was all that the paper told Daman. Regardless, the High Adept strode forward with confidence in his heart and his staff held tightly in one hand. Passing through the open doorway revealed... glass. Everywhere. From the walls to the ceiling and even the floor. Daman stepped through, treading lightly so as not to shatter the floor below. The place appeared to be similar to an office floor, though it was by no means as familiar to him as the studies and conservatories of Istade's Academy. He drew his robes close about him as he walked.
Many men and women bustled back and forth, while some stood and watched the proceedings with grim expressions: Daman had no quarrel with any of them. He had an opponent somewhere in this building, and he was to defeat whoever they might be. He rounded a corner, knowing full well that he stood out in the crowd...
And there he was, standing at the end of the corridor. None of the watching guards were in sight. Another outlier, one he recognised from the trip up to the portal room. Daman braced himself for any kind of attack; as he mustered his concentration and began to hone it as he had done many times before, the crystal in his staff began to glow. Proximity to Daman, the man to whom the weapon was magically bound, caused this.
Daman said nothing, nor did he move. He was waiting for the stranger to try something... and he soon had what he wanted. He felt a light flicker at the back of his mind: the purple-haired man was attempting to enter his head. He would not get the chance.
"Avaunt thee," the High Adept snarled, tracing a gesture in the air with his free hand. Trails of blue light followed his fingers, forming a rune in midair. Once completed, it glowed once and vanished. The gesture was a simple cantrip designed to counter a hostile spell: while he did not detect any trace of magic, Istadian or otherwise, about this person, his attack bore strong similarities to magic that most residents of Istade practiced. The purple-haired man flinched as he was forcibly ejected from Daman?s mind, and strode forward with raised fists: he bore no weapons of his own.
"If you want to play that way, then that's how we'll play," the stranger hissed quietly. In response, Daman's eyebrows narrowed and he raised his staff to fight... though he was not a combative man. The mage pointed the crystal end of his weapon at the stranger, hoping to stop him short of arm's length. He kept it in one hand, leaving his off-hand free for small spells.
"I would not get closer if I were you," Daman warned. The stranger hesitated momentarily, but charged nonetheless. Daman sidestepped out of the way of the man's clumsy first swing, and let the man stumble past, already off-balance. Perfect. As the purple-haired man came about to try again, Daman prepared another of his simpler spells: a moment of distraction was necessary to secure his advantage.
Daman traced a second sigil in the air around his hand, and a small ball of silver light formed in his open palm. He sent it soaring towards the hostile man with a flick of his wrist: the orb sailed past his head, occasionally blinking brighter than normal. The man watched it go momentarily... and then felt a sharp jab in his gut as Daman drove the end of the staff into him. He staggered backwards, looking up at the High Adept before he tried to straighten up.
Daman continued his assault while he had the chance, though there was neither order nor method to his attacks: he had no military skill with his weapon of choice. It mattered little, however, as he drove his opponent down the corridor. They were coming up to a glass wall: however, Daman saw no-one beyond it. Just other buildings of similar design, a fair distance away. A plan began to form in the Adept's mind, even as he continued pushing his opponent down the corridor. People were starting to take notice of the struggle between the two: guards were moving to isolate and contain the scene, weapons raised.
Soon afterwards, Daman withheld his next attack, instead taking a small step back. He did not, however, lower his guard; a faint blue glow surrounded his hand and the crystal in his staff. "You can live or you can die," he stated quietly. "The Joker must be destroyed, and you are in no position to continue the tournament. I offer you a choice: you may surrender and leave this place alive, or die, once and forever. Which will it be?"
The purple-haired man got to his feet, backing up a little at the sight of Daman's magical display. Perhaps he thought he was out of his depth. Daman, however, waited patiently for the man to make up his mind. He felt no trace of influence on his mind: the stranger was not trying any tricks he might have up his sleeve.
Eventually he spoke, in a quiet voice of shame. "I - I don't want to die. I quit, I'm done." He turned away from Daman and sat down, leaning up against one of the walls.
The words had a strange finality to them, but Daman paid that oddity no heed. What mattered was that he had completed the first task set of him. More would come, of course, but he would meet them head-on.
