=EC 2010= Sky Arena

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Kellehendros -> =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/20/2010 19:38:17)
Sky Arena OOC "No love for heights, Gorse?" Alex smiled to himself as the Redcap clung to the levitating stone paver that lowered slowly back towards the earth after a harrowing visit to the Arena in the sky. The Redcap made no reply, though he did let out a little whimper as he lay on the stone, seemingly attempting to become one with it in an attempt to not notice the vast distance remaining between the trio and the earth. The mage smiled at a silent thought touching his mind from his familiar's, and stepped lightly off the stone as it reached the ground. "Come, I imagine the next Arena will be more to your liking." ~~~ It had been a long year since the last Elemental Championship, but the Championship Arena Complex did not show signs of age, rather the contrary - it grew, and along with it, just a hill and a spring with a new stone bridge away, grew the city of Bren. The proximity of the Arena had done it much good - apart from the great crowds -- and thusly business -- it brought in during the Championship itself, just the presence of such a complex carried the township'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 Finals, and craft the minor alterations that seemed necessary from year to year. 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 artisans' handiwork soon enough, right after the priests and mages within them finish their last checks on the protective barriers and image transportation enchantments for the gathered crowds. ~~~ High above the main arena floated the conglomeration of levitating, interlocking stones that was the Sky Arena. No enchanters, magi, or artisans stood in the way of the contestants assigned to this arena. No, far from it, but rather eight magi stood waiting to offer their assistance in raising competitors to equidistant starting points that served in lieu of any gates allowing general access. The roughly hewn stones were not precisely inviting, however, and the whole arena seemed to spin slowly. Almost, just almost, as if trying to lull competitors into the large central hole within the Arena's form, where the stones spun at their swiftest. Or perhaps to make it more easy to trip due to the slight gaps and uneven surfaces. Traps, perhaps, or tricks to be exploited. Regardless, Sky was an unkind mistress from the first sight to the last, a fact that was made even clearer as a sudden grumble of thunder echoed through the air, and a light rain commenced to fall, slicking the stones and creating even more hazards for the unwary foot. It was time for blood to be spilled, and the first to fall. Sky, at last, was open.

Apocalypse -> RE: =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/20/2010 22:02:35)
With thundering steps Reinharn of the Eastern Tribe forced his way through the streets of Bren. The humans, feeble and pathetic creatures that they were, parted before the Prime Minotaur as his shadow overcast them. Scared, fearful, cowardly. Was this truly the city where the greatest warriors of the era gathered to compete in the Elemental Championships? It must be a hoax; they were no heroes or powerful beings here. The city was inhabited by hypocritical vermin who hastily covered up their own flaws and scoffed at the others. Had he been a fool in trying to find honor here? The only one to hold his ground as Reinharn appeared as the arenas were drawing near. He was a male of the race, but there were hardly any similarities between him and the ones the minotaur had fought on the plains. He wore brown cloth instead of gleaming armor, and a pot-belly was evident underneath. He was probably in his late thirties or early forties; an age that was well beyond that of the normal soldier. Still, the man fixed his gaze on Reinharn until they were only a few feet apart. The minotaur stopped short, snorting a breath of air as neither side offered a compromise. Mere seconds felt like eternities to the bystanders who uselessly watched on. At last Reinharn spoke, "Human, move aside." The man laughed at these words. "Me? Move aside? Just who do you think you are? I'm a man, and you're but a beast!" As he continued, his voice rose and he grew bolder and bolder. "Man are the ultimate creation of Lore! We were born for only one reason! To fight, to conquer, and to control! We hunt, we burn, we kill, we slaughter your kind by the thousands! For you see, man was given intelligence to overcome his enemies. What does his enemies have? The instincts of animals, and the appearances of one! So far, you've been fortunate because so many of us in the city have a little something called honor-" The man was cut short by a sweeping blow from the minotaur. Reinharn had only used a bare hand, but that had been enough to send the stubborn fool flying through the air. He roughly landed a good deal away, bouncing a couple of times before coming to a complete stop. Death was immediately ruled out as a possible consequence due to the low moaning coming from the once proud human. Reinharn gave him no attention as he focused his gaze on every human in the street. They recoiled in response, and the minotaur thrust back his head and roared ferociously. "DOES ANYONE ELSE WISH TO JOIN THIS COWARD!?!" His threat, as expected, was met with only silence. Settling down into a neutral stance, Reinhard shook his head with disgust. He spoke in a carrying whisper, "You humans have only flourished out of chance. You have no pride, no dignity, and no honor. And this is natural - to be a human is to be cursed! But today will be a fortunate day. For today, you will learn what it means to be a true warrior!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The sensation of floating through air was an unusual and unsettling one for Reinharn. The sky belonged to the birds, not the creatures of the ground, much less the rocks of Lore. But Reinharn could not let this be an obstacle. No matter the difficulty, not matter the cost, Reinharn must be victorious in this tournament. There was not room to spare for a bit of personal discomfort to threaten his goals. Still, Reinharn was relieved when the skyward journey came to an end. The rock beneath his hooves was a source of support and familiarity amidst the strange ways of the Elemental Championship. He lightly tapped his right hoof twice upon the rock to obtain a feel for his surroundings. The rock was not extraordinarily different from the ones in the northern mountains, and the majority of the twirling was done in the center of the arena. A simple strategy: stay close to the outer rim and force the other contestants off of the floating rocks. However, the only flaw in the plan was that the other contestants were nowhere to be seen. Gripping his battle-ax tightly with both hands, Reinharn patiently waited for his enemies to come and meet their doom.

kenzoku -> RE: =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/20/2010 23:14:35)
The ring was proof. This simple, brilliant band was the only sign Russell needed that he was in good favor with the lord of light. Naturally, he had no delusion that this gift automatically made him his lord's favorite. Perhaps now that he had been given this gift far more was expected from him in order to please that most grand of deities. The conjurer's room was not wanting for comforts; blessed contenders were apparently greatly respected by the humble people of this magnificent city. There was much that could be done for entertainment here, but Russell chose not to participate in the festivities. Instead, he sat in his room and offered his prayers to his lord by candlelight. Greatest of Lords. Giver of Life. You have done much for me and for others. I am sure I have done very little for you in comparison, but I believe myself one of many devoted to you. I pray tomorrow I will have the strength to become your champion. Amen. That's not a good sign... The sky was not looking friendly today. Unfortunately, that was exactly where he would be going. The fire that was the eye of the lord of light was hidden behind these mournful clouds. Russell nearly mourned along with them: without that light shining on him, the glory of his lord would be all the harder to fight for. No matter. My lord is merely testing me. I can't disappoint him. He checked over himself before leaving. Upon his head was a wide brimmed wizard hat. His thin, wiry frame was clothed in a short coat and a comfortable shirt. Everything he wore was white as freshly fallen snow. He took of his hat; in Sky Arena he was likely to lose it, and it was indeed close to him. His brilliant blond hair hung loose about him. His bright blue eyes shone with determination as he gazed up at the arena. This would take nerve, but he had it. He needed heart, but he had it. After showing proof of his participation to an arena mage, he found himself airborne. The trip was not as discomforting as he expected it would be. The butterflies in his stomach were from excitement. Flight, though not so fast or so high, was a familiar sensation. When his feet alighted upon the stonework, he couldn't help but frown. Wet stones... I will need to be even more careful on this floating deathtrap, especially given the lighting up here. There was one other contender here already. Russell flicked his wrist, emanating a soft glow from his ring. He waved to his likely bull-headed opponent and called to him. "Good day, sir! I would call it a fine day, but that would truly be stretching the truth very thin!" He flashed a bright grin, full of teeth as white as his coat before holding a hollow fist in front of himself. The wood of a bow materialized in his fist as his other hand gripped the string. When he drew it back, he simultaneously conjured an arrow. With an easy grace, he loosed his arrow from the short bow, aimed roughly at his opponent's chest. Ah... That one's flying nicely. Things were looking up, considering his adversaries would need to move slowly to avoid falling flat. Or possibly flatter, depending on how far they might slide across these slick stones.

TormentedDragon -> RE: =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/21/2010 2:15:29)
"I'm not a tourist." "But surely you are here for the tournament?" "Yes, but I'm not here to sleep in your filthy rotten beds, eat the swill that you call food, or buy the dross that you peddle to insipid little thrillseekers on the streets. Your town, if you could even call it that, holds no interest for me. So, you pathetic waste of life, take your greedy fingers and your pack of catamites elsewhere. I have no further business with you." Astounding that the man had even dared approach. They must be truly inured to the strange, here, else the crowd would be clearing for him, people pointing, whispering, most probably thinking he was some necromancer's revenant lackey. But no! Instead, a man tried to sell him a rug carried by a pack of small boys. Idiocy! His shouting, and perhaps the scowl he wore, must have warned off any other enterprising fools, even if people continued to walk unnaturally close. He stopped as he reached a crossroads, shading his black eyes with his hands as he looked up at the rock suspended in the sky. "Cloud over the rock ring, on an otherwise cloudless day? Smells like mummery." His lips peeled back in a smile, showing a row of teeth white enough to make snow jealous. "Good. I was afraid this would be too easy." His token was accepted, and the mage sent him skyward on the stone platform with a minimum of fuss. Gratifying, that. No advice, no well wishes, just plain indifference. That mage had the right idea. Rivera didn't care about him either. "Yeah. Mummery. Rain'll make the rocks slick, and they don't stay still, neither. Little cracks, looks like. Still got shadows, though," he mused, scratching the tattoo on his neck, "so it's not as bad as it could be. Wonder what I'll be up against..." No point in getting wet earlier than he had to, though, so he put up his Shadow, forming the dark mass into a coolie hat for his head. Perfect shape to keep the rain out of his face, and off his shoulders. "Oh, good, I'm almost there. Let's see what I've got here." His platform drew level with the rest of the arena, laying the scene out for him. First thing you see, of course, is the minotaur; the eyes are naturally drawn to something that large. Now THAT promised to be an interesting fight, what with all that bulk on an unstable battlefield. The question was, could the big guy handle it? Looked to be a pure weapons user, just based on the visible armament... oh yes. He would be fun. Assuming he even got the chance to fight the bull. Some pissant light mage, all dolled up in pretty white cloth, had decided to start things off with an arrow of light. "Always the same color," he muttered, stepping off the platform and walking their way at a leisurely pace. "Never branch out, these little flies. You'd think dying would teach them something, but I guess you can't learn the lackwits."

Ryu Viranesh -> RE: =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/21/2010 14:41:35)
"Alright that's good; now you men are gonna have to carefully-I SAID CAREFULLY LOWER IT DOWN! If you do it like that you're gonna break or damage the wood and, more importantly for you, it'll come out of your pay, got it?" The men grumbled and glared at Marcos, but they still began to lower the log more slowly. It was the last one before the completion of the job and they wanted to be rid of their picky overseer just as bad as he wanted to be rid of them. Marcos shook his head and muttered to himself, he should have just payed the innkeeper like a normal customer, not offered to help him get his leaky roof fixed within only a few hours. Now he had to deal with the consequences; he'd woken up very early on the morning of the competition that he'd come here to enter, had to set up the makeshift crane to get the old logs off and the new ones on, and had to deal with these terrible workmen who didn't know how to follow instructions. Finally the last log slid into place and the Handyman let out a sigh of relief. After a cursory examination, the innkeeper gave him a nod that told him he could go. Barely holding in his urge to jump for joy and let out a yell of victory, Marcos went and grabbed his gathered gear from where he had piled it and strapped it all back into place, pulling his trenchcoat on over everything else. His charity work was done for the day, so it was time to get down to business. With a final wave towards the innkeeper and his hired help, Marcos departed the area and headed towards the arena complex, the site of the Elemental Championships. He let out a yawn as he walked, blinking his eyes quickly as he attempted to clear the weariness from his body. The city of Bren was wide awake by this time of day, citizens running from one place to the next and tourists frequenting the stalls and buying items to commemorate their coming here for the Elemental Championships. But it was still possible to move quickly within the mass of people and he encountered little to no traffic on his way to the Arena grounds. As he arrived at the general area he glanced up to try and see if he could view the arena in the sky that was to be his place of battle. To his surprise, he could and from what he could see.....it was raining up there. Marcos couldn't help but grin at this as he had been disappointed to hear that he was placed in the Sky Arena at first. It had meant that it would be far more difficult to take complete control of the battlefield than he thought. But he guessed that the Lord of Energy had been looking out for him after all and had provided him with the means to make this battle much easier on him. He should have just trusted in his patron in the first place and known that he would have provided for him. So he fell to his knees in homage just outside of the Arena gates, his hands earnestly clasped in prayer. Marcos thanked the Energy Lord for all that he had done for him both today and before and for what he would hopefully do for him in the future. He then asked his blessing on him for today's competition and vowed that he would show his Master that someone who didn't rely almost completely on magic and other such powers was still worthy of being his champion, not just here in this tournament of battle, but in life. At the conclusion of his worship, Marcos separated his hands and allowed a spark to flow forth from each, creating an audible "crack" sound in the area. As he stood up, the Handyman caught several people, including a couple of the mages waiting to raise people up to the Arena, staring at him strangely. But he ignored them and walked towards one of the magic users who hadn't stared at him in confusion, shock or anything of the sort. In fact, the man was wearing a knowing smile as Marcos approached him and spoke as soon as the younger man handed him the small wooden token proving that he was a contestant, "Showing your devotion to your patron I see, something some of the younglings today forget about and don't take the time to do. I can't say that I hope you win because I'm aligned with wind you see, but I wish you good luck just the same boy, show the people and the Lords above a good fight up there." "Thank you sir, that's exactly what I plan to do. Give the Lords something to think about," responded Marcos, slightly awed that one of the mages would give him such a compliment. The man with the long golden beard just nodded and with several gestures sent the Handyman rising into the sky, the air rushing past him as he ascended the distance to the arena that floated far above the ground. The ride took a relatively short amount of time and despite it seeming to be a very perilous position, Marcos enjoyed it very much. The feeling of freedom it provided was only beaten by the first time he had used his electricity generation powers, and that had been nowhere near exhilarating as this. Eventually the fun had to end though and as Marcos' platform rose to be level with the arena and became one of the outer stones, the rain pitter-pattering onto the stones below him and starting to accumulate on his trenchcoat, he knew that it was once again business as usual. Marcos glanced around the arena and took a glance at his competition, wanting to see what he'd be up against. The first thing he noticed was the large bulk of what looked to be one of the race of bull-men, a minotaur, standing two stones away from him as an arrow of what looked to be light headed for its chest. He guessed that this arrow had been fired by the blond haired man holding a bow who only had a stone between himself and the hulking beast of oxen-flesh. One stone away from the light mage and one stone away from himself was a relatively average sized man who looked far from average. He had alabaster skin and hair that was the color of blackest night with some variety of dark hood over his head to protect him from the rain. No one else seemed to have arrived yet and so Marcos decided that it was time to begin to set up the battlefield as well as he could before they had a chance to arrive. He observed the spinning of the battlefield as he pulled his arms quickly into his trenchcoat and pulled several objects out of the pockets, his hands falling almost back into place, remaining just inside the sleeves, making it look like he was cold. The Handyman took a couple careful steps forward, making sure that he was certain of his footing on the slippery rotating stones. Then he pinched something between his thumb and index finger, gave it a slight shock and dropped his arm as low to the ground as he could before he let it slide from his hand. Hopefully the rain would hide the sound and he'd timed the rotation of the arena correctly. Marcos continued to walk towards the center, dropping more small objects as he went, shocking them each a different amount, planning to have them activate simultaneously.

Geddesmck -> RE: =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/21/2010 15:45:58)
“Oh, he was a fearsome figure all right. Standing seven, no eight, feet tall! And his sword! Was that a sight to behold; it could cleave a dragon in two with a single stroke and it did on more than one occasion. And I’ll tell you this for free too, he might be fearsome, but there’s nary a woman in this grand old land that could resist his charms. His features are so chiselled his chin is considered a deadly weapon,” the man grinned and pointed to a young couple, “If I found myself with a pretty lass, I’d keep her locked up until the championships are over.” He chuckled and took another swig of ale, missing his mouth and pouring half the drink onto his chest. After muttering a curse, he looked back up at the small crowd who had surrounded him, “Aye, well, you’ll all see for yourself soon enough. Tomorrow, Prince Florindo Aruntani, the Fist of the Fire Lord, will be named Elemental Champion.” When it was clear the old man had nothing more to say the crowd wandered off, all chattering among themselves about the grand tales they’d just been told. The storyteller watched them depart and finished his drink, the smile of a pleasantly intoxicated man lingering on his face. He waited a moment, rocking slightly on his stool, before turning back to the bar. More specifically he turned to a man sitting at the bar. “Told ‘em what you wanted. Can I have me money now?” he said, holding out his hand. The man did not look at him, but removed a few small coins from his pocket and dropped them into the drunkard’s outstretched palm. “Thank ye’ kindly,” he said and stood up, preparing to leave with his hard earned coins, but stopped as a thought popped into his head. “Just out of curiosity; are you even really a Prince?” There was a short pause. “I was once.” He was far from a fearsome figure. Standing a good few inches under six feet tall. His sword was an ornate rapier, suited for ceremony and duels, not battles of the kind it would encounter in the Elemental Championship. As for his effect on women, well, there was no denying he was handsome in a rugged kind of way. His features had once been soft, but years of combat had changed them; they were harder and his nose was misaligned from being broken in the past. His pale blue eyes were not particularly enchanting and his long dark hair failed to look windswept; simply looking messy. However, he demonstrated his wealth by wearing a pristine white shirt, high quality leather trousers and polished boots. He also wore a long coat; the only piece of clothing that looked like it was not new, on his shoulders and somehow managed to pull the look off. No, he was not a fearsome figure, he barely stood out from the rest of the crowd, but there was something about him. ‘Prince’ Florindo Aruntani, the self named Fist of the Fire Lord, may not have looked as impressive as his stories suggested, but the arrogance with which he held himself would suggest he believed in his own legend. His strides were long and confident, bringing him swiftly to his destination; the Sky Arena. The closer he got, the fewer people crossed his path. It was not long before Florindo stood mere meters from the arena itself and, a brief glance around the surrounding area revealed, he found himself alone. He stared up at his assigned arena and felt a familiar, and none too pleasant, stirring in the pit of his stomach. Florindo looked a lot less arrogant while he was vomiting, in fact, he looked almost pathetic. He was greatful that there was no one to see him in such a state. This would be the biggest fight of his life and now Florindo was wondering if he was ready for it. Perhaps he should just wait another year. The thought was certainly appealing. If he fought this year, he could easily die. He hadn’t really prepared for the Championship, but with another year, he could be at his peak. Yes, he’d certainly have a better chance if he just waited one more year. But that would mean he’d have to wait another year to go home. Florindo shrugged off his coat as he stepped onto the outer ring of the Sky Arena. He again had a certain air about him, but whether it was false arrogance or cool determination was hard to tell. He placed a hand on the hilt of his rapier and looked into the sky. He frowned as he felt the rain drops falling across his face. “Send your rain and your champions; it shall not stop me taking my revenge.”

Apocalypse -> RE: =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/21/2010 22:59:16)
Reinharn only snarled in response to the white one's greeting. This idea of friendly communication between two enemies was hardly a practice that would be of use in any situation. It was downright derogatory to the tribe harboring this human. He only displayed cowardice in his attempt to forge an ally out of an adversary. But the insult to the Elemental Championship did not end there. No, white robes then summoned a bow and arrow with the aid of sorcery in order to assault Reinharn! Accustomed to the use of projectiles, the minotaur grasped the head of Earthshaker with his left hand and positioned the head of the weapon between him and the arrow. He judged a little high, for the tip of the arrow struck the lowest edge of the ax, causing the wooden shaft to twirl underneath the makeshift shield and collide harmlessly against his metal armor. This ended the quick showcase of cowardice, treachery, magic, and ranged weaponry. "I believe I'll be doing mankind a favor," retorted Reinharn as he reached back for his first Razor, "by disposing of you!" In one fluid motion, Reinharn detached the s-shaped blade from his backside and swung it around at his full arm's length. Just as the Razor passed his side, Reinharn released his grip on the weapon. With the blade aiming horizontally at the magician's navel, it would surely saw white robes in half. Reinharn would also have to refer to him as crimson robes instead of white robes. Still, a magician could never be deemed dead until his head was separated from the rest of his body. To ensure his death, the minotaur broke into a steady jog before leaping from his stone to the one in front of white robes. He was careful with his landing, allowing the force of the jump to bring him to a crouching position for a few moments to avoid a fatal fall. While in this temporarily disabled state, Reinharn focused his attention on the magician to see how he would handle a weapon of raw power.

xaxtoo -> RE: =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/22/2010 1:18:43)
Gohlin looked at the little wooden coin in his hand with disdain, he then peered out at the world with a sour look on his face, in fact, one could say his whole life is distasteful at the moment. The possibility of participating in the Elemental Championships remained just that until mere moments ago when he received his arena assignment in small circular form. Not that Gohlin wasn't prepared for this, but reality had hit, he was actually going to fight soon, if he backed out now, for all intents and purposes, his world might just as well as end, and it would not be fine. How could his professed profession of being a gentleman of leisure lead him to this spot? As this was a question he had posed every single night traveling to Bren, he knew the answer well, but as he has a little time to kill while walking to the spot that would initiate doom, there's no better way to settle the nerves and raise the anger levels than tracing paths of resentment building since two solid months ago. He was chilling one evening on his back and his dad came up to him with a serious look, one that foreshadowed Gohlin would either have to leave immediately or stay and be coerced into doing something. And as a serious gentleman of leisure, Gohlin was pretty stubborn about doing his job right and stayed there, unmoving, slightly anxious, but hoping his time will remain his time. But that was not to be as his dad told him in the period of about an hour why a gentleman of leisure needs to start his own life, find a wife, and move out. Of course, that meant Gohlin would have leave the village, because all of the girls there are "sisters" and he shouldn't take advantage of his "sister", and some mumbo jumbo about interracial marriages being the only that can produce offspring. Gohlin couldn't care less about progeny, but his livelihood of being a gentleman of leisure was endangered, as his dad threatened to kick him out of the house and not feed him. So, since he would have been kicked out anyways, Gohlin settled for leaving to find a source of being fed, namely lovely hands that would make his food. If only those grew on trees, but alas. His dad also suggested going to the Elemental Championships to prove his worth as a man and impress the chicks, whatever that means. And Gohlin, lacking options and methods of getting to know girls, took it, but even now he can't help but wonder if he was nicely goosed into doing exactly what his dad wanted him to do since birth, which was to be a great fighter. But, whatever. Hating his dad and the world, Gohlin arrived at the wizard, who stared at him expectantly. Probably not to the wizard's expectations, Gohlin stared back, using anything to prolong his time outside of the arena. A little confused and with just a slight disproving head shake at the youth of the generation, the older gentleman, resembling more a butler than some great scholar, extended a hand, and coughed. Bam! Gohlin's hand came down to meet that of the wizard's with quite a bit of force. The wizard's arm jerked in response, and this time the glorified doorman was again a little confused with anger definitely slowly surging onto the face. Seeing that, Gohlin bowed as an apology and waited, killing more time as the offended tried to figure out what was the bow acknowledged signal to release this peculiar young man. Gohlin gave no hints and just stood there hunched over and after what felt like enough dawdling, he rose, tipped the harbinger of his misfortune with the coin and went on the stone. On the way up, Gohlin went over his game plan: stay alive, impress girls, and don’t die. As he couldn't possibly die upon entry, he will try to make the most out of objective number 2. And fortuitously, since his entrance will be shown to large viewing audience, he struck a dramatic pose. Having an inkling of how popular people make visual statements, he raised his arms skyward, pointing the index fingers towards the heavens and looked to some invisible object in the distance as the stone slid into place. Gohlin's here, ladies.

DWeird -> RE: =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/22/2010 14:16:09)
It was a long wait 'till the start of the actual festivities. Long enough to for Snibbor to start repeating himself with all the affectionate nicknames he gave the various mages scurrying about, busying themselves with bringing the arenas up to par. This irked him a bit - no one likes to be reminded of their limits, you see - but it irritated the mages even more. Maybe it wasn't so much the nicknames as the fact as he was singing them in a lively lampoon rendered in a voice that was long reduced to a grating hoarse barking by many a year of drinking what's not meant to be drunk and smoking what was at best likely to be meant to be drunk. The fact that he was perfectly sober didn't really help - mostly because, well, it really would have been patently impossible for any reasonable being to establish that from a casual observation. Or several hours of being subjected to the song, even. "Maintenance MAGES! Service Sor-ce-rors! Assistance Enchannnters! Worker Wizarrrds! Provisions prattlers!" The objects of this jaunty tune just grinded their teeth and did their best to go along their business - after all, it wasn't exactly smart to mess with someone who styled themselves a 'mageslayer'. Really, it wasn't exactly smart to mess with most of would-be championship contestants - sociopaths or delusional do-gooders all of them, tied to reality by only the frailest of threads, they were as likely to eat your head off your shoulders as to give you unwarranted assistance in a time of lack of need. Best to err on the side of caution. As an added bonus, this guy was perfect for all the boogeyman stories the older mages were spilling on their apprentices - who, while vaguelly suspecting, managed to find the inner force to maintain that special puppy-dog trust that is only possible for people who are in desperate need of someone to toady to. Their preparations finally done, one of the apprentices, obviously on a dare, approached the greenskin warrior, hiding his shaky sweaty palms behind his back, mustering the strength to strike that arrogant pose with the chin up high that that they teach you in spellcasting one o' one, really scraping the bottom of the barrel for whatever means of defense against the verbal assault that was certain to follow. "We are - gyah - ready to..." Seeing the young mage approach, Snibbor stopped his little song and grinned widely, baring every little sharp fang in between his purple lips. Saying nothing. Staring. Saying nothing. Staring. Taking one step closer... "WAH!" The mage cried, recoiling and hiding his face as if awaiting a fist to the kisser. Snibbor, however, noticed none of that... due to a sudden and drastic change of scenery. The apprenticle, startled as he was, put a little too much kick in the levitation spell - or maybe it was a roundabout way for the older wizards to wage their petty vengeance. Whatever the source, the mageslayer was now mage-propelled at high spe-- There went the arena! Crazy spinning cluster of rocks... Typical magery, showing off how well they put rocks in the skies. Still swirdling at high speeds and ever-higher altitudes, he rolled his eyes. This situation was just so trice-ice-forsaken typical for his line of work that it hurt a bit just thinking about it. So he didn't, and instead just enjoyed the nice tactical overview his new position gave him... Seemed like more than one contestant got onto the rock already, and it didn't take them that long t-- Glargle, can't even finish a thought with this crap! Surrounded by all sides with a watery mist and an irritating itch at the tip of his nose, he knew what was happening. Well, mostly. Some idiot thought it'd brighten everyone's day if there was a sparkly enchanted cloud of rain hanging above a place where people fight and die. Still, never one to waste a good thing, the mageslayer adjusted the dual scoop strapped securely to his back to do what it does best - scoop the heck out of all the ambient water magic there. By the time the greenskin ceased his ikarian journey upwards and began the likely much less glorious descent, both of his scoops were chock full of rich watery goodness. Emerging froum the shroud of cloud mist, he was calm, diving-face forward straight for the rock with his arms and legs outstretched somewhat to lessen the speed, with full knowledge that that would not be quite enough if he is to survive this fall. But he knew what he was doing. He wasn't going to die. "Yeah, that's what you keep telling yourself, Snikky." He mumbled, the spinning rocks drawing ever closer...

kenzoku -> RE: =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/22/2010 19:31:04)
The arrow had done very little, if effectively anything. Russell chuckled softly; he was proud that is projectile had managed to hit at all. He didn't realize the minotaur had a ranged weapon as well until he saw the wicked blade. He dropped his bow, taking a pair of giant steps to one to bring himself from harm's way. Evasion wasn't enough though, was it? In order to impress his lord, he couldn't simply dodge all that threatened him. He needed to counterattack. He held his hands before him, and in his grip appeared a great iron club. He reared back and swung, aiming to deflect the wicked blades back in the general direction they had come from. His eyes widened in surprise; the minotaur that was once within shouting range was now so close! A sprint would place the monstrous humanoid right beside himself, assuming he was sure-footed as a mountain goat. Russell was thankful, both for the health of himself and his obviously stalwart opponent, but that was not the end of the wonderful news: the clouds were thin enough for him to feel the sunlight against his skin! Additionally, during the course of the fight's first few actions, a plethora of fellow competitors had arrived. He would take note of them later, when he was not within dashing range of the mad cow.

TormentedDragon -> RE: =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/23/2010 1:09:15)
What the hell was that noise? It sounded like metal on rock, and so far, the walking steak had yet to crash any of his oversized weapons into the arena floor, or the lackwit, for that matter. And there it was again! He turned his head, and spotted another man, who must have arrived on the arena floor mere moments after he had. His eyes narrowed, and he stopped, watching carefully as the man moved. There was something odd about the way he was moving, something that said he was hoping not to be noticed... and there was yet another of those sounds, coming from his direction. Well, then. A dirty, underhanded trickster, setting what was likely some form of trap? Excellent! "Let us see just how clever you are," he whispered, and set off at a run, eyes on the ground below him to keep his footing steady, his staff held at the ready in his right hand. There was no subtlety in this approach, but on a field like this, there was no cover to be had.

Ryu Viranesh -> RE: =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/23/2010 1:10:47)
Marcos dropped his fourth bomb just as he had the previous three, with a slightly larger amount of electricity than the last one so that they would all detonate at the same time. As he started to walk forward so that he could find the appropriate place to seed his fifth and final bomb and complete his trap for the entire arena, he heard a sound, the echo of footsteps. As Marcos turned to his left and glanced back the way he had come, he saw that the man who looked like he had never seen a day of sunlight was running across the suspended stones of the arena, charging in his direction with some type of staff in hand. Since there were no others in his viscinity, this competitor had obviously chosen him as his opponent. The Handyman frowned at this momentarily, his perfect trap had been ruined. However, he supposed that this wasn't all bad, this was why he had come here in the first place. To fight for the honor and glory of his patron, the Energy Lord and to earn the right to become his champion, and sitting back and letting his gear do all of the work wasn't going to do that. So he supposed that it was time that he got to business. Marcos glanced at his foe again and determining that he had a small amount of time before the warrior would come into range, carefully thought through what he could do to respond to the beings attack. Within a couple of moments he had his plan and a small smile rose to his face; this would indeed be quite interesting. Marcos waited a few more seconds for the white warrior to come a bit closer to him before he reacted. He took the bomb that he was holding in his hands and gave it a shock like he had the others before it, save that this shock was considerably more powerful, meant to detonate the bomb in the very near future. With that the Handyman cocked his hand back and threw the bomb towards the walking slab of alabaster. If his timing was right, the bomb would explode just within the man's reach, making it difficult for him to smack the small projectile back at him with his staff, even if he was sacrificing some potential damage in order to prevent this. Now Marcos carefully moved backwards, his eyes on the wet stones to prevent himself from falling as his hands wandered along his body to grab the gear that he knew he'd need. By the time he'd stopped moving, the Handyman had drawn his Short Glaive and a single Lightning Rod from storage and raised his gaze to his opponent, ready for battle.

TormentedDragon -> RE: =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/23/2010 1:25:34)
Yes, the man had seen him, and as he neared, he could see more details of his opponent. A warrior of some kind, though it was an odd weapon he wore. Half of a glaive? "Fool." Yet the scarred one reacted well to the charge, waiting until he had closed a good part of the distance before sending a charge into the ball he held. "Energy! Damn!" With such warning, Rivera pulled up his Shadow, forming a circular shield directly in front of him even as the bomb was thrown. He had not been expecting an explosion, that was certain, but still the brunt of it dissipated on his Shadow, the shrapnel bouncing off the hardened mass of black, a few bits and pieces striking his shin guards. "Grenades! So that's your trick!" he crowed, and leaned into the charge, the Shadow shield sprouting a lethal array of spikes. "Prepare yourself, Grenadier!"

Geddesmck -> RE: =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/23/2010 14:19:14)
Florindo had not been the first to arrive in the Sky Arena. In fact, he noticed that one of the earlier arrivals had already initiated combat with a... ‘thing’. Florindo failed to find a word that accurately described the ‘thing’. Man-bull? Bullman? Neither sounded quite right, but he supposed Bullman would have to do for now. However, the name of the creature was unimportant; all Florindo needed to know was that it was moving away from him, towards the foolish man who had dared provoke such a beast. On the other side of Florindo was a more pressing matter; a man in a trench coat was moving towards the centre of the arena. The way he was walking seemed unnatural, but it was difficult to determine exactly what was strange about his movements. Whatever the man was doing could be troublesome for Florindo, but he was unwilling to act when there was the possibility of tricks and traps. Obviously someone else was either more observant or more courageous than Florindo. The suspicious man was being approached by an exceptionally white figure. Knowing exactly how dangerous fights in the Elemental Championship could become; Florindo decided it was best if he moved away from the man in the trench coat lest he get caught up in his fight. He glanced back towards the Bullman and the fool, only to spot a previously unnoticed competitor. He was making a strange gesture; both fingers pointed skyward and looking, or so it seemed, directly at Florindo. For a moment this puzzled Florindo. Was the man showing off? It would seem a foolish thing to do in such a hazardous setting. A particularly heavy rain drop struck Florindo, followed by a particularly alarming thought. The man was pointing into the air; right at the rain clouds! “You! You have summoned this cursed rain!” called Florindo, drawing his rapier in a rushed, inelegant manner. With long, furious strides Florindo approached the rain-summoner. However, in his rage, he failed to pay adequate attention to his footing and slipped. Fortunately the fire competitor kept from falling, but only just. His stumble elicited a roar of frustration. The flames of anger were burning in his chest and it was having an effect on the rest of his body. His skin was reddening noticeably, and every drop of rain that fell against his bare skin evaporated instantly, leaving Florindo wreathed in steam. An explosion should have caught Florindo’s attention, but he had eyes only for his chosen target. “You will fight me Rainman and you will fall. I am Prince Florindo Aruntani, Fist of Fire Lord, and I shall be your killer.” With these words Florindo charged forward.

Ryu Viranesh -> RE: =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/23/2010 14:30:40)
Marcos watched as his bomb flew towards his lightly armored foe, expecting the man to be completely and utterly surprised at the explosion, which seemed to be out of the range of a simple person such as the Handyman. But somehow the warrior actually managed to shock Marcos, not the other way around. The man had apparently had some inkling that his attack was going to be dangerous and had pulled up a shield that looked to be made of a black substance....could it be the man's own shadow!? Marcos had definitely seen some strange things in his lifetime, but this was definitely one of the few that actually made him raise an eyebrow. Even if it had allowed his opponent to completely avoid his attack, he had to admit that this method interested and impressed him. Maybe this fight would be enjoyable after all, especially since it seemed that this man loved to use "powers" in order to win his battles. This was exactly what he had come here to fight against; in a way you could say that he was living his dream right now. The Handyman was pulled from his reverie by a yell from his foe, "Grenades! So that's your trick! Prepare yourself Grenadier!" With these words the shield that the man had summoned to protect him from damage suddenly became something capable of causing damage as a field of spikes rose from its black surface and the man began a second charge at him, trying to quickly close the distance and bludgeon him with his shield-turned-weapon. Marcos almost wanted to let his jaw drop at this, but managed to resist the impulse; he wouldn't show weakness or shock in the face of the enemy, not today. He'd worked far too hard to get here and he wouldn't let some unknown freak's shadow toy get the better of him. The Handyman gripped his lightning rod so hard that his hand became white and started to hurt as he charged his foe in kind, not intending to back down from his first clash at the Elemental Championships. Truthfully though, he had no idea what he was going to do as he ran towards the black and white enemy before him; he hadnt had time to really plan anything out in advance. So he'd have to improvise with what he had, something he didn't enjoy doing but something that he was capable at nonetheless. With mere moments before he collided with the man he would have to think fast, so he quickly glanced at what he was holding in his hands and gave himself a slight nod; he knew what he would have to do if he wanted to break through this man's instrument of pain and torture. As he closed with his challenger Marcos screamed right back at him, "If you think that all I am is a Grenadier sir then you are VERY much mistaken and are a much bigger fool than I!" With that he pulled back his left arm, the one with the lightning rod in hand, charged electricity down its length, and thrust the weapon in front of him towards the deadly shield. As soon as it made contact, Marcos released the electricity that was bound within the rod on the man's weapon. Normally, only a single bolt of lightning could be fired from the weapon when it was not staked into the ground, but since it was pressed up against the shield with nowhere to go, the lightning dispersed with great force from the point of contact, like cracks spreading from the large initial impact. The sheer force of the attack pushed Marcos' arm away from the shield, but the clever Handyman used the momentum to increase the power of the swing from his other hand, containing the glaive that was also charged with electricity. The strike went horizontally across the center position of the shield and would bring the weapon across again on the backswing, this time aiming diagonally upward.

Apocalypse -> RE: =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/23/2010 17:03:13)
During his recovery, Reinharn noted the irregular and unpredictable movements of white robes. The magician had been able to dodge the Razor entirely, but he still insisted on summoning an iron club in order to deflect the spinning blade. Who was he trying to impress with this little display? An intelligent warrior would have pressed the advantage of Reinharn's landing, but this foolhardy human obviously lacked the experience of real war. The club of iron and blade of steel met with a mighty clash, its sound resonating across the arena. White robes had managed to negate most of the force of the projectile, but the Razor still passed by him and clattered to the ground near the far edge of the floating stone. Oh, how fortune smiled upon Reinharn today! Instead of losing a Razor early on in the battle, Reinharn would be able to get an extra use out of it. Perhaps white robes would be more useful alive... But this was not the only favorable outcome of the magician's mistake. Due to his contact with the spinning blade, white robes stumbled and would almost inevitably need a few precious seconds to regain his balance. Now was the perfect opportunity for Reinharn to gain the upper hand. Bursting from his cautious stance to a sprint like a bat out of hell, the great minotaur charged his handicapped adversary. As a result of years spent in the mountains, his steps were relatively unhindered by the slick rock beneath his hooves, making him even more lethal, if that was possible. Closing in quickly and efficiently, Reinharn raised his battle-ax Earthshaker and sent it crashing it down upon his opponent. Aiming to sever the magician from his left shoulder to his right hip, the head of the brutal weapon fell like a descending meteor from the heavens.

kenzoku -> RE: =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/23/2010 18:24:15)
Well, at least he wasn't sliced in half like a melon. This was the bright side. The darker cloud he was outlining was composed of his failure to send that wicked blade somewhere where it could cause real damage. He was lucky; the impact had made him lose his club, so his spinning as a result of his action would not be prolonged by the extra weight. There. Spinning done. "Oh, bugger..." The minotaur was standing just before him now, and he didn't seem at all pleased. At least, not in the traditional sense. Come to think of it, Russell wasn't completely sure he'd be able to recognize happiness on his hunter's bovine countenance. At any rate, there was precious little time left to act, even with his agility enhanced by the light of the sun. That ax was coming down and he needed to be protected, else-wise it would bite into his soft flesh. The movement of his arm rising to protect his face was reflexive. The shield he conjured in his defense was more of a vital afterthought. What happened afterward was difficult to understand at the time. Before his eyes, the arena and the minotaur both seemed inclined, taking gravity in a new direction. The anticipated "klang" of metal on metal was shortly delayed, followed by rapid movement upward across the floor of the arena, parallel to himself. Russell sat up, dazed but otherwise unharmed. His conjured shield bore a huge dent, luckily only bruising the arm beneath with the impact. Apparently he had lost his balance and fallen to one side, only to be propelled across the slick stones by the strength of the aggressor. He stood up, taking a moment to look around at the others before he continued. Only two others were currently engaged, their elements clear enough based on the attack he witnessed; an explosion striking a black shield of shadow. One of these men was clearly aligned with darkness, and the other likely with fire. The other men had just recently arrived, one having soared straight up like a trebuchet stone while the other stood in what must have been an attempt at an impressive posture. The time for impressions was severely limited, so it was again time to attack before the nigh-unencumbered beast caught up to him. He conjured up this time a short spear of light, painstakingly testing the weight of it in one hand before carrying through with the force and momentum of his entire body to send it soaring toward the minotaur. The soft glow emanating from his ring swallowed itself as Russell aimed his fist at his opponent. Although only meant to singe flesh, the laser he fired from that ring was quick and accurate. Maybe he would bother the beast before his projectile struck.

TormentedDragon -> RE: =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/23/2010 18:54:31)
Lightning poured into his Shadow, and a shock of pain went through his body as the shield vanished into nothing. "Darks take it!" he roared, turning to take the glaive strike on his upraised staff, his left arm braced on the darkened wood to further cushion the blow. Energy on the blade, so he could expect almost every attack to be energi- And his boot slipped. Cursed rain! Down he went, landing hard on his tookus, but it did get him out of the way of the blade, and offered him an opening. Yes! Either take his leg or force him back, so his staff flickered black as he whipped it around at his adversary's left leg, his Shadow giving the staff a wicked cutting edge. "Bleed!"

xaxtoo -> RE: =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/24/2010 2:15:37)
Usually, when someone strikes a hero pose and gets on stage, there's some sort of display aimed at pleasing the more simple-minded folk; however, Gohlin was welcomed by rain! Oh, how much he hates rain, his individual vehemence against the natural phenomenon pretty much equals the entirety of the reverence given to it by his entire tribe. They loved being able to sense the flow of the water, especially when it comes down in bunches and create a watery outline around everything it touches, which allowed them to truly experience the fullness of nature. It's not really a mystery why Gohlin's people worshipped the stuff, but Gohlin hated being bombarded with information of his surroundings he couldn't care less about and hated having his clothes stick to him, and most of all, Gohlin just hated the wetness of it. Of course, it almost felt natural the thing he despised to do would greet him in a less than pleasant fashion. And the rain, just by existing was forcibly flooding Gohlin's mind with information. He could sense the uneven arena and the many individual bumps, in fact, there were so many of them it seemed as if the arena, quaint in its overall shape as a floating donut, innocently desired contestant's misfortune to happen by neglecting to always pay attention to it. The water also told him of the creatures atop this rock: counting himself there were five others, two less than he had expected. He showed up much, much too early; he did not dawdle long enough. The rain was a busy gossip and took but a second to blather plenty of juicy details to Gohlin, but in that single instant, it managed to show Gohlin the unpleasantness of the place as well as made Gohlin painfully aware of just how much time he would have to stay alive. Water always managed to ruin his mood; it's like the annoying know-it-all friend that just nags and shows off. And all Gohlin can do was try to ignore it as best as he can; however, better logic prevented him from diverting too much attention as he's not so stupid as to not realize that he's in an area of wannabe murderers. Despite his proclivities, everything still has to work towards the number one goal of survival. His perhaps unfairly resented information gatherer do have deficiencies, as it does little other than detecting movement. Unbeknownst to the rain, this entire time, Gohlin had been unknowingly staring at a man, who by amazing luck or discernment figured out Gohlin can use water and issued a challenge. Although Gohlin would have preferred the scenario of sheer probability of guessing, for the time being, he'll give the man the benefit of the doubt and assume the worst, for he will not underestimate his opponent, that business is far too risky. The other ramification of the challenge was that Gohlin's pose had apparently worked. However, it attracted, putting it gently, a dude! Gohlin could not feel miffed at the guy for one, wanting to fight and jeopardizing his life, and two, for being a freaking dude! Annoyance, however, could not spur Gohlin to action as he was rather ambivalent about killing the guy. Whatever reasons the dirty greasy shorty had, Gohlin was sure he did not even closely reciprocate them, at most Gohlin just wanted to incapacitate the man so he can be sure of his survival. Really, if Gohlin had his way, he would run, but droning his mind are words of wisdom from his dad and one of the phrases is: "Son, girls like men that are not afraid to do manly things." Despite the clouds of mystery that mystify "manly things", Gohlin needs to somehow follow that advice as it will one day lead to his all important meal ticket. And he thinks for this case, it means try to defeat the other guy as fast as possible as a show of overpowering manliness. Still not sold about the quality of the justification of his motivation to fight, Gohlin nevertheless took out his bow. Much to his surprise, his opponent took a stumble then steamed in anger at his own inability to stay on his feet, stupidly awarding a point to the donut. He then shouted, completing the sequence of idiotic actions that Gohlin would guess was a display of manliness prowess. Gohlin reassessed his judgment of the man's character from earlier, concluding this time that the astute mind might really be dumb lucky after all. Still, it affects not what Gohlin was going to do as he reached for an arrow, not accounting for arena spin due to proximity, aimed for the leg and shot. Quickly, he notched another arrow and fired.

Apocalypse -> RE: =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/24/2010 11:58:06)
So, the magician still has a few tricks up his sleeve. Instead of taking the blow head-on, white robes managed to summon a shield to defend himself. While it was not enough to stop the little man from being thrown to one side of the rock, it did prevent his death and most of the major wounds one would normally receive from a battle-ax. He was quicker than expected, and his inconvenient summoning of weapons was not exactly making the battle any easier. But Reinharn could adjust to this. No magician had ever beaten him in battle, and Reinharn was not about to allow white robes the honor of being the first. The minotaur had turned with his adversary's flight and rushed forward when white robes had risked a quick glance of the arena. However, Reinharn had barely taken a couple of steps before the magician had turned back around to face him. White robes raised his hand and, as before, a new weapon appeared. Except that this one is different. It had the size and sharp of a human spear, but it glowed in a golden light. In fact, it seemed to be made of golden light. No time left for analyzing, he had to react to the foreign projectile before it made mincemeat out of him. Reinharn lifted his left arm in order to shield himself from the spear, but was surprised when a narrow beam of light crossed it and made contact with his breastplate. The beam collided with the metal, causing the scale it had struck to heat up for a moment. He roared, more in surprise than actual pain, and sought the origins of the attack. Reinharn caught a glimpse of a ring on the magician's hand pointed at him before his attention was directed back to the incoming spear. His left forearm just managed to intercept the head of the spear from below. The action sent a quick sensation of pain down the arm, but that was just from the contact of the spear with his armor rather than wounds from piercing or magic. The spear, instead of bouncing off his vambraces, dissipated into nothingness as if it had never existed. Disregarding his own questions about the matter, Reinharn continued his counterattack. Unwinding his right arm from behind him, the minotaur swung Earthshaker at the waist of the magician. It may have only been a one-handed blow, but that would be more than enough for white robes to handle, lest he conjured an escape from the situation.

kenzoku -> RE: =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/24/2010 14:24:13)
The bull was angry. Seeing red, if you will. Russell hadn't expected to deal very much damage, but the rage of his minotaur opponent was certainly satisfying. The ax was back, this time aiming for his waist. Russell quickly conjured up a sturdy round shield to absorb the blow. His other hand retreated over his shoulder as he fashioned himself a broadsword to swing right between those wicked horns. That was the plan, of course, but even one-handed, the ax and the bull were herculean! Russell found his feet sliding across the wet stones with the force of the minotaur's blow. This time his shield hadn't cracked; that was a good omen. This was followed shortly by a bad omen: his foot caught on a crack in the floor. It was bound to happen at some point with this badly maintained stage! Russell tried to keep his balance, and finally succeeded. The edge of the battlefield was but a foot or two behind him. He sighed, raising his shield and sword defiantly as he gazed back at the minotaur. Perhaps... Perhaps someone so huge as that would not be accustomed to being met... charge for charge.

Ryu Viranesh -> RE: =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/24/2010 14:41:30)
Marcos watched as his bolt of lightning tore into his opponents swath of shadowy spikes and made it dissolve in what seemed like an instant. This freed the way for his glaive strike to actually take aim at the warrior's skin; maybe this fight would be easier than he'd thought. Then his blade was suddenly caught by the staff in the man's hands, the two challengers clashing for several moments, seeming to push for supremacy. Then suddenly, his opponent slipped on the slick stones below his feet and fell to the ground, his staff going with him. The Handyman's glaive slipped right past and collided with the man's dark hood. His weapon clanged right off the covering, that despite it's appearance seemed to be as hard as solid rock. However, the electricity from his weapon caused the coif-like helm to dissolve into nothingness. Marcos narrowed his gaze at this but realized that he had to get out of this position quickly since he was very vulnerable and so moved to leap backwards. As the Handyman was in mid-jump he heard a tearing sound and when he looked down he saw that his shoe was being shredded by a blade of shadow that extended from the staff of the fallen warrior. The blade went all of the way through to the tip of the boot before it bounced off and scraped the side of his foot. Marcos stumbled and struggled to keep his balance as he backpedaled a short distance on the slippery stones. Eventually the Handyman managed to come to a halt and regain his footing after that crazy jump, frowning at his boot for a moment before he turned his mind to more important things. Based on the way his energy seemed to counteract his opponents shadow and unraveled into nothingness while his normal physical weapons, even when energized, just seemed to bounce off led Marcos to believe that his foes shadowy veil seemed to have some kind of weakness to his electricity. This meant that at the moment, his glaive was not the best weapon to be using at this time, since it was unlikely that he'd ever get close enough to his foe and be able to get through both his shadow barriers and his quarterstaff to reach the exposed and vulnerable skin of his foe. With this in mind, the Handyman sheathed his glaive and rested his right hand on the handle of his whip, within easy reach of another lightning rod in case he needed it. With his preparations made, Marcos turned to face his foe, raised his lightning rod to point at the shadowman, and then let it fall. Then to break the tension, Marcos opened his mouth to speak. "Hail warrior of darkness and shadow. It seems that we've both found more than we've bargained for in this fight," Marcos smirked, "but that makes it all the more interesting, doesn't it. I'll be frank, I seem to have the advantage here and I intend to press it, but I'd like to see how you'll respond, shadowman. Show me if you can overcome this dismal situation that you seem to be in. I don't plan to lose, but I'd like you to keep the fight interesting, since I'd hate to just blow you out of the water, so-" Marcos suddenly raised his lightning rod back up and fired off a bolt of lightning across the 6-and-a-half foot distance between them with a grin, "lets see what you can do, manipulator of shadows."

Geddesmck -> RE: =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/24/2010 15:12:22)
Florindo was closing the gap between himself and his opponent quickly, but the distance was too great for Florindo to launch an effective attack. However, as long as his foe did not use a ranged attack, the Prince would be fine. Bending forward to improve his balance, Florindo increased the speed of his charge, praying silently that he would avoid any particularly treacherous terrain that could hinder his advance. Two things went wrong for Florindo almost simultaneously. The first of these problems involved his opponent using a ranged attack. The second problem involved treacherous terrain. However, in this case, the two ‘wrongs’ managed to make a ‘right’, or perhaps more accurately, a ‘less wrong’. The self-name Fist of the Fire Lord found himself no longer in solid contact with the arena floor and with a painful, but shallow, wound on his left leg. Florindo had stumbled once more and fallen awkwardly to right, removing his left leg from the space it had occupied moments before. It had not moved enough to entirely avoid the arrow, but it had certainly prevented a serious injury. However, Florindo now found himself struggling to stay upright once more. How was Florindo supposed to fight in such conditions? The rain made the stones difficult to traverse, doubly so for someone like Florindo who had not encountered such conditions before. In his homeland it never rained. He once more kept his footing, deciding from now on he would move with much more care. This Rainman had somehow known that summoning this cursed weather would put Florindo at a great disadvantage. But how could he know? Had the wicked Water Lord informed her immoral servant? Yes, that must be it. The Prince’s rage flared up once more, but this time it was focused; all into a single point in his left hand. In a fluid movement Florindo pointed his left hand, palm open, directly at the Rain-summoner’s face. Without a word or gesture, a wave of intense heat was released from the open palm. The wave would have been invisible, but its heat evaporated any rain drops it encountered and created a path of steam before Florindo. His attack released, Florindo lowered his hand and continued his approach, making sure to take slower, more careful steps. He had intended to burn the face of the Rainman, and hopefully temporarily blind him, but the distance that the heat wave was forced to travel could mean the heat dissipated before it reached it target. If this happened, Florindo’s foe would be at best irritated by the attack, at worst completely unaffected. However, the steam created by the attack was a useful, if unintended, side-effect. The temporary cover would make aiming a second arrow difficult. Florindo’s knuckles turned white as he gripped his rapier even more tightly. He had been made to look a fool and now his pride demanded revenge.

TormentedDragon -> RE: =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/24/2010 21:50:53)
A good leap, and a good landing, for all the terrain was uneven and slick. It was but the work of a moment to get his own boots under him, and stand... and then his opponent decided to talk to him. Really. Talking on the battlefield? He stood there a moment, staff at the ready, studying the fellow just to be sure that this wasn't some sort of trick, but, no, he was actually talking to him. Well, fine, he'd take the time to study him closer. The whip in his right hand was metal, which meant he could expect it to be energized with every strike, and the rod in his left was what he had used to break through his shield, earlier, so it bore watching. Yep. He could expect something from that quarter. Fool, he might as well have simply said he'd be firing something from the rod. So as the bolt was released, he called up his Shadow again, a pillar of black rising from the rock to meet the bolt head-on. "A little lesson, fool!" he said, taking a step back as the lightning worked through the Shadow, ignoring the pain. "You don't stop and chat in the middle of combat!" He thrust forward with the staff, and as he thrust, a leaf-shaped blade of pure black grew from the end, turning the six foot staff into a nine foot spear in the blink of an eye. Suck on that, lightning-rod.

Apocalypse -> RE: =EC 2010= Sky Arena (6/24/2010 22:24:50)
A deafening clang and a short-lived skid of his opponent were the only fruits of Reinharn's latest efforts. The minotaur's great strength alone had not been sufficient to crush the life out of this pitiful coward. Was it necessary to switch tactics? One could not stop a river with mere punches, so perhaps it was time to explore alternative ways of beating this agile adversary... Or maybe Reinharn just needed to pound his foe a few more times to break through his defenses. After all, a boulder does not shatter from the single stroke of a hammer. Following his initial strategy of raw power, Reinharn followed through with his swing, thus encircling his body with his own battle-ax. When the head of the weapon had reached his back, two events occurred simultaneously. First, Reinharn pulled upward on Earthshaker to bring it in an arc over him. This would plant a second blow upon white robes in a short time span, almost guaranteeing that he would be forced to block it. Was it possible for the assault to breach the shield? Doubtful, but a major side-effect of shields was that the impact of a heavy weapon could break the bones of the defending arm. The human-soldiers in the plains had learned of this from first-hand experience, and now was a fine time to teach the magician the same lesson. Secondly, Reinharn had taken one step forward to bring white robes within proper range. While it had been a necessary precaution, it had been executed foolishly. His right hoof slid upon the wet stone, causing him to involuntary lunge forward. Reinharn caught himself relatively quickly, but a mistake was still a mistake. The distortion of his body now focused the majority of the ax's weight farther back then he had originally intentioned. While it would still strike the magician, the collision could have severe consequences for the minotaur. However, this concern of his would be trivial if white robes did not survive the encounter.

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