=EC 2015= Fountain Arena

=EC 2015= Fountain Arena (Full Version)

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Ronin Of Dreams -> =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/12/2015 20:36:51)
The more things change, the more they stay the same. That was the feeling which took Bren by storm once each year. Ephemeral, the way passersby on the street would suddenly glance over at their fellows and nod. A shroud of relaxation slowly drawn away, as the preparations began. Some claimed it was an instinct, born and bred into the layfolk and workmen of Bren. They argued it was no different than a sailor born of the sea, reading the moods of the ocean by the lapping of its waves against the hull. Others would cite the uptick in fervent preaching among the religious community, calling their faithful flock to renew their vows and obligations to the Lords and Ladies in grandiose fashion. Whatever the trigger, Bren once more blossomed from a hibernation as a sleepy township into the true bustle of a busy cityscape. The peel of hammer striking anvil became its heartbeat; the exchange of coin flowed like blood as the influx of spectators and of hopefuls grew from a trickle into a flood. With each day that passed every morsel of food, every tidbit of gossip became that much richer, spiced with anticipation and the occasional furtive glance up towards the grand arena complex. It stood above the city of Bren, but like a hive of dedicated ants it was as central as any queen. The people took pride in living so near to such a historic monolith. They would recount the tales of former participants, regale the legends of former champions, but always the arenas themselves lay core to every remembrance. Vast in size, the complex never seemed to be quite the same each year. New warrens for plumbing and storage being dug out, cut marble being drawn by the cartful into town and across the cobbled bridge known as Supplicant’s Way. She had once merely been the Arena; now her vast walls were held sacred for only the chosen Paragons to compete within, and those few spectators who could pack her stands to stand witness. Outgrowths of rock and steel clung to her like needy children, great edifices carved with visages promising cullings and challenge. From the arenas housed within these buildings would those Paragons eventually be chosen. And so the fateful day would arrive. The complex would open its arms and embrace all who came to bear witness to those few fighters. Those special few, who had passed the secret tests of the arena’s own devising to prove worthy of the ceremonial contest. Pared down from hundreds and thousands of hopefuls, either too hellbent by greed on the fabled prize or deep within their psyches lacking the true resolve necessary to sacrifice all for that goal. Like a grand matron, the arena was very discerning on who would have the honor of spilling blood in heated combat upon those steeped, scarlet sands. There was no hunger there, only a truth. The sigils of this particular arena were, perhaps, the least telling of what lay within. It caught the pure essence of uncapped waters at native spring, this sigil for Fountain. Yet Fountain held many secrets close to its bodice, each year presenting a different veil for those who fought on the sacred grounds within. Not that the perennials among the spectators minded. Quite the contrary! If Fountain was coy and flirtatious in its ever-changing design, then every year they would be treated to an entirely new display of tactics and surprises. The delight had even slowly made the concept of chameleon to be seen as a base and rude reference. There was a beauty in Change, and the complex did so enjoy putting on all its airs each year in Fountain. There was the slow grind of stone against stone as hidden mechanisms raised the equidistant portcullises around the perimeter of the arena. An agonizing last annoyance before the chosen few could witness the full sights of Fountain’s demesne. Even so, the scents of the arena rushed under the rising wrought iron of the enchanted gateway, leaving a very distinct impression. Ozone. Its acrid bite was unmistakable, cloying at the back of the throat. A wide expanse of black granite, flecked with impurities and char stretched beneath their feet. Fountain had changed, contrary and inverted to its most common trappings. Like an amphitheater, it featured massively wide steps, a descending circle towards the fateful surprise. An inverted spire spun lazily in the air, rooted to the protective magic dome well above the heads of even the tallest competitors. The arcane device was all angles, but seamless in construction and unsettling to stare at for long. Its wicked tip was aimed at the most central point of the arena, a purpose evident. Flash. Pure, streaming energy leapt from the lance of the device, splitting and arcing paths down to strike within the central, lowest level of this maw of granite steps. New char marked the pinpoints of contact, and fresh waves of ozone wafted away from the strike. Flash. Again it struck, taking new pathways through the air but not extending outside the rough dimensions of that central-most column of air. Flash. Metronomic. Regular. Flash. Every fifteen seconds by an accurate time-piece, these lethal energies struck the ground. And then a voice pierced the silence of the crowds to tug at the awareness of each competitor should they choose to hear. “And we now stand witness to the challenge...of Fountain Inverted.”

TormentedDragon -> RE: =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/12/2015 22:40:41)
Scent is a sense unreliable, usually. A forgemaiden at work relies on sight, feel, and sound more than anything, scent informing only a part of the enchanting process. Outside the forge, before her bath, she herself is the most pungent thing, and to smell anything past that wall of odor is nigh impossible. Here, though, it's a different story. She wrinkles her nose, lines creasing its ruddy bridge. That scent's unmistakable, and worrisome. Fountain changes each year, and this year ... She shifts in place, as the gate before her continues to rise. It was alright. She'd be okay. It was simply a matter of finding the source and making sure it had targets that weren't her. Key weakness of energy, that, it following paths of least resistance. Just stay away from it and put everyone else's feet in water. That'll work. Maybe. Assuming it doesn't the follow the water to her boots and up her legs t- No, she has guards against that. Probably. Sort of. Though the usual underarmor padding and clothing has never been reported to be particularly effective at halting a dedicated lightning strike. Oh look, the door's open. She takes a deep breath, and slaps her cheeks. No turning back now. Show them what she's made of. She reaches to her back, unlimbering her shield and making it secure, and plucking her hammer from her belt, welcoming the by now familiar scent of salt and sounds of surf. "Final testing," she says aloud, as the doorway flashes and the crack of lightning of makes her twitch. Her gear works. It's been tested. But who prepares, wins, or something like that. So a final check. "Slam." The hammer pulses, streams of water coursing over the wavy lines on its head, and spiraling down the wooden shaft. Check. "Mirror." Her shield shimmers, its watery twin flowing forward from its surface, to hang in the air. Check. There's another flash, with its accompanying crack. She winces, and shakes her head, then looks to the ceiling. "Shoot." Water splashes against the ceiling, right where she's looking, darkening the stone above. Check. "Forge." This one, she feels, a tingling in her palms and her fingers as the runes on her gauntlets limn themselves in blue. A jerk of her hammer hand, and the mirror of her shield falls to the floor, pooling about her feet in a perfect circle. Check. A third flash. Another crack. A final check. She rocks back on her heels, then forward, lifting her boot to take a step. "Surf." The wave swells beneath her, lifting her, pushing her, one foot forward and down, the other back and high, into the blazing light of the midday sun, and the blinding light of the power of the Fountain Inverted.

salene -> RE: =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/12/2015 23:06:34)
Ravinia breathed in the cold morning air, letting it wash over her like a wave. She had been traveling for nearly a week now, moving over rough terrain, in order to finally reach the town of Bren. Her feet ached, her back was sore, and she was in desperate need of some clean clothes. However, none of this stopped her. If anything, it only spurred her on. Her mind was set, and she was ready. Ravinia stood from where she had been sitting, her legs sore and bruised from falling on a large rock earlier in her journey. Bren was so close now, so close she could see it in the distance. Ravinia sighed, pulling out two small pieces of gold from her pocket. She hoped this would be enough to buy some fresh food before entering the arena, otherwise an empty stomach would be another thing to add to her list of problems. “Look on the bright side” She said, wincing as she wrapped a thick bandage around a cut on her ankle. “At least I’m doing this of my own volition. Im sure not everyone is as fortunate as me when it comes to something like this.” She realized the irony of her statement directly after the words left her mouth. Fortune had never been something she’d had. Fortune was for the rich, for those who could afford to have people like her haul their goods out of the murk river. The closest Ravinia would ever get to fortune, would be her surviving the arena. Winning wasn’t even a conceivable option. It took perhaps an hour for Ravinia to reach the outskirts of Bren. Her excitement at seeing civilization had inspired her to move quicker, and even though she had made good time, her haste had rewarded her with two more cuts, both on her left arm. The pain was inconsequential, and the sight of a small tavern warmed her stomach with the promise of a cup of ale and a fresh loaf of bread. Her stomach echoed her outward smile, as it rumbled slightly in anticipation, earning strange looks from the farmers that stood to either side of her. “Im sure your stomach rumbles just as loudly as mine” She muttered, her mood considerably soured by the undue attention. The tavern was small and boxy, probably 15 feet tall, and 20 feet wide. It seemed to be made from a thick wood, probably cut from the trees that stood to either side of its wide entrance. The tavern had only one door, made from the hide of some unfortunate animal, that was bent slightly off of its hinges, as if someone had been pushed into it. Hanging above the door was a single sign, about the length of her forearm. It read; “Welcome weary traveler, to the Bar Fight! Brens most infamous tavern!” Ravinia nodded her appreciation of the taverns name. Honesty was something that Ravinia valued pretty highly. As Ravinia stepped through the broken door, her nose was immediately assaulted by the smell of sweat and ale. Ravinia turned away quickly, swallowing the bile that began to rise in her throat. After she had gotten past the smell, and her eyes had stopped watering, she allowed herself to look around. The inside of the tavern was just as lackluster as the outside had been. Everything seemed to have been thrown, probably at someone else, at some point. The tables and chairs had obviously been broken multiple times, the bar in the back had a large crack running down the center, and the floor itself was littered with discarded food and even a few broken teeth. Ravinia assumed that this was probably where farmers came to let off some steam after a tough day in the fields. Behind the bar, a large board hung, with fliers attached to it with small iron nails. Most of the fliers were for relatively ordinary things, the only ones of interest being a wanted sign for some women named “Medusa”, and a large advertisement for the Elemental Championships. The one thing that Ravinia was not expecting however, was how crowded the Bar Fight was. Every seat was occupied, with some people even sitting on the floor. Young server girls flitted around the room, carrying wooden mugs of ale, and small plates of unknown meats, constantly moving from one table to another, their loose ponytails swinging wildly behind their heads. Ravinia now stood in front of the inverted fountain, its gates open, as if waiting for her. She smelled something, something that made her hesitant. She couldn’t quite place her finger on it, but it smelled… powerful. She would certainly have to be wary, as this was sure to be an obstacle she was unaccustomed too. Ravinia felt her feet move, one step at a team. She heard the sound of electricity, and the faint sound of… water. Ravinia quickened her pace, jogging until she was directly in front of the arena’s large gate. This was it, this was her time to shine. She did a quick last minute check of all her equipment, took a deep breath, and then stepped forward. The minute she stepped through, she immediately noticed someone directly to her right. Pulling her Bagh Naka out, Ravinia stepped forward. “You smell like fish…”

Draysin -> RE: =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/12/2015 23:09:34)
Ywris swooped high above the clouds. As the wind raced through her hedrons, she searched the land scape below for her goal. Her goal was not a person or an object. Not this time. It was a place. Bren, city of champions, home of legends. She swooped low, so her hedrons could sense the earth below. She could sense the exitment of Bren. She quickened her pace. Now faster than anyone could see, she raced through the air above the pastured fields and through the streets of Bren. Those that could see her, would desribe her later as regal, imposing, and most of all cold. She now sailed through the entrance to the fountain, and crashed into the ground. Picking her self up from the debris, she soon found that some of her hedrons had been injured in the fall. She began to turn the granite around her, into herdons, calling them into her and replacing the old ones. After making sure that her hedrons were in order, she turned to the two figures next to her. The taller on was standing ready and pointing some sort of weapon at the shorter one. The shorter on carried all sorts of gadgets with her. Ywris changed into a more streamlined form, turning her wings into cutting edges. Her hedrons rippled through her and re asses any weaknesses. "Best to strike while I still can." Ywris thought. And strike she did. Right at the small ones back. Edit: Merged the Double Post.

deathlord45 -> RE: =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/13/2015 12:20:54)
He stood there looking at the city thinking back to the last time he was this close to larger civilizations and societies. Cole had spent so much time out in the wilderness hunting and guiding that he had come to forget the hustle and bustle of civilization. As he walked through the city he listened to all the gossip around that people talked about as he passed by hoping for any information about what the other competitors he might face later. After a time of information gathering, he went to the arena. The arena, the great place above Bren. Ever present to those on the ground or maybe that was just for the competitors who had to go there. The place that may become their grave, maybe that is why he could sense it where ever he went in Bren, because he knew deep down that this might be the place where he died. Up close the arena was more awe-inspiring then it was when he was further away. As the mighty portcullises rose in front of him he wonder what about who his competition would be inside. The smell of ozone brought back memories about violent thunderstorms out in the wilds when he could not find a safe shelter. As he stepped into the arena itself only one thought crossed his mind. 'I'm in over my head." He thought to himself as he moved keeping low and next to the nearest wall has he proceeded inwards. Next to wall he slung his backpack off, has he prepped his weapons. Loading a gem and a bolt into the rifle but not messing with the hammer, locking the crossbow's arms into place and stringing it, making sure his daggers were ready to come out of their sheaths. He quietly set about twelve bolts down next to him for quick loading into this crossbow should any other competitor get too close. He hunkered down next a wall in the shadows hoping that his dark clothes will help him keep undetected between flashes, rifle at the ready the hammer set for a twenty meter shot. His normal crossbow and the bolts to his left and his backpack to his right. He aimed to win, or die trying. Hearing a something to his right, he turned his head to see two other combatants. One is looking towards another exposing their back to him. A slight smile pulls at his lips as slowly readjusts his himself to aim at this person's back. Cole angles the shot to be the center of their upper back and a little to the left, aiming for where their heart should be. Leaving the hammer set for a twenty meter shot, unsure of the distance, he pulls the trigger and sends the bolt flying towards the target.

draketh99 -> RE: =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/13/2015 16:07:41)
Lance calmly and purposefully made his way through the streets of Bren. He kept his shoulders low and squared and kept his gaze fixed on the arena directly ahead of him. The streets were packed full of men, women and children all running about from one vendor to the next. With all the comotion, had it not been for his two companions, Lance would have had to shoulder his way through the crowds. Two hell-hounds strode beside him, one to either side, their heads low and their tails flicking about. While the hounds were calm, the sight of the large, flaming creature of bone was enough reason to each person in the crowd to step aside and let Lance pass through. To the man stepping aside, this was simply to protect one's self from harm. To Lance, however, this was respect. As he neared the Fountain, Lance found himself watching the people in the streets more than the arena itself. Most of the people of this city appeared to be farmers in their daily lives, and the spectacle of the championships drew them into the city. They had arrived from their homes and from all across the land to watch heroes fight and die for glory. And it was likely people would die. This realization struck Lance, while they called them championships and games, he was on his way to a war and nothing less. "And wars are made to be won." He thought to himself. He glanced up at the arena, which had become nearer than he had realized. The gate he was assigned was directly ahead of him. He stopped to reflect on what had brought him to such a place, to this arena that seemed to have a consciousness all its own. He remembered a city had left behind, a city that had been more strenuous to keep than to take. He remembered his home guarded by the hound-pack that awaited his return. He remembered his warring correspondents who had told him stories of such a championship and the reward for winning it. He remembered his family and- Flash The corridor in front of him lit, demanding his attention and agitating the hounds to his side. Something was happening inside, and it was time for him to get inside and survey his position. He stepped forwards into the gate and quickly turned around, prepared to reprimand. Neither of his hounds followed him past the threshold of the arena. They snarled and pawed at the gateway, yet neither would walk through. Lance cursed under his breath, realizing that whatever this arena that the villagers called "Fountain" was, his summons would not enter. This arena truly did have a consciousness all of its own, and not one that seemed rather pleased with him already. Lance closed his eyes as black ash and sulfur coated his hands and forearms, upon their covering, he stepped out and placed a palm on the head of either hound, petting them between their ears and chanting under his breath. Upon the execution of the chant, both hounds looked up to him and despawned in a flash of hell-fire. He would have to fight alone, and he would do it, he decided. He would fight and win the championship, and return to his pack, further proving his status as the alpha. Lance quickly turned and strode back through the gate, now gripping tightly to either pistol at his belt. Flash. Another light ripped through the corridor, and with it, came a familiar scent. A scent that meant danger. He remembered the gnomes from his homeland, and the magics they used that so tightly clung to metals. The bright flashes of energy that produced such a scent, as well as some peculiarities that the scent caused. With the last realization in mind, Lance fought a grin as he stepped through the end of the corridor into the battlefield. He eyed the other contestants that all seemed to have just arrived as well. There was a commotion to his left, two combatants who had seemed to draw the attention of two others. Lance kept his back to the wall and made his way to the right, keeping an open space to either side of himself as he tried to survey the rest of the combatants. The scents in the arena were strong, and he worked to sort out each one. Noting the large device above the arena, and remembering the flashes from the corridor, Lance made a note to avoid the center of the arena whenever possible.

Dwelling Dragonlord -> RE: =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/13/2015 16:11:17)
The big doors, grandfather mentioned those. He always described them from the other side, though. He talked dozens of times about this arena, no tale ever told twice as each time the arena was different. Each time the contenders were different. Change. It is the way of the wind. You cannot prepare for what you cannot expect. The wind comes from behind, the wind comes from the front. The wind blows softly, the wind is a storm. There is nothing which can prepare me for what I will face in the arena. The key to winning will be my resolution to win and bring glory to the Wind Lord. The time I spent in Bren was overwhelming. Humans and dwarves, each gifted with a talent so that they drown each other out, all possible candidates to face in the arena. There are more candidates crammed into the inns of Bren than canned sardines. Going over them would be more pointless than counting the grains of sands on the floor of the arenas. Nonetheless, each and one of those could spell my defeat. I had taken to the outskirts of the city and I had trained but more importantly I heard of those that truly stood out from the crowd; an angel of ice and a .... janitor? He supposedly was quite adamant on taking his enforcement of cleaning up dead bodies with the Elemental Lords. I always thought that the necromancers made those corpses disappear to swell their undead armies. The portcullis continued to rise, giving way to a putrid smell that made me lose my appetite and forced the corners of my lips down a bit as I struggled to keep my posture. Then, a flash causes my lips to involuntarily curve back up again. With my heart beating I hover out into the arena, taking in the view of the arena while scanning for my opponents. To the north-east, on the opposite right from my point of view, I see someone riding in on a wave of water. With a bit of luck that person will ride it into a wall or better yet that consistent arc of lightning, but what sort of honour would that bring to the Lords? Glancing even further to my right I notice a short, hooded character wearing a white scarf and pants that stick out like a sail to a blue sea or at the very least a white piece of clothing to black granite. Either she hoped to play in a Snow Arena or she wanted pirates to ruin her sunny day. Either way, it goes to show that you cannot prepare for the arena. At least not as far as equipment goes. From the corner of my eye I spot someone who seems to agree with my observation. He is a bit nearer to me so I can tell that he is male wearing dark clothing, hoping it would not give him away. At least he has the right idea and it would have worked too if that bolt of lightning hadn't given him away. Another day I might have let these people fight it out or learn their motivations, but with the gaze of the Wind Lord resting on me and her-their will that we battle in their name, for their honour and their glory and their motivations a mystery I will fight. The monkey to my left is not of my concern yet, he will be when he will be. I lean back and throw my spear at the archer, if I hit I may not have to worry about ranged assassination later on ....

Caststarter -> RE: =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/13/2015 17:18:34)
What is the sense of adventure? Exhilaration? Surprise? Or just a new type of experience to the individual? For one such as Hideyoshi however, it was all for a learning experience into the self. The self that is forever clouded behind the evil that one possesses. While fighting in the arena is seen as the walkway of doom, it was also a hidden art. Art afterall is expression taken new form and a duel is one such expression. This is what Hideyoshi desired. To be a witness to such an expression which will surely help him blaze a path for transcendence. All the while keeping his honor to not purposely kill any individual. Perhaps bringing the value of simple sportsmanship will enlighten others. Now though is not to dwell on such things. He rested upon his extended staff which served as a post for him to do his yoga, preparing his body for the event that the threads of time has dictated will happen. With each breath came a calming relaxation, disregarding any initial hesitation for entering he could have had. He repeated to do this until the entrance was revealed to him. Flashes appeared as regular intervals to him. Now his sense of curiosity slightly consumed him for what could cause such flashes. He hopped off of his staff, grabbed it by the core with his palm, and pushed down the ends returning it to its original form. He went through the entrance quickly as if he was in a crawl with the palm that held his staff pulled behind his back. The smell of ozone then entered his throat, a smell that was most uncomfortable but manageable. It reminded of him a bit of his former life in the mountains. If only because in the mountains, there was less air further up compared to the flat plains of the world much lower down. As soon he came out of the entrance, he was greeted to the sheer contrast in ideas of the arena. He heard the arena was called the Fountain Arena. The name only brought to mind a fountain in the center, to allow some serenity in the fight. This was much different. There were steps that lowered towards a floating, mystical device where energy fired off of it to the ground below in the center. It would definitely be most wise to avoid the area below the device, for one stream of death will give the chance for his life to be taken away at a moment's notice. As such, Hideyoshi thought it was most appropriate to let any opponents to come to him, rather him to the opponent. Save the energy while keeping a good distance away from the center. However, being on the move will also helpful finding one in the first place. He placed a hand over his face and surveyed the area. Everyone were already entering. Directions could not be made clear where they will go sadly. He traveled down to some degree while heading east, ever aware of his surroundings.

Draysin -> RE: =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/13/2015 23:51:35)
As Ywris streaked across the battle ground, she noticed others had entered the arena. Somebody, made seemingly a champion of fire stood near to her left. She would have to watch out for him. She had problems with fire. Ywris was so occupied that she forgot the crackling lightning to her right. A bolt struck her and she rolled of course and to her left. Next to the man of flame. She landed in a heap, right in front of Lance. She appeared disheveled and was but a mere heap. The hedrons stirred and formed into a recognizable form, a winged lady of ice. Ywris took this time to make sure all her hedrons were active. The lightning had fryed some and broken others. She tucked those inside herself and turned towards her opponent. He was tall and carried side arms. This would require a protective coating. Solidifying the air around her into inactive hedrons, she formed a tight mesh armor that left her head, fingers, elbows, and tips of her wings exposed. This allowed opportunity for attack and sight. Before engaging, five hedrons fired of her body flying towards the spire, burrowing into its flesh. She then raised her wings and brought them down on the mans head.

salene -> RE: =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/14/2015 2:29:10)
Ravinia stood, watching the short woman. She was small, smaller even then Ravinia, and seemed to be heavily armed. She didn't seem to be incredibly hostile towards Ravinia though, so at least that was one competitor she didn't have to worry about, at least for the time being. Ravinia was about to step towards the edge of the arena, into the shadows where she could know with certainty that she couldn't be hit from behind, when she heard the twang of a crossbow bolt leaving its host. Ravinia sensed that the bolt was aimed towards her, and she knew she didn't have much time. Relying on instinct more than anything, Ravinia dropped to the floor, slightly using her shadow dash ability to make sure the bolt didn't hit her as she fell. Even with the speed at which Ravinia moved, she still felt it move within inches of her head. It seemed to have been aimed directly towards her heart, and would have been a direct hit had she not dodged. "Hasn't your mother told you to be careful with sharp objects!" Ravinia shouted, rolling backwards and landing in a crouch, close to the edge of the arena. Ravinia had knew that these other combatants would be powerful, but she could never have guessed they would be THIS powerful. Five seconds within the arena and she had already almost died. Not good. Ravinia backed up, sticking to the edge of the arena, and moving slowly closer to the short woman who stood to her left. Trying not to draw attention to herself, Ravinia sheathed one of her bagh naka, slipping it into the hidden sheath she kept hidden under her cloak. Ravinia wasn't looking to engage, at least not at this exact moment, so she tried to press herself as far back against the wall as possible, ready to dash away at the slightest hint of danger.

TormentedDragon -> RE: =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/15/2015 12:08:10)
The boots were the first she made, and the hardest to master. It's no easy thing to ride a wave, much less with just your boots, but damn if it isn't fun. So it's with a wild grin that she lands on the black stone of the arena, hammer ready and shield up. The spire's the first thing, of course, that floating display of power and wealth, of the lengths people go to see a good fight and honor the Lords. It's a work of art, to be sure, carved whole from the stone or fused by magic, made to be hard to look at. Imparts the sense of power beyond, greater than the ken of the observer. She can't help thinking it could use an orbiter. Maybe three. There are footsteps to her left. Soft things, belonging to a little slip of a girl. Human, probably. Maybe elf. Short for those, and far too thin for anyone, at least so far as Yeni can tell. Tiger-skin armor might turn a blade, but no protection against a strong blow. A bone weapon? Claw of some sort. Wait, she smells like what? Movement behind the girl draws her eye. A man in dark clothing, raising a gun. She's barely got her shield up before the weapon cracks, a snap of metal on stone. The girl drops nigh instantly, blurring? Odd. Troubling. There's more to be wary of. Another, actually armored, raising an arm to throw a spear. The flash of movement to her right, some white flying creature flying at another man. Free-for-all. Good. Good. She'll stay here. Charge later. But... her eyes find the spear-thrower. "Shoot." Her cap thrums, and the dart flies forward, speeding its way towards its target.

draketh99 -> RE: =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/15/2015 20:02:03)
Flash The sharp bolt of energy thundered down from the spire into the arena. The blinding flash assaulted his eyes, causing him to throw his arm over his face to spare his vision. If even for a second, not having his vision was a detriment in a death match such as this. He focused carefully on his other senses, the scent of ozone from the spire and sulfur from his cloak left his sense of smell without useful information. His hearing, however, alerted him to a whistling noise, getting louder and louder. Instinct insisted to him that it was a projectile, and the twinge in his gut told him to strafe back and to the side, one hand pulling and priming a pistol as he did. As he lowered his arm from his eyes, a glistening and shimmering figure rose to stand before him. This had been what he heard? He gritted his teeth and cursed under his breath, an opponent that could fly was most certainly an issue to deal with quickly. The air slowly grew cold around him as he raised his pistol at the creature's head and braced himself, taking in a deep breath. Scent tracking and identifying was the job of Abaddon, one of the two lead hounds he had left behind at the gate. Lance's sense of smell was human, though trained. The creature before him had crashed, yet there was no sign nor scent of blood, merely the scent of dust, granite and the distinct feeling of cold air and of something familiar. Crack Lance had pulled the trigger of his primed pistol, firing a a large fluffy of dark crimson hell-fire at the head of the creature in front of him. In the same motion, he pulled and primed the pistol in his off hand with a sulfur shot, pointing it at one of the two wings that rose up, poised to strike at him. A second violent crack could be heard as he fired, sending a sulfur shot being super heated by a ball of fire at one of the wings, hoping to either damage it or at the very least, throw off the timing of the strike as Lance dropped to his knees with an arm covering his head and rolling to the same side of the wing he attempted to strike, bracing to land on his knees and strafe backwards if he could. "Ice" he thought. The familiar scent brought back memories of hunts through mountain ranges. It was likely the creature was made of ice. The creature didn't seem to bleed and looked as though parts of it had cracked when it had been struck by the lightning. If the creature was made of ice, fire was likely the best chance Lance could get. With one hand covering his head, he primed free hand's pistol for another flurry.

Draysin -> RE: =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/16/2015 14:30:11)
Flash Ywris’ hedrons bristled as the man let loose two bolts of flame. The hedron mesh surrounding her wing cracked and shattered, exposing a large portion of the wing to her opponent. Her head was less lucky. The hedrons blasted out the back of her head, and spilled down her back. That didn’t matter, she had gotten him away from the wall. Pirouetting on her heel, she spun so her back faced that wall, and the place where her face should have been faced the man. She could have used the matter from the floor, and bring it up to her face, while turning it to hedrons, thus keeping up appearances, but she had another use for those hedrons. Willing them to move up from the ground where they lay, she shot them at the man, a flurry of icy needles. Then, when she was sure he couldn’t see her past the onslaught, she pushed off the wall, fists outstretched, ready to rip and tear. Flash The hedrons danced around the spire, up and up they flew. Each time they made contact with the structure, a new one joined the existing five. They sensed their mother, yearning to join in her cold embrace, but they could not. they had a job to do. With each pulse, cracks formed on the hedrons, and some began to plummet to the granite floor, only to be incinerated by the rippling energies. There were to many of them now, to many to be stopped, as the formed a serpentine cloud, like school of shimmering sardines. They twisted around the spire, counting the time in between each new pulse. 4...5...6... Until they finally came to resta t the top, like a metallic patch of icy moss, waiting, counting, 13.. 14.. 15.. Flash In and amidst the crowd of spectators, a hooded man watched the battle unfold. He observed each competitor carefully, watched them pair off and judged their skills and intellect. A figure in the corner caught his eye. Unfolding a pair of opera glasses, he focused on the figure, dressed in white. He in took a sharp breath. It was Ravinia, the sultan Reishi’s personal prodigy! He panicked. Where the Ori here as well? Then reason returned. Ravinia trusted no one, not the other Ori, and certainly not her teacher. The man shifted his gaze to the other competitors, specifically, the ape like character. He didn’t seem to be fighting, or dong anything for that matter. He was planning something. “I will approach, them both after the battle,” He thought “If they survive...” Flash

deathlord45 -> RE: =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/16/2015 16:17:47)
Already moving to grab another bolt just as the one being fired left the barrel. Noticing the person several feet in standing in that direction in a position as if they were throwing something akin to a spear. Looking up he noticed the spear flying towards him, dropping to the ground and then rolling away. Barely grabbing two bolts in his rush to move, he sees the spear rebound off the flooring. The sound of metal bouncing off stone, followed by it rolling a bit. Ignoring the shout from his former target but aware that they had not perished Cole focused on this attacker. Taking a quick look behind himself to see the person who his former target was facing towards the spear thrower and was sending some sort of darts at his attacker. Cole grimaced as he was now stuck between some form of water mage going by the water under their feet behind him, the spear thrower in front of him and his last target. Dropping one of the bolts down the barrel he sighed resigned to know he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Aiming his rifle at the spear thrower he pulled the hammer back enough for a twenty meter shot. Placing the shot where the thrower's head would be if they were to pivot to their left to dodge the darts from the mage behind him, he pulled the rifle's trigger. A clear sharp sound came from his rifle as the hammer hit the gem Though after his bolt was away, he dropped and rolled to his original position wary of the spear. The thrower appeared to not have another weapon on their person and doubly worried by the mage and the other behind him.

Caststarter -> RE: =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/17/2015 12:45:00)
It is probably time to ditch the original plan. Everyone is fighting but him and One-Who-Can't-Hide. Surely one would think he was a worthy target! How impudent. The elf lady is thrown a spear at the one who apparently fires darts out of some mechanism. The emotionless one is up against the gunner. Stocky fired something from that cap of hers at the elf lady. This will not do. Though in a way, he is now invisible! ...Or not. Nonetheless, none of the action is on him. Which means he can get to someone. Approach? Maybe the good old mischievous method. With some form of rebuke as well for a good old-fashion lesson in attire. Afterall, everyone else is now wasting their time going at each other's throats. Perhaps it could be good to meet up with One-Who-Can't-Hide. Although she seems to try and stay away from all of the fighting. That will not help the person in the long run at all. Some "assistance" could be provided then. As long of course he himself does not gain any attention of the others. He would rather prefer a good old spar with elf lady, Stocky, and One-Who-Can't-Hide afterall. Though if any action is taken against him, retaliation shall ensue. Using the steps as coverage from prying eyes, he will sprint past the others towards One-Who-Can't-Hide, and do what he has planned out. Some form of duel must occur. While he does not intend to necessarily win, he does want to learn from this particular experience. Onwards to do so then! The fighting has started and he will partake in this glorious event!

Dwelling Dragonlord -> RE: =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/17/2015 17:04:48)
Seeing the dart of water heading for her, she instinctively makes a pirouette fluttering her wings into a protective gale that deflects the dart of water, though it does more than that. The dart shatters in a rain of droplets sprinkling through the air around her as though she is a performing a piece of ballet. Anyone getting within a proximity of 10 meters of her would probably covered in the fine layer of moist substance which she surmises to have some sort of effect, even if it were to just make its target more susceptible to the spire of lightning. While spinning, she sees the monkey advancing through the sprinkled air. The monkey will likely get covered in sprinkles as well. Though that does make her wonder if the spear hit, because if it missed then a counter-attack is to be expected and she expects nothing less from some assassin. Her mind is racing. She calls out her companion in mid-spin and she hears it whistling. That is bad, that is really bad. It should not whistle if it got stuck. It should get stuck if it hit. It did not hit. Not a moment after that thought she sees an object being swept away by the gale of glittering surrounding her, she spins out landing on her feet and catches her companion before she sinks down kneeling with one hand on the ground from the strain as the drops of water shimmer in the air.

draketh99 -> RE: =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/17/2015 22:40:13)
All at once. In a moments notice, the battlefield dragged Lance from the role of a surveyor to a front-line combatant. Each and every one of Lance's senses were on full tilt. His instinct took lead. Each and every movement flowed from his gut and each attack spurred a flashback to a previous fight. In his mind, Lance wrestled with a thought, with a plan. Every moment instinct allowed him a split second to think, he weighed the pros and cons of his next move. Each time, the weights turned out equal. "Move." He willed his body. He had successfully dodged those blades-for-wings from the creature. He landed with a knee to the floor and brought himself up on one foot. He prepared himself to push off of his back foot, for as quickly as he had evaded one attack, another was sure to come behind it to follow through. A brilliant flash caught his eye as the group of icy needles came flying towards his face. Hell fire was his ideal defense. If he could get a shot off he could ideally melt the oncoming assault and prepare for a follow up. There was no time. His pistol was primed and ready to fire, but it was to his backhand and would take far too long to be poised and ready to fire. Lance panicked and threw his arm over his face and dropped to his elbows, one arm over his face, the other, aiming the primed pistol forwards. Thu-thump Lance's heart rate climbed rapidly. The metal bracer in the arm of his cloak had caught a majority of the spikes. Those that didn't break or glance off had gotten stuck in the leather insulating the bracer. Along his forearm towards his elbow, he felt the warmth of a trickle of blood run across his skin, just after where the bracer ended. Lance gritted his teeth as the realization of the flesh wound caused the sensation to bite into him. He fought the urge to flinch. There were no needles in his face, while sloppy, the maneuver had succeeded it's objective. There was no time to slow, however, looking up from beneath his arm, the creature had pushed off the wall. With its arms outstretched, the creature seemed to have been expecting Lance to be standing. If it was, he would need to take advantage of the mistake now. If it wasn't... He really had no intention of finding out what it was planning if it wasn't. Focusing in on the sites of his flintlock, he took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger of his firearm, sending a scorching blast of hell fire at the leg of the approaching creature. He exhaled as he felt the recoil of the blast and slammed his other hand into the ground, springing him into a roll off to his right, hoping to injure the creature's leg and land out of harm's way. Thu-thump. Crack Lance's forearms smacked against the hard, granite floor. One arm already stung from the wound he'd received, now the shock of his landing had shaken him. The fight was becoming more and more hazardous as well as miserable. Sweat clung to his body and the heavy cloak was quickly becoming a burden as much as it was a protection. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end from the strikes of lightning in the center of the arena. The taste of blood filled his mouth, likely from his quick and unpleasant introduction with the floor. To top it all off, the stink of ozone filled his nostrils and lungs and set fire to his throat, making his chest convulse as he tried not to choke. "That smell..." Thu-thump. Thu-thump At that, the whole of Lance's instinct took hold. He gritted his teeth and let off a low and pained growl. His black cloak melded to his skin and began to spread across his limbs, leaving behind a human form as black as coal with texture to match. The air around his body began to shimmer and warp. His body caught aflame. His features elongated as the ashen coating quickly began to burn away, leaving behind nothing but bone. The smallest of these bones being nearly the size of a man's forearm. The thicker of them being the girth of a man's leg. He gave one final shake, dispersing the ashen coating as it burned away. The shape of a skeletal hound stood where a man once lay. Comparable to a wolf in height and length, and exceeding that in the girth of structure. Lance was indeed the alpha of his pack, he bore the stature to prove it. He stood, head low, gaze fixed on the creature of ice. The scent of ice and ozone rippled through his senses, and the clatter and shimmer of his opponent's hedrons became clearer in his head. The air around him warped tremendously as pockets of gas ignited and left a halo of flame around his body. The excess of ozone around him caused his flaming halo to burn brighter and hotter, and caused sparks to jump from where his claws grated against the granite beneath him. He kept his back to his original entrance and faced his opponent, not breaking focus for a moment, poised to lunge or strafe, whichever he needed. His long, spiked tail switched back and forth, granting him balance and momentum should he decide to move. For Lance, to play this card so early in such an arena was a foolish move, and he cursed himself internally for it. He had acted upon his instinct, however, and would not back away from it. The opponent before him was worthy of his full attention, and he would grant it as such along with a swift end. He let off an unearthly growl as the bones along his spine rattled together.

TormentedDragon -> RE: =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/17/2015 23:25:40)
There's a clang as spear meets stone, and the elf spins in place. Her dart shatters and scatters, and she narrows her eyes, frowning. Wind. Right. Wind elves. They're windy. Wings, too, hard to see at a distance, but they're there. Likely some power to those, given the elf thought nothing of tossing the only spear she had. Time to be moving. Sitting still makes her a sitting duck, especially with all the ranged weapons in play. It's just a question of where. A look to her right, and she grimaces. Shattering ice and a man's form warping. She'll have no part of that, not for now. Forward, then? Let the elf and the gunman and the girl in the skins hash it out? Then again, movement brings attention. She might catch a fish, just by stepping out. The spire flashes, and she looks to her left, at the girl in the tiger skin. Weapon sheathed and back to a wall? She shakes her head, and sets herself to move. It's a tempting thing, to go charging at her, but it's a bad angle. Either the girl's laying bait, just waiting for the charge, or she's really trying not to fight, and that's not a good match. Avoid the trap. Find someone willing. She steps forward, speaking "surf," and the wave swells beneath her. Off she goes, shield raised and hammer ready, water sliding over the edge of the first step, taking her swiftly towards the elf ... and a monkey. An actual monkey, wearing clothes and holding a staff. Now that's a sight, and maybe a fight. With a grin, she leans, switching her feet and shifting her angle. Get yourself ready, tailed one. Yeni's on the charge.

Draysin -> RE: =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/18/2015 14:39:49)
The creature had undergone a fantastic change. It was now a four legged very hot thing. Hot enough to melt her crystals, apparently, sensing the pain of the hedrons on the floor. Ywris pulled up, quickly, and observed the creature from above. She saw that she would need a different approach to this creature. Noticing the small one, her original target, she began to formulate a plan. It was almost perfect. The small one was advancing upon another enemy. She swooped down to the other side of the creature, and touching her hand to the ground, she began to assimilate crystals in a line, arcing around as she flew towards the creature. The hedrons extended into large foot long spikes, each pointing toward the side facing the creature, so she was on the opposite side of the spikes, as she rocketed by. Towards the small one’s target, and past Lance. Flash The hedrons on top of the spire tensed up, waiting for the moment. It would happen soon, so very soon. So they waited, patiently, for the right pulse, the right time, the right strike.

deathlord45 -> RE: =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/20/2015 10:34:58)
Cole came up out of his roll just in time to see his bolt brushed aside by the spear thrower spinning in the air. He saw the spear return to its owner as they landed and sank down to one knee. Some movement to the spear thrower’s left caught his attention, and in the light of lightning he saw a monkey rushing forwards past the thrower. Wondering what the monkey was rushing towards, he took a look behind himself and saw the water mage (who was quite a bit shorter than he thought they would be) charging intercept the monkey as best he could tell. Looking above the water mage as more movement caught his attention, he saw what appeared to be some form of flying statue made of some kind of crystal. Sliding another bolt down his rifle, he thought to himself, The spear thrower's spin deflect, not something I expected. Might be some kind of elf, maybe a fairy, but that spinning looks like it tired them out some from them sinking to one knee. With that height the water mage might be a dwarf or a gnome, and the hammer looks important. I didn't think I'd see a monkey here in the Championship, must be very special and or powerful. An active, flying statue made of crystal… No way my bolts would be able affect it, though it appears to have been damaged by some attack. Then there is my first target who seems to be keeping out of this melee and there is also the last competitor who I haven't seen yet. After the bolt slid down to the rifles firing chamber Cole armed it for a twenty meter and took aim at the spear thrower. This would be an easy shot, probably hard to dodge; it would be very easy to take the spear thrower out of the competition right now. "Too easy," Cole muttered to himself. As much as he wanted to win, he didn't want to take a shot on a weakened opponent like this, especially not with that statue still in the arena. Every other dead competitor meant one less asset to use to take it down. Just from seeing it, he felt it was more of an immediate threat as he didn't have much to beat it with. Taking his rifle's aim off of the spear thrower and setting it down next to him, Cole pulled his pack over to himself to take a quick inventory. Keeping an eye as best he could on his opponents an idea began to form in his head. Thinking to himself he made a plan. Let's see here. Climbing rope, climbing anchors, hammer. Whole lot of good the climbing gear did me. What else is there? Sewing kit, bandages, anti venoms, my gloves, sharpening stone, climbing picks, extra wind gems, extra... Wait a moment. The gems! Of course! I could shatter a gem by the statue thing and possibly knock it into the lightning field. How to do it though? The hammer? No that would mean I'd have to get in close to the thing and that might knock me out as well. Same issue with the picks. I can't just throw one and shoot it, I'm not that good a shot. How to make sure something hard hits the gem and from a distance...? Wow I am dumb sometimes. The rope would be best. Quickly and deftly tying a rope end around one of the spare gems. Standing slowly and stepping forward as slowly as possible so to not draw much attention himself, Cole began to spin the gem counter clockwise waiting for the right moment to slam into the ground and knock some things around.

Caststarter -> RE: =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/20/2015 14:19:38)
If no distractions came to be, he should be arriving to his target right on time. Just a small chat and then a good old duel. None of that bloodthirsty nonsense. Though sadly, there will be, as always, some sort of distraction coming to fruition. Two things of note have now appeared. Just a quick look would reveal a small tidal wave coming towards him with someone riding it. Short, shiny, and prepared to go to war. Yep, it is Stocky! Where she is riding towards his direction. Maybe a small distraction would not hurt actually. A small look towards the sky reveals something less than appealing. With angelic wings and spikes, Emotionless is also coming right towards him. This will become less than ideal. This will soon become the epicenter of a large clash in one concentrated area. Does not look like both Emotionless and Stocky will be shaken off. Perhaps some "shepherding" will be of use. Just get into a fight with both of them and move towards the west. Sounds good enough for a brawl of three. Sounds perfectly reasonable and fun! Will shift it away from the more chaotic part of the arena and make it easier for any sudden new combatants. He spun his staff a bit and pushed the button hidden underneath his palm. As the sound of springs and wood moving and stopping traveled through the air, his staff extended to its max length. The length of the average bo staff. He moved along further towards both Emotionless and Stocky and held his staff to the side, having one end rest on the ground. His free hand was placed against his face in a manner that indicated focus. Focus on the coming encounter as well as the surroundings, for one would of course have to be prepared for anyone attempting to strike when the action was hot. Preparations for battle have been finalized! It is time for a fight. Perhaps a battle of honor against Stocky and a battle of defense against Emotionless, where for the latter he was ready to move out of the way for the first flyby. He shall not run. He shall not hide. He shall not forgo his plans and ideals. For he was Hideyoshi! The monkey on the path of redemption, adventure, and transcendence!

TormentedDragon -> RE: =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/20/2015 17:35:33)
Yeni squints, and blinks, as the monkey moves. She can't see a tail, not at all. Strange. Monkeys are supposed to have tails. They always have tails in all the books she's read. Maybe this one lost it, somehow? Maybe that's even why he's here! She's heard tales of particularly favored fighters getting things they'd lost back. Not that that'd change anything. Can't get favor if you don't make a good showing, which means you got to have a good opponent. And she'd be more than willing to- Flash -deal with whatever cast that shadow, first. A turn of her head, and she snorts. Headless winged ice thing, coming up at speed. No matter. There's a plan for this. "Forge." Her gauntlets glow, and she swings her hammer forward, the enchantment pulling on the water at her feet. The wave wobbles, and shifts, the body if shunting forward and bringing her to a halt. A jerk of her shield hand, and it shudders upward, stretching as far as it will go, to hold her up. Yes. She can reach. Her fingers grip tighter, and the runes on her hammer hand fade. She's in the swing already, using momentum from the upward surge to speed it. Just one last thing. "Slam." The lines on the hammer glisten, and the sound of surf subsides. A blessed moment of silence, before the wave crests, and crashes on the flying angel.

Draysin -> RE: =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/20/2015 19:07:31)
The angel flew on a stead fast path, towards the small one and the ape. Seeing the ape move out of the way, she thought to herself, Good, I'll save you for later. Seeing the dwarf raise her hammer, Ywris breced herself for impact, making her hedrons more dense. However, the hammer never hit. A huge wave crashed down on Ywris, crushing her and every hedron in her body shot foward, through the water and towards sunlight, turning the water into more hedrons along the way. Flash The hedrons on the spire wailed in confusion. Was she really dead, was there creator no more? They shot off of the spire, at the dwarf, wailing in confusion, terror, and, finally, hatred. Other hedrons joined them, the spikes, the crash sights and the hedrons from the water. All shooting at the small creature, an avalanche of spiky hedrons. They had mere minutes to reform Ywris behind the dwarf. As this happened, a huge chunk if depris from the spire fell to the ground.

Ronin Of Dreams -> RE: =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/20/2015 21:37:30)
It was as sudden as a single discharge of electric wrath. The air lit up as the spire seemed to groan and twist along its anchors. Pieces that had begun to fall froze, motionless in space and time. Forbidding gravity its due. Thunderous crackling would follow this particular discharge, the snapping of a dozen spines amplified by magnitudes but distinctly different all the same. This flash was black as pitch, an ugly smear that left a briefly echoing scar on the sight of those who beheld it. The spire was whole. Untouched save by the same char that coated it from the beginning. Gravity laid claim to a sacrifice, as instead of the seamless black mass there began a twinkling rain of ice and snow. Though the weather remained calm, and the noonday sun still cast its warm light upon the combatants below, the snow would be a constant addition for minutes yet. Such was the fate of the hedrons that had formed Ywris, their lifeforce and nature altered to suit the whims of the arena. No body would ever be found, and nothing more than the transience of weather to mark its passing.

Dwelling Dragonlord -> RE: =EC 2015= Fountain Arena (8/21/2015 9:06:45)
Keihäs sees the assassin pointing his rifle at her again, but just as she expects him to pull the trigger he then turns his weapon elsewhere. An act of mercy .... or an opportunity? If he is not aiming for her then there is no immediate reason to continue to go after him. Then, she sees the one who shot the dart at her riding a wave towards her. She slowly rises to her feet and then some, her wings have gone through worse even though the technique was more heavily called upon than its original purpose for which she developed it in the first place. She is still feeling a little bit dizzy. She notices the angel in the sky and instinctively looks where the angel once fought with another and now only a dog of bone and flame stands. The hound's origin and existence is a mystery to her, but not one she would like to test. She makes a move to go to the west, only to see the monkey, she now notices does not have a tail, drawing attention to him. The angel in turn seems to go for the one riding the wave, but it seems its target has taken notice and aims a weapon that produces a stream of water. She had better take that into consideration, so many magical enchantments could prove to be a hazard fighting and where there are a lot it is likely that there are many more. The stream of water hits the angel and the events which then follow are too strange for her to comprehend, its wings seem to grow as the water begins to freeze and then a flash of thunderous black that leaves her ears ringing and sucks out the light briefly from her eyes. When her sight returns to her the battle is over, the one with the magical enchantments no longer having a combatant to fight and instead seeing the beginning of snowfall. The snow could prove useful and it did not seem like it was going to end just yet, it might prove to be mildly irritant to the flaming hound and perhaps the one with the magical water enchantments. Speaking of the former, perhaps he could act as a fine brazier should the weather get worse? Finally recovered from her dizziness she flies up, passing the monkey as he moved in the same general direction, and heading for the western arena entrance, with her wings being more aligned to the wind they were more powerful than most Wind Elves but as a side-effect they proved impossible to maneuver with. She will not be able to change her destination mid-flight.

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