=EC 2014= Fountain Arena

=EC 2014= Fountain Arena (Full Version)

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Ryu Viranesh -> =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/15/2014 4:26:44)
It had been a long year since the last Elemental Championship, but the Championship Arena Complex did not show signs of age. Rather, it grew, and along with it – just a hill, a spring and a stone bridge away – grew the city of Bren. The proximity of the Arena had done it much good: apart from the great crowds, and thus business, it brought in during the Championship itself, just the presence of such a complex carried the city’s name far over the lands. There came adventurers of many sorts, and the burgeoning six inns of Bren were never short of business. There came priests of the Elemental Lords, building shrines and churches and granting it divine protection not from one, but from all the Lords. And there came many, many artisans to maintain the four offshoot Arenas around the First Arena now used exclusively for the Finals, and craft the minor alterations that seemed necessary from year to year. This year, the Championships were expected to draw in a record breaking crowd, Bren’s streets packed to the brim with a sundry of spectators. They wandered from place to place, taking in the sights and sounds of the city before they retired to their seats to take in the sights on the sand. One of the most popular destinations for many of these crowds was a nondescript building of blackened steel, passers-by gazing at the structure with both curiosity and more than a bit of trepidation. For as many years as could be remembered, the space that the building now occupied had belonged to the Spike Arena, one of the five fabled battlegrounds that made up the Championship Arena Complex. Yet, as promised at the previous year’s Championships, the Spike Arena was no more, and instead this mysterious new arena was to take its place. None knew what awaited this year’s combatants on the inside, but plenty were eager to find out, tickets for the event long since sold out. The would-be combatants, either just arriving, or having taken a night's rest either at an inn or at the small camp of tents at the base of the Arena hill, would get to see the normal artisans' handiwork soon enough, right after the priests and mages within them finish their last checks on the protective barriers and image transportation enchantments for the gathered crowds. Moreso than any other Arena in the complex, Fountain was an enigma. Despite being just as old as Cellar, it still held surprises that could shock even the most veteran competitors and spectators. Fountain was a chameleon, an Arena that was altered year after year as its designers attempted to find the perfect combination of peril and polish. It had become an unspoken tradition that every year the Fountain Arena was in use, it would take a different form; that entrants consigned to the Arena should expect the unexpected. Marcos spent a much longer time inspecting the newly adjusted Fountain Arena than he did down in the Cellar; a lot more to inspect, really. The arena had undergone such a drastic shift from the previous year that he had to go over everything from top to bottom. Luckily, with help from his attendants, in actuality a group of architecture students that had attached themselves to him, he managed to complete the work just after the sun rose. A smile even graced the Handyman’s face as he pulled the gate closed behind him, quickly setting off for his most important appointment of the morning. The thick, wooden gates shuddered and swung inward, a dull rumble echoing throughout the complex as this year’s Fountain Arena was revealed to all for the first time. The remnants of civilizations long gone by, a fixture of the space during the prior championship, were absent this year. Instead, the participants would be greeted by a sharp drop (of about two inches) upon their entry to the arena, followed by the sudden realization that the air around them had grown considerably chillier. While still circular, the Fountain Arena had now taken the form of a mountainous bowl, its “walls” sloping downward to meet in the middle where they form a valley, within the center of which rests the titular fountain. These “walls” make up the majority of the arena, the scattered remains of several hibernating trees dotting the stony landscape of their frozen upper reaches. As one would descend lower, however, they would notice the temperature beginning to increase, a greater number of bushes and other such shrubs poking out of the ground below. The valley itself is subject to the searing heat of the sun above, neither a cloud nor a live plant in sight; all of the valley that is, save the fountain’s pavilion. The arena’s namesake is ensconced in the center of a pure white gazebo, a set of wide steps leading the way up and out of the inferno below. Once inside, the temperature instantly drops to a more comfortable level, the marble underfoot pleasantly cool to the touch. The fountain itself is a small, yet deep pool topped by the statue of a woman overturning a jar above her head, water flowing out of the opening and into the vessel below. As soon as the last of the entrants drops into the arena, the gates swing closed behind them with a resounding boom. The melee within Fountain had begun.

Dragonnightwolf -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/15/2014 17:49:49)
Rowan stared at a mirror on the wall in this room he rented. Looking inwardly at himself and finding nothing but a reflection of thoughts. The right fist swung out in a swift motion and smashed into the mirror sending it shattering into a million pieces. Because his girlfriend was... No longer would he... That was all there was to it now. The abstract qualities of his former life were like so many broken mirror shards. “A tournament? Hee ha hah ah ha ha, a. A tournament is being held?” Rowan asked staring at this creature made entirely of electrical bolts and sizzling pain if one were to touch without gloves or safety or a weapon. The creature merely gave Rowan the posted flyer. Staring at it, Rowan could feel something, someone else entering his thoughts of madness. “Rowan. Michael. Harper.” The voice said with a clear voice that could have come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. “Enter the Tournament in my honor!” Rowan spoke to the empty air, the elemental creature having left minutes ago. “Who? Why? What? What are you? Are you some new corporeal ghost of my mind brought on by my inset of madness?” “No!” the voice responded, breaking through all the other cascading voices that Rowan heard. This felt odd. This voice felt as if it could go through all the layers of his mind and body. As if this unknown entity could somehow reach beyond all those many years of madness and go into the core of Rowan Michael Harper. It could very well be a trick! “You. You’re trying to trick me. To weaken my, my grip on sanity.” Rowan answered waving his right hand about much like that of a madman’s. “Look at yourself HARPER!” The voice grew bold and powerful. Clearer still was the distinctive tone it gave off. “You lost your sanity before we’ve ever met.” Rowan put both hands to a face that twisted with agony and longing. “Who are you?” His face flushed as he asked this feeling the omnipotent presence all around and inside of him. “What are you?” “I am the Lord of Energy and I am telling you. Enter the tournament in my honor!” Rowan felt dizzy and sat down staring at the flyer. Naturally, this was merely another voice in Rowan’s head but it had purpose. This championship tournament had been the talk of many within the town. According to the address, it wasn’t too far from where he currently was. “hee hee ha ha ha ha heee ha ha ha ha.” Rowan rose upwards and began walking. Just to the North of this Elemental Championship was an inn called the “Frying Frog.” It had opened doors and held vacancies exclusively for the masses. Rowan headed out after paying the cost of the item and went to a local shop that served wines. “Uh. excuse me. But hee heee ha ha ahem. I’d like to purchase that bottle over there, but i need just the bottle, no liquid.” Shakily the hand points to a sleek orange glass with a wolfs head topper. The vendor raised an eyebrow slowly and stared at the man. “You want… just the bottle?” he asked quizzically. “Correct.” Rowan replied lowering his hands. The voices spoke to him. “Kill him. Murder. Ravage him apart.” Rowan ignored the voices but could feel them starting to get louder. “All right.” The man took the contents and poured them down a drainpipe and handed over the bottle. There was an immense silence in his head for a moment as the vendor was paid. Rowan continued on to locate the other ingredient he sought. He found it quickly. A flask that contained what appeared to be lamp oil. These two items were all Rowan bought heading to the arena gates. He signed on the dotted line and was selected for the Fountain Arena. Rowan stopped right at the entrance gazing this way and that. “Kill, kill, kill, KILL!” the voices spoke and Rowan shook for a moment. The entrance opened downwards into what looked like a valley at the center, with a white gazebo. The ground was laden with trees and shrubs that were iced over. Stone seemed prevalent everywhere. Rowan immediately dropped down unexpectedly from the first step past the entrance his body recovering quickly from the initial drop impact. Turning the man stared agitatedly at the doorway muttering to himself, “They could have told me about that.” The voices became insistent upon being heard. “go, go, GO!” Rowan turned and headed down the upper slope of the arena. It was cold at first but as the descent continued along there seemed to be a change in temperature. The temperature rose ever more and both eyes looked at the gazebo. Hot! It was so very hot. It was a downright miracle that the lamp oil within the flask had not caught fire yet. The landscape continued to change along the way as life became scarcer until Rowan finally arrived upon the Gazebo. It was here that the contents of the lamp oil were poured upon the steps. When the next combatant came they would get a very warm welcome. Rowan gazed at the fountain and the cool water inside it. Rowan could see no forms of electrical outlets. No plugs, no conduits of any kind. Yet he could still feel the energy of the place. As if the arena thrived on electricity. Now he merely had to wait for one to come and the killing could begin.

unknown2215 -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/15/2014 21:16:16)
Krios stood in front of the Fountain arena, pondering. His former master, the venerable old wizard that he had apprenticed himself under had told him stories of the Elemental Championships. After he left for adventure, he knew that he would one day have to come, to test his mettle and see if all his training would allow him to stand with the best, the Champions of the Elements. Anticipation rolled in his stomach and Krios walked into the arena, eyes widening as the ground disappeared under him as he stepped in. Ducking into a roll, Krios went several feet down the sloped floor, grunting as he stood back up. "That, was not cool." He muttered, disgruntled. Looking around the arena, Krios realized that it was shaped like a canyon, a pure white gazebo was placed right in the center of the arena, a fountain with a woman holding a jar above her head placed inside the gazebo. He saw another competitor walking towards the gazebo as he looked around, but found no others. Was he early? Krios shrugged, that gave him more time to prepare. Then the wind blew and he realized just how cold it was, he quickly walked down the slope, best to get started. He was pleasantly surprised as the temperature increased as he went down the slope, reveling in the regained warmth. As he walked, Krios realized that he was still standing right in front of the arena's entrance, anyone who entered would have a clear shot at his back, so he quickly changed direction and circled around the arena, keeping an eye on the only other contestant, who had reached the gazebo and was now pouring a liquid on the steps of said gazebo. Krios narrowed his eyes, what could that liquid possibly be for? Was the competitor a Water element user and adding more water to his surroundings for some spell that he had? No, the fountain was right beside him, he had all the water he needed. With that in mind, Krios drew his rapier, charging it with a small spark of energy and stabbed it in the direction of the liquid, sending a thin arc of electricity into the steps of the gazebo and raised an eyebrow as the liquid immediately caught fire. It was a trap then, just simple lamp oil or another flammable liquid placed on the steps as a cheap trick to catch other opponents off guard. He'd put a stop to that. Looking around, Krios realized that he had circled a quarter of the arena now, having a clear view of the entrance on his left side and on the now flaming gazebo in the center. He grinned and waited for more, making sure to keep a lookout for more opponents and his current one, still in the flaming gazebo.

Dragonnightwolf -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/15/2014 23:04:24)
The sudden eruption of the lamp oil coming ablaze set out a surprised cry from Rowan who took a step back from the sudden intense heat. “Heahahahaha! Wait!! I didn’t do that, than who?” The eyes focused onto the only other individual within the arena thus far. From all looks the man seemed to be human. Rowan noted the long thin sword weapon and reached with both hands behind him for his two own machetes which came out with a swishing style sound. “Oh heheheheee haa haaa haa. So you like to play huh heee hah ha hah ha.” Rowan laughed like a deranged lunatic and threw the rest of the oil lamp flask into the fire. He watched the fire erupt with a loud foom and gazed at the blaze with interest for but a moment. The fire had provided what Rowan was looking for. Energy in a concentrated form. The voices spoke again “Kill him. Destroy. Tear em apart!” Rowan still held the empty bottle and pulled some of the energy from the fire to his use. It came in the form of electricity dancing across his fingertips and into the bottle. Anger filled him and the lightning sparks in the bottle grew. Which is when the man took a running start and jumped over the gazebos wall the wolf head topper falling off the top. Rowan flung the bottle aiming more or less towards the feet of Krios. Given the projection of the swing and the direction, it could be avoided if one chose to do so.

unknown2215 -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/16/2014 1:15:50)
Krios raised an eyebrow as the other competitor laughed like a madman, how disappointing, he came to compete with champions and heroes who had accomplished great things, not this. His lips curled in disgust as the other competitor jumped over the walls of the gazebo and threw a bottle at him, simply walking to the side briskly, he would want more distance from the entrance if he was to fight now. He didn't want others to come in and take the opportunity to stab him in the back. Behind him, the bottle shattered on impact with the ground and he heard sparks of electricity. So the madman was another user of Energy? That would not do, Krios decided, looking to his fellow Energy competitor, wielding two machetes in his hands. He would not allow someone like him to represent all the Energy element users in the world. They did not deserve to have a maniac be their representative. Holding his rapier in his right hand, he drew one of his beacons, a parrying dagger with runes engraved into its hilt, with his left hand and took aim at the madman, hurling it at him. Krios did not stop to see if the beacon his its target, that was not its purpose, if the madman avoided or knocked it out of the way, the beacon would serve as a location that he could teleport to escape dangers later. If by chance the madman decided to pocket his beacon for himself, then he would be in for a nasty surprise. With that in mind, Krios simply continued circling the arena, almost directly opposite of the entrance now, keeping an eye on both his fellow energy competitor and the entrance, waiting for more to come.

Arthur -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/16/2014 5:37:45)
As the nicely stuffed club sandwich disappeared down his throat, Aeron dusted his palms together and let out a sigh of satisfaction as he raised his face skywards. Havensage was neatly sheathed on his back even as he wore The Revenant on his left palm in the form of his string accessory. His satchel was comfortably slinged across his torso, housing all the bare necessities that a journeyman needs to have on his person. The Agnifron was ready for the trials he knew he would face as he made his way towards the Arena Gates that had now appeared ahead of him. Walking in, Aeron had just opened his mouth to say something when all of a sudden, he lost his footing and went crashing down the slope. Luckily for him, he didn't fall too hard and there was just a minor bruise on his left palm. Slowly standing up, the Agnifron turned around, a puzzled look on his face. Apparently, shortly after one walked through the gates, they'd be greeted by a sharp fall followed by a gradual slope. Aeron scratched his head as he turned back and dusting his cloak, continued on his way past the trees. The temperature at this height, Aeron noticed, was extreme. Agnifrons are used to warmer climates and this was really cold. Thankfully however, as he walked down the slope, he found the temperature increasing. "Better," Aeron remarked in his brisk voice. "A lot better." Warmer temperatures meant lesser efforts spent on trying to create a flame. The ignition temperature, Aeron noticed was long since reached here. It was hot. The Agnifron got the feeling that just snapping his fingers would set off a flame and he would even have tried had the show going on in front of him not distracted him all of a sudden. There were two people, competitors no doubt, going at each other. One of them had just appeared over the walls of the gazebo and at the same time, had hurled a bottle at the other one, standing higher up on the slope. The other moved aside and launched a dagger at the first one. This was a heated battle. Speaking of heat, there was a distinct heat source somewhere near. That's when Aeron's eyes fell upon the fire that was burning at the steps of the gazebo. "Wonderful." He grinned as he dug his feet into the ground and launched himself down the slope breaking out into an open sprint, making a beeline for the delicious heat source. His body had already started to get itself comfortable in response to the hot temperatures all around. This fire would be the last ingredient before Aeron starts to cook up the recipe for disaster.

Apocalypse -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/16/2014 14:56:50)
Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead as Connor strained against his opponent. He had faced many tough ones before, but this one was without a question a cut from something else. The pressure he felt in his head almost made him deaf to the cheers of the audience. They were definitely shouting something, but he could not tell what. And it was easy to see that the man across the table from him couldn't either; his face was as red as a beet and his teeth clenched tight. Connor would have told him to open his mouth before he shattered all of his pretty little teeth, but he doubted that he looked any better. In this fifteen second standoff, which felt more like an hour long affair, the opponent faltered. His arm gave an inch, and that was the beginning of the end. There was no recovery as Connor forced their clasped hands down little by little before slamming them down on the table. The tavern erupted into a thunderous roar, and Connor rose from his seat. Mugs were raised into the air, their contents sloshing inside and spilling over onto the floor. "Mc-COY! Mc-COY Mc-COY!" Connor raised his own drink in return before turning back to his opponent, a man named Brog. He had been a big man, taller than Connor by nearly half a foot with a beard as full of hair as his head was devoid of it. He came over to Connor and clasped hands with him once more with a grin underneath his magnificent facial hair. "You're a good lad. Not many have beaten me before, and I've had my fair share of the game." "Aye," said Connor with a smirk of his own. "But not many are the future champion!" Brog gave a hearty laugh and patted Connor on the back with enough force that he lost his breath for a second. As he took a second to recover, Connor grinned. He may be in a different world, but the people and taverns were the same. He looked up and froze as he caught sight of a lass with black hair and skin red like the dawn sky. She turned towards Connor with her golden eyes and the corners of her mouth turned up in a smile. Well, more or less the same. Without breaking eye contact with her, Connor raised his empty mug. "Barkeep! Another!" --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Connor walked through the gate and shuddered as the cool air washed over him. He pulled his bandana over his mouth and nose, but his frosty breath still escaped from his lips and dissipated into the air. He took a moment to take in the arena and its current combatants. For one, the arena was sloped with trees near the top, smaller shrubs down lower, and no plant life where it leveled out. There was a fountain (obviously, this was the fountain arena after all) though apparently someone was a bit confused about its function as the steps leading up to it were ablaze. A downward slope, a flat floor below, and a fountain with flames. Simple enough. He took note of the slight drop from the entrance and stepped down into the actual arena. No doubt that by the end of the day, at least one idiot would have stumbled and fallen right out of the starting gate. Now for the combatants. Over yonder there were already two already engaged enemies, one wearing armor and one not. It was rather tempting to take a few shots at the competition from afar, but he saw another enemy below him running straight for the fountain. Likely that he was attempting to take refuge in the structure and use it to his advantage. A bit of cover made all the difference in a shoot-out, and he was assure that the same principle could apply to a magical duel. Or maybe it was to the water he was drawn. A competitor of water would surely benefit from the extra supply. Perhaps he just wanted to put out the fire? No matter which it was, allowing him to do it would only be a boon for the opponent. "Sorry, laddie, but not today," said Connor as he pulled out one of his revolvers in his right hand and his hatchet in his left. He began chasing his black-haired opponent, though he could swear he could see a streak of orange in it. After a half-dozen steps, Connor raised his gun and took a leading shot of orange streak without breaking stride. He doubted the Storm Shot would have enough power to permanently maim his enemy, but it might stun him long enough for Connor to finish him off with a few clean strokes.

Micosil -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/16/2014 15:51:59)
As he walked towards the arena with a stuttering, hesitant pace that relied on his walking stick heavily, Zoroaster sighed with the relief of one whose patience had been rewarded. The old water troll had been waiting for the day of the Championships with the forced tranquility of one who'd seen a great many battlefields. His arrival to the town had been weeks in advance, and with nothing else to do in this time, he'd spent the dead hours training mind and body - not that he thought it'd increase his chances of success, but it did keep his mind from wandering back to the family he'd left behind. For this fight, his resolve had to be unwavering. Actual preparations for the fights had been a simple enough affair - he hadn't even been asked to prove he was fit for combat, something he appreciated - and information gathering was made much easier thanks to the criers advertising the event. Nobody knew what awaited them in the Fountain arena, though, so there wasn't much point in preparing for anything specific. As he walked through the doors, carefully stepping down with his walking stick preceding his feet, the arena made its nature evident, sending a chill down his spine - a moment later, he was coaxing the small layer of water around him to heat up, just enough to keep it from freezing. Lower down, the unfrozen bushes revealed a warmer ring, and he headed that way, calmly relying on his walking stick to make the descent easier on himself as he scanned the arena attentively. It wasn't long before he noticed the flaming steps blocking the intended entrance to the gazebo, which had been blending before in the glare from the white building reflecting the sun - this fire would likely play an important part in events to come, but it was of no relevance quite this instant. Next to the flames a fight had already broken out, though for the moment the fighters seemed to be testing each other's capabilities - lighning was thrown, a signal for Zoroaster to begin purifying the water around him to a non-conductive state - but nobody seemed to have an advantage just yet. More worrying was the man who'd chosen to join them, rushing towards the fiery steps though still not a direct threat to the water troll, since there was no reason for them to cross paths. Until he spotted the arena's namesake inside the gazebo, that was. His slow, hesistant steps hastened and stabilized in a brief moment as he set his sights on it, determined to reach his element despite the heat rising with every passing second - again, magic was sent to his water to keep the temperature under control. A short detour to the side would avoid the flames just fine, though he'd have to leap up the side of the gazebo instead. Reaching a large source of water like that would kickstart his fighting power, and he was in no situation to pass up any advantages. Even if it meant risking drawing another fighter's attention - after all, the old troll had come here to do battle. Win or lose, he'd earn his redemption.

Necro-Knight -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/16/2014 19:20:08)
She'd been assigned somewhere else...The Death Knight had been severely disappointed about this. After his evening conversations with Julianna, he'd hoped the two would be in the same arena, to at least be able to see her fight. Maybe even work with her, but he'd been assigned to Fountain, the same Arena as the previous year. Pushing his disappointment aside, he'd assembled with the others in front of the entrance. Julianna could handle herself just fine. Right now, he needed to focus on himself. When the gates opened, he entered and his eyes widened at the almost unrecognizable arena. Then, he grinned at the first change he noticed. Cold...His armor was built for the cold and he was more comfortable in it anyway. It kept one sharp and alert. The arena's changes didn't end there. The temperature increased greatly, he saw, as his eyes scanned towards the Gazebo and Fountain. Even as he saw two competitors quickly getting into the heat of battle, he quickly noticed how popular the center area was becoming, despite the heat. They were going to bunch each other into a tight space and all attempt to take advantage of something or another. He could follow, try to catch someone in the chaos...but he decided against it. The more enemies around, the higher his odds were of himself being caught by surprise. Not everyone had immediately darted for the center and the Death Knight wanted to keep an eye on them. He moved into a jog until he was a good 20 meters from the Gate, making a point to check over his shoulder every so often to make sure no one attempted a ranged assault while he was relocating. Once he felt comfortable with his position, Rowan reached back and drew his RuneSword, the symbols flaring a bright blue at his touch. His shield was already strapped to his arm, and he felt the weight increase from actually wielding a defensive tool. Different footwork and techniques came with using a shield, but he knew that at some point in this Tournament, he'd be glad he brought it. Now, he waited...

Dragonnightwolf -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/16/2014 23:34:15)
As the fire crackled on the steps, Rowan’s eyebrow twitched and his hair moved in the breeze created by the motion of his arm twitching in anticipation of the oncoming blade. As it soared through the air the combatant retreated going in a different direction. Rowan lifted the left handed machete and deflected the dagger. The dagger now pointed at a 45 degree angle and headed for the inside of the roof of the gazebo, sticking fast as soon as it plunged into the wood. Rowan could no longer see Krios from this particular spot but a noise suddenly alerted the human to look towards the entryway. Turning Rowan saw someone picking themselves up and heading down the slope at a run. When the man had gotten closer, Rowan was able to see Connor coming down the slope at a run of his own. and a loud, sharp, bang echoed within the valley. “Focus.” The voices said as the body of the man holding the machetes shook for but a moment. Rowan took another look through from where he was and saw that the bang had come from a weapon. No. It couldn’t be! A GUN?! The clothing that Connor wore seemed like what Rowan saw in Texas on the trip that his step-father had taken him on. He dismissed the idea for the moment and focused more on the weapon. This could be Rowan’s chance to get better weaponry! Rowan pulled some of the energy the fire was giving off and it danced as little sparks in his fingertips. Both eyes closed for a second as the power coursed through him. Rowan opened his eyes and his hair started to stand up while he gathered the surrounding energy of the heat of battle and the energy that lived everywhere, even in the skies. He closed his hands tightly around both machetes as the power coursed through his head down across his shoulders, jumping across his eyes, moving down his chest like little arched snakes. Over and around and under it went, coursing through Rowan’s entire body. Rowan took a deep breath as the voices spoke louder to him encouraging his anger, his madness, his mental instability. Rowan gave another look at the entranceway while he stored the electrical energy and saw a monster of a creature walking down slowly. He couldn’t quite figure out what it was but the human didn’t have time to worry about that now. There would be no time for anything but to kill the man wielding that gun! Just at that moment Rowan caught another movement out of the corner of his eyes and saw someone holding what appeared to be a shield. Rowan couldn’t see it clearly from here and he didn’t have time to focus on that person. Rowan turned and ran as fast as he could from the right side of the Gazebo and went for Connor. As he did so the arching power within him grew and danced along his legs. Rowan lifted his Machetes up to mid-chest level and the electrical energy shot out from his hands to the machetes and then out from there in a bright, hot, electrical bolt that arched and crackled and was aimed for Connor’s groin area because Rowan was just nuts like that. Rowan continued his run to Connor, another moment and he’d be upon the gunslinger with close combat action. He breathed in again feeling the anticipation and the madness returned to his eyes, a brief second of clarity gone. A brief cognitive thought lost to the voices he heard. “Kill, destroy, maim!” were all that Rowan could hear at the moment.

unknown2215 -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/16/2014 23:43:52)
A newcomer had entered the arena while he had been occupied with the madman, Krios noted the orange streak hidden in the man's hair, raising an eyebrow as the new arrival broke into an open sprint, running towards the gazebo with the eagerness of a dog fetching a stick. Krios noted that the newcomer did not mind the heat and even seemed eager to reach the flaming steps of the gazebo's entrance, either the man really enjoyed warmth, or he was a fire element user. Movement at the gate caught his eye and Krios stopped circling the arena, standing directly opposite of the entrance now. The second arrival wore a poncho and stetson, holding a hatchet in his left hand and a revolver in his right. That would be trouble. Krios narrowed his eyes, he did not like facing enemies with guns, one wrong move and you would end up dead or heavily wounded. He watched as the gunslinger ran after the man with orange streaked hair, shooting at him once even as he ran. Right, that was not good for him. As he weighed his options, Krios noticed even more arrivals, the first being a weathered old troll, walking slowly and hesitantly until he spotted the fountain in the gazebo. That meant that the troll was a water element user, troublesome, but his element usually held the advantage, so Krios focused on the next arrival, looking far more dangerous and menacing than the first. A Death Knight had entered the arena, no doubt fighting as a darkness user. Unlike the other three that had entered after him, the death knight did not make for the gazebo, instead circling the arena with a quick jog and proving himself quite alert as he looked over his shoulder every so often. Krios drew a breath and sighed, Death Knights were competent at magic and preferred fighting in close range, if his memory and education served him correctly, so he could ignore the death knight for a while, there was still quite some distance between the two of them anyway. For now, he'd focus on the gunslinger. Raising his rapier, Krios filled it with the slightest trickle of energy, he wanted the gunslinger to be distracted, the man with orange streaked hair would either turn around and face the gunslinger while he was distracted or he would simply continue towards the fire. Krios suspected the former would happen. With that in mind, Krios flicked his rapier at the gunslinger, sending a thin arc of electricity at the man's face at light speed. It was lightning after all. He repeated this a couple more times, sending two more low powered arcs of lightning at the man's arm and revolver.

Question Mark? -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/18/2014 1:26:05)
From the underbrush around the center of the valley, a lime green mop of hair rose slowly like a submarine periscope. A mental inventory, first, she thought. A) Death Knight. Shield, Sword. Heavy Armor. Knows magic too, probably. Must be hot in there. Is that insulated trim? Northlands style. Definitely hot in there. Box. B) Troll. Staff, robes. Wizard, probably. What's he doing at the pagoda? Magic. Ugh. Can't tell what kind. Trolls are tough, but this one looks old. Interior. C) Human 1. Sword, some kind of jewelry. Mage knight? Looks a little comfy. Looser than the Death Knight. Armor is lighter. Eye. D) Human 2. Trench coat, machetes. Lightning. Runs recklessly, wildly. Powerful at a range or up close. Probably going to be a big target. Time. E) Human 3. Rapier. Lightning. Quiet. New. No information. Eye. F) Human 4. Gun. A very good gun too. Cold, stiff. Too cold. Neck. Still not everybody. Yggdrasil sank back into the underbrush. Goals: 1. Continue to harvest samples from bushes. Clumps of poisonous berries. Leaves for salve. All useless on their own, but perhaps she could save them and use them in conjunction with something from another arena. 2. Continue to observe competition. 3/6 opponents lack concrete combat strategies. Must have strategy for all 6 before engaging any. 3. Avoid detection. 4. If possible, end up somewhere in the general vicinity of human #4. With a quiet rustle, Yggdrasil snuck back in that direction, keeping to the more lushly forested middle level of the chasm.

ringulreith -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/18/2014 4:11:44)
all hail the ocean's daughter at old Bren's yearly slaughter her onrushing tide will sweep all aside and bring the crown to water So went the song, that a nameless minstrel had composed in her honour last night. “It's true”, she had declared, to the thud of mug slamming down on table. The contents of that mug had proceded to slosh about, as her clambering form climbed the stool and stood, swaying and gesticulating wildly. “I was born in tha middle o' tha ocean! On deck twas, durin' a mighty vicious storm. There was a flash of lightnin as I came into tha world, and thunder boomed with me firs' cries. Me ma was a servin' maid on ship, and me da was tha ocean 'imself!” The now mostly empty mug had slid from slackened fingers to make another thud, and she had proceded to give the table a personal introduction to her face; but it had stuck, and she was now the ocean's daughter. As these things usually go, it didn't stop there. Cue a panoply of bad ocean jokes, an audience that was too inebriated to know better, and the presence of a musician; and there was no way it wouldn't have ended in being carried to her room on the shoulders of a croud singing in clashing, off-key voices. She loved it. Old Bren's yearly slaughter, as it had been so aptly put, drew all sorts; there were the righteous with a lord to champion, the determined with a point to prove, the enigmatic with a secret to hide; rare among them were those who saw the championships as an end unto themselves, who reveled in the attention of the crouds rather than spurning it, who fought for the cheers and the screams rather than inspite of them. Bren's fine establishments could attest to her position among those cherished few, for whom the people celebrated and drunk to and bet upon, and composed songs for, in her case. She had become quite the local fixture during her brief stay; and undoubtedly tails of her debauched exploits would keep the townsfolk entertained long after the anual bloodbath. It was to this furor that she descended, the tourney dawn lapping at the sky with tongues of anticipatory scarlet flame. Breakfast called out a warm and hardy greeting at her accustomed table. After a meal rife with well-wishes and the shouted conversations of enthusiastic supporters, she ordered a bath be brought up and drawn, and headed back up the inn stairs in much better spirits. The maid that carried in the wash basin gave no reaction at the disrobed form that met her, merely murmuring a greeting and proceding to carefully lower the tub of steaming water. A click whispered through the room as she stood back up. Steam had already begun to gather, as the wicked smile led a pair of sultry brown eyes ever closer. “Give this champion a kiss for good luck, hon”. The voice was the low pur of distant thunder and waves lapping hypnotically at the shore. The serving girl blushed, turning around with wide eyes. Fingertips brushed down her cheek and teased at her chin. “A token o' a sweet maiden's favour...” The smile drew ever nearer, and the eyes, and the room was getting very, very steamy. She brushed one more strand of the girl's hair aside, then slipped out from between the sheets. The poor dear was very enthusiastic to give her favour, but had exhausted herself and fallen asleep. A quick rummage later, and a handful of coins gleamed from atop the bedside table. Now that she was fully satiated, battle, a far more tempting mistress, beckoned. A well-practiced routine saw her quickly clothed – in the naval standard of breeches and a tunic striped blue and white – and ready to depart. Feet were stuffed into leather boots, two cutlasses were strapped to her back, two pistols were holstered at her hips, and a pouch of necessities was belted on. A fluid motion that flung open the door and swept a vest over her shoulders, and she was clomping down the hallway and belting out a song. One for the Morning Glory Two for the sweet brown brew Three for the man wholl stand his round And four for the love of you, me girls Four for the love of you Her throaty voice trailed out the inn door, drawing people as she progressed through the bustling streets. Soon enough a sizable croud had formed, escorting her towards the arena complex with their enthusiasm and baudy sea shanties. Bren was a hub of trade, and here and there merchants recognized her and called out 'Evensong!' and 'Capn Ranlae!'. The song had quickly spread, too, and people around her would occasionally burst out into snatches of 'all hail the ocean's daughter'. All the way there, Ranlae's grin was the largest, and her voice was the loudest. Once they passed a man taking bets on the champions, and she had paused to put down some money for herself, to the enjoyment and laughter of the croud. “Well if I don' think tha chances are good enough fur me, I would'na try, would I?” The booky had flashed a toothy smile in agreement. A final 'and bring the crown to water' was uttered, and the croud dispursed as she neared the gate to Fountain. Ranlae took a bow, waved and hollared and clapped shoulders, and then she was alone. Some of the playfulness left her eyes, and her entire body tensed with anticipation. A smile still played about her lips, as she took the first step into battlefield, but she had left port and set sail. Cold. That was the first impression, upon entry: The biting cold of northern seas and lashing rain and howling winds. Needles of ice pricked at Ranlae's exposed skin, tipped with seering poison that numbed and slowed and stiffened. Ranlae took her first breath as a combatant, and it came back out as a visible swirl of mist and crystals. Chatter, went her teeth. “Shiver me timbers, indeed.”, went her blue-tinged lips. Crunch, went her boots against the frost that rimed the rocky ground. Crunch crunch crunch. The arena was seemingly a bowl, ground sloping down towards something that glared blindingly white under the midday sun. Ranlae descended the slope at a diagonal, footing cautious and eyes flitting along instinctive patterns of surveillance. You didn't survive long on the high seas by being unaware. A good ship captain had to be as aware of the conditions of the winds and the waters as of those of the crew and the passengers, and she was the best. A few steps in, and a general picture of the arena's current state had been formed. Fighting had already broken out, clustered around the marble structure at the centre. Surprisingly enough, what appeared, from the shimmer of water, to be a fountain inside the building had been left open and unoccupied. Crunch. Thud. The temperature rose artificially fast with her descent, so the pinpricks of cold had vanished. The ground got softer with soil, muffling her footsteps. Here and there a shrub rose from the landscape, and was noted as possible future cover before being forgotten. Right now her priority was the fast-approaching tactical advantage which the others had so thoughtfully left open. A tactical advantage with burning steps, as became evident quickly. There was a railing that went around the rest of the gazebo, which thankfully really wasn't much of an obstacle. Thud. Scratch. The flaura were growing larger, and she used one of them as a pivot to slide step and change direction. Coming in on a wide oblique to the steps, she circled around the ongoing firefight and approached the side of the building. Sweat beeded her brow now, and the heat pressed down upon her and stole her breath. The sight of another figure executing the same maneuver tugged at her lips, and then some when she recognized what he was. A water troll, of all things. Common enough of an encounter, living most of your life on water as she did. Perhaps a bit reclusive, but not rare. More importantly, most probably a devotee of Water. Most probably, direct competition. “Ahoy, dweller o' tha deep! Shall we clash, fur water's favour?” There was a flash, as the gazebo's glare reflected off the cutlass she had reached up and brandished in challenge. “Hoy, seafarer.” Confident the voice, and friendly that smile. “Doubt the Lord'll smile upon me if I cut your service to him short. Much rather have someone watchin' my back, and I bet you would too so how 'bout we show our skills by taking the rest out, and let the lord pick his Champion?” She could tell there was a tension about his otherwise lax form, as he prepared for her answer. Ranlae considered it briefly. He was right that it was up to the gods to decide in the end, regardless of combat outcome. That was how the bards had made it out, with their songs of warriors fallen in the field, chosen even after death and brought back to champion their lord's honour. What better a second in this pit than a fellow denizen of the ocean, then, to crush the other competetors under water's might? “Don' be watchin' me back too closely, y'old lech!”, a quick wink, “But if ye don' wan' t'rumble, then let us make this arena more seaworthy with tha blood o' tha rest!” Her sword arm came down into a more neutral grip, as she stepped closer. “Don't get your hopes up, lass, I'm a married man.”. Some of the tension flowed out of his body, and chuckles shook his broad chest. “Fountain's our best option, yah." In a move she could never have pulled off herself, the troll jumped and rolled horizontally over the gazebo's railing. It was going to be very useful, to have an ally to make up for her own admitted frailty. She had worked hard to get past the limitations of her body, but it was nonetheless still an obstacle, and a soar spot. “I'm sure you'll be able to keep up with an old troll, won'tcha?.” Oh, she couldn't let that jibe pass. “I've seen deckhands faster than ye!” That pronouncement lost much of its weight a moment later, when Ranlae had to clamber up the railing herself. With one hand, she grabbed one of the virtical rods, then stepped up onto the marble platform. Ignored went the hand the troll had proffered; that level of trust would have to be earned in the heat of battle, not forged with words. The top rail came to just below her chest, so she through her sword arm over and hauled her miniature frame upward. Some grunting and ghasping saw her legs come over, and then she jumped down to the other side, panting and rumpled. “And I like me some lasses jus' as much as the next seadog, I'll have ye know.” With that slightly indignant retort, she turned inwards towards the arena's namesake, and began to stride. Clack. Clack.

Micosil -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/18/2014 20:52:18)
Nobody seemed to bother the old troll as he made his way down at first - the cracking of a gunshot echoed in the valley, making it obvious that at least one of the fighters here had some heavy firepower at their disposal. Unfortunately for the gunner, it seemed that the loudness of his weapon would be his undoing, as the fight previously underway suddenly broke up, with both energy users focusing their attacks on him. Off to the side, discreet but not unnoticed, a dark figure stood watch over the incipient chaos. It wasn't until he reached the side of the gazebo that he was interrupted, intercepted by a woman who he hadn't seen come in before him - perhaps she'd come in afterwards, and simply moved faster down than him. In any case, the woman had stopped a short distance away from him, proferring a challenge - and while she spoke, the hydromancer's experienced eyes slid up and down her body quickly, sizing up her gear. “Ahoy, dweller o' tha deep!" Cutlasses, one of which she was raising, another on her back - perhaps a dual-wielder, since she didn't seem to have any shields - two pistols on her hips, an extreme threat at this range. The extra range she got from the weapons he could compensate by simple arm length and height, since she seemed even smaller than your standard human. Her poise was confident and strong despite being outsized, though, so she was not to be underestimated. "Shall we clash, fur water's favour?” Leather armor, so he could expect a high mobility fighting style which suited him just fine, and a pouch on the belt with unknown contents. She didn't look to be a honorbound type of fighter, so it was more likely than not some dirty trick that he'd have to adapt to. Her aspect, plus her recognition of his species pointed out towards her being a seafarer, or at least closely in contact with them. A follower of the same Lord, and a youngster at that. She could've been an ally or a student were the circumstances any different. She was young enough to be his grand-daughter, and she doubtlessly had a family, friends who would be waiting for her to return home. The more he thought about it, the less he wanted to fight this girl - so he replied with carefully chosen words. "Hoy, seafarer." His tone transmitted two things - he wasn't her enemy, but he wasn't afraid to become one. "Doubt the Lord'll smile upon me if I cut your service to him short. Much rather have someone watchin' my back, and I bet you would too so how 'bout we show our skills by taking the rest out, and let the lord pick his Champion?" The troll's body tensed up just slightly as he spoke, ready for her to turn down his offer with an attack - she seemed to at least be considering the alliance, which was a very good sign. “Don' be watchin' me back too closely, y'old lech! But if ye don' wan' t'rumble, then let us make this arena more seaworthy with tha blood o' tha rest!” She relaxed her fighting pose, and so did Zoroaster, chuckling to the girl's taunt.“Don't get your hopes up, lass, I'm a married man.” The troll paused for a brief moment, considering their options. It was reasonable for water users to be near water, even more if one considered the highly variable temperatures outside the gazebo which could potentially mess with their hydromancy. “Fountain's our best option, yah." And, with that, Zoroaster crouched lightly and then sprung upwards, his knees and ankles complaining about the sudden strain even though this wasn't too much of a leap. He pushed past the pain, however, stretching a hand to grab onto the railing that circled the octogon, pulling himself fluidly - a dull ache in his shoulder - until his chest was at the railing's height. Then he swung his legs upwards, one after another, driving his body to a horizontal line parallel to the railing, just a mere inch above it. Then he let go, twisting in midair to land into a crouch with a heavy thud on the other side of the railing. His whole body was complaining - but he'd been able to do it, and that was the part that mattered. Now, it was time to return the taunt, so he extended a hand, offering her a help she was almost certainly bound to decline given the words that followed it. “I'm sure you'll be able to keep up with an old troll, won'tcha?” "I've seen deckhands faster than ye!" The reply was strong, confirming Zoroaster's suspicions about her personality, though she didn't seem to be able to follow through on the bravado, making her way awkwardly over the railing instead of trying to outdo the water monk - but she was aware of her limitations, which was good enough. The troll pulled his hand back, keeping his features carefully neutral - best not offend his ally-to-be and she seemed like the kind that would take a smile in this situation personally. “And I like me some lasses jus' as much as the next seadog, I'll have ye know.” She seemed to be slightly bothered, so Zoroaster just let the comment slip - he enjoyed a verbal duel, but just as long as it was all in good fun. Instead of replying, he started walking towards the prized water source once more, expecting that the human would follow, tensing up for combat once more despite the groaning of his joints, realizing that being up in the gazebo they'd likely become a target for the other contestants, eyes flicking watchfully from one fighter to another.

Arthur -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/19/2014 11:10:14)
The crack of a gun which Aeron had so often heard during his wanderings through the Woods near his hometown presently reached his Agnifron ears and within a split second of hearing it, as if on instinct, Aeron drew energy from the inferno right in front of him and inducing a massive burst of flames on his left side, shot towards his right. The burst of flame propelled his body well out of harm's way as the bullet crackling with lightning whizzed through where Aeron could have been a second ago disappearing through the flames into the gazebo. However, much to Aeron's surprise, his right leg hit the ground and as devious as motional inertia was, caused the propelling Agnifron to snag and roll out of his sideways dash crashing into the ground on his right side and further roll a couple of feet. "Thank god for that sound," Aeron slowly stood up wincing from the dull pain that shot through the right half of his body. "And thank god for that flame." The Agnifron realised that had either of these conditions not existed, that bullet would've definitely hit him without him even having a chance. So as to avoid another one of the gunman's fatal bullets, Aeron didn't waste another second instead dashing for the fire-now close enough- and climbing the stairs, slipping through it unharmed, drinking in its energy as he did. Once past the curtain of fire, the Agnifron took in the surroundings. The floor was made of marble and there was indeed a fountain at the center of this low structure. Aeron stepped to the side backing himself against the railing so as to avoid another Fire Elemental or a similar opponent quietly slipping in behind him. All the while as the energy from the fire re-energized him after that massively draining trick that he had tried outside, Aeron could hear all kinds of battle sounds outside. Aparently, some new opponents had appeared in the Arena. As Aeron finished with his body, a figure suddenly swung itself over the top of the railings and into the structure. Then came another, and they were both engaged in battle. However, they both seemed to be engaged more in a verbal duel than a physical one. With a grin on his face, Aeron stood up from his old position and dusting his clothes, spoke up, "Hey there," he said, "You guys here to fight... or talk...?"

Apocalypse -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/20/2014 0:58:43)
"Oh, you must be lying!" the pink woman said with a laugh. "It's true!" Connor threw his hands up into the air. "I'm not from this world, I'm from my world. They exist at the same time, but not the same place..." "Like a different country!" A smile washed over her face. She said her name was Isra, and Connor was falling for her more with each passing minute. Between her golden eyes, her luscious black hair cascading down her shoulders, her perfect rose-colored skin, and that smile of hers, who wouldn't have? "Yes-no!" The outlaw shook his head. "I mean, kind of, but not really. See, there was this temporary door, or something, and..." He stopped himself when he saw Isra purse her lips ever so slightly. Even when she was busy not believing him, she looked radiant. Good one, Connor, he thought. The outlaw grabbed his mug and and began to drink. Maybe he could buy himself some time in order to recollect his thoughts. Found yourself a pretty girl and you tried to explain multiple world theory. You barely understood it when Dr. Lee-kan was the one explaining! Connor took a few more gulps and learned the hard lesson that drinking and thinking are not two activities that work well together. While his mind was preoccupied with the magiscience of his predicament, a bit of liquid found its way down the wrong tube. Connor slammed his mug down and grasped the table with his free hand as a coughing fit took him. He pounded his chest as specks of spit mixed with drink were sprayed onto the table. He barely heard the noise of a chair scraping against stone over the chatter of the tavern before a hand started patting his back. With one last cough the fit passed, and Connor took a moment to catch his breath. "Are you all right?" He looked up at Isra, her eyes filled with worry. "Perfectly fine." Though a better question is, "How you can be so worried yet look so beautiful?" "Though now I have an idea." He grabbed his mug before also reaching for hers. "Look, this cup here is my world and this other one is yours. Now, each world is filled with its own people, animals, food, trees, stuff like that." He tilted both cups so that each had a steady drip of drink that splashed onto the table. "Now, each one has its own line that it follows. They do not cross, they do not run together." Connor risked a glance at Isra. She had inched her head forward, her eyes fixated on the cups and their contents. A grin made its way onto his face, but Connor did his best to hide it. "They are completely divided. But every once in a while..." some drink from Connor's cup splattered as it hit the table, sending droplets in all directions, including one that landed in the pool beneath Isra's. "...something jumps." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Things were not going as planned. Connor was not certain how, but orange boy had manged to evade his Storm Shot. Well, technically Connor knew how it had been avoided; orange boy had exploded flames on one side of his body to send him flying in the opposite direction. He had escaped through some combination of years of training, the shot being perhaps just a little too leading, and a raw, primal instinct for survival that Connor had never encountered before. A pity. He had been hoping for an easy kill. For a brief moment, the outlaw feared that he had managed to initiate a conflict with perhaps the roughest, toughest fighter within the arena. This moment did not last long as the fear was quickly squashed when the incredible dodge turned into a roll and tumble that left orange boy in a heap. Apparently, Connor had found the idiot who had fallen right out of the starting gate. He would have laughed if the temperature had not been rising unnaturally with every step he took downhill. Stupid magic, he thought as he continued the chase. All this power and the only thing they do with it is make it uncomfortable for the fighters. Orange boy was still full of surprises for the gunslinger as he rose to his feet and proceeded to run away from his challenger and towards the fiery steps. "Where are you going, coward?" the outlaw shouted at the fleeing figure. "Don't you have a lord to impress?" Reaching the bottom, Connor paused for a moment and pulled his bandana down. The heat in the valley was still stifling, but at least he would have an easier time breathing. He would have continued his pursuit of orange boy but, as luck would have it, Connor had received a pursuer of his own. From the other side of the valley came another black haired individual, though this one was notably lacking a colorful streak in his hair. The pursuer wore a strange black coat that seemed much too long for him (or any man, for that matter) and held a machete in each hand. However, the part of him that drew Connor's attention the most was neither his garb nor weaponry, but rather the mad look in his eyes. The outlaw had seen that look more than once before in his life as a bandit and a thief, and he was not particularly excited to see it again. Mad eyes never brought anything but trouble for him. In the middle of his run, mad eye raised his machetes to point them at the gunslinger. A frivolous motion on Earth, but a dangerous one here on Lore. Connor leaped to his left a moment just as mad eye launched his magical assault. The outlaw could feel the hair on his legs raise as the bolt passed between them. From somewhere above farther away, three more bolts came crashing down, passing through the spot where Connor had been standing a moment before. Lightning, lightning, and more lightning, Connor thought as he tucked into a roll. Did I seriously manage to tick off every other energy combatant in the arena? Connor jumped to his feet without hesitation, his Stetson now hanging from the string around his neck. Already he could feel the heat from the sun burning into his hair. "Not man enough to fight me one-on-one, eh?" Connor called out as he sidestepped closer to the fiery steps on his left. "You're lucky that Crackshot McCoy has enough man for the both of yeh!" Mad eye was still a problem, but now the gazebo should at least block the view of his faraway assailant. Connor reached for his left shoulder with his gun hand as the new opponent closed in. It was only when mad eye was a dozen steps away that Connor realized he had been one of the two combatants he saw fighting on the other side of the arena. Did they break up their scuffle just for me? Touching. With mad eye so close, Connor sprung his plan into action. First, he ripped the poncho off and threw it forward in one fluid motion. Such a large piece of fabric would obscure mad eye's vision. Second, with his hand still extended Connor pulled the trigger with a loud bang. The strength of the Storm Shot would be weakened a little bit by its encounter with the fabric, but it would also set the poncho ablaze and drive it into mad eye, covering his face and upper body. With the possibilities of shock, burns, and blindness for his opponent, the outlaw would have the upperhand. Connor stepped his right foot past his left and pivoted to take him out of the charge's direct path. Potentially, this would give the outlaw an opening to bury his hatchet in the nape of mad eye's neck.

Necro-Knight -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/20/2014 14:50:27)
The powerful shot rang through the Arena and met the Death Knight’s ears, receiving an almost instant response from him. His deep-blue eyes snapped to the source, the obviously-energy based Gunslinger. He watched as the competitor assaulted his fellow energy user…why attack each other instead of allying? They would have been a deadly force indeed. Such foolishness was not welcome in this place and Rowan was determined to show them the error of their ways. The gunslinger was obviously trying to ignite his cloak in some form of a distraction or shroud of flame for his enemy, but it was totally harmless to Rowan. Before acting, he eyed the…mentally-disturbed…competitor also racing for the Gun-wielder. If the Death Knight went through with this, he’d be putting himself into the path of madness as well… From what he could see from this distance, the man had only a pair of weapons on his person, not as long as swords, nor as short as daggers. Rowan would deal with that issue when it arose, then. He was more than well-equipped to deal with a melee-focused enemy. Not wishing for his prey to escape as he saw the man executing some footwork, the Knight of Darkness started into a run, only moving a few yards to simply get a little momentum going before he tapped into his yet-untouched mana pool. With a soft hiss and a flash of black/blue smoke, Rowan suddenly snapped from view, as if the cloud of smoke had enveloped him. He felt his mana drain significantly with the shadow-step, but it was both the quickest and wisest way to get close to his target without drawing any attention. At least, until he reappeared a few moments later. Another burst of black and sapphire smoke followed as the Knight reappeared directly behind the Gunslinger, and immediately made his move. Pushing off his back foot and swinging his hips powerfully, Rowan brought his RuneSword up from his side and swung horizontally with the body motion. The swing was one-armed, as using his shield-arm to add any more force would’ve made the movement cumbersome and sloppy. Instead, he kept his shield tight to his side and let its weight pull his shoulders in the direction of his sword-swing, almost like a counterweight. Putting as much weight and force into the attack as possible, the RuneSword made a swift movement for the Gunslinger’s neck, aiming to simply decapitate him.

Dragonnightwolf -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/21/2014 1:15:43)
This was it. The moment Rowan had waited for. The taste of flesh. The songbird of frying limbs. Gone in an instant as the Gunslinger dodged with skill that the madman had not quite anticipated. Whisking by the same area that Rowan had just flung his own energy came the crackling sounds of three more shots of electricity. Without looking in the direction of their source, Rowan already knew who was responsible for that little stunt. The same guy who’d taken a potshot at Rowan earlier. “Not man enough to fight me one on one eh?” The gunslinger had called out in a voice that sounded like it came from a Southern state back on Earth. “Your lucky that Crackshot McCoy has enough man for the both of yah!” Crackshot McCoy?! The man had just revealed his name. As he said this the gunslinger suddenly made a motion with his gun hand. This wasn’t over. Rowan slowed his run down and turned the machetes upside down, planting the blades into the ground as McCoy pulled off his poncho. But why take off his clothing? was he really that hot? The voices spoke out ‘Watch him! Scoop out his insides! Kill!’. NO! too late the madman saw the poncho flying at him and as it did so the fabric blemished scorching fires that could melt skin from flesh. The poncho caught around the right arm of Rowan as he raised it up to block the hellish blaze from his face. The searing heat started to burn the interior leather of the trenchcoat. Flexing his muscles as the blazing poncho wrapped around the coat, Rowan yanked his right arm out of the sleeve as it burned red hot. Pulling the coat off in one fluid motion; the madman’s hair started to smoke from the intense blaze. The coat went flying off in a spin to his right hand side. Gazing at the inferno a flashback struck those intense, insane eyes. An image of his girlfriend. The voices spoke ‘remember. it was a gift.’ The eyes reflected the clarity of the image. He remembered it had been his birthday. She surprised him with the coat and the lapel pin it once held in it. A tear leaked out of his left eye as Rowan remembered. This was the last present she’d ever bought him. His last reminder of her. The second was gone, struck out as if a light had been turned off. The clarity grew smaller and vanished from his eyes. Both fists closed tightly as he stared at the blaze which consumed his coat. “Hee hee heee heee ha ha ha.” The lunatic laughed for but a moment. Than his eyes and voice became deadly serious. “Wait.” A realization struck home. “that coat.” He said in a soft voice. “Was the last gift.” Both hands trembled and his head slowly lifted up. Eyebrows closing together with the angry scowl that fell upon his face. “my GIRLFRIEND bought me before she DIED!” The yell echoed out and he no longer cared who heard. “McCoy!” Rowan shouted lifting his weapons out of the ground. “My name is Rowan. That coat came from Earth. Though i doubt you’ll know of the place.” Tears fell from the madmans eyes. No more reminders of his girlfriend. Just the emptiness. The loneliness. That was when Rowan saw the Death Knight appear attempting to decapitate the gunslinger. “You are going to pay dearly for what you’ve done here, this day McCoy!” Rowan said. No longer did he run. He advanced with precision steps. The mind of insanity heard the voices cry out for blood and blood they would have. The anger only made Rowan a very, very, dangerous man. The world around began to spin but Rowan felt nothing. He saw, he heard, he tasted nothing but the anger. An anger that can only be satiated with destruction. McCoy had maybe 6 minutes to live. If any other combatant got in his way now, there would be hell to pay. Because now, Rowan was truly, and undeniably ticked off. His body showed signs where the flames had almost, almost burned the flesh, it was a deeper red than it had been, but this was more from the heat than the flames themselves. The hair still smoked but no fire billowed now. No. Now there would be only death.

unknown2215 -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/21/2014 7:48:11)
Krios raised an eyebrow as flames burst from the man with orange streaked hair's side, pushing him away from the bullet flying at him. He had fast reflexes, Krios noted. More importantly though, it seemed as if the gunslinger had avoided both his and apparently the mad man's bolts of lightning. The gazebo blocked the gunslinger from view now, but Krios caught sight of the mad man's arm being enveloped in a flaming piece of fabric, most likely the poncho that the gunslinger had been wearing. Shifting his attention to the death knight, he managed to see the imposing darkness competitor disappear in a burst of dark smoke. He ran forward, pulling a parrying dagger from the inside of his coat and dropping it. The death knight had a teleportation ability, he was unsure of its mechanics, but Krios was certain that the death knight planning on using it to get behind an opponent and stab him in the back. So Krios ran towards the gazebo, he didn't know if he was the death knight's target, but standing in the middle of the battlefield doing nothing had never been a good idea. Two seconds, he didn't hear the clanking of greaves, the death knight wasn't behind him then. Focusing on the gazebo ahead of him and ignoring the rapidly rising temperature, Krios leaped. He managed to jump just above the railing, landing and rising in a smooth roll. Krios held his rapier pointed to the ground and a parrying dagger, his third one now, raised as if to ward attackers. There were three people in the gazebo besides him, the old troll he had spotted earlier, a rather short woman with equally short blond hair who was armed with two curved blades, a dagger and alarmingly, two guns. They were standing by the fountain and seemed to have been trading banter with one another. The last person in the gazebo was the man with orange streaked hair, standing opposite of him, in front of the flaming stairs. "Well, this appears to have been a bad decision. I do prefer duels much more than group battles." Krios commented lightly.

ringulreith -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/23/2014 16:21:58)
So eager to confront them in their own port, these two. Rapier of energy and orange-streak of fire makes four, and what a fine slaughter it would be. The marble platform wasn't wide enough for two people to walk it at once, so there was only one viable option to prevent the troll and her from being pincered on its narrow confines. Tapping herself to catch the water troll's attention, she made a circling motion towards Rapier. She'd have to push him back along the gazebo and around the fountain, where they'd have both foes flanked, and could meet back up on the wider area by the steps. Clack. Clack. “I think I can satisfy ye well 'nough, lad.” She threw Rapier a lazy wink, before raising her cutlass in preparation. Ranlae's mind flipped an invisible switch, and there was the sense of something lurching, giving way somehow; Five senses became six, four limbs became five, as comprehention broke over her mind. Speed, temperature, pressure, direction, a multitude of minutiae skimmed across fingers that extended into the arcane domain of water. The influx of sensations and information barely jarred her now, after decades of practice. 'lens', she thought at her new limb. This was one technique which had seen much employment in combat, so she continued forward, trusting in her muscle memory to carry out the desired effect. Water acted much like a lens. In the air, the distribution of water droplets was normally much too small for this effect to be noticed. She had learned -- early on after discovering her abilities to manipulate water -- to take this naturally occuring phenomenon and amplify it greatly; This particular skill had been honed until she could focus it only on her image specifically. The woman that swiped her blade forward appeared, to her enemy, twice as large, with distortions rippling across her entire form. The strike was low, taking advantage of Rapier's exposed lower half and aiming to deliver a crippling blow to his legs.

Question Mark? -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/23/2014 17:56:06)
Yggdrasil rose from the high grass like a charmed serpent. Her head darted left, right, left again. There! The gunslinger was occupied with several opponents. If she could only get closer... Wait, was he removing the poncho? Perfect. Much easier now. The death knight would still be a problem, of course. Perhaps she should wait and see the outcome of this little scuffle. No, better, perhaps she should try to tip the scales a bit. Quietly, silently, she removed a single smoke bomb from her belt pouch and, with practiced aim, threw it directly into the melee, enveloping the gunslinger, the death knight, and the madman in a blinding cloud. She quickly snapped the pouch closed and drew her knife from its sheath, stalking gingerly toward the mass of choking smoke.

Apocalypse -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/23/2014 18:28:50)
"So what's this other world like?" Isra had her elbow on the table and her chin on her palm. The corner of her lips were raised in a slight smile, the one that someone wears without realizing it until somebody else points it out. "A lot like this one, but a lot different as well." Connor finished off his drink and put his arm on the table. He raised it again as soon as he felt the spilled drink from before soaking into his sleeves. "Aw, blast." The outlaw shook his hand to dry it off, sending little droplets in all directions. He was unaware of this until he heard Isra laughing. In all directions included towards Isra, and the pink woman had raised her arms in a futile attempt to save herself from getting soaked. "Oh, pardon! And pardon again!" Connor learned forward and used his sleeve to wipe some of the droplets off her arm. "I'm stupid on Earth, too." She grabbed his hand, and Connor froze. "It's okay," she said. His hand had tensed up the moment she touched him, but his muscles were already relaxing in her grasp. He could feel her thumb brushing up and down his palm with all of the care of an artist. Isra let out a giggle, and it occurred to Connor that the faint violet coloring in her cheeks was her equivalent of blushing. He looked at Isra and found her staring back at him. Maybe things were better than just okay. The rustling of chairs caused Connor to break his gaze. The rest of the tavern's patrons had risen and headed for the door. The barkeep bid them good night as he ushered them out. It appeared that the festivities had come to an end. "So where's your reservation?" Isra asked. Connor snapped back to face her, and he could feel his face become pale. "Reservation?" What kind of tavern needs a reservation!? "Uh..." The pink woman threw her head back and laughed. "Aww, is it different in your world? Don't worry." Isra stood up and tugged Connor's hand. The outlaw got to his feet without hesitation and found himself being led to a staircase in the back. She turned her head around. "I have a room upstairs," she said with a wink. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The gunslinger had prepared himself to strike mad eye's neck in the middle of his charge when he realized that his intended target was not there. Catching his arm in mid-air, Connor paused as he took in the unexpected change of situation. Instead of charging forward, the mad man had slowed down and plunged his machetes into the ground. A bit odd as dropping them would have sufficed in freeing up his hands, though perhaps mad eye had some sort of grudge against arena floors. Not liking to stay motionless, Connor lowered his hatchet and holstered his Peace Maker before circling to the left as mad eye laughed and yelled. The gunslinger did not want to put the center structure behind him and cut off the option of a backwards retreat, but it was still preferable than presenting himself as a shooting bottle to the other energy combatant on the slope. "McCoy!," shouted mad eye as Connor continued to circle him. I don't have time for the ravings of a lunatic, he thought as he switched his hatchet to his right hand. “My name is Rowan. That coat came from Earth. Though i doubt you’ll know of the place. Shut your...wait... What? Mad eye was from Earth?! Smoke of black and blue erupted to his right and broke Connor's train of thought. A black knight armed with a sword and shield snapped into existence behind where Connor had been only a moment ago. The armor looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place it and, to be frank, he did not have the time. The outlaw reached for the first of his bang bulbs but not before the menacing knight swung his blade at Connor's neck. The gunslinger ducked beneath the black blade and jumped away from the new foe, placing himself near the corner of the gazebo. As he landed, Connor hurled the bang bulb at the knight's feet. With any luck at all, the following explosion would leave the knight dead. Wait...dead knight? Is that the name? He did not remember much about dead knights, but he did recall that they were plenty hard to kill, and it was recommended to avoid them in the tournament. A little late for that. Even as dangerous as this dead knight was, Connor could not afford to give all of his attention to one enemy. To his left, mad eye approached with determined steps, spewing words with so much heat that he made the valley feel cool. “You are going to pay dearly for what you’ve done here, this day McCoy!” The outlaw pulled out the bowie knife from his left hip and held his hatchet in front of him for defense. Electricity cackled as Connor poured energy into his weapons, charging them until they were filled with a slight glow. With one enemy so mad he could bite himself and the other looking so mean he could hunt bears with a hickory switch, Connor could not afford to save his cards for later. "Sorry, mad eye, but I don't intend to pay anyone today."

Micosil -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/23/2014 19:56:20)
Two new arrivals intercepted both Zoroaster and Ranlae before they reached the fountain - all within the expected. The first one to arrive was a pyromancer, as evidenced by the burst of speed he'd shown previously when being fired upon by the first gunner - Zoroaster began cooling the water around him even before the man started speaking. A moment later another arrival swung over the railing, of the Energy element as evidenced by the prior lightning bolt he'd thrown towards the very same gunner. Such a useful person, that one, even if he didn't know how much information his shots were uncovering for the other fighters. Zoroaster took a brief moment to think before the fight broke out - whoever fought the fire mage would be at an advantage, whoever fought the energy mage wouldn't. Unless, of course, that whoever had happened to purify their water shield not that long ago. Zoroaster put the second part of the electric shield in motion as soon as he decided to fight him, accumulating all the conductive impurities in a thin layer around the purified water, effectively creating a layer of highly conductive water that would work as a lightning rod, leading any electrical attacks to ground through a much "faster" route than through the troll's body. Words, irrelevant words, were being spoken, but he ignored them. His ally gestured - unclear gestures that he didn't quite have the time to decipher, but he imagined it involved reaching the fountain and making the most out of it. The time for plans had passed by now, though, and with his ally already handling the fiery fighter, the old troll he stepped towards the rapier wielder - with him being opposite of the fire mage, he'd have to pass next to the fountain to reach him, which would make everything that much easier. That single step gave way to a fluid sprint, that made the most out of every muscle of his body, building up momentum as another invisible transformation happened on the water over his body, readying its surface to tense up in order to block incoming projectiles - he couldn't quite turn it into a solid plate as he moved inside it. And, throughout everything, his eyes were locked onto his prey's body - he could not move faster than lightning, but he could read the movements of the man that was throwing it, he thought, as his breathing accelerated to match his increased exertion.

Necro-Knight -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/24/2014 13:20:18)
Rowan growled as his blade met only open air with his swing. He’d meant to take the gunslinger's head off, not simply make himself look like a fool. He’d underestimated how quickly the man could move when motivated, but he supposed death was a good motivator. As he tried to think of a counter-attack, he noticed the Gun-wielder grip and toss what appeared to be a glowing glass pear-shaped item…He had no clue what the item was, but this was the Elemental Championships. Either way, he knew it was meant to do him harm. If it was energy-based, his CryptLord Shield was worthless, given the shock would simply travel through the metal of his shield and into his armor. He didn't want to try to knock it away, given it might be activated on contact like his explosive Shadow-skulls were. Figured he could use some of the mana he had left, Rowan made his choice. He couldn't make his move while wielding his RuneSword, so he released the weapon and let it fall to the Arena floor, freeing his hand. Now, the Knight drew into his mana pool once again and his iris’ eyes flared a bright violet color as Swift Death empowered him. With the enhancements, new-found speed coursing through him as his man gradually faded, Rowan snapped his arm forward and caught the glass item in his palm. The grip wasn't powerful, both don't break the item and from Swift Death itself, draining his physical strength and converting it to speed. He grinned for only a moment before his glowing eyes noticed a smoke that was quickly starting to cloud the relative area and his nose caught the scent. This would prove severely hindering, not only to him, but to anyone else caught inside and might cause panic among those less familiar with this kind of combat. Refusing to lose his opportunity just yet, Rowan cancelled Swift Death before it drained his mana completely and felt his strength return. Remembering how popular the gazebo had been and how close it was, Rowan’s counter-attack was obvious. As if he was using one of his exploding skulls of shadow, the Death Knight reared back and threw the Bulb towards the fountain within the gazebo with as much force as he could muster and as accurately as he could through the gathering smoke. Even if the Bulb didn't hit the fountain itself and impacted the gazebo floor instead, the release of energy or result of breaking the glass should certainly do something dangerous to the gazebo residents. After all, the GunSlinger had thought it could defeat a Death Knight. Even as the bulb left his hand and proceeded on its path towards the gazebo, Rowan felt the smoke burn at his throat and decided he needed to move on before it totally incapacitated him. Moving through the smoke, he bent down and snatched up his Runesword from the arena floor as he made his way to clearer air. Given the glowing runes, he’d been able to spot it even through the thick cloud.

Question Mark? -> RE: =EC 2014= Fountain Arena (8/24/2014 16:26:01)
Yggdrasil was used to setting up ambushes, but typically against one or two opponents, and typically when both of them were living creatures who could be dispatched with a swift blade and a hushed conscience. The death knight would have made the ambush nearly impossible, making it quite the stroke of fortune that he had decided to leave the scene. Hopefully, Yggdrasil thought, one of the gazebo fighters would manage to dispatch him, or at least weaken him enough for her to assist in finishing him off. She had no desire to fight him herself. The undead, or those of that same ilk, always left a foul taste in her mouth anyway. Something about the way they moved, about the way they spoke. Something just off of human. It unnerved her, and she did not enjoy being unnerved. Not in the slightest. How to finish him though? A complex issue. Perhaps a trap. Damage the armor, crush him under stones or a falling tree. Remove his head. Can death knights function without them? Zombies can't, but do types of undead differ in that fashion? She had a sibling who knew this sort of thing. Perhaps when this was over, she would ask, if she could ever find Them. Regardless, the issue at hand needed her direct attention, and she quickly turned back to it. The machete wielder and the gunslinger were still inside the smoke cloud, and but would likely flee soon. Move in too quickly, and she had no doubt a quick lash from the akimbo machetes would be enough to bring her down. She would have to take the gunslinger from an oblique angle, but the obscuring properties of the smoke bomb left it unclear which way he was facing. She could, perhaps, circle in gradually but... No. No time for that. Perhaps she could try a compromise. Yggdrasil readied her dagger, took a low stance, and broke into a dead sprint toward the smoke cloud, diving low toward where the gunslinger had been before the smoke bomb had hit, hoping to tackle him onto the ground without dispelling too much of the smoke, or at least get a dagger somewhere in him, should she miss her target.

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