Combat Exam #2

[The Designer]

While the First Combat Exam was a bust...The Academy felt a second was needed..As such, the new fighters were:

Talbot Linsorim
Tormaigh MacRagallach

These two names were everywhere as students scrambled to get to the main battle arena in the training grounds. Aside from the plethora of arenas, the Colosseum located at the center of the Grounds served as the main arena. Inside were thousands upon thousands of people, watching as the Academy hosted the exam. In truth, the exam was perhaps more of a publicity stunt then an actual exam, but still, elements of grading are still used to determine performance and what not. After all, if a fighter fought poorly, they were given an F while a good fighter was given an A or even S. Also, to keep things safe giving killing blows were strictly prohibited. It might be hard to do so with fire arms about and swords slashing, but medical magic can cure many wounds, but not everything....Like getting your head cut off....

As such, the Academy only choose examinees that can actually survive a fight and easily walk away. Like today, Tormaigh and Talbot, two very good warriors, have been chosen to participate in the Exam/Match. To the winner a good grade and reward, to the loser...well, nothing. Anyways, the Colosseum itself has been altered to look just like a Roman Arena....With sand on the ground, a box window for the Emperor/Headmaster along with his adviser/teachers. And, of course in the middle of the Arena was a referee.... Azrael Thanatos himself in fact, as he smiled while awaiting for the Students to enter the Arena.

Meanwhile, the two students could probably be found back in the Changing Rooms, located on opposite sides of the field as they got ready for battle. Anyway weapons was usable, and spell able to be used...as Medical Teams stand by waiting for their call to heal the injured. The match was over when A) Someone Surrenders, B) If someone is unable to continue or C) if The match is interrupted. Of course, there are other instances...but these three are the main concern to ending matches when it comes to the Staff.

[Talbot Linsorim]

With the assistance from Ardo, Talbot had located the changing rooms. She had felt around, refusing to accept the help of the familiars at first, Talbot found where her clothing had been layed out for her by a previous visitor- who inadvertantly smelled of rosemary. Stretching, she closed sightless eyes. Having accepted Mikon and Zula's help in dressing in the formfiting white robes accompanied by the bright red sash around her waist, Talbot opened the colorless lenses again to see nothing before her but darkness. Her heartbeat was as calm and collected as her thoughts- which meant the beat was sparratic and strained. The room smelled of dirty rust, Talbot's nose- along with those of her familiar's were twitching from time to time as if in desperate attempt to dispell the smell.

Reaching out, Talbot's hands found the smooth, oaken smelling grip of her scythe. She had relearned the movements of long ago far quickly- had spent days on end reforming slightly weakened muscles. Talbot could remember long hours of pained muscles and blinked away the soft jolt of pale pain from her well bandaged palms. The wounds had long calloused over- something she had been appreciative. Turning her head, Talbot could hear the soft sound of clinking as Ardo led her down a hallway of armorments and walls covered in weapons- for those warriors who chose not to take their own blade into the arena. Carefully pulling golden curls back with a red sash, Talbot exhaled her nerves into calmness. "Here we go- you three can only watch."

Stepping into a new sense of warmth- Talbot knew she was in the arena. The resonance of past magick, old blood, and dirt- plenty of dirt flooded her. It took a moment to overpower the want to gag. Though the sounds about her- the sound of chattering students, eagerly awaiting a fight between the Talbot Linsorim and the one and only Torm MacRagallach- this may just be something worth remembering. Talbot, with the small handicap of being blind, had many a bet against her but even with the whispers she had earlier within the day against her chances at winning. She could only hold faith in what ablities, even she could not completely remember.

[Tormaigh MacRagallach]

(OOC: Designer, when you copied and pasted that opening post from exam 1, you left Wolf's and Darian's names in the second paragraph)

When Torm received the notice that he would be fighting in a Combat Exam, he had been a little nervous at first. His opponent was to be Talbot Linsorim. A less cautious warrior than he might have been liable to underestimate the woman's chances given her recent serious injuries and blindness, but Torm knew otherwise. He had been there when she had awoken; he had seen her at her weakest, and had been of very little help, but through no lack of trying. He had seen her training since then, and she worked herself with such a fervor as to outshine the efforts of many a prospective mage or warrior. This was a woman of an iron will; an experienced student who knows pain and who makes their own strength through personal effort and force of will. This was no poor, blind woman, but a dealer in death and magic, and a student of Arcane Academy.

It was for a reason very akin to this that the myriad spectators were drawn to the academy this day. A match between academy students would undoubtedly be the greatest show on Earth; Barnum and Bailey had no idea what they were talking about when they coined that phrase.

Now, though, Torm is not nervous at all. He is, to put it colloquially, 'as cool as a cucumber.' His strength is of his own efforts and force of will also, of course. He fears no pain or loss of blood and flesh; he expects it at this point, and fearing it will only get more of it lost. No, he is as prepared as he can be, in mind, body, and belongings. His pockets contain an adequate supply of all his variety of clockwork beetles, and his trusty ladder is at his side, polished and glossy in the light of the changing room.

Torm walks past the racks of school-owned armor and weapons. Most are inefficient and all are boring to Torm's eye. After pausing for a moment before the bright stone archway, he steps into the arena. The sound of thousands of roaring and clapping audience members hits him like a wall of sound. In the slight breeze, the light dust atop the battle-packed soil surface of the arena floats and twirls about madly, giving the impression that there is more wind than there actually is.

Torm does not acknowledge the crowds with any gesture or exclamation at all. After all, few of them are cheering for him specifically, aside from a few friends and some betting circles that invariably spring up around these kind of events. They are here for entertainment; for bloodshed and violence of the most unpredictable and heartpounding variety. This is not the main reason why Torm does not acknowledge them, though. He is now in a totally different state of mind than he usually is. "Battle is a song," his father had said to him. "...and music is a battle." When the time for battle draws near, everything becomes music. The crowds are now a distant drumroll or a quietly churning organ, and the skittering dust has become the cheerful twitter of perhaps a piccolo. The smell of dust and dried blood and the beating of the sun play out a soulful dirge older than time itself. His tan trench coat and matching fedora flare a little in the breeze/piccolo as he strides further out to stand about halfway between the wall and the center. The whole place was a vertiable orchestra. Tuning, waiting, humming with life and expectation for that opening chord.

In the midst of it all, across the arena, Talbot steps out into the arena; the very embodiment of strength and finesse. His rival conductor. Her weapon/baton of choice, the scythe, is in her hands, and her battle clothing/concert attire looks like it is meant to not restrict flowing movement. In comparison, Torm must look rather unmaneuverable and non-pneumatic in his metal-plated gauntlets and boots and his long coat, but anyone who thinks that will soon be surprised.

Torm stands his ground now as she enters the arena, and waits for her approach. "Talbot," he says audibly in a deep Irish brogue. "I trust you are well today?" Torm would not harbor any rancor or judgments about her, whatever today's outcome was; he hoped she would see him as a friend despite the events that are now destined to transpire soon hereafter.

[Talbot Linsorim]

Talbot heard the familiar voice of Torm. The man who had been there when she had first woken to the darkness and the lack of memory. Up until now, Torm had been a faithful friend and she appreciated this. But on a field of battle, friendships do not exist, nor does love only oneself and the oncoming beauty of the symphony only the sounds, smells, tastes and sights within the fight itself. A small friendly smile played on her lips, no makeup adorned her face- though she had been told before it was unneeded, "As well as I shall ever be, Tormaigh. I hope you are ready for a fair fight."

Reaching into the bag, as clear as glass, Talbot pulled a pale blue candy from it, putting it in her mouth between tongue and cheek, she bowed her head slightly waving a hand to start the festivities, a bright spark rolled off her finger tips in the form of an arrow, "Shocker Arrow!"


((OOC: fair warning! I don't do mega posting in battles so don't be surprised if I can only muster about a paragraph on occaison. ^.~ ))

[Tormaigh MacRagallach]

(OOC: Yeah, sometimes I don't post as long as I really would like to in fights too. Please forgive me if I'm slow about posting too)

Torm is already moving as she signals for the start/opening stanza. She struck on measure 1, beat 3... Dashing forwards, he quickly weaves and unleashes a projectile of electricity of his own, and hurls it forwards. It collides with her spell, and there is a great flashing and crackling as the two opposing energies meet and react. The crowd roars in 64th notes; this was exactly the sort of spectacle they had come to see.

Through the now dissipating cloud of sparks and flashes where the spells had collided, Torm comes dashing forwards, closing in on Talbot. When still out of range, he swings the ladder across horizontally anyway, and the ladder slides out and extends to its full length, suddenly doubling his range just before it is about to strike. Hopefully, this will catch the woman off guard, as will the surprising speed and force with which the weapon is swung. If it connects, it probably won't do terribly much damage, bruises and being knocked sideways would be the expected result of the hit connecting.

[Talbot Linsorim]

Hearing the explosion, smelling and seeing the outline of the power collision, Talbot shifted her weight to jump. She was only slightly familiar with Torm's abilities- mostly from word of mouth but there was the sound of his weapon, later she intended to inquire of the choice of a ladder but for now. Inhaling Talbot heard the click of the second tier and cast, "Wall!", between her and the weapon.

Lean muscles tightend and she sprang eaisily out of range her foot touching the ground sending out a signature echo, Talbot whipped one wrist and as she spoke softly, "Air Torrent," the small distortion in the air began to work as the blades appeared. It would take a keep eye to know even of their presence for she had remembered how to surpress the energy signal. Several blades spun, circling quickly around where Torm rested- it would be up to him to get away from the many blades, but for good measure Talbot threw the same wrist out again, "Marble cut!" and threw , what would seem to be million of sparking marbles of cutting air. Now both attacks from above and below closed in.

[Tormaigh MacRagallach]

Torm never stops running forward, and half-grins as the end of his ladder strikes the wall of air and Talbot retreats a bit. He quickly regains the momentum lost from the impact with the wall. Bringing the ladder around, he plants the end of it in the grounds and dashes up it fluidly, never losing speed. Because it is fully extended, it balances on two feet and is tipping forwards. Below, there is a sound of a thousand plinks and pings as the glittering marbles of cutting air bounce off the ground-level sections of the ladder where he had been fractions of a second before. there is also a whirr as a strange distortion passes by...there is something else in the air here; a fact which Torm files away quickly.

The ladder is only on two feet and is tipping forwards, and Torm continues to dash along it and leaps off the end as it reaches about a 45 degree angle with the ground. As he leaps, he reaches behind and grabs the last rung, and with a mighty heave, whips the ladder up and over his head and down forwards in a blindingly fast downward slam at Talbot. If she manages to dodge the blow, the decent seismic waves resulting from the immense force slamming onto the ground will spread in all directions, causing some staggering within a decent-sized radius.

[Talbot Linsorim]

Talbot shifted slightly, she heard the whistle of the ladder but couldn't see it from tapping her feet- then is was? From above! Shaking her head, Talbot sprang away, a warrior who was always ready was one who could stay alive longer, but sadly not far enough. The ladder came down on her shoulder, Talbot gasps sharply, but through this hooks the ladder with her scythe, "Shocker Ribbon!"

With the combination of electricity from shocker arrow and the cutting ability of ribbon cut traveling down the ladder, if Torm didn't feel this, he was either made of stone or a God.

[Tormaigh MacRagallach]

This is going to be uncomfortable... The thought passes through Torm's brain in the instant before her spell hits him. A tremendous jolt of electrical energy surges through him, resulting in a burning sensation, especially in the one arm holding the ladder. Similarly, cuts and lacerations and some burns appear along it as the cutting aspect of the spell strikes. That had really hurt! Without thinking, Torm reaches into a pocket and pulls out two white-shelled clockwork beetles and activates them. They immediately zip over to the arm and begin sewing up cuts and closing off loss of blood with tiny threads; not an effective permanent method of healing, but at least he would not bleed to death.

It must have been a strange sight, the two standing there with the ladder between them. Torm is still holding the ladder with his lacerated arm, and Talbot is pinning the other end of the ladder to herself with her scythe entangled in the rungs. There definitely had to be some broken bones and/or dislocations going on there from Torm's hit. They had both drawn first blood pretty much simultaneously; this was proving to be quite interesting.

Torm and his ladder are definitely not out of tricks yet, though. Torm taps a short pattern on the ladder, and there is a 'click-whirr-foof!' and out the end of the ladder past Talbot's shoulder, a grappling hook launches and plunks into the wall, anchored for the moment. Now the sturdy cord reels rapidly, and Torm is jerked speedily forward as the strong winding mechanism in the ladder yanks it along the cord. There is another jolt of pain in Torm's mangled arm, which is what he is holding the ladder with, but there is no time to worry about that now. The arm would probably be difficult to make much use of unless he managed to create a calm period when he could heal himself a little, but at least the same could be said about hers. Probably.

Talbot's scythe, which is entangled with the ladder, of course is jerked along, too. Either Talbot maintains her grip and flies back to strike the wall, or she lets go to face the forwards-flying Torm, who would basically be right there immediately. In either case, Torm instantaneously prepares his second spell of the match; he weaves strands of elemental fire and spirit to create a ball of explosive energy in his free hand, and adds a spiraling strand of elemental wind to give the ball drill-like spinning properties in order that he might have a shot at piercing possible magic barriers like the one she had thrown up earlier.

[Talbot Linsorim]

Releasing her sythe Talbot, turned only slightly, her only working hand up instantly to greet her attacker, "WALL!"

A shocked gasp went through the crowd- Torm had disarmed Talbot. No one had ever seen this before and no one knew how to react- the once screaming fans stared in shock. But then a roar of approval shot through them- this was a fight they would talk about for a long while.

The thick thud and charge of the spell Torm had used put Talbot litterally on her toes. Moving only slightly to the side- scythe gone, Talbot reached into the clear as glass bag at her side and pulled a pale violet candy from it. Flicking her wrist, the candy was instantly snapped into her mouth. Wincing as the sensation of bone moving and muscles healing, Talbot raised her hands, panting at the agony of healing, casting the power of earth force right onto Torm, "Pressure! Specify: Tormaigh MacRagallach!"

[Tormaigh MacRagallach]

(OOC: Once again, sorry for the delay. College sucks, and finals week doubly so)

Torm is flying past Talbot, deflected by her defensive wall spell yet again. The ladder is still reeling in the cord and pulling torm towards the wall by his ladder when a crushing force of great weight slams downward onto Torm.

Cursing, Torm clambers to his hands and knees and spits a little blood out. With a click-whirr, the hook detatches from the wall and slides back into the ladder. Rather than bringing himself to a standing position, Torm creates an elemental blast weave of air and directs it straight into the ground. FOOSH! Torm is blown sky-high, ladder in hand. With another click-whirr, a pair of wings flip out from the ladder's sides with a springy snap, and Torm steers it about, circling the arena. He does this a little clumsily with his damaged arm, but takes the quiet moment to settle a hasty weave of spirit, light and fire over the wounded appendage, and a wrenching coldness jolts through it as cell regeneration is boosted to a vast rate and the arm is largely healed. Back in business. I'll let her take the first move this time. he thinks as he circles the arena on his improvised ladder-glider, supported by the drafts and breezes captured by the bowl-shaped arena.

[Talbot Linsorim]

Talbot blinked slowly, this was impossible...literally impossible! With the amplifier in her mouth, the focus provided by the spell amplifier , specify, Torm should have been unable to move- he hadn't broken her consentration, had not given her reason to shift or move- he had been at her mercy but somehow- somehow he had managed to overcome the power of gravity not once but as long as she had been holding the spell- which she still was. Shock however canceling her spell, Talbot stood almost dumbly at first. Was this man some sort of God? Some sort of diety? He wasn't stonger than her, not spell wise, not at all- not with the amplifiers- but maybe it was.

A sharp series of needles, the sensation of knives stabbing into her flesh took her arm- what was? She blinked blind eyes, no one could- her mind gave a pained ache and she shivered hard. Weaponless, her hand dove into the glass clear bag filled with candies of many colors and abilites. Closing her eyes for a moment, she panted as the pain in her arm traveled to her chest, it tightened and refused to loosen. She gasped softly and popped three new candies into her mouth. One blue for mana, one violet for power amplification, and one ruby for endurance.

She spoke clearly despite the candy, one hand to the air, the other to the earth, "Mother earth and Father sky, here is my call to you! I ask again what I have before!"

She was already sinking to her knees, the tightening in her chest becoming almost unbearable, crimson welled down her face, warm and unwelcome in this moment as her mind when blank and the crowd began shift uneaisly, whispers became shouts and soon a few screams. But her voice, pain filled as her heart began to slow- the beat becoming erratic and pausing as the sound of her voice. The joy of who she was gone, the hollow shell of herself cried, "FINAL DIVINE WIND."

Pressure- gravity pressed down even now on the crowd, the force of it would surely crush anything in air or on land. Flames plumed and slowly begin to twist in as wind carried it smoothly and eaisily towards it's target- the lone target it wished to find and surely would. The earth below began to shift and shake to melt and become sharp, icy waves filling in all empty space with glass clear spikes. Lightningy crackled as it surged through the wind filled air. Every element at hand forming together as it had before in a more enclosed space- this was a dangerous gamble but no one knew- not even the caster. Who fell to the ground as her body seized and heart echoed strained thuds.