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 a 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 a 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 three piles.

The first pile held a Longsword and Sulfur Oil.

The second pile held a Chaos Catcher, Lupine Bane, 50 ft Rope, a full Equity Set, Resplendent Poleyn, Integrity, and Aequitas.

The third held a Lite Sword, Starting Longsword, Roc Feather, Cloak, and a Mask.

Gathering up his sack, the Drow left the arena.

The oasis was a familiar sight, but Annihilate could not remember from where he had seen it. The veils atop his memory parted, and everything within turned to radiant red and fiery chaos. The inner-workings of the shade’s mind twisted and turned until a pain slowly began to trickle down his shoulder, and caress back and side. Then, images of a fight long sense past, of a man dressed in black, flickered to the present. Melandro Von Mortem, he recalled. Their blades had clashed and blood had been spilt, though most was his own, but in the end he had prevailed, and the Obsidian Nocturne had turned to his cause. The battle had left a painful scar on his body and soul and a pain that assailed him from the mere sound of the swordsman’s boot-steps.

However, as he waded through the tall grass and into the prepared arena the only sounds he heard were his own footsteps. The shade wore nothing but dark pants and leather boots, and when he emerged in the arena he felt a light breeze caressing his pale skin. He breathed deeply, lost in a sea of calm and quiet thought, and when he emerged into the light of the sun he smiled. Annihilate’s typical dark and paranoid demeanor was gone, for his mind was refreshing itself and preparing him for the battle to come. Some said it would be the hardest battle of his life, or perhaps the entire tournament, but to the shade it would just one more challenge, and one more testament to his own resolve. He would not be defeated here today, he would take down every one of these challengers, and he would give the world one more reason to fear his name.

It was then when he came upon his weapons that his mind went from thoughts of imaginary grandeur, to true excitement and an actual chance of victory. Annihilate crouched next to his things, and the first thing he procured from his pile was a simple white mask carved of bone. It was adorned with red paint, and staring at it he whispered a little prayer to his fallen goddess – whether she heard them or not. With another deep breath, the exhalation of his fears, he placed the mask on his face, for it was time for the shade to go to war. He grabbed his blades and belted them across his waist and threw his blood-red cloak over his shoulder, and made sure to place that little blue feather into the single braid of hair running down the side of his head. When the shade stood to his feet his muscles flexed and gleamed as a thin sweat rolled down his chest and back, and his mind shifted to the dark side.

Suddenly, the cold furnace that was the shade’s heart ignited in a hellish fire. There was a dragon sitting within the confines of his black heart, and it cast its dark fire all about as the evil rooted deep down inside began to seep out and taint his tranquil mind. The images of peace and calm disappeared, white shades turned to red, and soon Annihilate’s blood-red eyes erupted in flame and hate. His seething rage seemed to make his body flex with energy, and the more he thought of the coming storm the more energy he seemed to exude, and the more power his exposed torso and arms seemed to pulsate with. As this new mindset took over, he took in subtle details of the area. The trees and small pond would prove a vital escape in the event he was overpowered, and the tall-grass could almost certainly be used as shelter. But, as he sat there thinking of it all, how to use his surroundings, he caught the scent of his wily old friend. He could smell the dark elf hosting the tournament, and knew that Nafalen had been here.

Annihilate began to pace the area the three piles of gear had been laid with a subtle smile on his face as if he were looking for a particular spot. Indeed, though, for when he found it he laughed out loud, and drew both of his swords. The weapons sang as they parted from their sheathes, and he stabbed them both into the ground. Again the shade was on his knees seemingly praying to his blades, but this time he had pressed his knuckles deeply into the earth, and the seemingly simple black tattoos upon his hands and forearms ignited in inky red flame. Tendrils of shadow and fire echoed off of the glowing symbols, and words spoken in a long forgotten tongue slipped from his lips.

“Into the light I command thee, son of hell!” he growled, “Come, brother; Come I say! Come and feast! Dre`naght, I SUMMON YOU!” His voice was a thunderous roar, a vicious call of the underworld, and it echoed throughout the oasis.

The sky above became black – clouds covering the sun and the sky – and a swirling abyss opened a portal to hell. From above, rain began to fall – water as red as blood – and a figure fell from the heavens above. Dre`naght, the butcher, fell from the sky, his red body tethered to a frail wooden cross, which impacted just behind him in the ground. It stood strong, but the large creature did not move, and Annihilate stood and drew both of his blades from the earth – one he sheathed, and other held strong in his right hand. Where they’d once been the ground was scorched, but the runes on his hands were still glowing inky red. However, when he approached the creature all of the fire seemed to transfer to his left hand, and when he placed it upon the beast’s gleaming red chest all of the eldritch energy contained within Annihilate’s grasp flowed into the demons chest.

At one the beasts eyes opened, and the demon barked and roared. However, its chains would not break, and the demon soon was no longer lost in its rage. “Listen, Dre`naght,” he said softly, “Listen my child. Your time has come to serve, or I promise you more pain than hell can bring. So make your decision, for I have no time to waste.”

After only a few moments the beast released a guttural growl that said, “You are my master.” Then without any hesitation one swift stroke released the creature. It, however, said nothing, but took its place by the shade’s side. It showed no emotion as it stood there, the both of them waiting. With the beast at his side it was now time for war. Let his enemy come…

No one touched Thavron's things. It was a perfectly straightforward thing to ask of those around him, though many had a tendency to hold the belief that they were somehow an exception to this rule. By “no one” Thavron truly meant no one; not his friends, his family, his pets, homeless people, lawbreakers, heretics, zealots, mortals, immortals, dragons, particularly crazed archdemons, or his wife. Well, maybe his wife could, the brown angel mused as a favorable gust of wind urged him onward, churning air through his relatively loose linen clothing and forcing it to whip violently against otherwise bare skin.

Though the woman in question appeared exempt from the restrictions he laid down, there were still thousands of other options present in the list that encompassed “no one.” Among these included the nigh-limitless menagerie of shifty drows, coming in all shapes and sizes (though color, that coal-black skin standing in contrast to the purity of white hair, was as constant as anyone could say). In true defiance of this rule, one of their lot had taken some of his most prized weapons, armor and trinkets. Thavron furrowed his eyebrows. No, no, he reasoned to himself. The man had not taken the brown angel's effects in the literal sense of the word, through unlawful stealing. Somehow, with an oddly keen sense of persuasion on the elf's part, the guardsman had literally given them up with nothing to bear in his name but a brief, explosive argument and the scorn of thirty years of life!

His reasoning? Better him than one of his fellows. That little minger Bleddyn, in true demonstration of his inability to lead a guardsman company properly, had done it again. Choosing to enter himself into what Thavron perceived as a child's game, the colonel had already set up the away time needed to rise to the top of the newly-formulated tournament.

The brown angel would have none of that, surely; knowing the man's power in contrast with his own, the captain's head would roll across the chosen arena within seconds. Due to Thavron's own goddamn generosity, which had the potential to sicken even himself, he was now temporarily devoid of both his general equipment and a reliable source of income. In fact, he questioned the legality of it all. The guardsman worried less about getting caught in relation to participation in the matter, but the thought of being forced to make arrests himself sent a wave of unease up his spine.

Either way, the drow had taken his things. There was no turning back. Thavron could curse and scowl and shout insults into the wind as much as he pleased (and he surely did), but nothing beyond the direct interference of the Orderkeeper Herself would return his lost items to their rightful owner. Roughing up the perpetrator with a few quick punches seemed like a great idea at the time, but it was imperative that he conserve his energy for the impending fight. Thavron ran a set of pale fingers through crow-black hair, forcing the air from his lungs in a drawn out sigh as the looming visage of a clump of trees formed amongst the mist of high altitude flight. If anything, he was certainly on time.

Closing his eyes, Thavron forced his angered and chaotic mind to calm itself, to find peace. His consciousness called out to the Goddess of Order, a silent prayer seeking guidance and protection in what was to come. A line of Sindarin followed, released from his lips in naught but a whisper. The incantation already begun its work in siphoning a portion of his limited pool of magical essence. Thavron forced his eyes open. Brown pupils flashed with white and black, then ceased; he was now ready. Those who dared to defy the Orderkeeper and injure him would receive the same damage in reply. Karma was the way of Threnody, and thus what his enemies would be forced to face.

Powerful flight muscles forced Thavron's brown-feathered wings into further action, flapping briefly to allow his body to rise in a low aerial arc. Below him was a relatively small area isolated from the rest of the world through clustering trees. In his faint vision from such a distance above, he could make out the gleam of crystalline blue reflected by the sun, undoubtedly the calling card of his chosen weapon. Nearby was the outline of an idling figure, whom Thavron sincerely hoped was the drow. At his path's zenith, the brown angel's wings briefly ceased in their movement before folding halfway into the beginnings of a dive.

Air screamed across cloth and feather as Thavron picked up speed, trajectory pointed straight for the spear of balance resting upon the somewhat tall grass. His ability to hear became nonexistent, dominated by the rushing wind against his face that sharply grew into a roar. As he got closer, however, the possibility of the figure's identity being the tournament's host became ever more obvious of the contrary. The man certainly didn't have the obvious appearance of the drow he spoke with earlier, instead adorned with an unfamiliar mask. Thavron's hunting dive leveled off swiftly, but only lost a small part of its initial velocity. With not a few feet between himself and the tips of grass blades, the brown angel swooped past the area his spear had been placed, wrapping his fingers around the sky blue handle. With no time to think he brought the blade forward against the wind that resisted him, carrying him along a path that near-directly crossed that of his enemy's position.

The person, however, appeared preoccupied with other matters. As the celestial drew closer, the unknown voice originating from him or her rose to a loud, unintelligible roar. Thavron's expression darkened as he braced himself for what he believed to be an impending collision. The blade of Integrity pointed directly toward the shoulder of the crouching figure, aiming to directly pierce it. Some would consider such an attack to be cheap; Thavron merely perceived it as a necessity in battle. There was no room for pause or hesitation, and his mystery adversary should know that as well as any warrior.

What immediately ensued occurred so quickly that the brown angel was unable to witness the result of his own strike. He faltered briefly, struggling to keep his wings beating and his body aloft. The grass under him reflected this as it churned in reply to the gusts he created. Momentary fumbling gave way to a graceful but steep bank, forming into a U-turn back toward the site he retrieved Integrity. By the time he came to a stop and landing next to the pile, however, his surroundings had changed. The sky had darkened and formed with ominous clouds, ushering in a shower of liquid he later identified as blood.

Cursing to himself, Thavron's senses became ever more alert for danger as he haphazardly gathered his strewn belongings. He quickly slipped on his armor without bothering to strap it well enough before placing a circular, heavily-adorned trinket on a string around his neck. Based on the current conditions around him, the catcher of chaos could potentially aid the brown angel in the fight that he had already initiated. On his head he positioned the magically-enchanted skin of a lupine face, whose beneficial effects already began to sharpen his senses and increase the mass of his muscles; over that, a helmet wrought of metal. Finally, just as the summoned demon uttered a phrase the guardsman couldn't quite place, he clipped the sheathe of a sword on his hip. The equipment was horribly rushed and thus increased his potential proneness to attack, but it was better than nothing for the time being. He could always adjust it later.

Thavron straightened, bringing Integrity back forward in preparation for an aggressive reply. His other hand gripped the handle of a heavy shield before hefting it into a defensive stance, facing toward the masked entity and the demon. The spearman remained focused and vigilant on his objective, hoping to Threnody that all of this work would be worth the toil.

[OOC: Action Log – spell cast of Karma, 1 physical attack.]

It was a peculiar thing to hold a battle in an oasis, Will mused. By definition, an oasis provided shelter for the travel-worn and weary. It was a place of peace and rest. To be the site of such a violent event was contradictory to its nature, but then again, the fighter, himself, was a contradiction himself and so it was fitting. William had often thought of himself as a paradox. He followed Lothlomendil, the Goddess of Life, and yet he practiced the art of war, reaping the lives of the unjust. His past was one of strife and turmoil, the byproduct of his desire fight; however, the only peace he found was in battle. At times he painted himself as a philosopher-warrior, bound by his moral code and thus more enlightened than his peers, but if he were so enlightened, would the clash of swords bring such pleasure? William Arantar was a study on polarity, driven by violence, repulsed by violence, guilty by violence.

News of the tournament had come to young Arantar at the Wil’Warin Pub in Lomedor. It was the day before the Ehtele’mele and the place had been packed to the brim that he had learned of it. An unnamed drow had enquired about Will’s sword and from there on, proceeded to inform him about the occasion, and finally, left him with instructions to return to an alley next to the Wil’Warin pub in exactly three weeks, at dusk, ready with all of his gear. Admittedly, the knight had expected foul play at first, that maybe the drow was trying to mug him and steal his equipment. As the time wore on however, William’s suspicions wore down. The whole scheme was far too elaborate for a simple foot pad and the drow had been genuine, a rarity with his kind. In the end, curiosity had ensnared the soldier. As he had promised, William returned to the alley near the Wil’Warin at dusk three weeks later, and sure enough, the drow was waiting. After a lengthy explanation of the tournament rules, the dark elf managed to procure the knight’s sword and a vial of a rather rank oil. The site was said to be on the Salquedor Plains, that Will would be drawn to it.

So here he had found himself, on the brink of his first tournament, his future but a hundred paces in the distance. Today he would compose the magnum opus of his life thus far, reveal the culmination of all those years of suffering and hardship, tempered by his conditioning of the mind and the body. Today his song would be sung at its’ loudest thus far, that bittersweet symphony of life would climax! As the site of conflict drew nigh, he uplifted himself with those thoughts. Upon closer look, it appeared as if he would need them.

The serenity of the plains failed beneath the blackening sky as the prairie grasses were stained crimson by the sanguine rain. The heavens were alive, it seemed. A celestial figure streaked across the dread scene of the hell-storm, at first, its destination lied with the source of the cataclysmic tempest, only to swerve away at the emergence of some hell-spawn from the sky and dart for a mound of gear on the ground. Were these Will’s opponents? Fear invaded his mind. If they were, he was clearly outmatched by their power. He couldn’t fly, nor could he summon demonic beings. He was bereft of armor and had naught but his sword for protection. Would it be more prudent for him to turn back? Momentarily, the possibility of evacuation existed, for the time being, a long life was more desirable than a great one.

Then he remembered that dream on the plains so long ago and the wise words of a sagely old man, "Now listen to me, son. You fight with anger, you might as well be fightin' yerself. If ya live with sorrow, ya might as well be condemnin' yerself to be sad. Now next time, ya think yer about to be doin some fightin, think up a flame in yer head and feed that flame with all your anger and all your emotions and just focus that flame, cuz trust me son, ya sure as hell can't live in the future when yer to busy livin in the past." Would he regret it later if he abandoned this battle now? He’d had all of the regret he could take already. Was he letting emotion cloud his judgement? After all, fear was among the strongest of emotions, he couldn’t let it rule his life. Perception was not all it was made out to be. That same frail old man had dominated Will in battle. Could it be that his weakness was in truth, his strength? This was a war he would win!

Those pale emeralds eyes scanned the scorched oasis, sizing up the competition. Posted above what had been his pile of gear, Will noted that he had come full circle since the oasis had first appeared to him, from reflection, to confidence, from fear, to reflection. The guilty blade in his right hand burned bright blue, lusting for the taste of flesh. The flame in the philosopher-warrior’s mind was even more brilliant, fed by the mélange of emotions he had felt, surrounded by night, a lone beacon in a void of concentration.

[OOC Action Log: He put the sulfur oil on his sword and I used the weapon focus feat in the last paragraph. It's a bit of an unconventional method for using it, but if anyone is familiar with Wheel of Time, it is the same as the flame Rand uses in his head when he fights.]

A sharp pain assailed the shade’s senses, and a cacophony of screams roared from within drowning his voice in anger. Small wounds riddled his entire body, and he was lost in a haze of gray, but Annihilate’s unconscious mind would not relinquish the hold it had on the black speech trailing from his lips. In turn, his body went on automatic, and it was not until both he and Dre`naght were standing side-by-side did he begin to realize what had happened. Thin lines of crimson tears began to trickle down his body, and though he could feel more dotting his back and legs he stood firm, staring down the brown-winged angel with a vicious scowl. He acted as thought the many ghastly wounds were nothing to him, and just cackled loudly to confuse his adversary; blood be damned, he was not going to let any pain show on his face.

Then, in a morbid display, he wiped a line of the blood on his chest away with two fingers, and drew them to his pale lips to lap up the crimson life. His sharpened teeth gleamed as he grinned at Thavron menacingly, nearly laughing as his enemy hid behind his steel skin; a subtle glimpse into the shade’s insane mind. He knew this man was his enemy, and had heard a few stories about the Bringer of Order, of his virtue and righteousness, but strangely as he looked upon the warrior he felt a certain kinship to the brown angel. It was a feeling that the two of them would meet again once this battle was over, and many times after that. However, at the same time Anni felt a certain hatred for the angel, and he knew that those meetings would be filled with more than just drinking and brotherhood. Annihilate felt that there would be much swearing and bloodshed, and as he considered that he suddenly found a good reason to hate him. Thavron had drawn first blood, a right Annihilate typically reserved for himself.

In the end, however, Annihilate knew he would be denied his share of blood. So with a dramatic draw he pulled his second blade from its sheathe, and leveled it at his right side slowly. It was a very elaborate show, the silvery blade flashing in the sunlight, and his knuckles were white from the pressure he was applying to his weapons. Both of his hands twitched erratically, though not from nerves, for the demonic fury buried deep inside of him was more than enough to steel him for the coming battle, but he didn’t think of the complications inherent in his planning until Will entered the arena. For a moment Annihilate watched the warrior move, and his grin twisted into an angry scowl. While he had planned for fighting multiple enemies at once before, he hadn’t thought about it when he had been told he would be fighting two adversaries this time. He had taken it as if he would be fighting one round and then another back to back. His initial idea was to charge the angel and have the demon take his adversary down from behind. Now, though, he wasn’t so sure what he would be able to do.

In any other situation the shade would have called forth yet another demon, but he did not have the mana left within him for such an exertion. No, the shade would have to resort to more honorable measures, so he raised his sword in a salute to both of his adversaries and took a deep breath. One, two, three… he counted, and before he knew it both he and his summoned beast broke from their stand in almost a graceful manner. Dre`naght rushed left and the shade ran right, and the two stayed in perfect unison with one another the entire time. Their stride was equal, and the demon moved on Thavron just as quickly as Annihilate moved against Will.

The red-skinned demon charged at Thavron with arms raised, and claws leveled at the warriors massive shield. One of his arms stayed close, guarding him, but the second slashed out the moment the beast came closer to the armored warrior. It carried no weapons, other than wielding natural five inch claws, and thought its skin was not as thick as Thavs armor Dre`naght could take a harsh beating. It would try to avoid the brown angel’s spear as best it could, and would attack any exposed section it could find, but its moves were sloppy and lacked finesse. Still, at the end of the day, the beast would not quit until either of the two were dead.

Annihilate, on the other hand, moved so smoothly and gracefully that his blades seemed a blur around him. He moved against Will with purpose and confidence, while his blades weaved an intricate web around his form. He moved closer and closer to Will, carefully stepping here and there until he found a perfect spot to launch his attack from. His stance was perfect and his center of gravity low. All of his joints were ready for a heavy impact, and his muscles were tensed to apply the utmost force he could coax from them. Then, suddenly, like a cobra striking a small animal, the shade’s perfectly balanced blades lashed out, one weapon crossing over the other in an “x” fashion. It set the stage for a flurry of attacks yet to come, and the promise of blood spilling all across the ground…

It was time for the battle to begin…

In two separate blurs, summoner and summoned parted. While the former darted out of sight, the demon wasted no time in its furious assault upon him. Thavron stood in steadfast opposition, a tower of gleaming silver amongst the earthen and chaotic hues surrounding him. His raised shield protected him from its initial assault, muscles struggling against the audible claps of thunder that accompanied its brutally powerful slashes.

The haze of battle immediately set over Thavron's mind, memory of his muscles taking over most of his original capacity for logical thought. After withstanding a hail of strikes he retaliated, snarling beneath his helmet as he pushed the blade of Integrity forward in a thrust toward the hellspawned beast. It skillfully avoided the attack, moving in further upon the brown angel with what he perceived as a newfound ferocity. Thavron hunkered down, making due in simply holding his ground until he could properly pinpoint a prone area amongst a sea of crimson red hide.

It was only then that the guardsman realized the peculiarity of the summoner's absence. A wave of adrenaline pumped through his veins from the tinge of fear that came with the realization's implications. How could he have been so stupid?! Obviously the masked figure was going to flank him or backstab him. Perhaps, even, the bastard was preparing a fatally powerful attack from afar. Thavron responded to his thoughts without thinking, abandoning his fixed position in a single pivoting turn. The demon seemed to momentarily falter from the sudden change, soon forced to deal with its adversary suddenly facing its side.

While the corners of Thavron's eyes surveyed the area for signs of the summoner, his body was focused entirely on taking down the demon. Integrity's tip soared through the air, poised to cleanly pierce the temporarily uncovered torso of the hellspawn. Moments before he assumed it would connect, the brown angel's eyes flicked toward a change in his surroundings. A new fighter had seemingly appeared from nowhere during his distraction, and the masked figure had instead retreated to engage him.

... What? A new fighter? Thavron never was told he would be fighting two people. Perhaps it was a teammate for him? But there was no time to continue in his thoughts; already the brown angel's attention had been devoted away from fighting for a split second. It was more than enough for the demon to take advantage.

A jarring echo made the guardsman's ears ring. The demon's five-inch claws had dug first into the side of Thavron's helmet, where his cheek normally was. It then moved down in a slash, coming off of the metal to cut partially into the exposed flesh of his neck at the attack's very end. Pain forced his concentration to falter further, and he grunted in reply. The demon followed through in its enemy's temporary weakness, cutting at an exposed area of Thavron's breastplate that he accidentally left prone through the slight lowering of his shield.

Luckily, the slash's power was not enough to pierce armor, though it succeeded in leaving behind a distinct set of parallel gashes. Blood trickled down from the wounds inflicted on the brown angel's neck, pooling where flesh ended and armor began. Thavron mumbled a Sindarin curse under his breath, pulling himself into a structurally sound defensive stance once again. Well-protected behind his shield, the brown angel's focus shifted to fighting back in a manner that could end the demon and allow him to strike its summoner. The sheer strength of each attack did not compare to the guardsman's stamina, which was slowly but surely slipping away. There was no choice but to get help.

”Even the scales!” Thavron bellowed. His shield, now seemingly torn apart with hundreds of scratches of various sizes, emitted a faint glow. Within moments, the trees that surrounded the battle rustled with life, and blessings of Threnody soon emerged. Four now stood at the brown angel's side; human soldiers of the Goddess of Order with markings indicative of a fairly high military rank.

Each bore similar adornments, but were distinctly individuals. Shaved bald, tattoos weaved across their scalps and down through the rest of their bodies where flesh was exposed; over their standard-issue leather armor were simple black tabards bearing the mark of Threnody. Immediately each of them sprinted into action, flanking the demon with two men on each of its sides.

“Even the scales! Praise the Orderkeeper!” They growled in reply, moving with longswords in hand to strike their new enemy in quick, potentially distracting flurries from nearly all angles. Thavron joined the fray with several jabs with Integrity, making sure to keep his body as protected as possible with his shield. Finally the tables had been somewhat turned.

But he wouldn't be able to go at this fight forever, that was one thing Thavron was certain of. The demon was not his main priority in battle, it was taking down its summoner or even the new arrival it was engaging. Better to strike directly at the throat than waste time slashing at his enemy's metaphorical back. The brown angel, shield still raised, crouched before leaping into the air, folding out his wings and forcing them into a powerful rhythmic cycle of flapping.

Within seconds, Thavron landed several meters away from the ensuing fight. He was confident his soldiers would take care of the demon, or at least buy additional time. With no one engaging him, it was a perfect time to catch his breath and assess the damage he sustained from his first skirmish. The wound on his neck was bleeding profusely and stung just enough to detract from his concentration slightly, but he would simply need to make due.

A somewhat large distance away was the second fight, between the masked figure and the new arrival. The brown angel knew not if either of them were aligned to chaos, but a direct, surprise strike would at the very least be worth a try. Thavron sat down his shield next to him and knelt down on one knee to properly brace himself before raising both arms parallel to the ground, hands pointed toward the ensuing scuffle.

It was not a matter of chanting a magical incantation and siphoning off valuable but limited mana. The power of Order itself coursed through his veins, concentrating in a single point between both of his hands. It manifested as a swiftly-growing white light. Once it reached its full, large size, Thavron closed his eyes and let loose the sheer antithesis of chaos' influence. Taking the form of a wide beam of energy, with any luck it could potentially inflict serious damage upon anyone applicable caught in its devastating path.

Standing, Thavron uttered a soft sigh beneath his helmet, picking up his shield once more to prepare for his reentry into one of the two battles.

[OOC: Action Log - Several physical attacks, summoning of soldiers as per Shield of Equity ability, Antithesis PrC ability.]

And so it seemed, the battle was upon William Arantar.

His head was clear, an astral void of emotion, a true fighter’s battle field. He was no longer a prisoner of perception, beheld to thought, subdued by sense. The only sight that graced his eyes was that of his opponent and the blazing inferno of focus in his own mind; the only smell, the iron tinge of blood that wetted the earth. The warmth of his burning blade lit up his soul. The rough leather grip of his sword enticed his singular purpose, victory. The adroit footfalls of his nimble opponent fell heavy on his ears. That awkward rhythmed gait signaled that the war was here…

Greedily, those emerald rondures stole the movements of his agile adversary. A fighter’s intuition immediately recognized the intentions of the maneuver. The enemy was sizing William up, searching for a foible in his defense. The philosopher-warrior instinctively took a high guard and traced the movements of the demon summoner, awaiting the man’s first move. Like a snake’s strike, the attack came.

And so the enemy’s fangs were bared with an onslaught that only affirmed the agility and speed of William’s opponent. Those iron teeth craved the soldier’s flesh, bidding for that sweet first taste in an unholy cross. The attack immediately registered in Will’s mind as a common maneuver of dual-wielders. The adversary’s aim was to force the fighter’s hand but the offense belied a fatal flaw. His opponent’s Achilles heel lied upon his side. A skillful parry could exploit that chink, though the true challenge belonged to the corresponding attack. Such was William’s goal.

That guilty steel parted the air urgently in search for its target. The soldier’s foot slid along the sanguine prairie grass as his body followed suit. The blade’s momentum was slight, though enough to force Will from the deadly trajectory of his opponent’s weaponry. The metals collided with an angry crash, the ringing steel breaking the distant cacophony of the other battle. The fighter’s mind was singular and lacking of the sense of accomplishment that often followed such a successful maneuver. The job was only half finished. He was yet to close in for the kill and then it happened. The fire in William’s erupted into a mighty conflagration and as suddenly as it came, it died. The philosopher-warrior’s focus was destroyed in an instant.

The reality of the tournament struck a hard blow to William’s psyche. His opponents were here to kill and he wasn’t. The silhouette of the angel against the cloudy horizon had ignited a plethora of emotions; confusion, anger, distress, guilt, a sense of naiveté. How could he not have realized that the voluntary violence of this tournament carried the weight of death? Had he betrayed his vows to the Goddess of Life? How could he agree to such chaos when the guilt of his past still weighed so heavily upon him? How could he have been so foolish! The white hot beam of energy that erupted towards himself and his foe was the dilemma. Was the angel here to punish him for his sins or was he just another participant in the drow’s tournament? Could he bare the guilt of letting his sinister opponent perish, blind to the doom that sped for him or was he here to save the man? William Arantar had an urgent decision to make.

“Duck!” was the only word that came to the knight’s mind. He couldn’t possibly allow his adversary to expire. William had never entered this competition with the intent of killing. Certainly the Lady Life had sent him here to be this man’s savior. He would gladly fulfill her wishes.

His parry had left his foe’s immediate side vulnerable. The knight’s original purpose had been to strike his back with the flat of his blade, but as in war, nothing was sure. To save this opious adversary’s life, the only option was to tackle him to the ground. Renewed by the thought of serving the Goddess, William lunged for the exposed side of his enemy; his arms spread agape to deny his sword the pleasure of flesh. He had never come here to kill.

(OOC Action Log: I side stepped Anni's stab and deflected his swords away slightly from my character's body with a weak underhand arch, so it's basically coming up diagonally. My character is basically facing Anni's side and is prolly 2-5 feet away from him because Will stepped back in the process. When he sees Thavron's energy beam dealie, the whole dilemma thing happens and his concentration blanks. It's all happening extremely quickly mind you, barely enough for my character to register his thoughts. Distressed by the thought of people dying in the tournament, Will tries to tackle Anni from the side and save him from Thavron's beam.)

The drums of war beat heavily on the soul of the Shade, and all things faded to red. His eyes became bloodshot and his blood boiled as he fell into his demonic lust. The furnace that was his soul ignited and the dragon roared to life within, and his anger carried him through every slash, every parry, and every second that passed made the fires become brighter and more furious. He fell into the horrors of the past, the mundane and the macabre, and let it be the guiding force behind his deadly blades. To Annihilate there was little more than the moment, the time when words were worthless, and when the truth within every warrior’s soul were brought to bear. He meant to win, to defeat his enemies whether it meant drawing their blood or not, though he hoped for the former.

He hadn’t even registered the impact of Will’s blade against his own, nor the heat as the sparks of languid stench of will’s sulfur oil spread across his own blades. The slight misdirection was nothing but a stone’s throw, for he was already several paces ahead calculating the hundreds of possibilities for every subsequent attack and rebuttal. His mind moved faster and faster, putting long sequences of attacks together; parrys, stabs, slashes and counters, and every motion Will made and every moment that passed pushed one move aside, and substituted yet another.

In response to Will’s actions Annihilate drew his left leg around away from the warrior, knowing very well the dangers inherent in his attack, and in doing so twisted at the waist. His muscles tensed, and when he drew his weapons back across each other, slashing back across his exposed sides, he used that tension to amplify the force of his sword putting more weight behind the left blade. In doing so he gave Will little room to attack towards his exposed side, but he never expected the show of chivalry that the Knight expressed, for few would show such bravery to an adversary fate had ordained to cross his path.

In the midst of battle he had never noticed the death of his pet, the chosen beast who had carried the burden of serving the shade, for no marks were left upon his soul – the subtle bond of summoner and master broken so subtly. Because of that he had not taken note of Thavron’s preparations, the brewing conspiracy the rotten angel had concocted, and the magic that was brewing behind him. In a flash of light things had changed, his concentration broken, and his rage swept aside so easily. Duck! he heard, echoing in the confines of his mind. He turned with his blade, following the line of his slash out behind him, and cast a sharp glance at the angel as his spell had taken shape. He had virtually no time to react properly, and as the bolt exploded towards him he used his momentum to throw himself to the side. When Will dove at him it only helped to accelerate his decent, and his first instinct was to roll away the moment he hit the ground.

A moment had passed, his ears ringing and his eyes heavy as if he were just waking in the early hours of the morning, and he cast curious glances everywhere. The world spun around him, the adrenaline causing his mind to buzz, and the resonating energy of his antithesis still lingering in the air. He pushed himself up slowly, getting to his feet, and shook his head. He understood what had happened suddenly, glancing between his two adversaries. Annihilate was suddenly unsure what actions he should take. Would he attack Will yet again, his onslaught relentless, or would he go after the angel who had nearly taken him.

The rival or the savior? Now he was the one with the dilemma, and he stood idly by – a scowl present on his tensed jaws. For just a moment the three of them had a break from the sudden bought of action, but by the growing frustration apparent in his expression it was easy to see that Annihilate would not be standing by for much longer. It was all brooding inside, his fury rising, and very soon it was about to explode violently…

Through the blinding light of his ray Thavron could barely place the actions of the pair he faced, the ambiguity barely crossing his mind consciously. In the end, however, both had emerged unscathed from the ordeal. The brown angel grumbled in his misfortune as he made haste to finally tie the straps of his armor thoroughly, removing the looseness in which the plates had been haphazardly put on to begin the fight.

Not a moment too soon, the four soldiers he had summoned marched to his side, blades caked with half-dried blood. Their presence forced Thavron to silently glance in the direction of the demon that had once been a threat; in its place instead lay a scorched patch of grass stained partially with the crimson liquid. Its fate had been sealed.

The last armor strap pulled taut, securing completely.
“Your orders?” one of the soldiers inquired. Thavron snorted in reply, turning away from the distant battle between his two enemies. As he lifted a booted foot to walk, the small group under his command parted to compensate.

”Surround them. I want a simultaneous lunge on both,” the brown angel murmured, voice nearly a whisper. ”I will join you all shortly after I purify their souls.” No hesitation bordered order and reply; thundering footbeats overlapped the sentence's very last syllable as the four moved to engage their new targets.

In a single massive heave the brown angel slammed the point of Integrity deep into the ground, sending a glowing blue shockwave to burst out radially from the point of impact. Tendrils of light cut through grass, leaving deep cracks in the ground within a small area. It should succeed, Thavron knew, but it would simply take time.

After a few moments, the guardsman's newly-cast channeling of Order's raw power would begin to rapidly siphon his already limited mana from him until there was nothing left. When that happened, everyone in the area would surely know. Thavron turned once more toward the ensuing battle, leaving Integrity behind to pulsate with ever-growing power. In its place the brown angel tore a new weapon from its sheathe, a scimitar decorated with symbols of balance.

The four soldiers of Threnody charged with a newfound ferocity, blades raised and ready for the lunge. In order for such an attack to succeed, they needed to act in perfect unison. Should that happen, surely the fighters in question would be unable to avoid all of them. The masked person and the newcomer had been slightly separated from the aftermath of their summoner's antithesis beam, but it did not deter the warriors of the Goddess of Balance. Four became two and two, rushing eagerly to flank both men. A brief pause was all that warned of the resulting attack, blades rushing toward their intended targets from almost all directions.

Thavron landed from above with a heavy thud, Aequitas scimitar and shield held at the ready for battle. The fight had progressed long enough to produce a blunted effect in the personality of the brown angel, eyes beneath his scratched helmet appearing lifeless and without benevolent thought or emotion. He no longer questioned the moral implications of such a tournament, or the safety of those he fought. Thavron's thoughts had deteriorated to a single, simple concept: win.

Before moving to engage the man he found to be the closest to his position, the unmasked latecomer to the fight, an abrupt change echoed through his consciousness. His supposed “ticket to victory” had started its deadly work, beginning to steadily siphon his already limited mana. The calm before the storm, Thavron knew. Proceeding, the brown angel folded his wings to his back and rushed to close the gap between himself and his new adversary.

From behind his shield he unleashed a frenzied series of slashes, Aequitas dancing through the air in a diamond-tipped blur that seemed to never stop. It was a more wasteful, less calculating approach compared to the continuing attacks of his four soldiers, a result of Thavron's mid-battle depersonalization. As his mana stores slipped away from him ever-so-slowly, the rage that constantly filled his heart unleashed itself further.

He pressed harder with every slash, hoping to his Goddess that at least one would hit a vital area before his mana ran out. Inside, he could feel the last of his stores flowing away. The corner of his eyes revealed a massive beacon of swirling white and blue light shooting into the sky from the positioned shaft of Integrity, a manifestation of not only Order itself, but contributed to with his own disappearing magical essence. It would begin at any moment.

The very moment Thavron felt the last drop disappearing, the world turned pure white.

No clouds, no sky, and not even a sun; all that was left in the guardsman's vision was a narrow view of the ground and the other men about him. An ear-shattering cacophony made the earth tremble, a deadly combination of booming thunder and the furious roars of a thousand souls. Thavron ceased in his attacks to recoil from the aftereffects of his own creation.

The solid color of the sky was blinding to him, but it could not compare to the sheer strength of the explosion the entire oasis was engulfed in. Arcane winds of white and blue tore through the area, but the brown angel planted his feet firmly on the ground and allowed the weight of his armor to serve him.

Only several moments later did the onslaught finally give way, material dissolving in areas to reveal the blue sky once more. While the main attack was complete, Thavron knew it was not over yet. His presumably chaotic adversaries, if they survived, would then have to contend with the explosion's fallout for a while yet. The brown angel himself, however, would not enjoy such luck. His mana was gone, and it took a massive toll on his body. Limbs struggled to move with the same vitality as prior to the rinse of nirvana, vision turning blurred and tunneled and ears ringing with the deafening noises of the attack.

Thavron felt his concentration slip away in favor of a wave of vertigo. He was now at the mercy of his opponents.

[OOC: Action Log – Several physical attacks (soldier attacks on both Will and Anni, Thavron attacks on Will), Nirvana Rinse PrC Ability.]

It was as the dive of a hawk on the hunt that the beam of light passed over Will and the enemy he had so nobly saved. The initial dilemma was over, gone by in a blur, but what transpired next would perhaps have the greatest effect on the future of our fighter.

He spilled over the opponent he had spared from death, sliding across the blood slickened prairie grasses like butter upon ice. The crimson liquid that had settled upon the prairie like dew permeated through the cloth of his tunic, mingling with the sweat that wetted his back. And then as if it were a mother calming a child, a gentle wind stirred from the majestic plains to bare away the confusion of the moment. The cooling breeze roused William from what could have been his funeral pyre and the crackling of his fiery blade reminded him of his purpose. The man he had saved was already on his feet. Urgently, the knight pushed himself to stand also. He was hardly worn from the fight, but as he stood, a deep ache emanated from his shoulder as a thin trail of blood snaked down his arm, a stream winding through a desert of brown and red that had once belonged to the plains. He had landed on the shoulder of his sword arm and bruised it, though the wound was nothing that he couldn’t work out with a few more swings. Taking advantage of the break saving his foe had bought him; Will rubbed that same hurtful shoulder. With his eyes trained between his two opponents, the angel and the demon summoner, he pondered the precarious situation entering this tournament had allowed him.

Contemplatively he analyzed the state of things. He had never expected his adversaries to fight with the intent of killing, nor had he expected them to be so skilled. How did he fit in here and was there anything he could do to salvage these two lives? Would the Goddess of Life grant him forgiveness a second time if things boiled down to death? Finally, he made a resolution, though a weak one; if it could not be avoided, he would kill his opponents to protect himself. For the soldier, it was a battle of wits now. The skill of either of his enemies far exceeded his own and if the opportunity presented itself, he would end this battle, no matter the cost. He had reached a fine conclusion, but what next? The man he had saved stood still as if waiting for something. Honor ruled that he would have to warn his foe before attacking. As he prepared to bellow that all-too-familiar ‘on guard,’ the distant angel appeared to have yet another trick up his sleeve, soldiers…

“How dishonorable it is to have someone do your dirty work...” Will muttered under his breath. He barked at the foe he had saved, “Look alive, man!” before pointing to the charging combatants. With an awkward swing of his sword meant to loosen up his bruised sword arm, the fighter took a charging guard. The soft thud of his boots soon joined those of his oncoming foes as he padded across the slimy, stained prairie grass. The pretentiousness of chivalry escaped him as he was disgusted by the utter lack of honor the angel had. Anger burned up his resolve, flaring up like a raging inferno across a thatch roof. He was out to kill.

With deadly intent, blades clashed. That guilty steel had tasted flesh once and it craved its sweet flavor again. Fire rained from the sulfur-oil drenched sword with the strength of Will’s parry and with the same ferocity that characterized the flames that roared across the blade, a swift counter met the flesh of the angel’s soldier. More blood joined the earth, life fused with nature. The soldier’s anger poured from him as well as from the bloody stump of his foe’s neck, the unlucky fool’s head hanging like a tree limb struck by lightning, his spinal column severed at shoulders, his gaze eternalized in a deathly shock, swaying with his wavering body like a leaf. Like the changing of seasons, his autumn had passed to a cold winter. And then the realization struck Will, he had killed again. Guilt raged through him like a flash flood, remnants of his past swimming in its icy cold waters. He was numbed by it and overwhelmed by it. No matter what he resolved to do, there would always be regret. And then pain came, its warmth as welcome as a toasty night with a mug of ale near the hearth and his guilt was fleeting. Two soldiers had charged him yet only one had fallen. It was fool’s math, yet all the same, it ran through the shocked mind of William. His left arm hung lifeless, blood pouring freely from a massive stab wound. The assailant’s blade was still lodged there, the assailant lost at the shock of his friend’s untimely demise. Mechanically, as lifeless as the man he had just robbed of life, Will stabbed at corpse’s living counterpart. The blade met the man’s stomach and with an icy grip on his sword, the man crumpled over. His blade followed, tearing and sliding as it exited the wound on Will’s arm and Will’s doing the same as it was released from the man’s abdomen. Our soldier’s mind existed only in the guilt that plagued it over the utter destruction of two lives.

Like a machine without oil, William stood lifeless, ravaged in turn by the shock of what had just happened and the emotions that came with the events. Beneath him, the earth split and above him, the sky roared. From that tumultuous expanse above, the treacherous angel rain upon him a furious onslaught of blows. Robbed of the vibrance of reason that had been gifted to sentient life, Will fought like an animal, with his instincts. Repeatedly, he met the angel’s blade with his own, darting between strikes and doing only what he could to survive. And with each passing second, each drop of blood that escaped the lifeless arm that hung at his side, the world grew fainter and his guard grew weaker. Each parry was slower than the last and even in his dazed state, Will knew he was losing this battle. Cuts and slashes littered his body and his raiment hung from him in tatters, covered in red. And then the world exploded in light.

He lay on the ground, cured of the apathy that had laced his duel with the angel. Reality had invaded him again and Will was all too aware of the death he had wrought. But questioning him even more so was what had just happened? Everything had burst into light and now he simply lay on the ground. Had the angel killed him? Why was the earth below him fractured? Why did storm winds ravage the land around him? Was he in hell?

Everything had gone still. To his left, not ten yards away, he saw the warrior-priest being torn apart by the brown angel’s blade. Crimson tears were cast asunder through the open air, frozen in the breath of time. The shade’s savior had now become the fallen, his body stretched across the grass – still. Was it justice? Murder? Or was it something in between? He could not distinguish the lines dividing the degrees of death, but he knew the depths of honor. He knew the warriors code. This was not a good death for any warrior, much less he who had spared Annihilate from almost certain death.

“No…” he whispered softly, his voice only a faint echo upon the wind. His lip twitched viciously, and his eyes turned from the scene of despair to the growing flood around. The tide of warriors armed with sword and armor surrounded him, and a feeling of nostalgia washed over him. So many times had he found himself at odds with more than he was fit to handle; testaments to his resolve and his skill. This was more, though.

“No,” he said, his voice rising like the fires inside. Cold steel ignited in the tumult, and demons danced across his soul. Hate guided his blade to its position before him, and fueling it were the sons of hell whose spirits resided within him. Yet his very innards were being raped with every second that passed. Cyan waves licked his body as the cracks passed beneath his boots, and more and more of his reserves of magical energy were being sapped from his body.

“No!” he growled. The crucible was before him, and he could only bare his teeth like a rabid dog. With so many feelings twisting inside he could only circle the enemies, keeping his distance from the warriors as he made sense of his feelings. He was angry, vengeful, and all over a man who he knew nothing about. But he digressed; wouldn’t he do the same if Obsidian Nocturne – who had spared his life before in the same place only a year before – had fallen before his very eyes?

“No!” he finally screamed, releasing all of his energy. It was a focused roar on the battlefield, a furious cone of dragon fire that cascaded across the audible spectrum. Without warning and without any doubt the scorpion drew back his tail and struck out. Poison dripping from his teeth. With the two blades of mighty steel at his sides he entered into the fray once more with a new goal in mind. He would avenge the death of the fallen warrior. Thavron, the brown angel, would know pain soon. He would know a demons fury…

Stepping in one of the two summoned warriors turned his sword on Annihilate. Their instruction was to strike, and the growing siphon of magical energy in the area was not to be toyed with. Anni kept his distance, but when the warrior attacked he batted the weapon off to the side. Sparks flew as their weapons met, and red embers reflected the anger in his eyes. However, Annihilate did not go berserk. Every step was calculated, every move was fluid, and he shifted his weight with such pure precision that he could not have summoned in his previous state. This as an unseen form Anni utilized, a strange place in his mind where good and evil, and rage and control met and worked together. The summoned warrior did not, could not, understand.

In one fluid motion Annihilate dropped down to one knee, turning slightly to augment his stance and his weight distribution, and he slashed out. His blade met the side of the warrior’s knee, slipping between the gaps in the joints and severing tendons, and he dropped the warrior to the ground right beside him. He fell, writhing in pain, but Annihilate did not do him the favor of finishing him off. He would not take his life. “Suffer…” he muttered as he twisted back up and around to face the second warrior.

He was moving quickly, and without drawing his weapons up to defend himself Anni marched on him – strait towards the second warrior. He was fuming, and matched the warrior’s gait, with an expression of pure pain. Pain he brought onto the angel’s minions. Pain that he would bring to Thavron. Pain for the dying warrior. Pain for all. No one was exempt.

The summoned warrior impatiently slashed downwards trying to cut the prowling demon before he got too close. But Annihilate was like a lion stalking his dinner. He stepped right, avoiding the preemptive attack by a hairs breadth, and then in one motion his boot came crashing down upon the flat of the warrior’s sword – pinning it to the ground. Without hesitation Annihilate slashed downwards, and just as the warrior was recoiling from his unusable weapon Anni took his hand off. His blade flashed in a dangerous arch, and fist and blood splattered through the air. With a twist Annihilate brought his opposite boot crashing into the back of the summoned warrior’s knee, and he fell to the ground. Before he could grab onto his severed nub, Annihilate was upon him again. His blood-stained longsword stabbed into the wounded warrior’s chest, pressing his back to the ground.

Then, slowly, Annihilate turned his eyes to the brown angel – searching the area for his nefarious adversary. Thavron was not an enemy that had crossed his path before, but standing there Anni’s sheer expression was vow-enough that said it would definitely not be the last time.