=EC 2013= Cellar Arena (Full Version)

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Ryu Viranesh -> =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/2/2013 0:40:09)

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

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

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


It always took the enchanters quite a bit of time to get out of the Cellar Arena, since 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 gate leading down into the Cellar - the underground arena placed right under the original, First Arena!

One of the now leaving spell-weavers 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 a simple ray of light would from a regular mirror. On a more disturbing note, the scroll also stated that no wound would ever heal whilst its owner remained in the Cellar, not even by ways of magic. If the group of healers and doctors standing around just outside the entrance were 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, giant eight foot by four foot mirrors, spaced evenly across each wall, ten of them spread out on each of the four surfaces. Four huge, round pillars of plain grey stone, as wide as a man with his arms spread out, stand in the middle of the room, forming a square shape similar to the room itself. 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 moss that grew in irregular patches around and on the pillars, as well as along the edges of the mirrors. With the mirrors' reflection of the light, the Cellar is far from the dark, damp place one would imagine a room of such 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.



EmbraceTheDarkness -> RE: =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/2/2013 4:55:22)

Meoden walked down the road of Bren, “Peacemaker” bounced slightly with each step. The sun shown down on Meoden’s red hair causing it to blaze with light. The birds flittered from tree to tree, sending out a melodic tune as they did. Meoden couldn’t help but gaze at the Arena sitting in an ominous silence at the end of the road.
“Odd to see it so quiet” Meoden said, recalling old memories of visiting the arena.
He was making his way to the registration booth for the Elemental Championships. Meoden walked up to the clerk who stood behind the desk, a large dusty book rested in front of him.
“I’m here for the Championships” Meoden said his eyes just cutting the top of the counter
The desk clerk looked around carelessly, Meoden’s face went hot with rage.
“Not notice me eh?” the spikes on his gauntlets slid down to rest on his knuckles
“I’ll show ya” He slammed his fist down on the desktop. The clerk jumped with surprise he looked at the being who had caused the commotion. He saw a small stout dwarven man with a large beard brushing the middle of his chestplate, his golden plated armour caught the sun emitting rays of gold across the small room.
“I’m here for the Championships” Meoden growled
The clerk shook himself, pushing his glasses up off the tip of his nose.
“What element will you be fighting for”
“That’s more like it” Meoden thought “Earth” he replied with his right arm crossed, his left elbow rested on his right arm. He stroked his beard using his left hand with much care.
The clerk looked down at the book, his eyes blazed down on the pages like a hawk. The man licked the tip of a quill and dipped it in ink.
He glanced down at Meoden “Your name?”
Meoden gazed up at him with green eyes burning with anticipation “Meoden Stronghammer”
The clerk jotted the name down and dug around a shelf beneath the desk top, he pulled out a small silver coin and handed it to Meoden.
He spun the coin in his fingers, a large mountain rested on the one side. He stuck the coin in between his wrist and gauntlet.
“No time to waste” He said as he tightened the strap across his shoulder.
Meoden left the building and began his way straight to the arena.
The clicks of his armoured boots rang through out the entrance hall of the arena. He sat down on a wooden bench, and pulled out his two golden hatchets and a wet stone. He quickly went to work on the weapons “Shckk, Shckk” the sound echoed through the building. Once satisfied with the hatchets, he swung “Peacemaker” out onto his knees and began to check the strings.
“All good and accounted for” Meoden said with a smile
He got up from his spot and walked to the entrance to the Cellar Arena. He took in a deep breath, shaking his arms and jogging in place for a few seconds. A cold gust of moaning wind shot into his face, causing his beard to dance across his chest.
“Let the games begin” he said aloud as he began down the steps into the arena.
He entered the cold room, glancing around the place.
“Where shall I stand” he questioned
From what he could tell he was the only to enter the arena thus far. For being a Cellar, dampness was a missing factor. He glanced at the smooth floor before him and at the mirrors lining the walls.
“This place sure is odd” he thought
The mirrors reflected light causing the room to be fairly lit. He walked over to the far right corner and rested on one knee, waiting for the rest of the competitors.



Tdub -> RE: =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/2/2013 10:26:00)

Excitement. Laughter. Joy. These were the sounds the woman heard as she walked through the busy streets of Bren. The ordinary-looking Is’ira Beliard took careful note of the sounds, continuing her research on the effects of upcoming violence on this world. She had already shuffled past some of the crowds with less respect for personal space, and hurried by a few of the more dubious-looking ones.

“Hey. Which arena are you headin’ for?”

The sudden voice that stuck out from the rest of the moving mass of people startled Is’ira, and she turned to face the source of the sound. Leaning on the side of a nearby building was a tall and muscular man.

“Cellar Arena.” She said with a smile. She had learned the art of short, quick sentences that both explained everything the other person wanted to know, and yet did not divulge more information than necessary. The speech on this world was a strange breed, not unlike its people.

The man smiled back at her, and walked a bit closer. “Maybe we could walk down there together, then? I’d let you sit next to me, ma’am.”

Is’ira quickly realized the intent of the man, and nearly laughed out loud. “Trust me; I do not think you want a seat anywhere near mine.”

With that, she walked to the Cellar Arena, her designated place to fight. The foreign woman had done much research into the Elemental Championships before entering. She had spent many hours reading old scrolls and logs of previous tournaments. However, she still knew very little about the different Arenas. Along with the Arenas changing slightly each year, the histories seemed to have been written with the intent of keeping specific details out, perhaps to not provide future participants with an unfair advantage.

Is’ira finally arrived at the gate for the Cellar. Although there were spectators wandering about, they all seemed to steer clear of the gate. It seemed that although the vast majority of the town would want nothing more than to watch the fight, they all seemed desperate to avoid competing. Perhaps they have the irrational fear that they will fall in, and suddenly become a competitor. Is’ira stopped her pondering when she noticed the scroll hovering above the gate.

Before she had left her world, Is’ira’s mind had been loaded with the common language of Bren, giving her the ability to speak and read in that tongue. The explorer took hold of the scroll and looked through it. According to the magical piece of paper, the mirrors down below were enchanted, and projectiles would reflect off of them. That is not bad news. My Light spells could do much should they be bouncing about the room. Content with that bit of information, Is’ira continued reading.

Her blood ran cold, and the Syaldian Head of Exploration swore in her own tongue. That would have alerted any Syaldian to the nature of the scroll, as Is’ira was not one to swear frequently. According to the scroll, Is’ira’s healing magic would be completely ineffective in the Arena. As it was rare for a competitor to not be injured, this meant that she would have to end a fight quickly, or risk bleeding out. Greatly distressed by this bad news, Is’ira made her way down the long stairs.

It was considerably darker down in the Cellar, and her yellow gem, Lumine, gave off a faint source of light from around her neck, as well as the moss that seemed to be glowing. I’ll have to conceal the gem should I not wish to be seen. Is’ira thought, looking around. She saw the mirrors, of course, and took careful note of the pillars in the center of the square Arena. She certainly must have looked out of place in the Cellar, with no armor or visible weapons. A plain white shirt and plain brown pats were the only pieces of clothing the attractive young woman had with her, and she certainly didn’t look like a fighter.

It is because I am not. I have never fought a day in my life.

It was then that Is’ira noticed the dryness of the Arena. Syald, having more plant life than this world, had a natural moist air at all times. When Is’ira had arrived on this world, she had a difficult time adjusting to the dryer atmosphere. However, this was ridiculous. This was unnatural.

Finally, Is’ira noticed the small figure in the corner. The only other competitor in the room was kneeling, and Is’ira struggled to find the name for the bearded species. Dwarf. After remembering this, she briefly considered attacking the bearded foe, before thinking better of it. She did not know what this Dwarf was capable of, and only wanted to find out if he attacked her.

Is’ira Beliard, foreign competitor for Lady Light, had entered the Arena. The woman walked to the far left corner, and nodded to the adjacent Dwarf. He could choose to attack her, or they could both wait for other competitors to enter. Whatever the case, Is’ira would not be unprepared.



Legendium -> RE: =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/2/2013 13:06:15)

The road to Bren had been long and hard, but Eyra had finally gotten over her land-sickness. After having docked at the nearest coastal town, Eyra had made her way to Bren with the other groups travelling there, and arrived a few months before the Championship was to start. She had spent most of the time in preparation for the tournament, honing her skills and getting to know the city well. She had made a training plan involving lots of running and climbing, not knowing what the arena she was getting into was going to look like. She would pep talk herself every night about paying her debts. But that was months ago. Now, completely confident that her skills are well honed and at their best, she is ready to get into the competition.


"Hot pies! Hot pies here!"

"Souvenirs! Come and get a replica of a previous champion's weapons! Wintin's horse-shoes are on sale!"

"Come visit Polnix's Potions! We can cure ANYTHING!"

I hate crowds, Eyra thought as she waded through the streets and squares crammed more tightly with people than a can of sardines. Normally, crowds didn't bother her, but since it had now been taking two hours to get from her inn to the Cellar Arena, her patience was running thin. Even more annoying, it was so early that the sun wasn't even past the horizon. Probably would've been worse later into the day though.

She was wearing all of her fighting gear aside from her helmet, which she only ever put on during combat by tradition. She had it tucked under her arm at the time. Eel was comfortably strapped to her side, well in reach to be taken out should she wish. Her unnamed dagger was hanging on her belt, and her harpoon was slung on her back. Her hair was tied in a ponytail so as not to get into her eyes, and she was battle ready. Anticipation glowed in her eyes.

There were some people who she recognized from her months spent living in Bren, who called out to her as she passed. She greeted them politely enough, but went a bit faster so as to avoid conversation. By the end, she simply had to resort to squirming through the gaps between people to make some headway.

Soon enough, she did manage to reach the gate to the Cellar, and noticed a good number of things. Reassuringly, there were doctors and healers lined up close to the gate, although she doubted that their assistance would be necessary in her case. She was planning on sending all the contestants she didn't send to the adjacent shovels and priests to those doctors riddled full of holes made by Eel. She grinned in anticipation.

Then she saw the scroll, which she walked over to read. After skimming through the words, she got the gist of it. The arena had mirror walls that would reflect anything. That was good, perhaps she could use her harpoon more than once. Then she saw the part about healing magic being ineffective and cringed slightly. She had planned around being hit by a big weapon by practicing her one spell with healing included many times. Well, that tactic went out the window. Perhaps it still could work, because it used a different method of healing than most healing spells, but she wasn't going to count on it. The arena designers must have thought through every healing spell possible. No, there was no counting on healing.

She left the scroll and began to descend, refining her new tactic. It seemed pretty simple. Avoid big guys with big weapons, and dodge their attacks if they come at you.

Then she entered the actual arena.... And was rather disappointed. She had expected the arena to be a bit grander. Granted, the mirror walls did not let her down, nor the four pillars in the middle, but it seemed to lack much else interesting. But on closer inspection, things were a bit more different than what she expected. Cellars tended to be dark and damp form what she had heard, but this one wasn't either. It was almost too dry in here, and not all too well lit, although there was glowing moss giving ambient light. When she first stepped in, she noted that the floor was very smooth. That meant no traction, and plenty of slipping. She just hoped her enemies would be doing so, not her. But there was a certain feel to it that didn't go amiss. It felt.... Powerful. The whole place radiated with the feeling of an ancient knowledge of death. And probably justly so. The blood of many was upon these very floors, and the room itself almost seemed to know it. Ah well. No time for feelings and premonitions, there were already contestants, no, enemies in the room. She put her whale-bone helmet on. Neither of the enemies seemed to be attacking yet, so she slid of to the nearest corner to her left to observe the two of the enemies standing in her way of being free of debt.

One of them seemed to be a short man in golden armor with a red beard. He didn't seem to hard an opponent, what with his size, and with luck, his temper will be as red and fiery as his beard. Tempers account for mistakes, and mistakes spells death. She couldn't guess what element he was representing. Maybe Fire, what with that red beard.

The second enemy was a woman, wearing no armor and carrying no weapon, unless they were concealing it. The only thing of note about her was that she had a glowing gem around her neck. Definitely a mage. And probably here representing Light, due to the glowing thing around her neck.

She didn't see the short man's weapons, and couldn't guess what kind of magic the Light woman had with her, so she decided not to engage in combat with either of them yet. But she didn't count on them not attacking her. She kept herself poised in a position to run for it if the shorty came, or magic spells blew across the room, while keeping an eye on the door for more enemies.



xaxtoo -> RE: =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/2/2013 16:13:31)

KJ has one major goal from this fighting competition: don't die! Well, there's actually another minor goal, don't be embarrassingly timid or bad. For his former reason, he recently found out that he will return to his homeland a dad, and he wouldn't want to tell his little self about his non-heroics at the largest fighting tournament, thus leading to his conflicting desires. So far though, things couldn't have started worse. He had wished for a large space, and he got something small; he wished for places to hide, and he got mirrors. Despite all this, he couldn't help imagining how crazy awesome it would be if he were the lone survivor of that dungeon, all his glory being reflected in the mirrors. The painters would immortalize him, and his muscles, and the blood of his victims dripping off his naked torso.

Dang it! Now KJ just accidentally pumped himself up a little. Well, it's hard to suppress his genes as a hunter, and with that, he channeled that extra unneeded energy into his legs and dashed to the closest pillar, ignoring the people that's already here and standing around. Reaching the pillar, he turned around and leaned, resting slightly against the glowing moss, which in this dark space is making his skin shine a bit more metallic than he would like. With his back protected by the pillar, he prepared a little trick he's been wanting to try on his kid when he starts growing more into a little hunter, to teach preparedness. In less than a second a large rectangular net, constructed and meshed with lightning, looking bluish and shiny, and possibly dangerous, appeared by the doorway, covering less than a third of it from the floor up.

KJ left some space for people to simply walk around the obstacle, but really, even charging through it wouldn't hurt much. It's mostly for show anyways, a visual obstacle to those that cannot sense more about their surroundings. KJ just hopes that someone will try to hurdle this thing. Hopefully, it will be too much fun for some people to pass up, plus it will only help them make quite the entrance.



jerenda -> RE: =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/3/2013 14:15:07)

The predawn sky lightened slowly, midnight blue giving way to rosy pink and orange. To the young woman sitting on the roof of one of Bren’s smaller inns, morning could not come swiftly enough. She forced herself to be still, however, drowning her nerves in the calm the monks had taught her. “I wonder how much they pay for these sunrises,” Gabriel mused aloud.

Her companion looked sideways at her. “You’re being silly again, Gabriel-san.” Her laugh held more than a hint of nerves, high-pitched and rattling.

Gabriel just smiled. “Not really. There are so many different kinds of magic in the world – there must be someone who can make beautiful sunrises. Maybe by controlling the weather or just changing the colors in the sky. In a place like Bren, anything could happen.”

While Gabriel looked like someone who might be sulking about on rooftops instead of safely asleep in bed, given that she was wearing skin-tight studded leather armor that was mere shades different from the color of her skin, the other girl certainly didn’t. Katherine was wearing her best kimono for the occasion, and had been ever since they left the monastery. The material was mostly white decorated with pink flowers, completed with a wide pink silk sash around the waist. A white oleander flower tucked behind her ear was all she had to complete the outfit, but she had twisted her hair up into the most elaborate bun she could create without a mirror.

“Really? To make the sunrise beautiful? How can such a thing be possible?” Her wide brown eyes opened even wider as she gazed at the sunrise with newfound awe.

Gabriel smiled widely, her dark green eyes flashing in the ever-increasing light. “Watch the Championships, Kat-san. Making a sunrise is nothing. You’ll see things you never even dreamed could exist.” In one smooth motion, the Angelborn stood. I’m not being impatient. The sun has fully cleared the horizon. I’m not. The slanting rooftop slates were not exactly designed to stand on, but Gabriel seemed as natural there as on solid ground.

To prove her patience (and because it needed to be done), Gabriel examined her equipment. The small contraptions attached to the tops of her forearms snapped open, revealing six-inch spikes that she handled with care. Each of her twenty-odd knives were removed, examined, and replaced, along with the worn shield that hovered in place on her back and her fingerless spiked gloves.

For her part, Katherine made no move to stand. Her own preparations finished, she watched Gabriel go over her equipment with a small smile on her face. Either ignoring or oblivious to the attention, Gabriel didn’t look up. A faulty piece could mean the difference between life and death on the battlefield.

Finally, Gabriel looked up. “Let’s go. The sun should be above the horizon – by my calculations, the gates will open in minutes, if it’s not open now.”

Katherine got to her feet with a minimum of fuss, but when she tried to take a step her sandals started to slide, and she nearly fell off the roof before Gabriel managed to catch her arm. Growling out a command to stay still, Gabriel focused and dropped Katherine’s weight to nothing before lowering her carefully to the ground.

The tall Angelborn slipped off after her shorter friend, landing with a tuck-and-roll that put her at the edge of the alley. She moved with an unconscious grace highlighted by the curves of her body, and a very conscious wariness that had built every lean muscle in that slender body. The citizens of Bren didn’t pose much of a threat, however, and she elbowed them out of her way without much concern. “Come on, Katherine-san, we’re going to be late!”

Her friend followed in the eddy Gabriel made, trying to look everywhere at once. A gang of street urchins rushed past them, and only by grabbing Katherine’s wrist once again was Gabriel able to keep her from getting lost in the crowd. “How can you be late, Gabriel-san? You’re a competitor!”

Further down the street, the children stopped and looked disappointed, murmuring to each other. Gabriel smiled slightly. Monks owned nothing of value save the clothes on their backs. “If I don’t get there in time, they may close the gates without me. Stay close to me – we’re gonna run!”

The pair wove their way through the crowd, Gabriel fighting for position while Katherine apologized to every third person they bumped into. The Angelborn ignored the hawkers as completely as she ignored the thieves, although she did almost knife a man who leered at Katherine. He was saved only by Katherine’s return smile, which prompted Gabriel to pull her friend away and lecture her in a fierce undertone. “Don’t smile back! You don’t know him!”

Eventually they made it to the Arenas, with time to spare despite Gabriel’s dire warnings. Gabriel hugged her friend tightly and directed her to the spectator seating, commanding her to not get into trouble, talk to strangers, or buy anything from vendors. “Watch for me, okay? You need to tell Sensei how I do.”

Katherine bit her lip. “Yes, I will, of course I will. But you’ll be the one telling Sensei about it, okay? Not me.”

Gabriel awkwardly patted the smaller woman on the arm. “I will do my best to make that happen, Kat-san. I’ll do my best. Now, go. You’ll want a good seat.”

With her friend safely on her way, Gabriel turned briskly to the attendant. “Gabriel Diaz, Angelborn, Earth. What arena am I in?”


The words on the scroll were the same as Gabriel remembered them, even if she could only read half of what they contained. The stairs, too, were the same. She didn’t recall the flicker of blue at the foot of the steps, though.

Without stopping she reached out to the ceiling with her power and her hands. The world flipped as gravity altered around her, declaring that just for Gabriel down was up and up was down. She tucked her knees in to her chest as she fell upwards, rolling her body down her arms until her feet touched the ceiling.

Then she straightened and kept walking, completely upside-down.

It was harder than it looked, as she had to move the focus of her power with every step she took, but the spikes on her feet helped, and the effect was well worth the annoyance. The flash of blue turned out to be what looked like a net made of blue lightning, and avoiding it was a simple matter of ducking her head and walking up the side of the wall. After she was past, it was easily apparent that there was plenty of room to move over or around the obstacle, which made her wonder why anyone would put it there in the first place.

Four contestants had already made it down to the Cellar, but in marked contrast to the competition two years past, none of them had actually started combat yet. Hands on her hips, she surveyed the opposition, checking for odd patches of darkness or light.

A shiny dwarf with a crossbow, a woman with a glowy yellow gem and no armor at all – probably a mage – a grumpy woman with a harpoon, and a fellow mutant with glowy skin, messed-up facial features, and too many pockets. Wonder who’s responsible for the net? I should probably make an alliance… ah, but they’re just begging for me to start something.

A wide smile flashed across Gabriel’s face. “Kinda quiet in here, innit?” A knife appeared in her hand and she threw it, a soaring arc that would leave the weapon squarely in the center of the room. She waited half a heartbeat, allowing the others time to be distracted by the flashing metal, and then her hands blurred into motion.

Four more knives headed squarely for each of her opponent’s hearts (or where she assumed hearts were given a normal human biology), thrown with as much speed and accuracy as she could manage given that she was standing on a wall, and four more headed for the mirrors. The second set didn’t look like they would hit anyone at all, even on accident, but as soon as they reached the mirrors – in one and a half to three seconds, depending on the opponent – they would be reflected and fly directly into each of her opponent’s bodies.

The final knife had left her hand before the first touched the ground. “Anyone looking for an ally?” Gabriel asked, completely serious and expecting no reply.

She didn’t expect the first set of knives to hit unless her opponents were extremely foolish or unlucky, but with luck the second set would find marks. She did expect retaliation, which is why she released the wall and grasped the ceiling with her power, sending herself flying upward. Tucking her head slightly against the impact, she kept her eyes open and her attention on the room below. Here in Bren, anything could happen.



Tdub -> RE: =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/3/2013 15:25:57)

Waiting in the corner, Is’ira was surprised by the lack of action. Despite the famed violence of the Elemental Championships, all other competitors seemed content to let someone else start the fighting.

The first to enter after herself was a woman with brown hair. The woman appeared to be human, although Is’ira was uncertain as to the extent of the new foe’s magical or physical capabilities. The next to arrive in the Cellar was most definitely not human. This opponent’s skin was silvery, and almost seemed to glow. Without speaking, the glowing man created some sort of barrier of Energy in front of the entrance.

Quite clever, actually. It seems to me that the best way to eliminate opponents is to prevent them from attacking in the first place. I am glad I got here before that one.

However, the next to enter simply avoided the net of electricity. This woman had managed to walk on the ceiling, and walked over the barrier. The woman said something, but Is’ira could not make it out, still marveling over this woman’s strange ability.

Is’ira watched as the woman tossed what seemed to be a knife into the center of the Arena. Strange. That weapon seems to have no particular target. Is’ira thought, watching the knife as it sailed in the air…

And then gasping as she glimpsed the steel of a similar weapon flying in a straight line towards her chest.

In one fluid motion, the Explorer raised both hands in front of her, and a small shield of light formed. In her hurry to cast such a spell, some corners were cut, and shield was much thinner than normal. The airborne knife collided and penetrated the shield. The very tip of the weapon poked out of the back of the square, solid block of Light, just inches from Is’ira’s chest.

The shield disappeared as soon as it had appeared, and the woman’s knife tumbled to the floor. Is’ira saw that the new opponent has sent identical knives towards the other competitors in a similar manner. The Light competitor did not see what became of them, as she was too intent on listening to her attacker’s words, this time heard perfectly clear.

“Anyone looking for an ally?”

Is’ira smiled. That one could make such a bold statement so soon after attacking literally every foe possible was nearly unthinkable. Raising her right arm, the Explorer felt the magic flow from the now-shining Lumine to her hand.

“Is this normally how one asks for allies?” Is’ira asks, and a bolt of Light shot of her right hand, aiming directly at the strange woman. In a flash, her left arm was up as well, and a second shot burst in the same direction.

It was then that Is’ira heard silence. Not actual silence, as she could hear the sound of her attack travelling toward her newfound opponent, as well as the knife still clattering on the floor, but a silence nonetheless. It took Is’ira a moment to identify the cause of this. She was not deaf, nor was she ill. This was the lack of sound that came from one engaging in life-or-death combat for the first time in her life, when the only experience she had was fighting off some particularly aggressive wild beasts.

This was the silence of fear.


“Sir Ma’hony!” The Syaldian scribe cried, bursting into the Council Head’s personal office. The Head sighed. He had, so far, been having a particularly rough day. The petitions to allow open travel to the other world were too numerous to count, and the entirety of his government was having a hard time explaining to the people why they must wait until Head Explorer Is’ira returned. “What is it? I am busy.”

The scribe, looking panicked, brought up a screen of Light. It was a Scrying Screen, used to view objects from afar, or even communicate. However, this was not the issue. The issue was what was currently being displayed on the Screen. It showed a scene of Is’ira not viewing and studying violence among humans, but participating in it. “What is THIS?” Ma’hony yelled, shocked by what he saw.

“We have done some research into this. It appears Lady Beliard has entered a certain tournament in the name of Lady Light. It is expected that much violence occurs in this tournament.”

Ma’hony, still in shock, watched Is’ira with interest. “This is very concerning. We cannot allow the people to know of this. This could reflect very poorly on Lady Beliard.”



EmbraceTheDarkness -> RE: =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/3/2013 15:44:52)

Meoden kneeled in the corner still, watching as the competitors entered the arena. A lady in white with no protective armor, She gave him a quick nod as she passed. The next to enter was a lady with a harpoon. After her, a strange looking creature ran into the room and leaned up against one of the pillars soon after his arrival a blue net formed near the enterance.
"Things seem to be shaping up nicely, they wear light armor. I'll use that to my advantage"
The next competitor entered, he watched as she avoided the net. She began to float into the air, she stopped as she began to stand on the ceiling.
There was a flash, which Meoden believed to have come from the girl on the ceiling. Directly after there was a whiz as a procjectile passed over his shoulder, Meoden hit the dirt with such speed he would have appeared to be just a golden blur. A series of metal obejects bouncing around the room followed after he lay down on his stomach.
"She must have based it off my human counterparts" He thought to himself with a large smile
“Anyone looking for an ally?” he heard her ask
He rolled up onto one knee, swinging "Peacemaker" around and placed the stock against his shoulder. He took a few seconds before he fired, his first shot was aimed at her left shoulder the second shot was for her stomach. Meoden decided it was time to show them what element he was fighting for, he swung "Peacemaker" back around and began to cast the spell.
His hand raised just slightly above his head, it began to have a green aura to it. His hand shook vigorously as did a large rock before him, it was released from the dirt and floated before him.
He looked over at the lady who had thrown the knives, He brought his arm across his body in one large swing causing the rock to fly towards the lady.
“If it misses, it misses. If it hits that’s just as good” He thought
With that Meoden grabbed both of his hatchets and got ready to fight.



Legendium -> RE: =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/3/2013 16:08:44)

Eyra watched carefully as the next enemy entered the arena. He had no shirt and silvery skin that glowed a bit. She took a guess at energy and made a mental note to steer far clear of him. Clever, she thought as he conjured an electrical blue net in front of the door, but not clever enough, she thought when she saw it could be easily avoided by a person who wasn’t rushing headlong into the fight. It didn’t matter. Shortly thereafter, another enemy came in, standing on the ceiling. Wind, Eyra thought automatically. She shouldn’t be hard to beat.

But that was before she said “A bit quiet in here, innit?”

Eyra dodged away before the first dagger flew towards the center of the arena. The second hit empty air in the corner while Eyra was already darting towards the nearest enemy that wasn’t the shirt-less thing; the light mage woman. She quickly pulled her harpoon from its holster and threw it at the mage while she was casting a light spell of some sort at the wind woman whose daggers were still darting all over the arena. She ducked as one sailed through the space of where Eyra’s head had been a few moments before. With Eel and her dagger drawn, and soon to be put to the test against the light enemy’s magic, she ran forward.

She heard the wind woman say “Anyone looking for an ally?” Eyra grinned. She would make a formidable opponent. Later.

The fight had started, and Eyra was going to leave a mark on it.



Micosil -> RE: =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/4/2013 18:16:38)

Breath. It began with breath, control over the flow of air, in and out of your body, the fuel that powered every single action in a fight. Correct usage of air meant correct usage of power, efficient motions; it forced you to plan ahead when you would inhale, exhale. It made you know more about your own body.

Scylla closed her eyes as she sank into her breathing exercises before starting her training, the wooden contraption in front of her taunting her with its multiple weapons, pressure points; designed to turn the fighter's own attacks against them.

Her eyes opened, she dashed up straight into the machine, slamming a fist into its side, splinters flying as it started rotating, the fighter avoiding a sweep at her feet, a stab at her chest, hammer to the head as she pressed the attack. To a casual watcher, there didn't seem to be any special meaning in the chosen sequence she was following, but another practicioner of her art would have noticed that she was carefully timing her dodges and blows - first one, then the other, time and again.

Her movements became faster, the groaning of the contraption louder as she continued her barrage of blows... And then, suddenly, she jumped back, nothing more than a blur of blue stepping away from a whirlwind of violence.

She was sweating, muscles shaking slightly from the tension, blood pulsing through her veins, but her breath remained just as calm as when she had begun and, instead of the calm, controlled expression she had before, there was a wild power in her eyes, a confident smirk on her face. She dropped her stance, walked away. She was ready for the Championships.



The way to the arena passed in a flash. She couldn't quite remember if she'd had to ask someone the way in, or she'd found it herself. She knew she was assigned to Cellar, so someone had to have told her, but all those details were buried under the thick layer of self-control she was trying to impose over her nerves, with a relative amount of success.

The scroll above the gate reported that healing would not work properly in the Cellar - Scylla couldn't help but smile eagerly. Nothing more annoying than landing a good series of ten or twelve blows, and watching the guy receiving them shrug it off and heal up. Mirrors would add some interest to the fight, but again they didn't seem to be something that would directly affect her fighting style.

She descended half-observing the people in front of her. She was willing to judge them by appearances, so the short one was probably a fighter, what with his armor; and the one without any was probably a mage. That's how it usually worked, anyways, though surprises were to be expected. The rest, she wasn't so sure about. Probably similar to her own style, mixing magic with physical prowess; and in all likelyhood that meant they had a couple of really nasty surprises for whoever looked at them the wrong way.

Her scouting stopped when they reached the bottom and the competitors started walking in. She wasn't sure who had done it, but suddenly a large, electric net appared in the gate, blocking it partly. There still was room to walk past it, and Scylla was planning on just doing so, but then the woman right before her started... floating? Towards the roof, bypassing completely the trap in style, and then to the monk's great pleasure, starting off the actual combat.

Well she wasn't going to be any less. With a wide grin, she ran diagonally forward, leaping at the wall and bouncing off it towards the net, pulling her hands and feet to her, forming a spinning ball that flew over the net's highest point, unfurling a moment later as she hit the floor, rolled and leapt back to her feet, turning all her momentum into a charge at the shorter figure, who seemed to be fighting for Earth, judging by its latest attack.

"Anyone looking for an ally?" She heard a voice call from the roof, obviously coming from the aggressing woman.

"I'm in!" came Scylla's reply. "Dibs on the shortie!" Came a moment later as she closed in on the fighter.



Ronin Of Dreams -> RE: =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/5/2013 6:12:28)

The thoughts of a man standing before the doorway to what may well be his tomb are often some of the most unique of their entire lives. For Kieran, as he stood before that tunnel which would lead down into the depths of Cellar, those thoughts were turned towards regret. Regret for not having more time, and a regret for having to keep some things yet secret from his chala. To think, that he would find someone he would connect with so...suddenly, and to such depths. It was a mixed blessing that she would not descend into Cellar alongside him, though she too was at risk within this hallowed tournament. At least she would not have to see him descend into the monstrosity of a heartless warrior, which he feared would be a must.

Yet the steps of his descent abraded these fears away. Each stride brought echoes of former fights, former glories from within the arena itself. His heart settled, pumping the sustenance of life strongly through his frame at a steady, almost lethargic pace. The rondache held loosely by his left arm felt light, his body loose. At the ready for the conflict soon to be upon him.

The tunnel also echoed the sounds below, and if he was not mistaken, there were several uncontent to wait for the arrival of the remaining few competitors. It made him keen to catalouge what he could, while also shaming his training for not having been the first to arrive and stack the deck in his favor. As Wind, however...there was not much he could have done in that regard. The steps felt almost slick, worn by age or smoothed by hand. A lack of friction, which would work well for him, though it would prove better were there water or oil on top. The treated buckhide of his boots would slide, true, but controlling momentum was not a difficulty for him. If anything, it added another angle to mess with his opposition.

The sounds below intensified, jarring Kieran into motion. He took the remaining stairs at a rush, skipping two or three with each bound. Catching sight of flapping blue robes as someone ahead of him executed a wall-jump over...a net? A soft rustle of leather straps as he arrested his momentum before it would carry him into crackling energy. Banter, ignored, resounded in his head as he examined it the barrier. He maneuvered around it quickly, almost daintily, since whoever had placed it had intentionally left an opening. How quaint a trick, in a competition that turned so easily towards bloodsport.

Kieran sidestepped from the entrance, leaving the reflective wall at his back with his shield hefted high. This soon, this early within the contest...he drew upon his inner reserves of magic and began to prepared mere wisps of wind along his legs. Scanning the competition left him at odds, there was no clean engage nor was there a truly enticing target. He moved laterally, towards the closer pillar to the left. It gave him a moment to replay the banter in his head, and tease some scrap of recognition from them. Was it...an offer of alliance? It might give him a few more moments without having to dodge, perhaps.

"Following up," was all the announcement he would give to the matter. His movement gave him a better angle on both the charging Scylla and her unfortunate target, but also gave him something hard at his back. Observing exactly what sort of welcome the Water warrior recieved at the end of the charge would grant him a few insights, perhaps. And, more importantly, decide which would wind up being his first target after all.



xaxtoo -> RE: =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/5/2013 18:22:45)

The net glowed faintly at the entrance, and KJ wondered why it was so weak. To be fair, he had to take precautions to prevent curious kids with wandering hands from accidentally electrocuting themselves when he was doing lightning shows. But seeing as he was no longer entertaining children as a weird looking traveling light show magician, he should probably compensate a little. He is finally, hunting once more: maiming and immobilizing is the name of the game.

Still, not like he had someone to shock on a daily basis so he can fine tune the strength of his lightning. The line between using too little energy to not hurt much and too much to waste his strength is still very much unknown at this point. The human body is surprisingly fragile, yet durable. Weird combinations.

There was some movement at the door, and KJ looked on intrigued. Before reaching the door, a slight creature flipped in the air and landed on the ceiling before walking up along the wall, avoiding his net. Clever and interesting, grinning at the trick, KJ followed the thing with his eyes as it moved higher and further from the floor. He was simply going to shoot whoever came in full of metal, but this unexpected occurrence made him change his mind. His net wall will be an interesting personality assessment, so he will wait and watch some more, at least one more person.

As the thing climbed higher, KJ continued observing, and eventually he moved his head back slightly to adjust the viewing angle and hit something metallic and cold? His Halberd! He had completely forgot of its existence, since he almost never carries it on his back. The wall climber was done yet, as it spoke something threw some knives. One, judging by the initial trajectory wasn't ever going to hit anything or anyone, and the others flew off for some additional wall trickeries. The new development, unexpectedly, turned the encounter with his weapon from something that was slightly annoying and limiting to his vision into quite the fortuitous meeting. Happy with its presence once more, KJ leaned forward slightly, shifting his balance and stance, instantaneous changing from relaxed to dangerous and prepared.

With a slight twist of his body, the Halberd head moved into the path of the flying knife. While KJ's body almost moved instinctly to deal with the threat as his eyes, save for the slight early wanderings, never really stopped looking at the front entrance. Shifting into what could be perceived as an amateurish runner's stance, he saw two more guys enter. One jumped as he had hoped, but he was preoccupied with dodging, so he missed his chance to shoot that person. And the final man, came with a shield up. Smart man, that one, careful and fully aware of the dangers. The man moved in the opposite direction, and KJ, after quickly giving the man a bit of respect, passed him off in his thoughts.

As soon as the man prudently cleared the net, it quivered and morphed, flapping around as if it has caught something and turning brighter as the lightning became more concentrated before spinning and rolling into a log. From one end, three prongs shot out, becoming something resembling a glowing blue pitchfork if there ever was one, still spinning around, as if unsure of where to fork yet. Even though it has only been 7 entrances so far, it was a little disappointing the net abetted him in shooting nobody, so there's another purpose it can serve right now. Hopefully it will serve that purpose better than being an obstacle. KJ glanced at the creature, and it seems like it is jumping, again in the direction opposite to ground.

With a slightly devious idea, he made his right arm light up slightly, a faint glow but definitely noticeable. He straightened out his fingers and held them firm, trying to give the impression he wants to cut or chop something. And clang! The knife glancing off the Halberd signaled the start of the retaliation. Looking up and smiling happily, his arm swept across his body, creating an arc of evenly spaced lightning bolts, each resembling his forearm, down to the fingernails, all flying towards the thing on the roof. Meanwhile, the pitchfork stopped spinning and flew also, upwards, aimed at the head, a prong for a brain, and a prong for each shoulder.

Again, the lightning probably could be more dangerous, but KJ has yet to resolve to seriously hunt yet. He's curious at seeing what the thing could do and will play a while longer. Bringing his no longer so shiny arm back, his hand found the start of the Halberd handle and pulled it free. He anticipates using the full range of motion in his head shortly to track the movement of the roof woman. So far he has only used one hand, he wonders if the other player has seen this? He hoped it had, for he certainly illuminated that part.



jerenda -> RE: =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/6/2013 20:55:03)

Rule number six of being a monk: A heartbeat thunders loud when a heartbeat is all that you are. (Well, really it sounded more like “Sekai wa koko de shizukadesu,” but Gabriel couldn’t pronounce that and therefore had translated it into something that made much more sense.) Gabriel was weightless. Literally, in fact, as she stopped pulling on the ceiling and dropped her weight to nothing. The first pulse of her atria opening and blood rushing in thundered in her ears.

Her opponent’s reactions were all that she could have hoped for. One actually watched the distracting throw, the young woman with the glowing gem. Unexpected. Perhaps the light mage wasn’t a true warrior... but she couldn’t make assumptions. Not yet. The woman did manage to block, a last-minute shield of light that the knife almost pierced. Note to self: throw harder next time.

The dwarf took the expedient route and simply hit the dirt to avoid the attacks. That’ll scuff up his shiny armor, Gabriel thought, amused. The grumpy woman was already in motion when Gabriel’s first attack reached her, and she dodged the second with agility. Instead of attacking the Angelborn like the others, she took advantage of the distraction and sprinted for the light mage, launching her harpoon as she went. Clever. I might have to watch that one.

The light mage, for her part, was glowing. “Is this normally how one asks for allies?” she asked as the light from her gem spread to her arms. A response could come later. Gabriel slipped two more daggers from their sheaths as twin beams of light shot out of hikari-chan’s arms. The daggers spun in her hands before Gabriel thrust them blade-first into the ceiling. The smooth stone gave unwilling purchase, enchanted as it was to resist fractures, but it held. Barely, it held.

Barely was all she needed. The Angelborn pushed off the wall, swinging her body in an arc that let the first bolt of light pass underneath her and glance off the ceiling. She kept swinging and hit the roof, the impact sending her the other direction. The edge of the second bolt brushed her back as she descended, sending a jolt through her. Her vision blurred, and her grip slipped on the right-hand knife.

With an effort of will Gabriel forced herself to focus, letting go of the knife so that it wouldn’t fall out. She was already falling, so she turned with the fall, putting her back to the dwarf for a moment. The mirrors kept her informed, and as the dwarf released the first bolt she let go of the knife and let gravity function normally.

Her ten-foot drop sent the first bolt whizzing over her head, and the second thumped solidly into the shield on her back. New toys! As the bolt hit, Gabriel tugged on the wall above the door with her powers and spun. Her shield hit the wall first with a loud crack as the crossbow bolt snapped in half. Aw, my toy! Ah well, it’s not like I can use a crossbow bolt... It was then that she noticed the rock flying towards her.

She barely managed to get her hands up in time to catch it, and as it was the thing almost knocked the wind out of her. The leather palms of her fingerless gloves would need repairing after this, but she was expecting to need a new set of armor anyway. That wasn’t what sent white-hot rage flashing through her body.

“How dare you throw a rock at me!” She fell for the half-second necessary to drop the rock’s weight to zero and threw it at the dwarf as hard as she could. I hope it breaks your skull, you cowardly treacherous unworthy heretic so-called worshipper of Chikyū-dono. As she reclaimed her position perched above the door, the rational half of her mind lectured Gabriel on the importance of accurate insults, and Gabriel beat her anger back until it was under control again.

She shouldn’t have gotten mad, and she probably shouldn’t have thrown it back - why give the scum another tool, after all - but all of Gabriel was in agreement that the dwarf needed to go down. Her vengeance was slightly sidetracked, however, when a bouncing blue blur flew into the arena.

“I’m in!” the blur shouted as it transformed into a blue-skinned individual wearing a full-length robe that completely obscured its gender. “Dibs on the shortie!” he/she/it shouted, transforming its momentum into a charge at the dwarf.

Huh. That actually worked. Awesome! And she did exactly what I wanted to do! This ally can read my mind! “Awesome!” Gabriel wrestled with the question of whether “dibs” meant she wasn’t supposed to attack as well or if she needed to back her newfound ally up as a muscular young man with runic tattoos instead of sleeves stepped into the arena.

This one was being as cautious as the initial entrants, side-stepping carefully around the barrier with his shield up in front of him and the reflective mirrors to his back. He slipped around the closer pillar to his left, taking up a position where he could observe the androgynous blue monk and the dwarf. To make matters worse, he added “Following up,” apparently a response to the offer of uniting, but if that was a response, it was the vaguest response humanly possible.

Whatever that’s supposed to mean. I would attack him to protect Ao-san’s back, but the net down there is acting weird and he might just be extremely bad at expressing himself. It’s not like coherence is a requirement to enter this competition. Or the ability to speak at all, really.

The net finished flailing and transformed into a pitchfork that... continued to flail. The mystery was quickly cleared up, however, as the only one yet to attack moved. He had defended himself by the simple expedient of blocking with the halberd on his back, and now he counter-attacked. His right arm started glowing. He swept his arm across and a series of blue lightning “arms” shot towards the Angelborn.

The “arms” were glowing much brighter than the net-turned-pitchfork - in fact, compared to the arms, the pitchfork was practically dull. Hmm. Unless I miss my guess, light = power. Shall we test this theory on ourselves? The idea didn’t exactly appeal to Gabriel, but it was the best she had. Before the lightning could box her in, Gabriel slipped her shield out in front of her and dove straight down, through the pitchfork.

The light blue energy split around her wooden shield, although some of it did slip into the metal on her body. Braced for impact, Gabriel’s eyes widened and she almost forgot to tuck and roll when she hit the floor. Turning at the last second, she tumbled to the left, landing in a crouch facing the mutant.

There, she laughed out loud. She had expected a shock, perhaps something on the scale of the bolts of light, but the lightning had - had tickled! “Playtime’s over, hon.” With a wicked grin, two daggers appeared in her hands. (Her last two still trembled in the ceiling, waiting for a stray breeze to knock them down.)

Gabriel reached out with her power and took hold of the mutant, changing his personal gravity so that “down” was “Gabriel,” and sent her two knives flying towards him. One for the heart, one for the throat, and to finish the set she prepared to send one of her spikes into him as soon as he got close enough.



Tdub -> RE: =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/7/2013 17:32:56)

There was no time to think. Is’ira saw the second knife, apparently thrown by the same woman as before, almost too late. Is’ira crouched down, allowing the knife to reflect off of the mirror wall and pass over her head. Is’ira breathed a sigh of relief. I cannot let that happen again. I do not want to be eliminated from this competition before it really starts. Little did the Explorer know how close she had come to leaving this planet the hard way.

In a way, the woman who had thrown the knives had saved Is’ira’s life by forcing her to duck. As she kneeled on the floor of the Cellar, she glimpsed something passing overhead. Looking up, she realized it was a spear of some sort, although the exact word for it failed her. A moment later, the spear-thing bounced from the mirror behind her, and the shaft hit her in the back of the head with a solid thunk.

Standing up, Is’ira touched the spot where the wood had collided with her. Ow. Searching for the origin of the spear, she found it in the form of a helmeted woman, charging at Is’ira with sword drawn. I cannot fight at close range, and especially not in this corner. What to do….. As she moved her foot, her toe found something she had forgotten about. The first knife! Carefully, Is’ira caught the blade between her toes and the tops of her sandals, and flicked it upwards. The weapon sailed above her head, and Is’ira prepared her aim. As it came back down, Is’ira extended her arm, and Lumine flashed as a Light Shot burst out of her right hand. Colliding with the knife, the shot exploded, sending the knife spinning at her new foe’s chest.

Is’ira did not wait to see the results of her attack. She knew that melee, close ranged fighting would mean the end of her, and she did not want to be trapped in the corner. Turning to her right, she ran, praying that the knife would strike true.

Meoden did not have time to watch as new competitors entered the arena. He was focused on the matter at hand; both of his crossbow bolts had missed the target. Not only that, but he also had another attacker.


"I'm in" He heard her shout as she approached.


Meoden smiled, showing his white teeth. He was going to have a fun beating these "things" into the dirt. His attention shot back to the ceiling lady, now on the floor, as she shouted something directed at him.


"How dare you throw a rock at me!" She shouted, and with that she hurled it back at him


Meoden's smile grew larger "Cute!" he shouted back as he summoned a large rock to come out of the earth, smashing into the projectile and causing them both to break into pieces.


His immediate attention went back to the women coming at him. He began to spin his left hand in quick circles in front of his chest. Dirt, pebble and dust formed into a wall before him, projectiles were still able to pass through the wall but one's sight would have a harder time. With his right hand he used the same spell from earlier to send the shards of his pillar and rock through the shroud at the blue lady. Satisfied, he ran left, towards the center of the back wall, his hatchets shining in the dim light.

Fate works in funny ways. One would not think that, in a competition this diverse, two competitors would unintentionally run towards each other. It is also unlikely that these two competitors would not immediately attack each other. However, that is precisely what happened there in the Cellar. The two stopped, just two feet away from each other, at the center of the back wall. The two stared, seemingly sizing each other up. The battle that seemed inevitable was halted when each looked into the other’s eyes. Beyond the fear, the mistrust, the chaos, there was an understanding. And that understanding was, for the moment, that the other competitors in the Cellar were more important to take care of than each other. Meoden, being Meoden, spoke first. “Wanna team up? Name’s Meoden.” Is’ira nodded. “I am Is’ira.”

It did not take long for the now-allies to reach a conclusion. The instigator of their various fights, the woman who was on the ceiling, but was now on the floor, had to go. It took an even shorter time to come up with the plan.

The plan was simple, and required few words between the two competitors. One who knew how unfamiliar Is’ira was with combat might wonder how she could have come up with such a maneuver. In reality, it was a hunting technique from Syald, used to knock small game into a cage or net. Although Is’ira had little experience with hunting, she did know the basics.

Meoden charged at the “Ceiling” lady who was now on the floor with her shield out front, attacking the bare-chested Energy competitor.

Is this team up really worth it? Meoden thought as he ran. It has to be, it just has to.

Meoden did not bother to worry about the monk. He needed to take down the main threat to him and his now-teammate. They both had their individual enemies in the arena, sure, but this nuisance needed to be dealt with before the others.

Meoden came up on her right side, his newly sharpened hatchet swinging down at her. He prayed this worked as the plan shifted to Is’ira.

At the same time, Is’ira was having similar doubts about the alliance. It was true, it always helped to have a friend, but she could hardly consider Meoden one. One of the oddities of this world was that all eight Elemental Lords, and their servants, worked together. Coming from a world made entirely of Light beings, this was strange to Is’ira. Of course, air was needed to breath, earth to walk on, fire to stay warm, and so on. But past the necessities, interaction between two Elements was unheard of. The alliance between Earth and Light was a good thing, temporarily. It would have to end, of course, and Light would come out as superior.

However, this was not the time to think about that. Is’ira ran for her chosen location, barely having time to notice the two new competitors in the Cellar. One was apparently the woman her new ally, Meoden, had been fleeing from. The other was standing quietly at the moment. As long as he does not bother me, I will not bother him. Finally, is’ira reached her destination, eight feet from the woman’s left side. As Meoden brought his hatchet down onto her right side, the Explorer took careful aim at the left side of the woman’s head, and felt the passing of energy as her fourth Light Shot of the competition was fired.

Should the woman with the knives sidestep the hatchet to the left, the Light Shot would hit her in the head and knock her back onto the hatchet. Simple, yet effective. There were a few problems with the move, however. For one, the hunting technique was usually done with a spear, not a hatchet, and neither Is’ira nor Meoden knew the strength of the woman’s armor. The hatchet might not make it all the way through the leather. In addition, even though the shot had been aimed not to hit Meoden should it miss the woman, it could become a problem if it reflected off of one of the mirrors. The woman could go back to the ceiling, if possible, or jump backwards. And, of course, if any other competitor interfered, it could become a disaster.

Pushing aside all worries, Meoden and Is’ira, new and unlikely allies in the Cellar Arena, prayed that the woman with the knives could be eliminated quickly and efficiently.



Legendium -> RE: =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/8/2013 13:36:08)

Eyra hated enemies that fled. When the light mage woman had turned tail, she had left a dagger and Eyra’s harpoon flying back at her, so she hadn’t had time to shout “COWARD!” before she had to twist to avoid both projectiles. Even so, the knife had grazed her shoulder and she hadn’t been able to catch her harpoon. It was probably going to keep on bouncing around the room until gravity let it flop.

In the meanwhile, plenty had happened. The wind woman had engaged combat with the Energy enemy, and the remaining enemies had entered the room. Another woman with blue skin and green hair entered the arena and launched herself towards the short man in golden armor, and apparently had accepted the alliance with the wind woman. If Eyra judged correctly, she seemed to be another water competitor. The second, and hopefully the last enemy to come in was a slim guy with runes all over his arms and long, black, braided hair. He seemed to be staying out of the fighting for now. It might have been a wise manoeuver.

Her opponent fleeing from her had left her lost. She had been planning on taking the light mage down and moving on the shorty, but the two of them had allied themselves. While she had no doubt that she was more than a match for both of them, she did not think that she could take them down if they were working together. She would need a partner of her own, and those were already beginning to get scarce.

She had three choices it would seem. Either, join with the energy guy, which would not seem a good choice, seeing as she would likely be left to fight him on her own at the end, which would make her survival rate drop by a lot, or she could join with the wind woman and the other water contestant, which she wasn’t too fond of, seeing as the wind woman had already tried to kill her. The only option left then was to join with the man in the corner. But she didn’t really know what he would do if she approached him. He might just attack her on sight. But the odds were slowly stacking against single contestants. She had to try.

Running towards the man in the corner, she kept an eye on the others. She couldn’t see the light mage, but she and her ally were probably the only ones interested in her. That was a bonus at least. She was not a hostile target for the others. Yet.

She reached the man in the corner pretty fast. Panting slightly, she asked “Alliance?”

She kept a firm grip on her dagger and an eye on the violence as she awaited an answer.




Ronin Of Dreams -> RE: =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/9/2013 12:40:42)

One moment, Kieran was waiting patiently. He slowly slid his right foot so that the heel rested against the support of the pillar at his back, just in case he would need to bold suddenly thanks to the opposition present. The next...well, the next chaos and havoc exploded in the arena the same way it usually does, suddenly and with minimal warning. A great wall rose up before the stalwart dwarf. Dust, grit, and debris were called forth by hand gestures to impede Scylla’s directed charge...and also to impair further sight of that particular target from a fairly wide angle. Then the wall seemed to sigh, expelling a great deal of rocky shards and heavy chunks of stone into Scylla’s path, making Kieran downgrade the wall towards a measure of almost pure obfuscation.

Hand gestures, though, imply somatically reinforced spellcasting. A possible weakness to exploit? Still, there was something about that casting that failed to impress Kieran. Though Meoden may simply be that adept at manipulating Earth to render even such flashy displays to be minimal efforts, to Kieran the dwarf’s sheer arsenal hinted otherwise. Instead it came across as overdone and inelegant. Combat itself often was inelegant, to be honest, so maybe it was more appropriate to consider it an overblown kneejerk reaction of wasted effort. An opponent more appropriate for others to sully their skills against.

His eyes were drawn towards other movement, relegating Scylla’s efforts to extricate herself from the impact path to the murky awareness of his peripheral vision. The light mage skirted out past the edge of the obscuring wall, fleet of foot in repositioning for...something, but of what purpose was unclear. His eyes darted around, alerted via peripheral vision that another female was darting about, this time towards him directly. This one seemed dressed in the practical manner of those expecting to be within the thick of combat, unlike several others within Cellar. Even with a thin sword and a dagger in hand, however, her manner of approach screamed everything but hostility. It was almost trivial in any case, she was on his current shield side, and he didn’t plan to give her much of a chance when she arrived, as he didn’t plan on being there much longer.

There wasn’t much for it really, the idea he had in mind demanded action almost at the speed of thought in the first place. Even as he shifted the angle of his stance, lowering into a sprinter’s crouch thanks to the pillar at his heel, he put two fingers to his mouth and whistled sharply. “Oi! Blue! Center and vault!” Not the most complex of battlefield orders, nor sadly kind with regards to getting attention, but those were some of the lesser hazards of battlefield acquaintances and alliances being what they are. Then he glanced briefly over the rim of his rondache towards Eyra, watching her slow to a halt in a pant.

“Alliance?” She had asked.

Mentally, Kieran was bawling with laughter at the irony, both of circumstance and her timing. But it was ever such a useful offer once he pushed the amusement aside. He gestured with his chin, but kept his words brief as he pushed a bit more magic towards his legs. “Mmm, fine. Help deal with the dwarf. Distraction, unless you can make the kill.” Then, without any other fanfare or acknowledgement, he was off with the sound of whirling wind in his wake.

Along short distances, Kieran found a sprint to be a fun little exertion of effort, but when he fed Wind to his heels it became something truly freeing. The pushoff had become something incredibly efficient, and he hardly had made a few bounding strides of his feet before he turned the sprint into a slide to arrest his momentum. Buckskin soles rasped against the ever so smooth floor of Cellar, and he perked up as the thrill of exactly how beneficial that would be in combat ran through him. His momentum had hardly stopped as he raised his rondache towards where Scylla should be coming at him, took solid grip of the straps with both hands, and braced his legs.

That his rondache had been embossed with such decorum would prove a great benefit for the maneuver he had alluded to in battlefield shorthand. Even with the small expanses of steel polished to a mirror sheen...it was of the Mirrored Cathedral...the design created a much rougher surface which Scylla could gain friction and grip from. It also served to break the rasping of a blade by causing it to jump and skitter erratically on a sliding contact from a block or parry, which might come into play shortly as well. Kieran grunted lightly with effort as Scylla made contact with it, but he found her lighter than anticipated. Regardless, he threw his entire body into giving her as much height and additional momentum as he could towards Is’ira. Having to put a bit of angle on the push threatened to toss him off balance, but he slid his back foot around and remained steady.

Steady did not mean still, however, and he swiftly pushed off once more in a headlong combat sprint towards Is’ira. While pouring magic through a Gusting may have let him actually beat Scylla, Kieran disregarded the idea as wasteful and foolish. Purely through the effort of physical prowess he would come upon her almost upon the vaulting Scylla’s proverbial heels anyway. It was times like this, however, that he wished he had used the gear of a Mirrorman. The enchanted and highly reflective polished silver round shields they had once carried would have been so nice against Light wielders like Is’ira, but his larger rondache still had its perks. Rather than the sub-two foot diameter of the more targe-like Mirrorman shields, the full three-foot span of his particular rondache allowed him to hide certain body motions.

As Kieran attempted to close the final distance, he crouched more behind his shield. The loss of speed wasn’t a concern, he would need to stop regardless, but it hid more of his body behind the polished engravings of its steel surface. Hopefully hid so far as to disguise how his hips were cocked to throw his right leg into a strong sweeping kick low at Is’ira. Knee, or ankle? Knee? Ankle? KNEE! Truthfully, it was the wiser target, and not just because of the likelihood of her attempt to dodge out from Scylla’s aerial assault. Even merely bruising the knee would slow Is’ira down, and that would work just as much for Scylla’s benefit as his own if their cooperative assault failed in its opening strike. So as he slid those final few inches to a stop, shield raised at an angle protectively to guard his body from sight and harm, his right leg scythed out in a wicked arc. Booted foot aiming just above the shin...



Micosil -> RE: =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/9/2013 13:49:35)

Scylla, charging and eager as she was, was in no way a fool. Having someone who had just thrown a piece of rock out of nowhere in front of her making odd gestures meant there was another spell coming, and she wasn't really in the mood for getting smashed with a boulder. She rarely found herself in that mood.

So the charge slowed down fractionally as she prepared to dodge to the side, eyes narrowed slightly to avoid the projectile... which, much to her disappointment, didn't come immediately, as the shortie finished his gestures and the earthern version of a smokescreen appeared in front of her.

She still leapt to the side, feeling magic accumulate in her, her charge briefly interrupted - not having vision was a bad thing; not having vision against someone who could probably punch a hole through her was outright stupid. Her caution was rewarded when some rocky shrapnel flew right past , through the spot she'd been in a moment ago. Who knew where they would end, but the mirrors would make sure everyone in the arena felt the effects of that attack.

A still image of the battlefield burned into her eyes as she flew - she had the information she needed. With her new angle, she'd seen her enemy run towards her ally - really needed to get some names here. And, apparently, shorty and light-mage had signed a truce to beat on her ceiling-favored ally, throwing a barrage of spells on her as the fighter charged in.

"Oi! Blue! Center and vault!"

Scylla shot off as soon as she touched the ground, even faster than she'd been before the earth champion's attack. Someone else had realized the same thing she had - with the dwarf charging on ahead, his fire-support was completely exposed. So she followed the plan, changing her direction ever so slightly to meet up with what seemed to be another ally before reaching light-mage, feet leaving the ground, twirling on herself, feeling the man's shield under her, feet finding balance, crouch and bounce off with the shieldbearer's strength added to that of her own leap.

She literally flew towards the unwary caster with a primal grin in her face, somehow reminiscent of a shark's, curling up, twisting and spinning midair to dodge any shots that might come her way since she was the easier target. Right before smashing into the mage, her limbs snapped open, a leg shot out to the side in what, with the force of the toss and the spin, would be a brutal blow, left to right, on the girl's torso - and even if she tried to slip back, Scylla's motion ensured she'd still be hit, though she would have avoided that critical point where all the forces in motion added up to a bone shattering strength.



xaxtoo -> RE: =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/9/2013 21:11:45)

As if to highlight his seemingly random focus to just use one hand further, the second knife that reflected off the mirror flew into KJ's shoulder, really lodging itself in there, almost magically, certainly interesting as there really shouldn't be enough flesh there to support something, especially a tiny blade. A hunter getting caught by the first trick an opponent uses? Bizarre that. A silvery pool of liquid formed by the wound, and a little trickle flowed down his arm. The pain was manageable, but it was a necessary sacrifice, one that should bring something tangible into to his eventual tales of his quite fantastic and hard to believe journey and fighting tournament to his son. Even his culture would find hard to believe a fighting tournament where people volunteer to go and risk dying to prove their mettle. A souvenir it will be, a necessity for his credibility to his children, and hopefully, the fights won't last long enough for the blood loss to become an issue.

Now that's done, KJ's done too. He doesn't have to actually fight anymore, he can just completely lie about whatever happens next. The shoulder wound and the knife are proof enough that stuff went down. All peoples have to know is fighting happened, he got wounded, he killed somebodies. It would really suit his purposes now if he can just observe the rest of the contestants. And for now the action seems fairly good. He knocked out a few guys who unwisely didn't pay attention to him with several quick charged bolts into their vital spots. The thing on the ceiling gets flattened by a rock, and then he engaged the short thingy with his halberd in an insane melee that lasts a long while. His wound from before almost caused his downfall before he landed a lucky strike and hews the head and beard off those stoutly shoulders and barely make it to the healing personnel before fainting. Done deal, instant hero, he might get an action figure.

But it seems like the ceiling it has different plans. The thing somehow managed to throw the giant rock back. Interesting ability, more than a little worrisome if the mass of an object can be so easily ignored. As the thing started a series of complicated dodges, KJ made something simple high above his head, a giant ball of lighting. Its purpose will be to simply follow him around and shoot lightning bolts at anything that poses danger for him. Quite simply, it is a deterrent for anyone that wants to get close. It's quite crude, construction suited for kids, but he can just dress it up in more fanciful language later, after he survives.

Suddenly, a lot of things happened all at once. The little thing dropped from the ceiling, said somethings, threw some more knives and KJ lost his footing. Everything was ok save for the last bit, which is some very disconcerting stuff. A quick glance around the arena and the mirrors revealed that only he was affected. And it seems from his initial motion, the little thing was the reason. It seems like he is being attracted to it, into a very dangerous location where multiple projectiles are converging. Not understanding too much about this ability, KJ can only assume that his gravity is no longer within the realm of predictability, and his instinct is to get away from any surfaces in case he end up skidding at high velocities. So, without too much power, he kicks off with his legs and start moving some towards the ceiling as well, ideally, eventually ending up at some height he will be comfortable falling from.

As he started moving, he opened a few pockets with his free hand, slipping out a few round metal balls, which upon being freed, started whizzing around his body while giving off a slightly different but similarly sounding high pitched wheeeeing’s, almost like gleeful cheering, like the screams of tiny men with their hands high riding around fast starships.

With speed picking up, he positioned in a way to see as much of the flying dangers and running things as possible while ensuring if his gravity comes back, he doesn't face plant. He readied his halberd in case he would have to use it to block, but if not, he needs to do something with it, just letting it hang there seems pretty aimless. In hunting, his safety is never guaranteed, but this occasion is not even a kill or starve situation. Killing for fun, please. He doesn't need this, he'll try to get out without suffering another injury.

A knife flew underneath him, the other one deflected off one of the balls, and went astray. The unfortunate ball that got hit shook a bit, took a few interesting orbits and started once again flying in the original motion. As he descended with some frightening velocity on the previously roof walking thing, before the balls can hit it, he felt his gravity returning before the thing jumped, soared even, and shot a spike at him. So close! Hopefully the balls deflected it. Still, he instinctively hardened the flesh around his vitals, took a quick glance at the charging one and hid his head with his injured arm.

With the devil's luck, the projectile moved passed his screaming balls and hit the fleshly nakedness of his chest, and would have pierced the heart, if it wasn't otherwise protected. However, the spike just hit his skin and bounced off. Not another souvenir today, no more from this creature, he already got one.

Already plenty close to the ground, he sent a bit of energy into his legs, charging them up for a quick escape. He will land feet first, hopefully not crash into the short one, and he will quickly push off and move away, far from the action. But he's much too close to the dashing thing to know how things will play out. Half moments will determine what will happen. His balls will unfortunately hit anything around him. Sorry shorty. Here comes trouble, trouble, troubles.



jerenda -> RE: =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/11/2013 16:19:43)

Her two knives missed - the mutant managed to dodge the first by jumping into the air, and the second was blocked by tiny screaming orbs of metal he had set to orbit around him. That’s interesting, Gabriel mused, wonder what’ll happen if I steal them from him. Despite the fact that the glowing man was now hurtling towards her alarmingly fast, the Angelborn’s steady gaze didn’t waver. Her arm tilted slightly, compensating for the movement of the orbs, and she prepared to send a metal spike through his heart as he descended. I’ll upgrade you - Reeve 2.0. Maybe then you’ll be a decent opponent.

Movement caught out of the corner of her eye sent that plan crashing to the ground. Somehow, both the dwarf and Hikari-chan had evaded both their attackers, and were closing in on the one who had started this fight - Gabriel herself. No time to wonder what her allies were doing, or even be amused at Hikari-chan’s persistence - hardly any time to react.

She dropped the mutant like a hot potato, reaching out to the ceiling for safety. Taking into account sudden upward movement and approaching threats, approximately 16-17 degrees difference for optimum angle, subtract a few degrees for orbs... now! Gabriel shot upward, flicking her right hand in an odd motion as she passed the mutant. The motion triggered the slender metal cylinder attached to the top of her lower arm, and a single metal spike shot out.

There was no time to study the results, but she trusted her calculations. As it was, the hatchet grazed her armor, slicing through the leather covering her hip before she managed to get clear. Blood welled up in the wound, the body’s natural healing processes fighting the magical enchantments of the Cellar uselessly. There was probably blood on the dwarf’s hatchet, too, but it was unlikely anyone would notice - where anyone else would have an angry red gash, Gabriel’s kind bled perfectly clear, like the tears of an angel.

Gabriel bit her lip, wincing as the pain hit her, and was completely unprepared for the lightning that shot out of the ball above the mutant’s head to hit her. Luckily, she was still clutching her shield in front of her, so the wood managed to deflect about half of the bolt, but enough got past to make Gabriel’s head spin.

Pressed up against the ceiling, clinging for dear life lest she fall down unprepared, Gabriel tasted bile. Ugh. How strong was that? Natural lightning (abstract value = 1)? Weaker? Impossible to tell without natural lightning. Argh. Maybe a better comparison would be to the earlier bolt I absorbed... Her rapidly spinning mind calmed as she swallowed hard and forced the pain to the back of her mind. Her arms ached - seemed they had taken the brunt of the blow. Maybe they’d be blistered afterwards. They’d certainly be blistered if she let them take more hits.

She needed a few deep breaths to be back in control, but there was no reason to waste the time. A quick survey of the arena proved her allies hadn’t abandoned her - in fact, it appeared that Ao-san and Shirushi-san had teamed up to attack Hikari-chan. Nice. The only person still unaccounted for was that one lady who was dressed like some kind of tribal warrior... pity, since she was probably a danger.

Well then. Looks like my allies have Hikari-chan under control, so I could attack that dwarf or continue attacking that lightning guy. There was quite a bit of motion in the rest of the Cellar, even though most of the combatants were over here. One area in particular caught Gabriel’s eye - what looked like a broken pillar of rock was sailing towards the far right corner. Hmm. I wonder...

First, she had to get into a better position, namely not directly above the mutant where anyone could take a free shot. The pillar closest to this disaster provided a hold for her gravity pull, and cleared her of the melee nicely. The ball above the mutant’s head tried to take another shot at her, but she was ready this time and tucked her body behind her shield, tossing a dagger at his head so that the metal would draw the rest of the electricity away.

One hand skimmed along the unnaturally smooth stone, her armor protecting her from abrasion as she fell down the side of the pillar, keeping an eye on the rest of the arena as she marshalled her forces.

In her mind’s eye, she traced out a cylinder six feet wide and six feet tall, maximum size. The cylinder enveloped most of the flying rocks and before Gabriel hit the ground, the rocks began changing their direction. They had a lot of momentum, but with any luck they’d change enough to not hit the mirrored wall.

Gabriel didn’t touch the stinging wound on her hip, or gingerly flex her arms to see how bruised they were. It wouldn’t help, and it might make things worse. Instead she cleared her throat. “Hey, you glowing fish-faced son of a crocodile. Quit getting distracted. Your opponent is me.” Yes! The rocks had just barely managed to turn before hitting the wall. And hey, looks like the two daggers she’d left in that direction had also got swept up in the gravity well. Her exultation translated to a wide smirk.

The Angelborn held the rocks only long enough to ensure their general direction. They might hit the dwarf, with any luck they’d hit the mutant, and if they missed both of those people she’d probably have to step in again to prevent them from hitting her allies. Assuming she could.

“Don’t you have any decent attacks?” Gabriel taunted, spinning one of her few remaining daggers between her fingers, reluctant to throw it until he got a bit closer. “I’m surprised they let you out of the house with that halberd. Don’t your parents keep dangerous weapons away from children?” Hopefully he’d be focused on her enough to not notice the rocks until it was too late, and if she was really extremely lucky he’d have anger problems as well.



EmbraceTheDarkness -> RE: =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/11/2013 19:43:46)

Did it hit? Meoden could not tell if his hatchet had indeed met the target until he saw her face, she was in pain alright. She was gone again, back to the ceiling. He landed a hit and that was all the mattered. She seemed to have her attention else where, which honestly, Meoden was okay with at the moment.

He glanced around the arena quickly until his gaze rested on Is’ira, his ally, who at the moment had two opponents attacking her.
"I need to help... " his thoughts were interrupted by a high pitched ringing "What is that god awful noise" he grumbled quietly
He pinpointed the noise rather quickly, it was coming from a set of metal balls whirling around the mutant creature, who in-fact was coming down towards him. Meoden frowned as one of the metal balls smashed into his chest, hot sparks flew from the spot. slowly cooling as they touched the floor.

Meoden gasped as the ball winded him for a moment. He rolled closer to the pillar, getting out of the of the path of the halberd, just in time.
"Note to self, watch out for airborne balls" he thought as he struggled for breath
The mutant appeared not wanting to fight, Meoden was alright with that, what Meoden was worried about was the large ball that Gabriel had summoned, going around the room picking up the shards from his smashed pillar, the attack seemed more directed at the mutant, then himself. A sudden idea popped into Meoden's head.

His eyes locked onto the mutant. Meoden began to cast the dirt shroud once again, this time just in-front of the mutant, hoping that it would block his view of the shards and other goodies that would soon be coming towards him. As for Meoden, he had spotted the orb and quickly dove behind the pillar closest to him.
"Hang on Is’ira, I'm coming!" the thought flashed through his mind as he began charging over to help her, "Peacemaker" raised and firing two bolts at the male attacker carrying a large shield.



Legendium -> RE: =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/12/2013 8:31:19)

“Mmm, fine. Help deal with the dwarf. Distraction, unless you can make the kill.”

Eyra hadn’t been able to tell which element the man represented before, but the vagueness of his answer singled him out as wind. Vague was always something Eyra associated with wind. Wind was a fickle friend at sea, and the it was always vague about which direction it would send you in. But, needless to say, wind was a necessary companion at sea as well as in this battle. The speed at which he headed toward the light mage only helped enforce this fact.

What was his name again? Eyra wracked her brains to remember the list. Ah, yes. Kieran. That was his name.

So the alliance was on. Kieran was headed towards the light mage, was it Gabriel? No, Is’ira. That’s right. He and the amphibian, who was apparently also in the alliance, were assaulting her from both above and below. The other woman, Gabriel, that was her name, was fighting the silvery guy. Eyra couldn’t remember his name. For now Eyra decided to settle on Silverskin. He apparently had balls swirling around him. The shorty was currently fighting Garbiel as well, and he was Eyra’s goal. Running quickly, Eyra headed towards the little man.

Unfortunately, he was hit by one Silverskin’s spheres, and decided then to head towards Is’ira and help her. Not good. He had his crossbow out and was aiming at Kieran. She had to distract him.

“Oi! Shorty!” She shouted, hoping to divert his attention. The ground was littered with small debris from some of the shorty’s attacks. What was his name again? Mowdean Sternhemmer? Something like that.

She picked up one of the smaller rocks and threw it at his head. It missed his head, outright and sailed right by his ear, but hopefully it served its purpose of getting his attention.

Eyra charged towards Mowdean, or whatever his name was, hoping to land a blow across his forehead. Cuts to the stern bleed a lot, and with some of Eyra’s magic, he’d be blinded by his own blood. Pity he wasn’t wearing a helmet.



Tdub -> RE: =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/12/2013 15:57:43)

Is’ira took careful note of how quickly chaos took hold in the Cellar Arena. Combat was a new experience for her, a fact she realized more and more with every expert move the other combatants made. The target of her and Meoden’s attack had returned to the ceiling, although Is’ira could not tell if any part of the plan had been successful or not.

It was then that she noticed her old foe, the woman who had thrown the harpoon, approaching the man that had been standing still. It appeared the woman was proposing an alliance. This is more than a battlefield. It is a war zone.

However, it seemed the man had little want for an alliance with the woman. He seemed to accept her offer with little more interest than one would give a vaguely noticeable animal or a mildly unique human on the streets. Is’ira wondered if the woman would be so foolish as to fall into such an obviously doomed alliance.

Events became more interesting, however, when the man started charging at the Explorer. Until then, Is’ira had been content to let the man choose his own path. She now regretted that decision, scolding herself for giving a potential foe the first move. She had left her opportunity to get an upper hand in a fight with the man for the attack on her previous opponent, the woman with the knives. It seemed like a fair trade, and yet Is’ira could not help but to berate herself for her blunder.

The man shouted something to the woman who had been attacking her Dwarven ally, who had obviously dodged Meoden’s attack. Oh. Wonderful. It seems I have somehow made an enemy of nearly everyone in the Cellar. The woman, obviously trained in acrobatics, or some other form of the art, leapt onto the man’s shield, and flew off of it towards Is’ira. The Explorer had no idea what the woman planned to do, although she could be sure it would not be pleasant. Her airborne attacker was twisting and turning in the air, making her an impossible target for a Light Shot. Still, the answer was simple.

Is’ira raised her hands, feeling the energy of magic flowing into her from Lumine. The woman, while still travelling at a high speed, was considerably slower than the first knife the woman had thrown at her. Is’ira had time to prepare a proper Light Shield in her mind, one that would be large enough to stop the woman from executing her plans. The block of Light was a few feet above the ground, created with the hope that the woman would crash into it, like a bug.

Of course, everyone in the Cellar was far too well-trained to be surprised by a simple trick like a giant wall. Is’ira’s aerial opponent curled up above the floor, turning her rotations. Hands reaching out for the top of the Light Shield, the woman vaulted herself over the edge, disappearing from Is’ira’s sight. The Explorer dissolved the Shield, moving her leg to turn and face the woman.

The boot came across before Is’ira had time to register it in her mind. The movement of her foot had saved her knee from a broken bone or a torn ligament. Despite the slight cushion, Is’ira cried out from the unbelievable pain spreading out from her leg. “Idiot” was the best translation for the Syaldian word running through her mind as she backed up approximately one foot. She had been so caught up in defending herself from the woman, she had forgotten about the running man, assuming his part in the attack had ended after he gave the woman the boost she needed to complete her attack.

My knee is bruised for certain. It is possible the boot caused a hairline fracture. My healing magic is unavailable to me in this place. I will be forced to suffer through the pain.

Grimacing, Is’ira gathered her energy, this time aiming for her attacker’s right shin. I cannot forget about the woman behind me. I will be better prepared for an attack this time. Is’ira brought her right hand up, making sure of her aim. The shot should affect her opponent, unless her were to block it with his shield. The force behind the shot would hopefully be equivalent to or perhaps even greater than the force of his kick, depending on the amount of shock his boots could absorb. An eye for an eye. A leg…. The Light Shot burst from her hand, streaming towards the man’s right leg. For a leg. Without hesitation, Is’ira brought up her left hand, Lumine glowing as a second shot flew towards the man’s other shin, the left one.

And perhaps another leg.

Looking up, Is’ira saw that her ally, Meoden, had escaped his battle with the woman from the ceiling and was charging towards her foe, his crossbow firing two bolts at him. Despite the pain she was in, Is’ira managed a weak smile. She had chosen her ally well, and she hoped he would survive this battle. Her smile faded when she saw the woman who had thrown the harpoon charging with sword drawn at the dwarf. So she is going through with their misguided alliance. I suppose that make us enemies, although I suspect she has no idea what she is getting into. Is’ira brought up her right hand yet again, and fired a Light Shot at the woman’s head, hoping to deter her attack on Meoden.

Oh, my knee.



jerenda -> RE: =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/13/2013 18:01:25)

Gabriel’s focus on her energy opponent did not mean she was ignoring the rest of the arena, and when the dwarven mage started casting a spell, she tensed. Mages never meant good news in Gabriel’s experience, and she definitely did not trust that green glow around his hands.

This time, however, nothing tried to kill her as the spell went off. Instead, a wide wall of loose earth rose up in front of the mutant’s face, effectively cutting off all vision. He’s... helping me? You’d think they would be on the same side... or at the very least not on mine.

Well, Gabriel wasn’t one for protesting events that worked in her favor. What she wanted to protest was the way the dwarf turned around and charged right for her allies, presumably to help Hikari-chan. Dodging behind the pillar, he shot two crossbow bolts at Shirushi-san. “Hey!” Gabriel shouted, irritation rising in her.

Her shout coincided with a similar one nearby: “Oi! Shorty!” It was that woman, the one Gabriel hadn’t found a good nickname for yet. She seemed to have the same goal in mind as she picked up a stray pebble and chucked it at the dwarf, missing wildly, before she charged, sword drawn.

Shirushi-san already had Hikari-chan shooting her light blasts at him - he didn’t need a second opponent, especially not a ranged one. The mutant was still nearby - if she attacked someone else, she opened herself up to counterattack. It would be so much easier to continue pressing her attack and let Shirushi-san deal with his problems himself. Perhaps even this grumpy woman would be enough to handle the dwarf on her own.

All of this passed through Gabriel’s mind in the blink of an eye before she pushed her calculations aside. She needed her mind clear for this. Dropping her weight to half, she leaped high into the air, using the pillar next to her for support. In a style perhaps inspired by the blue-robed monk, Gabriel leaped off the side of the pillar, avoiding the other woman who was also attacking the dwarf.

“Excuse me, Oneesan, coming through.” To be on the safe side, Gabriel used the polite term for ‘older sister,’ not realizing that the other woman probably had no idea what that meant.

Eyra hated interruptions. Especially when charging towards an enemy while thinking of tactical plans and so on so forth. So she wasn’t very happy when Gabriel interrupted her. Pausing for a moment in her charge, she turned towards Gabriel and said “What?”

Gabriel flushed. She was flying through the air at high speed - she didn’t exactly have time to stop and explain herself. “Please don’t stab me - let’s work together!”

“Stay well away from me and I won’t hurt you, wind woman.”

Embarrassment turned to something deeper and burning red-hot. W--wind?!?! The cry of outrage jammed in her throat, white-hot anger boiling up and over. “What?” Gabriel managed to say. “What did you call me?” Showing her teeth, Gabriel almost growled at the woman, but with an effort of will she maintained control. The dwarf was right there in front of her, his back turned and everything. Ten seconds. I’ll land this, and then we can sort out what element I am.

Increasing her weight to ten times normal, Gabriel tucked her knees against her chest, locked her hands over the back of her neck, and landed. She intended to plow into the dwarf’s gilded chestplate, hitting him hard with the full weight of her body centered on the metal spikes that protected her feet. With her increased weight, she could take him to the ground if she hit fully, maybe even crack his armor depending on the strength of the metal. At the very least she would force him to dodge. You first, little man. This awful woman next.

If not wind, what could Gabriel be representing? Due to the way she had reacted to her being called a wind woman, it had to have been a big offense. Earth, possibly? That was supposed to be the opposite of wind. But that couldn’t be possible, what with her flying-ish abilities. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that Eyra had probably made an enemy.

No time to dwell on that though. Eyra had to distract or kill the shorty. Hopefully kill. But Gabriel was also approaching Mowhawk Strawhammer, or whatever his name was. Hopefully that wouldn’t lead to complications.

Eyra settled on going for the throat. It would’ve been easier to cut him on the forehead, but that was before a second someone joined the fight. She would have to time her hit carefully, planning on flexibility and strength. She mentally prepared her bleed spell as well, planning on letting him bleed to death or choke on his own blood. If that all failed, she could let Gabriel finish him and stab her in the back. It would save her a fight later on.

Come to think of it, she probably would just stab Gabriel in the back anyways, whether or not she killed Mowheathen Storkslammer first.



Ronin Of Dreams -> RE: =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/13/2013 21:27:41)

The crunch of impact from a well-aimed strike can be strangely satisfying at times, and Kieran couldn't fault himself for being pleased at such a clean strike. True, Is'ira was not swept off her feet, her base was not broken with a shattered knee...but she still took a solid blow. Kieran's momentum had bled into the blow, stopping his sweep short, and he reacted accordingly. Training melded with keen reflexes, and he bent his right leg, tucking it back under his rondache with wicked speed. Had training not long since hardened him to the pain of his own strikes, the next few moments may have proven far worse indeed for him.

As it was, his reflexes were only just faster than Is'ira's, even with the handicap of pain hampering her speed. The movement of her arm drew his eye, and he growled a curse as she moved her focus to him. The first Light Shot missed by the smallest of margins, its passage stirring the air against the leather along the length of his thigh. He watched her shift her arm, and his grip tightened reflexively on the straps of his rondache. Before her second shot could impact, however, Kieran was suddenly struck by several stinging pains about his lower body.

That first Light Shot, which he had thought he had dodged harmlessly, had struck the Cellar floor with a greater strength than he had anticipated. Several small fragments, like shrapnel, had been tossed around haphazardly from the point of impact. No single piece was debilitating, no worse than a wasp sting given his leathers, but the idea of having to pick out a bit of stone from his rump and a few from his thigh certainly struck his ego!

Cursing or otherwise, the sudden sharpness of pain made him angle his shield fractionally further up before the second shot impacted low on the roundache's rim. He found the aim to be curious, as if maybe she anticipated him dropping the shield or completing the spin after delivering such a blow. As it was, the block was easily made, but the recoil was still more than he would have liked. He shouted out in that fraction of a second of impact, "Blue, takedown!" Then, rather than fight against the blow and stay steady in such a deep crouch, he instead used it as a point of leverage and roll to his left.

His preferred followup would have been to spin tightly and deliver another fierce blow in the form of a full body mule kick, but the roll itself stillborned that idea. Instead, he embraced his awareness during the motion and glanced behind him, noticing a great deal of promised pain coming his way. The first bolt skittered where he had just vacated, and as he came out of the roll in a new combat crouch he merely pulled the shield into line with the second. Again his shield rocked under an impact, but where the Light Shot had been dissipated over a greater area, the bolt dented into the shield's mass severely. The bolt also shattered, leaving only the tip of its payload lodged in steel and oak. This...no, I'll not stay for this. Those runes closest to his wrist began to glitter and glow as he drew upon their power.

Any who had thought Scylla had the lock on most acrobatic fighter within the confines of Cellar were in for a rather large serving of disappointment. Or perhaps astonishment. The shield fighter gathered Wind to his limbs once more and decided that discretion was the better part of valor. With Meoden charging in towards him, seemingly heedless of the attacks being directed at his back, Kieran sprang backwards. For the moment, Meoden might be able to turn his charge...but Kieran was not about to rely on such a short and simple effort to disengage. His motions picked up speed, as he first turned into a one-handed handspring and pushed off hard with his legs afterwards. Gaining horizontal velocity, his following backflip took him straight into the wall at an angle.

Here was where he released the bulk of the Wind he had gathered around his legs, the runes he drew upon winking out of existence. Combined with the reflective nature of the mirrors to projectiles even when they happened to be man-sized, he shot away like with the speed of a loosed arrow. His shield remained pointed downwards as his back came near to grazing the ceiling with his assisted leap, taking him past the pillar, well past even Eyra, in a neatly packaged disengage from the ever more deadly growing melee. Only as he twisted, bending his knees to land with some grace and turned his guard properly for further defense, did he notice the surprise heading back towards the melee. Oh...oh my...now that will prove very messy indeed.



xaxtoo -> RE: =EC 2013= Cellar Arena (7/14/2013 2:07:37)

Floating in the air, the lightning ball did the only thing it was created to do, shock any fool that wants to hurt its brazzizzles. Originally, this technique started as a way to little kiddies safe, so it often became the first thing every shorty learned how to do from their parents. So now, in this cave, KJ's babysitter is just doing its thing, protecting the peaces, shooting the haters, bang, bzzz, pow, while its brotha from a real motha was flying and trying to avoid falling real hard. And somehow, by miraculous physics and timing and maybe even magicks, its crazy bro avoided colliding with the metallic mini-me on the ground. That's some good stuff right there.

Its dummy owner, landed and boogied away using its energy infused legs. That mini-me didn't want to throw down, so it didn't play and didn't pump that shorty full of shocks. It followed, getting its bro's back. Nah mean? However, even as it moved, it grew in distrust of these fools. It assessed whatever mal-intentions some of these blood suckas might have. If those thoughts ain't fly, dem sleezes die. Sizzled alive! And above all else, it will give its life to protect. Until then, it will shoot thangs, very discriminately.

The dreadful air in the cellar swept past KJ as he ran, and with his legs pumped with so much energy, only a few steps was necessary to reach anywhere. Even with his pace and his speed, the journey was not uneventful as he ran through a patch of dirt that appeared out of nowhere in one second, and as soon as he traversed that thing, he quickly changed directions and sped off, even faster, fueled probably by the adrenaline of fear causing more power to surge into his legs. His change of pace led him the opposite the way he wants to go, further away from the door. With massive action flying towards his exit, he had to worry about preserving his life first, and since he's forced into that, he might as well try to get a good vantage point to see all the remaining action so his later lies to his peoples can be a little bit more convincing.

Running towards the center of the room, he kept looking at the mirrors to try to keep him informed, but the cloud of dirt really interfered with how much he saw. Finally, he stole a quick glance at his floating lightning ball, and he found it odd that his eye in the sky is shooting out two bolts at once, towards slightly different directions. Very surprised to see the ball exerting so much energy, KJ slowed down his blistering run a tad so he can call on some energy to feed it a tad bit.

Finally isolated again, he can hear fighting behind his left side, and the slightly annoying screeching of the orbiting balls but frustratingly, he can't see anything. With the action still very much hidden from him, he veered his run again. He needs to see, no he has to see, or he’s just wasting the time he has left in this crappy hole, and started running towards the nearest wall. Another glance at his sphere of protection and the way it was shooting told him his enemies have gotten a little closer together. And another step brought him behind the pillar, the farthest he's been to the door this entire time, and it seemed like one bolt stopped shooting, or was it a case of two bolts going to the exact same location? Dunno, dunnos, and just to be safe, KJ gave the thing a bit more energy.



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