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There was just no suddenly defending against that Ruuvan was the smoother and healthier of the men. Time seemed to drag on for an eternity, as agony very frequently made it do. Maximos could hardly remember what wounds he had suffered or what wounds Ruuvan had suffered. The fight was a rush of current events, with a blurry background streaked with red painful lines that stole away his concentration.

Maximos knew Ruuvan was coming back for him. He had seen the elf fight countless times and unlike his battle partner, the shadow had not forgotten. Maximos was spinning around, his body aching, his muscles stretching, his blood pumping. His cloak and desert gear flared wildly with the force of his motion. Blood seeped into his cloth attire staining large patches of it crimson, and making them shimmer in the bright desert sun. His face as intense and serious, his eyes were slanted and determined and then...

Skrrrrritch!

He could feel the cold of Ruuvan's blade against his flesh. He had tried his best to sidestep and let the elf slash by, but he heard a cut. Ruuvan's form rushed past. Maximos spun and brought his blades to bear...and suddenly felt very cold. He felt beads or red roll down his leg.

If Ruuvan came along for another pass he would see it before Maximos did. There were pair of silky black boxers blowing in the wind, and a cloth pants around Max's ankles. A large leather belt sliced in the middle lie on the floor.

Max...wasnt looking quite so epic anymore.

Oh that is just...

He said, then made a sort of frustrated sound and waved his hand in the air. He was having absolutely none of this wardrobe malfunction. The desert sun leaped off the horizon and the sky went black. The sand kicked up into a violent storm blocking all view of everything for a few second before suddenly scattering like dust.

What remained was a rooftop. The night sky was iron gray and cloudy. Around them were several other rooftops but this one seemed the largest in the area. Max's back was to the side of the roof that faced the street, street lamps hung with their bulbs blaring yellow and orange down on the sidewalk. Ruuvan's back was to a dark alley where voices could be hear. Young, teenage yet quite emotional voices.

...much better, much better indeed.

Maximos was wearing a black vest, with a dark blue pinstripe shirt beneath it. At his back, was Sha'yd, the dagger was sheathed. Beside him, impaled in the ground was a jet black long sword. Max wore simply black pants, and black boots with odd stitches running through them. Both of his hands were gloved, though one was covered in white pristine medical bandage.

Max ran a hand through his hair, kicked the sword up and caught it in his left, then rest it over his shoulder and said.

Shall we?

" This place is weird." His horse winnied in agreement, the clip clop of its' hooves echoing oddly back to him in this odd place, despite the fact that he couldn't see any walls. The man in question was cloaked mostly in a green wool cloak, obviously well worn from the frayed bottom. No weapon seemed evident, just a small bag slung across his back and a swordless sheath on the saddle of his horse. The constant mist of this place moved away from this odd traveler, giving him a good 10 feet on all sides.

It was because of this that he suddenly spotted Darkside, or whatever Stephens darker half had chosen to call itself. Not entirely positive as to who he was, it seemed like a good idea to approach." Hello!" He called, his voice light and friendly as he lifted a leather glove clad hand into the air. With that one motion his cloak was thrown back to reveal a kind of leather armor that had obviously seen much use, molded almost perfectly to the mans body.

A shock of bright red hair spiked out from the top of his decidedly elven face, sharp high cheekbones marking his face well but the fact that his ears were only slightly pointed told more to the story. Either way, he had adressed his soon to be opponent.

" Ah, one of those." He'd met beserkers before, had even been one himself in another portion of time and space. Normally, a drink or abit of food was enough to quell their anger, but this one seemed angry for reasons the Wanderer couldn't even fathom. " Surely there is no need for this violence?" The Wanderer asked as he dropped from his saddle, looking skyward for amoment to see who Neviitus was talking to. Apparently no one he could see....maybe his gods?

Nope...nope there he was. He could see the narrator of this person way up there, as if behind a pane of glass. Briefly he considered waving, but this Dark other seemed far more important at the moment. His horse trotted a short distance away, and The Wanderer shed his cloak and the larger of his two bags in one fast movement, afraid his opponent might come charging in at any time.

He would, infact, cartwheel away, rolling like an escaped wheel down a hill. It wasn't that he was unsuprised, far from it he was nearly crapping himself by the suddenness, but just that this was far from unusual and he would have done the same even if the other man had come at him with the sword. In any case, the Wanderer would come to rest a good 10 feet from where he began, a frown set on his lips. " You sir, have no respect for your body."

He had stopped in a low crouch, his right shin parallel to the groun and his toe tips pressed firmly to the ground, left hand on the floor bracing him in place as his right opened the small bag at his hip. " And now for....amnesia dust!" His hand would dive in and yank forth some kind of clothe that snapped open as it was pulled, throwing a large quantity of white powder into the air. It didn't obscure him in the slightest, it was just irritating should Dark Stephen choose to come at him. And who knows? It could actually be amnesia dust.

Either way, He was confident he could keep from being someones meal tonight.

" No, No, Tartarus was boring." The Wanderer said, smiling alittle as Dark Stephen came forward. So his powder hadn't worked, oh well. He wasn't one to worry over trivial things like that, but his opponents bleeding was concerning. " If you keep opening that up, you'll bleed out." He pointed out, pointing with his already extended right hand, letting the cloth that had held the talcum powder on the ground of this strange realm.

That sword presented certain complications to this world walker, being as long as it was and yet light enough to wield one handed. He was strong, but to stop such a weapon was outside of his limits, and he had to come up with something fast....FAST! In all that thinking, He had let D. Stephen get close! s**t! Well the only solution would be to...roll backwards!

Already low to the ground, The Wanderer kicked off the floor as he fell back onto his a**, right hand diving into the small bag at his hip and hoping for the best. As his feet hit the ground, his hand grasped something within his bag. He came up in time for the Horizontal swing, the tip of the blade cutting through the air a foot infront of his face, making his eyes widen in suprise as he jerked his right hand from the bag, the shining tip of a spear erupting with it before the rest of it followed.

The spear itself was of a dark wood, not black but very dark nonetheless. It was 5 foot 9 inches in length, as long as the Wanderer was tall, and about three feet of it extended past his fist at this point, the sharp tip aiming for D. Stephens chest. His left hand swept to force the large sword to the side as he dove in along with the stab, coming up from his crouch with his right foot leading.

This was not according to plan. This was hold on to the seat of your pants, will it work will it not tactics. Instead of trying to wrestle his spear back, The Wanderer stepped to the outside of the spear with his left, cocked back with his left arm as he stepped, and punched on his way past, running for dear life past his opponent. He had many more weapons, and with luck D. Stephen would drop this particular one, but he really didn't want to get cut.

As much as the weapon seemed designed for two hands, weilding it one handed and moving it swiftly seemed to be opposite ends of a spectrum, something the Wanderer could only hope was true. He was banking on the weapon being somewhat difficult to reverse or maneuver one handed. Maybe the gods were listening this time.

and he would be met with a shield and sword combo. The wanderer wouldn't just let his opponent regroup after all, he'd run and try pulling things out of his bag, especially if D. Stephen was going to make himself a handy stabbing implement. That took time, and if he chased after the fleeing man he would have to catch up. In that time, The Wanderer would pull and turn, armed with a short sword and a shield. The shield would force the stabbing spear away, and the short sword would push at the greatsword his foe used, forcing both weapons to the left as he spun on his heel.

The wanderer was not a coward, but neither was he an exceptionally brave man. He just wasn't going to leave his weapon behind in the hands of this maniac here. His spin would bring him to D. Stephens right side, shield infront of him in a guard position.

Ruuvan had something Maximos did not. As time pressed on, Ruuvan had advanced with it. The piece of technology leaning against that wall was as good a tool to Maximos as a baseball bat. But in Ruuvan's hands it was likely a clean efficient death waiting to happen.

The elf was dressed in far different garb now, something darker and newer. Pieces of his attire were being discarded, spotting the roof, Max took the opportunity to adjust the hem of his vest, and smack some dust from his pant legs. Unlike older fashions the new generation tended to dress in things smaller, closer to ones form, and darker. It didnt seem like much, at first glance but when the other man moved it blurred his quicker, finer motions, forces Max's eyes to stay focused and locked or else suffer a painful blow.

Shouts echoed up from an alley, but they werent the shouts Maximos had in mind. They werent the shouts that called him here. And now Ruuvan was upon him, his sword sliced the air. Moonlight glistened along the blade drawing a silver line through the night sky. Maximos' sword fell engulfed in black, and slid into its path. Both blades bit each other and screamed.

Not so fast!

Maximos said, but he hardly expected Ruuvan to stop or even slow. The Shadow pushed off the balls of his feet hopping back just barely in time to dodge a lightning fast kick.

You mean to say you dont remember this place?