The Grand Tournament (Arena)

[JonDrake]

Jon looked with a slight giddiness at the building that stood before him. It had been one hundred years since Jon had looked up at the Arena, but it felt like only yesterday that he had been standing on this very spot. One hundred years. He had been travelling for days and had been woken from a half-sleep on the back of his horse when he receive the letter. It was delivered by a large white raven. The letter itself was written on a piece of beautiful parchment with a gold trim, and written in beautiful calligraphic script.

You have been chosen to compete in the Grand Tournament.

You will be summoned to the arena in three days time.

Jon had heard of the Grand Tournament of course, but had dismissed it as myth. He spent those three days in a flurry of motion, polishing his armor and sharpening his weapons over and over. From what he had heard about the tournament, he knew that only the greatest warriors in the world were chosen to fight, and that being chosen was one of the greatest honors a person could receive.

Now, one hundred years later, he stood on the same spot again, this time a Champion instead of a challenger. He stood there, on the island in the sky, looking up at the most splendid arena a person could lay eyes on.

The island itself was a lush, fertile land, extending two hundred yards from the outer walls of the arena. The land was rich and green, exploding with life. Jon stood on a platform, a stone platform where all the competitors arrived, summoned by some unknown force to this place. They arrived at intervals of two or three, the Champions arriving first, a day earlier than the others.

The arena was splendid, a building large enough to seat thousands, which it did when the tournament started. The walls rose high above Jon's head, black marble, veined with gold. The interior was just as splendid. Instead of benches as seating, there were overstuffed chairs for each spectator, black leather, with gold trim, and enough room for them to jump up and cheer for their favorite. The pit itself was a strange thing, for it couldn't seem to make up its mind as to what terrain it was. It was almost always something different. From a fertile plain to arctic tundra, from parched desert to mountain cliffs, and sometimes it would change right in the middle of a battle, which could completely upset a match.

Jon shook his head to break the spell this place had over him and looked to his right. There, beside him, was his nemesis, his greatest opponent, the only person at the last tournament to pose a challenge, the one who had tied with him as Champion, Avanthar Dra`Aran.

[Harthar]

Amber orbs rotated within their dark, nearly ebony sockets, observing what had stood before him one hundred years before, and now stood before him again. He could never have forgotten the excitement that had arisen within him when first he had receaved the letter that had seemingly changed his life forever, let alone the excite he had felt the first time he had stood upon this very spot. The Arena stood before, the plae of the Grand Tournament, an event that one either lost or won. He had been one of two to survive the last Tournament which was very rare indeed.

Those amber orbs seemed dull slightly in colour as memberies washed over the Shadow Dracon, aptly named 'Shadow Dra`Demon'. He was a Demon in battle. He was washed back in time to when he had recieved the letter. He was thirty-four, still a very young warrior in his village, but he was very good, the God of Battle only chose the best to fight in such a Tournament. He had been slaughtering a village of elves when the white raven had flown down to him and waited patiently for him to dispose of a human warrior before delivering the letter into his blood covered claws.

He had opened it with narrowed eyes and read over the Draconic words upon the white paper. His eyes had widened immediately after reading the title 'The Grand Tournament'. He had only heard about this tournament in myths and legends speaking of an ancestor who had long ago been asked to attend this very tournament, but only the dracons body had returned. Avanthar had let out a mighty roar and turned from the village, moving quickly back to his home. When he had arrived he showed the letter to the elder of his village, who had looked at it and smiled at the young warrior, giving him confident words to proceed and kill the other contestants in fare combat.

Avanthar obliged, running to his cave in the village and preparing himself. Bringing his throwing knives, long knives, crossbows and armour. Three days after he had prepared himself he had awoken before the Arena...

Where he now stood... He had arrived standing beside the human he would find as his equal. Avanthar's amber orbs returned to the present and his dark, bald, head turned to the side at the same time his human rival did the same. Their eyes met, Icy Blue and Firey Amber. Avanthar turned his body straight on to his Rival, his greatest opponent, the meaning of his warrior life in a manifestation before him, and he entended his thin, slender fingered, but powerful and strong hand... for a handshake.

"Jon" Is all Avanthar said, inclining his had slightly in Jon's direction in greeting, whilst also matching the ice of his stare with fire.

[JonDrake]

Jon matched his rival's stare, and accepted the handshake, both of them squeezing just a little harder than was necessary.

Avanthar.

That simple act of shaking hands threw Jon back again, back one hundred years, to the first time he and Avanthar had shaken hands. They had not fought against each other at any other time during the tournament, and during the semi-finals they had fought on the same side. They had faced each other in the centre of the arena, the stands filled with thousands upon thousands of expectant spectators, all hushed with anticipation.

They had shaken hands, even as they were now, and met each other's stares. They had listened to the God of Battle announce the rules, as he did before every fight. Then they had walked away from each other, placing the designated distance between them before the fight was to begin.

The anticipation before the battle had been exciting and terrifying all at once, and in those few seconds before the bell, Jon experience a wave of emotions that he couldn't explain and didn't even want to think about.

Then the bell had rung, and the fight had begun.

[Harthar]

Avanthar growled as he heard the ring of the bell and instantly he flipped backwards, his legs going straight as his cloak seemed to flow about his form. His hands moved in a blur, drawing both crossbows and pressing the release trigger, one was aimed at Jon's neck, the other at his left eye. He then brought his legs down, close to his body, landing in a crouch on the ground, his crossbows being put back in their sheaths. He then turned as he moved fluidly to his feet, his hands now drawing forth his two longest knives, holding on reverse whilst he held the other normally. His cloak swept downwards and around his form, finally coming to a rest before Avanthar charged toward Jon.

Jon had seen the drawing of the crossbows, and had drawn his swords in the same instant. Seconds later, when the bolts came flying towards him, Jon spun dodging the one that would have hit his throat and knocking the other out of the air with his short sword. With a flourish, Jon set himself into a fighting stance, and met Avanthar's charge full on, neatly parrying each slash of Avanthar's daggers. Seeing an opening, Jon lunged forward, thrusting with his long sword, only to have it deflected downwards by Avanthar. Avanthar, then stepped on the flat of Jon's blade, attempting to force it out of its wielder's hands. Jon smiled, and wrenched his sword up with all of his strength, and sent Avanthar sailing through the air.

As Avanthar sailed through the air, he twisted, his knives coming down as he kept his eyes upon his opponent as he travelled over him. He saw the flickers of Jon’s blades as they moved upward in back slashes toward him, attempting to skewer him as he flipped. Avanthar’s blades met Jon’s in a clash; the ring of steel upon steel filling each man’s ears for a moment before once more the roar of the crowd in the arena took over again. Avanthar landed once more, this time behind Jon, but the Knight was turning before Avanthar could take any advantage from the man’s back. He charged forward again, his blades meeting up with Jon’s, the two stood there. But before Jon could do anything, Avanthar had used his unique shadow manipulation skill, using the shadows between him and Jon to wrap around Jon’s legs and to throw HIM into the air this time. And now it was Avanthar’s turn to move forward, thrusting his knives at the underarm joints in Jon’s armour.

Jon was more than a little surprised as he felt himself lift into the air, and he almost missed blocking Avanthar's attack at his underarms. He did block the attack however, and continued sailing up until he was over Avanthar's head. Turning over in the air, Jon dropped his swords, points down, so that one landed, sticking in the dirt, on either side of his opponent. Jon then placed a hand on each of Avanthar's shoulders, and used his opponent to get himself down to the ground, now behind his enemy. He spun quickly and grabbed his swords, bringing them both up quickly to scissor his opponent.

As Jon let go of his shoulders, Avanthar began his next attack, knowing that Jon would try and stab him from behind. Avanthar slipped forwards, his feet being brought together as they slid between Jon’s legs, his knives being stuck into the ground. Avanthar kept sliding until only his head was between Jon’s legs still. His right hand moving to grasp Jon’s ankle as his right leg bent and gripped upon the ground, pushing upwards. His left leg still straight he kicked out with the back of his foot toward the back of Jon’s head as his body straightened and his legs moved into a splits position, his torso also turning so that he did not hit into Jon’s armour with his head whilst he was performing this extremely dexterous move. As he did this he also pulled upwards with his right hand, also pulling Jon’s leg, hoping to flip him whilst he was kicked in the head.

[JonDrake]

Jon's scissor action just missed the top of Avanthar's head as he went to the ground and slid through Jon's legs. Jon felt the motions that Avanthar was going through, and knew that his opponent was going to try to kick him in the head. Jon was merely going to spin around and block the kick, but he felt Avanthar's hand close over his ankle, and that would have resulted in disaster had Jon not jumped into the air, tearing his ankle out of Avanthar's grip, and successfully avoiding the kick that was aimed at his head.

Jon landed quite a ways away from Avanthar, but when he turned himself around, he was astonished to find himself standing in the middle of a dense forest. He couldn't see Avanthar, who was most likely behind some trees, so Jon moved carefully, making sure to keep his eyes peeled and ready in case his enemy decided to emerge from behind a tree and attack.

Avanthar had moved as swiftly as possible after the arena seemed to shift around him, changing from the dusty pit floor to a forest with leaves, branches and twigs all over the ground. It was as if they had been transported away to a different location, but Avanthar knew they had not. This had happened during some of the other fights before this one. He now walked from branch to branch, following his opponent. And then, when Jon had turned away from Avanthar, he leapt to the ground, drawing two throwing knives whilst he was mid-air. He threw them when he landed; one at Jon’s neck, the other at his groin.

He then flipped backwards a few times until he had come to the position where he had sheathed his knives in the ground, drawing them out of it he held them at a ready position.

Jon had not been prepared for the daggers, he was able to dodge the one aimed at his neck enough that it merely nicked him, and he did knock the other away with his sword. The cut on his neck was very small, and there was very little blood, but it still made Jon angry. He rushed at Avanthar, skillfully attacking with both swords. Avanthar was managing to block Jon's attacks, but only barely, and Jon was the stronger of the two. With a mighty blow of his longsword, Jon managed to disarm his opponent of one of his daggers. Jon then shifted his weight and powerfully thrusted his shortsword towards Avanthar.

Avanthar tried to shift away as Jon’s sword was thrust at his chest, he dodged it but did not go unscathed. The sword had sliced cleanly through his leather shirt and given him a shallow cut. He gritted his teeth against the pain and the annoyance of being hit. His now free hand grabbing onto the forearm of Jon’s extended arm, the one which held the short sword. He used his left hand, the one still with the knife, to keep Jon’s free blade away from him as within a few moments he draw upon his shadow manipulation skills, using the shadows within his cloak to burst out and smash into Jon’s chest, at that moment he let go of Jon’s short sword arm.

Jon stumbled back a few paces as the shadow smashed him in the chest. His armor had protected him, so he hadn't been hurt, but he was forced backwards by the blow.