If Aloric learned anything today, it would be that arms don’t make very good machetes. He had been trying to use his arm all morning to cut through all the vegetation of the Taurerosa Rainforest. With next to no luck. He swung his arm wildly this way and that at the tall grass and thorny shrubs, but it usually just ended up with his body writhing in pain and his eyes swelling up with tears. He didn’t like pain all that much.

If the shrubbery of the area wasn’t enough to kill you, the insects would get the job done fairly quickly. The ranger must have smelled nice or something, because they seemed to be following him everywhere he went. Or maybe there was just thousands of insects everywhere. That seemed more likely. But he liked the thought that he smelled good.

As he slowly made progress through the seemingly harmless plantlife, he reminded himself why he was enduring so much pain. “Moolah,” he repeated over and over again in his head. I’m doing it for the moolah.” Apparently, such judging positions as the one he had applied for were quite profitable. Judges were rewarded handsomely for all the hard work that went into judging a match. At least, Aloric assumed it was hard work. He had never actually judged anything before, and he didn’t really know the first thing about combat. He wasn’t going to tell that to his employers though. And he certainly wasn’t going to tell it to the contestants.

He referenced the tiny cheat sheet he had made based upon the instructions he had been given about this particular fight. “It says here that I should be expecting two fighters here today, Arcan Zarikon and Death. Death. What a lovely nickname. I’m sure his mother didn’t give him that name.” The thought occurred to Aloric that both of these warriors would surely be skilled enough to kill him in about three seconds. As he reached his destination, the area where the match would take place, he made sure to look for all possible exits. He needed to have at least three plans of escape, in case his judging decisions weren’t taken lightheartedly.

The thing that was interesting about this location was that, after all the strange flora he had endured, the arena itself was altogether clear of such pesky plants. He was finally able to give his machete arm a break. However, nothing seemed to be able to stop the plague of insects that loved to hear the sounds of their own buzzing. He slapped a few more on his neck. “Ewww.” He wiped the remains on his pants and put it out of mind.

He waited around for a bit, then realized his feet were tired. He aimed to remedy the situation by fixing together some sort of reclining chair that he could sit in and be comfortable while the two foes fought valiantly in front of him. All he could find was some twigs and a big rock. He couldn’t get the rock to budge, so he was left with twigs. He assembled them carefully, almost painstakingly, until they sort of resembled something that one could sit on. It hurt his rear end though. But at least his feet felt great.

The warriors were nowhere to be seen. “They probably couldn’t get through all the vines and grass and whatnot,” he decided, taking this opportunity to boost his own ego. Sure, he probably wouldn’t be able to use his arm for weeks, but he had made it. Though this rainforest looked all too familiar. He hoped no Amazon women were waiting around to pop out and sacrifice him. That had happened one too many times in the past.

Suddenly, in front of him appeared two of the most foreboding characters he had ever seen. A ghostly, otherworldly figure, with a black hood, a black face, a black everything. The other contestant was no shabby warrior either. Aloric lost all of his confidence right then. At this point, any introduction would do, and he would just sit back in his twiggy chair and pray he lived long enough to make it back out of the rainforest. “Uh, heh, you guys know what you’re doing. Blood and gore and all. Well, get on with it. Oh, and watch out for the bugs.”

Arcan swung his blade continually at vines and other natural obstacles the forest provided. He knew why he was coming, and hoped that no assassin would get in his way. Arcan had signed up for the Ardian Tourney a few days ago and he intended to win it, or at least go far enough to get something out of it. Buzzing sounds emanated from the many bugs zooming around him, either minding their own business or continually plaguing him with their presence. With his left hand he swatted a few in one go. Damn bugs. I never really liked forests, no matter what cover they provide for stealth shots. Arcan's eyes darted to his bow and quiver strapped on his back. A wicked-looking axe was hanging off the left side of his waist and the scabbard for his sword on the right. He received the axe in the Barrows a little while back but there were events he'd rather suppress. His first opponent for the Tourney named himself Death. Arcan didn't know whether he was an amateur fighter looking for an ego boost or earned that nickname officially. Through the vines and trees Arcan could see a clearing. The bright sun may have already canceled out a stealthy approach to this battle but that method was kept in Arcan's mind just in case it could prove useful. After slashing through a bunch of vines Arcan stepped out into the clearing. He looked to his right and saw the judge. Eh. Not like he's gonna get into this fight. But why is this battle here? He looked straight ahead and what he saw made him drop his sword. His opponent was clad in a black cloak and hood and wielded a big scythe. Arcan snatched up his sword before his opponent could attack his unarmed. The judge spoke "Uh, heh, you guys know what you’re doing. Blood and gore and all. Well, get on with it. Oh, and watch out for the bugs." Arcan spun his sword confidently and pointed it at Death. "I am Arcan Zarikon. I don't care if you're the real deal, because I won't be holding back!"

A tournament; when Death had first heard the news, he had dismissed it out of hand. There was no appeal in the thought of entering a tournament to face off with foolish mortals out to make a name for themselves. Still, the idea stuck in his brain, never quite going away, always skirting on the very edges of conscious thought. When was the last time he had faced anyone of particular skill in battle? A tournament hosted by a guardian would have to attract at least a few exceptional fighters. All Death would have to do would weed out a few of the weaker fighters until he was finally able to face off against those fighters who were actually worth facing. While he doubted that the Guardian of the Sun would be very happy to see Death, there would be nothing he could do. Death would be (mostly) abiding by any rules that were set up, unless they tried to have some rule where the contestants had to hold back to make sure they didn't accidentally kill anyone. If his opponents expected him to hold back, then they were going to be in for a rude awakening when he sent them to their knees in defeat.

Without further ado, Death entered the tournament and waited for the battle assignments to begin. Within a few days, Death had learned who his first opponent was to be. Also, he learned that they would be battling in the Toreros Rainforest. In his mind, Death thought about how he could use this to his advantage. Since they were in a rainforest, there would be plenty of cover for him to attack without being seen. A wicked thought came to mind, and he filed it away for further examination. If he could get it to work out, then what he thought of would make the fight much more interesting. Death spent the next couple of days waiting in the Underworld, body and mind roaming wherever they wished. Since he was walking around in the Underworld, there were several diverting scuffles where groups of lesser demons tried to ambush him. These battles helped to keep his mind occupied while he waited for the day of the tournament to arrive. It wasn't like he had anything else to do. The Riders had agreed to separate for the time being, each of them disbanding their followers. It was for the best. Their followers were weak, doing more harm than good. Finally, it was time.

On the day of his first match, Death easily made his way through the rainforest, easily weaving between the foliage that tried to impede his progress. There were only a few places where he needed to actually cut through the plants, and his powerful scythe easily opened up a path for him. The forest grew slightly quieter wherever he passed. Whatever creatures lived in the area realized that he was a predator that stood far above them. A slight smile appeared on Death face. He was almost to the arena where the first round of the tournament would take place. With a wide sweep of his scythe, he cut down the last barrier that stood in his way. The sight that greeted his eyes disappointed him. They would be battling in an open space, meaning that he would not be able to use the trees to his advantage. Tossing that idea away, he scanned the area, seeing what the playing field was like. After all of that time walking through the dense rainforest, it was odd to see an open space longer than three feet across.

Within seconds, his eyes locked on to the two other people that occupied the clearing. One of them was sitting down in a poorly constructed chair apparently made out of whatever twigs the man had been able to find. It was obvious that he was not interested in moving and Death doubted that this man was his opponent. The judge... that’s who this man must be. The thought brought forth a flare of anger. Whether or not he would proceed to the next round would be determined by the judgment of a mortal who looked like he would be more at home snoring in a comfy chair at home. Death's hand slowly squeezed the shaft of his scythe, although he doubted that anyone would notice. Having no skin meant that his knuckles would not turn white when he applied pressure. If this fool of a judge knew what was best for him, then he had better make the correct decision of who would move on to the next round. Otherwise, the clean forest floor would be stained with more than one person's blood.

Turning his gaze to the man who would be his opponent, Death watched as the man picked his sword up off of the ground. Apparently, the man had dropped it upon realizing who he would be fighting. Death's mood soured further. This was going to be an insulting round. If this man was a representation of what the rest of the tournament would be like, then Death would end up in a worse mood than what he had started in. He would probably have to take a trip to the Sanctuary of the Angels to make himself feel better and get over this disappointment. Without turning his eyes from his opponent, Death listened to the pathetic statement that the judge made. Obviously it was time to begin, and of course his opponent had to start off with statement about how he was going to fight with everything he had. Now he had a name to the man that he was going to defeat, Arcan Zarikon.

His scythe would not be needed to defeat this man; besides, he felt like getting at least some entertainment out of this match. Slowly, the scythe dissipated, turning into a dark smoke and flowing up the sleeves of Death's cloak. He could summon it forth again if he needed it, but Death doubted that he would. Reaching to his left hip, Death pulled forth his Dark Blade, spinning the blade for a few seconds to get a feel for it. The Dark Blade was almost as powerful as his scythe, with several magical properties that made it extremely useful. Now it was time to truly see how startled his opponent could get. With his left hand, he reached behind his right shoulder and brought forth his Blade of Destruction. It was an impressive weapon, just a step below the Dark Blade in power, and also containing several magical properties that would give him an advantage. Now his opponent faced a Death wielding two of the most powerful weapons in the land of Arda.

Turning so that he was directly facing Arcan, Death brought both of his blades up, turning his wrists so that both blades were parallel to the ground. It was time to begin this match, and it was time for Arcan to realize the power that he was facing. Spinning his Dark Blade, Death cast a spell, using the sword like a giant wand. Faster than the eye could follow, a beam of read, chaotic energy shot forth. To the surprise of a spectator, this beam was not aimed at Arcan, but was shot several feet to the man's right. Where the blade struck the ground, fire shot up, swiftly burning and spreading. Since this was a living forest, the plants would not burn as quickly as if they were dead, but the magic in the fire would help sustain it while it burned. Now that Arcan could not move too far to his right without being burned severely, Death slowly started walking to his right, trying to cut off Arcan's escape from the fire. "Come Arcan, you are prepared to fight with everything you have, yet you stand there. Are you too afraid to move? Do you realize that you have lost this fight before it even began? Come Arcan Zarikon, let me help end your misery." Bringing both blades up, a grim smile came to Death's face as his cold eyes stared at the mortal in front of him.

Arcan watched has his opponent withdrew his scythe and drew two powerful blades. He gulped at the horrid thought of himself being shredded apart completely. Death starting spinning the darker of the two swords and fired a chaotic, red beam aimed just centimetres from his right foot. The ground where the beam hit caught an unnatural fire, slowly spreading around Arcan. Death approached him from his left, cutting off any obvious escape from the trap. As he spoke, Arcan began to form an idea about attacking his cloaked adversary. A smirk slowly spread across his face when Death's speech had ended. "Afraid? Perhaps. Too afraid to move? Not likely." Arcan's smirk disappeared, swiftly replaced by a serious frown. He swung his sword into the fire and quietly cast Flame Blade, making look like the fire Death caused was being turned against him. "You may be able to frighten those of lesser heart but I have been through much more than them. Such misery that you speak of is a thing of the past for me so don't expect a cheap tactic like that to work 'cause this fight is just getting started!" He removed his blade from the fire and gripped the pommel with both hands, allowing easier control and more powerful swings. Arcan's eyes darted to his Raku's Bane once again, certain that he would need it in this situation. He had learned to not make the first move when in a battle against a obviously stronger opponent. It just reveals your attack plan and allows the opponent to quickly form a defensive tactic, then launch an offensive burst when you're too tired. It just repeats until you're out cold or worse, dead. And this guy symbolizes death so I have to be vigilant until a hole in his guard opens.

Arcan gulped again, feeling sweat from the nearby fire's heat trickle down his face. He slowly turned to his left while side-stepping through the small amount of space between him and Death, hoping for him to make the first strike. "If you're as powerful as you think you are, then come and get me! Or are you too afraid?" Arcan knew in the pit of his gut that his adversary would not be scared him him. Arcan was a tad freaked himself. Freaked, but not scared. Soon the real battle will begin, and Arcan knows it will be a tough one for both of them.

Death watched as a smirk formed on Arcan's lips. So, it seemed that Arcan had some guts after all. Intimidation generally only worked on those fighters that were still unsure of themselves. It did not have a high rate of success, but it was always worth a try. Death guessed that Arcan was somewhere in the range of semiskilled and arrogant enough to think that he stood a chance. Still, it provided some amusement to watch the mortal's defiance. Death had to stop himself from laughing out loud when his opponent put his own sword in the flames that Death had created. Arcan had just seen Death cast a spell, and he appeared to think that Death had never seen the spell that enchanted your weapon with fire. That placed Arcan in the category of "dumber than he had thought possible". And of course Arcan's attempt at intimidation was also accompanied by another speech. and the ending of the speech coincided with the dramatic flourishing of the now flaming sword. It was almost enough to have Death rolling on the ground with laughter.

Since Death was watching his opponent very carefully, he just managed to catch the flicker of Arcan's eyes. The man had been looking at the other weapon he had. It was a large ace, and since the man had looked at it, he was either more skilled with it, or it had a magical property that would aid him. Which one it was, Death didn't know, but he was sure that he would find out eventually. Arcan was going to need all the help he could get, so in time he would need to use his axe. Death watched Arcan sidestep, trying to avoid getting trapped by the flames. At least he had that much sense. If Death had managed to get the flames at Arcan's back, he would have been able to force him backwards into them, meaning that unless Arcan had a spell to protect himself, the fight would have ended quite suddenly. A wicked smile came to Death's face when Arcan shouted out his challenge. As if Death would be frightened of a mortal as pathetic as him! It was time to truly start this fight, and show this mortal just how powerful Death really was.

Once again, Death used his Dark Blade as a giant wand, bringing the tip up into the air. With very swift, very precise movements, he drew a shape into the air. It was an X circumscribed by a square. The sigil glowed brightly for a second before flying backwards to attach itself to Death's torso. It was a simple spell, but one that provided useful results. With the Strengthen spell, Death's strength, speed, stamina, and dexterity were all increased. Unfortunately, the sigil slowly decayed, meaning that he only had a short amount of time to make use of this increase. If he didn't take advantage of it now, then he would have missed his greatest opportunity in the entire fight.

Without wasting any more time with words, Death sprinted forward, bringing his blades up to prepare for a strike. With the spell in effect, this sudden run was like a walk in the park for him, but he would seem to be moving incredibly fast. This would be a test of Arcan's reflexes and intelligence. If he proved too slow or too stupid to avoid the attack, then this fight would be almost finished before it began. In a swift motion, he moved both of his blades to his left side, the tips hanging down until they almost dragged along the ground. When he was close enough to strike at Arcan, Death spun to his right, whipping his Dark Blade out and up, using the spin to have the blade practically slice through the air. Even if Arcan managed to get his blade over to block, it would still be a powerful blow, one that might even send the fighter's flaming blade flying through the air. However, this blow was not the real one. As he spun, he pulled his right arm back, meaning that his Dark Blade did not extend out as far as it could have. The only way Arcan would be struck by his Dark Blade, would be if the fighter tried to move closer to Death in an attempt to avoid where it had looked like his attack would fall.

The true strike was coming from Death's Blade of Destruction. His left arm was flung out wide, swinging the blade around as hard as he could. Since Death's initial attack had been with his right hand, there was a chance that Arcan had completely ignored his other sword, a mistake that would cost a novice fighter his life. And since Death had his right hand drawn in close, his wide attack would not leave an opening for a fighter to step inside his guard and strike. With the inside and outside covered, practically the only option left to Arcan would be to try and avoid the blow. If the man tried to block the attack and absorb the force of the Blade of Destruction, then he blade's latent magic would take effect, causing a small explosion that would surely send Arcan flying. It was a puzzle that Arcan would have to work out quickly if he wanted to live. If he failed, then the match would be over, and Death would have shown the man just how powerful he was.

ooc: sorry that took so long, I finally just started typing so that I could get something out there.