[center]The Mountain and The Wind [img]http://www.gameguyz.com/sites/default/files/images/20131709095358.jpg[/img] [i]"You know by now that the Desert Wind masters study secrets of air and fire. From the steel of their scimitars they bring forth flame to blind or kill their enemies. Yet the fire does not reside in the steel, my student; it resides in the master, and the steel is simply a conduit through which the fire is guided to the master’s purpose. To call forth the flame, the Desert Wind master creates in his soul a barren and blasted place, a desert wasteland with a sun of killing strength close at hand. In his mind he recalls the focusing chants or words taught to him, hearing them in his own ears even if he does not speak them aloud; in his body he executes a precise physical movement, a quick pass of the sword in just the right arc and at just the right speed. For an instant, the link between mind, body, and spirit is perfect—and the fires of the desert sun surge forth at his command. So it is for each of the Nine Disciplines, young one. Now, where shall we begin?”[/i] —Harran Turiyeshor of House Moryanhold [/center] The distant sounds of shouting were a dull background noise to the giant Lathok Gimloran, more properly known as The Red Mountain. He sat head bowed and was as still as a statue of marble stone. He was big even for a Jahun-ka, just under eight feet in height, his chest was barrel like and his arms thick with corded muscles. His large frame and strength had served him well in the violent world of pit fighting in Karkarth. He had earned many early victories against numerous opponents. Many who had underestimated his speed and skill, thinking him but a lumbering if dull giant. However, He would need all his skill and training for his debout this day he knew. Today he faced the legendary Vlaji the Black Wind, an undefeated champion of the Arena. A warrior many believed to be among the greatest fighters in the East, if not among the most dangerous men in Avara. A consummate master of the Desert Wind discipline, reportedly being among its greatest masters. He also happened to be the murderer Lathok’s younger brother. Though perhaps murder was too strong a word, as it had been a fight to the death in the honorable arena. His brother had been young, headstrong and foolish. In those, days Vlaji had been new to the arena but already obtaining something of a reputation. Gramora’s challenge had been foolish and utterly lacking in forethought. He had hoped his victory would escalate him to fame and glory. He had however underestimated the young oft time flashy Vlaji. Thus had paid for it with his life. Lathok remembered that day clearly and today; he would have vengeance. The roar of the crowd was muted within the tight confines of the private corridors inhabited mostly by arena participants and workers far below the seated audiences above. By the sound of things, it seemed the current match had come to a stunning if bloody end. That meant only one bout of the day remained. Lathok breathed in slowly before exhaling, raising to his feet, and retrieving his shield and mace. The time had come. ----- Vlaji of no House had always believed himself a man destined for greatness. Even when he had been but a child urchin running mischief in the streets of Verdik. He had carried dreams of grandeur even then. Despite the barbed words of so many a shopkeeper who had all but chased him and those like him from their stalls. Vlaji had been the offspring of a Jahun-ka women and Charlin male. Jahun-char as some called those of such heritage. He had never known either as fate had robbed him of the opportunity. An unfortunate fire was all that he remembered of the event that left him a street orphan. Perhaps the Dragon Goddess had had plans for him after all, for on one eventful day he had attempted and failed to pickpocket a traveling Drathan merchant. The unassuming merchant had turned out to be a wizard and slave trader. Only luck had saved him from a life of slavery, as a Jahun-ka who had also traveled recently from The Union had happened by; in his kindness he had offered to pay off Vlaji’s crime thus adopting the young boy. The Jahun-ka had been a master of his own dojo, training in the southern born fighting style the Desert Wind. So Vlaji was given the opportunity of a lifetime, the chance to become something more than he had had ever thought truly possible before. Twenty years had hardened him into the young man he was now. His facial hair was well trimmed into a short boxed beard style; numerous black braids ran down his back, the beads decorating them standing out as trophies and proof of his many victories. His bright brown eyes and delicate but sharp features painted hims as attractive. At only 6’8 however he was short by Jahun-ka standards. The final match of today was soon upon the young warrior. He sat on a bench chained to the wall; mentally preparing himself for the coming contest. Soon, however, the trumpet horn sounded heralding the coming contest of blood sport that so many of his kinsmen enjoyed. Valji rose to his feet gracefully, and as he marched toward the archway that lead to the arena’s gates-- there waited a tall Jahun-ka with a grizzled appearance holding two swords in each hand blades pointing down. As he neared the man Vlaji offered him his customary cocky smile. “Master,” He said bowing his head slightly in respect. “Have you come to wish me good luck?” V'urm-si Golador offered no smile in return, but he did regard his pupil with a steady gaze. “Confident as usual, but take mind young student to not allow your ego to become overblown.” He raised the two weapons he held hilt first. “Ever the lecturer,” Vlaji answered easily as he took the offered weapons. They were both crafted in the style of the Karkathian montu short swords. Crafted beautifully of Dragon steel and decorated with precious gems, one with a ruby in its crossguard and an onyx gem in the other, both blades curved just so in the style of the southern scimitars. Master V'urm-si grunted. “Bring honor to the dojo of Vivorlic and your brothers of the sword Vlaji, and be wary of your foe, he is unlike many of your previous opponents. He has been schooled in the way of the Stone Dragon by the Merimac Fighting halls.” Vlaji nodded, then walked toward the iron gates. He had heard of Dojo Merimac, its master held a long-lasting rivalry with his own master. Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he started steadying his breathing as the grind and squeal of gears sounded with the ominous rise of the gate. Then the gates rose fully and Vlaji strode confidently forward confidently, raising his arms into the air with a great smile, bathing in the cheers and praise spilling forth from the crowd. They shouted his name, for it was well known to many, and were brought to a great frenzy of screaming and waving. Women pulled their tops up begging Vlaji to take them, others wishing him a good and bloody victory. At last the gate from which his opponent would enter also rose, and out came Lathok Gimloran. He was a lumbering hulk of a Jahun-ka, bedecked in glimmering half-plated mail. He wore a worn but well armored breastplate with throat guard, gauntleted hands and scalemail to protect his arms. He wore no helmet just like Vlaji, as was the tradition for most pit fighters. His shield a buckler edged on either side with wide blades, its center head that of a skull lacking a lower jaw. He stood a head taller than Vlaji, but the cocky warrior was not intimidated in the least. As Lathok walked toward the center circle of the arena, an area marked by a drawn circle in the sands, Vlaji did the same until they stood no more than a mere ten feet from one another. Vlaji own grab of protection simple Karkarthian scale mail and bracers. Vlaji took the time to survey their coming battlefield. A simple arena circled by high walls atop of which sat the crowd awaiting the start of the bout. Here and there the brown sands were tinged in crimson, the evidence of previous tests of skill. The crowd quieted down finally as the conductor of the games stood on his dais. He wore long robes and bracers of leather and gold, his dreadlocks tipped with silver as opposed to the normal iron beads. He raised a hand and the people went silent and waited. “Today we stand witness to the last contest of arms today!” He began, “Last but not least! For I bring you the honor of witnessing the great and undefeated Jahun-char! Vlaji The Black Wind!” The crowd roared in response, to which Vlaji welled with pride at their praise. “His opponent! A warrior of no small renown, and no small skill of arms! The Mighty Lathok Of House Gimloran, a true titan of the arenaaa!” The crowd roared up again, beating their feet on the floor and shouting. Though their cheers did not quite reach the height they had at Vlaji’s naming. A fact not lost on the young warrior, nor his large opponent. “All know the rules of the arena! So I shall not bear repeating them; fight well! Fight with honor, for glory, and above all...Fight for victory! Begin!” At that the two warriors began circling each other sizing the other up, while mentally preparing themselves Lathok made the first move, springing forth, great mace leading. Lathok swept across to the left, a move which Vlaji predicted and easily avoided, ducking his right shoulder down allowing the weapon to sail harmlessly over his head. However, Lathok was ready for that, reversing his grip just so and winding back again. He had underestimated Vlaji’s agility however, and he avoided the mace again, but this time barely so as he leaned backward the maces head inches from his chest. By all rights Lathok had left himself open with that failed maneuver, but he did not relent his initiative. He came forward, his left arm shooting around and forward, seeking to slash through Vlaji’s throat. Leaving the Jahun-char one alternative and he seized it without thought. Vlaji nimbly rolled under the blow, this time throwing his entire weight into a dive that had him tumbling below the strike and rolling to his feet again to Lathok’s left. Up came Valji’s left handed blade, scoring a cut under Lathok’s shield arm. The big man’s weight then shifted unexpectedly, his right foot snapping around forward with surprising force considering the lack of room for a proper strike. The force hit Vlaji directly too his upper left chest, knocking the wind out of him and had him flying back across the sands like a doll. He left a notable path in the sand in his wake, one in which Lathok was quick to follow. “You die today black wind,” The big man growled, raising his mace high while his opponent was still prone and reeling from his kick. It seemed Lathok’s revenge was soon to be at hand, but the wily Valji was quicker still despite his injury. As the mace came down Lathok called upon all his strength and skill, attempting to execute a perfect mountain hammer blow. Valji tucked his legs up and swung back, resting his weight on his shoulders as he did so, the mace never met it’s target as Lathok head meet both of Valji’s feet as he struck upward in one smooth motion with a double kick of his own. The faint dull thud of Lathok’s brain knocking against the side of his fractured skull was utterly muted out by the roar of the crowed. Lathok fell back from the blow, giving Valji the time he needed to jump back to his feet and start an offensive of his own. Nose bleeding from the hit, Lathok was on the defensive as Valji came forward in a whirl of blades. Lathok managed to deflect or block this skillful onslaught but only just barely. One slash cut across Lathok’s breastplate, another flash of steel left a nasty gash across his right cheek. Gritting his teeth in frustration Lathok halted his enemies attacks, parrying one chop to his right with his mace, then blocking a blow from his left with his buckler. He quickly stepped within Valji’s guard then, knowing then that both their weapons would suddenly ineffective this close. Using his size and strength to his advantage, Lathok sent down a quick head butt into the unprepard mans face. He then followed up as he focused his strength and with a deep, rumbling shout, Lathok executed an attack that sent his small opponent flying through the air once more with a brutal shoulder charge. Valji rolled to his feet again as he landed roughly, still dazed from the head blow. That man’s head was as tough as stone! Smiling now Lathok came forward once more, now taking back the initiative. Sending his mace and bladed buckler into a controlled and dangerous routine. It was all Valji could do to stem the tide; parrying, dodging, parrying dodging. Valji knew he could not keep it up much longer, each block or parry sent a painful quack through his very bones, like each strike did indeed of the weight of a mountain behind it. Only one slip and he knew he’d be finished. Valji needed a way to turn the tide in his favor…He breathed in sharply and stooped lower so his knees bent slightly as he focused his [i]ki[/i] and waited for the chance to act. So when Lathok’s mace came back around following close behind close strike of his bucklers bladed edge. The weapon met only air- hot air. As Valji’s foe had moved to attack again, Valji himself had all but disappeared in a burst of flame and smoke, only to reappear as if out of thin air high above him. The move was a difficult one to pull off, as were most of the maneuvers from the Desert Wind discipline, Valji was one of the few he even knew that could do it perfectly. Indeed, his enemy had not expected it, and as his eyes were stung from the resulting ash and smoke Valji came down like an angel of wrath and fire. SPinning overhead one blade cut deeply into Lathok’s right shoulder, cutting through the lighter armed leather there, for he wore no pauldrons. Thus landing directly behind the bewildered giant. Valji spun around dropping to his knees with the momentum of his fall, slashing about in a near perfect horizontal cut that swept through the back of Lathok’s knees and cutting deeply into the muscles there. With a grimace of pain Lathok fell heavily to his knees. Not yet willing to concede defeat, Lathok began to twist around hoping to bring his mace to bear. A quick cut of Valji’s scimitar forced him to drop his mace arm as Valji’s other blade found itself up against Lathok’s throat, just within the protection of his guard. “Yield,” came Valji’s crisp command. For a moment Lathok said nothing, and silence ensued across much of the arena at this unexpected turn of events. Just when it seemed Valji would need to force the issue, the thud of his mace and buckler hitting the ground followed. Valji eased the pressure on Lathok’s neck as he circled around him. Lathork looked up with an unreadable glare, eyes narrowed and focused. “Finish it then,” He voiced at last. “Grant me a worthy death. I regret only my failure to avenge my kin.” Valji’s face revealed his confusion at that. Lathok saw it and spat on the ground before explaining. “He would not remember him, he fell to your blade long ago,” “...Gramora Gimloran…” Lathok eyes widened slightly in surprise. “I have not forgotten him,” Valji answering the unasked question. “A formidable warrior… He was the first man I ever killed in the arena. He will never forgotten.” Lathok nodded dumbly at that then lowered his head. “Then strike true so that I may be at his side again.” Lathok closed his eyes then and awaited his judgment. In the fighting pits of Karkarth, the conductor did not decide who lived and died, only those who fought. Valji raised his sword-- poised to strike-- then the blade fell. Sinking into the earth before Lathok. Hearing it, he opened his eyes to Valji, who had extended his now free hand to him. “Live a little longer, and honor your brother's name in future battles.” Lathok was speechless, suddenly confused on his feelings toward this man who had already turned out to be nothing of what he expected. He took the offered hand in a daze, the smaller man helping him to his feet. At this the crowd cheered and applauded this show of mercy. [center]-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------[/center] Later that day…. It was hours since the duel against Lathok, and Valji was enjoying a much needed drink in his favored tavern. Unwinding was Valji’s favorite thing to do after a duel; perhaps tonight he’d find Falehleen of the night courtesans for some entertainment this evening? It was at this blissful thought that a robed figure was moving toward his secluded corner table. Valji watched him closely as the man took a seat across from him. “You're in the wrong place friend,” Valji said pointedly. “No, I think i’m in exactly the right place. If you are Valji the Black Wind...you see, I have something of a proposition for you that could very well save us all..” The man pulled back his hood to reveal a surprisingly young face, with even more surprising tattoos running down his forehead; artfully designed to look like Bull horns. Smiling the man continued. “We could use some one of your skills, tell me do you know of something called a [i]Dragon Tablet[/i]?”