Yaen (Round One) FINISHED

[Yaen]

Yaen stood at the south gate, seeming to be waiting patiently on the outside, but inside, he was filled with anticipation. His fight was about to begin. After watching the others fight, he could barely wait. His hand stroked the hilt of his sword, though it did little to placate his eagerness.

"And for our next battle, we will be treated to a true show of skill and meditation! On the North side, from Santaruz, I give you Nicholas, the Burning Sage!" The crowd cheered wildly as a man appeared, clad in rather nice looking white and green robes. Rings adorned both his fingers, a golden circlet rested on his head, partially covered by his bright blonde hair, a red tome held in his left hand. If Yaen had to guess, the man was some manner of noble, or at the least associated with one.

"And from the South side, from the Amasi Tribe of Sacae, I give you Yaen, The Prince of Blades!" Hearing his cue, Yaen stepped into the arena. He could feel the warm, smooth sands beneath his bare feet, and admittedly took a moment to enjoy the tingling feel of it slipping between his toes as he faced his opponent. The crowd was roaring around them as the heavily armed swordsman faced his opponent.

"May fortune favor us both." The sage greeted with a polite bow. Yaen smiled, refreshed by his opponents cordial and respectable greeting, nodded, and bowed in kind. Both men straightened, and backed away from eachother. After all, this was a duel, not a social visit. Yaen studied the man carefully, looking him over, scanning the tomb he held in his hand. As the title had implied, it was obviously a fire tome, and it was of a high quality. Knowing little of magic himself, he could only assume that it was ElFire. It had been some time since he had fought a mage, and for one to enter a fight like this, where there was no one to protect him as he conjured, was a sign that this man was dangerous. Yaen could feel his own heart pounding in anticipation.

"Begin!"

For Yaen, the world became silent. All he could hear was the sweet hum of his sword as he released the first few inches from the scabbard, his hand molded against the familiar hilt. Nicholas' tome was open, his right hand outstretched towards the Swordmaster. Yet neither moved. They stood there, watching eachother, eyes of dark prussian blue meeting those of bright emerald green. Watching each other, studying each other, each man weighing his opponents stance.

They both seemed to move at once. Yaen fully unsheathed his sword as fire formed in Nicholas' hand. The flames flew forward in the most conventional, predictable way, a mere fireball straight towards his opponent. Yaen bounded to the left, easily dodging the flame, only to see Nicholas move his arm, the fire still burning in his hand. Even though he himself was vastly ignorant to the workings of magic, Yaen acknowledged that a less experienced mage would have had to reconjur that flame entirely.

A second fireball flew forth, dodged as easily as the first, exploding angrily against the sand. Distance was the Sage's friend, but the spell was predictable enough. Yaen rushed his opponent, readily expecting another fireball, but to his great shock and the crowds ever growing excitement, not one, but three flames flew from the Sage's hand. The Swordmaster ducked down in mid, step, rolling forward, able to feel the red hot flames as he barely avoided being burned alive. This was his chance. Rolling back into a run, Yaen readied his blade, but just as he came within striking distance, Nicholas' raised his hand, summoning up a wall of flame that blinded Yaen's eyes and forced him to back away from the sheer heat. The Burning Sage, indeed. A raging inferno would have been more accurate!

[Calvin Toros]

Calvin sat in the audience, an excited smile beaming from his youthful face. Coming out to watch this tournament, was such a relieving way to re-enter the world outside the village. He was having a great time watching the fighters, it was all so exciting! The swift movement of steel and the eerie but exciting glow and explosion of magic! Boy, Calvin sure wish he could fight. Observing would just have to substitute. Calvin’s spine perked as he heard the familiar announcing voice ring through the arena. Calvin cheered in excitement as a man in white and green emerged from the northern gate. The crowd came to a hush as the announcer continued to introduce the opponent. The Prince of Blades! Wow… Calvin cheered loudly from the crowd and waved his hands. This was going to be so exciting! The crowd silenced as the match begun, each member of the audience at the edge of their seat in anticipation. Maxell jolted as the two moved, lodging a fire ball directly towards the sword wielding man. He swiftly dodged, resulting in a hard single clap from Calvin. Even though he wasn’t cheering for anyone in particular he liked it when the fighters did well! And dodging was a good thing, Calvin knew that! The crowd cheered as the second fireball exploded in a cloud of sand. Calvin watched in awe and suspense as the wall of fire conjured and quickly deflected the other fighter.

”UWOAAH! LOOK AT THE FIRE!”

How was the swordsman going to deal with this? Calvin had no idea, he was so busy annoying the audience around him with meaningless but innocent questions such as: “did you see that?” and “wasn’t the fire awesome!”

[Aurek]

Aurek stared on in wonder and awe. For one, the Prince of Blades carried way too many swords in Aurek's opinion. Guess that's why he's got that title. I'd hate to see how many swords the King carries. He chuckled to himself at that joke. Then the fire user came out and things really began to heat up. Literally. Aurek was pretty sure he could feel the heat radiating off of some of those spells even at great distance. I am so glad I'm not the one fighting out there. Aurek payed close attention to the sage though. He'd never seen magic users fighting before, and the arena had provided a perfect area of study. Teach me your ways. he thought to himself as he studied the battle before him.

[Valcrist]

Valcrist leaned on whatever type of railing that kept these other fighters from getting involved personally, he wanted to see this first hand. He has always admired Yaen and his fighting, and he wanted to see it again first hand. It was like this unobtainable ideal to him, on the tallest pedestal in the world, even Kenshin himself had a hard time measuring up.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Valcrist knew he was fantasizing the entire thing. Still, Yaen had a huge impact in his life, he was the first person to teach him, only person really. He taught Valcrist the basics, the value of not hesitating, and dodging. Things that he had built so intrinsically into his fighting that it was almost entirely based on mobility. He taught himself, for the most part, but the only way he could get that first step, the first stepping stone to the rest of everything was because Yaen taught him. Something he will always be grateful for.

It was a mage, a strong one from the looks of it, who commanded flames with great precision. Sending out multiple fireballs, even a pillar made of pure flames. Magic scared Valcrist right down to his roots, fire magic especially, it was almost painful to watch this battle. The swordsman stayed silent as he observed, not wanting to speak up out of a combination of fear and respect. Instead he bit his lip as he intently gazed at the unfolding scene.

[Clair Feldsky]

Prince of Blades, and Burning Sage.... Clair leaned on the chains separating the fighters from the arena for a moment before leaning back and pulling her lance with her. She turned, and walked along the edge of the arena for a few moments, threading through the crowds of other fighters till she got a better view. Away from the gate, she was able to see both of the fighters from the side, rather than seeing the swordsman's back.

Their titles sounded big. So far today, she'd heard alot of impressive sounding names. Some of them had lived up to them. Others flopped pathetically, a fiction created by the arena announcers. From the way the sage was throwing those fireballs around, it looked like he was the real deal. The swordsman would be difficult to judge since there wasn't another fighter he was pitting himself against. It was all cleverness and maneuvering. Trying to get into range to finish him off. A magical opponent was suited to prevent exactly that. Essentially, this match was a game where each player was fighting to get their best moves off as soon as possible, winner take all.

She shook her head as the flames raged. She was not envying this Prince of Blades at all. In the past, she'd wanted to test the fabled magic resistance carried by Ilia's pegasus knights.... She'd take a pass if it was this guy doing the testing.

[Richter Abend]

"Yaen, 'Prince of Blades', huh?" thought Richter as he rubbed his chin in contemplation. The name sounded familiar, if not the title, though he couldn't quite place a finger on it. But what a title: "Prince of Blades". He sure looked the part, bizarrely carrying around three swords. The Ilian wasn't quite sure whether to take it as a sign of experience or of misplaced bravado. Seemed he'd just have to watch and see.

The match started much like Wyatt's, with a lull, but the fight exploded into action soon enough. The mage initiated, taking advantage of the initial range between them, but the Prince of Blades was quick on his feet. He dodged the blast, then began approaching, ducking under a second fireball, before being pushed back by an impressive wall of flame.

The disguised Ilian's eyes narrowed as he watched Yaen's movements. The way in which he moved, breezing around his opponent's attacks, resembled much the Lost Swordsman. However there was a greater confidence to it. The Lost Swordsman had taken forever to unleash his first attack, but the Prince of Blades moved right in, attempting to strike as quickly as possible. It was impressive how well he had maneuvered inwards, wasting barely a movement, and it only served to draw Richter's attention even more.

[Wein Lowell]

"Ah dammit, the match already started!" cried Wein as he hobbled towards an open seat. A moderately large sack was hoisted over his shoulder, and he wore trinkets of varying kinds around his neck. See, this morning, when Yaen had gone off to get a bite to eat, Wein had headed over to the tournament market, since so many had come to Bern in light of the event to peddle their wares. For the last couple of hours he had been sifting through merchandise, buying practically anything that caught his fancy, but in the middle of conversing with a local stablemaster about purchasing a racehorse, the Ostian had remembered his prior engagement at the arena. It's not like he was going to miss Yaen's match.

So Wein had rather intelligently stopped buying a racehorse, and had made his way to the arena as fast as possible. Fortunately he hadn't missed Yaen's match, but he was irked because he had missed the introduction. That was the best part, besides the finish at least. He loved hearing the announcer cry out the titles as the fighters walked out of the gates. He could still remember sitting in the stands of the Ostian arena, cheering next to his brother for whatever flavor of the month combatant they had chosen. The thought made Wein sigh in sad nostalgia. Hopefully they were ok...

But the fight at hand quickly pulled his attention back to the present. Currently Yaen was standing just a few feet away from a blazing wall of fire. Wein figured his friend was currently figuring out how to get past such an obstacle. It would be tough, to be sure.

If the sage could pull up one wall, there was no reason he couldn't pull up two, or three for that matter. Yaen's primary focus would have to be finding a way to catch the sage off guard, then end it with a couple of quick strikes. The most effective strikes, though, would be lethal, and Wein sorely hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"Go Yaen!" he cried, thrusting a fist into the air. "Knock his block off!"

[Yaen]

Yaen stared at the pillar of flames before him, admittedly somewhat awestruck. He could feel the sheer heat that it was giving off. He raised his blade toward it, and furrowed his eyes. It might very well heat his sword to the hilt should it touch the metal. This was a challenge he was not familiar with.

The wall of flame died away with a grand expulsion, Nicholas standing untouched, a confident smirk on his face. "It would seem the odds are in my favor, friend." he commented, another flame generating in his hand. Yaen agreed, but he did not show it, not so much as a batted eye. His face was set in stone.

The flame flew from the Sage's hand, and just as before, the Swordmaster dodged it with great ease. "You're very quick on your feet, friend. But are you quick enough?" Nicholas asked as another fireball formed in his hand. This one shot out into five different directions, swirling into five seperate flames, spinning about in a circle around him. A motion of his hand, and the first flame shot forth. Yaen leapt to the left, hot sand hitting his face as the fireball burst against the ground. A second fireball came, and this time, he jumped back, again avoiding a fiery end. The third time, however, a fireball was launched, followed by a brief pause before two more were launched at either side of it. It seemed strange, to repeat an earlier tactic, but Yaen understood. The earlier fire balls had all been fired simultaneously, and they had all been centered on him. These ones were fired seperately, and the aiming was different. He was forcing him to keep moving, to keep trying to dodge, trying to get him to trip up, or tire down.

Yaen dropped directly down onto his back, three angry balls of flame flying over his head. He'd have to check later to see if his eyebrows were singed. Looking towards Nicholas, he hurriedly rolled to the side just before another flame struck him in the chest. He'd been too distracted to notice that the Sage had been conjuring after releasing his spell. He was good. No, he was trully skilled. A master of his art. The acknowledgement made Yaen's blood run hot. This was yet another chance to test the true extent of his own skill. And though his face was hard as steel, the excitement lingered just under the skin.

[Clair Feldsky]

Clair watched, expecting the swordsman to be crisped by the sage's magic every other breath. There was alot of fire reaching out. Surprisingly though, it failed to touch him. The diving, leaping, and other acrobatics were enough to avoid the searing fireballs being flung to and fro.... It was pretty impressive.

The Ilian woman felt her favor shifting slightly to the Sacaen. She wouldn't go so far as to call him the "underdog", but he might as well be until he could get close enough to do something. Spitting at his opponent was going to be ineffective, but that's all the Prince of Blades seemed to be able to do here, besides dodge and weave through the assault, itself a difficult challenge.

There was a sharp intake of breath as she thought the swordsman would finally take a hit, but he quickly dropped to the ground and rolled away, narrowly missing a couple of blasts thrown by the Burning Sage. She shook her head, a faint smile on her lips. He was doing a masterful job of staying ahead of the magefire. How long would he be able to keep this up though?

[Aurek]

Speed, speed and more speed. Apparently that was the order of the day. Especially when magic users were involved. Dogding, ducking, rolling and other skillful avoidance techniques. Pretty much everything Aurek felt he could not do with enough success to keep him alive if the situation ever arose. And he felt it would. At some point, he would have to fight a magic user and most likely find himself without a plan.

Still, there wasn't much else Aurek could do but watch the swordsman's moves and hope for something useful to suddenly come to him. The sage was an excellent conjurer and seemed to be getting closer to landing a hit on the swordsman. If the latter wasn't so quick on the roll, he would have been ignited within moments. Not a promising prospect. By now Aurek could feel himself sweating from the heat of the fires, but could not pull himself away in the hopes that some faint glimmer of a possibility for combating magic users could be found.

[Richter Abend]

Even with his limited knowledge of magic, as far as Richter could tell the mage was skilled.

Very much so.

Not only could Nicholas summon walls of flame, but he could control his conjured fireballs either independently or simultaneously, and was managing to keep Yaen at a very safe distance. The Ilian imagined the it took incredible concentration to discharge such magical acrobatics, which made it all the more impressive that the Burning Sage was doing it so effortlessly.

It didn't make Richter like magic any more, though. Archery had it's obvious weak points, so much so that an archer in an arena was at a clear disadvantage, but magic removed all of that. Mages carved their defenses from the elements, repeatedly shutting down any who tried to get close while relentlessly attacking their foes. Richter figured it would take the Prince of Blades great speed and probably the element of surprise to take down this magic user.

[Yaen]

What was Yaen going to do? If he lingered back here, Nicholas would keep wearing him down with his continuous assault. But if he got too close, he would be burned alive by that wall of flame. Perhaps he should have asked Wein to teach him archery, but it was too late now. He'd probably have just shot his own eye out anyway.

"Not to interupt your train of thought, but we are in the middle of a fight." Nicholas reminded him, breaing Yaen's concentration. "You know, you could just give up. You've only gotten close to me once throughout this whole fight, and even then, your sword can't reach through my wall of flames."

Yaen was very much aware of that. He could get close to Nicholas if he wanted too, but his sword couldn't reach. Not even the Wyrm Slayer. What was he supposed to do if he couldn't get close enough to swing his swords? Just throw them at him?

Yaen sheathed his sword back into it's hilt, earning a quirked brow from his enemy. "Are you yielding?" Nicholas asked. Without responding, Yaen ran towards him. "Well now, this is an interesting evolution." The sage commented, conjuring up another flame. He shot it out, and as expectd, Yaen dove forward, rolled under it, and continued running. The Swordmaster reached up, unsheathing the heavy, two handed blade on his back.

Yaen rose the blade above his head as he continued to close the distance between him and the sage. "Allright, have it your way." Nicholas relented with a sigh. Raising his hand again, the Sage summoned forth another wall of raging flames. Yaen continued to charge, and just before he ran straight into the flames, he stopped, and threw the sword.

The Wyrm Slayer disappeared through the inferno, and only seconds after, the raging fire disappatined into nothing. Nicholas had sidestepped the sword, but it had left him so stunned, he'd lost concentration. Reaching for his sword again, Yaen dashed those few short feet between them, and swung. His blade cut clean through it's mark, pages flying into the air as he tore Nicholas's tome apart. The blade still raised, he looked to the Sage.

Nicholas looked stunned at first, but after a moment, he began to laugh. "I think I just had a heart attack!" he chortled, raising his hands into the air in defeat. "I yield, I yield. I am unarmed and undone!" he relinquished. Yaen lowered his blade and sheathed it, and Nicholas stepped away. "Good show, friend. Good luck with the rest of the tournament." he wished with an elegant bow, turning to leave the arena.

"AND THE WINNER IS YAEN, THE PRINCE OF BLADES!" the announcer roared. Yaen looked around at the roaring crowd for a moment, before turning and leaving the arena himself.

[Clair Feldsky]

Clair watched the scene playing out before her. There seemed to be a mutual understanding between the two. When it was ok to attack, and when it was time to plan and plot. It was radically different than the field of battle, but she found herself getting caught up in it right along with everyone else. Waiting to see what the combatants would do next.

The sage seemed confident that the match was his, and it was difficult to argue now. The falcoknight raised tucked a wild strand of golden blond hair back behind an ear as she watched quizzically. The Sacaen had sheathed his weapon? What was this? Surrender? Had he exhausted his resources? Nicholas paused waiting to see what would happen as well.

Yaen charged. Unarmed, he sped across the arena sands towards his opponent. It seemed unusual to Clair, but she remained impassive as she watched. She would give the Sacaen the benefit of the doubt as long as he kept up his skill. He had some kind of idea. And as the flames burst up in front of him, the plan was revealed. He ripped out a sword from across his back and flung it through the flames at his target. The mage's response created the opening the swordsman had been wanting from the start of the match, and with a quick slice, he hacked through the Elfire tome that the Burning Sage carried.

And that was the end. There were a few formalities to observe, but the match was over. Clair clapped along with the others, but her eyes drifted over to the weapon the swordsman had sent flying. It definitely wasn't run of the mill work.