Go knock each other out, or at least some currently conscious being.

(( OOC: The field I have chosen is Δ Beautiful Law’s New Truth. It’s night. Stormy weather. A vast, flat wasteland. Everything else is up to us.

Good luck, good spirit. ))

Another slow day, another bout of noticing too much about things that aren’t noticed. What happens when a breeze comes through, how does it affect the waves on the water? Does the dust highlighted in the rays of light reflecting off buildings taste like anything? Like the sun? The smell of old wood and fish emanating from the river? The sound of one hand clapping as it fans the sweat off a hot face, the sun cooking the blades of rogue grass growing through the cobbled city streets? The grace of a blink or the movement of a hand as it grasps a blade or parts a lock of lover’s hair? The ambient chill in the air, the sound of gulls, smell of iron and old steel. All from the ledge under the bridge.

It was a very convenient little perch, the levy. It provided a cool sanctuary from the hot sun, and let you swim away into your senses as you observed everything within your awareness unconsciously. Great for thinking, talking, waiting. It had served Exangelus in many a way and many a time in the past near two years, and again it provided its humble services before his next encounter. It had been awhile since he had fought with anyone, let alone a fellow player. The monsters were little preparation for human opponents. Their movements weren’t driven by predictable strategy and brute force. Humans used wits and agility and thought to win their battles, and there was no doubt in his mind that this battle would be any different. Once again, he had accepted a challenge that was harder and over his level. It was his thing, his pastime, his indelible attraction to the fight. Unavoidable, and as of that moment, strewn across a gap too large. It really had been awhile since he had fought with anyone; too long.

He rolled off the levy to the thin stone ledge and swung over onto the road, taking a walk over to his vessel. It still floated there, untouched, unused, unmoved by the sun or person or nature; his faithful storage. Over the hull on deck, he moved a box laden with fishnet from the corner under the seats and pulled forth a smaller chest. He deposited his items and gold, needless extra weight. From it he withdrew a single item: his pendant, Genexi. He looped it around the chain on his neck and tucked it under his shirt. A little trinket. Catharsis.

Ex tucked it away and pushed it back under the seats and replaced the fishnet crate. Back over the hull to the road and up the steps. He passed a couple on the stairs and they waved cheerfully, and he nodded in response. The recorder waved to him as well as another Heavy Axe on the way. The Chaos gate was still there, as it always had been and probably always would be. The viscous blue air inside the golden ring was unchanged and welcoming. There was little to think about. If he thought about things, he tended to over think them. He kept his instinct’s back, and it kept his. He rose his gloved hand to the mass, once again examining the way it felt to have its presence engulf and swallow his being.

“Beautiful Law’s New Truth.”

His hand was the first to feel the effects, and then his face, and then his chest. The three rings descended down his body, and he let the rings take him.

~

And down again they came, delivering him into a puddle of mud. The chill of rain spread down his body as his coat fought off the water. It spilled over his face and arms, and the tips of his fingers tingled. The splattering rain instantly began to litter his boots and bottom hem of his jacket with mud. He brought his hands up to the nook between the hilts of his weapons and waist and allowed them to rest there, the awning of his shoulders protecting them from the rain.

The field around him was no less than expected, and not much more. It was vast, flat, and brown. A possible four or five trees lay scattered across the landscape that he could see. In the distance, higher plateaus blocked out the view, and those were blurry and shaded under rain. Other smaller cliffs were closer, perhaps two or three hundred yards away. One lone tree stood to his front a little over fifty feet away. With nothing to do, a carp will swim around a single rock set in its pond and continue living life, content to find out what’s on the other side.

He walked over to it, partially seeking shelter from the rain, but more than that, somewhere to perch. Another of his indelible fancies, heights. He liked sitting atop the world, gazing at what happens there. This particular tree was no throne, and it was pretty far from the top of the world, but it did well enough to give him something to do. He hoisted himself up onto the lowest branch, which at the time was waterlogged and reeked of mold, and settled himself against the trunk. He looked over to the center of the storm that was ever approaching and watched the earth that called forth lightning. Thunder rang little over a second after lightning struck. He storm was close to a mile away. He didn’t know which way the center was moving. It didn’t matter, really. HE had to message his opponent.

He sent the message, sat back, closed his eyes, and listened.

(And the same to you)

The heat seemed to warp time. The day seemed sluggish enough that you could shred the fabric of time with a sharp enough blade. The theory had some interesting implications but Raquar was not interested in pursuing that chain of thought at the moment. His robe clung to him in sweaty swatches and puddles of sweat ran from the corner of his alley. A sickly smell hovered in the darkness of the alley filling the Long Arm's nostrils with a pungent sweetness. He needed to wash.

Rising slowly, Raquar stretched, reawakening long-sleepy joints. After the pops and cracks subsided Raquar emerged into the daylight of Mac Anu. The sun beat brutally upon the concrete streets and it seemed the usual-glistening city of Mac Anu had been thrust into the middle of a scorching desert. Raquar walked over to the bridge connecting the two "platforms," where he swung under and launched into the water. The water under the bridge was an immense relief; it was cool and relaxing, completely adverse from the city itself.

The Long Arm had nearly drifted off to sleep with the soothing sound of the river when a soft ping alerted him to a flashmail.

Perhaps the bath isn't needed as much as I thought, the Long Arm mused. Swimming over to the steps that would allow him to reach dry land, Raquar vaulted up the steps where he stood, dripping before the Chaos Gate. He extended one arm and muttered the Keywords that would provide him with a brief warm-up exercise.

"Ä Beautiful Law’s New Truth!"

The ever-so-disturbing feel of the trio of golden rings encompassed Raquar's body as he was broken down and shuttled through cyberspace to the desired field. It took less than a second before Raquar was standing ankle-deep in mud, watching rain pour sideways through the blustery air and lightning illuminate the stormy sky in brief intervals.

The field was plain, and as long as the eye could see. A few trees were splattered across the landscape providing minimal cover at most. Raquar squinted, his smoldering eyes attempting to detect any form of life or movement. He could see nothing except the rain and lightning.

SP: 35/35

After awhile, his retinas began to mimic the constant lightning flashes, leaving purple and green blotches in their wake wherever he looked. There was little to do but that, however, and he just stared over to the storm. He had determined that it was, in fact, coming his way. In terms of sight, there was little to gauge, but with his ears, he learned much more. Since he had gotten here, the thunder had sounded closer and closer to the strikes, and left a little over a half a second between light and sound. Even the rain in the distance began to grow foggier and more blurred, thicker.

Lightning struck, lighting up the whole field. It subsided, but another light remained, and shortly after disappeared as well. He looked down, imprints of lighting pulsing behind his eyes, for its source. He couldn’t see very well, and he had to use his peripheral vision to see in front of him. A new object caught his eye, but with the flash, all he could make out was a rectangular smudge. He closed his eyes and rubbed them, trying to rejuvenate their usefulness. Again he looked, the smudges dimmed, but not gone. What he saw was enough, though; it looked to be a long, black robe and a splotch of red in the middle.

Raquar was immobile for a moment, possibly taking in his surroundings. Exangelus threw his leg over the side and landed in the spongy ground below the tree, sending small drops of mud up to his waist. He began to walk towards his opponent, resting his hands on the pommels of his Phantom Blades. As long as he’d had them, he never bothered to get new weapons, or deal with the process of getting stronger to allow him to wield them. He was fine with that. It was a bond, in his mind. The feeling of his blades at his sides, the polished pommels in his palms, the old, bitter leather. They were all familiar, and they made him feel natural and secure. He squeezed the handles.

As he approached, more lightning flashed, thunder ensuing. It appeared that it would accompany them throughout the battle. He would have to be careful not to lose his footing and slip. As he approached his opponent, he took long, deep breaths. He ran his hand through his hair, freeing the bangs that were plastered to his forehead and neck. It was raining noticeably harder now, the cold rain pouring off the end of his nose, splattering noisily on his coat, sending mud onto his boots and pants.

He came to a stop about twenty feet in front of Raquar, hands still on his blades. He locked eyes with him and saw the same subdued anticipation that he felt. His lance was at his side. He kept his gaze for only a moment, studying and trying to gauge anything that could be let on from the outside. Silence fell. He found no need for words. Both knew what they were there for. When he was sure that they saw each other and understood the arrangement, he nodded to him.

Suddenly, his coat flew back and he drew his blades, kicking off in the mud towards Raquar, weapons drawn up in a defensive position. In less than a second, he was upon his opponent, running at full speed. Without conscious thought, he jumped with one foot and pivoted, landing on his outstretched left foot, delivering a full-force kick straight for Raquar’s chest.

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SP: 25/25