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=EC 2013= Sky Arena

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7/2/2013 0:39:53   
TormentedDragon
Member

It had been a long year since the last Elemental Championship, but the Championship Arena Complex did not show signs of age. Rather, it grew, and along with it – just a hill, a spring and a stone bridge away – grew the city of Bren. The proximity of the Arena had done it much good: apart from the great crowds, and thus business, it brought in during the Championship itself, just the presence of such a complex carried the city’s name far over the lands. There came adventurers of many sorts, and the burgeoning six inns of Bren were never short of business. There came priests of the Elemental Lords, building shrines and churches and granting it divine protection not from one, but from all the Lords. And there came many, many artisans to maintain the four offshoot Arenas around the First Arena now used exclusively for the Finals, and craft the minor alterations that seemed necessary from year to year.

There was a buzz about the city of Bren. The prior year there had been rumors of construction, of a new Arena that was going to join the ranks of the now fabled four. There had been a space cleared and cordoned off, to keep the prying eyes of the crowd far from what lay within. Yet now the spot stood bare, its emptiness conspicuous to any that had attended the previous Championships. The tourists instead found another surprise to greet them: the Spike Arena was closed. The famous Arena that had witnessed so much carnage during its tenure had been boarded up and shut down. Its roof was even concealed by a thick tarp, dissuading any who might be able to take wing from taking a peek at what lay within. If one were to wander close, however they would hear the faint sound of hammerfalls echoing from inside the Arena’s walls. Were they to wander even closer, they might even find the small whitewashed sign that hung from its gates; the message that the cracked, black script conveyed was simple, but one that caused no end of excitement to spread throughout the complex. Before high noon, all knew that there would be a new arena debuting at next year’s Elemental Championships.

The would-be combatants, either just arriving, or having taken a night's rest either at an inn or at the small camp of tents at the base of the Arena hill, would get to see the normal artisans' handiwork soon enough, right after the priests and mages within them finish their last checks on the protective barriers and image transportation enchantments for the gathered crowds.



High above the city of Bren, where the Sky Arena should be, there floats a shining disc of metal, the reflected brilliance of the sun making it painful to look upon. Atop this disc, where none below can see them, two figures stand with hands shading their eyes, awaiting the proper time. Minutes pass, and the gong sounds. The woman turns to the man beside her, and nods. He grins, cracks his knuckles, and strikes the metal disc.

From below, it looks as though a flower blooms, the metal petals peeling back to reveal the Arena they had enclosed. Sky, it seemed had changed its face as well. Gone was the larger ring of cracked stone - in its place were great islands of earth, slowly rotating in tandem. They are laid out in three rings, with the smallest islands near the center and the largest islands at the edge. A series of bridges, strong steel plates supported by sturdy metal cable, connect the islands, completing the rings and providing traverse between them.

The expanding petals of the disc begin to shrink, vanishing, impossibly, into the hands of the man atop it. The two stand on air, seemingly, until they float down to the crystal at the center of the arena, the woman’s magic setting them down as light as a feather. She touches a mailed hand to the crystal, and the braziers on the nearest islands roar to life. Another moment, and the fires leap to the next ring, and then the next. Her other hand, leather clad, raises to the sky, and the sky darkens, clouds gathering, roiling, flashing and brooding. The wind picks up, and flames gutter in their homes, but hold fast. Before long, the arena is overcast, the storm overhead slowly circling in tandem.

And finally, as both man and woman step off the crystal and make for the ground, the centerpiece shines, sending golden light to the earth and the heavens, forming a great pillar of light that pierces the storm overhead.

Sky, at last, is open.

< Message edited by TormentedDragon -- 7/2/2013 0:42:23 >
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 1
7/2/2013 14:00:07   
Geddesmck
Member
 

 The cold was like a pack of wolves on the hunt. Relentless and patient, it stalked its prey as he struggled through the snow. The bitter wind’s teeth bit at Kovvi with every pass and sapped his failing strength. Every torturous step only served to bring him closer to exhaustion, but staying still would leave him at the cold’s mercy. Stripped of clan, stripped of weapons and stripped of honour, the man born Kovvi Whitebear would die frozen. He would not be remembered, except perhaps as an example to others; the story of Kovvi No-Clan serving as a warning to others who thought they could change the ways of the Rathyd.

The wind howled and charged in for the kill. Icy fangs sank deep into Kovvi’s barely clothed form and as they ripped themselves free they took with them what little fire had kept the banished Rathyd going.

He collapsed, too tired even to try and use his arms to break his fall. Instead the knee-high snow served to soften the impact of his rough descent. Exhaustion and despair chased away the desire to rise once more. Kovvi had been abandoned by clan, by his people and by his gods. Finally, he decided to follow their example and abandon the fight.

The snow shifted. Heavy footfalls made themselves heard through the oppressive frozen silence.

Curiosity was seemingly the last thing to leave Kovvi, for he struggled to lift his head above the snow to look upon his visitor. He almost laughed at the sight. A white bear, the largest he had ever seen, was approaching him. No doubt he was to be the predator’s meal. Kovvi wondered if it was mercy or mockery that prompted the gods to send his former clan’s namesake to end his life.

Better death against a living enemy than at the imagined fangs of the elements, the Rathyd raider thought grimly. He summoned what little strength he could muster and slowly climbed to his feet. The bear, now mere sword-sweeps away, paused to examine its meal. Kovvi imagined it was trying to decide how much of a threat the banished warrior was. Evidently it decided that he was not much, for it charged with no more delay.

Kovvi roared back and prepared to meet his death.


The great maw of the white bear hung open in a perpetual roar. The stuffed head and pelt of the once mighty creature fashioned into something between a belt and a loincloth that was about the only clothing Kovvi Iceblessed, chieftain of the united Rathyd tribes, wore. The gigantic warrior ascended to his assigned arena lost in thoughts of time long passed.

Memories scattered like fish before an oncoming longboat as Kovvi rose the last few feet to the Sky arena. The subtle magics of the greenlanders often seemed wasted on trivialities as far as he was concerned, but even he grunted admiringly at the scene before him. Large rocks, or rather small islands, floating in the air, all revolving around the central beam of light. Kovvi was reminded of flotsam spinning around a whirlpool, a thought he quickly abandoned when he recalled the eventual fate of that wreckage. It would do no good to think of what lay below the earthen platforms. Or rather, what did not.

His ascent came to a gentle stop and a soft nudge pushed him onto the island before him. He was upon one of eight large islands that were on the outer edges of the arena. With nothing to obscure his view the imposing chieftain could tell he alone had taken his place upon the floating battleground. The taste of mild disappointment caused Kovvi to spit upon the floor; he had hoped to announce his arrival by introducing Freya to an unsuspecting skull or two.

With a quick kill impossible, he decided that he would be best served preparing for his foes. His assorted weapons clinked softly when Kovvi walked to the centre of his starting island. Nearly seven feet of muscle and condensed violence, decorated with scars and blades, Kovvi was an intimidating sight. Alone upon the floating arena he seemed a primitive god. He smiled at the thought, for it was a premonition of what was to come when he took victory.

The wind tugged gently at Kovvi’s braided beard. It was cool by the standards of the greenlanders, but for a Rathyd is was luxuriously warm. Even so, it prompted him to look up and thus notice the storm that gathered above the arena. Although not as far above as he accustomed he noted. A low chuckle of grim mirth rumbled out of the warrior’s broad chest. The dangers of this tournament were truly imaginative.

The large Raythd went to one knee and placed a fist upon the ground. Doubtless to observers he would seem to be in prayer. The thought made Kovvi chuckle quietly again. He had not prayed in a long time.

Ice began to spread across the rock from the point where Kovvi’s fist touched it.
AQ DF  Post #: 2
7/2/2013 14:16:14   
Arthur
How We Roll Winner
Dec14


 'Dua, Mata..!!! Pray for me, Mother.'

Aethian's parting words to the Arae Sorceress, his mistress, his Queen and Creator were plain and without a hint of fear. And his Mistress had nodded softly in reply.

It was this Nightfae that his mistress had chosen out of all her guards, all her people, and for what reason, Aethian knew not. He knew only to obey. Without question. Without so much as a gasp.

He remembers having left his native forests with a resolution within that he would brave these trials and return victorious no matter what the cost, no matter who his adversaries were.

And should he fail, it would be for his own mistakes and no one else's.



The City of Bren was nothing new to this Nightfae, human as he was of ancestry. He could hear all the usual sounds that one would usually expect to hear in a normal village inhabited by humans. Shouts, laughter, chatter, it was all there, around him, pervading the air and polluting his mind as they reminded him of his own village, back when he was human. Aethian shook his head with a grunt and a crease of brows as he regained his focus, his sense of purpose.

As Aethian walked further into the village, he could feel a cool breeze on his cheeks and ruffling the front of his crimson blindfold.

'A storm?'

Being of a thick rainforest the skies where were mostly always overcast, Aethian had learnt to recognise erratic wind patterns. Additionally, his 'gift' made his remaining senses keener and more attuned to his surroundings.

Walking on, the Arae slowly started to feel a feeling of discomfiture spreading through him, and he could feel his Dark energy receding a bit.

'Darkness recedes only in the presence of light,' Aethian observed as he halted to a stop.

The light source was intense and right in front of him, although not too close.

'I am here.' He spoke in his low, dark voice. He then tilted his head to the right where he could hear footsteps approaching him.

'Welcome, He of the Darkness.' A raspy yet brisk voice greeted him.

'A Mage, judging from how you knew that.'

'That's correct. Would you like to be sent to the Arena now?'

'Gladly.'

Shortly, Aethian felt an inflow of magical mana into his body as his body was tampered with by a Teleportation Spell. He felt light, almost too light. Then, with a whistling sound, he was back to normal.



The sudden change in atmosphere caused Aethian to stagger off balance. He came down on both knees, one lower than the other.

The air here was much cooler than what he had felt before. Aethian reached down with his right palm and touching the ground, moved his hand around in different motions.

'Altitude, judging by the coolness. The ground is flat and barren. There's a cool wind blowing here with a hint of uncanny dryness about it. A storm, no doubt. The strange whistling sounds all around me suggest edges. Edges?
What kind of place is this?'

Aethian stood back up and widened his senses. The fight wasn't here yet. But when it did come, he wanted to be ready.

The Tournament was on!


DF MQ AQW  Post #: 3
7/2/2013 14:46:55   
Schizo
Member

The sun stood tall and proud in the sky at almost high noon. It was the ultimate fire, warming the planet with its unimaginable power. None could reach it, though all hoped to harness the ancient and deadly power of the yellow celestial orb. Phoebus had sought after that power for a decade now, always watching the sunrises and sunsets of each day before continuing his seemingly endless work. Now, that work was about to come to an end for the crippled alchemist.

Phoebus walked up a small hill that marked a clearing in the forest, his cane in his good hand and the potion in his withered mockery of an extremity. Finally, after a decade of labor and research, he had done it. The young alchemist had completed the creation of the Anorian Potion, a legendary potion that promised the power of the sun and a glorified body. When he arrived at the top of the hill, Phoebus laid the potion on ground to remove his shirt and feel the sun on his back. He adjusted the glasses on his face before picking up the Anorian Potion.

Looking up at the sky, he estimated that it was about high noon now. This was his moment of truth. Using his teeth to pull out the cork stopper, Phoebus stared at the contents of the flask, swishing the liquid inside for a moment before pouring it down his throat within seconds. As he swallowed the last drops of the potion, Phoebus felt nothing. He looked up at the sky, then down at his lame leg, the cane in his left hand, and the withered excuse of a right hand. Had all those years been for nothing? Had he failed? If so, then he hoped whatever he had mixed would turn out to poisonous, for the alchemist could not stand living another moment as a crippled human being.

Moments after the thought passed, high noon finally came. Phoebus would soon come to regret that last thought.

Pain seared through his entire body. Giving out a loud cry, Phoebus dropped his cane and fell to the ground, writhing in absolute agony. The fire was everywhere, burning his skin and his inner being. The pain felt worst in his withered right hand and his lame left leg, as if the failings of those limbs were being stricken from existence. As the pain grew worse, Phoebus could only make out a few more thoughts before his mind spun into anguish until the next dawn.

What's happening?! Did I fail?! Am I going to die out here?!? Another cry of pain, and Phoebus remembered nothing of the following night other than the sheer agony of it all.

Phoebus watched in silent awe as the Sky arena opened itself for the public view. Despite the increased aggression and confidence caused by the power that the Anorian Potion had bestowed upon him, Phoebus still possessed an inquiring and scientifically intelligent mind. It gave him a sharp wit, a good eye for detail, and a keen ability for memorization and strategy that Phoebus always treasured whenever he got into a tight spot. And from the storm clouds gathering over the Arena, Phoebus felt that this was going to be the most interesting set of fights he had participated in this year.

The Anorian Potion had truly done its work upon the alchemist. His body had changed in the past five years following that dreadful night. When he awoke the next day, he found that he no longer required glasses to see. His arm and his leg were both healthy and mature, and he felt more alive than he had felt in years. He felt that he looked impressive now to anyone looking at him, clad in only his black pants and golden chestplate to show off his well-earned and impressive physique. His tanned skin spoke of countless hours and several years under the sun, giving him an overall healthy appearance to go with his complexion. The potion healed and repaired damage done to his body from many battles, and people spoke of his Fire Touch whenever he felt like burning something with his skin. His skill at fire magic was also impressive; the alchemist had learned an aggressive fighting style coupled with martial arts that he used to quickly take down his foes. He had learned this fighting style of fire magic from a fire mage who was a master of this art and taught Phoebus what he could before they went their separate ways.

Despite the storm hanging over the arena, Phoebus felt confident in his power. He had stood under the sun almost constantly for the past week in preparation for these battles; the alchemist doubted that the battle in the Sky arena would drain his stores of solar magical energy so quickly.

Unless there's anyone with Ice, Water, or Darkness magic. He reminded himself. That would be bad. Especially the Darkness magic. Watch out for those guys.

Phoebus approached the mage who would take him to the Arena. After a brief exchange consisting of a request and thanks offered when the mage agreed to take him up, the alchemist felt his body being engulfed by a teleportation spell. When he could see the world again, he saw that the sky within the Arena was closed off by the storm above, save for the beam of light piercing through the center of the innermost ring of islands. He breathed in and out deeply, letting his body glow a light orange with magical heat, before he turned his head to see a large man on one knee with a fist to the ground.

Oh look, ice is coming out of his fist. Ice-user. Great. Phoebus thought dryly. After briefly observing the arena to find a blindfolded man standing some distance away on another island, Phoebus turned his body to face the large man, crossed his arms, and walked to the edge of his own island before looking at his opponent with a neutral expression. Phoebus was now standing in front of the bridge to the right of his own island, facing his Ice-user opponent.

"Hello there." Phoebus greeted over the gathering storm, his body subtly glowing orange with heat in case the man tried to attack him without replying. He asked with a tinge of baiting sarcasm. "Are we going to try to kill each other?"

< Message edited by Schizo -- 7/2/2013 15:11:33 >
Post #: 4
7/2/2013 14:49:43   
Uskius
Creative!


 I hear the gong, and sigh. It's finally time, and I straighten up and walk away from the wall of the tavern I've been leaning against. As I look around the sky for where I'd been told the arena was located, the winds pick up and clouds begin to gather. I hope it doesn't begin to rain; I really don't want to run on something wet that high up. I find the arena in the sky, and there's some strange metal shell that's blooming like some sort of flower and peeling back, revealing a few dark rings slowly spinning. Moments later, a beam of light splits the sky, streaking up through the clouds over the arena and down to the ground underneath.

Before long I've made it past the buildings surrounding the arena complex, and take a look around. I think I see someone staring up off in the distance to my left, but they're not there when I check again, and in any case I see the mage waiting on the lift platform. A random thought comes to mind, and I quickly look around on the ground. Aha! I pick up a pea sized pebble and pop it into my mouth, and a few feet from the lift I find another, slightly larger one and stick into one of my belt pouches. Apparently the mage had been watching me, as they had an unimpressed and slightly bemused expression on their face. I wink, and step onto the platform. "Uskius Landarine, correct?"

"Mm-hmm." The mage nods and quietly casts the levitation spell. I slowly exhale. This is it, it's really happening and there's no backing out now. I look off the platform as we rise, watching the charming town of Bren slowly grow smaller and smaller, until the buildings seem like toy models.

"Mr. Landarine?" The voice almost startles me, and I see that I'm now at the Sky Arena. I smile sheepishly and nod to the mage as I step off, and take a look around: flat, rocky islands, with burning braziers in the midst of them. Connecting the islands are metal bridges; and I have the thought the arena looks as if someone crumbled up a cookie and tossed it onto a spider's web. At the moment two men are in sight, but the one that catches my attention is a rather large and fierce looking one armed with a gigantic broadsword and axe. He's kneeling down, and I see that the sunlight is reflecting off the rock near him. My stomach sinks, and I take the time to do a few warmup stretches as I gaze on the pillar of light at the arena's center, then walk over to the brazier to stay warm and loose while I wait.
AQ Epic  Post #: 5
7/2/2013 22:12:42   
Chesset
Member

John sol was not an normal person, he was far from it. To emphasize this point, the day he entered the sky arena he spent the day like this. Wake up from the inn, go downstairs, eat breakfast, walk out on the town, steal some muffins from a vendor, and eat a picnic out on a hill, overlooking the town. As he munched on his muffin, he found himself staring up at the clear blue sky. A perfect day, perfectly horrid in his opinion. There was too much blasted sunlight. With a sigh, he re-applied his aloe mixture, and something caught his eye. Hovering majestically over the town was the sky arena. Even as he watched, dark, glorious, terrifying storm clouds rolled into formation over the ring, tumbling over each other in violent ways. Finishing his muffin, he walked back down the town licking his fingers...

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

After finishing his game, (it involved betting on how long he could poke his knife around his fingers without poking himself) he had quite swindled a couple of fellows out of enough money for a stiff drink. He figured he would need it for the day ahead, whatever it would reveal to him. He took a sip as he walk out of the tavern and surveyed the streets. All around him, lots of people from various walks of life babbled and hurried about their pointless existence. With a sigh, he carefully weaved his way in and out around the crowd, till he got to the one shady place in the entire city. A man in flowing robes greeted him there by name, (which freaked him a little), and teleported him to the arena.

His ears popped as he violently re-entered the real world. The trip had been a bit to violent for him, or that is to say, a little too full of light energy. In his opinion, the only way to travel was shadow portals, but other fools were expected to have their own opinion. He took another sip of his drink, and spit it out disgustedly. "Why can't mages do ANYTHING right! They ruined my perfectly good drink, it is now WARM!", he exclaimed.

< Message edited by Chesset -- 7/3/2013 8:21:12 >
Post #: 6
7/2/2013 22:53:07   
ringulreith
Member


“You want me... to entrust my safety... to a poor cretinous excuse for a magician like you?” The drawling voice – faintly discordant with a deeper echo – originated from a slender female figure. Her biting tone seemed to agitate its target greatly, as the young man's face flushed with indignation and his hands began to gesticulate wildly.

“I- I resent your aspersions, madam! I'll have you know, I am a fully licensed and accredited-” The man's puffed up chest and prideful tone were quick to deflate under the dispassionate stare of gunmetal grey eyes and a derisive snere. The interuption, when it came, was delivered in the exact tone as before, as if the woman had never stopped talking to pay attention in the first place.

“Yes, well... As I have never seen the value of investing my time into learning the useless parlour tricks that your kind seem partial to... I'll wait for some other fool competitors to go up first before braving your undoubtedly superb magical aptitude.” The heavy sarcasm gave way to mild disgust as she continued, even as the magician crumpled in on himself from the verbal blows. “After all, if you were actually worth even a pittance, you'd be participating, rather than standing down here with an overinflated sense of importance trying to make enough money to go drown your worthless sorrows at the bottom of a cup every night.” The woman seemed to lose interest in the man after her outbreak of vitriol, turning away and flicking an errant strand of white-blond hair over her narrow shoulders. Behind her, the man's indignant sputtering and squawking went on ignored, besides a brief flash of amusement appearing on otherwise expressionless eyes. Attention turning upwards to the rotating arena complex above, the woman did as she said and silently contemplated the arrival and subsequent ascention of several other contestants before turning back to her own personal flotation device with a threatening glare.

“I am ready, now. Be quick!” This time her voice was sharp as a whip and demanding.

“Y- yes, madam.” After some fumbling with several sheets of paper -- accompanied by the impatient tapping of a hobnailed leather boot – he enquired in a shaky voice, “Dianna, Dianna Gouse for light?”

“Yes, Now on with it! If you drop me prematurely, I swear upon the uncounted stars that I will make whatever modicum of intelligence you currently possess dribble out of your ears and leave you a raving lunatic before my last breath.” There was a terrible promise, in that faintly echoing voice and the cast of those sharp features, so the mage complied in fearful silence.

The trip upwards went without a hitch, dispite Dianna's harsh criticisms on the skill of the jittery mage below. Wind buffeted her lean frame – presumably from the swirling storm clouds above – and tossed about her shoulder-length wavy tresses. The barren rock provided for excellent traction, so the landing went without a fuss. Dianna had started to survey the arena as soon as she could see beyond the smooth dirt exterior of her platform, an action born of paranoia cultivated during her many years on the run. As such, she already had a vague profile of the other competitors in mind when her feet touched down on land with a soft thump. The flames from the nearby brazier glinted off her dented steel hauberk and threw long shadows over the dirt, and moisture from the brewing storm clung to her scarred pale skin in a thin film. In this environment of flickering light and blanketing darkness, Dianna's faint immateriality was accentuated, already muted and shadowed colours fading and wavering about the edges.

A small hand arced up gracefully beyond a slim shoulder and gripped the smoothness of a protruding handle. In one efficient motion, Dianna drew her longsword from its unornamented baldric and steadied it, her other hand joining the first in an instinctive neutral hold. She could feel the weapon -- as much an emotional extension of herself as a physical object – as a faint tickle at the back of her mind; a sharper and more refined twist of rage and fury that was eager for combat. 'blood, blood, blood', called the persistent thrum of whispers. 'kill, kill, kill' The blade caught the firelight at several angles, the colour of its iridescent silvery surface subtly shifting and cascading. Amongst the gloom and twilight of the arena, its translucence made distinguishing the longsword difficult.

“Hello there. Are we going to try to kill each other?” The call -- though not seemingly directed at her -- carried faintly over the gusting winds, bringing a sardonic twist to Dianna's lips.

'Oh, I don't think I'll be trying, I assure you.'
Post #: 7
7/3/2013 16:20:45   
dethhollow
Member

The Skull Knight let out an exadgerated yawn as he rolled a fireball around on the end of his knuckles. The remains of the town's gneral store made a good make-shift couch to crash on. As he contemplated what else he could do, the Undead glanced around at the destruction he had caused. The small town was destroyed, the sky turned a dark red with a mixture of persisting flames and smoke. Ash and soot littered the ground like black snow, fresh from a Winter's night.

"This city's just so boring!" He explamed to himself. As much as the Undead admired his handywork, and as fun as it had been, the blackened twisted structures of building were never as enjoyable as the carnage beforehand was. It had been a town that was already dying with only a few stubborn residents left living out thier lives hoping for something exciting to happen. That, or hoping to see what would happen if a random firestorm rampaged across the city burning everything they ever owned to dust, but the Skull Knight couldn't care less which happened to them. The work of chaos was never done. A sigh escaped him as he could swear he could hear the crackling of the fires speak to him.

"You! What have you done, you monster!?"

........ The voice of the flames were verry disrespectful of his feelings. Looking up, the Skull Knight noticed an old man pointing a spear at him. "You mean like those monsters you had in the next shop over?" Suddenly, the Undead snapped out of his boredom as he slightly rolled over to face the man. "Aw man, you should've seen it! It was awesome!" He shouted, throwing his arms up into the air and almost falling over as the fireball dissapeared. "There were flaming Frogzards and Truffles EVERYWHERE! Just... can you imagine?! FLAMING FROGZARDS!!!"

A cackling laugh escaped him as he noted the confusion on the man's face. "I don't think I would even be able to find this place unless.... Actually, where the heck are we? Last I know I was burning down some buildings and- Ohh! I remember! Then YOU showed up! Ok, that makes sense."

With a worried look on his face, the villager puzzled over what was wrong with this undead thing. What series of events could even concieve of something like this. He appeared to be an Undead, but not like any he had ever heard of. Benieth the bones seemed to be something similar to a set of muscles, almost like some kind of nightmarish exoskelleton had taken hold. The Skull Knight also had eyes and, from what he could tell, something resembling a tounge. It's skull shifted and warped as it talked to mimic human expressions. Yet it was still just something pretending to be alive, a mimic of something not quite human that didn't appear to serve its master. Wherever its master was........

"In fact...." The Undead leaped down as he brushed the spear away like it was a toy held by some child. A darker tone taking over his voice as he spoke. "You look like a Frogzard yourself, don't you?" The man slowly backed up, afraid of whatever this giant abomination planned to do! "Wonder if it'll be more entertaining the second time around? HAAA Haha haa ha!!!"

Without warning, his bone-covered arm knocked against the villager's head, knocking him uncontious. "Ehh, it wouldn't be the same." He monologged. "Sure he's Frogzard, but I'm wondering if he's too Frogzard.... Huhh... or is that even possible?" Not content with his work, the Skull Knight picked the old man up and put him on his feet with his head braced against the side of a building. "There we go... sit in the corner until I'm back, OK Frogzard guy?"

As the Undead walked away, the old man fell back over onto the ground. Already starting to regain a small ammount of his senses and figure out what the heck had just happened.



A few minutes later, he found his way to one of the mages who quickly telleported the Undead up. He found himself on a platform that seemed to be... flying? There currently seemed to be 6 others on thier own little floating islands, spinning around a beam of light. Where did this place come from!? A rush of excitement flowed through the Undead as he began jumping up and down and waving his arms at the other contestents. "Yes!" He shouted, firmly planting both feet on the ground. "I just have to! I'm gonna burn this entire place to the ground! All- uhh........."

Suddenly stopping, the Skull Knight began trying to count the platforms. "However many there are! I don't care how, but I'm gonna do it!" A twisted grin seemed to cross his face. "So anyone with weak stomachs should probably jump off now and hope for the best. Otherwise, I'm going to destroy everything! HAA ha he ha haa!!!"

The feeling of power overcame him! This was what he was ment to do. Stomping the ground a few times, the Undead randomly blurted out what was on his mind. "Let the wildfires BURN!"
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 8
7/3/2013 16:58:21   
Arthur
How We Roll Winner
Dec14


 It is said that the art of standing, or rather, waiting patiently is seldom mastered by the fiery blooded. Aethian however, was clearly a master of it.

The Nightfae had been standing in the same spot for five minutes just getting himself familiarised with his surroundings. Being blind really did open up alternative options for this warrior of darkness.

His face bore that same stoic expression that it always did. His arms hung limp by his sides, and his feet, placed a few inches apart from each other evenly balanced his weight. Nothing moved around him, for there was nothing to move. It was a barren piece of land.

All of a sudden, he raised his right arm up above his head and crouching down, slammed it on the barren floor with a burst of force. The sense of touch was now his to command as he wished.

'Hmm...' He spoke in length. 'I can feel the overwhelming light source far from me, but ahead of me. There's a strange metallic creaking sound, ever so slight in three directions around me. The wind amplifies their slight nature. I... remember hearing something similar, but I cannot place it. I can only assume it to be a metal structure of some sort. Ah... The wind.'-Aethian raised his nose to the skies and took in a long whiff of the air-' ... A storm. Not far..'

All of a sudden, the winds changed direction and brought to his nose, a crispy, burning smell. Unlike that of natural fire, Aethian observed.

'Someone's just joined me.'

Standing up, the Arae, now somewhat alert reached for the scimitars on his back. Gripping Jaegerfrei's hilt, Aethian was just about to pull it out when a thought occurred to him.

Displaying open hostility without deducing the opponent's nature and intent was foolishness, and if the opponent was strong, perhaps even suicidal.

His grip relaxed and ultimately released the blade as he turned on the spot and started walking towards the smell while fixing the intense light source as his point of reference in order to keep the direction in mind.

He only hoped that this enemy was not a savage beast who gave less to reason and much to instinct.

DF MQ AQW  Post #: 9
7/3/2013 20:20:30   
Uskius
Creative!


 The calm before the storm. It's a phrase I've heard many times, though few instances seem more apropos than this one. More of the entrants have made it to the arena, from a short man with dark hair to a bizarre type of undead that seems to share my propensity to solve problems with explosions. Explosions... hmm. On a whim I kick the brazier in front of me. It doesn't move. I kick it harder- leaving a dent in the thing- and it still doesn't budge. "ZARDSPIT!" I hop on one boot for a moment grimacing at the pain. Well, there goes that plan. Won't be leaving one of them in an inopportune spot...

I sigh and shake my head. The others have at least appeared to have it together, or be intimidating in some way. Even that fellow who I'm beginning to suspect is blind has a cool and cunning vibe about him. I decide to forget about looking serious in front of the others in the arena, and start singing a song I once heard at the Triple Entendre.

"I went down to Yulgar's Inn,
To get a pint to drink
I'd been on the road all day
And did I ever stink!
That's when she walked in the door,
It couldn't have been by chance
So I walked up and asked her
Could I get i-"


The feeling of being watched intensifies, and I screech to a stop. Someone once said that my singing voice was surprising, though they didn't say whether the surprise was pleasant or not- they just quickly downed their drink and left in a hurry. I look around at the fighters in the arena, and they all look away or to one another- except for one. There is a sharp look of open contempt and annoyance on her face, and even from this distance there's something subtly and distinctly off about her person. The blond glances at her longsword and then back to me, before turning her attention elsewhere. I too turn my attention away from her, and to the island to my left. As of yet it's unoccupied, and I wonder when the mass melee will get underway.

I think back to the brazier. If the thing itself won't move easily, perhaps its contents can. I pull Ommy's Reign off my back and stick it into the flames, digging around to see if there is a log I can maneuver out. There isn't. "Ugh..." I hastily pull out my blade and swing it around in wide arcs to cool it off, and then return it to it's resting place on my back. Looking around for more ideas to work the arena to my advantage, I settle on the bridges between the rocky islands. They're obviously metal of some kind, and as I walk closer to one it is also obvious they're made of even tougher stuff than the brazier, maybe not even if I was in my dracopyre form would I be able to do any significant damage to it. For good measure I give it a few taps with the spur of my boot. Mm-hmm, that's steel alright. I'd bet it's magically enhanced, too. At this point I'm almost out of ideas, but then a feeling in my mouth reminds me of one last thing.

They're sparser than I'd hoped for, but here and there on my island there are a couple loose rocks, small things I probably wouldn't have noticed if I wasn't looking for them. Surreptitiously looking around at the others, I take my small load of rocks and pebbles and head towards the center of the arena. I grow increasingly nervous as I near it; I really don't want to be caught in the middle or inner rings before anyone else gets there. At the end of the bridge connecting the rocky isle I started on to its partner in the middle ring, I scatter my shot, and dash back to my starting island.
AQ Epic  Post #: 10
7/3/2013 21:47:12   
dethhollow
Member

As the Skull Knight glanced around to see which one of these guys he would pound into the ground through pure instinct first, he spotted some man with a blindfold on approaching him. So he was blind. Or, at least, he thought the man was blind.... Maybe it was some kind-of trick to confuse people and he could see out of the fabric! Or, maybe worse... maybe he was blind! Wait..... The Undead tried to backtrack his thoughts a bit. No, the guy was almost definatly blind. He had heard of quite a few blind adventurers and mages like that one guy! What was his name... screw it.

"I can't fight a blind guy!" The Undead shouted as he approached the man. "He probably doesn't even know where he is!" Suddenly, the Skull Knight stopped and looked back and forth between the man and the bridge between sky islands. "This guy's going to end up walking off the edge or something! I mean... there's only bridges to walk across and...." Stopping again, he noted the direction of the air. "This place is spinning! Wha- I can't fight this guy while we're spinning! He'll jump and fall off the platform."

There wasn't any problems that the Skull Knight had in killing blind men. Just in fighting them. Not because of any code of honor or respect, but simply because it was no fun. It wasn't challenging! But still, the Elemental Lords help him if someone else tried to take away something that was potentially fun from him.... So what to do, what to do....

The Undead reached down and picked up a sizable rock before announcing, "Don't move! I've got a rock! ..... Among other things that can really hurt like heck if they hit someone.... Like, uhh......" Randomly, the Skull Knight lied, "Don't move! I have many many weasels!!! And a rabid Owl!" Before he could question it, the Undead tried to add onto the lie. "Actually, I'm made of weasels.... Them fluffy weasels and you stroke thier fur and... you wouldn't believe the cute sounds they make! It's like you look into thier little weasel eyes and just for that moment... you can't possibly believe there's any evil in the world. THAT'S why I have the Owl to keep myself from becoming stupid about things!"

Without warning, the Undead ran up and put his hand on the bling guy's shoulder. "Come on! Let's go kill one of the other guys! Do it for the baby weasels! Do it... for the heck of it! Haha hAA!!!"
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 11
7/4/2013 14:15:01   
Geddesmck
Member
 

 The bear’s fangs ripped through the flesh and muscle of Kovvi’s left shoulder. Bright red sprayed and stained the snow and bear alike. Mighty teeth scraped against bone and the sound they made was almost worse than the pain. Kovvi’s howl of defiance became a cry of agony. His left arm hung limp and useless. In desperation he clawed at the bear’s head with his right hand. His fingers scrabbled for purchase in the same way as when he climbed aboard an enemy ship, looking for anything to hold on to. He found an ear and with a grip only the dead and dying could muster, he pulled.

The white bear roared and released his shoulder. The pain he’d felt before was nothing in comparison to the tearing, meat and chips of bone came out of his wound along with the creatures teeth. His shoulder must have been ruined, no longer recognisable. But he could afford no distraction. His death grip held.

Heat began to return to Kovvi’s right hand, as if being drawn from the bear’s very flesh. Shock was followed by momentary exhilaration.

Followed by blinding pain and darkness as a clawed forepaw impacted with the side of his head.

His grip on the monster’s ear fell away. As did his grip on consciousness.



The arena had quickly gone from desolate to crowded. And noisy. All most of these new ‘combatants’ (Kovvi was currently reluctant to award them the title) had done so far was natter.

He could see six large outer islands, similar to his own. All but one were occupied. He assumed one more island, making eight in total, was directly behind the beam of light and out of his sight. To his right, two islands away, was a woman, pale and slender, but dangerous looking. Her weapon was beautiful to Kovvi’s eyes. A long, thin blade with a hilt of bone. It looked like the kind of weapon that could find the gap in any foe’s armour and steal their life. He, personally, liked his swords larger and broader, but he could admire beauty. Almost to assure Freya of her special place in his heart, his hand absentmindedly stroked her leather-bound grip. Kovvi decided the woman was the biggest threat and should likely be his first target. And it had nothing to do with his lust for her stunning sword.

She called out something in response to the man just one island away on Kovvi’s right. He had, Kovvi had initially thought, attempted a taunt. “Are we going to try to kill each other?” the man, who seemed to faintly glow, had asked. But he had failed to follow up with any action and the Rathyd chieftain could only surmise that the question had been asked in earnest. Perhaps the poor fool was lost?

On the island directly left of Kovvi was perhaps the most unusual looking contestant. Taller even than him, the monster seemed some kind of undead beast. Except it managed to be even uglier than most of its kind. Even this beast had succumbed to the need to spout nonsense and was now conversing with another contestant; a man with a tattooed forehead and a blindfold. Kovvi frowned, the blindfold was immeasurably impractical; the loose cloth at the back fell all the way to the floor. It seemed the blind man would be no threat; he would likely trip himself up and over the edge before anyone did a thing.

The final figure was on the island furthest from Kovvi on his left. There stood a short man with a drink in his hand, mostly unremarkable, except for a strange haircut. At that thought, Kovvi ran his hand over his own scalp. The sides of his head were shaved, but a thin strip of hair ran down the center; the mark of a Rathyd chieftain. He wore the style with pride for all it signified, but could not help miss his long, flowing hair that had so impressed the ladies in his youth. He turned from that line of thoughts and returned his attention to the small man, who was, like all the others, shouting something foolish.

With a grunt of annoyance Kovvi realised that it was up to him to actually start the festivities. He was fine with that, but it meant trying to decide who to attack first. Unless…

Kovvi grinned and got to his feet. The ice he had spread from his fist now covered the centre of his island, making the footing deadly for anyone without the surefootedness of a Rathyd. He drew Ingrid from her sheath and carefully laid the petite blade upon the floor. He then proceeded to unbuckle and take off the belt her scabbard was attached to. With the scabbard then removed, the belt was about three feet in length, made of sturdy leather and as wide as two of Kovvi’s huge fingers. He grunted in approval.

The air around Kovvi began to cool slowly as he drew in its heat; heat which he used to fuel his first sculpting of the tournament. Seven balls of spiked ice, each about the size of an average man’s fist, formed along the belt. A hole in their centre allowed them to slide along the length of the belt, but the buckle at the end prevented them slipping off.

Taking the end of the belt in both hands, Kovvi began to spin his improvised weapon above his head. One revolution. Two revolutions. Three revolutions. The spiked balls began to whistle through the air. Four revolutions. Five revolutions. Kovvi’s muscles strained to keep the belt from flying from his grip. Six revolutions. Seven revolutions.

The first ball of ice flew from the end of the belt as Kovvi allowed the hole in its centre to widen slightly with a minor mental effort. Another revolution and the second also began to sail through the air. Within a pair of heartbeats all seven were in the air and flying towards their respective targets; one each for every combatant in the arena he had noticed. The sixth ball was destined to pass through the beam of light and for the position Kovvi predicted the eighth island and an as of yet unseen competitor. The seventh ball was heading for the currently unoccupied island, in the hopes that should someone appear of it, they would be greeted by a high speed block of deadly ice and a swift death. It was not a precise attack, and one that did not consider the arena’s own slow spin, but each ball should come at least close to its target. If they hit, their weight and momentum could crush a skull.

Before even one of his projectiles had found their mark, he was moving across the bridge towards the glowing man. Ingrid was in his hand and eager to draw blood. His first stab would be for the man’s throat and in his mind Kovvi could see the man’s death throes already. The man was a mere distraction on the way to his true target: the woman with the lovely blade.

The Raythd continued to draw in the air’s heat as he moved. A fine mist starting to form around him and ice spread across the ground his bare feet touched.

The Winter Bear charged and the storm above held its breath in anticipation of spilled blood.


AQ DF  Post #: 12
7/4/2013 16:54:17   
Chesset
Member

Jon let the spit dribble from his mouth, violently spitting occasionally to get the warm liquid out of his mouth. A crackle of ice filled the air from the other side of the ring, and he wiped his mouth as he looked up. His eyes widened as a spiky ball of ice flew directly towards his face. Almost reflexively, he threw his glass whistling through the air back at his attacker and hit the deck, the ice flying past his head. Most likely his cup wouldn't find it's target, but if it did, he would soon hear a satisfying smashing of glass. It was like a water ballon, filled with his favorite beverage!

Jumping to his feet again, Jon quickly surveyed his surroundings. With one short gaze, he observed two figures in a group on the island to his right, and another on the island to his left, not wanting to get aggressive, he decided to remain in a defensive position, but constantly kept glancing to his right. That duo unsettled him.
Post #: 13
7/5/2013 15:48:40   
onionix
Member
 

 Phoebe Ann’s beginnings were surprisingly humble – her main concern being catching small insects for lunch. That was, until a day came when she caught the wrong insect. She had quickly learnt that it had not been a mere leg-hopper when the Forest-Witch had stormed towards her while she floated lazily on a lilium-pad, still full from her last meal. She had leapt up with a startled croak, only to find herself frozen in mid-air.

When she awoke later, half-dazed, she knew something was wrong. She felt all wrong. However, it was not until she looked into her home-pond that she realised how wrong.



Phoebe walked lightly towards the mage whose frown was deepening as she neared. She was not used to cities and people, and had soon found herself lost. Somehow, she had stumbled into the right part of the city, and hoped she was not too late.

“Phoebe Ann?” the mage muttered, and his brows seemed to join as he glared at her. She nodded, tongue flicking nervously. He glanced at it for a moment, and she folded it up hastily, wondering if it was rude to have it hanging out. In her anxiety to find the arena, she had forgotten to keep it within her mouth.

The mage began to mutter under his breath as she watched, and before long she had landed in the arena, sighing as she felt the earth beneath her feet. She took a quick look round, grabbing her water skin to take a sip of water to rehydrate herself.

Wait...something white and spiked was moving towards her at a considerable rate. Phoebe moved slightly to the right in order to dodge it, which she did easily. So, it had begun. She applied a fresh layer of toxins through her numerous glands, the coolness of the translucent gel helping to both clear and calm her mind.
Post #: 14
7/5/2013 16:25:54   
Arthur
How We Roll Winner
Dec14


 Aethian could feel the wind rising slowly as he kept walking when all of the sudden, he stopped. The wind ruffled his hair as it blew up.

'The edge.' He spoke as he placed his right forward and felt for it. There, he felt the edge, there was no mistaking it.

Slowly backing away, Aethian moved to his left wherefrom he could hear the metallic creaking sounds.

As he walked along the edge, he stretched out his left hand. Nothing but air. He kept walking anyway.
With a light thump, his hands touched a steel cable and he grinned.

'A bridge. I should've known.'

The Nightfae confidently moved onto the bridge from where, he walked faster, more confidently all the while keeping the light source for reference.

He had barely made it across when suddenly, someone shouted across.

"Don't move! I've got a rock! ..... Among other things
that can really hurt like heck if they hit someone.... Like, uhh......"

'Eh?' Aethian spoke almost immediately. 'What in the name of...'

The other person went on.

"Don't move! I have many many
weasels!!! And a rabid Owl! Actually, I'm made of weasels....
Them fluffy weasels and you stroke thier fur and... you wouldn't
believe the cute sounds they make! It's like you look into thier little
weasel eyes and just for that moment... you can't possibly believe
there's any evil in the world. THAT'S why I have the Owl to keep
myself from becoming stupid about things!"

The Arae had never faced such a blathering maniac in all his life, less so as a Fae then as a human.

He cleared his throat.

'Ho there, you who claim to be made of weasels and owls. I am Aethian, a talking blind goat, or so you presume?'

The joke phase had passed now and Aethian got serious. He had to consider all possibilities. This person could very well be made of weasels and owls and whatnots. Aethian remembered having fought many such abominations during his early years as a Fae.

As he stood thinking, the sound of hurrying footsteps reached his ears. Was the creature making it's move?

Almost on instinct, Aethian drew Jaegarfrei and held it out in front of him.

'Stop right there, you.' He warned. Jaegarfrei had turned a deep orange.

However, before events could develop any further, a shrill whistling sound pierced the air. A projectile, no doubt, and one faster than an arrow.

From his close examination of the light source, Aethian had observed that it was moving slowly, so he was sure that this floating landmass was in motion. As to what kind of motion, Aethian wouldn't be able to guess as long as e didn't ascertain the shape of this landmass.

The Nightfae observed that there were two of these whistling sounds close by, and still more that he could hear faintly over the wind. A haphazard all-round attack?

Jaegerfrei was accompanied by Arverfrei in a flash as Aethian crossed them in front of his face as shields. The whistling was slowly passing by his position, Aethian noted, and he would've let the projectile harmlessly pass by had he moved to his right, but he decided that he would take it.

Moving instead to his left, Aethian firmly planted himself in its trajectory.

THWANG....!!!

The projectile hit the blades right in the center and smashed into pieces.
the force was such that Aethian cringed with unexpected strain.

Pulling the blades apart, the blind Arae ran his palm down the length of Jaegarfrei. The point of impact was cold to the touch with bits of ice sticking to it.

'An Ice Element Wielder.' Aethian smiled.
DF MQ AQW  Post #: 15
7/5/2013 20:02:23   
Schizo
Member

Phoebus had unfolded his arms when the Ice-user had gotten up; they had returned to hanging by his sides with fist clenched, glowing with magical heat to severely burn skin. Below his elbows and knees, his limbs had heated up considerably by the time the Ice-user had removed his sword and scabbard from his large leather belt. Phoebus' face and neck also glowed a weaker red-orange compared to the yellow-orange light that his limbs glowed with.

That doesn't look good. Phoebus remarked mentally as Kovvi took the belt in his hands. When he saw the spiked ice ball flying towards himself, Phoebus quickly took action to protect himself. Definitely not good! he thought as he dodged the spiked ice ball by performing a rocket-boosted backflip, letting the projectile sail over his body mid-air.

Landing on his feet, Phoebus quickly saw the Ice-user running across the bridge between his island and Phoebus' own with his short sword in hand, though from Phoebus' view that short sword was probably a knife in the big guy's hand. The fact that the temperature seemed to drop around the large warrior did not help Phoebus' confidence in the slightest, thought it reminded him that this opponent was definitely a challenge worth entering this Championship for.

"Okay, then." Phoebus said to himself as flames dances over his cocked-back fist as he prepared his attack. As Kovvi reached the halfway point of the bridge, Phoebus launched a fiery assault. Two fireballs were fired from his punching arm, spinning around each other in a double helix before combining to create a larger fireball a little wider than a foot in diameter than rocketed itself towards Kovvi's upper chest. The alchemist took another step before he launched himself after the fireball and slightly upwards towards Kovvi's waist. Fire blasts from his feet propelled Phoebus forward towards his enemy like he were a living, fighting rocket.

With his searing-hot arms in front of him, Phoebus sought to begin his fight by tackling the Ice-using warrior and smashing him back on his own island, breaking his built-up ice under his own back before the alchemist's burning fist punched a hole where Kovvi's heart would be.

The air around the drinker of the Anorian Potion tingled with a heat that anticipated battle and welcomed wounds. He would make sure to return any injuries from this Ice-user and anyone else who would dare challenge him with great interest.
Post #: 16
7/5/2013 20:13:26   
ringulreith
Member

Adorned with plates of bone, seemingly made of scarlet muscle; the towering monstrosity that shambled onto the third island clockwise from Dianna was undoubtedly undead in nature. An expression of utter hatred – furrowed brows, darkened pupils and snarling lips – momentarily stole over her face when she first saw the accursed thing. A jolt of unquenchable fury ran through her, accompanied by flashes of memory that sent her mind reeling until she regained control over the raging maelstrom of her emotions.

A burning village, flames leeping from roof to roof...
A small temple, its walls gutted and floors slick with the blood of scattered corpses...
A night sky obscured by angelic figures with lavender wings, the sound of rhythmic beating intermingling with shrieks of terror and grief...

Sobs of “No! Mother! Mother!” set to the image of a twisted, unhuman face devowering flesh...

An old man, weathered and terribly wounded, holding off a swarm of mindless moaning corpses as he yelled with his last breath for her to run, flee, “Save yourself, Dianna! The light lord... bless... you...”

With a concerted effort, Dianna wrenched her thoughts back to the present, noticing as she did that the undead beast had moved towards the island at the other end of the arena, where it was partially obscured by the central pillar of light. A wordless snarl of frustration escaped her lips, even as whispered calls for the thing's annihilation continued to plague her mind. 'Kill it', they furiously urged. 'Abomination! Brilhado spawn! Feed its worthless existence to Yog-Sothoth!' They were vindicated, those voices, but there were other dangers between her and the undead thing, closer and more immediate dangers; like that large scarred one with the spinning belt and the spiked ice projectiles... Spiked... Ice projectiles! With a jerk, her single-minded focus on the undead competitor snapped, along with the unconscious tapping of her right foot that had gone unnoticed so far.

With a nonchalant swipe of Dianna's sword, the ball of ice that had been heading for her dissolved into flakes of snow that settled about her shoulders, the magic holding the projectile together being nullified by the enchanted blade. The attack certainly didn't seem to be aimed at incapacitating its targets, but rather at initiating the blood bath if the other streeks of white Dianna saw were anything to go by.

'If it's blood he is so eager to have spilt', she thought, 'then it would be rude not to oblige... with his own. We will attend to the undead thing later, after blazing a trail with the corpses of the people between us.'

Steps beating a steady wind-muted thump, thump, thump against the packed dirt, Dianna commensed to cross the inward-facing steel bridge. The ice man was even now charging counter-clockwise towards the breastplate-adorned man who's shouted challenge she had heard earlier; evidently the target of that call had taken it upon himself to reply in deed rather than word. She crossed again clockwise, now situated on the island directly inward of where the other two would clash. Better to come in from the side, she had thought, where there was less chance of falling off the edge, and out of direct sight of the charging hulk. She braved the final bridge crossing, her form shadowed by the light pillar at her back and her sword angled over her left shoulder in preparation to strike. The metallic twang of nails on steel set a staccato rhythm to Dianna's thoughts as she began to focus on the terrible cosmic truths she had learned on her journey to madness. Threads of black terror began to weave through her mind, awakening latent mad echos of antediluvian cosmic beings she had been desperate enough, during her youth, to form a pact with. After many years of practice and refinement, Dianna's next actions came instinctively to her; as she formed her mind into a metaphysical prism through which she fed her acquired forbidden knowledge, where it was refracted outwards as psychic vibrations of fear that would instill trepidation into anyone in her vicinity. It had become so easy, so natural, to turn the light that she had revered in her childhood as a beacon of enlightenment and good into this twisted, corrupted thing that she now used as the vehicle for delivering cosmic horror.

When Dianna stepped out onto the last island on her path, the grey-eyed contestant for ice was already moving past the bridge to her right towards the other man on the island. Lengthening her stride and coiling her muscles in anticipation, she moved to intercept his charge. Once she came within range, her sword arced from above her left shoulder in tandem with a lunge to deliver a powerful slash toward ice's chest. Notified by the silver blur of her blade and the spike of fear caused by her proximity, her opponent swiftly haulted his charge to bring up his shortsword in a parry.

“So eager to shed blood, Mr. Ice!”, Dianna called out as the adrenaline of combat settled in, baring her teeth in a ferocious snarl. “Hope you don't mind when yours is first!” Undaunted by his block, she allowed her sword to slide along the flat of his with a dull screech, pivoting around her right foot with the motion to face him with her left shoulder. Once her hands swung back far enough, she followed her first blow with a mighty thrust aimed to enter the chest from below the ribs, stepping forwards with her right foot to give the strike greater strength.

< Message edited by ringulreith -- 7/5/2013 21:00:10 >
Post #: 17
7/8/2013 18:08:59   
Uskius
Creative!


 It seemed like everything had started at once. As I make it back to my starting platform I hear sounds of projectiles being blocked, and looking to my right someone teleports onto the empty island. Their appearance catches me off guard- the young woman is blue, really blue, and has shown up to the Elemental Championships in only a leather bikini! A spiked ball of ice flying her way is casually dodged, triggering an alarm in my head. Almost too late I whirl around to find a similar spiked hailstone thing coming in my direction. I jerk my head to the side just in time and the thing strikes on my shoulder, spinning me half around and almost knocking me off balance. I mentally cringe; that would've hurt something awful if it'd caught me in the face. Taking a moment to let my armor's regenerative magic sooth some of the pain, I face the arena and take a look around.

The other fighters have begun to group up and move in. I can almost feel the bloodlust roiling off of them, and the blond woman with the glimmering longsword catches my attention again as she makes her move. I decide to make my way over there, hoping that Blue Bikini Girl isn't quite ready to join in yet. I calmly(on the outside at least) start strolling towards the center of the arena. On the bridge to the middle ring of islands, and I pick up my speed, power walking now. At the moment I don't hear anyone moving in, and so risk a dash to the middle ring of rocky platforms. Someone had to have noticed that run though, so I make as if the Shimmering Guandao was a stick horse and ride around for a bit. "Neigh!" Where are those coconut halves when you need them? Clip-clopping off to the bridge to the inner ring, I say "Ni!" a few times, and arrive at my destination. I dismount and take a few calming breaths. I can hear the melee and don't want to walk right into it, and so decide to work a bit of "camouflage". I snap my fingers and a sphere of light bursts up around me, extending a little farther than my reach. It's not bright enough to obscure me, but due to the pillar of light nearby if a brief casual glance is cast to my area I might be overlooked. As the sphere is sustained with a crackling sound I slowly begin to move clockwise around the inner circle of rocks, the Shimmering Guandao at the ready...

< Message edited by Uskius -- 7/9/2013 14:10:20 >
AQ Epic  Post #: 18
7/8/2013 21:01:35   
dethhollow
Member

The Skull Knight watched as the blind man claimed he was a blind goat and knocked the frozen projectile out of the air. Well, it was difficult to tell living things apart on many occasions.... After all, one time there was this cow and the Undead thought the thing was some breed of chicken. He spent hours trying to ride it, but to no avail.... So he just threw it into a giant blender. Or was it the blending giant? Wait.... Was that even a real cow? It might have just been some kind of Moglin, it was so hard to tell sometimes! Point was, he barly got out of that giant alive! Or did he?

After looking down, the Skull Knight started to think he actually might not have made it out. How the heck did he die, anyways? Uhhh..............

Suddenly, he snapped back into reality to see the blind man still standing there. "What did I miss? Oh yeah!" The Undead shouted, awkwardly. "I was an Owl Exterminator for the great war, you know. Killed so many dang owls.... They never stood a chance against that dragon." Out of nowhere, the Skull Knight began almost crying, if Undead even could cry, as he slowly began stumbling forward. Trying to lean on the blind guy's shoulder in the randomness of the moment.

"That's when it happened, wasn't it? Wasn't that when I died?!" Memories of pain and suffering flashed through his mind. Clouded dust inside the depths of his brain cleared away with activity over the lost knolage that had to be re-learned. That had been sealed away from him somehow as he broke down. It was not about the owls, he had completly made that up. It was about him remembering the guilt he felt in his past life amongst the living. Somehow remembering the specific exacting process as it happened that made him into what he was today. Images of the dusty library where the necromancers worked, the shelves aged with ill-cast spells that had taken an effect on the area around the table they lay the Undead on.

Just what in the world had he become?! All he could think to do was continue twords the blind man for comfort of some kind....
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 19
7/8/2013 21:28:36   
Chesset
Member

As the glass of his cup smashed into the bridge, he looked around, taking a longer look this time. It appeared a few more competitors had arrived, but it was nice to know the aggression of his situation stayed the same. He slowly pulled his knife out of it's leather scabbard. The blade glinted in the darkness, on it's blade, ancient runes in languages long forgotten scrolled, indents and outcroppings alike making the blade deal more angry wounds, and, the cinematic effect couldn't hurt. The handle was the same steel as the blade, they were one piece as that would leave no weak point. The only part that was not of the same metal was a leather handle. Holding it comforted him, like seeing a long lost friend. Hefting it in his hand, he slowly went spun it through his fingers. As his pace quickened, he put more intensity and power into his movement, he even decided to just put a hint of his shadow control into the mix, weaving shadowy lines in the air. The blade flashed fiercely and the sky darkened around him as he spun, wove and lunged. This, of course, had nothing to do with his powers, but merely might make the competition leave him alone.
Post #: 20
7/9/2013 12:58:49   
Geddesmck
Member
 

 The bear sniffed at the still body. It had seemed an easy meal: one of the strange creatures that walked on hide legs, already half-dead. But it had fought back and, somehow, stolen the very heat from the bear’s body.

A few steps closer and another sniff. It didn’t seem to be moving. It smelt of blood and cold. Still, the bear considered leaving it alone. It might be better to find less troublesome prey. A pang of hunger made the decision for the mighty predator. It would take the risk to fill its belly. Surely the creature was dead or helpless now.

A couple more steps and the bear was close enough to take the first bite.

The wounded creature’s eyes opened suddenly and its unhurt forepaw snapped forward for the bear’s throat, grasping it with a terrifying grip. Heat rushed from the bear, and with it so did strength and will. One more swipe that ripped a gash in the creature’s head and tore away an ear was all the bear could manage before it collapsed into the snow.

Kovvi stood over the bear, his body burning with stolen body heat. He yearned for a blade to finish the creature, but all weapons had been taken from him when he lost his name. As if in response to his desire, a chill ran through his body and dissipated some of the heat he had mysteriously stolen. In exchange, it would appear, a dagger made of solid ice formed in his hand. The Rathyd grinned and realised what had happened.

He was Iceblessed.

A single strike finished the mighty bear. For the price of a mauling and an ear; Kovvi had earned a new name.



Fear, Kovvi had found, came in a variety of flavours. Years ago, when he had wandered through the snow, sure of death, he had tasted fear of unavoidable death, mixed with the bitterness of despair and betrayal. Every time he fought, he experienced the sweet and addicting flavour of battle-fear, the constant knowledge that any second could be your last.

The fear he tasted now was unnatural. It was sour and spicy and sudden. It lingered and left an aftertaste. The very strangeness of it was his first warning.

His second warning was a whisper of wind and a flash of silver.

Ingrid was not in an ideal position to parry the attack from his left, but like a true Rathyd lady, she didn’t let her man down. He knocked aside the surprise attack, but it had served its purpose. His charge was pulled up short and he was off guard. The woman swung about and prepared another attack, an attack Kovvi would have trouble defending against.

He was saved, in a manner of speaking, by a fireball. It burned through the thin veil of mist that shrouded the ice competitor and struck him hard in the right shoulder. He staggered back with the smell of scorched flesh and hair assaulting his nostrils. Pain and the sensation of heat were like a wildfire burning away all stray thoughts in Kovvi’s mind, including the fear, to leave one insistent word. Run!

The large man threw himself backwards even as he drew in the heat from his fresh wound. By the time his back impacted with the icy bridge, cracking the thin layer of frost and bruising the flesh, the wound was as cool the rest of his skin. The damage was done, and the pain remained, but he had minimised the discomfort.

He slid across the ice, carried by momentum and the lack of friction, until he was nearly all the way to his starting island. As he felt himself slowing he expended a considerable amount of precious body heat to sculpt a short pillar of ice at his feet.

Both of his feet smashed into the pillar even as he expended some metal effort to shatter its base. The kick propelled a large chunk of ice towards his two opponents while simultaneously launching Kovvi backwards and into a roll that left him standing and at the end of the bridge. A further mental effort shattered the flying block of ice into hundreds of tiny, razor-sharp shards.

Panting, and feeling a chill, Kovvi resumed drawing the rapidly cooling air’s heat into his body. The mist around him began to thicken and spread. Shapes more than a few feet in front of him were becoming blurry and indistinct through the frozen vapour. He could see his icy starting island behind him; a single step would put him back on it and put him in a more defensible position.

He considered his options. Attacking both of his enemies at once was dangerous. One was clearly able to evoke an unnatural fear, even with distance the aftertaste of terror gnawed at Kovvi’s concentration, and the other was a fire user. Not an ideal situation to be in. He realised with a start that he had at some point dropped Ingrid, probably when the fireball had hit him. Kovvi seriously considered abandoning the fight for easier game.

The storm was picking up. Kovvi thought he could feel a few drops of rain, although it could have easily have been sweat. He smiled, his thought returning to his fight with the bear all those years ago. He wondered if the bear, too, had considered attempting to find an easier meal. The Rathyd licked his lip and a sound somewhere between a growl and a chuckle passed them. The bear had found its meat too tough, but hunger had driven it on. Kovvi was hungry too, and only victory would sate him.

He roared a wordless challenge towards his enemies, wherever in the arena they may be found.

As if in answer, the glowing man cut through the thin mist and shot towards Kovvi with unnatural speed. Kovvi’s surprise almost got him killed, but he found time to narrowly dodge. As the man passed, the Rathyd chieftain felt extreme heat radiating from the fiery foe.

His smile widened as did his odds of victory. On one island a woman with a beautiful sword and the power to make even Kovvi frightened. On the other, a man who could apparently generate fire and extreme heat. And between them; the Winter Bear.

Kovvi turned to his side, placing his starting island on his left and the island with the sword-wielder on his right. It was not ideal, but it gave him at least a small view of each opponent.

A glass cup smashed against the bridge some distance to Kovvi’s right and he frowned. Was that a third attacker? He laughed out loud at the notion. Was the whole arena going to converge on this bridge to bring him down?

Let them come, he thought.

AQ DF  Post #: 21
7/9/2013 22:52:01   
onionix
Member
 

 Phoebe had not wasted any more time once she had evaded the ball of spiked ice. Hearing it crash behind her, she turned to pick up the largest splinter, letting it melt into her skin as she searched for the one who had thrown it. She had no need of it yet, but it would come in handy, and it would save having to drink from her water skin for some time, at least.

She began to move towards the Ice-man, covering ground effortlessly, watching the scene unfold before her. He was being attacked from both sides – by a man that was glowing with heat, the other, a pale woman with a drawn sword. So, she had not been the only one targeted by a ball of ice. She continued to watch as the woman shouted something before attacking, her hair holding Phoebe’s attention for a moment. She had never seen such colourless, flowing hair. Her own dark lengths were slicked back, to make it easier for her to move. If there was one thing she could depend on, it was her superior agility, and she made sure to make the most of it.

As she neared the island between her and the Ice-man, she noticed the pale woman had her back towards her. She would have to get past, and the woman did not seem to be one who would let her pass easily.

Maybe... Phoebe leapt onto the island, making sure to land on both hands and feet, keeping her body flat and close to the ground. She slid out her sea-serpent spear from her back, held into place with a congealed secretion of her own making. She kept an eye on what was going on across the bridge, an idea forming in her mind.

By keeping low, she had possibly escaped the sight of the woman, but once she stood up...there was no guarantee Phoebe would remain out of sight long enough to attack – she may lose the element of surprise. She glanced up to see the woman still staring in the opposite direction, holding her sword in her hand.

Phoebe felt a sudden pang of fear – something she had not felt since – how long had it been?

The face of the Forest-Witch floated before her, contorted with rage and hatred, its mouth moving, but all she could hear was an unfamiliar, harsh tongue. Her spear quivered in her hand as the face she had tried to forget grew in size, spitting out sounds that she could not understand, but could feel the meaning of, pressing against her. She closed her eyes to escape it, yet still it appeared behind her eyelids, the volume of its hate steadily increasing until she snapped her eyes open.

No. Not again. I have to do something, anything, to make it stop, she thought wildly.

With a yell, she leapt up; spear ready in hand. She charged towards the woman, hoping that even if she managed to do a little damage, some hurt, that the voice would cease tormenting her. She did not want to remember what came next.
Post #: 22
7/10/2013 17:07:30   
Schizo
Member

Phoebus was no stranger to fear. He had experienced it quite fully the night he drank the Anorian Potion, his fear of death very much on his mind as the potion's magic burned through his body. He had also experienced much fear in battle, where every second could be his last, especially when the odds seemed stacked against him. But as the alchemist flew towards the bridge, he felt for a second some sort of unnatural fear emanating from the woman who had appeared suddenly, as if he was feeling a fragment of something more powerful than he was, and equally uncaring. As the fear passed and was replaced by annoying pain as ice shards cut through his skin, dealing little damage that would be healed in another second, Phoebus made a mental note to stay away from that woman.

Reality returned to the alchemist as he crossed the bridge onto the Ice-user's island, not hearing the roaring challenge the larger man had issued. He rolled onto the Ice-user's island head over feet and quickly returned to a fighting stance, feeling the ice below his feet melt at his presence. Out of the corner of his eye he saw some strange female attack the stranger female who emitted fear, leaving the Ice-user on the bridge with only one non-distracted opponent: Phoebus himself.

Let's get this over with.

The alchemist reacted to this information quickly. His face, especially his eyes, glowed brighter as his limbs dimmed almost completely to balance out the magical heat and lend more power to the coming barrage. A couple of uncomfortable seconds later, and Phoebus was firing two focused beams of fire from his eyes, aiming at the entrance of the bridge in front of him. The purpose of this was to quickly melt and/or cut the cables that supported the bridge connecting his island to the Ice-user, causing the bridge to fall and take the large warrior with it. The beams were Phoebus' strongest attack at the moment, though he could only maintain them for about ten seconds before the pain to his eyes became blinding. Phoebus hoped that the cables would break before those seconds ended and that the heat from the beams would discourage the Ice-user from crossing the bridge while the beams were active. Otherwise, Phoebus would be vulnerable to counterattack since it took him another couple of seconds to readjust and focus his sight after using the beam attack. He never liked using that attack very much, anyway.
Post #: 23
7/10/2013 18:39:47   
ringulreith
Member


A sudden blast of heat was Dianna's only warning before a ball of searing flame larger than her head went rocketing past her, impacting her current opponent's right shoulder and sending him flying beyond the reach of her thrust. The momentum of her strike, now continuing without a target to stop it, overextended her arms and set her balance askew. Twisting and ducking to regain equilibrium was the only thing that saved her side from a fiery impact, as the other man on the island -- now revealed to be fighting in the name of fire – went flying overhead with sizzling fists. Dianna's mental admonitions over ignoring the threat of another competitor quited as a resounding snap rent the air. Looking away from the ice contestant, even momentarily, proved to be almost fatal, as an instinctive glance back in his direction identified the block of ice flying towards her, right before it shattered into multitudes of tiny shards.

Cursing internally, Dianna instinctively crouched low to the ground so as to diminish her profile and present a smaller target. Letting go of her sword with her left hand to attain a wider reech, she arced the weapon in a sweep from right to left that caught and dissolved some of the icy projectiles on its magically-nullifying blade. This did not prove entirely effective though, and a grimace of pain twisted her face as gashes stung her cheeks, exposed forarms and hands, even as more shards tinkled off the steel rings of her leather-padded hauberk. Her left hand came up bloody, with the wrist having been cut particularly jagged, but victoriously grasping Ice's dropped shortsword. She had previously noticed its blade glinting from the fire right behind her, and an idea had come up on how to employ it. It would not, of course, be useful as an actual weapon; as no mundane blade could stand up to her longsword. The latter was no mere fabrication of mortal smiths; having been forged -- through a pact with cosmic beings at the apex of her fall to madness – out of hatred and fury and starlight and cold iron melded together into a physical and magical manifestation of her thurst for vengeance against the Brilhado who had ravaged her home. That asside, there were however some alternative methods of employing the fragile thing of wood and steel.

As Dianna stood up from her crouch, Ice's defiant bellow was accompanied by a flicker of movement to the side. She had not noticed, while busy with the icy projectiles, but another competitor had seen fit to join their fray. The dark haired female – for clearly female she was, despite the oddly amphibious features – was charging towards her from the inward-facing bridge with a spear held aloft. Growling in frustration at the second interruption to the fight, Dianna's previous plans for the stolen shortsword were quickly altered to take into account the new foe. With no hesitation, she strode towards the nearby brazier, twisting to plunge the steel blade into the flames for a few seconds. Deliberately pressing her bleeding wrist to the heated metal to partially cauterize the wound, Dianna swiftly pulled out the now-glowing sword with a wordless cry of pain, turning the motion into a throw aimed at the charging female's torso.

“Come to your feast, tentacle! My sword craves to blow his flute and send your flailing soul to Lord Azathoth!” With that angry proclamation, Dianna swung her sword into a defensive position, gingerly bringing her left hand up to grip its handle once more. She could see another figure making its way in her direction from accross the arena; and combined with the three other fighters already in the fray, the fight promised to be bloody. With a concerted effort, she stilled the involuntary tapping of her right foot which had started up again; even a badly placed twitch could prove fatal in this increasingly hostile environment.
Post #: 24
7/12/2013 21:15:55   
TormentedDragon
Member

A hand, sheathed in metal scales, gives the signal. Silver ears twitch in acknowledgement, and silver paws clap together. Lightning flashes through the clouds overhead, and the thunderous crash that follows drowns out, for a moment, all other sounds. Slowly, a ceaseless whisper rises to fill the silent void, a pitter-patter of rain drops striking stone and steel, hissing angrily where they meet the flames of the obstinately blazing braziers.

Sky has begun to weep.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 25
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