Revival Arena G

Strange, the places that newfound power can take a person, Sarah thought as she gazed over the wall that lined the top tier of the castle tower.

In truth though, it wasn't really all that strange, and in fact, completely expected, and certainly believable, unlike the sorts of things people tried to pass off in novels and TV shows. Compared to those sorts of fantasies, the one she found herself in seemed tame and reasonable. Two fortresses stood opposite one another, one, hers, being a glossy black, and another one, her foe's being a shining white color. Sandwiched between the two sanctuaries was the battlefield, where two forces, colored to identify with their own stronghold. The battle was little more than a light skirmish, but still, the apprehension of a major clash hung over the air like a poluting smog from the heart of a city.

As she drew in a breath, Sarah felt an excitement rush through her body and mind, and immediately after, settle down into a relaxed motivation. This was to be a site of a battle, and she would have to fight in that battle. Yet the questioned remained: where, and what was her place in that battle, and how could she do best to fill that place?

As if in answer to her question, a stern, middle-aged female voice spoke from her right side. "It's quite simple really, dear," the Black Queen stated wisely. "You see, we are battle against the White Army, on the otehr end of the field. Our goal is to crush that other castle, and defeat its keeper. Both sides have their own knights on horseback, strong bodied rooks to deal crippling blows, bishops to cast spells from afar, pawns aid the assualts, and of course, a queen and a king, to lead the attack. You are our acting king, if that suits you."

"Of course it suits me," Sarah said, though she'd have rather been queen with a king there at her side. She looked around the battlefield, upon which pawns and knights seemed to be knocking around in a half-hearted battle. A pair of what she assumed were the rooks seemed to stand guard at her castle's gate. A look around the rooftop upon which she stood revealed a pair of elderly men in ornate black robes; she could tell that these were the bishops, the spellcasters of her force. Immediately, an effective strategy worked through her head. "If our goal is to lay seige to the enemy castle, then we'll need strength and mobility to break through. The knights, pawns, and a rook will be all a need." She turned to the queen, and explained, "I want the bishops to hold out here, under your command. A rook will remain behind as well. You know what to do."

Turning her attention to the battle below, she hopped over the high ledge of the tower, falling a ways down, steadily providing herself an output of kinetic force to counter that of her fall. By the time she reached the ground, she had already arrived at a proper landing speed, allowing her to gracefully, and safely touch down and proceed to the battlefield. She would spearhead this battle personally.​

 

What and idiot! Sarah reached the front gate to find herself disappointed with her enemy already. Already, the person on the other side, the one commanding the shimmering soldiers in white adornments, had taken up the charge. His strategy, at that, mimicked the one she had devised: Queen and Bishops reserved for the sake of defending the castle, and aiding from a distance. The white pawns were at the head of the charge, with the knights and rooks following, no doubt with the acting king of the white castle in tow. No doubt, the leader of that force was in the mindset of keeping their hide protected. Sarah knew that the only way to truly win a battle like this one was to take out the leader. Just like a gang brawl in the heart of a city, if the top dog keeled over, then the only other course of action left for the rest of the gang was to turn tail and retreat, or otherwise lose that fire that kept their spirit for fighting alive.

*“Yes,” she said, looking around at the small force that held out in her fortification: two knights were at the ready, mounted on horseback, riding proudly and powerfully. Two pawns strode at their sides, ready to die for whatever cause there was to die for. Not long after Sarah had arrived, a single rook, a hulking, and imposing figure, stepped forward, casting an obvious shadow over her and the pawns. This was the force that would join her in the battle outside of the castle. "Tact and thought will be better than brute force in this battle," she concluded, throwing assuring glances at her small force. "The question is how to do this properly."*

There was more than one viable strategy for manning a battle such as this, so many variables. He there was also a small amount of time. With her opponent already on the move, she had to orchestrate a basic tactic in the span of just about a minute's time. "That seems proper," she stated after thirty seconds of thought. She looked up to the tower, where the queen stood watching for orders from below. Sarah gave the queen a gesturing signal, one that, after a few tries, got the simple message across: "give me a cover." Bidding that her ground troops remain behind as she manned the field alone, Sarah exited through her castle's gates. Behind her, a thick cloud of conjured mist, enough to hinder vision to anyone within it, began to take form around and within the walls of her fortress. Alone, she would act as the bait for one trap or another.​

 

Cutting across the open plain that was to be marked as a memorial to the courageous fallen, Sarah fought back the insatiable lust for blood; now was not the time, and the field of battle was no the place for getting relentless and reckless. Her pace was swift and steady, and her eyes held firmly on the group of troops ahead of her. Behind her, courtesy of the Black Queen, the cloud of mist moved forward in expansion with the beckoning waving of her arms. And of course, it went with every intention of her mind to back track to the cover of her castle before she actually meeting them. Even if it looked like she planned on boldly charging their ranks, that would not be the case, if all went well that was.*

But as with all strategies, hers was malleable in accordance to the flow of battle on her enemy's side. Not much further than two hundred feet out from her front gate, she ground to a halt. Across the field of battle, she noted the emergence of a figure from the enemy ranks. A being, not of the style of the troops assigned to the castles, floated idly from the charging troops. She knew right away that he was the leader, and the one she had to defeat to take the win. But first, she knew, she had to remove the underlings protecting that prize gem.*

I'll have to take this battle to them, she thought. She gave another, rapid wave of her arm, hoping it wasn't stressing her queen too much, bidding that the mist be brought out further, and expanded more. The queen, bolstering her reputation with magical casting, complied, and the thick veil grew forward and out. Waiting for this cover to envelop her figure, Sarah moved forward again, slower than that of the mist. The space between her and the attacking force would covered quickly, lest they turn tail to their fortification. Even if they did, the misty veil would giver her the cover she needed to retreat and amass a larger siege force.​

 

In her makeshift smokescreen, Sarah stood in complete silence. Yet it wasn’t the sort of silence she could relish the presence of. This silence was something different, more unsettling. As the strategy dictated, she was making no noise that could give away her position to the opposition. However, at the same time, there was no commotion evident coming from the other force. Her initial plan seemed to have failed to achieve it’s desired effect; the enemy troops, the pawns and knights that were ready to strike out, at not come in pursuit of her. Her own misty veil was starting bear an unsettling feeling, a feeling of tension that could only come from facing off against an unknown fate.

She began to retreat back, further into the mist, so that she might make it to the front gates of her castle in time to formulate another ploy with the aid of her army. She set off at a walking pace, and focused on her hearing, bending the inner essence of her being so that her ears would pick up something so soft as the thudding of feet against the ground. At her pace, with light feet, she’d hear another running more clearly then she’d hear herself walking briskly. As it was, the means brought about the ends she desired, and eventually, the sound of dashing footsteps filled her ears from several yards away.

She turned herself around, towards the directions from which she had heard the footsteps. Through the corner of her eye, a shadow of a figure came into being, charging straight at her. As it came clearer into focus, it was clear as day that the person was brandishing a sword. With her assailant about ten feet away from her, she acted smoothly, and without excess. Her move started with a quick sidestep to the side from where the blade would make its cut. This move was coupled with a simultaneous squat to put her below the slashing of the blade. Following through in a fluid motion, she wheeled around in a pivot, away from her opponent to build the momentum, and swept out an extended leg to sweep their legs from under them. In an added effort security, she capped the move with a small exertion of energy, sending a small light-looking blast across the path in front of her opponent’s charge as she came full circle.​

 

With one added rotation, Sarah ground herself to a halt, grinding the foot of her extended leg into the grassy surface. Reeling the leg back in, she planted her foot back onto the ground, and pushed back up onto her feet. She faced her opponent, and in her mind, she came to a feeling of somber satisfaction. Her move had done the trick, or even more than just that. He had been grounded, and had thus, spilled blood. And what was more telling and more useful to Sarah was the fact that he had been reduced to mockery as a form of tact; that was something that she would be all to willing to exploit for herself.

“Well then,” she said to him, replicating the same mocking tone he had spoken with. “I could care less how fast this gets over with. But if you want to finish it, if you think you can end it right here and right now, then let’s see it.” She assumed a semi-crouch stance, prepared for both attack and defense. She gave her foe the slightest of smirks, and poked a final, soft-spoken comment: “Come and get some.”​