The crowds packed into the stadium, eager to get to their seats before anyone else could. Excitement ran high, for this event had been advertised far and wide across Imythess for some time. Rumors were flying that even the God of Darkness himself had decided to join in the fight, and was allowed! This had scared some from even attending until they had heard that Veronna Darkblade was to attend and watch the match along with her chosen Konahomaru.

Little did anyone know that the determined winner would have the option to face Konahomaru in single combat to win an even greater prize.

Kona sat in his seat, a comfortable leather upholstered recliner with plenty of cushion. It was well worn from countless hours of observing matches. Kona was as much of a studier as he was a fighter, and he hoped to learn much from the match as much as he hoped it would provide welcome entertainment for many. Each contestant had his or her own room in the arena complex to prepare for the upcoming fight.

Kona, as he was the host of the tournament, would announce each fighter soon and ask them to enter the arena one by one. After he saw good that they were all present, he would allow the match to start. But for the time being, he waited to give the contestants plenty of time to prepare.

A phantom glided through the streets of Taras, as silent and unnoticeable as a shadow. The only hint of his presence was a slight chill, an insidious uneasiness that caused those he passed by to shiver and look around. By that time he was already gone. The figure soon reached his destination, an intimidating building that far dwarfed its neighbors. Golden eyes washed over the massive arena, observing the smallest details. The banners that hung from the looming walls, advertisements for the Tournament of Champions. The wide open doors through which the crowds massed, seeping into the stands like insects. He closed his metallic eyes, a small smile curling his lips. More important was the undercurrent of fear that ran through the minds of the crowd, the nervousness of the brave mortals who thought they would be safe as long as they were not on the dirt floor of the arena. They would never forget this day. For today, he was here to participate in this tournament of mortals, to crush their spirits like the insignificant vermin they were. Seele, the God of Darkness, opened his eyes and walked forward, entering the Taras Arena through the smaller, secluded fighter's entrance.

He approached the registration desk, eyes boring into the small, nervous man who sat there. The deity smiled, leaning forward so that he was mere inches from the man's face. "Seele has arrived." The God almost laughed as the man dropped his quill, his face going as white as milk, eyes wide and fearful. Seele reached over the counter and picked up the quill, marking his own name off of the list of contestants. He sneered at the man, contempt burning in his eyes. "Fear not, mortal. You can scurry off to the hole you call home when the true fighting starts." He walked away from the shivering man, the pathetic waste of space immediately forgotten. It would not do for all of his opponents to react in the same manner. After all, Seele was here for entertainment. Ascension had elevated the deity to a level of power that few could match in all of Imythess. He had thought that here, surrounded by trained and blooded warriors, he might find some form of entertainment. If all of the other combatants were so weak, he would simply kill them. He had more interest in the attending judges anyway. Both Veronna and Konahomaru had graced the warriors with their presence. He had no doubt the Goddess of Blades was here in case Seele decided to turn the entire arena into a bloodbath. He grinned at the thought, although he knew such a brash move would forever set the Goddess against the deity. He did not want her to be opposed to him this early. After all, he was also here to scout for talented warriors, any mortal who was strong enough to aid him in the future...

Seele raised one hand as he walked towards his entrance into the arena, the closest thanks to his early arrival. The air around his fingertips seemed to blur, melting as he curled his hand into a fist. Dark energy crackled out of his palm, black power that soon coalesced into his favorite weapon. A black shaft formed in his hand, as long as the deity was tall, perfectly straight and nicked from innumerable battles. One end of the haft ended in a deadly point, but it was the other that inspired far more fear. The wicked blade of Thanatos was a twisted curve of black metal, runes deeply etched into the blade. Seele had forged the weapon himself in the depths of the Abyss, long before his ascension to Godhood. He could feel its strong presence, its thirst for blood, the unholy power that coursed throughout the entire weapon. Few who had seen it had lived to tell the tale. He ran one hand over the flat of the curved blade, knowing that the edge was razor-sharp, ready to plunge into willing flesh. His twin enchanted daggers, Huginn and Muginn, were strapped to his belt, one on each hip. Also on his belt was his summoner's wand, Midnight. These were the only weapons he had brought, deciding that the two-bladed Obsidian and rare Dagger of Sliper would not be needed for this exercise. Thanatos would be enough.

Seele stepped into the arena itself, feeling the crunch of clean dirt underneath his feet. The entire stadium buzzed with chatting spectators, the crowd excited, ready for the match to begin. Seele smiled grimly, golden eyes scouring the masses, ready to taste their fear. Unholy Aura Black power rolled off of the God like a miasma, spreading throughout the bleachers like a poison. All conversation halted, an uneasiness consuming the crowd as Seele walked into the arena, his golden eyes glowing with power. He nimbly spun the scythe, basking in the fear he had inspired, in the unease that now hung in the air. His goal accomplished, Seele let his aura flow back into himself, freeing the crowd from his presence. Instead he reached into his magical powers, selecting the next spell in his wide repertoire.

Ghastly Armor

The audience had no time to recover from his entrance before they felt something pulling at their very essence, a dark power pulling at their soul. But Seele's focus drifted a way from the innocent spectators, instead focusing on the lives lost in decades of bloody combat in this arena. Their souls still remained, swirling throughout the air, forever locked in the grip of combat. Seele's magic harnessed their souls, summoning them to him, a magnetic force they no longer had the strength to resist. The souls spiraled around him, a whirlwind of battles and bloodshed, of tragedy and avarice. He sucked them all into himself, hearing their whispers, their stories as they garbed him in armor, armor that would help him avoid their fate. Seele lifted his arms, letting the mystical protection form around his body. The breastplate was pure violet energy, crackling and sizzling, energy rolling over the crest of an hourglass in the center of his chest. Shoulder plates formed, connected to the breastplate by black chains. The energy washed over his body, forming greaves and shin guards, chainmail, until he stood in a full set of armor, runes shimmering on the arcane metal, energy still burning over its surface. Seele looked straight at Veronna Darkblade, his golden eyes burning with arcane might, powers only she would truly understand.

Think, Veronna. Remember my words. This is all we live for, beings like us. Feel your blood rise, Goddess, and one day... Seele flashed the Goddess a dark smile, raising one armored hand to his chin. He raised it up, sliding his open palm over his features. A helm formed beneath his skin, a nightmarish skull twisted into a demonic grin. He chuckled too softly for any of the crowd to hear, golden eyes narrowing to mere slits. The helm only protected the side and top of his head, leaving his piercing vision unhindered. The helm had a crest of twisted horns, remnants of the power that formed them zapping between the points. Seele held Thanatos in one hand, the shaft lying against his side so that he curved blade barely touched the ground. He stepped back to one side, waiting for the other competitors. They would know terror. They would know pain. And, in the end, if he thought them worthy...he might bless them with death.

((OOC: … just because it bugs me so very much… Arena is Latin for Sand, as in that is what the ground here is. Sand is used in arenas to not only soften landings and not damage weapons, but it soaks up rain, blood, etc. and prevents the area from being destroyed by being churned into mud or mire. If you want dirt you want a training field or such… any place wanting to call itself a proper Arena would by default have sand in the main fighting area. /pet peeve ^_^ Thank you for your time!))

The city of Taras was the very first city Aether Draka had ever come to after arriving in Imythess by less then traditional methods. She managed to live by pure chance… and she was lucky the stunt hadn’t killed her outright. It didn’t though, and she was no expert in magic so she remained completely unaware of how foolish it had been simply getting to Imythess. But Taras was one place she never felt bad about returning to. She had met many of her best friends in this city after all, and this was where she had gotten started in Shadowdancing and it was from Taras’ library that she had permanently ‘borrowed’ a wonderful volume of summoning…

But today she was visiting the Arena once more. She was excited about it really. She didn’t know who all to expect there, but she was excited because she knew that the guards that bothered her so much would be nothing compared to the true fighters who would be entering the arena this very day. She was willing to count herself among them, mostly to see if she really was worth what she could only hope she was. She had to be able to protect her friends after all. She had to. She wanted to keep them safe from not only each other but from her demon grandmother…

Quite literally in spite of her worries and fears, she proudly walked to the arena. The air was filled with emotions as mixed as her own, and as she had never been too good at reading others she didn’t actually notice. Separating herself from the throng going into the main gate, AD found her way to the entrance she had been instructed to use. There was a man sitting behind a desk and he looked as if he had just wet himself or something. He was mumbling something under his breath and looking down at a scrap of paper that trembled in his hands. “Excuse me?” AD asked him and he didn’t look up. She frowned and placed both hands on the registration desk’s surface. “I said ‘Excuse me?’!” she repeated and he jerked, his head snapping up. Something seemed to clear from his vision as he looked at her. He opened his mouth to say something but AD decided she didn’t want to hear what he had to say. “My name is Aether Draka. I’m here for the Tournament today.”

He then set the paper in his hands down on the desk, his hands still shaking a bit. She saw some of the names listed. She didn’t recognize some, but others… She watched as he put a mark next to her name and she saw another mark next to the name Seele. “Seele’s here?” She half turned the paper to read the other names, only being stopped from taking it by the man’s trembling hands. “Lynthaer is coming too!” She seemed entirely too happy about the news. Not being the social type and one who avoided the most common place for news, also known as a tavern, AD was remarkably uninformed. She didn’t know that Seele was the God of Darkness, even with all of the buzz around her. Not that she would find this to be any reason to fear him. More of a reason for her not to worry about what her demonic grandmother could do. The news had yet to reach her yet though. It would be soon no doubt.

The man took the paper back as she released it, thrilled that some of her friends were here too! She had yet to realize she would most likely be facing them here. A servant of some sort who was going to show her to her room approached her. Confused by this she followed out of pure curiosity. She was lead down a side hall and to a single room. The servant opened the latch and the door swung inward to reveal a simple room with a raised mat where she had seen injured warriors laying upon when they had received terrible injuries and the healers were crowded about them. There was no mat on this one though. She went in the room and stood there for a moment, confused about what the use of it really was.

AD always had everything she owned with her. She had always done it that way and would continue to. She had packed things away very precisely, putting even her backpack in the small bag strapped securely about her waist. She did have two daggers on that same side. One with a red handle with golden trim on it and one that was much more elegant in appearance then the other. It was a lovely green with silver metalwork that marked it elegantly as elven made. In the sheath of the red hilted dagger was an additional spot worked into the design of the sheath. It left her a ‘pocket’ for her wand. These were all held snugly about her hips with a wide black leather strap. The leather matched her winged boots. She also wore a soft leather bodice in a deep green done up with double thick laces to survive the wear. Under that was a simple black shirt and matching wrap around pants secured not only by her boots but above both knees with some more leather strapping. Her hair, the braids all freshly redone earlier that day, was pulled back with the same strapping… making it seem as if she had taken one large pelt and cut it into even strips. That was, of course, exactly what she had done.

Then a feeling washed over her and completely unbidden her unholy aura burned to life. The room was left behind, untouched. She dogged easily past people in the halls, slipping past them with what seemed to be a practiced ease to make her way to the main archway into the arena. She smiled, her eyes brightening as she recognized the aura… somehow both very different and very much the same. Seele. She was tempted to call out in greeting, but she didn’t dare interrupt. The Goddess of Blades was here and if he was out in the arena already it would be simply too late. She found herself watching as he wove magic about himself, seeing armor shape itself around him. It was at that moment that she realized she might well have to fight the man she thought of as her teacher. He had taught her so much about magic, but she could never best that. Her only advantage was she had fought in this arena before, so she knew it well enough to shadow jump somewhere as long as there were shadows there. Absently her hand clasped over the silver ring around her neck as she waited a moment. When he stepped back to one side Seele looked… splendid actually. He was a true warrior and a mentor for her. It was right then that she decided that was how she was going to handle this. This was her test, her chance to show what she had learned not only to Seele, but to Lynthaer who was going to be here soon enough. Feeling confident then she let her hands drop to her sides, the ring spinning slightly as she let it go.

Out into the arena she went, not knowing what challenges were before her but daring to take them on because she knew she had to. She had to be able to at least match her demonic grandmother in power. The Potion of Luck… she could use that, but only if she had too. She was afraid that she was going to need more then luck when the time came. Now though, now she needed to focus on the here and now. Her gaze flickered toward Seele, no fear toward him present in her emerald eyes. She trusted him after all. Why? AD didn’t listen to hearsay or gossip. She had met him on her own terms and he had helped her when she needed it. What real reason was there for her not to trust him any more or less then she trusted Lynthaer. She came to a stop before the Goddess and, to her slight surprise, Konahomaru. She dipped in something that could either be a curtsy or a bow, acknowledging those hosting and judging this tournament. Then she walked calmly past Seele to make room for the others she had seen on the list. Anyone seeing her reaction to the God of Darkness, or lack or cowering and avoidance, would no doubt thick her either an idiot or a fool…

((OOC: and... 1,446 words! w00t!))

The Arena. A place of fear, might, power, and bloodshed. A place where Lynthaer could feel at home a bit, resting in the knowledge that this place was built for the simple purpose of battle, even if it be arranged. Countless men, warriors, rangers elves, fiends, giants, and those of any race that relished the fight had died here. Lynthaer was about to join them in in the spirit of battle, and possibly forever in a grave of sand if he was careless and unprepared.

Lynthaer stood, staring ant the massive structure, cowl up to cover his eyes from the suns death. Within himself both the Madness and Shlaræran raved. The kyton with which he was infused with called him many names associated with being foolish enough to pit himself against three other skilled warriors, the Madness was merely jabbering in excitement at the possibility of killing. Lynthaer paid attention to neither at the moment. When it came time for the actual battle, he would give over to the Madness a bit, but until then both spouted only useless blabber.

Lynthaer, done with staring at coliseum, walked into the fighters entrance where he had registered earlier. He knew only a limited number of participants could enter, but he had not paid attention to how many or who had already signed. Today, he merely had to show up prepared to fight. Walking up to the desk where a little man sat indulged in a sheet of paper, Lynthaer stopped and placed both hands on the small piece of furniture. Leaning over, he spoke quietly. "Lynthaer, reporting in good sir." The man, already shaken up from something else, jerked and looked towards him. He jumped again when he found Lynthaer's masked face so close to his. "Par..pardon?" he stammered. "Lynthaer," Lynth said again, then nodded pointedly towards the sheet the man had been studying. For a moment, the man stared into Lynth's blazing eyes, confusion clear in them. Lynth narrowed his, and the man man mouthed a silent 'oh' and quickly checked off Lynthaer's name.

Snorting, Lynthaer stood upright once more, turned from the desk and walked towards the the chambers where combatants prepared themselves. Upon entering, the smell of sweat and blood almost overwhelmed him. Smiling, Lynth removed his mask revealing his pale elven features. In here, he could expose his face one more time before the battle. Setting the hardened leather beside him on a worn bench, Lynthaer stripped off his cloak. He checked his three holy stakes, making sure that they were secure but easily drawn, his scythe and his sword the same. On second thought, he removed his scythe and left his sword. The scythe was slower to draw than the sword, thus it easier to use if it was drawn. Setting the scythe down for a moment, He refastened his cloak around his neck, then grabbed his mask. Making sure it was secure, he didn't want the sun to strike his head, that would mean all but instant death. Picking up his scythe, he folded his cowl over his once more, then walked down a small corridor into the arena.

The first thing Lynthaer noticed were the two other contestants. One was covered in a ghastly armor, gleaming in the sunlight. The other he recognized to be Aether Draka, an old friend of Lynth's. Lynthaer cocked his head at this bit of information. He had not expected her to b here, and was already pondering the idea of actually fighting her. Hopefully he could do that without harming her too much. He waved in a friendly manner towards her. At least she might serve as a temporary ally for him, and him to her. Looking towards the stands he saw the host of the tournament, Konahomaru, and the goddess of blades. No doubt they were overseeing the match to make sure it didn't get too out of hand. He bowed in their direction, flourishing his cloak behind him. He should at least show his respect to those who provided his entertainment.

His first order of business was to prepare him self. Mumbling under his breath, he wreathed his scythe in flames. Reaching out with his mind, he took hold of a portion of the flames, bringing it away and sustaining it in the air. He would need his pyromancer here indeed, and the infusion of the fire elemental, along with the powers it granted him, would come into play without a doubt.

The door to the Fighter's entrance of Taras Arena creaked open and shut for a fourth time. The young man checking off the contestants' names up front couldn't see the person who'd entered yet. After the last three people who'd come, the poor boy was expecting another well-known, or terrifying person to come and register. Already, he was shaking in his seat.

However, the person who'd entered through the doors wasn't terrifying. It was just a young man, wearing a blue tunic, black pants, boots, and a cloak. He was armed with two swords, sheathed to his belt, and a shield that seemed to be made of ice. His hair was brown, and held back with a piece of red cloth. His face was normal, and had a friendly smile on it, while his blue eyes gave no hint of evil.

The boy taking down names looked up at the young man, wondernig if his eyes were decieving him.
"The name's Sethran Dracogan." the entrant said, "I'm here for the Tournament."
The boy sitting at the desk still gazed up at Sethran, a look of amazement on hsi face.
"Hello?" Sethran said, "Did you hear me? I'm Sethran Dracogan..."
"Oh!" the boy said, snapping back into the moment, "My apologies. You may proceed into the Arena, sir."
"Thanks.." Sethran said, walking past the boy and entering the Arena.

The young warrior felt like he had entered a whole different world. The room he had just came from was so quiet, and empty. You could hear a pin drop to the ground, clearly.

But, here in the Arena, the sound of the crowd was practically the only thing you could hear! Just about every seat had been taken by someone. Out in front of Sethran was a circular field of sand. In the center, three other people waited. Two of them were men, one in some sort of ghastly armour, while the other wielded a flame-engulfed scythe. The third person was a woman. Amongst the other two, she looked out of place. However, Sethran didn't like judging people by appearances.

Sethran then looked up to the sky. The sun was out in full blast today. There was no chance that Sethran could rely on the bat-morphing abilities of his cloak.
Trickery was never my forte, anyways...
He walked up to the other fighters, and took a head count. He noticed that they were missing one or two people. This was good, since it gave Sethran some time to study his opponents.

Taras City, Vernon’s home away from home. Munwithurix dared to challenge him for control of the marsh, but there was none opposing him in the sewers that wanted it that badly. He’d rooted out a small assassin’s guild that used the sewers to hide well from the guards when first claiming the lovely place, and hadn’t seen anyone try desiring to lay claim on the sewers since then. But then again, not too many people were eager to call an underworks of waste home. Vernon was in the sewers nibbling on rotted flesh when he remembered of the tournament that he had sign up for earlier. Vernon had been quite excited about the event and even got out some his angel flesh in celebration of his impending victory. The tasteful rotted meat was certainly suitable for any good celebration, but almost came close to distracting him from the tournament itself. It would be time for him to show up soon, but he could still make it there in time, after all the sewers spread out through all of Taras offered him many short cuts compared to the busy streets above.

Vernon had heard of the Tournament by chance. He was sneaking through the bags of adventurers in the elf song Tavern and heard that none were daring to join a tournament because the new god of Darkness would be in it. The mortal had not been a god for very long but still had managed to gather a fearsome reputation for the foolish population, what fools mortals were. The gods of Imythess were infantile compared to the gods the four horseriders of Apocalypse had slain, the gods that Pestilence had slain, the gods that he had slain. With the horseriders presently dismounted and disbanded it was true that his own power was also infantile, but that was still no reason for him to respect any deity, let alone these mortal pseudo deities that were a horrid mockery of true deities. Vernon felt compelled to join just to defeat this pathetic mortal. Veronna would no doubt see to it that his powers were that of a mortal in the arena and that would make it all the easier to best him. Unfortunately, Vernon was ill-equipped to use this time to kill the god. That might have been enough to awaken the other three riders from their slumber and hasten imythess towards its imminent doom, but it wasn’t too much of a loss as he was still rather complacent with his marsh and sewers.

When he had went to sign up he was informed that the tournament was hosted not by Veronna, but by her chosen, Nariwa Kona. Vernon had meet the annoying celestial before. The fool had thought to stop Vernon from ruining the thanksgiving feast in Kellen, but got bested with the help of some stupid vampire with similar goals to Vernon’s for the day. The celestial wouldn’t be able to resist challenging him after dousing the competition and getting a chance to smack around the goody-two-shoes would be a nice added bonus to smacking around some god on easy terms. Veronna wouldn’t allow him to kill her chosen, but Vernon could still give the celestial a nice scar that would follow the annoying goody-two-shoes for the rest of his days. Killing wouldn’t be allowed, but Vernon would look into finding a way around that for those that weren’t the god of darkness.

Vernon found his way to the fighter’s entrance with notable ease. He had to make sure he was checked off some list or something. Bothersome paperwork, couldn’t they just have the fighters show up at the given time then get down to the nitty gritty? The opening of no door heralded Vernon’s entrance, but as you usual his unique fetid stench did. As Vernon drew closer it grew in strength and the sound of small scampering feet could be heard. Vernon scaled the desk quickly, his feet moving as smoothly as if he were walking on horizontal ground. By the time the small black rat reached the top, the man at the desk could hold his composure no longer. His nerves were still quite rattled from dealing with Seele and Lynthaer. Rattled nerves only made it all the more easier for Vernon’s vile scent at close proximity to free the man of his last meal. The paper was soiled by the mess. Vernon peer onto the paper and managed to spot his name, or at least most of it. The side where the checks would be was completely obscured to include down to where Vernon’s name was. “Ah, Good. I see you have me marked off,” Vernon snickered as he toddled off. The man’s only reply was the release of more vomit. If the man had ventured to say something, Vernon wasn’t paying enough attention t o notice. Vernon tested the air with his nose as he left, deciphering what exactly that last meal entailed. Chicken, bread, and some vegetable broth from what he could tell, not worth going back for sloppy seconds.

Vernon didn’t bother heading to his own personal preparation room, as he didn’t really need much preparation. He’d apply his poisons in the arena and everything else was already covered. He was fully equipped and ready to go. He made his way straight to the Arena, well at least after seeking out a nice little snack he had snuck in several days before hand. One shouldn’t fight on an empty stomach after all.

After being called forth Vernon abandoned the rest of his moldy snack that didn’t fit in his small mouth and scurried towards the arena, the buzz of the crown increasing in volume with each step. Thankfully he was used to the babbling crowd or else his sensitive would have been a bane rather than a boon. The scents of those who fought before them came to him second; their lingering scents would make it harder to pick out the scents of the combatants until he was much closer.

It was not long before Vernon’s scampering feet were supported by sand. The open sandy arena was not Vernon’s idea of idea fighting ground, but he’d have to make do with what he had and tweak things in his favor where ever possible. As Vernon and his noxious aura joined the other combatants in the center of the arena he steadily shifted into his true form. He moved from walking on all fours to walking on only his hind legs. He quickly grew, rising to his formidable height of six feet. Black hairs wove together to filthy clothing and his assortment of equipment. He wore an outfit consisting of a brown shirt which had formally been another color, a stained brown pair of pants, a belt holding his two shadow daggers on either side, his crossbow, and containers for his bolts, various bullets. Fitted inconspicuously over the belt’s buckle was a crystalline spider that seemed no more than the buckle to the passing glance, but it was a rather nice construct that could be animated later and sent to deliver its potent poison. At his back was his trusted Poisoned blade, Scourge, eagerly awaiting its time in its sheath, and his light backpack fitted with rotting food and squirming with the pleased occupants. Instead of a cloak at his back, small black bat-like wings were visible, a nice addition thanks to Shapechange should he need a quick escape or to gather a new advantage, after all, there was nothing in the rules speaking against flying. Fitted over his own clawed hands were demonic claws which would prove notably better against Kona than his present opponents. Leather boots covered his feet and his furry arms were protected by metal bracers, the only hint of armor that Vernon had decided to be bothered with.

Once the transformation was complete Vernon could hear boos throughout the crowd. It was not too much of the crowd, but it would have likely been more if the others weren’t too busy praying to Veronna that no more of Seele’s magic reached out to them. Of course it could also be that he hadn’t done too much lately to add to his nefarious reputation or various bounties. Vernon ignored the jeers and pulled out scourge. The moist blade slid out easily. The eager blade was salivating and its dark green poison not only coated the blade but slowly dripped with ooze-like speed. While licking some of the excess liquid off of the blade, he looked over his competition and he attempted to pick out their scents.

The most notable scent was that of dead yet not decaying flesh. It had to be a vampire, and that would make it the one that was full covered given that it was broad day light. He would be a problem and not just because the menacing figure looked the role; undead didn’t succumb to poison and disease, which limited Vernon’s options for dealing with him. If the vampire favored fire more than just for igniting weapons then that would also be a nasty problem, Vernon never liked fire much. Either he or the clad in the strange dark armor was the bothersome soul that had become a god and Vernon was favoring the later. His scent seemed elven which was good, though the metal held no familiar scent. Elves never had great constitution and would mean the elf would have a tougher time with Vernon’s toxins and diseases, which was exactly what Vernon would need to overcome that armor. The remaining two didn’t seem to be any sort of threat. One was young male human warrior; he probably wasn’t much of a mage as they tended to leave at least one hand free for spells. The other… well he wasn’t quite sure what she was; she was further than the others and her scent was strong enough amongst the myriad scents. She looked elven, but her ears were not as long as normal elves, nor quite as short as half-elves.

Drawing up arcane power he suffused his horrid stench with vile magic causing its noxious stench to draw away his opponents’ power and give him a profane aura. It wouldn’t affect the Vampire at all, and for the most part it would only serve to counter his opponent’s unholy auras. Little did Vernon know that the human warrior was the only one without an unholy aura aside from the vampire who wouldn’t be affected anyways. Casting another spell he infected all of the meat inside of his backpack with corpse rot. Ether fumes slipped out of the bag’s openings and swiftly surrounded Vernon in a faint translucent cloud. It was more potent than the profane aura and should do well to discourage taking the smelly rat on in melee, but still would do nothing to the vampire. Satisfied, Vernon reached into a stained pocket and pulled out a slab of elven meat that was also infected and began his work on the last snack he’d get before the tourney officially began.

((OOC: Sorry for taking forever guys! Had some serious issues with internet connection and also moving to a new house. Yuck. Anyways, without further delay, lets get this show on the road!))

All of the contestants save for one were gathered here. A pity, but luckily the winning pot was collected in advance and the victor would not lose out on part of the prize. Konahomaru watched carefully and with much interest as each individual entered the arena. There before him were Seele, Aether Draka, Lynthaer Golthry, and Vernon.

A skilled assortment of combatants, the likes of which Imythess had not seen for some time. Kona was well familiarized with all but one of the contestants, Lynthar Golthry, and this was the person that caught his attention the most. Konahomaru's curiosity was soon overridden by his responsibilities as host of the event. The crowd had a slight air of fear in it, and for what reason Konahomaru did not completely understand. They knew something he didnt, and even though Kona did detect an evil presence, he dismissed it as that of Seele.

Perhaps it was a good idea to ask Veronna what was happening? He would make sure to do that. Standing up and moving to a simple but large podium, the celestial spoke loudly and his voice echoed throughout the arena. "I would like to personally welcome the contestants of this fine tourney! We have an amazing match here today ladies and gentlemen, truly a Tourney of Champions!"

The crowd responded with a resounding roar. Still, an undertone of uncertainty and fear filled the arena. It bugged Konahomaru to his very core. What if it all went wrong? "Combatants, you each face each other in armed combat. Spells or swords may be used. However, do not kill your opponents! Once an opponent is disabled you may not finish them off." The celestial paused to let this important rule sink in. If he or Veronna, or both, had to jump in the fray to defend one's life they would do so.

"Begin the match!"

The solid iron and steel gates to each exit of the arena mains shut hard, and clouds of dust roiled up from where they impacted the hard earth.

Veronna had arrived early to the arena with Kona, making last minute changes and modifications to a few things. It only had felt like a little while until the first entrant enter the arena. She knew who it was before he had even stepped foot on to the sands where so much blood had been spilled. The goddess was walking along the outer edges of the arena, her eyes never leaving the God of Darkness. She watched as he let his aura flow from him, and as it reached some of the spectators they grew quiet with fear. She shook her head, not understanding why someone would get pleasure out of scarring the local people. She also watched as Seele armored himself, in a way Veronna had never done. Feeding off the dead seemed wrong to her, but she would not interfere with the god's methods. She did not flinch as golden eyes looked directly at her, and she could almost hear his thoughts, the words from their last confrontation echoing within her. She showed no emotion when he flashed his smile, then hiding his face behind a helmet.

Veronna had almost missed the next contestant that enter the arena, a woman, someone the Goddess could not identify. She only knew who was on the list of entrants, and guessed this was Aether Draka. Veronna made her way to where Kona stood, standing slightly behind him as she watched the young woman come before them and bowing briefly, the Goddess nodding her head in acknowledgment to her, glad to see some decent confidence coming from the one who she had guessed was Aether.

The next man who entered was obviously evil, and Veronna was able to indentify him as a Vampire and demon. She had never met the man, so she did not know what to expect from him. She was slightly surprised when the man bowed in their direction. She again, inclined her head, wanting to give all the contestants here some respect, for it took some courage to come and fight in a tournament such as this. But she also guessed that Kona had many enemies nd perhaps some were and only joined in the hopes of facing the chosen of the Goddess of Blades.

The next person to enter was a young man, someone Veronna had met before in her temple. She did not know much about him, and was unsure how his fighting style was. He looked slightly out of place among the darker participants around him, but hopefully he looked fiercer in battle than he did right now. She could see the excitement in the young warrior's face, and guessed he was a little newer to the arena than some.

The next thing to scurry out of a doorway was a rat. She had heard of Vernon, but as of late there had been only a few rumors about him, and they seemed to be dying away slowly. She watched the rat become larger, making him look no better. It took all her efforts not to wrinkle her nose at the beast, a terrible smell coming from the rat, and she was surprised not more people were having trouble keeping their recent food down.

Five. An uneven number, but nonetheless, it would do. She was dissapointed that one of their participants had pulled out right before the tournament had started. She remained where she stood as Kona walked to a podium and spoke out loudly so all could hear him. The only real rule he enforced was the no killing one, which was the one that needed to be known. Besides that, this tournament had very few rules, allowing magic and weapons alike.

She had noticed something was irritating her chosen, there could be many reasons for this, there were quite a few evilly aligned beings in such a close radius to the Infused Celestial, which could be causing him problems. She would have to watch him, along with the participants, that no one really did get hurt. Kona had always had a strong will, but she wondered if it would ever give out. It could only feel natural to him to kill any and all evil.

"Begin the match!"

With just those few words, the crowd grew louder, cheering on the fighters, Veronna could see some coins being passed back and forth as bets changed over and over again. She looked back at Kona, who still seem to have something on his mind. She placed a hand on his shoulder, assuming he came back to where she stood. She gave him a smile with confidence, hoping to extinguish any doubt he may have about this tournament.

(hope it's okay for me to post.)

As Aether Draka stood waiting for something to happen she spotted a familer figure walking into the arena. She instantly grinned and waved back to Lynthaer. She was glad to see him and was willing to test her skill against his. She was sure he was stronger then her friend though. He was much bigger then her after all and much more powerful.

As he readied himself she wondered why she really didn’t have anything to ready herself. Summoning something would be useless as she wasn’t sure how long before they would start. Beyond that illusions would serve no real purpose other then to aid her summons. Her blades were reserved for when she could get close to her foes, not for when they got close to her. As she was pondering this little puzzle, trying to figure if that was an advantage or a disadvantage, another opponent arrived. This one she didn’t know, but he didn’t seem to have anything to ready either. This eased her thoughts and she brought her attention back to the arena and the den caused by the spectators.

It was then that she smelled a large black rat entering the arena. After she smelled him, she saw him. AD wrinkled her nose. It stank of rotting meat. Gross… Then even worse, it grew, shifting into a large black rat man. The smell got worse as he got bigger. Perhaps she did need a little preparation… AD fished a square of fabric out of her bag and snuggly tied it around her nose and mouth to dampen the smell. She was going to have to get rid of him first; she just hoped it wouldn’t take long to get through the boring formalities. She hated the smell, enough that she was willing to kill the rat outright, that was until Kona spoke. She remembered their little venture and smiled to herself as he began to talk. She really should have heard of him before meeting him in the forest so far from Taras. She sighed though when Kona reminded them that they couldn’t kill… another plan would be needed to dampen that smell then.

"Begin the match!" Kona then declared. AD backed away from the others then, putting her back to the wall with about three feet between her and the wall. She drew a single long blade seemingly from nowhere, though it was from the small bag on her hip. Then she smiled, as she knew what to do about the smell… and then summoned rain.

Perhaps it was high time to give that rat a bath. Dark clouds gathered overhead rather quickly, casting a shadow over the entire arena. Then the darkening the sky dropped a torrent of rain down upon the sands, and a few spectators too close to the edge. She smiled under the cloth over her face, not caring if she got wet. It wasn’t as if it would hurt her any. It did drag the smell down some.

Lynthaer smelled the creature before he saw it. A strange scent wafting from an equally strange entity. A large, upright rat, perhaps about six feet tall if Lynth was to guess. Lynthaer’s smiled became puzzled. Was this an intelligent being, or was it merely a mutated species that the contest holders had thrown at them. Lynthaer’s eyes swept of it’s gear, it backpack, it’s sword, and its cloak. Intelligent he decided. The amount of equipment it carried spoke of knowledge of weapons and fighting. No dumb animal, no matter how well trained, could use all of them proficiently. This would be interesting. He, AD, this rat, and another one who seemed ill prepared in Lynth’s eyes.

“Begin the Match!!” Lynthaer blinked at this. So, it was official. The match had begun, he in the ring with four others. His flaming scythe now itched to rip flesh, and his smile grew. At least until it began to rain. He assumed it had come from Aether, as, it seemed to drown out the stench of the rat. Not that the smell affected him in the least. He had no need to breath and only did so when it served his purpose. However, the rain was also a disadvantage to him. His spells were fire, and the water could quench many of them, or reduce their potency. Already his scythe was hissing, and steam was rolling off of his higher temperature body. Yet he did have a solution to the problem. Perhaps not a spell, but a summoning couldn’t quite hurt him either.

Lynth prepared himself and spoke the guttural words. Slowly, in front of him, smoke began to gather, taking a vague humanoid shape. A smoke servant, a gift of the plane of fire. Since it was merely water, it would not dissipate as a fire elemental would. Plus, it seemed to have a bit more intelligence in Lynthaer’s mind. Smiling, he pointed at Aether. No doubt she could handle the being, but Lynthaer was hoping that he could make you drop the rain if she was attacked. The water was not much help at all.

Wit that done, Lynthaer was left with two options. Either attack the rat, or attack the fighter. Lynthaer decided on the rat. It seemed to stronger, and while Lynthaer knew it was foolish to assume another’s strength, he also wanted to test the beast. He liked oddities, and if there was one who was truly odd, the walking vermin was one. The undead half-fiend turned and began stalking towards the rat. His scythe ready in his hands, a smile wide on his face.