(OCC: Ah, if there isn't a GM, then I suppose he can't mind me joining...)
Crystal sculptures of flame lined and arched over the doorway. The massive stone slab that served as the floor was circular and floated on a bath of roiling magma. Cracks rippled around it, making the floor quite unstable. Deeply engraved upon the rock was the Guardian crest. Through the crest, magma ran, hot and fluid. The whole effect was that of a blood channel running through a sword. The stone slab moved slightly with the movement of the roiling lava. Circling the whole room was a series of black granite pillars, each one carved out so that lava twined around like orange vines, except these vines sprouted fire, not leaves. Scorched from the heat, the heavy limestone walls were almost black in color, partially coated with ash. It created an almost ethereal aspect, as if the walls were not there at all.
Tras advanced cautiously, his dark brown eyes darting towards sudden movements that the fire and lava made. The air was stiff with heat, stifling and taking a breath was like sipping on boiling tea. There was no one to be seen. Tras relaxed slightly, loosing his hold on his weapons. Dangling from his right hand was an eight inch blade, its gleaming surface pounded out from various metal alloys. Instead of being a straight blade, it was slightly curved, and the blood channel ran through on both sides, engraved like a dragon’s eye. In the man’s other hand was a blade of similar nature except it was over three and a half feet, lightweight but extremely sharp.
Sweat was slowly pooling and dripping down his body. It did not help that he was wearing heavy plated armor. Several more steps and he was at the center of the ring of fire. A column of fire suddenly shot out of the blistered rock, sending streams of sparks and rubble into the air. Tras jumped back in surprise, flinging his weapons up in a defensive posture. To his surprise, instead of meeting an enemy’s blade, his weapons met nothing of substance. The rapier Vyre went cleaving through the fire column and his short hunting knife whistled in the stark air. Laughter rang out, seeming to ride in the hot atmosphere and as Tras staggered to his feet, leather boots blackened from the ash and his armor slowly beginning to heat, the fires around him seemed to leap into the air. The knight glanced about in fury and frustration at an enemy that would not show himself.
Fine. The mage won’t show himself, I’ll force him to!
Tras was an anti-mage. Most are born with a spark of magic. Tras was born with a spark of un-magic. Antimagic can be a powerful thing in a world that relies heavily on it. In one swift motion Tras sheathed Vyre and the knife and threw out his hands. Uncontrolled antimagic shot out in one raw shock wave. Tras felt the fire blackened stone beneath his feet begin to crumble and he realized to his horror that he was standing in the middle of a huge spell, which was now collapsing. The laughter that had sounded before was returned, louder and more malicious than ever. An orb dropped in front of him and he grabbed it, even as the ground beneath him split, sending splashes of magma onto the stone around him. As soon as his gauntlets touched the inky black orb, an undulating rhythm filled his head and in the next instant the heat became unbearable. Then there was nothing.
Tras awoke in darkness, a dank smell curling around his nose as he tried to sit up. His entire body was sore and his armor had not helped that very much. His head was still undulating and he couldn’t seem to see very clearly. Figures in the distance started moving towards him, shadows in the flickering light. He stood uncertainly then backed away, still shaking his head, trying to clear it.