because it would get you out of a lot of predicaments you could get into, and could also possibly attack your opponent’s eyes if blown into them. Now from where the previous fighter stood, a new combatant was placed. He was down on all fours, and was obviously a feline. His pelt glimmered brilliantly in the sunshine, revealing many luminous colors, hues and shades of purple. A grin was brandished on the creature’s face as the spectators said things like, “Ooh, Aaah…” and even one of the audience remarked, “What the hell is that?”

The wind was still blowing its desert heat, and Arganol still brandished the icy-cold wound on his stomach from the previous mishap. His fur was slightly ruffled in the breeze, and his steel-grey eyes still exhibited their piercing properties. He looked straight into Azlateen’s eyes, and appeared to be in a trance-like state. The Nightsaber was not executing a spell or anything; he was just taking the time to observe his opponent once again. He could tell that the heat was bothering him as well, even if it didn’t look like it. His armor was clinging to him, proving that right now it was more of an obstacle then an asset. The elusive grin was still stamped upon his feline face, his canine teeth slightly protruding under his upper lip. Suddenly, his eyebrows sort of slanted and his lips drew back in a snarl. He had alabaster-white teeth that looked almost bleached, and were all predominantly sharp.

He dashed forwards with intense speed, growling darkly at his adversary. His tail swung from side to side, shaking off beads of sweat with each movement. Arganol did not just move with his feet, his whole body was into it, and every last motion was a precise execution of his muscles put together. He was probably going to loose the fight at this point, because he charged blindly into battle without considering the outcome of his actions, and also without formulating a battle-plan. The Nightsaber was going to do whatever he had to do to win this fight, and if that meant using his true form, then he would use it. As he neared the fighter, he reared back on his haunches and launched his whole body into the air, gaining the maximum amount of momentum as he could. It was a crude tactic, but usually could at least get his opponent to work. His left claw and paw dropped down to below his stomach and flipped around so that his claws were facing up. Meanwhile, his right paw flexed its claws and stuck out to the right. Arganol was going to attempt a double-slash technique, and if it was executed properly, it would lead to devastating results and definitely a loss in speed.

As he sped through the air, he exerted his strength into his vocal cords and let out a vicious roar. His left claw swung up through the air, aimed directly at Azlateen’s left bicep. Arganol’s right arm flung upwards and slashed diagonally down and left, attempting to lacerate and attack his face. He was caught up in the heat of battle and most likely acted foolishly, but it was hard to make a decision in the torrid heat of the Anfauglir.

Azlateen would have to think fast to dodge the two attacks in unison, or falter under the onslaught of Arganol’s fury…

(Finally almost capped 2k, Thanks for being such a fun roleplayer Azlateen.)