=EC 2011= Cellar Arena

=EC 2011= Cellar Arena (Full Version)

All Forums >> [Gaming Community] >> [Role Playing] >> The Championships

Message

Kellehendros -> =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/24/2011 20:59:15)
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 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 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. It took the enchanters quite a bit of time to get out of the Cellar Arena, as it was quite a ways down into the ground. One could see the granite walls of the main part of the Arena Complex right above the now open heavy metal Cellar gate - the underground arena was placed right under the original, First Arena! One of the now leaving spellweavers conjured up an opened scroll above the entrance, which would levitate there until the end of the match. Those who would care to read it would have found out that the place they are about to enter had more than just regular protective shield enchantments - rather, the ordinary enough looking mirror walls the fighters would find inside were of magical nature, and not only act as a protective barrier for the spectators behind it, but also make any projectile flung at it - magic or not - simply bounce off, much like simple a ray of light would from a regular mirror. On a more disturbing note, the scroll also stated that no wound would ever heal whilst in the Cellar, not even by ways of magic. If the group of healers and doctors standing about just outside the entrance were to be of any consolation, the shovels lined up against the wall and the priests near them were most definitely not. As daunting as that may have been, most of those gathered here had never feared death - lest they would not be there at all - so they began descending the spiral stairway, leaving the shrieks and anxieties of a bloodthirsty crowd behind them - or rather, over them. The upper gate closed with a loud, ominous clang. The fight was about to begin, but first a quick glance would reveal the interior of the room - it was square in shape, with the mirror walls they knew to expect there... There were four humongous round pillars of plain grey stone, as wide as a man with his arms spread out, in the middle of the room forming a square shape as the room did. The floors, ceiling, and pillars had all been restored to a pristine, almost unnatural smoothness, without a chink or crack to be seen in the stone. The customary torches on the pillars were gone, however, and it took a moment to discern just where the pervasive soft lighting of the Arena came from. The answer was in patches of bioluminescent mosses that grew in irregular patches around and on the pillars, and along the edges of the mirrors. With the mirrors' reflection of the light, the Cellar far from the dark, damp place one would imagine a room of such a name to be. It was actually very dry, uncomfortably dry, and there was something very unnatural to that dryness. Could that have been the enchantment of never-ceasing wounds they sensed? Perhaps. But for now, it was time to forget such thoughts, and cause some wounds instead.

Dragonnightwolf -> RE: =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/25/2011 3:29:29)
A scroll above the entry told of some very, very useful information indeed. The left hand slid absently into the left hand pocket and removed a ring. The ring was a pool of dark black in the very center, an off-set hue of blue towards the outer portion of the top of the ring and the ring-shape itself was made of pure silver. An unusual mixture for sure, since such rings most assuredly did not have a sigil signature of orange at the very bottom edge. So if one was to look at a ring, they would see the top where the blue is, plus the center which was black and lastly the sigil would be seen beneath the finger. The ring slid onto a very specific finger, an index finger to be precise, but words were not yet spoken for any other combatants had not yet arrived. A waft of warm, stale air drifted away from the shadowy figure. "So the lord of darkness chose this as the battlegrounds." A visual observation revealed a row of mirrors which if used correctly could be to someone's advantage. It was here that a brief flashback arose. An echoed scream in the mind of a memory where an uncle fell to an electric zard. A young boys parents leaving for an excavation, never to return. Now all that transgressed was pain. Emotional pain which eerily echoed all that once was, no longer held meaning. A boy's life swept away by a grief known to few and suffered in a silence of darkness. Thus why he stood here now, walking across a threshold where luminous plants of moss illuminated the darkness with their mysteriously odd glowing light. It was warm. Too warm in fact, uncomfortably warm that would make a man's hairs stand on end. The curse. There was darkness here, assuredly, but one could assume other elements had been placed here to battle as well. So be it. If it was a battle that was needed, than a battle it would be. A movement from a left hand and a slight gaze at ring sparked a vague yet distant response from this individual. "No, not yet. Resist. must. resist." No weapons currently seemed to show if one were to look at this individual. For falls was a very, gifted, special individual with a terrible curse, a burden no man, no beast, should bare.

Krey -> RE: =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/25/2011 8:44:48)
“Hm. Daestalion's Frozen Breath, Kooliniar's Ice Age...” He paused, taking a bite from the plate in front of him, which was absolutely piled with eggs and sausage in quantities no man of moderate build should eat, and Marcos was, while not especially small, more athletic than powerful. “Shame Daestalion failed to exclude the smell of his breath in that spell. The one failing whenever one attempts to translate dragon magic directly into a conventional spell. I suppose that makes it effective even if one's foe is particularly tolerant of ice magic...” He shrugged, taking another bite. Perhaps in another place, Marcos would have drawn many curious eyes, what with the trio of overly large tomes floating lazily in the air around him. Here, though, in this place, where warriors of all sorts gathered, the norm seemed rather less normal than elsewhere. Instead of the curious stares he'd have gotten in another city, the most he was given was an inquisitive glance, before eyes turned to see the next wonder, the next curiosity to find his or herself in the common room of the inn. A few minutes later, his plate was empty, his books gone, and bare feet carried him back up the stairs to his room in order to prepare for the combat to come. Once he'd reached his room, a glance in the mirror made him recoil. “Bleh, I went downstairs looking like this?” His hair was practically standing up on end, blond mixed in with white that made it look like he'd totally failed with the dye. His torso was bare; really, he wasn't wearing anything but his pants. These were white, short and baggy affairs which reached to the knees, where they were tied off with an integrated cord. “Alright, let's do something about this. What was that... Right! One of the most useful spells in the entire collection.” This one he didn't need the book for. It was far too important not to have memorized. He held his hands out together, palms up, “Mane all messy, twisted, tangled? Locks all frizzled, frazzled and mangled? Take this stuff, can't have enough! Slush to make your hair stay tough!” The chant finished, he spit in his hands. The spittle spread, thickened, and began to look very little like spittle and rather more like slime. He slapped it in his hair, worked it through, and then with a single swipe of the hand through his hair, perfection! Rather than the spiky mess, without a lock out of place, his hair was slicked back, blond streaked perfect with white, one point just touching the middle of his neck in back. Breathing a sigh of relief, he nodded. “Much better. Now let's get going!” In a flash, sandals were on his feet, laced to mid-calf, silver bangles clasped over his forearms, and his charm hanging from his neck, a white snowflake hanging from a silver chain. The final touch was the Gem, a staff, five feet in length, with a two-foot blade at the end and an icy blue gem set between blade and staff. Down the stairs he went, through the common room. He smirked as he heard talk of a sudden chill in the air as his blade stole some warmth where he went, and in a moment he was out the door and on his way to the arena. Cellar. The first thing he noticed was the scroll hanging just above the entrance, and he paused to read this. Any knowledge-seeker worth his knowledge would never pass up an opportunity to learn something, else where would that knowledge come from? This one, also, seemed as if it would prove especially useful. Mirror walls which would reflect anything, for one thing, would present quite the tactical possibility. Why, Moardakka's Icy Pellets would be a wonderful spell for this arena! He chuckled to himself, imagining the chaos countless ice pellets bouncing around the arena at breakneck speeds would create. His amusement quickly turned solemn, however, as he continued to read the scroll. So wounds could not heal inside the arena. Well, fair enough; he wouldn't exactly be in there long enough for wounds to heal naturally, he imagined, and there were many more harmful spells in his arsenal than those meant for healing. The key, he decided, was not to be wounded. Satisfied, he continued into the arena, ice-blue eyes taking in the stage for this great combat. To get a good feel for the arena, he circled it, making his way from the entrance, all the way 'round to the opposite side as his eyes feasted upon the scene presented by the arena. The light was unidentifiable at first, but he found its source soon enough, in the form of mosses growing on the pillars and along the mirrors. Most impressive, however, were the mirror walls. These not only made it much harder to attack (or be attacked, for that matter) from behind, so long as one was paying attention, but if the scroll was any indication (and by the unnatural dryness to the air, he was inclined to take it at its word), they would also reflect anything. He smiled. A slight, impish grin, his eyes alight with mischief. This would be fun. So very much fun. A book flashed into existence before his eyes, a great blue tome, bound in ice, where once had been naught but air. It was open already, low and tilted forward so that he could look straight and see if anyone approached. “While everyone's busy orienting themselves, let's get this party started right, nah?”

Geddesmck -> RE: =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/25/2011 13:44:50)
Reeve began slipping on the rings for his left hand; each one simple bands of steel with a thin wire wrapped tightly around them. The rings for his right hand came next, these ones were more notable in that they covered the fingers entirely and ended in sharp points, making it appear as if Reeve was sporting steel claws. One quick check assured Reeve he had everything he needed; his sword, daggers, rings and, most importantly, the thin spikes of various metals tightly secured to his belt. He faced the door of his small, dimly lit room and asked himself once more if he was making the right decision. The mages would surely find him if he publicly used his powers, but if he won this contest then he would never have to worry about them again. It was a risk, a big one, and Reeve did not take needless risks. I still let them control me, he thought, a current of anger sparking to life in his chest, this fear is just another tool of their control. If I want freedom, I have to find a way to defeat all their tools. The thoughts, and the anger they birthed, were enough to drive the doubts from the young man’s mind. Freedom. Was it worth everything he’d done? He’d run for so long, fought so hard and sacrificed so much, including almost every one of his morals. He’d lied, he’d stolen, he’d even killed. So he wondered now; was all of that worth his freedom? Memories came unbidden to Reeve’s mind. A small child strapped to a metal table with a group of masked men towering above with metal claws and eyes of fire. A child not much older forced to kill at the bidding of faceless tormentors. The same child bloodied and beaten, on more occasions than was comfortable to contemplate. Yes. Freedom was worth anything. Reflective mirrors? Interesting. Reeve stood before the entrance to Cellar arena, reading the scroll carefully. He drew glances, not because he was unusual, rather the opposite. At a contest famed for its odd competitors Reeve stood out by his apparent ordinariness. Noticing the attention he was attracting by simply standing before the entrance, Reeve scowled and tried to make himself seem as unassuming as possible. An old habit, one unsuited for his current circumstances, but one he could not find himself able to discard. People quickly lost interest when they spotted more eye-catching individuals. Again Reeve wondered if he was doing the right thing. He felt uncomfortable enough when people saw him reading, how could he possibly bring himself to fight before a crowd? And yet, he’d already decided that his freedom was worth anything, and that included stepping outside his comfort zone. He’d just have to get over it, like he’d done so many other things. He was descending the stairs before he could change his mind. Freedom is worth anything, he thought as he found himself going deeper and deeper into the earth. That thought would keep him sane, keep him steady, keep him focused. Keep him alive. He hoped. The arena was massive, or appeared so, it was difficult to tell; the mirrors disguised the dimensions of the arena. There was an atmosphere of dread that threatened to smother Reeve. This arena had seen blood, a lot of it, and it wanted more. Reeve took a steadying breath and moved away from the entrance. Although he knew there was really nowhere to hide, it would not do to draw attention to himself by lingering there for too long. Almost every inch of the arena was visible no matter where one stood. Another obstacle to overcome, but he would overcome it. He’d overcome anything. Freedom is worth anything.

.Discipline -> RE: =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/25/2011 14:26:57)
Having rested and hunted for his own leisure in a dark corner of the nearby forest, Dajaal made his way to the Arena he had been allocated. He felt as if his dark brethren were smiling upon as such a ripe opportunity for the harvest of the unrighteous has presented itself so soon after his accidental summoning. Pushing open the arena gates in a display of brute force his shifted his jet black, muscular frame, grinning to himself. Dajaal slowly stomped into the arena, snarling quietly and attempting to read the scroll hovering above him, though he hadn't had much practice since he found his way to Lore. He could make out the word 'wounds' and something about the mirrors, but he wasn't quite sure what. His grin lengthened as he muttered 'Wounds...', clenching one fist and snarling more loudly now. If there was one thing he knew he could do, it was wounds. Standing at 9 feet tall with a tough hide, strong iron plating across his shins, elbows and tail, as well as his demonic strength, he was very pleased by the idea of wounding somebody. He felt the power of this arena course over him like a swarm of insects as he thought about what the arena wanted. He came to one conclusion... The same thing Dajaal wanted himself. Blood. Punishment. A spectacle of combat. He pointed his head down so his sharpened horns pointed toward the center of the dimly lit area. He scuffed at the ground with one of his jagged, clawed feet, staring at his own hideous form in the mirrors which lined the battleground and clenching the other fist. This time, as all the other times, there would be no mercy for anybody he saw to be unfit for their wretched lives. The air around Dajaal darkened as the luminous glow of the moss faded around him. His tail twitched and glistened with his dark and venomous secretions. It was time for the contest to begin...

Postmaster General -> RE: =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/25/2011 20:40:27)
The city of Bren, filled with enthusiasts, flocking to see those elemental champions fight to the end. In one of the city's many filled inns, a conversation between two inebriated patrons can be overheard. "So, the Championships are starting. Did you see the lot goin' in this time 'round?" The first began, pausing only a second to take another swig of his ale. "There are some mighty fearsome fighters this year." "Yea," the latter responded, "I know I'd hate to..." He belched, wiped his mouth, and took another drink before concluding. "I'd hate to take them on. My old rusty sword would have no chance against them." "Ha!" the former spat, You pretend like were some mighty adventurer! You're about as much of a hero as my aunt, and I'll tell you, that'd be a sight to see!" The patron slapped his partner on the back and shook his head. "Of particular note," the second began again, though with a bruised ego, "there are some demonic combatants that are pretty hard on the eyes. I'm gonna enjoy seeing them in the ring!" "Of course, 'course!" the drunkard responded. "But I'll tell you what, I feel bad for that bird-woman freak. She's not long fer this world, what with bein' stuck in the Cellar and all. That's gonna be the first blood shed, I bet!" The second concluded the conversation with a nod of his head before tossing back the last of his drink and berating the bar maid for another. Above the very same tavern stood a peculiar sight. A creature that is not often found on Lore, the offspring of a Harpy and a Phoenix. The stranger was of a humanoid build, standing somewhere around 5 feet tall, but with very elegant feathers spreading out to a massive wingspan. It was a female, her body adorned with nothing more than bracers and covered by little cloth. As many would come to know, the pilgrim's name was Fenys the Red. She was the unnatural offspring of a respected follower of the Wind Lord's Warrior Order. Though she was not welcome in her father's Order, Fenys was raised to follow and serve the Wind Lord. Every inch of her vibrant, red, yellow, and orange feathered body was devoted to his service. Fenys now stood, following her master's teachings, and collected her thoughts, cleansed herself of distractions. This upcoming battle was not time to waste thought on that which did not immediately pertain to winning the Championship in honor of her Lord. With her mind cleared, Fenys dismounted the roof and swooped into her reserved room. By the bed there sat a needle which had been heating up in a candle. Also on the table, sat a bowl of black liquid and a hammer of sorts. With these various tools, Fenys began to chisel her bronze, avian legs and implanting the foreign ink in designs of various insignias. Each having something to do with her pilgrimage, the Wind Lord himself, or her Dragoon teachings. When she was finally finished, Fenys' legs were filled with black depictions. She wrapped her legs in some some old swaddling cloths she bought from a local vendor, hopped up to a rafter on the roof, where she roosted for the night. Peculiar dreams came to her that night. Fenys only publicly accredited the visions to her anticipation of the competition the day after, understanding that few would believe their truth. But Fenys was sure, the visions had been the Lord of Wind, coming to speak to her, prepare her to fight for him. In her dreams, Fenys was brought in front of her Lord, his glory to great to be taken in, a light to bright to be seen. All around her, wind swept by, carrying with it fallen warriors. Their bodies, twisted, scarred, beaten, burned, flew circled the two, leaving them in a clearing in the clouds. The Wind spoke with a hollow, deep, but harmonic sound; soothing to the ear and yet terrible to behold. The Lord spoke of the upcoming battle, of the heroes and followers that Fenys would be representing, and of his pride in her. Fenys' eyes flowed with tears. To hear the Lord she had loved and served so faithfully speak so highly of her, it was, indeed, joyous. With her mind focused and her heart set afire with zealousness, Fenys awoke read to serve. It was the morning of the competition, and Fenys took great care to remove her dressings from her fresh tattoos, and strap on her bracers and attachments. She polished her beak and talons before grabbing her polearm, which had sat propped in the corner of her room. Cellar. To many, this would seem a serious disadvantage to a Harpy of the wind. But what those few didn't know was that the Red had been raised in caves. Her mother Phoenix, having been trapped in a gold-filled cavern, had allowed for her tolerance of the confined areas. So indeed, it was not that she would not be trapped in with her opponents, but rather that they would be trapped in with her. As she strode in the entrance of the arena, she read the note. She was not a user of projectile, but she made sure to note the walls ricocheting effects. This could add difficulty to the fight, and she needed to be able to compensate for that. The large, cavernous room was dimly lit. When she arrived, Fenys noticed that she had already been preceded by a number of other combatants. The ceiling was relatively low, meaning that the large majority of Dragoon skills she had attained over the years would be useless. The one upside was, that Fenys had fairly recently learned of a small sect of Dragoons who had taken to a new way to utilize the waltz-like combat styles of the Dragoon school, in a confined area. This sect, Feny had assumed would be potentially useful, and though she was only amateur to these teachings, there seemed no better time to test herself. The Red grabbed her spear and began to stretch out her legs, twist her back, and flap her wings. She was warmed up. Preparations were nearly complete. She extended the head of her blade, scraping the edge against the ground and drawing a complex array of circles around herself. She was calculating. She was ready.

Edgemaster Scion -> RE: =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/25/2011 20:57:55)
Calestern came to the arena entrance, taking in the strange atmosphere. The darkness enveloped him as he came closer, slowly being absorbed into his durable form. Just before entering, the young man noticed the strange floating scroll. He decided to take the time to read it, thanking his mother for teaching him written language along with his magical studies. Calestern discovered that mirrors that not only reflected light, but all forms of projectiles as well, lined the walls, and that pain would apparently be a lasting effect here, as wounds would remain until the match was over. Storing the information in his head, Raith proceeded to descend into the arena. What Calestern was met with wasn't at all been what he had expected. The ceiling was roughly only twice his own height, four large stone pillars were placed in the corners of the room, and above all, he could see. Some strange entity was emitting light. It didn't just emanate from one point in the room, but from all over the place. It wasn't long before he found the source: masses of moss growing in dissimilar quantities everywhere. Calestern attempted to take a deep breath, but choked to his surprise the moment the air entered his lungs. Something was severely wrong with it. He had to inhale through his nose, or else he couldn't breathe at all. Its lack of moisture was unnatural. He tried not to think about it too much, but every other breath he attempted to inhale through his mouth, only to choke him again. It would be a hindrance in a fight, and Calestern knew that any hindrance could mean death. He would have to adjust to it as quickly as possible. Raith kept his hands close to his sides, taking care not to cut himself on the loosely-wrapped dagger. The fight was about to begin, and he was going to be ready for it. He was a natural-bred warrior of darkness, and he was in his element. Victory would be his.

Starstruck -> RE: =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/26/2011 10:00:44)
The Night Before Tantatto thought of fanfare, and sneaking in in the dead of night. His mind filled with excitement and apprehension at the entrances he was going to make, and then almost immediately decided against it. Flashiness would only make him a target, a paranoia he could not afford to be true. Other delusions of grandeur, attributed solely to his growing excitement, were similarly shot down. As the small ninja sat, equal parts meditating and scheming, he felt the room he had rented for the purpose of the contest go suddenly cold. A piece of ice coral began to vibrate, and a small glass orb on the mantlepiece buzzed ever so slightly. Tantatto fought the urge to leap up, getting gently to his feet instead to approach the quickly vibrating pair of objects. Ice coral was a rarity of the North Sea, the equivalent of its southern cousin fire coral. The Korsui people harvested it due to the fact that it grew phenomenally quickly. It was beautiful and crystalline, and the Korsui made their debut into world trade by selling it. Through some fluke of the environment, the coral never really caught anywhere else, but maintained its reputation as a fast-growing and long-lasting coral that could even survive on land. Many new spells were devised, using it as their key component, and the Korsui pulled tidy profits into their small village, which only expanded slightly due to the annoying fact that only Korsui could really live there; it was too cold and wet and dark. Tantatto picked it up and held it carefully in his hands. The Ice Lord was obviously trying to tell him something, but what could it be? In the end, the tiny ninja slipped the ice coral into the pouch of water he was to carry in the competition. This, he knew, would keep the water fresh, clear, and cold, a great favor from the Ice Lord to be sure. Tantatto knew that he could not have thought of that on his own. Turning his attention to the orb, the ninja held up his palm. A small plate slid aside, and he pressed the hole into the gel over top of the glass object, but the Ice Lord would not have this. The orb buzzed incessantly until Tantatto's insides quivered and he chuckled involuntarily, moving his hand away. The tiny ninja peered carefully into the orb and caught a glimmer of a single, ice blue shape that resembled an eye. He smiled, then nodded and went back to his meditative posture, concentrating once more on the upcoming battle. Day One Tantatto surveyed the scene before moving in. A large scroll hovered above the entrance to the Cellar, which competitors seemed to be reading. It must have been quite important, the way they were looking at it; some with grim nods, others with happy smiles, and a smaller section with outright horror. Tantatto walked up and surveyed the passage impassively, not caring that he was visible to all. No regeneration? Ice Lord, but that would be hard. However, Tantatto had razor blades stashed away, and no competitor could last long with razor blades in them, coupled with the inability to heal. At all. Which would mean they wouldn't stop bleeding...underneath his mask, the ninja smiled. The three-foot, blue Korsui garnered many stares; while some interesting competitors entered the arena at some time or another, very few of them were so small. This year, the list had not included a single competitor less than four feet tall...except one. Tantatto hated this attention, but bore it good-naturedly; at least it wasn't the other competitors staring at him, analyzing...just like he'd been doing for the past hour. The Korsui's finest warrior slipped into the underground slaughterhouse, espying a possible competitor approaching and having no wish to be seen so easily. Entering the Cellar Arena, Tantatto felt the air grow dry and silently despaired. There must have been water users here, and Tantatto was hoping to be able to use their water to freeze into large and formidible weapons when the time came. Ah, well, at least he had his pack, and maybe a Water user would have a store of water somewhere. Approaching the wall, he picked up a pebble and tossed it lightly at the reflective surface, watching spellbound as it bounced off at the same speed as it had when it hit the wall. This was surely an interesting development for his throwing stars and knives; if only he had thought to pack a few more! A man was standing to one side, holding a large book bound in ice. Tantatto knew that he would be a dangerous enemy and ticked off a mental note to ally with this person as soon as possible, as long as the other could see that he was offering out of a true wish to ally, as well as being chosen by the same Lord. He would have to ask fast, as he could see that the mage was already preparing a spell that would no doubt target the large group of people assembling underneath the earth. Or it could just be summoning an illusion of a fishy to give him comfort and joy; one could never tell with these mage types. Tantatto's gaze swept over every competitor in the room, with particular interest for each except for one, a huge demon with large horns and jet-black skin. The ninja knew that the demon was probably smarter than to pick a fight with one who obviously used agility more than brute strength, as well as being the smallest in the arena and thus possessing some special quality that might recommend him over someone a bit more threatening. On a second thought, the ninja observed him, too, hoping to avoid a disastrous confrontation if the demon turned out not to be what he had been expecting. His analytic spree completed, the ninja walked quietly over to the standing ice mage, standing in front of him and holding up a snapped-off section of ice coral. "My name is Tantatto," he said, the plate that covered his carapacian jaw sliding away for more ease of understanding. "I see that you serve the Ice Lord; perhaps an alliance between our persons would bring greater glory to the both of us until it is time to either face each other or go our separate ways, that we may be filled with a greater respect for each other as a result." The ninja knew he was taking a gamble by being so close to a preparing mage, but he also knew that the gamble was almost nullified by the mage's honor, his own natural quickness and grace, and the ice coral that he was holding as an improvised flag of parley, and so he was confident.

jerenda -> RE: =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/26/2011 20:30:16)
Gabriel woke up with a jolt. She sat up in bed, heart pounding, sure that something had awakened her but unsure what. As she looked around and listened to the roaring in her ears fade, she became aware of a dull pain. Her right hand was clasped around a dagger, holding it up and ready to throw, so tightly that the knuckles were white. Gabriel let out a slight gasp and released the knife, letting it fall to the bed with a muffled thump. Something had woken her… some imminent danger or need she had to fulfill… but what? She was in Bren, not Catalina, no one should be trying to kill her – kill her, that was it! The Elemental Championships! Gabriel fell out of bed, snatching up her armor and tugging it over her light brown tunic. Leather pants embedded with shafts of metal for greater protection went on first, kneecaps fitting snugly against her skin. Then her shirt, made of the same material and fitted to her lean, lanky form, reaching all the way down to her wrists. She felt the cold metal spine settle against her back and smiled. Fingerless gloves were next, a plate of metal covering the back of her hands. From the knuckles that were so recently pale jutted eight short spikes of metal, four on each hand, shining from a recent polish. Her shield she tossed carelessly behind her, where the enchantments caught it and held it lightly in midair. Gabriel stepped into her shoes as she pulled her belt over her head and one arm so it fell comfortably against her chest. The fallen knife slid into its place, Gabriel tapped the metal on the ball of her right foot against the floor for good luck, and she was off with barely a glance in the mirror to check her hair. Behind her, she left no trace of her stay at the inn, only slightly rumpled bed sheets and a fallen washrag. No personal effects remained, not even a lingering fragrance. Gabriel Diaz might as well have been a nameless commoner, for all the fragments of herself that she never left behind. As she ran, she realized that the roaring hadn’t all been in her head. A huge crowd surged through the streets of Bren, street vendors hawking their wares and adding to the general bustle. Perhaps it was her air of grim determination, the expression that said ‘I will go through you if you don’t move,’ the wickedly gleaming cat’s claws on her hands, or the array of knives and strange wooden implements across her chest, but the crowd parted before her, allowing the young woman to run. Or perhaps they just recognized her for a contender, and were setting her free to provide entertainment for later on. Hopefully this entertainment wouldn’t involve her imminent demise. Her hair fell out around her face, short brown bob bouncing just above her shoulders. Deep green eyes illuminated high cheekbones and a firm, stubborn mouth. Her face was oval-shaped, coming to a point with her chin, making it easily believable that this girl could shoulder her way through crowds with the best of them. Her figure was all lanky legs and arms, long strides eating up the ground. She ran effortlessly, the metal in her feet clinking against the flagstones, tan skin flashing light and dark as Gabriel moved through the early-morning shadows. The crowd dispersed as she approached the arena, passing through a small camp made of tents, most likely housing her fellow warriors or other spectators. Up ahead she could see the walls of the Arena, high granite defenses, but her destination was before them. Set into the ground was a heavy metal grate, with a company of mages and priests loitering around near it. The young woman slowed to a stop before the scroll floating in midair. Even in the middle of her chaotic upbringing, her father had insisted that she learn basic skills, and had included reading among them. Still, her knowledge was spotty at best. She struggled through the general gist of it, then turned to one of the mages standing around. “Hey, what’s this say?” He looked at her, one eyebrow raised. For a moment he seemed not about to answer, but then he relented. “It says that the mirrors inside will reflect any projectile, magic or otherwise, just like a ray of light.” Her confused expression cleared, and she emitted a soft “oh.” That would be incredibly useful, as long as she managed to remember it. “It also explains that wounds inside the Cellar will not heal, whether by magical or by natural means.” Gabriel’s gaze swept over the priests leaning next to the shovels arrayed neatly behind the mages and healers. “At least I’ll be in good hands, dead or alive.” She gave him a wry half-smile and was rewarded with an eyeroll. With a shrug, she headed down the deep stairs to the darkness below, listening to the roaring of the crowd fade away. The dryness caught her attention, but didn’t hold it for long. She would manage – at least she wasn’t a Water competitor. Her gaze swept the strangely lit space, taking in her fellow competitors as well as the unusual arrangement of the area itself. Dead ahead through the four pillars she could see a man standing with his back to the mirrors, a book hovering in front of him. His lips moved, but she couldn’t hear his words from where she was. Definitely a mage, and a casting mage at that. He set off alarm bells in her mind, simply by standing there with his book. At any moment, his spell could go off, and anything could happen. She was tempted to send his book sailing with a tug, but repressed the desire. She could always try later, and there was no sense making enemies when she didn’t have any friends yet. The day had barely begun, and already she could see six other people, not counting the mage. Something small and blue was attempting to talk to the caster, and off to one side there was a nameless shape of darkness that seemed to exude menace. What she chose to focus on, for some reason, was a tall, muscular man with messy, short black hair and the beginnings of a scruffy beard. She recognized the expression in his piercing blue eyes, however… fierce, focused, and utterly committed to his cause. Almost desperate in its intensity. It was a look she recognized, one that sang to her blood – rightly so, as it was the expression that looked at her out of the mirror almost every day. Keeping her eyes on the others in the room by watching the mirrors, Gabriel moved towards the man with metal wrapped around his arms. She lifted her right hand in greeting, a casual wave also displaying her lack of weapons, despite the knives across her chest. She stopped about a yard from him, still non-threatening, and spoke. “Two together have more of a chance than one alone. Want to team up?” She looked straight at him, expression guileless and firm.

Dragonnightwolf -> RE: =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/26/2011 22:04:52)
Nightfall had waited ten minutes already it seemed before the first combatant came in, and when it moved to a side of the entrance, Nightfall walked off into a secluded shadowy area pressing his fingers lightly against the mirrored glass to determine the strength. While doing so, a wary eye was kept on the competitor. A curious sort, mage clearly from the obviously floating tome and a preparation of some sort. A spell was Fall's first thoughts. Yes, spells down here could turn ugly. Extra caution would merit results. One by one combatants entered. A lithe figure that went to speak with the mage, at this distance, Nightfall couldn't make out the words, at least not in human standing. A quick look at the next entrant, ordinary, plain. That was one to keep an eye on as well. The next creature to enter was unusual, a tail, horns, like something out of a lorian novel. Recollection of a book he'd once read brought back a thought of "terrors of the night, Demons." A particular note was that darkness approved of the individual. So then, this was one of the Dark lords servants. Another shadow absorbed darkness. So too, another fighter for the Dark Lord. Strange that they all would be down here. Stranger still that they would all have the same idea, to leave here alive. The final of the entrants thus far was a female, rather cute and obviously someone who knew what pain was like. So too was there a young man with a wild intensity in his eyes. So focused were they that he might be trouble. Nightfall stared closely at his ring and then off into the darkness. "So it has come to this. No turning back. No turning away. My destiny, my path, my pain, they shall all feel the madness, the insanity, the pain." he whispered softly. The eyes lifted once more to the mirrors, to the room, to the entrance, to the moss. Everything, everyone, to all and to none. Nightfall felt the dark lords gaze obscure and quiet, subtle, but deadly. Remember why you were here nightfall, the shadows seemed to say without uttering a word. Remember, revenge for your uncle. Destruction for the death of your family. Kill or be killed, remember the pain. Nightfall's gaze fell back on the ring without a single movement of his body. "So it has come to this." he spoke this out loudly enough that his voice carried across the cellar. "Very well." His voice became pained as he spoke softly once more. "No. Turning. Back. Destiny. Awaits. A Victor." Nightfall's eyes closed for a moment and then snapped open suddenly with an intensity. His voice now, would carry throughout the Cellar. "With the ring, darkness calls, Awaken to me, the true night Falls." The last word seemed to echo around the Cellar and the man who had been unarmed suddenly went through a startling transformation. The ring glowed with black life and a shade of deepest black surrounded the man's simple form. His hair went wild and changed from a natural tan deep rich brown to deepest black. His shirt ripped and his jeans tore opened at the knees. Both shoes started to split apart with the appearance of claws. His hands sprouted deep claws as well and black hairs bristled over every part of his body. His shirt fell to the floor in tatters and his ears grew longer and covered in dark black hairs. Both feet changed into paws where the claws stuck out and the man yelled out in terrible, rage filled, wild pain as his face twisted and contorted the bones reshaping themselves. The nose elongated into a point and his teeth grew sharp and canines split down where simple man canines had been. Dropping down now to his knees as his pants ripped the rest of the way and the shoes were now useless, the socks beneath covered in sweat and torn open. The man was now naked and the ring of black had vanished. The gutteral scream of anger tore out of a throat cursed with dark life given a new name. The face, once man, now twisted of that into a wolf. A tail sprouted where none had been and the final scream of tormented rage tore out of a voice so forlorn, so angry, so pained that it became a single cry. A cry that changed into a howl of pure madness. "Graaaaaaahhhhhhoooowwwwwlllllll!" The scream of madness, of pain, of agony stopped, the howl, strong and full of anger echoed throughout the Cellar. The eyes of deep red, like blood, glanced through the darkness. His sight was now so much better, as to were his other senses. Hearing picked up the moving rock which careened just past his head. The sense of smell increased. He could smell his opponents now, almost, hear the heartbeats. He could smell the blood of old that drenched this place of death. of decay. All claws retracted for the moment. The man, the wolf, stood with intensity in animalistic eyes. All would fall today. All would die. Nightfall had finally arrived to an arena where darkness came in waves.

Nightlark -> RE: =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/26/2011 22:19:23)
"You sure you gonna go?" asked the half-drunk man sitting across from him, setting down the glass of ale onto the worn wooden table of the tavern. It was late, too late for anyone but for creatures of the dark to be up. That, and a drunk, a very displeased waitress, and a cranky bartender, both of whom did not understand why, in all of Lore, they were still up and serving two remaining guests. The acholholic's breath stank of spirits and decaying food matter, the remains of his past few meals obvious in his tangled beard. It didn't seem to matter to the strange figure sitting in front of him, who sat, impassive, unmoving. Come to think of it, the drunk didn't even know his name. The shadow to whom his spoke to did not seem to notice the question, and kept silent. "That Darkness Lord... Won't be surprised if he chose you..." He squinted at the mysterious person, or whatever he was, trying to see through the screen of darkness. "But you ain't gonna survive for more than five seconds in that cursed arena, I tell you." He hiccupped, peering at the figure again, and ordered another pint of ale. The waitress wrinkled her nose slightly, the distaste obvious on her face, relaying the order back to the bartender, who was not planning to spend his night serving and seemed ready to kick both of them out by force, his muscular arms flexing and his fists clenched. Again, the shadow made gave no response. "Hmph. Ya youngsters all think you can do it, but ya can't. Believe me." He let out a noise that sounded something like a mix of a sigh and a hiccup. "Whatever. I told ya all I know. Now get outta my sight and let me drink in peace." The figure across from him did not seem to hear this order, but after a slight pause, he stood and walked away, heading towards the exit in long, powerful strides. None of them saw the fire of determination burning in his eyes, the impassive mask that hid his emotions, even when his face was hidden in the shadows. He never showed his face to anyone. Never. In fact, all they would be able to see was a mass of darkness, in the rough outline of a human, float away. Just as he was about to set foot outside, the drunkard called out to him. "I need payment for my information!" he hollered, waving an arm wildly. The shadow paused, and seemed to turn his head slightly. "You have already been paid with the honor of sending the next Champion on his way. Be satisfied with that." His voice was soft, but deadly. As if to enforce his words, the dark screen slightly parted at his hands to show the pair of wickedly sharp knives in his grasp. Without another word, he left, fading into the night, leaving no sign that he had ever been there. Once again, the rogue set out, in search of bloodshed, but this time, not in war, but in the Elemental Championships. Kainrahn not normally have the patience to read the scroll floating above the entrance, but this time, he felt that he needed every advantage in this contest. He was up against the best of Lore, who probably would put a decent fight. As it turned out, he was right to do so. "Cellar Arena... Reflective mirrors... No healing... Hmm..." Shoot... mirrors. No chance for sneak-attacks, if the best of Lore are truly what they claim to be. Maybe a few on the careless ones. The inability to heal wounds did not matter to him; he was here to make wounds, not heal them, after all. Shrugging, he checked that his throwing knives, hidden within the folds of his tunic, were ready for use, then drew his daggers, the curved blades, like that of a Khopesh's, hidden in the shadows, and entered the underground arena. Immediately, he was struck by the unnatural dryness of the air..It was as if someone had purposely drawn every drop of moisture out of the air, but he simply shrugged. At least it isn't hot, not like the desert, eh? Surveying the area, he found that it wasn't as dark as he thought it would have been; the entire arena was lit by some type of light source. Examining the walls and pillars closely, he saw what appeared to be some type of luminous moss clinging to the stone and mirrors, then diverted his attention to the competitors. A few caught his eye; what looked like an avian hybrid, a pitch-black, towering demon, and a mage, presumably of ice, reading from a floating book. Not good. Definitely not good. Hide and strike. Slowly, he ducked to the left, hiding behind the first of two pillars that separated him and the mage, making sure to stay where he would not look, diagonal as to not be seen full front in the mirrors, staying in the shadows where his rough outline would not be easily noticed. Slinking around to the second pillar, there, he waited, considering whether or not to proceed. No allies yet... But what's the point, when we'll end up killing each other anyways? Besides, every man down means a better chance of survival for me. Refocusing, he checked on the mage again. A small blue... thing was beside him, apparently trying to talk to the mage. I can take them both out right now, or wait. Again, he hesitated, then decided just to interrupt the spell, nothing more. I can't risk battling both of them out in the open before I know what both of them are capable of. The wall of mirrors was directly behind the pair, so he drew one of the throwing knives, careful not to alert them, aimed at the mirrors behind them, and threw the knife. As soon as he let go of the blade, he'd make his way back, careful not to move suddenly and alert them that he was the one who had thrown the knife, sticking to the shadows from the pillars. Hopefully, they wouldn't see him. If they did, the best thing to do was lure them straight into another competitor and engage both parties in combat, rather than fight it out on his own. He grinned, and sent the knife flying. Time to get this thing started...

superjars -> RE: =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/26/2011 22:37:11)
Bren. He had not been long on this plane, but already he could tell it was very different from his own. At home, he would have avoided such a large, metropolitan area, full of people and busyness, for fear that he would be captured and killed. But here, among these people, he was welcomed as some type of hero: a gladiator of the arena, ready at a moments notice to fight against other similarly honored men and women, and other species as well, he had noticed. It was an awkward feeling he had, a chill that ran down his spine as he remembered the city of Parjn, where he was born, and the strange and exotic combat challenges that the raiders and soldiers had used to add excitement to their existences. Thinking of this, he almost turned around and left, as he had the year before. This was not the first time he had been pushed towards this place, with promises of wishes fulfilled. But last time he had not been so desperate; hope still sprang from his breast that soon he would find a way home, away from this seemingly endless string of worlds that he had traveled. And now, it was a year later and he was no closer to finding a path back to his own world. But even so, he had come to this tournament with great reservations; he'd prefer not to have to fight at all, if it could be helped, but right now it seemed his only choice. He'd just have to do the best he could and try not to hurt any of the others too much. Not that he wouldn't be trying to win, but if he could avoid injuring the others, that would be his preference. The next morning, he awoke before dawn; he had avoided the town, feeling much more comfortable sleeping in the forest on the outskirts of it. That was much more like what he was used to; hiding out in the foliage and avoiding random raiding parties, or groups of mercenaries. He had slept with one eye open the entire time, a habit he had formed from years of needing to be aware of his surroundings all day and all through the night. It was a harsh world that he had come from, but one which had taught him more than a few things about survival. The morning had been spent with some calisthenics and some practice combat to get him warmed up for the coming day, the culmination of a year spent in futility. With plenty of time to spare, he hefted his large form up and picked up the large boulder which had become his close companion during this past few years. Placing the stone in the groove worn for it on his right shoulder, he began the long walk to the arena complex, As he entered the town, people began to shy away from his large form, not so much because of any strangeness or menace in his appearance, but more that his bulk and the earthen fragment attached to his arm tended to swing about and land people on their faces or behinds. The crowds opened a wide avenue to allow him to pass, and he, flushing with the embarrassing attention he was now receiving, shuffled through, mumbling platitudes to each person he walked by. He ran a big hand nervously through his short, brown, unkempt hair, pushing it back out of his eyes for a moment before it fell back forward to partially obscure his large, slightly pudgy face. The arena loomed ahead, grandiose and terrible. He had seen many things over these past years, but nothing which was at the same moment so awe-inspiring and yet frightening. He paused at the gate to his arena, the Cellar as it was called, and for the millionth time, considered turning back, leaving the tournament and searching again for some other, less dangerous and brutal, way to return to his own world. But he had made up his mind already, as much as he wished he could change that fact. He glanced around, finding the paper that magically floated in the entrance. For a few moments, he was transfixed by the amazing power to do such a thing. He looked above and behind the paper to make sure there was no trickery in its flight, but finding no such device, he focused on the writing that it held: no wounds were healed (he didn't expect to receive any, but could handle that if it occurred) and the mirrors which he would see when he went down into its depths would reflect any object tossed at them, something which would be a benefit for his stone barrages. He waited for a while just outside the gate, observing the other combatants as they arrived. He was sure he may have missed some, but he would see them when he entered soon enough. And then, finally, it was time for him to enter. He pulled the boulder off his shoulder and held it in front of him, both of his large arms holding it close to his paunch of a stomach. He kept it in front of him, ready to break apart in case he was attacked while entering the arena. That was something he would never do, but not all that joined this type of event were as honorable as he was. He made his way down without event, entering the Cellar as one of the last people. Upon entering, he stopped to stare at the dazzling reflection of the mirrors hanging on the walls, giving the distinct impression that the room went on endlessly. It only held his attention for a moment, however, as he turned left and waddled towards the corner of the room. When he arrived there, he tossed his boulder down on the floor and sat down on top of it. Two small pieces broke off near the bottom and rose up to meet his hands, circling them slowly. In a clear, resonant voice, he called out to those others who were already present, “If you all are ready, how about we get this tournament under way!”

Ryu Viranesh -> RE: =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/27/2011 0:07:28)
Night reigned over the city of Bren, its dark cloak covering the city like a death shroud, the only visible light seeping through tears in the ebon fabric. It was as though the excitement present the previous day had been completely squelched by some invisible force that now held the city in its grasp. However, this grip’s power waned as the night drew on and now, as the eastern sky brightened, it was about to be broken. A line of light appeared on the horizon, heralding the arrival of an age old entity that had watched over the world of Lore for millennia and would continue to do so for countless more. The gathered light dispersed as the being made its entrance, the curve of its form rising into view. The shroud of night held onto its dominion until the last, when the intensity of the sun finally caused it to fade from existence. Freed from its bonds, Bren awakened and groggily glanced around, lazily raising an arm to shield its face from the sun’s glare. Then, eyes widening as it remembered something important, Bren leapt to its feet and shook the remaining sleep from its limbs, getting its blood flowing. It couldn’t afford to remain in bed today, there was still so much preparation to be done; today was the day of the Elemental Championships, the day that a new Elemental Champion would be crowned. Leira opened her eyes to a bright light, which after she blinked several times, resolved itself as sunlight streaming through the window of her room. The girl pushed herself out of bed and strode over to the window, gazing out at the wonderful view of the city of Bren that it afforded her. The morning was already almost gone, the sun high and the sky and the streets of the city already filled with people, both residents and spectators who had come to witness the famed contest, the Elemental Championships. Leira directed her gaze upward, right into the sun that had so abruptly woken her from her slumber and stared straight at the orb of light until dark spots were splattered across her vision. The girl sighed and turned away from the window, instead directing her attention to the clothing that she had laid out the night before. After she dressed herself, Leira belted her dagger to her right hip and with brief glance at her gloves, tucked them beneath the weapon’s sheath for the time being. With everything set, she departed her room, locking the door behind her, and descended the rickety stairwell to the inn’s common room below. Since she had travelled much of her life, eating foreign fare was nothing new to Leira, but she still barely picked at the breakfast that the barkeep had served her. It wasn’t unappetizing, in fact, it was one of the better cuisines that Leira had had the pleasure of tasting recently, but her stomach always nagged at her a bit before she did something dangerous. Not to mention that entering the Elemental Championships might well be the most dangerous thing that she’d ever done. Giving up on the food, Leira stood up and left a few coins on her table before she turned and exited the establishment; she was already late for the opening of her arena. As she walked the streets of Bren her nausea gradually faded away, replaced by a sense of barely contained excitement. This was what she had been waiting months for; a chance to finally ask her questions to her god face to face, to finally know the truth. All that she had to do was prove herself worthy of receiving these answers. Her lips curved into the smile that had made her famous in many a city, whether by way of her beauty or by way of the thrashing that followed any rudeness. While she didn’t like hurting others, she did love the intricacies of combat and what they could teach her, and if the rumors about the Championships were true she would be learning plenty today. As she neared the First Arena, with the cellar where she was to do combat beneath it, Leira finally stopped to don her gloves. While they were thin, the gloves were than capable of preventing any light from seeping through them, and that meant that they would do their job just fine. Fully armed at last, Leira approached the gate to the Cellar Arena, attracting no small number of stares from the crowd around her; apparently they thought it amusing that a girl like her had entered such a dangerous competition. Well she’d have to show them now wouldn’t she? She halted before the entrance, craning her head to take a look at the nearby floating scroll. As she read the parchment, Leira traced the words with her fingers to be sure that she’d fully understand them, since with her life at stake misinformation could mean death. According to the warning, no healing spell would work within the confines of the cellar and the mirrors that lined the walls of the arena would reflect anything flung at them, magical or otherwise. The first was no hindrance to her, but the second was a curiosity; she’d have to see if people qualified as “projectiles” once the melee began. So, leaving the snickering masses behind her, the young woman descended the staircase, trying her best to do so as quietly as possible; she didn’t want to draw attention to herself as soon as she entered the arena. The first thing that she noticed when she reached the end of the staircase was how dry the air was compared to up above, the drastic change almost making her skin crawl. The second thing that she noticed was how crowded the room was: there seemed to be someone in every corner, against every wall, and all of these people were her competition. She was definitely a bit later than she’d anticipated, but no matter, she wasn’t fighting all of them. Just one or two, maybe three if she felt like someone else needed a good thrashing. Before she could even take stock of all of the beings who inhabited the cellar, a particular being caught her eye, or rather her ear. “If you all are ready, how about we get this tournament under way!” He was tall, with messy brown hair and eyes to match, and had a large frame, even for his size. He wore a simple brown robe that was almost friar-like in fashion and had taken a seat atop a large boulder that obviously wasn’t indigenous to the arena. This stone, along with the two stones circling his hand, made one thing very clear about this man: he was a warrior of the Lord of Earth. Despite his rotund figure, the man seemed as though he had a love for battle and was eager to begin, much like herself. "And the fatter he is, the easier he’ll be to hit," Leira giggled. Without any pomp and circumstance, the girl angled to face the man and closed the distance between them, still careful to leave several long strides in the intermediary when she stopped. “Hail sir! If it’s combat that you seek, I’m more than willing to oblige you. So long as you don’t mind fighting a girl,” Leira winks.

Dragonnightwolf -> RE: =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/27/2011 0:17:32)
Nightfall's keen eyesight and smell told him of Khanrain's entrance and the eyes followed fluid movements carefully. Stealth, caution. Interesting. One ear moved toward the sound of the new entrant, a man. Smell also discerned rock. Nightfall turned his attention away for a moment to get a good look at what appeared to be a new combatant. A boulder slung down as if such a person expected an attack right at his entry. Smart. Eyes stayed locked on such a new combatant with interest. A possible ally that one indeed could be. Both eyes narrowed back in focus on Khanrain's form which had suddenly removed a weapon. While weapon was being thrown, Nightfall concentrated and darkness began to glow around him shifting and melting and changing. The spell wasn't too complex and so it wasted very little energy, making two duplicates of Nightfall, both of which looked exactly like him in every way. Nightfall had cast his spell Shadowstriker. Nightfall issued an order mentally that gave both his copies go-ahead to attack Khanrain directly. One from Rain's left, one from behind and to rain's right hand side. Nightfall meanwhile made his way carefully over to Mr.Boulder guy. Nightfall kept one eye on his copies attacks and one eye on Mr.Boulder whom he dubbed since Nightfall didn't know the human's name. An eyebrow raised at Mr.Boulder and Nightfall's body stance seemed to suggest an alliance. Nightfall wasn't sure if anyone could be trusted, but having a partner might be helpful when so many combatants were here. Nightfall of course would do his part and could very well point out potential threats if any came within close proximity to him. Meanwhile, Nightfall's other eye was trained keenly on his copies battle. Copies which for all those in the cheering section, we'll call Nightfall's A and B. Nightfall A: Coming in from Rain's left a gutteral growl would sound indicating Nightfall A being there. Nightfall B would remain quiet and continue his soft movements to the prey from the right and slightly behind. Nightfall A: Attacks first his eyes on rain's form, Both front claws come out and one swipe from right-paw would aim for Rain's gut. Nightfall B: Lurking near shadows, his fur blending in perfectly with the darkness, was very quietly picking his way through shadows to position in case Rain came dodging right. Darkness is, as darkness does. Nightfall had more reasons to win then his competitors, or so such thoughts came through a wolfs mind. Actions often speak louder than words and wolves were naturally known as predators. But long ago, hunting had clearly made wolves a target, perhaps, just perhaps, this was payback for all of Lore's wolves who fell beneath a hero's blade, a ranger's arrow, a creatures jaws.

Krey -> RE: =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/27/2011 0:27:37)
“Moardakka's Icy Pellets. Ah, I love this spell. Need to put a hole in something? Moardakka has the answer. Well, had. He's been dead for a while now. Poor sod was working on a new spell, mixed words, and blasted a gapin' hole in his chest.” Marcos grinned at his own monologue as he went over the old man's demise, quite vocally, even as he studied the spell he'd decided to start the competition off with. With a shrug, he reached out with both hands and began to chant, even as other combatants began surveying their surroundings, preparing themselves and, in a few cases, forging alliances. “Glacies Emanio,” he began, his eyes shifting just in time to catch sight of a rather short... er, figure? approaching him. It was not human, that was for sure. Some kind of... insect... fish... thing? Speaking of alliances, this creature here wanted one. Ha! Fat chance. Marcos never was one for—Focus! Lucky for him, he was good at casting with distractions and not interrupting his own spells. His wrists twisted, hands opening and turning so the palms faced forward, then the two outer fingers of either hand curled inward, thumbs outstretched to touch. “Spring of the frozen north, grant me your power, henceforth.” A chunk of ice began to form inches from his hands, hovering just over the book. “Vis modica, take this frozen power, scatter it to the winds; eximo!” The chunk of ice floating in the air began to glow, and as quickly as it had appeared, the great tome which had been floating in front of Marcos vanished. He allowed himself a moment to grin, then glanced at the strange creature in front of him. “No alliances for me, but since you're being cordial and all, a word of advice. Duck.” That was the only warning he gave, before the chunk of ice (which had grown to be fairly large by this time, larger than Marcos' head!) began to resonate. Even as the howl of a great wolf filled the air, it was joined by a powerful ringing sound. The source? The large chunk of ice shimmered unnaturally, shook, and then shattered. Marcos dove back against the wall, ducking just below the level of the mirror's surface(just in time to hear the whoosh of a dagger zipping by overhead, no less! What timing!), even as countless shards of ice exploded from the chunk. The crystalline sound of shattered glass filled the air, as shards innumerable whizzed by every which way, curiously (or perhaps not so curiously) avoiding the spot Marcos had chosen to take... well, cover, such as it was. Jagged shards of ice shattered on the pillars, bounced off of the mirror walls with an audible PING, screamed through the air in nearly all directions to create a deadly web of icy doom throughout the Cellar. When would they stop? Who knew!? He'd never tested the projectiles in an environ where they could, in theory, bounce forever! “Well,” he mused to himself, “I imagine they'll stop... When they hit the floor, the ceiling, the walls above or below the mirrors... Or, ideally, some unlucky combatant.” Best keep his guard up, though, he figured. Not everyone would have the good sense to duck, and he might find himself a target, huddled on the ground as he was. So in the interest of not dying, he kept his eyes out for foes. And ice shards. Just because the first round had missed him by intent, didn't mean a deflected piece couldn't hit him.

Starstruck -> RE: =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/27/2011 9:28:15)
Tantatto sighed; his gamble had failed. There was very little honor in this person, and he had had the misfortune of being the first to make a mass strike. How very unlucky. As soon as the caster opened his mouth to speak again, the ninja felt a tiny dip of despair. Fortunately, the ninja had some defensive maneuvers as well. As soon as the ice had appeared in the caster's hands, he tumbled to the corner, which was not so very far away, muttering, "Kyasuta wa subarashii saisei sa renai baai, watashi wa kori to hado kare o utsudarou dake!" With this incantation, a thick coating of frost covered his arms with a liberal layer of ice. Tantatto altered the spell slightly, pulling the ice coat to the two adjacent walls. He felt the sudden drain of energy and knew that the supercondensed ice had taxed his energy supply with its spontaneous generation, but for now he had other things to worry about. Hunched up against the wall, Tantatto glared through the ice (a skill the Korsui had learned when hunting seals or avoiding killer whales) at the rude spellcaster and decided to take him out as quickly as possible. Those spells were dangerous in an arena such as this. His actions had come none too soon. In the time it had taken for him to set up his shield, a frosty storm of icy pellets flew every which way. One or two slammed the place where he hid, cocooned in an unorthodox Blizzard Strike, but the supercondensed ice merely suffered a surface scratch. Good. He was lucky for now, but Tantatto could see the spell bouncing off the walls everywhere and stayed inside his protective cave. It wouldn't hurt to stay protected a little while longer, and if luck was as against him as it had been for the alliance, the ninja could see himself being sliced to ribbons...with no hope of regeneration down here in the Cellar. The ninja felt a little betrayed, clutching his parley flag as if it were a child's favorite teddy bear. The ill-timed ice storm had probably severely cut his choice of allies, and the only other person with the Ice element had just tried in earnest to kill him and deny his offer at the same time. Fine. He was going to have to work with the Ice Lord instead; that is, no other competitor. (Of course, an offer for an alliance would be nice, but he most certainly wouldn't actively seek it) More pellets came as they bounced off of the reflective pillars and made their way to Tantatto's hiding place. He braved the storm of wickedly sharp spikes (and a few dull, boring chips, as well) with dismay; the shield was beginning to melt and expand, with a single crack sneaking in from the upper right edge towards the center, thankfully not too large. It would hold up for a while yet, but scars crisscrossed its surface; Tantatto felt himself willing it to stay standing.

.Discipline -> RE: =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/27/2011 10:45:06)
Dajaal looked up for a split second before being liberally scattered with shards of ice, which stung horribly as they connected with his thick hide, causing him to roar loudly in pain and go numb in the areas the ice had struck and some becoming shallowly lodged in the surface of his skin which he quickly pushed out by simply tensing all of his muscles. Luckily for him that was the only effect the projectiles had upon him other than a blinding rage, for he had been attacked and didn't like that one bit. Thinking to himself that the ice must have come from an ice caster he spotted a corner of the arena completely sheeted in ice and sensed ice-aligned life hiding inside the barrier. 'You... you will suffer for that.' he roared, making a motion of dragging his claws across his neck and smiling sadistically while he prepared himself to begin battle while still feeling the numbing pain of his wounds. In a demonic fury he charged toward this corner, horns down, shoving them deep into the surface of the thick sheet ice whilst bashing and scratching at it with his sharp claws. He had his prey cornered and thought to himself that there would only be a short time until he was feasting upon a frozen dinner. This pleased Dajaal greatly and spurred him on as he continued to brutally smash at the ice that encased Tantatto.

Starstruck -> RE: =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/27/2011 11:04:38)
Tantatto simply could not believe that the demon had totally ignored the man with the giant ice scythe in lieu of a small sheet of ice in the far corner of the arena, but ignored him he had, for good or for ill. Today is not my lucky day, he thought to himself, and then shattered the ice into his attacker's eyes. Let further icicles fall where they may; the ninja was officially dragged into the fight whether he liked it or not. Barely avoiding two lightning strikes and catching a glancing blow from the third, he somersaulted between the demon's legs, yanking his tail cheekily. Backflipping, he slid the plate aside from over his mouth (dodging a stray icicle in the process) and whistled cheerily at the nine-foot demon, turning handsprings inexorably from the corner...straight at the ice caster. At the last minute, he jumped on the nearest pillar and executed a beautiful J-Chan, landing directly behind the mage with the vanished book and ice staff. "Top of the morning," he said happily to the mage, and then ducked off into the corner, hoping to be concealed from view. To add to the illusion that he simply disappeared, he threw himself at the walls and bounced at lightning speed to his destination. Unfortunately, he suffered a major bruise on his lower left back, but this was a small price to pay for a tactic that would draw attention, that arrived from a nine-foot demon who looked as if he had taken the brunt of the attack and survived (with three or four icicles stuck in odd places), away from him and towards his (arguably) most dangerous opponent. Once Tantatto had made it to the corner (which wasn't long), he leaped onto the wall and clung, hoping to make it out of range of the demon. If the behemoth decided, for whatever reason, that he was the bigger threat, or that he was the easier prey, or whichever it was that he wanted to decide (Tantatto was not about to fool himself into taking credit for using a distraction; his luck here was too bad for that), he would execute a few quick J-Chans to walljump out of range. If the ice mage attacked on the same scale again...the ninja was in trouble. But with a nine foot Darkness demon towering over him, there was very little chance of another icicle storm, especially since the demon had proven resistant to it before.

Edgemaster Scion -> RE: =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/27/2011 12:33:37)
It had only been a few moments into the championship when one of the competitors, obviously an ice-aligned mage, unleashed a flurry of shards in every direction. Thankfully Calestern was able to notice this, despite his attention turned to a certain individual bearing the symbol of the Light lord on her attire. She would have been attractive, had it not been for Calestern's sheer hatred of the opposing realm. He tore out his blades and took a wild slash at one shard coming toward him. He managed to connect Wraith with it, though the movement strained his arms. More were coming at him, and he was near-vulnerable. A few managed to scathe him before he could focus his mana in the form of a full-body shield. While the shield protected him, it didn't stop the pain in his left elbow. It wasn't bleeding, but there was no way he could swing his left-hand sword around. The shards of ice continued to assault the dark shield. It wasn't going to hold up much longer, but at least he was safe for now. Calestern took the opportunity to take a look at around at his foes. Not many of them interested him, with the exception of the ice caster, the servant of the Light Lord he'd singled out only a few moments earlier, and the large demon that would likely be a target of groups. Groups... He began thinking about making alliances. It was obvious by the way that others were interacting that they'd attempted to create some already. The thought irritated him, and made him decide against it. Instead he remained within his shield, feeling the impacts of shards hitting it from all directions. He tried to allow his left arm to rest, but it was no use. He'd have to make do with what he could use now. He thanked the Darkness Lord it was his left arm, for he knew that Eclipse would be craving for blood soon; not just any blood, but that of a servant of Light.

Nightlark -> RE: =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/27/2011 13:28:31)
Kainrahn was rather surprised by the fact that he had not been sighted by the mage and the... what was that creature anyway? when they had the advantage of the mirrors. Surely they would've seen the flicker as he stepped out from behind the pillar to throw the knife, then retreated. Perhaps I am overestimating them? Just as a precaution, he took cover behind the pillar and drew the tendrils of darkness from around him and began to condense them into a shield, which was a smart move, for just as the shield took solid shape, dozens of shards of ice began ricocheting wildly, flying everywhere, creating a web of deadly projectiles. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the blue... whatever it was create a thick sheet of ice for protection. No wonder he was asking for an alliance... On top of that, he heard the growl of the wolf, and whipped around, seeing not one, but two wolves advancing towards him. Wolves are creatures of the dark, which only means... So the Dark Lord sends his wishes, eh? Wonderful. The "human" that he had only glanced over was approaching a new arrival, a... Giant? Ogre? Kainrahn had never seen anything like that before, not even in the lab he had been in, with the various mutants and other experiments. Concentrate on your enemies... Thankful for the cover of the pillar to his back, he positioned to shield to his left, so to protect against any shards and attacks from that side, and sliced at the first wolf's paw as it came slashing at his gut, following up quickly with a swipe at the wolf's neck with his other dagger, although it was compromised by the shard of ice that zoomed towards his left, forcing him to twist slightly to avoid it, and the dagger was redirected to the wolf's head instead. The other wolf, whose pelt had blended in perfectly with the shadows as it approached, seemed to have take a position to his right, preventing any dodges in that direction. Weird. Even tame wolf pets have a natural instinct to hunt, and it is obvious that they are to hunt me. So why is it not attacking? Then, it occurred to him that both of the wolves looked exactly the same. Frowning, he concentrated, and felt the subtle pulse of dark magic. These were not real wolves; they were shadowcopies. Pah. So the coward runs off to hide while he sends his fakes to take his place? He is unworthy of the Dark Lord. I will make quick work of that weakling once I take care of these. The slight whoosh alerted him to another four ice shards, one of which missed his ear by a mere inch, while he managed to dodge two of the others, which hit the mirrors and took off again. He wasn't so quick to react to the last one; it grazed his side as he barely managed to avoid being impaled by an icicle. It had torn through the fabric of his cloak and tunic, leaving a cut on his left. It was superficial, but there would be no natural healing, and the wound would continue to bleed. That'll take its toll... I'll bind it up after I deal with these two. Can't have a blood trail or bleed to death.

Geddesmck -> RE: =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/27/2011 15:15:10)
Reeve’s heart did not beat and it had not for most of his life; a side effect of almost constantly having it impaled by a hunk of metal. He often wondered if his existence could really be called ‘life’. Did the absence of a heartbeat, of a pulse, exclude him from a place amongst the living? Perhaps he had more in common with the shambling creatures that stalk graveyards at night: the Undead. They had no pulse. They were puppets to their necromancer masters. Reeve was a puppet too, or he had been once. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. It was unhealthy and unwise to think such things, especially in a situation as dangerous as the one he currently found himself in. Yet even as he inspected each person to emerge from the arena’s entrance the thoughts buzzed at the back of his head. There was no shortage of competitors and the room, which at first had seemed so vast, soon felt cramped. It did not help that each figure cast infinite reflections. Reeve paced around the middle of the arena, between the four pillars at its centre. They restricted his view somewhat, but they also provided potential cover should it become necessary. Events were beginning to be set in motion; targets were being chosen, alliances offered, probing strikes made. Too much for anyone to truly focus on, but Reeve knew how to stay aware of his surroundings. He looked out of movements in his direction, or even looks towards him. Each time he spotted someone, or someone’s reflection, even glancing his way his hands dropped to his belt. When the leather and steel garbed woman actually began walking directly towards him Reeve froze. It was not the stillness of a startled rabbit, more the stillness of a hunting cat, all tensed muscles and sharp eyes. He studied the woman as she continued to approach. No hint of tension or malice in the way she walked or held herself. She seemed out of place. True, she was armed to the teeth and well armoured. True, she had a strength about her that made Reeve’s gaze linger. True, she had eyes that revealed as much determination as any warrior. But she was... pretty. She didn’t have the soft, manufactured beauty of a noble woman or the exotic, dangerous allure of an elf. No, this was something harder, realer. Something better. She was young too, too young to be named woman really. She was a girl. A pretty young girl in this soon-to-be slaughterhouse. And that didn’t matter. That shouldn’t matter. I should kill her, thought Reeve. He was pretty sure he could kill her, if he took her by surprise. A quick zap to stun her and then a strike with a blade to kill her. He wouldn’t even need to change his steel spike. A thrill ran down Reeve’s spine at the thought and a taste of ecstasy made his sense tingle. Anger and defiance flared in immediate response and burned away the joy. It was another method of control forced on him by the mages of the Library. They had wanted him to kill and so they had made him enjoy killing. A lot. She was close now and she raised her right hand. Reeve’s reaction was immediate, if subtle. His stance shifted, his fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword and he stepped back, ever so slightly. But no attack came, only words. And Reeve listened. A trick, he thought immediately and then, I should kill her. He decided not to kill her. Not because she was young and pretty, that didn’t matter (he kept telling himself that). No, he wouldn’t kill her because letting her live was a way of proving his freedom. The mages wanted him to kill, so he’d fight their wishes and let her live. But he had no intention of an alliance. “I am not your ally,” he said, his attention focused on the girl. His back was to the mage with the floating book and the strange, short creature. He absently noted that the mage had yet to cast a spell. “But I am not a monster... they could not make me a monster,” he continued, although it almost seemed he was speaking to himself, “Find yourself another ally, or better yet, flee this pit of death. I will not harm you.” The girl’s posture had changed dramatically as he spoke. No longer was she relaxed and disarming. She looked ready to move. An attack? Reeve wondered, but dismissed the idea immediately. She was getting ready to dodge, not charge. But Reeve had already said he would not attack. Realisation dawned and he shot a glance back at the mage’s reflection, even as a powerful ringing sound assailed Reeve’s ears. Reeve and the girl moved simultaneously. Her shout of ‘Duck!” came even as the two of them threw themselves to the floor. The source of the mages attack was almost directly behind Reeve. The girl stood in a position that was barely any better. The two of them would take a great deal of damage from the attack. A shield! I need a shield to block them, Reeve’s panicked mind screamed at him. His blue eyes met the green of the girl’s and another thought came unbidden; A flesh shield serves better than nothing. With a fierce scowl he grabbed the pretty young girl. And let his body shield her. Why had he done that? The first of the pellets began to whizz over Reeve’s head and more than one came uncomfortably close to hitting him. And then one did. It was just a graze, it barely drew blood. And then another, again just a graze. One more hit, this one a direct hit to his left leg. It would have crippled him, but one of the metal bands wrapped around his thigh saved him. Pings and crashes and thuds filled the room and the barrage showed no sign of stopping. Why had he tried to protect her?

jerenda -> RE: =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/27/2011 16:47:27)
Gabriel didn’t like standing in the middle of the room, even if she did have the pillars to either side of her. She’d much rather be with her back to a wall, but the mirrors would keep her relatively safe. Safe enough, while she matched this man’s deathless gaze and wondered what was going on inside his head. Eventually he responded, turning down her offer of an alliance to her dismay. Nevertheless, she continued to wait, because he was not done yet. “But I am not a monster... they could not make me a monster.” They? Gabriel wondered. Who is ‘they’? She had a lot of experience with people trying to manipulate her, but she’d had a protector. Out of the tormented chaos the young Angelborn had broken free, still in possession of all her self and her sanity. Another person in her position might not have fared so well… but he was still speaking and she was letting her mind wander. “Find yourself another ally, or better yet, flee this pit of death. I will not harm you.” Her attention was drawn away, however, by the motion of the mage. She was a couple inches taller than the metal-bound man, giving her a nice view of the man with long white-blond hair. He was speaking… he was speaking and that was not good. His book vanished, and he started to gesture with his hands, smirking at the small blue creature next to him. Gabriel’s agitation increased from its previously low state, and she found herself leaning forward on the balls of her feet, casting her gaze around to formulate plans of defense. As the wolf’s howl rose in a cry of anger and despair, the orb of ice the mage was holding rang out like a bell and shattered. “Duck!” Gabriel cried out, throwing herself to the ground. He didn’t seem to need the warning, diving to the floor at the same moment. Shards of ice shot overhead, shrieking. The young woman pressed her hands to the ground, looking around for some more permanent protection; the mirrors would be at work soon, and then no place would be safe. Her piercing green eyes swept across the shorter man’s dark blue ones, and she saw a decision in them. Before she could react, he caught her around the waist and pulled her to him. She panicked briefly, started to fight, but his grip was protective, not harmful, and as he curled around her she realized he wasn’t trying to hurt her. In fact, he was shielding her with his body from the onslaught! But- why- he said he wouldn’t hurt me, but that doesn’t mean he has to help me… Gabriel pushed her wondering aside. It could be useful later, but not now. Instead, her head snapped up and she focused on the nearest pillar. Her arms wrapped around his, holding tight, and she latched onto the pillar with her powers. It took longer to latch on, long enough for something to ricochet off one of the metal bands on his leg and his expression to twist in a grimace, but then they were sliding across the floor to the relative safety of the pillar. Gabriel released after two seconds, and was very satisfied when her calculations lined up with the reality. Their momentum died just as they reached the lee of the storm, settled against the pillar. Her armor protected her from getting scraped up, but she didn’t know if the man would fare as well. No matter, she had more things to do. She wiggled her arms free and leaned around the side of her pillar closer to the center of the room. Bare seconds had passed, and the ice was coming back for another try, but she could do some good first… Gritting her teeth, Gabriel latched onto the curled form of the mage who had just cast this insane spell. She pulled with all her strength, counted to two, and released. That should put him in the middle of the room, too close to her and her doubtful partner than she liked, but hopefully it would force him to deal with the consequences of his own actions, rather than hiding in a corner and waiting for the onslaught to die down. Then she pulled her head back into the relative safety, rubbing her ear where a bullet had nicked it. She had a few bruises, mostly on her head and arms, but nothing had started to bleed yet and she counted that as a good sign. She glanced at the man and smiled, this time impishly with no trace of the battle in her expression. “My name’s Gabriel. Yours?”

Dragonnightwolf -> RE: =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/27/2011 16:53:51)
It was mere seconds where Nightfall himself went from relaxed and cool in an attempt to ally himself with Mr.Boulder that his one eye keeping a note on the copies had also suddenly spied something else. The wolf's ears went up all the way and his fur bristled all of a sudden as his free eye that had been looking at Mr.Boulder, suddenly looked into a mirror reflection that was directed towards that first opponent and glowing ice was formed. Nightfall's tail stood up straight. "Danger!" he thought suddenly turning his face down to spot some rocks he could use to help better defend himself with. He grabbed each rock he could in his teeth carefully, sticking them down at either front paw. Nightfall's eye on his copies ordered copy B: to stay on defense and keep that side guarded against Rain's retreat in that direction. His mental order to copy A: was to attack and defend when possible. Nightfall turned his full focus on the incoming ice balls that he could hear coming. He moved fast running to the nearest pillar, ducking under two incoming ice pellets and leaping over another three before his teeth gripped some of the glowy moss off the pillar. He pulled and yanked taking it down and quickly ran back to Mr.Boulder and where he had left the rocks he could find. he tied the rocks with the moss carefully and securely before taking a test swing with his left front paw. This would hold, but only for a very limited time. Nightfall swung his make-shift tool to knock some of the incoming ice away. The blows shattering when they hit the rocks. The tool came apart far too sooner than Nightfall had predicted and another ear twitch picked up an incoming ice pellet. Nightfall side stepped to his left just as the ice missle struck some fur right off his tail. Nightfall A: A sudden yelp and an alarmed cry struck out of (a)'s throat. The shadow copy was severely injured but not out yet. Nightfall B: was still being quiet but was now simply using a pillar as cover and ducking or jumping incoming threats. Nightfall gave another glance to his possible ally, quickly running over and using his head to move Mr. Boulder's rock in front of the man to protect himself. A quick focused look in Nightfall's eyes on Mr.Boulder indicated his suggestion. "use big rock to guard yourself." Nightfall had more pressing matters at hand. He had to take out that guy attacking his clones quickly. Nightfall didn't so much run as he did a swirling movement of shadows and another sudden freeze as more ice pellets struck his pillar his ears flattened against a skull so as to make less of himself a target. Nightfall's ears were doing a good job of hearing where pellets were getting close, but a rock moved up with his front leg struck a pellet which struck the rock pushing it back into Nightfall who more or less flew backwards into a mirror reflected off it and went flying forward as a result of the reflection, his new postion was headed for Khanrain. At the last second, Nightfall B: realizing the danger of Nightfall, moved in a sudden catching motion and caught Nightfall in his front paws to keep him from flying further. Nightfall rolled onto his paws and stared intensely at Khanrain, his eyes narrowed slightly and his posture stayed neutral, but cautious. "So, you are skilled after all. But don't let the copies fool you, I'm a living nightmare." or at least that's what Nightfall's eyes seemed to be saying. Was that weird echo, a thought projection? had Nightfall spoken to Khanrain or was it a figment of imagination? Nightfall's ears twitched and swiveled, his head moving down as another ice pellet came flying off a reflection. This wasn't going very well for these element combatants. Blasted ice mage! He had to go use a spell that could very well jepordize everyone, himself included, what a fool! Nightfalls copies moved over in unison with him and stood together side by side, This then had been why Nightfall B: had not attacked, in case of some mis-alligned possibility that Nightfall himself was headed for terrible danger. Nightfall hadn't been a coward as originally thought, He had planned this upon starting. Nightfall had suspected a spell was coming, but didn't know what variety it might parktake. So why attack Khanrain? Because of rain's considerable movements of stealth. Nightfall more or less smiled and casually sat down, his Copies using their rocks to block incoming pellets and a reflected mirror behind Nightfall and Copy B, while copy A ducked with help from the pillar. Nightfall had taken a hit, but the hit was from a rock and the rock was one carefully chosen and as such when it had struck, it did hurt. quite a lot. Nightfall made a mental note he'd be feeling sore tomorrow morning. If he survived long enough. Nightfall also made a note mentally, looking into a reflected mirror to see Mr.Boulder. Nightfall A: growled and flung a rock at an angle that struck a mirror, reflected off it, reflected off another mirror and struck an ice pellet headed for Mr.Boulder's head, intercepting it before it could get within too close a range. Nightfall was ready for Rain's attacks now. He had seen Khanrain in action, twice. Now Nightfall could better read rain's intended attacks by watching and listening to his movements.

Postmaster General -> RE: =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/27/2011 18:38:06)
In a matter of minutes, combat had erupted into full-blown chaos. A young, white-haired human had unleashed a salvo of ice that began soaring through the dungeon, ricocheting off of the walls and seeking blood. Almost simultaneously, a trio of wolves began a hunt and the room was filled with echoes of howls. Action was erupting all over. From her defensive position, Fenrys made as slide-stepp, twisting in a slow motion that seemed unlikely for combat use. As the crystalline rain made its way towards her, she raised her halberd and began spinning it with her hand at the center of the shaft. As the polearm rotated, it deflected a few projectile, but due to unlucky timing, several shots made their way through, penetrating the Red's defense. The first shot struck the harpy's extended arm, striking hard against her bracer. "That will likely bruise," she thought as she winced in pain. The next deflected off of her weapon, heading straight into her right ankle. Already sore from her fresh markings, the avian let out a bursting cry. The ice had sunk through her flesh, ripping scales away from her shin, and scraping through the top of her foot. The third shot came straight through the middle of her rotating spear, striking Fenrys on the tip of her beak and effectively concluding her screech of pain. Realizing quickly that this strategy wouldn't hold out, Fenrys took to the offensive. She began running towards the mage, but then veered to the side. A large demonic-looking entity had made its way towards the human, though appeared to have targeted the odd creature hunkered down next to him. This will be my target. No risk, no reward. As she neared, Fenrys took note of the ceiling. No better lead in than the old Dragoon stand-by, Jump. The harpy leapt into the air, twisting to shake off two more ice shards that zoomed past her, one severing feathers from her tail, the other skimming her left thigh. She released her tuck and mounted her assault. Changing her stance in mid air, now leading with her feet she forced the head of her halberd down with driving force, adding a slight spin to her attack. As she reached the climax of her jump, Fenrys scraped her elbow against the ceiling. This miscalculation halted her mid-air rotation and slowed down her attack, the combination of which, seriously reduced the power in her attack. To compensate at the last moment, Fenrys adjusted her pose one last time, this time facing forward, going head first towards her prey, and grasped her weapon staff with both hands only inches from her breast. She resembled a torpedo as she honed in on her victim ready to strike. "For the Wind Lord!"

Eltaka -> RE: =EC 2011= Cellar Arena (6/27/2011 19:52:05)
Stab. Roll left, parry, and slash downward. Leap back, and finish with a lunge. Ithon took a step back from the mangled training dummy, and wiped a bead of sweat off his face. He had been training for three years, ever since he spectated the elemental championships years ago. He had rehearsed every block, stab, and slash in anticipation of the epic battle that would occur inside the cold, damp Cellar Arena. He was as ready as he ever would be, and he was determined to follow the footsteps of others before him and be the champion of darkness. But of course, he was late. The fanfare that erupted behind him told him that. He cursed, and sprinted towards the arena. As he ran, he looked frantically around, searching the crowds for the mage he had paid earlier. He got closer to the arena entrance, without seeing him, and his mind panicked. The one possibility he was not prepared for was being late to the fight, without a drop of stolen magic in his blade. "Brysiyit Arfuras!" He grabbed both his blades, but only removed one. Netheria. A blade of that which is nothing. He spun, looking for the spells he knew were rushing towards him. He located the small bolts of flame, and slashed at each one. They slithered in midair, suddenly changing course towards the hungry sword. They were sucked in, converted into dark energy to be used by himself against those who would oppose him. It wasn't much, only a couple spells worth, but it was better than nothing. He sprinted onward. He stopped for a moment, reading the scroll above the entrance. He deemed it unimportant, and was prepared to rush into the middle of the arena, when a chunk of ice hit the ground in front of him and shattered. He skidded to a stop, withdrew his other blade, and looked at the carnage that had erupted already. Ice flew everywhere. He couldn't tell how much ice, as the mirrors had him disoriented at first. He had not practiced fighting with mirrors before. Various battles had already erupted throughout the arena, targets had been chosen, and his arrival seemed to be going unnoticed. Good. Perhaps he could catch an unwary foe with a slash to the spine, without the challenge of actual combat. Of course, he needed to deal with some rather annoying ice shards first. They flew everywhere, impeding every route he could conceive of. He needed to reach the pillars, or he would be left out in the open without any cover. Yes... that would be a good idea. He began to sprint again, leaping and ducking as he went. He made sure not to go too fast, lest a shard or enemy catch him off his guard. This, he figured, would be harder than he thought.

Page: [1] 2 3 4 next > >>

Forum Software © ASPPlayground.NET Advanced Edition

0.25