((I had a taker for this in the 'Find a Sparring Partner' thread but anyone who wants to join may do so, just go ahead and post below, I'd like to get it moving. Please be mindful of godmoding and auto-hitting and whatnot, I like even medium-high powered fights to remain within the realm of reason. Style is T1, power level roughly 4. Magic is fine, but characters are still susceptible to most everything a normal human is susceptible to, albeit with somewhat faster reaction times or honed combat skills. Thanks!))


With a final, heavy footfall, Solrethael stepped onto the plateau. The bluff overlooked the nearby city of Rath, and had in past ages been home to several forts that guarded the way to the ancient city. Now, the tall grass of the steppes sprang in great tables from amongst the rubble, often completely obscuring the ruins of stone walls and buildings. At it's top, the bluff was nearly a half-mile in diameter, and relatively flat, but the approach to the top was only readily accessible from a single stairway that had been roughly hewn into the side of the rock, and meandered haphazardly upwards.

Solrethael allowed herself a small sigh. Even with the brisk wind at this elevation, her armor had proved to become rather uncomfortably warm in the ascent. Shedding it was out of the question, however, seeing as she had come expecting a fight. It was good armor, too, finely wrought from the purest adamantium this side of the Sea of Tyram, hammered into perfectly interlocking, tightly knit links by a master armorsmith. It shone a brilliant gold in the sunlight, even half-hidden behind her white overcloak and tabard, which were emblazoned with an eight-pointed sunburst in alternating gold and black hues. Similarly armored, her feet pressed the grass underfoot clad in supple, well-worn boots of black leather. Around her head there was no helm, but rather a simple diadem of gold and sapphire, which futilely attempted to hold back flowing locks of amber hair. Around her neck hung a pendant of silver filigree, once again with the eight pointed sunburst as it's focus. From her belt hung two pouches of well-oiled leather, each containing various scrolls, rituals and spell casting components. In her left hand she hoisted a rectangular tower shield of hammered silvery mithril, it's surface slightly convex and polished to a mirror shine, reaching from her foot to her shoulder in height. In her right, she leaned on a slender spear, reaching a full 7 feet in length, also forged of golden adamantium. From its skyward aimed point, there stood affixed a streaming banner of deep crimson.

With renewed vigor, she brought to the fore of her mind the posting in the town square... an anonymous call to battle that had singled her out as the opponent. It had been the talk of the entire capital, and she was not about to spoil the reputation of the Champion of Rath, so she had dutifully suited up and made her way out here to uphold her honor and reputation. She wasted no time in making her way into the tall grass as soon as she had recovered her breath, striding deliberately towards a crumbling rampart, long isolated from its associated wall. She carefully climbed her way atop it, and planted her spear's haft into a small crack in the masonry. There she stood, framed under the rippling banner atop the rampart, gazing onto the plain, waiting for her mystery opponent to arrive.

(If the challenge is still open, I would love to try out a fairly new character of mine.)

With a final heave, Craban peered over the bluff across the plateau. The sun to his back, he rose with careful steps onto the thin green wisps of the steepe. Crumbled remnants of ancient forts were scattered across his vision, all relics of a much more noble past for the city of Rath. However, the low walls and piles of broken glory were of no consequence to him.

What he was focused on was an almost solar glare just above the horizon. He could not help but be intimidated by the glow of his opponent's armor set against the brilliant morning sky. He paled in comparison, in a thin silkish garb of black that made him not much more than a shadow in the golden air. His robes billowed around him in the stiff wind, tugging at the delicately woven belts that held it onto his wispish frame. A deep sash of fine indigo silk set off the entire facade and seemed to cut off the man into two independent halves when compared to the clear sky above. No weapons hung from his body, and no shine or glamor reflected the day. However, deep within the ridiculously large cuffs two trinkets were clutched, both wreathed in powerful magic and inscribed in ancient runes.

Craban took his own position amidst a dry swathe of the land and stood against his called opponent. There was no honor in hiding behind a crumbling mass of stone, and no reason not to announce his silent presence with his own dark banner wrapped carefully around his body.

((By all means, let us do battle! :D ))

Solrethael stoically watched the slight, black robed figure crest the edge of the plateau. A small flutter of uncertainty crept into her, even though she was confident in her abilities. In her adventures, it turned out more often than not, that those who wore black robes were generally up to no good. Furthermore, they were wont to employ all sorts of despicable tactics, be it necromancy or simple underhanded roguery. The thrill of impending battle ran its way up her spine, and then, a feeling of calm prevailed. She would not lose this day.

The figure approached and stood silently across from her on patch of dried grass and parched soil. Solrethael surveyed him, taking note of his slender build, and voluminous sleeves. It was most certainly a wizard of some sort, she was sure of it. Judging from his appearance, the man spent many hours locked in a tower somewhere instead of maintaining an active lifestyle. Hopefully, that meant his weakness was physical combat, something that she was no stranger to.

She called down to him: "Hail there, stranger. Do you know who I am? I am Solrethael du Artania, Grand Champion of Rath! You have called me out to battle, and I cannot refuse, my honor depends on it. Come let us do battle then. However, I must wonder if you were put up to this by someone who wishes me ill..." Solrethael retrieved her spear from where it was planted, and with a bit of effort, vaulted herself off the rampart down to the ground, kicking up a bit of dust, before straightening out to continue. "... or if you came precisely because you knew."

Adjusting her grip on the haft of her spear, she began to run at the man in a light jog. Her body shielded from the neck down by the tower shield, she held it before her as she hastened towards her opponent, the tip of her spear trailing its banner in the air, since she was still out of striking distance. She would let him make the first true offensive move, but she was not going to give him the luxury of preparation.

"Hail there," Craban replied with a deep mockery of a bow, "My name is Craban of the Crow, wizard of Stone Wing, and with this answered call, I assure you I do not seek harm." His eyes remained trained on the champion with an almost unnatural curiosity while his stance widened and became more natural with time. His knees bent, he pulled his arms out so as to allow the night-black robes to flutter eastward towards the sun in a sudden gust of wind so strong it pulled both banner and robe into a taunt parallel.

It was there that a more subtle change was taking place. With distance and a shield between them, Craban focused hard on the runic stone in his left hand, drawing from both his own stamina and the natural reserve of power inside the arcane inscriptions. He had done this slight of hand before, crouched low, signing out a spell, but never against such a harsh force and never with these kinds of stakes. Craban, inside, showed a hint of weakness when he finished the last of the somatic.

However, n all that armor, Craban saw some of the same insecurity. Through the gleam of metal that covered most of her form, he assumed an uneasy truce between the woman and his art where she depended on only her own strength. Underneath that facade, he could see she was almost as uneasy.

(( I am a little uncertain of whether you actually cast something at me or if it was just a passive spell preparation, I'm treating it as the latter below ))

It was almost cinematic, really. The man had mockingly acknowledged her, and then settled into a pose that was reminiscent of a prophet throwing his arms wide to preach to the assembled masses. Though they were yet some distance apart, she swore she could see him murmuring into the wind billowing around him, a sash outstretched between his hands. Unfortunately for him, today his audience would consist of very few believers and a whole lot of mithril tower shield to the face.

Nonetheless, she steeled herself for a possible attack, burst of energy, or some other magical phenomenon. When it became clear it was not immediately forthcoming, Solrethael shrugged to herself and pressed the attack. Having closed the distance to about a stone's throw away, she lowered her spear alongside the tower shield and burst into a sprint, charging at him in full tilt. She readied herself for the likelihood that he would interrupt his incantation and step aside, and consequently shifted the angle of her shield slightly more to the side so that she could make use of it to deflect an attack even if she missed and overshot him.

((It was a passive spell preparation, so you did the right call there. I see how it is confusing now that you mentioned it, but then again hindsight is 20/20 right? I tried to make sure the next one made a bit more sense.))

Continuing Craban's mocking spectacle, he smiled broadly as the woman approached. He held his position while she charged with her overly large mirror between them, stiffly flicking his wrist and muttering under his breath in the same quick cadence of her footfalls. He found it easier that way, the consonance of his breath, her charging, and the flow of energy spreading up his arm was almost a soothing piece compared to the usual sounds of battle.

Preparation was soon over, however, when the point of a golden spear was trained at Craban. A flurry of movement ensued as the man's left arm pulled around, trailing the silken robe behind. The pent up energy of the stone released through the cloth, forcing it to flow and conort. The robe sleeve began to glow while it spread and enveloped the area in front of the wizard. From its suspended state, it quickly hardened into a jet black dome much like a stone wall.

He steeled himself as the last moment before impact as it came and went, safely behind his stone shield.

(( Well played sir. Well played. I got a chuckle from the mental imagery that follows your defensive spell. ))

Solrethael did not come to terms with what was happening before it was already too late. Even as she saw the fabric twist and form into a stone barrier before her, it was too late to stop her forward momentum. All she had time to do was pull her shield up slightly before she collided with the stone dome with a tremendous clang of metal, screeching of stone scraping, and the muffled pop of her shoulder dislocating behind the tower shield. Her spear, made of adamantium, a magical metal far stronger than any stone, had been the only thing to escape the collision totally unscathed. The force of the impact had driven it through the jet black stone a good foot in depth, if not more, but also wrenched it from her grasp, and stood there, quivering slightly.

As for Solrethael, she lay on her back in the grass, stars spinning in front of her vision momentarily. Blinking through the pain of her dislocated shoulder, she found she couldn't lift the shield with that arm. With her free hand, she pushed herself up off the ground and stood, dropping the shield from her slack arm. She clutched at the joint and tried to force it back into place, but failed on the first attempt. Not knowing how long it would be until her opponent dropped the guard and retaliated, she opted instead to retrieve her spear and deal with her shoulder later.

With a solid wrench, she pulled the spear free of the stone and assumed a ready stance, cradling her left arm against her body as best she could.

((I am sorry it took so long to reply. I had a family emergency and had to take off for a couple days to get some affairs in order, but it should all be taken care of now.))

With the metallic crunch of impact, Craban's heart raced. From behind the blackened stone screen he could not see his opponent as she fell. What felt like millions of images flooded his head: a look of pain, a gaze of fury, a spear trained for his throat. He could not even begin to think of what was the reality of all, and so he froze, too cautious to dissipate the transmuted half-dome and see what lay before him until he was sure.

With the sun at his back, however, he felt blessed. It was easier to see the thin silken tether that was his robe tapering off from his left hand into the wall, anchoring it to reality. Craban new that with a clear view he would have a much easier time doing what he needed to do. Had he ever tried this before?

"I will admit that I am impressed," Craban said cautiously from behind his shield, his focus renewed, "I can not remember the last time an opponent went without the slightest sound of pain." His right hand flicked in a new rhythmic time while he spoke, his almost mocking words delaying the incantation ever so slightly. The stone underneath the robe had already began its glow by the time Craban added a few whispered words in preparation for what he was going to do next, sending a faint violet tent to the sunlight pouring into the underside of the dome.

((Don't sweat it man, real life always comes first. Hope everything is alright.))

When the expected counter-attack did not manifest itself, Solrethael moved to action. With a grunt of pain, she popped her shoulder back into place, briefly wincing as she tested the joint. Not waiting any further she retrieved her shield, and using it to cover herself, she backpedaled furiously away from the stone dome. As she went, she began to mutter a prayer to Sol Invictus under her breath. The stone shield was beginning to take on a vague, eerie purple glow, and she wasn't taking her chances with the man's black magic. Possible outcomes included it exploding outwards in a lethal barrage of stone shrapnel, or the entire shield surging forward to strike. Though she was out of range of immediate physical harm, she was still well within range of any magical attack, and it was crucial to be prepared.

As she came to a halt she finished her prayer. In that moment, a faint sound carried across the entire plain, as if swept by the wind, the collective chorus of a host of angelic voices. Around her, a group of small, brilliant white motes of light began to circle in erratic orbits, weaving a spherical matrix of golden hovering magical gossamers. Within a few seconds the motes had completed their work and winked out of existence and the chorus of voices faded with them, leaving her standing in her own bubble of golden translucent energy. She called back across to the wizard.

"My mind and body stand resolute before any pain or foe. I cannot lose, my patron is the very sun shining down upon us! Test yourself then, against the power of the Unconquered Sun!"

Craban warded the Champion-Woman's proud deceleration with only his sheer will, and yet he could not help but feeling the least bit nervous. He could only see that gleaming armor in his mind's eye, the golden adamantium shell that shielded the his opponent from real harm. With an almost perfect shield like that, he was going to have to rack his brain harder than ever.

He grew cold and silent as his newest spell glowed in hand, resonating in a low hum with the stone shield that lay before him. He was almost afraid of the woman's spear come trained at him as his defense melted, but if he granted the woman any more time to prepare all she would have to do is walk around straight to his exposed flanks. It was then his mind, arm, and stone shield all at once took a big shuttering sigh and melted back down. The wall seemed to become like freshly churned butter in the sun, melting and sinking as it shied away back towards his arm. Gradually, it took flight, billowing as his overly large cuffs once more.

It was then he spotted his opponent, yards away and surrounded by a deep golden light. He choked a little in his throat: it was as if the aura of the sun itself had enveloped the woman. Reflexively, he held out his right hand and wordlessly reminded himself of the shape he was willing into existence.

The sleeve of his robe immediately contorted, thrashing from side to side as it pinched off from itself. Two, three, four coils formed from the black silk, waving through the air with a persistent will. They remained close to Craban for a moment before they erupted towards Solrethael, slithering through the air mere inches from the ground.

The biggest drawback to these sorts of protective spells was that they made it impossible to attack, Solrethael thought wryly to herself. Well, not impossible, but doing so would remove from her the temporary protective grace, which would be simply wasting the energy she had invoked to summon it. As the wizard emerged from behind his stone shield, she smiled at his obvious discomfort.

Few could stare directly at the awesome gifts her patron bestowed upon her and not feel a twinge of fear. Her own uncertainty had been mastered, reassured by the warming touch of the sun. Thus, when the eldritch snake-like beings shot into the grass from the man's oversized sleeves, she merely adjusted her grip on spear and shield, and waited to see the outcome of the attack. It was pointless to try and track them through the tall grass, so she simply stood fast and awaited their arrival, safe behind her golden aura.