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=EC 2014= Factory Arena

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8/15/2014 4:23:06   
Ryu Viranesh
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.

This year, the Championships were expected to draw in a record breaking crowd, Bren’s streets packed to the brim with a sundry of spectators. They wandered from place to place, taking in the sights and sounds of the city before they retired to their seats to take in the sights on the sand. One of the most popular destinations for many of these crowds was a nondescript building of blackened steel, passers-by gazing at the structure with both curiosity and more than a bit of trepidation. For as many years as could be remembered, the space that the building now occupied had belonged to the Spike Arena, one of the five fabled battlegrounds that made up the Championship Arena Complex. Yet, as promised at the previous year’s Championships, the Spike Arena was no more, and instead this mysterious new arena was to take its place. None knew what awaited this year’s combatants on the inside, but plenty were eager to find out, tickets for the event long since sold out.

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.


It was within the Factory that Marcos spent the most of the morning, remaining until the sun had risen high into the sky. There were many details to go over within the newly christened arena, despite the fact that he’d run through them in his head many times before this moment. In some ways, it was hard for the Handyman to believe that this day had finally come; he’d started work on this arena almost immediately after he’d been hired, and had somehow never expected to see it through to its completion. Yet here he was, mere hours away from its unveiling.

When the testing was finally complete, Marcos dismissed his team of aides and stared proudly at what he had created. He was proud of the work that he’d done, but perhaps even more importantly, he couldn’t wait to show it to her. He could only hope that that moment would come soon.



There were three sets of doors that led into the Factory Arena: two for the spectators on the far right and left, and the black sliding contraption in the center for the participants to enter through. One of the tournament’s officials approached these now, smoothly removing the padlock which had been placed on them. Then, after a moment’s pause, the man threw the door’s wide open, revealing the fruits of the Architect’s labor to all.

A flash of light, followed by an acrid stench. Those are perhaps the two most noticeable sensations as soon as the door slides open. Though their eyes would grow used to the light, the stench would remain, clinging to the entrants as they make their way into the arena.

The Factory Arena was an enclosed rectangular room, its only connection to the outside world a thin set of vents on the ceiling through which a few scattered rays of sunshine slip in. Yet sunlight alone doesn’t account for what keeps the area so well-lit; floating above the center of the room is a mass of steam, through which the rays of light pass and defract, creating an incandescent cloud which hangs high above the room, illuminating all that lies below.

The floor of the arena is covered by a carefully planned criss-cross of pipes, the arrangement of the tubes clearly intended to trip up the competitors. The only areas free from the troublesome tubing are the four corners of the room and the its very center. In the top right and bottom left corners, a set of four long spikes have been set into the walls, while the top left and bottom right corners have each been fitted with a massive, horizontally-spinning cog.

In the Factory’s center, amidst the whir of machinery, is a large four-sided conveyor belt. The belts are made of a shock-resistant rubber and have been tested to hold exceptionally large weights, such that no competitor should possibly be able to break them. They run in a counter-clockwise set of directions, with the vertical belts moving double the speed of the horizontal.

In the center of conveyor belts lies the final touch to the room - a metal grate placed over a vat of acid, the source of the horrendous odor that permeates the room. Though it might appear sturdy, with enough force it is possible to shatter the grate, however unwise such a decision may be.

The doors soon shut behind the hopefuls with a clang, sealing them inside this Factory of Death.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 1
8/16/2014 10:21:52   
Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...


 “The following contestants need to head to the Fountain Arena complex…” a crier shouted above the din of the excited crowds. Just beyond the chaos of the traffic in the sliver of shade from one of the public awnings, a small ferret had been curled up for hours beneath a discarded flyer, waiting for just this: The announcements of competitors. Others in its position would be anxious, or gleeful, or maybe even focused,but the ferret felt naught but the metronome of time ticking down within its internal machinery. Its ears perked, an embodiment of patience, waiting. Waiting. There! The momentary hesitation of loss, the inability to comprehend how to announce a competitor known only by an indistinct paw print. It played back the past few moments of sound, and picked up its designation to the new Factory Arena.

And promptly felt itself being picked up from its hiding place by soft little fingers. “Oooh! Mommy! Mommy! Its so soft and cute and canIkeepitMommy?!” The last words came as a burbling rush as a little girl began to pet the ferret’s head roughly. It was a curious sensation to the specimen of Project F.E.R.R.E.T., almost enjoyable but certainly out of place for its mood. As the petting slowed, it nibbled softly on one of the petting fingers as the mother glanced down upon her daughter’s find.

“Honey. Put that down, you don’t know where it’s been!” The mother leaned down to tug on the girl’s arm, and between the motion and the ensuing protests, the ferret was able to slide out of her small grasp. It landed on its back and began to roll back and forth, contorting its wee frame into arches and semi-circles, drawing its forelimbs out from its silken robe. The idea in its head just felt right, and just as its Calling to come to the Championships, it neither fought nor refused the idea. Springing backwards over the scarlet garment, the ferret tried to recapture the child’s attention by nudging it towards her.

Despite continued protest from the mom, the girl picked up the robe and spread it wide. “Awwwww, how preeetty! This would look so nice on my dolly! Don’t you think so, Mommy?” The mother’s expression was stern, edged with confusion at what seemed like a random act. “I don’t know, sweetie. I don’t think...I don’t think that was wild or someone’s pet. Maybe you should give it back honey? It is a gorgeous little robe though...wait, where did it-?”

The question hung in the air, absent of the ferret whose robe now belonged to the little girl. With its arena assignment known, it had begun to scamper through the forest of moving legs and sharp footfalls on the cobblestone. Bounding off of the occasional boot and weaving around swinging legs until it broke free of the crowds and towards its destined arena complex. A new arena, this Factory complex, which the scant reconnaissance during its stay in Bren had discovered nothing about. The builders and such might be sworn to secrecy, but the lips of the commonfolk would've mentioned stories about favorite fights surely. Instead, nothing. No mentions of a factory, and even this ferret was forced to wonder what ‘factory’ even truly meant.

Carved onyx eyes blinked as it drew close to the Factory Arena’s competitor entrance. There was a great door, thick of metal and dark of purpose, with a padlock seeming almost comically out of place for its purpose. Pick-able? Perhaps. But entering the arenas was not some churlish form of an evaluation of competitors, and so logically it was an obstruction against escape while within. There was a man. He was fiddling with keys to remove the padlock. An official, then, and easily disregarded as the ferret slunk along the shadows of the wall nearby, an indistinct shimmer of a rodent. Waiting. The door began sliding open, just a crack at first. The ferret darted within, a dash of speed, to take advantage of both momentary impatience and the benefits of its unique size.

Just before it crossed the threshold, it noticed it had not been as unseen as it may have hoped. Something big, with predatory eyes, had taken stock of the clockwork automaton. Curious. The view before it drove such musings away, however, as the meaning behind the ‘Factory’ term burst into its mind like rays of brilliant sunshine. A forest of pipes and eerie lights, places to hide and bask in glorious steam! A factory was a shop only many times over, a place of work and refuse and such a strong reminiscence of near-nostalgia made the ferret quiver in joy and anticipation. It scampered forwards, diving under and around pipes that would play merry havoc with its larger opponents. Freedom to fight amidst the rank odors and familiar slicks! Were it capable, the ferret might have even smiled as the rest made their entrances into a domain so curiously close to home.
AQ  Post #: 2
8/16/2014 14:50:53   
Kellehendros
Eternal Wanderer


 The great ice bear did not like the city of Bren.

It was large, far too large, truth be told. Its streets teemed with masses of beings. Dwarves, elves, humans, drakel, creatures that he had never seen before coming to this strange land, so far to the west of the frozen tundra of his home. A stranger assortment of creatures he had never seen, and never imagined, though the old Vastaa was never remarked by his contemporaries as having a particularly active imagination.

It was a city filled with barbarians.

They packed the streets and avenues, living cheek-by-jowl with one another, piling structures one atop the next, constructions that reared up to claw at the sky. The city was confining. It pressed close around him as though seeking to trap him within its confines, and pressing its inhabitants upon him by virtue of the crowded locale. Those inhabitants rushed and scurried, fighting through the press about their unknown business, and treating each other in shockingly discourteous fashion. But then, what could you expect from barbarians?

No, he did not like the city, and he had the distinct impression that the city did not like him. For one thing, it was hardly suited to a person of his size. Towering over most beings that he encountered when standing on his hind legs, he found that he had to stoop low through doorways, and duck the exposed beams and supports of ceilings. Once, he had clipped his head on a low hanging sign outside an apothecary, and in a fit of frustrated rage smashed the sign into splinters. The shopkeeper had taken one look outside at the resulting fuss, and decided it was safer for her to countenance the loss of the sign than face down the growling Vastaa.

If going about on two legs was frustrating, going about on four was hardly an improvement. On four legs he was forced face-first into the crowds, experiencing at close proximity their rather appalling foreign odours. Doorways still vexed him, for even though he was short enough on four legs to pass through the door, his broad frame required him to sidle through apertures in a way that was apparently hilarious to look upon, judging by the laughter he had evoked in the patrons of one tavern. The laughter was short-lived, of course. Being on the receiving end of a murderous glare from half a ton of yellow-white fur, bone, and muscle was unnerving, to say the least.

He had given up on the city after two days, having had his fill of the sights, sounds, and people. All along the road to Bren, the people the ice bear had encountered had spoken highly of the city, of its amenities, its craftsmen, and always, always of the Arenas. It was his conclusion that the lot of them were soft-headed fools. The amenities were small, the people were rude, and the stench was horrific.

But the Arenas…

Ah, the Arenas were something else entirely. The Vastaa had to concede that, despite the annoyances of his foray into what these barbarians insisted on calling civilization, it might all have been worth it to lay his old eyes on the Arenas. While the complex of the storied Elemental Championship was just as busy, if not busier, than the rest of Bren, the ice bear found the place oddly soothing. There was a power here, old, ancient, yet purposeful. It reminded him of the great glaciers he had once seen, far, far away to the north, beyond even of his far northern home. It was a power that preserved and endured, even though it could erode a mighty mountain into gravel.

Still, as pleasant and as interesting as the complex had been, it had not been enough to induce the Vastaa to remain in the city one moment longer than was necessary to conclude his business. He had found the place where the entrants were to register for the combat, and had placed upon the required papers a massive, inky pawprint that blotted out most of the words on those inscrutable legal documents. While doing so, he questioned the clerk about the rumors he had heard concerning the competition, and finally emerged from the city well satisfied.

Making his camp well outside of town, the ice bear had settled down with his gear and waited. They said that the mightiest warriors in the world entered the Elemental Championship, and some whispered yet more fantastic rumors of entrants from other worlds entirely. So far as the Vastaa was concerned, that was more foolish claptrap, but if the fighters were half so skilled as rumors claimed, then he might at last have what it was he desired.



Kriege Marns Thalarctos waited with the other entrants at the gate to the Factory. Standing on his hind legs only, the Vastaa was easily a foot and a half taller than any of the others, and he used that to his advantage. Since coming west he had learned that most people found his size to be unsettling, and it was never bad to induce a little doubt into one’s opponent before a battle, so he stood and loomed, a menacing giant encased in heavy armor.

Lifting his gauntleted right hand, the ice bear adjusted the helm that covered his head, the chainmail sheathed about his neck, linking the helm to the main body of his armor, tinkling and clinking softly at the shift. Kriege’s remaining small, rounded ear, the left, flicked slightly, and his dark eyes moved, following the form of the official as he moved to the barred entrance, working the lock placed upon it.

The right hand descended passed a spiked pauldron, claws scratching at the thick iron plating that covered the Vastaa’s torso, as if the black flesh encased beneath the heavy protection of metal and age-yellowed fur could feel the rake of those claws. He reached across himself, using his right hand to adjust one of the plates that scaled down his left arm, whose armor was surmounted by a short, stabbing blade. The heavy iron covering continued down his torso, and then gave way to further swathes of chainmail that clinked and clattered about his knees as he shifted his weight.

While the official poked and prodded the lock, Kriege let his gaze wander over the other entrants. They were an odd lot, and he did not spend too long in consideration of any of them, for his eye was caught by a slight, shimmering movement. The ice bear tilted his head slightly to one side, squinting at the skittering, tiny… thing. Whatever it was, it was interesting, some sort of burrowing rodent, if the Vastaa was not mistaken. He had never seen such a thing, despite his long travels, and he wondered about it. It must take great heart to go through a world so big and be so small. That thought made him think of his second wife, and he smiled to himself quietly.

Further reminiscences were interrupted, as the official finally managed to unlock the gate, hurling it open and revealing the Arena beyond it. The ice bear had just enough time to catch the faintly glimmering streak of the rodent blurring past the official and into the Arena before he was assaulted by the sights and sounds of the space itself. Immediately, Kriege’s ear flattened against his head, and he let out a soft, bubbling growl of displeasure.

He had not known what a factory was, and it occurred to him now that a factory was everything he disliked about this land and it’s so-called “civilization.” The floor was a welter of criss-crossing bars and stanchions that promised poor footing and entanglement. Such he could deal with, for he had fought in enough forests and trodden mires, though none quite so… extensive. The air was filled with a cacophony of clashing sounds: an unknown humming, the clicking and clattering of metal against metal, and an almost omnipresent whirring that he could not place. This too he could cope with, for he had fought enough battles to know how loud and unpleasant they could be. The stench though…

The foul pool of liquid lurking below the grate in the center of the Arena gave off a potent, malodorous miasma that stung and offended his nostrils. Kriege had smelled things particularly unpleasant before: the dead, wounds going stale and bitter, but this was new. It was sharp, acrid, and stabbing; the scent almost aggressive and demanding, refusing to be ignored.

Kriege growled again, louder this time, and started forward at a walk, his armor grating and clashing as he moved. He set his paws with surprising delicateness for one so large, entering the Arena and then turning immediately to his right, moving towards the lazily turning cog that sat in the corner of the Factory. Halting about halfway between the entryway and the cog, the Vastaa turned back towards the gate. Lifting his gauntleted hand and forming a fist, the ice bear slammed fist to chestplate three times, producing an infernal racket, which he added to, briefly cutting through whirr and clatter with a deep-chested, bellowing roar. “Let the one who passes into death unknown find only everlasting shame; I am Kriege Marns Thalaractos, warrior of the northern tundra!”
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 3
8/16/2014 15:38:55   
Starstruck
Member

"Good morning!" The calling was chipper and sweet, a high-pitched greeting that seemed to go above and beyond the norms of common courtesy. It was something her customers loved about her.

"Ah, Kai! I thought for sure you'd be at the Arena already," commented the grateful man as he brought two packages of spiced ferret meat and a few assorted vegetables to the counter. "Not that I'm complaining; ever since her pregnancy, Susan has had the weirdest cravings. She said she saw a ferret a few minutes a go and desperately needed the soup."

"Well I hope she enjoys it! I gotta go to the Arena right this minute, so I can't delay! OK seeya byenow uh-huh so long..." Kai ushered the talkative customer out of the shop and flipped the sign to Closed, exiting the shop and locking the door securely. It wouldn't do to come back to vandalism and theft; while the Elemental Championships did dominate attention, Kai suffered no illusions about some of the more...opportunistic visitors to Bren. It reminded her of her own adventures in previous years, but she was far too well-entrenched now to be caught stealing - it would destroy her reputation. Ah well, a pity. She'd get a chance to sneak around in the Championships, anyway.

Uncustomarily silent, Kai stood before the Factory gate, having made her way across town at a seemingly supernatural pace. She had strolled out of a dead-end alley, where she had apparently be waiting. Her dress swished behind her, and her high heels clicked on the sidewalk as she moved. Her white gloves reached up to her elbows, and her long and fluffy scarf trailed behind her. Her carefully preened black hair was let down to her waist. As the gate rattled open, Kai pulled the finishing touch - a large floppy sunhat out of her purse, decorated with a single pink rose - and carefully arranged it on her head. She was ready, even though it seemed she was ready for a beauty pageant, not a combat tournament!
Kai was off like a shot the instant the bear and the blur had entered, stepping from tube to tube, carefully making sure that her heels didn't catch on any pipes. As the bear roared out his challenge, she was so surprised she almost tripped, flailing her arms and legs out for balance. Speedily, though without much semblance of grace, she reached a favorable position by the wall, some distance away from the large and frightening bear - the pink dress and sunhat were hardly inconspicuous, but in the confusing mess that was the Factory's layout, Kai knew that her location was more out of the way than almost any other location in the arena.

All warfare is based on deception, she recalled, withdrawing a single crumpet from her purse and patting her stockings carefully. When far away, feign that you are near; when near, that you are far away. Suddenly she froze, one finger lightly touching the spiked heel of her stiletto. Holding her breath, hoping she didn't feel what she thought she felt, she ran her fingers over the spike, gently at first, then desperately. The spikes! I wore the ones without the knives! These are useless! Frustrated and enraged, she tore them off and was about to scatter them when something moved in the corner of her eye, a blur weaving through the pipes, ducking under and around the nefariously tricky obstacles. She smiled craftily, put the shoes in her purse, and waited for it to get a little closer.
DF MQ  Post #: 4
8/16/2014 18:31:15   
Siruiz
Member

The little rat scurried frantically, attempting to take the cheese without being noticed. Zorad pretended not to notice, as the creature pounced on the leftover meal. The little rodent began gnawing at the cheese, and so Zorad struck out swiftly with his belt, wrapping it around the creature. Gathering his vials, he placed his latest specimen in a container. The rodent glanced up in horror, only to see the grisly smile of a madman at work. Old habits were hard to lose.

Zorad peered around the corner, looking for any guards or tournament officials. Although he couldn't remember it, like his previous experiments, this one was too a success. He stared hard at the vile creature, squirming to get out of his prison, a box. It had successfully consumed a full vial, and grown about 3 feet larger. It also appeared to have lost it's sanity, rabidly tearing at the sides of the box with raw determination. Smiling, he gave the beast his instructions. “Find Talik. Bring me Talik.”
With that, he released the abomination into the streets of Bren, knowing that it would take more than your average city guard to take down this beast.

No one seemed to notice Zorad as he strode towards the arena. The news of a savage mutant prowling the streets seemed to cause quite the disturbance, one Zorad took great pleasure in. Not only would they have trouble finding it and getting rid of it, somewhere in Zorad's twisted mind he believed it would help find him the only one who could return his memories, Talik. Taking one last look at his lucky sea shell, in which inscribed had the name Talik on it, he slowly strolled towards the door of the arena. The guard working the padlock seemed frightened by Zorad's presence, and so Zorad gave him the reassuring grin of a madman. The guard had never unlocked the padlock any faster, and so Zorad entered The Factory.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The first thing he noticed was the smell. This was no ordinary arena, it reeked of a foul stench that burned his nose. Zorad's mind raced, for this odour was familiar. It triggered a memory, one of working in the labs. The pipes, the steam, the smell, it all seemed so familiar. The arena felt like home, not that he could remember what it was like. Zorad suddenly remembered something for the first time in years. That smell belonged to a chemical he had used before. Letting out a cackle of delight, he now he had two advantages. Not only was he was on familiar territory, he also knew exactly what the chemical was.
The question was, how was he going to use it?

Zorad's thoughts were interrupted by a bellow from a great beast, a fantastic specimen indeed. The other competitors so far were a young lady, smiling at her footwear, and a rodent scurrying around. It reminded him of the one he had experimented on earlier, making him chuckle. Not wasting any more time, he quickly darted over to the unoccupied corner with a cog, careful not to trip over the pipes. A safe distance away from the other competitors, he smiled like the insane lunatic he truly was. He glanced at his competitors, wondering if they knew just how foolish it could be to confront a confident madman in a place he could call home.

Post #: 5
8/16/2014 19:46:51   
Geddesmck
Member
 

 Both of his guards were a few inches taller than him, and the tight grips they had on his upper arms left him in no doubt that they had muscle to spare. Even so, his two escorts were wary of him. Zenz Nightwalker couldn’t suppress a satisfied, if somewhat petty, smirk at the realisation. They knew full well that the man they were entrusted with transporting to the Elemental Championships was more than capable of escaping his bonds and killing them. Zenz had said as much when they had put the shackles around his ankles and wrists, but their master had insisted that Zenz would walk to his assigned arena in chains and under guard. No one would be in any doubt that the once-Champion of Earth was returning to Bren as a prisoner. The chains between his ankles conspired to trip Zenz, only his escorts keeping him upright. The humiliation of the situation wiped the smirk from Zenz’s face.

“So where am I this time? Fountain again?” Zenz asked one of his granite-faced guards. He got about as much response as he would expect from a boulder. In fact, Zenz would have probably received more from a boulder. His charm and wit was wasted on his current companions. Resigned to continuing his shambling walk in silence, Zenz thought back to his experience five years prior. Marching into Bren with Boron and his other Dwarven companions he’d looked like a king. Now he looked like a prisoner.

No. He’d didn’t look like a prisoner. He was a prisoner. He had been allowed only to keep his trousers, for the sake of decency, and he could imagine how he looked to those he passed. He’d never cared much for his appearance, but his dark, unruly hair and tangled beard, combined with his inadequate attire and the fact that every inch of him was caked in dirt, made him look as much a condemned man as his captors desired.

“We’re here,” grunted one of the guards; the taller of the two who Zenz had decided to dub Chuckles in honour of his mirthful demeanour. The shorter guard’s shaved head gave him more the look of a Curly Zenz had reasoned.

“By the Earth Lord! You can speak. Will wonders never cease?” Zenz began, hoping to elicit annoyance if nothing else. When he did not receive even that, he sighed and turned towards the opening doors. He was pretty sure that this wasn’t Fountain Arena; he’d fought there twice before and his feet recalled the route. Images of Sky Arena and Cellar arena flashed through his mind. He didn’t want to be here, but as he waited for his first sight of the battleground the familiar thrill of excitement welled within him. The doors finally opened enough for Zenz to see within, letting him take in a good view of the arena.

And then he laughed.

“There’s no earth in there. It’s all metal,” Zenz looked up at his guards with a manic grin, “I’m literally useless in that arena. Your boss is going to be awful upset when I get myself killed by the first maniac who takes a dislike to me.” The thought of death didn’t appeal to Zenz, but he found the idea of his demise ruining his captors plans darkly humorous. “Just remind the master that my debt is paid even if I die.”

The guards reacted with the same outburst of emotion Zenz had come to expect from them. Chuckles kept his grip on Zenz’s arm, while Curly removed Zenz’s shackles. “Ah, that’s nice. Now I can die with a full range of motion.” Without another word the guards produced a bag, and pulled from it a belt with a hand shovel and small pickaxe on it. “Somewhat more helpful; I can perhaps mine my way to safety if everyone leaves me alone.” A smaller bag followed the belt, and was handed to Zenz, who looked inside to find it full of various soils, sands and pebbles. “Oh. This I can use. Although, last time the bag was much bigger...” He noticed something else, hidden within the little bag of soil, the sight of which quieted him. A rush of emotions threatened to overwhelm him, and even the sarcastic wit he had come to rely upon abandoned him. Without another word he put on the belt and hung the bag from it. With a lump in his throat, he turned to walk into the arena that would probably witness his death.

“Uh. There’s something else,” came the hesitant voice of Curly. Surprised, Zenz turned to face him. He ran through a series of sarcastic responses but before he could open his mouth the words died on his mouth. In the guard’s hand was a sheathed longsword. “The master spent a lot of money finding this. Said he expects you to make his investment worthwhile.”

The sword felt familiar in Zenz’s hand when he took it from the guard. The weapon was pristine, ornate and perfectly crafted. The layers of enchantment heaped upon it had earned it a name: Immortal, a sword that would outlive any of its owners. It was one of the few things that still connected Zenz to the life he’d had seven years ago, before his first attempt at the Elemental Championship. And until this moment he had thought he’d given it up for good five years ago.

He had no choice but to accept it. To accept the blade. To accept that he had to fight again, after blissful years of peace. Anger and pain swelled up in his breast, but he pushed it down mercilessly with callous wit, the one defence he still had. “Wish me luck.”

Zenz turned and walked into the Factory Arena without waiting for a response. “Luck,” muttered Curly, earning himself a frown from his companion.



“This is going to be horrible,” muttered Zenz as he walked deeper into the arena. Metal pipes snaked along the floor and conspired to trip him. He was already seeing visions of dying an ignominious death caused by a treacherous floor and a twisted ankle. A terrible, embarrassing death would have been bad enough, but the odour and noise seemed a cruel addition. “Whoever designed this place hate me.”

He wasn’t the first to arrive. Something small was darting between the pipes. A rat? Or a weasel perhaps? Regardless, it warranted attention. The Elemental Championship didn’t attract ordinary animals as competitors; the proof of that took the form of an armour-clad white bear that roared a challenge to the arena at large as Zenz had entered. Huge seemed an inadequate description of the beast; beyond its sheer size it radiated an aura of threat that set Zenz’s teeth on edge. Kriege. Zenz filed the name away in his mind. The other two occupants of the cacophonous, odious room were somewhat less strange. Which was something of an amusing observation considering one of them was a blue skinned madman wearing a coral crown and the other was a woman in a pink dress. Zenz couldn’t help feel underdressed in his tatty trousers and utilitarian belt.

He’d been offered his choice of opponents, for the moment they all seemed content to wait. Clearly, the wisest choice was to avoid the bear. Zenz’s magical abilities were severely limited in his current environment; he’d be relying on his physical skills and he was certain that the bear had a distinct advantage in that area. Fighting it would be suicide. The girl or madman would be smarter targets.

He approached the bear, careful of the pipes around his feet, and drew his sword with his right hand. His left dipped into the small bag and produced a handful of pebbles. Zenz’s magical senses hooked into the stone like threads of will. “Kriege. On guard!” A flick of his wrist and the pebbles shot like bolts from a crossbow, aimed at the great beast’s eyes. Even before they found their target Zenz had darted into action; his blade on course to slice at Kriege’s legs. With any luck the bear would be crippled. Failing that, Zenz might be crushed. No one could accuse Zenz of failing to provide a good show.

He hoped they couldn’t.

For Petra’s sake.
AQ DF  Post #: 6
8/16/2014 19:52:07   
Tdub
Member

Makelyth had always somewhat enjoyed large cities. Unlike some other competitors, the exiled prince always seemed to find something soothing in the way the city moved, in the smells drifting from shops and bakeries, and even in the noise rising above the shuffle of the crowds. Truly, Prince Makelyth had always felt at home in the bustling streets of populated areas, and the busy walkways of Bren brought fond memories of his home kingdom's capital city to his mind.

What the reptilian royal did not enjoy, however, were the people. Back at home, he had always been recognized and respected among his father's subjects. Even though he had always refused to believe that he was any better than the people of the streets, the commoners still had held a sort of reverence for their prince, up until his draconic features had been forced upon him. In contrast, the city of Bren held nothing but the anxiousness and aggression of people anticipating the bloodshed to come. While Makelyth had expected the lack of respect towards royalty, he had not expected the jostling and bumping of people who seemed to only wish to make contact for the sheer joy of jostling and bumping.

Such aggression was what brought the darkest and most hostile part of his soul to the front of his mind. Though Makelyth did his best to keep the seething beast of destruction within him at bay, the belligerent crowds and pushy salesmen did nothing to help with his inward struggle, and the dragon's antagonizing ways pushed into his thoughts at every moment.

With these thoughts coursing through his head, Makelyth reacted as could only be expected when he felt a small foot dig painfully into his tail. With a cry somewhere between a roar and a shout, the prince turned suddenly, raising his hand as if to strike. The face of a fearful child was the only thing that stopped his clawed hand's momentum, and the boy ran quickly back to his mother, who was staring at Makelyth with a look of shock, anger, and hatred.

Makelyth quickly came to his human senses as the cries of disdain began to echo. Although he tried to ignore the jeering remarks, they still struck true in his mind.

"Hey, what's the big idea, hitting at a kid like that?"

"Told ya, told all of ya, them non-humans oughtta be run out of town."

"Stay away from here, you freak!"

Freak. That's the one.

The horrendous insult rebounded through his thoughts as Makelyth began to sprint towards his designated Arena.

The registration that had taken place much earlier had been no problem for Makelyth, and the cursed prince had actually enjoyed the way the clerk on duty hadn't looked twice at him. The man evidently had seen it all, and the strange looks that focused upon Makelyth in the streets did not find him in the registration building. The scaled sovereign-to-be felt similarly soothed standing amongst the competitors preparing to enter the Factory Arena.

There never was a stranger collection of misfits and creatures, and for once Makelyth did not feel out of place. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and soon the regret of his incident on the street had melted away, even if the bloodthirsty murmuring at the back of his mind had not.

It was a short time before the Factory Arena opened its gates, and Makelyth did not pay much attention to the other competitors as he walked calmly into the domain of battle. Inside, the stench all but overwhelmed his sensitive reptilian nostrils, as well as the receptors on his tongue. He soon located the source of the stinging sensation - a festering pool of foul liquid.

Makelyth had been inside factories in his home country, visiting for publicity as royalty often does. The workers and contraptions were always foreign to him, but the general sense of the area always had an aura of hard work, accomplishment, and production.

But the prince had also been on the battlefield, and this Arena gave off the aura of pain, death, and destruction as surely as any war zone, no matter how untested the building was. This was not a place of employment and work. No, this was a place of battle, and Makelyth soon let his training as a soldier and commander take over.

Pit of acidic liquid. Avoid.

Corners with cogs and spikes. Avoid.

Maze of pipes on floor. Step over carefully.

Steam gathered at the top. Ignore, unless it becomes a hazard.

This left very little room for Makelyth to work with, and as he cautiously stepped away from the entrance, he began to observe the other competitors.

The first thing to catch his eye was the monstrous beast shouting an incredibly loud challenge. His name is Kriege. That could prove useful to know. The power radiating from the creature brought forth memories of war with the dragons, and Makelyth was not keen on reliving those days. No, best for the prince to leave Kriege alone for now, lest he falter in one-on-one combat.

A blue-skinned being was moving quickly to the other end of the room. Although Makelyth was curious as to why the competitor entered the competition only to walk away from the other contestants, he deemed it pointless to pursue the man and directed his attention elsewhere.

As he scanned the room, Makelyth's careful eyes caught a glimpse of a small creature racing along the floor. It seemed unlikely that the designers of the Factory Arena would have been so careless as to allow mice and rats to make a home in the battleground. Therefore, the small animal must be nothing other than a competitor. Though Makelyth found the thought to be both amusing and threatening, he dismissed the tiny competitor as a potential opponent. The creature's size as well as the cover provided by the crisscross of pipes added up to make one very hard-to-hit foe.

Makelyth's gaze halted on the black-haired woman that looked quite out of place in the Factory. She held a strange contraption that looked more like an odd meal than a weapon. In addition, her strange clothing and excessive scarf contributed to the mystery of the woman. Her focus appeared to be elsewhere, although Makelyth knew enough to avoid assuming she was not aware of her surroundings.

Not all of the competitors had entered the arena, so Makelyth moved in a way that led him further from the entrance and ever so slightly closer to the strange woman, stopping about halfway to the center of the Arena and a few feet to the right. This position gave him a full view of the woman, and he wondered if he should begin a fight before the Arena was even full. Makelyth decided that he would rather choose his own foe before another chose him. And perhaps others would see him in his own fight and choose to have their battles elsewhere.

The decision made, Makelyth acted with both hands. His left hand slowly reached for one of the throwing knives on his far right hip, while his right hand reached upwards towards his sword handle, moving just as slowly. He made a mental note to conserve the rest of his knives, preferring to not run out before the fighting truly began. Although he tried to avoid staring at the woman, he knew she would notice the movements and could anticipate his hostile actions. Deciding that the time to act was now, Makelyth quickly unhooked the knife and threw, knowing his aim was true before the handle had left his hand. Almost as quickly, his three-foot blade was drawn, and he felt its familiar grip and weight in his hand, adjusting his clawed fingers to the perfect combat position.

The knife flew firmly towards its target. If uninterrupted, the blade would embed itself in the center of the woman's face, right between the nose and the eyes, assuming she was looking directly at the knife. Of course, the woman had almost certainly seen his actions and would be inclined to dodge or block in some way. Makelyth began carefully moving toward the woman, remaining wary of the other competitors.

Even though the knife had only been to grab the woman's attention and perhaps demonstrate the woman's fighting style, the exhilaration of combat proved too much for Makelyth's mental walls, and dark thoughts once again flooded his mind. The cursed prince lost focus momentarily as he struggled to control the voices echoing in his head.

Attack. Destroy. Feed. Maim. KILL.
Post #: 7
8/16/2014 20:15:10   
salene
Member

The day was warm and sunny as Raz'Fizo stepped outside of the bustling inn. The streets were awash with vendors, patrons, and combatants alike, all shouting and talking at once, their sweat lacing the air like the thin cotton of Raz'Fizo's Khen. Raz'Fizo shook their head. "Such impudence. All these people are so self important. If only they new how insignificant and useless they all are in the grand scheme of things."

As Raz'Fizo walked throughout the crowd, they noticed an utter lack of manners. Everyone was pushing and fighting for a prime seat in the arena, an arena in which Raz'Fizo would shortly be fighting in. Raz'Fizo knew that they should be scared, but they had lost the capacity for that emotion long ago. Now, the void was replaced by utter servitude to their divine master, the air lord. So, as Raz'Fizo glided throughout the crowd, seemingly incorporeal, they thought only of strategies to defeat their opponents. Reminiscing about the Khen, about their family they left behind, and about their love, Dejanni, would do nothing but make Raz'Fizo soft and gullible. Raz'Fizo eventually reached a large structure, seemingly made of durable metal, and with the stench of smoke surrounding it, that was placed close to the center of town. A throng of people surrounded the building, screaming and cheering as man spoke in a loud voice, announcing the grand opening of the newest arena in the elemental championships, the factory. Raz'Fizo slipped within the crowd, unnoticed by all but the most vigilant. Raz'Fizo's eyes scanned the crowd, searching for possible enemies. No one person popped out as being especially dangerous, although Raz'Fizo assumed that some of their enemies were already within the arena.

Raz'Fizo wandered around the arena, checking it out from the outside. From the inside they could hear metallic hisses, along with the occasional roar of a seemingly ferocious beast. "Seems as if this years competition is going to be very interesting. I do hope no one gets hurt." Raz'Fizo whispered, sneering. Finally, after having circumnavigated the establishment numerous times, Raz'Fizo decided it was time to enter the throng vying for entrance into the arena.



As soon as Raz'Fizo had entered the arena, they noted the distinct smell of acid coming from the center of the arena. It certainly smelled dangerous, but it was hard to discern whether it was lethal or not. the next thing they noticed was the whirring of the conveyor belts, that seems to all lead to the center. They weren't going incredibly fast, but they were certainly enough to trip someone up. Raz'Fizo noted all of this within a split second of entering the arena. Next thing they saw were the other contestants. "They certainly are a strange bunch." Raz'Fizo though to themselves while moving along the outer edge of the door towards the left in order to get a clear view of both the door and their opposition. "So your my opposition?" Raz'Fizo shouted to the other contestants. Their voice reverberated around the room, making it seem as if it were coming from multiple directions.

In one fluid motion, Raz'Fizo unbuckled their harmonica, attaching it to their mouth, while also sliding out their ten daggers. The daggers seemed to float from Raz'Fizo's hand, gliding through the air in small semicircles. Half of them seemed ready to parry, while the others seemed to lazily dart forward, then dart back, like small birds. As well as this, the wind in the arena picked up slightly swirling the smoke around slowly like small tendrils. Raz'Fizo then slowly circled the room, staying as far from their opponents as possible, while still having a clear view of the door. "So, who wants to play first?"
AQ DF AQW  Post #: 8
8/16/2014 22:00:04   
Kellehendros
Eternal Wanderer


 Kriege’s challenge echoed through the Arena, reverberating across the walls and filtering through the incandescent glow of the steam cloud that seethed far above the heads of the competitors. Yet, the ice bear was bound for nothing but disappointment. Clearly, honor and the proper forms were lost upon these barbarians, for not a one responded to Kriege. It was as if he was fighting a bunch of faceless Basilli, with neither names nor pride of accomplishment.

If they would die nameless, that was their decision to make, and they would know nothing but shame in the world beyond for dying unknown and undeclared. The Vastaa’s dark eyes shifted over the others as each ignored him in turn, darkening further with each slight.

If this was how it was to be, very well then. Kriege’s remaining ear flicked and his gaze settled on the closest competitor to him, a human woman in a pink dress. It was an odd choice of ensemble, given the purpose and purported seriousness of the Elemental Championship, but the Vastaa was not of a mind to question the logic of a human. From what he had seen heretofore, they were self-centered creatures, given to odd freaks of manner and behavior. That certainly appeared to be the case with this one, who was clutching what appeared to be a pastry while she removed her shoes and slipped them into a carrying bag.

The Vastaa rolled into motion, his weight shifting forward as he dropped from his hind legs to all fours, putting him on a much more manageable height level for most of the other competitors. Unfortunately, it also meant that the spikes affixed to the pauldrons of his armor were now generally around chest and neck height. His paws curled about the pipes, the claws on his hind legs scraping against the metal of the floor as he gathered himself for a crushing hunter’s leap.

A disturbance, several disturbances actually, whistled through the air, passing harmlessly above Kriege’s now lowered frame. “Kriege. On guard!” The cry came from nearby, not too far to the Vastaa’s left. It seemed that another competitor had decided to initiate the Arena’s combat himself. It was too late, however, for the ice bear’s bulk was already in motion, coiled muscles in powerful limbs releasing and driving his heavy form quickly and powerfully into the air.

The challenger was darting in, the naked blade in his hand leading the way, stabbing out at Kriege’s less protected hind leg and flank. There was little that the ice bear could do about the assault at this juncture, having surrendered himself to the weightlessness of a pouncing leap that would carry him the short distance that remained between himself and the woman in the pink dress. He snarled as metal grated across the chainmail that served as defense for his lower legs, rings snapping under the pressure of the blow, aided by the leap of the Vastaa, which had taken him partially into the momentum of the attack. Unfortunately for Kriege, the chainmail only extended so far down his legs, and the blade scoured a gash down his left leg, parting through age-yellowed fur and black hide to draw blood.

It did not matter. The injury was minor at best, and whatever pain there might be was only a spur, a lash that brought a mighty roar forth from his lips as he reached the peak of his arc and began to descend. What mattered was not the small amount of blood that seeped into his fur, but that his course put him on a line of collision with his smaller target. His armor-plated arms opened, intending to slam into her and wrap her into what, he had heard, was in these parts called a “bear hug.” Unlike the supposedly mirthful feeling that would normally be the result of such an action, this bear hug would likely leave the woman feeling less than well, and possibly in several pieces.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 9
8/16/2014 23:52:47   
Starstruck
Member

The suddenness of the bear's assault startled Kai out of her reverie, and she watched in horror as one thousand pounds of flesh, fangs, and steel left the ground and flew across the few measly feet of piping...headed directly for the pint-sized shopkeeper. For the briefest of instance, the pink-clad woman felt very small and very, very weak. The bear descended. Kai closed her eyes. As Kriege fell through space, arms spread wide, roaring wildly, Kai closed her almond-shaped eyes and held onto the brim of her hat, slipping down between the pipes to put a few inches of space between her and the bear. She clenched her eyes tightly and wrapped her arms around her knees, hoping, praying...

The armored bear collided with the piping with a groaning of steel on steel and the whoosh of foul bear breath, forelegs grasping the pipe and midsection crushing the frail shopkeeper between the pipes. A grisly death, but inevitable. The dagger that was intended for the shopkeeper clattered harmlessly to the floor amidst the tangled mess of pipes. The piping bent slightly, but held firm. However, when the bear lifted his bulk and scanned the ground, there was no trace of the woman he had supposedly crushed.

When capable, feign incapacity; when active, inactivity.

The shadows formed behind him while he puzzled at the empty ground, and Kai Kuragari appeared where she had not been a moment ago, untouched but appearing slightly nervous and upset. The mighty Kriege stood then, searching about for another foe to crush, and Kai made her move, skipping lightly towards the spinning cog in the corner and tossing her hat in a wide arc, until it made a perfect landing on top of Kriege's armored head. For a bizarre moment, the enormous heavyweight looked very silly, and one might almost say...pretty? Kai, at least, thought so.

Anger and confuse him, and he will recklessly advance against you without a plan. Ensuring that she kept space between herself and other combatants, Kai raised her fists and searched about for a good fighting position. The empty space within the conveyer belt looked like a solid, sturdy place to stand and fight, but she would have to make it past the other competitors in order to get to it. Swiftly deciding that her current position was the best that could be hoped for, Kai stood cautiously out of reach of the bear and gently touched one hand to her long and broad pink scarf, eyeing the other fighters like a caged animal and desperately searching for weak points and favorable terrain, anything to give an advantage.

< Message edited by Starstruck -- 8/18/2014 10:26:53 >
DF MQ  Post #: 10
8/18/2014 4:54:49   
Bastet
Member

Commoners chattering excitedly. Merchants promoting their goods by shouting. Incessant footsteps.
These are the kinds of noises that were deflected by Ayohin’s mental barrier erected by sheer determination. The kind of determination born of being turned away from one’s own town, training for one’s entire youth and having to fulfill a prophecy. Even if she had to look up to such responsabilities, Ayohin walked through the streets of bren with a smirk on her face. Anyone who happened to lay their eyes upon her would interpret the cause of this smile differently: some would think of happiness, others of anxiety or even fear. They would all be wrong. It was the knowledge that no matter what advantage her opponents would have over her, she would give her best and even her life for a shot to achieve the glory she had been destined to seek.
Withstanding the masses and the unending noise, she carried on towards her destination.

By the time she had reached the entrance to the Factory, though, she feared she was too late. She arrived just in time to see a figure wearing a scarlet hood and to hear some kind of beast’s roar. Making sure to take enough time to let the figure disappear inside the contestant-hungry maw of the arena slip inside, she followed its example. She had no idea that this would be arena she would have to fight in. Her eyes darted to the
various hazards she would soon to put up against: the pipes on the floor, the cogs and the spikes in the corners, and the stench.
“I think my nose feels violated now, whoever constructed this arena sure tried their worst.”
But this wasn’t the time to doubt the endurance of her nostrils, so she slipped inside as the gates closed after the last fighter entered the brawl.

Let’s see… four people down there… the guy I followed inside issuing their challenge…
She was considering who to fight first while she drew her soon-to-be-extended red blade and drew blood from her right arm in the most casual way possible.
I would hate to keep him waiting for a challenger.
She grinned as her blade caught fire and shot off towards the Kaa S’satta, losing a few drips of blood on the way.
Post #: 11
8/18/2014 14:12:26   
salene
Member

The factory was awash with the sounds of fighting. The loudest being the roaring of the bear like creature that was barreling down on the small girl. Raz'Fizo saw the girl disappear under the weight of the bear. Then, with a sudden blur, she was behind the bear, weapon spinning. "I will have to watch out for that girl." Raz'Fizo thought to himself, smiling. Next thing he noticed was the dragon like man charging forward, sword drawn. Apparently stealth and mystery weren't being optimized this year. "Oh well, better for me the." Raz'Fizo thought smiling as he saw even more bloodshed. The acidic smoke that had been curling around the room froze. Raz'Fizo manipulated the wind around him, bring it around him as a sort of veil, making his form hazy and hard to distinguish. Raz'Fizo saw the small ferret like creature darting between the pipes, still hesitant to start any fights. "Maybe I should start a fight?" Raz'Fizo thought once again. The air was getting thick around Raz'Fizo now, the smoke condensing and swirling. By now they were standing as far away from the fight as possible, with their back to the wall, and able to view both the ensuing fights, and the entrance. Raz'Fizo saw as a figure walked through the door, smiling as they lightly cut themselves, using their blood to empower their sword. Then, with surprising speed and strength, the sword was shot at Raz'Fizo, the blade ablaze with an intense heat. Raz'Fizo bends the air around the daggers, using the parrying ones to offset the course of the flaming blade, and then watching it spin wildly in the other direction. "So you want to start a fight?" Raz'Fizo than moves slightly to the right, going slightly closer to the fighting happening in the center, then, using two of the throwing knives, shoots one towards their enemy at the door, and the other they fire slightly later, watching to see if the figure moves away from the dagger to the right, in which case they other dagger will hit them square in the shoulder. Then, Raz'Fizo moves back closer to the wall, attempting to thicken the smoke around them.
AQ DF AQW  Post #: 12
8/18/2014 18:26:56   
Geddesmck
Member
 

 “That’s not what ‘on guard’ means,” complained Zenz. He wondered exactly what it said about him that the bear had judged the woman in the pink dress a better opponent. Perhaps he should take it as a compliment? Perhaps he was so intimidating that the great creature couldn’t face him?

Or perhaps he was actually beneath the Kriege’s notice? “Ah. The first casualty of the tournament: my self-confidence,” Zenz grumbled as he straightened himself. A thin coating of blood across the edge of his blade cheered him slightly; his attack had not been completely impotent. The pebbles had clattered uselessly against the wall though and lay scattered amongst the pipes. “Can’t afford to waste these,” he thought out loud. He tugged on the threads of will still attached to the little stones, pulling them back to be deposited in the little bag.

The sound of straining metal added to the existing clamour as Kriege’s attack landed. Relief and regret washed over Zenz in equal amounts. He felt bad for the girl, who had clearly just been squished by the armoured bear. At the same time, he couldn’t help but feel that it was better her than him. His eyebrows shot up when the girl materialised behind Kriege in a flash of shadow. Much better her than him it seemed.

He had a moment to breathe and he didn’t waste the opportunity. He counted three new challengers. A… person of indeterminate gender cloaked in red had issued a playful challenge while daggers danced before them. A slight breeze that seemed to have come from nowhere tugged at Zenz’s hair and he couldn’t help but wonder if Red Cloak was the cause. A tan skinned woman was one of the other new entrants. The first thing Zenz noticed about her was her hair, the bright colour striking against her skin. If the woman’s sword hadn’t burst into flames when she answered Red Cloaks challenge, Zenz would have been to at a loss to judge her elemental alignment.

Which left number 3: a creature that resembled a combination of man and dragon. More importantly, he was even more underdressed than Zenz. He was also extremely close to the earth-aligned swordsman, having seemingly completely overlooked him when he entered the arena. In fact, he’d immediately launched an attack at the lady in pink that had been interrupted rudely by a sudden case of bear. It still wasn’t clear if Dragon-boy was even aware of Zenz’s presence. Another blow to his already ailing self-confidence.

He’d been still now for a good few heartbeats and a thought was nagging at the back of his mind.

He was being boring. He couldn’t afford to be boring.

“Hey there Dragon-boy. Your date already has a dance partner. Mind if I step in?” Zenz checked his footing to make sure his feet weren’t tangled around any pipes. It was hard to be sure, but it looked like his footing was adequate for the moment. “My name is Zenz,” best to introduce yourself, lest people give you an insulting nickname, “and I’m really hoping you know what ‘on guard’ means.”

A handful of sand and a little bit of focussed will produced a distracting cloud of debris heading for Dragon-boy’s face. Wasting no time, Zenz lunged forward for his new opponent’s (hopefully) vulnerable stomach.

“On guard!”


AQ DF  Post #: 13
8/19/2014 1:12:20   
Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...


 Over, under, around and between the forest of pipes kept bringing to the ferret sounds and sights of something new. A cadence of soft clicks from its claws rang against metal surfaces flat and curved while a cacophony of combat and lingering cry reverberated all around it. The ursine giant had bellowed out a challenge, recognizable by the timbre alone, but the little ferret would never be able to answer it with words. Only by deeds. Not that it really wanted to play with that gargantuan, it went well beyond the tale of courage of a mongoose and a snake into a realm that would be entirely surreal were the ferret to challenge Kriege.

No, if play were the term of the day, something else had paramount levels of importance in the little rodent’s mind. As thunderous paw-falls made metal screech in tortured protest, the onyx eyes of the wee fighter caught sight of a wondrous invention. Past the last of the pipe haven existed a floor that moved! The instinctual hind-brain hidden within the complex protocols and logic engines of clockwork cried out with liquid joy at the thought of bounding and cavorting along the shifting surface. To roll around and go nowhere at all would be a mystical feeling...but with a rustle of fur and the swish of its tail, the F.E.R.R.E.T. dashed those thoughts with the overriding need of its Calling. Its Calling which cried for combat, to prove itself and advance, to show Creator Hadin that these creations were just as worthy as the rest.

Slowing in its advance, the ferret realized it should take renewed stock in just what and where everything else had happened to wind up thus far. A second query resounded, asking about play, which the diminutive combatant actively discarded following up on. Too hazardous, it thought, given the recent mental surge within its processes. It slunk down, twisting onto its back and shimmying against a pipe that hung with a gap to the ground. No rodent would find that to be an impediment, and its clockwork nature had not discarded that natural advantage in form. Its claws gripped against the metal, gentle clinks easily drowned out by the Factory proper, and slid its body around the pipe until its head rested against it with a view of the surrounding area.

A twitch of whiskers and a wrinkling of its snout, the ferret felt the incandescence from above play out over its fur with the blessing of particles and waveforms. The soft tickling hinted at the tips of its fur as the protective shimmer reached its full effect, bleeding away energy from its internal reservoirs to prevent catastrophic overloads...and the slight, nagging memory of the Creator’s second Son, Connen-Nuete, installing the effect for more entertaining games of hide-and-seek. This F.E.R.R.E.T. was indeed a Lightsplitter, as were all its descendant replicants. Between its position, natural coloration, and even the hazy stealth of its shimmering fur in this particular arena, its onyx eyes should be able to survey the scene unseen.

What it saw proved to intrigue. The great armored behemoth Kriege had traversed the pipe field of the ferret’s perceived metal “forest” and was lumbering towards the barefoot humanoid dressed in rather garish and clashing fashion. No, not lumbering, even as gargantuan a being as the Vastaa was to a mere F.E.R.R.E.T., the ursine Kriege was covering distance rapidly. It briefly wondered if the dress of the unfortunate woman meant something in particular, then disregarded the issue entirely. Far away on their lonesome was another competitor, the one who had called for a playmate of battle, with a contraption set to hang just beyond their lips and knives floating around them. The metal moved in organic patterns, darting this way and that as if winged. Intriguing, but too far away through the protective forest. Even shimmering and moving with stealth, the distance made attacking that one far from ideal.

Closer to its current perch, it noticed a pair of figures who… almost looked as if they hadn't noticed themselves being nearby to each other. They appeared almost uncomfortably close to one another. A powder keg, perhaps, though what had kept their awareness from each other was anyone’s guess. Fair to bet it was involved around Kriege’s attention-demanding presence. But how was a ferret to know for sure, given the motivations of humankind? At least the filthy looking human was in a stance that suggested the construct may have just missed him making an assault. Something small perhaps, which made the construct believe that at best it may have annoyed the great bear, but the other of the pair made its onyx eyes narrow. The F.E.R.R.E.T.’s mind tried to wrap around exactly what it was, and the best it could discern was reptilian or maybe even draconian in the bloodline.


Further analysis was suspended in short order as movement on opposite sides of the ferret’s peripheral vision demanded equal attention. The flash of scarlet to one side as a new challenger entered the arena lost to the awe-inspiring nature of a bear in flight. Kriege’s roar was a thunderous tumult, reflected and warped by the pipes and metal surrounding the F.E.R.R.E.T. as it turned its head anew towards that gigantic competitor. Despite the massive slabs of armor and chain decorating it, the Vastaa had leapt straight for the wispy form of the slight and gaudy female. Onyx eyes spun as its vision tunneled, waiting for the impact and a spray of blood...but none came, just a tortured wail of metal from the impact of hind paws and gouging claws. A flicker, a shifting of inky black, and then the shopkeeper was behind the great bear. The woman even tossed her wide-brimmed hat towards Kriege, perhaps in an effort to inflame its emotions, but the F.E.R.R.E.T. didn't care about that.

The F.E.R.R.E.T. cared more for the notion of the shopkeeper’s translocation. A mix of stealth and a modicum of skill in timing, but it was a game to the construct. A game of light and shadows, one that it played rather well itself. With the softest of whirrs, more felt through its metallic frame than heard, the construct dropped from its precarious perch onto its back. Right forepaw flexing, the individual digits separating to the soft click of release catches, spreading far wider than its natural counterpart. The paw caressed along its fur, paw-fingers closing around a pair of hilts, freeing a pair of thin crystals from their lashings intertwined with the metallic filaments of its hide. Edges indistinct, as the crystals refracted light rather easily with a prismatic quality that the F.E.R.R.E.T. adored given its own...capabilities.

Rolling over carefully onto its stomach, the ferret kept the blades firmly grasped between the digits of its forepaw, keeping them elevated off the metal floor. This left it to crawl along its belly towards the edge of the cover of the pipe jungle, an experience not too dissimilar from crawling through a burrow. It would take a few moments for the preparing construct to reach its new position, but with a touch of luck and a bit of foresight, making it to the edge of the pipe field would put it just about in position to flank the garishly dressed female. Maybe when it struck, just maybe, the F.E.R.R.E.T. would gain a bit of goodwill to spend with the hulking bear. All while taking down at least one threat amidst this field of combatants.
AQ  Post #: 14
8/19/2014 18:23:19   
Tdub
Member

Blood and fire, agony in death, despair while burning...

The raspy thoughts rejoiced in their temporary triumph over Makelyth's mind, distracting him from his advancement and attack on the woman. However, it did not take him much time to bring his wayward souls into order, back into their proper place at the back of his head. His time with his affliction had taught him how to control and fight his draconian twin, even if he had failed to eliminate it completely. Blinking, the prince stepped back into the physical battle, leaving his mental one behind.

Utter chaos reigned in its most natural habitat. A tall, masked creature with floating knives had issued a sort of challenge, answered by another woman. The latest addition, an orange-haired woman using what appeared to be Fire magic, launched a flaming sword at the masked being in response.

Another Fire competitor? I suppose she's my competition, then.

Makelyth held no love for the Fire Lord. It was he who had been responsible for his affliction, and the cursed prince could not forgive the so-called "deity" for those actions. However, the reptilian royal hoped that piety was not a requirement to win the Fire Lord's favor.

It was with great surprise that Makelyth noted how close he was to another competitor, a filthy, unshaven man who had evidently launched an attack at the great beast. Earth magic. Naturally.

The cursed prince had an unwanted flashback to the war with the dragons, when catapults would send great hulks of Earth to catch dragon scouts unawares. It had been an incredibly risky process then, and yet here this man was, armed only with pebbles against an enemy with an incredible advantage of size and power. Despite the stories of such odds triumphing long ago, Makelyth held very little hope for the unwashed man.

And yet, events turned in the man's favor as Kriege directed his attention to the woman, leaping far enough that the man's sword brought a minor wound on the beast's hind leg. Kriege's attack made Makelyth realize just how insignificant his knife had been in the grand scheme of the Factory. All his weapon had succeeded in doing was bounce off the creature's armor, skittering harmlessly away for any competitor to find. However, there was no time for him to determine the fate of the black-haired woman.

"Hey there, Dragon-boy. Your date already has a dance partner. Mind if I step in?" The voice shocked him out of his catching-up, and Makelyth turned to face the Earth-aligned competitor.

"My name is Zenz, and I’m really hoping you know what ‘on guard’ means.”

Fortunately for Makelyth, he was no stranger to this particular term, and he tensed, preparing for whatever "dance" his new partner had in mind. When a small cloud of dust exploded from Zenz's hand, Makelyth was ready, having little time to register the insulting nickname "Dragon-boy". Quickly leaping to the right, his bare feet barely cleared a pipe, and his tail slid over it. As he jumped, he saw Zenz lunge forward, sword prepared to strike.

Wasting no time, Makelyth pivoted with his right foot the moment he landed, bringing his full weight around in a spin. Sword outstretched, his focus narrowed in on the back of Zenz's neck. Makelyth aimed to decapitate the dirty swordsman before his foe's lunge could be completed, and he prepared himself for a counterattack.

As he spun, he decided to introduce himself to hopefully severed ears.

"My name is Makelyth!"

The loud growl could likely have been heard by some of the other competitors, although Makelyth hardly recognized the voice as his own. Dragon-boy. Pah! We will show him the true might of the dragons!

We?
Post #: 15
8/19/2014 20:40:14   
Kellehendros
Eternal Wanderer


 He reached the peak of his arc and began his descent. Below him, the woman in the pink dress reacted in about the way the ice bear expected, closing her eyes and crumpling down, seeking to prolong her life for a few more precious seconds as the inevitable descended upon her. A knife pelted in from the side, ricocheting of his thick armor with a sharp ping. Kriege did not see where the assault came from. It was of little interest to him, as it would take something much larger to do more than scratch his plates. His focus was upon the woman as he descended upon her, dark eyes fixed on her unflinchingly. Armor met piping with a tremendous clang, and Kriege felt the slightest give, as the pipe flexed beneath his bulk and momentum, rear claws scraping over the metalled floor slightly before finding purchase.

That was… unusual. Given the Vastaa’s weight alone, not to mention the added weight and solidity of his armor, along with the speed of his descent, it was surprising the pipes had held up. It argued that the Arena’s materials were of surpassing durability, and were assembled with exceptional construction and care. That matter, of course, was well outside of the ice bear’s expertise. No, what surprised Kriege about the clang was that it occurred at all. With the woman below him to “catch” his fall, there should have been no clang, but something along the lines of a splat or crunch.

The Vastaa shifted his weight, pushing up with his forelegs and looking down beneath his body. Rather as expected, given the lack of a crunch, scream, or feeling of flesh and bone giving way beneath armor, there was nothing spread across the pipes and floor below. No broken thing, not even so much as a single speck of blood to meet his swift inspection. Kriege grunted. There was more to this oddly dressed woman than initially appeared. The ice bear reared up, rising back to his hind legs in order to give himself a better vantage of the Arena about him. If he could not spot his prey he could turn his attention to the rather filthy specimen who had attacked him while he had sprang upon the woman in the pink dress.

The search was momentarily obscured, however, by the descent of a light weight onto Kriege’s head. Snorting, the Vastaa lifted his gauntled right paw up, sweeping the offending object from its precarious perch, and flicking his lone intact ear in annoyance at the feeling the object had invoked. The thing, as it turned out, was the hat which, up until a few moments ago, had been perched upon the head of the woman in the pink dress. The ice bear grunted, glancing to one side as the man who had attacked him engaged another entrant, an odd creature that had the look of a cross between a human and a Kaarme. Their brief exchange provided him with the names of both entrants, and more ire than the woman in the pink dress had invoked with her little hat trick.

It would seem that he deserved no answer from Zenz or Makelyth when he called upon the pair to make themselves known, but they were more than willing to declare themselves to each other. Worse manners the Vastaa had seen only among the Kissa. If a warrior had not the honor to declare himself to his enemies then he was nothing but a sneak or a thug. It was an argument he had had with Ojen, his son by his second wife, many times. The boy was brilliant, even smarter than his mother had been, and Kriege loved him fiercely. Yet, the boy had only a modicum of respect for the proper forms of combat. The ice bear wondered from time to time how his son fared. Ojen was a Kriege in his own right now, not a bad end for the half-blood child of snow and autumnal forests. Kriege had left the clan in what he knew were capable hands, but doubt had a way of creeping in. It had been his time, to leave, to step aside… to come here, though he had not known it when he left.

The Vastaa glanced aside from these thoughts, leaving the soiled and no doubt fragrant Zenz to his fight with the oddly scaled and tailed Makelyth. Perhaps it was a blessing the sharp, biting stench of the liquid in the central vat was overwhelming his sense of smell. That pungent odor was sparing him the undoubtedly equally outre stench of Zenz and the other competitors. Still, scents aside, his dark-eyed gaze had found something of more interest to him than the now fighting pair: the woman in the pink dress. The Vastaa turned ponderously, ignoring the rill of pain that flashed up his leg from the slight wound. His right hand shifted, reaching across his body and upwards, then descending, impaling the hat on the spikes of his left pauldron with a ripping of fabric.

He inclined his head slightly in the direction of the woman in the pink dress, his voice even as he addressed her. “I would have your name, before I send you on to whatever world you hope to find after this one.” Kriege lifted his right hand again, tapping the brim of the distressed headgear with one finger. “And if you want this back, you will have to come over here for it.”
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 16
8/19/2014 21:53:44   
Bastet
Member

Ayohin’s memory of the back of her opponent quickly came back to her mind when she earned a view of the front. The hemmed hood and the black plumage revealed themselves to extend along the crow-masked person’s body, and he made clear what kind of protection he was wearing: a worn-out looking piece of leather armor. The slick looking blades irregularly floating around their hand appeared to be more of a threat than the small object the figure was holding to their mouth.
Everything else she shrugged off as not worth of notice. Ayohin decided to nickname them “Bird-face”.

While cracking her neck and getting ready to play a game of fetch-the-flaming-dagger, she watched her opponent demonstrate their aeromancy based abilities: her dagger flew towards her right side like an incendiary butterfly soaring through the air and landed in the maze of pipes next to her. That deflection earned her approval, getting her only weapon back in her hands wouldn’t have been too hard. She immediately started walking in the direction of the grounded blade while keeping her eyes fixated on the bird with wings made of knives: this earned her the advantage of seeing the swiftly gliding threat coming straight for her.

The whistling noise the dagger made while reaching through the air for her was distracting, but she managed to dodge it by swiftly making a small hop to her right.
“Wait, the whistling hasn’t stopped… this can only mean that…”
She didn’t see the second dagger coming for her until it was but heartbeats from hitting her square in the left shoulder joint, but her honed reflexes did the job for her. She raised her mailed arm to block, with the sting of the dagger making her feel its presence in her forearm not shortly after. It penetrated, but the most damage it could have done had been by then wasted on her protection. Her arm was still attached to her body, her mail was still integer, the loss of blood was acceptable. It was all she needed.

The other contestants mattered little in Ayohin’s mind at the moment, but it didn’t stop her from hearing them mention their names and throwing tantrums at their opponents. She almost unconsciously repeated them in the back of her mind.
Zenz… Makelyth…
She finally picked up her flaming dagger again; holding it in her hand made her feel comfortable enough that she let her wilder side speak for her again.
“This will make for an interesting duel, Bird-face. My name’s Ayohin, and you’ll receive the honor of becoming one of the steps of my stairway to glory! Let’s fight!”
She charged towards the Kaa S’satta who was disappearing among the smoke, dagger in hand, at the fastest pace that the pipes would allow her to run.
Post #: 17
8/20/2014 2:06:23   
salene
Member

Raz' Fizo smiled. The minute they threw the daggers, they knew they weren't going to land. Raz' Fizo was merely testing the girl, making sure she was a capable opponent. So, it came as a surprise to Raz' Fizo as one of the daggers lightly impaled the woman in her arm. "Interesting. You seem to have much sharper first sense than you do seconds. It is a common trait amongst humans such as yourselves though, so I can't say I'm too surprised." The smoke was now nearly covering Raz' Fizo, making the air around them thick with the acrid smoke. Had it not been for the bird mask, that allowed for easy breathing in all sorts of conditions, Raz' Fizo might have choked. The woman smiled at him. "This will make for an interesting duel, Bird-face. My name’s Ayohin, and you’ll receive the honor of becoming one of the steps of my stairway to glory! Let’s fight!” So she's slightly conceited, Raz' Fizo thought wryly. It certainly was a trait worth knowing. The woman tensed up as if expecting another dagger, when none came, she leapt to her feet, grabbing her sword from where it had been parried, and charging towards the seemingly omnipotent cloud of gas that was occupying the right corner of the metal arena. Raz' Fizo could clearly see that the woman was taking caution as she ran, seemingly afraid of falling or tripping amongst the labyrinthine of pipes. Raz' Fizo, deciding to use this to there advantage, shot a small blast of concentrated air towards the womans left foot as she ran, intending to trip her up and cause her to try to regain balance by pivoting on her right foot, leaving her left side open for a quick strike using the deadly sharp parrying daggers. Unfortunately, this tactic will leave Raz' Fizo's right side open for attack, considering they have to lean slightly to the left in order to pull of the attack, putting them off balance and open for a quick non lethal strike. Raz' Fizo weighed the possibilities against each other, taking great care to stay aware of their surrounding. After a second, he decision was clear. This woman would surely get a strike off anyway, so why not do a little damage first? Raz' Fizo smiled, and shot the strong blast of air at her, smiling manically behind their mask the entire time.
AQ DF AQW  Post #: 18
8/21/2014 11:30:08   
Starstruck
Member

“Well hello there. I’m Kai Kuragari,” said Kai politely, curtseying low. All traces of aggression had left her posture, and she was merely a sweet young lady once more. “I actually live here in this town; I run a shop in the central square. Come visit, I think I could find something for you. On the house, honey bear, unless you happen to have too much coin.” She winked coyly, and without raising her posture, she slipped into a more cautious and smooth position, taking careful steps in stockinged feet.

“It’s your hat now, if you want it.” You’ve earned it, bear, because judging by the way you’re holding it, the razor blades are missing. I’m going to be extra careful tonight when I lie in my bed, that’s for sure. She smiled sweetly. “I have a treat for you right now. Are you hungry? It’s a bit stale, though…”

The slim, frail shopkeeper moved impossibly quickly, hurling a bricklike crumpet at her titanic opponent and hopping with short, birdlike movements away from the bear, her path taking her to a short distance away from the battle between the young dragon and the filthy homeless man. As her swift, sure footsteps tapped from pipe to pipe, she noticed a blur of light underneath, moving with remarkable speed. Unable to stop and investigate this curiosity, she continued until she reached her goal just a short second later, coming to a stop a few yards from the battle roaring on to her left and a great distance away from the bear and her original position.

Her nose crinkled as the aroma of the dirty hobo collided with the acrid stench of the arena to form a cocktail of agony for her nasal passages. Not for the first time, Kai longingly recalled her nose plugs, small aromatic inserts that kept the air around her smelling fresh and clean and…delightfully unsoiled. She was still a short distance away from the dirty man, however; she could only imagine the torture that was likely assaulting the dragon’s nose, being as it was that such creatures often had their senses heightened far beyond hers. It was truly an aromatic assault on good sense to even exist in this arena.

Meanwhile, the crumpet hurtled through space, a deceivingly innocent chunk of bread that would leave quite the dent in any armor the bear had, though Kai guessed that maybe a hit to the flesh would have less effect on Kriege than on most of the other entrants.

Pulling out another crumpet, Kai blew on it first. A gasp of black flame surrounded the confectionary. This crumpet flew through the air as quickly as the first, a speeding black missile surrounded by solidified shadows wisping off of its golden crust; it was a more potent weapon even than its bricklike predecessor. Smiling, she reached into her scarf and grasped something cold and steel and very, very sharp in her right hand, ready to pull it out at a moment’s notice, eyes flitting back and forth warily like a trapped alley cat.
DF MQ  Post #: 19
8/21/2014 12:14:17   
Siruiz
Member

Zorad's mind raced as the battle raged on around him. Taking in his surroundings, he surveyed the other competitors, most locked in combat. The bear was once again going after the woman, after his first failed attempt. The woman threw what appeared to be food at the opponent, and then dashed away, once again avoiding the bear. The overconfident fool was going to make a crucial mistake sooner or later if he kept that up.

The other competitors consisted of a filthy man, most likely an earth user, fighting a dragonic man, while another two were fighting in the corner. Another mutant! Zorad thought, one that he hadn't created. He had the sudden urge to join in their duel, or at least get close enough to examine the specimen.

For the most part, Zorad was a peaceful being, but there was too much bloodshed for Zorad to feel calm, even though he was no where near it. He didn't like to fight unless it was necessary, after all, a dead specimen is of no use to a great mind like his. However, to properly make use of this arena, there were going to have to be less competitors. Or at least, less ones able to fight.

Pulling out a vial and his tentacle whip, Zorad took off towards the filthy man and the mutant. However, the woman appeared to be ready to strike, so he made sure he was prepared to jump out of the way of her range if necessary. He couldn't help but smile, thinking of the outcome if everything went to plan.
Post #: 20
8/22/2014 18:54:16   
Geddesmck
Member
 

 Some of the deeper caverns inhabited by Dwarves were colossal natural formations containing large bodies of water. Whenever construction was undertaken near these particular caves it was vital that exhaustive surveys were made of the surrounding area. Even for Zenz, with all his special skills, it had been a nerve-racking experience. The threat of a cave-in was omnipresent, deadly gases always a possibility and sudden flooding an all too common occurrence. Some of Zenz’s worst memorises came not from his many fights, but from those tense hours wading through chest deep water in near darkness, miles beneath the surface, knowing that one wrong step could drag him to a watery death.

The cloud of sand hadn’t bothered Dragon-boy in the least. He’d anticipated the dirt-caked swordsman’s attack and leapt out of danger with commendable celerity. That was what ‘on guard’ meant. Zenz’s momentum carried him forward and he let it. Changing direction would only slow him down, and he knew full well that he could expect a counter attack. Once again, he cursed the designer of the mechanical arena for their proclivity for pipes; they made it impossible for Zenz to convert his lunge into a roll. He did the best he could and ducked, making himself as small a target as possible, while he prepared to form a layer of protective stone around his form should it prove necessary.

Zenz’s eyes followed Dragon-boy’s movements and realised that his counter-attack would cut through the space Zenz’s head had just vacated. He couldn’t help feel a swell of pride to know his instincts were as sharp as ever and allowed himself a little smirk.

Which turned into a little “eurk!” when his left foot acquainted itself with one of the infernal pipes. The swordsman stumbled awkwardly, keeping himself upright through inelegant (if effective) flailing. When he recovered his balance he found himself standing closer to the cog that turned in the corner and further from his opponent; the man-thing that had just introduced himself as Makelyth.

Zenz had the space of a heartbeat to reassess the situation in the arena. Red Cloak and the orange haired girl duelled alone on the other side of the Factory, while the blue-skinned creature was still some distance away but definitely approaching Zenz’s position. Kriege and the girl’s fight seemed to be ongoing, but the girl was uncomfortably close to where he stood. A pessimistic premonition of everyone attacking at him at once elicited a grimace from Zenz. He was about to take action when he realised he’d forgotten to take into account the weasel. His quick scan of the arena hadn’t made the creature’s location evident. A horrifying thought prompted Zenz to shake out both of his trouser legs, which produced no weasel, but perhaps a few confused chuckles from onlookers.

“You don’t have a weasel in your pants do you?” Zenz asked Makelyth. He didn’t wait for a reply, instead he pulled a few sharp stones from his bag and propelled them with magically induced velocity at the draconian combatants legs. Even while he did so, he whipped the cloud of sand, which still hung in place where he had left it, into a small sandstorm. A cloud of abrasive particles, only big enough to envelop a man’s torso, added a peculiar groaning buzz to the soundscape of the Factory. With some small effort of will Zenz sent it to harass the now-hatless girl. It would tear at her skin, not enough to do serious damage, but maybe enough to deter her from getting too close to him.

Zenz stepped towards Makelyth, making sure to be certain of his footing as he came into sword range once again, his blade held ready to meet the draconian warriors next assault. The swordsman’s position gave him a view of Makelyth, but also let him see the hatless woman so he could direct his irritating mini sandstorm towards her. His actions were slower, more deliberate. Zenz wasn’t going to survive the danger of this arena without the cautious awareness he’d developed in the waterlogged caverns of his past.

The realisation that his survival instincts had kicked in made him smile a little bit. Even if he’d all but given up on his future, some small part of him fought for it. He just had to make sure that he didn’t let his sense of self-preservation get in the way of doing what was really important: providing a good show.
AQ DF  Post #: 21
8/23/2014 22:09:11   
Bastet
Member

As Ayohin charged, she knew it wouldn't have been long until she would've thrown what little cautiousness she had out of the proverbial window. Her opponent was trying to hide itself amidst the smoke, and trying to breathe any of it would add another point to the list of issues she was having at the moment. Yet, she couldn’t stop, nor did she want to: rewarded recklessness was one of the many shortcuts to fame. What kind of glory is there to be gained from backing off into a corner and hiding? She just hoped nobody would backstab her while she was concentrating her attention on her mysterious, bird-faced opponent.

Her feet didn’t betray her, but she expected her opponent to do something in response to her charge: it just looked like they were observing her as she drew closer. It actually made her grimace in confusion, because she would have expected Bird-face to have reacted by now. As the smoke thickened around her she began to notice the slight movements that anticipated the decision of a strategy to follow and the attack that would’ve determined the true beginning of the duel. By then, it was fairly obvious to her that a wind-based attack would be heading towards her. Her quick prayer directed to any of the gods that would listen was answered, though. The attack wasn’t carrying any deadly knives with it, but was rather aimed at one of her feet to trip her up. The flow of air hit her.

Like with her previous face-to-face encounter with her playmate’s daggers, she had just about a few moments to think about what she should do, before the situation would’ve developed in the worst possible way. The Kaa S’satta probably expected to make her fall flat on the pipes or exploit her recovery to attack, yet Ayohin learned a long time ago that doing the unexpected would both attract more attention and surprise her opponent. As the air pushed her foot off-course, the thought of what probably would have been her most suicidal move yet turned her previous grimace into a smile.

She leapt the exact moment the air blast hit her, going against its intended effect and using her other foot to propel herself farther. No matter what her enemy, or the spectators giving her their attention, were thinking, she was sure she surprised them all. Her grin widened even more as she began soaring towards her target, flaming edge pointed towards them. It was death or glory.
Post #: 22
8/23/2014 23:28:00   
salene
Member

Raz'Fizo was certainly surprised by Ayohins attack, and had that been her intention, it had certainly worked. The frontal assault sent by Raz'Fizo was meant to be a warning shot, telling the woman to back off. And even if the shot had landed direct contact, it should have pushed her backwards, possibly even causing her to trip up and fall. When the woman pushed against the concentrated blast, using it to get an elevated jump, Raz'Fizo had little time to react. If the downward descent wasn't blocked or countered, Ayohin would be able to do some serious damage. Just in the nick of time, as Ayohins flaming blade struck the cold metal of the floor, Raz'Fizo jumped to the left, smashing hard into the wall. The blade also skinned their right hand, burning the knuckle and leaving a small cut across it. The hand wasn't necessarily useless, although it would certainly be difficult to use. On top of this, Raz'Fizo's shoulder hurt profusely from where it had struck the hard wall, leaving an already forming blue and black bruise. Raz'Fizo cursed as they stood up immediately, turning to face their opponent. "All gloves are off now..." Raz'Fizo warned, smiling beneath their mask at Ayohin. "I would be cautious what your next move is..."

As the woman was distracted, Raz'Fizo sent a small current of air towards their daggers which had been previously thrown. The daggers lifted off of the ground, angling so their blades were pointed at Ayohins neck. However, the fight had taken it's toll on Raz'Fizo, and the daggers were moving rather sluggishly through the air. As they slowly weaved through the air, Raz'Fizo prepared their parrying daggers incase Ayohin tried to make any rash attacks. "This ones feisty. Shame I have to kill her." Raz'Fizo thought to themselves as the daggers made their way towards their target.
AQ DF AQW  Post #: 23
8/24/2014 0:22:50   
Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...


 As the F.E.R.R.E.T. belly-crawled ever closer to a flanking position, it kept a careful carved onyx eye on its target - the incredibly hard to miss Kai. Soft clicks of tiny claws, muffled by the plentiful fur that covered even its paws, were easily lost in the native sounds of Factory itself. Shadows and light crosshatched the world below the pipes, playing with its colouration and the softest shimmering of stealth to grant it such thorough protection from sight that it was totally confident in its approach. If there was one downside, it was that the slow, methodical nature of the approach meant it took time. Which karma had chosen to be precisely the issue that would matter most.

A pipe connection to the floor forced the construct to shift around, blocking its vision for the briefest of moments, but when the sight of its target returned it froze. Kai had vanished. The F.E.R.R.E.T. did not have the emotions of Man, but a sense of disappointment and dread so utterly profound rocked its frame at the development. Logic gates crashed open and relays jammed as the ferret shuddered hard. Anywhere else, such a miscue would mean damage or death, not to itself but to other F.E.R.R.E.T.s as they took down a threat. One of its successor model Lightsplitters, or perhaps their favored teammates among the Shadestalkers would be laid out due to the slip. Damaged, or worse, with their function terminated.

That wasn’t the case here, but the depth of its version of shame fueled powerful directives as its clockwork mind whirred into an unshakable determination. The ferret curled its body and twisted, slithering organically around the pipe above it to turn around and reacquire its target. She was not hard to find, though its sin was magnified twice over as she had indeed gotten behind it. Baring its fangs, the F.E.R.R.E.T. hissed despite the sound being swallowed by the arena’s clamor. Fine filaments of fur straightened, standing on edge. It even wanted to shunt the shimmering bleed of excess photonic energy into a blazing corona of kaleidoscopic brilliance, but it held back.

It’s overriding Calling cleansed it of its foolishness, sliding logic gates back into motion and freeing relays to process information with proper order. The acrid tang of the smells and tastes in the air also helped, its foulness acting like smelling salts to a biological. Softly, it descended back to the arena floor under cover of pipes and began to dart around in a return trip towards Kai and the nearby pairing of Zenz and Makelyth. It kept its blades aloft for fear of scraping them against the metal that surrounded it, an effort of stealth that left its gait in an awkward three-legged hobble, but the construct’s speed was still much more impressive than its crawl along its belly moments before.

As it bounded up on top of the last pipe separating it from Kai, even its obfuscating shimmer began to break apart from its thorough stealth field. The photonic energy that fed shimmer was, after all, a passive bleed-over to prevent the diminutive construct’s reservoirs from overloading. Taking a great leap off its momentary perch towards Kai’s right side, the F.E.R.R.E.T. also was moving into active use of that same internally charged resource. There were faint whirs and clicks as pathways charged energy through its paws, soft light suffusing the translucent crystals of its blade.

Though the ferret was swift and certainly very strong for its size, the pouncing leap looked to spectators to be short of the mark. Tiny blades leaving tiny spaces, but relative to the size of the assaulting combatant, an inch might as well be a mile apart. The unknowing would wonder what would push the F.E.R.R.E.T. to blunder so heavily. A certain amount of surprise was therefore expected of many who were watching when the F.E.R.R.E.T. enacted its plan. As it drew near to passing beyond the outside of Kai’s right thigh, it thrust the blade-bearing paw towards her. Though the scant few inches from his target should have meant a miss, the light within the prisms coalesced at their tips. Within a heartbeat, that coalescence erupted into blades of light that extended the lethal reach twice more than the short physical blades.

Lances of scarlet and emerald struck out, closing the distance and hungry to bite into cloth and flesh, but the movement started a tumble in the ferret’s momentum. For good or ill, the F.E.R.R.E.T. would not feel whether or not the lethal light connected, as the ethereal nature of the blades prevented resistance from taking effect in the normal sense. Nor did the F.E.R.R.E.T. callously watch the strike as it flowed its momentum into purposeful motion. The tumble transformed into a twisting flip, bringing its perspective back the way it came as it slipped its left paw along its side until hooking through a different hilt design. Landing on pawtips, it drew this third blade in a smooth motion. Though emerald and scarlet had disappeared, violet sprang forth from this longer blade, chopping in a half-moon arc through the space where Kai’s ankle resided. At least, where it had resided when the F.E.R.R.E.T. began its springing attack upon the shadow-walking wench.
AQ  Post #: 24
8/24/2014 1:42:22   
Kellehendros
Eternal Wanderer


 Kriege snorted, unmoved by Kai’s mocking words and tone. He watched her, waiting for her to make a movement in continuance of their battle. The ice bear was, in the main, disappointed by the self-proclaimed shopkeeper’s actions. She was content to offer only fripperies and frivolous conversation, and then fled, rather than daring to close with the Vastaa and fight with honor.

Her insults were only compounded, for not only did she refuse to give battle, but she had the temerity to pelt him with pastries. Kriege growled, a deep, basso rumble that spread through his broad chest. He started forward, ignoring the confectionary assault and stomping in the pink-clad woman’s direction. This diminutive merchant was starting to annoy him.

And then it hit him. Literally, in this case, as the crumpet curved through the air and glanced obliquely off the right side of his chest plate. The Vastaa let out a grunting huff of surprise as the baked menace caromed off his armor, transferring a hammering impact into the thick metal plates that was well out of proportion with both the object and the apparent speed with which it had been travelling. The glancing blow was enough to rock the heavy ice bear off his step, causing him to drop his foot mid-stride to compensate. His balance was thrown for a split second, as his heavy paw came down on a pipe running along the floor itself, rather than on the patch of clear floor beyond the hazard. Claws scraped the metalled floor in raucous discord as he shifted his weight forward against the imparted momentum of the attack. He was shunted slightly to one side and turned to a slight angle in relation to his slender attacker, the ridiculous pink hat fluttering on its impalement of spikes from the motion.

Straightening, he touched the metal-sheathed fingers of his right hand to the point of impact, tracing the scar imparted to the metal by the strangely potent but visibly innocuous edible. His dark eyes settled on Kai, and the ice bear snorted. As he had seen previously, there was more to this one than was immediately apparent. Here was another trick. The trick would have interested Ojen, but to Kriege it was only another piece of information concerning what the woman in the pink dress could do. He would remain wary, for he had underestimated this opponent twice already.

He stepped off again, this time angling to his right as he moved forward, drifting to his opponent’s left as he clomped through the maze of pipes. Kriege’s remaining ear flicked as the woman drew out another of her pitchable pastries, lifting it to her lips and exhaling upon it. The ice bear was not so intelligent as his progeny, but he was wise enough to note the odd, blackish fire that spread over the object, and know he wanted no part of whatever it might do. Thus, once the small woman hurled the item at him, he completed consciously the dodge that he had unintentionally done previously with Zenz’s stones.

The Vastaa dropped down to all fours, effectively halving his height, causing the enchanted edible to sail well over his head. Powerful limbs pushed off the pipes and floor, and Kriege charged, rushing forward at the same angle that he had previously been walking along, taking him towards Kai, but also slightly out to her left side. The angle was intentional. She had, heretofore, thrown with her right hand only. Moving to her left would force her to launch her attacks across her body, and thus deprive them of some of their heft.

As before, he charged using all four limbs. Going about on two legs had the advantage of providing the ice bear with excellent reach and an ability to spot opponents, but had the disadvantage of making the already large Vastaa a vast target. Going on four legs gave Kriege greater acceleration over the ground and made him harder to hit, but also made precision maneuvering trickery to deal with. It also meant that he had less options to attack with, mainly the spikes mounted on his pauldrons. Even charging on a tangent, a half-ton of ice bear was a fearsome sight, one made less ridiculous as the pink hat, flapping in the wind of the Vastaa’s charge, finally tore free of the spikes and fluttered away.

Something blurred up from the edge of the ice bear’s vision, a flash and shimmer of motion that converted itself into coruscating lights. Much like Zenz’s previous attack on the Vastaa however, it was too late for Kriege to do anything about the sudden, strange appearance other than mark its occurrence. His course was set, for he was already closing on his target at full speed. At the last second Kriege planted his rear paws and twisted his hips. The ice bear’s claws scraped over the metal floor as he converted his angular momentum into a sideways lunge by sheer, brute force. The frantic movement of his paws, the screech of claw on metal, the entire clash of sight and sound became a combination as effective as an intended feint. The hidden intent remained - to impale Kai upon the spikes of his left pauldron as thoroughly as the tattered remains of Kai's former hat had been.
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