=Elemental Championships= Cellar Arena


	Home \| Login \| Register \| Help \| Play

=Elemental Championships= Cellar Arena

Logged in as: Guest

Printable Version

All Forums >> [Gaming Community] >> [Role Playing] >> The Championships >> =Elemental Championships= Cellar Arena

Page 1 of 3

Forum Login

Message

<< Older Topic Newer Topic >>

8/13/2007 20:39:09

Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...

((Do not post here before reading the OOC))

It has been a long year since the last Elemental Championship, but the Championship Arena Complex did not show signs of age, but rather on the contrary - it grew, and along with it, just a hill and a spring with a weary wooden bridge over it away, grew the township...now more of a city...of Bren. The vicinity of the Arena has done it much good - apart from the great crowds -- and thusly business -- it brought it during the Championship itself, just the presence of such a building carried the township's name far over the lands. There came adventurers of many sorts, and the burgeoning four 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 three offshoot Arenas around the old one, and craft yet a fourth offshoot that hung high in the sky above the lot.

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

~~~

It took the enchanters quite a bit of time to get out of the Cellar Arena, as it was quite a ways down into the ground. One could see the granite walls of the main part of the Arena Complex right above the now open heavy metal Cellar gate - the underground arena was placed right under the original, First Arena!

One of the now leaving spellweavers conjured up an opened scroll above the entrance, which would levitate there until the end of the match. Those who would care to read it would have found out that the place they are about to enter had more than just regular protective shield enchantments - rather, the ordinary enough looking mirror walls the fighters would find inside were of magical nature, and not only act as a protective barrier for the spectators behind it, but also make any projectile flung at it - magic or not - simply bounce off, much like simple a ray of light would from a regular mirror. On a more disturbing note, the scroll also stated that no wound would ever heal whilst in the Cellar, not even by ways of magic. If the group of healers and doctors standing about just outside the entrance were to be of any consolation, the shovels lined up against the wall and the priests near them were most definitely not.

As daunting as that may have been, most of those gathered here had never feared death - lest they would not be there at all - so they began descending the spiral stairway, leaving the shrieks and anxieties of a bloodthirsty crowd behind them - or rather, over them.

The upper gate closed with a loud *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 new to expect there... There were four humongous round pillars of plain grey stone, as wide as a man with his arms spread out, in the middle of the room forming a square shape as the room did. Each side of each pillar had a torch on it, and with the mirrors' reflection, the Cellar far from the dark, damp place one would imagine a room of such a name to be.

It was actually very dry, uncomfortably dry, and there was something very unnatural to that dryness.

Could that have been the enchantment of never-ceasing wounds they sensed?

Perhaps.

But for now, it was time to forget such thoughts, and cause some wounds instead.

Post #: 1

8/13/2007 22:46:52

Ryu Viranesh
Member

As he proceded down the stairs Ryu remembered the warning that he had just read. So he thought, the mirrors reflect anything that hits them, then this is going to be very interesting. Then there was the other warning " while in the Cellar Arena no wounds whatsoever could be healed even with magic" so he had to be cautious here, that was for sure. As he looked around he saw all of his competition preparing for the battle to begin and so he studied their preperations before walking away to make his own in secret. Ryu did not want to be seen during his period of prayer and making himself ready for battle, it was to sacred for it to be interrupted in any way. As he prepared he thought about what a long battle he had ahead of him and what he would have to do to acheive what he desired most, victory. He knew not what awaited him in the vast darkness of the cellar, but by the Lord of Fire he would be ready for anything. Soon he heard the call for the contestants to gather so with one last whispered prayer to his Lord and Master he departed down the hallway to the beginning of the legendary Elemental Championships. As he walked down the hallway he made sure that he was being as inconspicuous as possible so he would not give away his preperations. He walked into the main area of the arena and sat down to wait for the tournament to begin. There was no other competition from his element, fire, which meant he had no need to use some of his techniques. This battle may be slightly easier than I thought said Ryu, although in a very low voice so that no one could hear. Then they called all the contestents into a group so he got up and walked towards them, and so it begins, whispered Ryu Silverblaze.

< Message edited by Ryu Viranesh -- 8/14/2007 7:54:34 >

Post #: 2

8/13/2007 23:10:30

Riker
Member

A staircase leading into the depths lay in front, daylight would soon be behind him, Reave walked around the open space. Weighed down by the 5 foot jug that was as wide as him strapped to his back, falling would really cripple his chances of even competing. "Lousy luck I say, out of all of the arenas that could have been chosen for me, I got the cellar." He was well informed about the Enchantments here, and the mirrors. The only useful thing for his own personal use. "Good thing I brought this spare jug." he continued to talk to himself. As he decide to prepare, a few people were there already resting and preparing. He found an empty space, sat down and uncorked the jug. He started to drink from the jug, and large gulps at a time. "Nothing to do now but prepare." He was nervous, for he might not come out alive. He had his reasons for being here, and the only option was to succeed. This has nothing to do with prizes and glory. Just a single wish. He continued gulping more of the liquid from the jug until the call for the start came. He strapped the much lighter jug to his back and continued onward to the meeting place.

He entered the arena, with the other fighters staring at him with a fierce determination. He went to an open area and uncorked the jug, waiting for it to begin.

< Message edited by Riker -- 8/14/2007 3:29:34 >

Post #: 3

8/13/2007 23:46:27

TormentedDragon
Member

Her step was light, slight form moving with swift grace through the ever-growing darkness. With each step, her bells jingled, drawing the eyes of those who cared to look. Given the company, she was not out of place... stranger than her had been seen, and often. Yet it was her bow that would cause some to wonder. An archer underground? How well could she possibly fare in such close quarters? The Cellar was large, yes, but nevertheless... there would be nowhere to run.

She paid no attention to the other contestants, her eyes locked straight ahead, only deviating to briefly glance over the scroll. Her lips curved ever so slightly, a smile so shallow that none would notice. What passed through her mind to make her react as such would remain mystery.

She reached the end of the staircase, stepping into the arena itself... and vanished. Where once there had been the constant jingle of bells, there was silence, where she had been, only a brief eddy of wind. The archer had made her move, separating herself from the others, gaining the distance she would need. She crouched, choosing one of the few dark spots in the surprisingly well-lit arena, and nocked an arrow to her bow. The curved wooden shaft lay across her knee, the many bowstrings currently at rest. She was ready, waiting. Let them come.

< Message edited by TormentedDragon -- 8/13/2007 23:47:08 >

Post #: 4

8/14/2007 0:32:19

xaxtoo
Member

With the sun barely eclipsing the rooftops of two story houses, the streets in the west end of Bren were bustling with both shoppers getting their last chance to buy something for the day and shop owners vying in those waning moments of daylight to finish selling their daily wares. However, amidst all the activity, there remained a section slightly distraught by a stranger walking amongst them. A brief bemusement before the stranger’s quick confluence into another group found them comfortable once again in their quotidian rituals.

If someone were to have asked what the stranger looked like, no one would have given a concrete description except that he was taller than average and perhaps looked a little thin beneath his cloak, but his face was completely hidden by the sunlight and by his hat. It also didn’t help that the stranger wore his hat with the odd purpose to cover some of his face. But all would agree the stranger avoided contact, even in such a crowded place, he somehow found the cracks and never bumped or shoved anyone. One thing that stood out in their minds and probably had brought them some discomfort was that the stranger had a distinct way of walking, unnatural, but no one can really ascertain why. If the crowd only felt a disturbance go by, the stranger was quite perplexed at arriving at the 18th hour, for he wanted to be inconspicuous as possible; little did he suspect shops opened so late here. Back home, the shops were unlucky if they had to stay out past noon, so they have at least half a day to replenish their wares. He simply underestimated the size of Bren, partly due to his master not alerting him to Bren’s current developments. Luckily the sun had his back. Meticulously weaving his way past all the street vendors, he finally arrived at a less crowded part of town.

He consciously adjusted his hat a little before walking on still due east, with a hurried determination, but not beyond lingering before pretty ladies having tea on verandas. While walking, he caught a few cursory glances from few passerby ladies, some even tinged with interest and a promise for more thorough investigation if time provided. However, time was not in the mood to linger, and he was weary from travel and wanted to arrive at his inn soon. Those moments brought a joy deriving from misguided miscegenation which in turn brought about self accolades for the disguise.

He eventually reached the seedier part of town just as the sun bid farewell. In the darkness alleviated only at house entrances by torches he had some difficulty finding the “Carrotstick” sign. He went in without looking at his surroundings at all and made a direct line for the bar. Sitting was quite a problem for Lapinche, even though there is enough articulation in the legs, there wasn’t a way for him to get onto the stool in an ostensibly natural way. So he stood between a couple of stools and motioned for the innkeeper. The innkeeper was a saturnine muscular man with an enlarging gut perfectly complimenting his age--too old to be anything but complacent, yet young enough to not entirely dodge vanity. He barked a question of order at Lapinche, but his wandering glance was altogether misleading as to who he really asked. Lapinche realized that he attended the bar as a habit and couldn’t care less who he served. So master was right. Every time Lapinche spoke in disguise he cause slight altercations to the way his larynx vibrates to deepen his voice, so suspicion wouldn’t be drawn to him, but he has a nagging feeling that if he spoke in his regular tone, the patrons wouldn’t bother to look up from their drinks. Lapinche quickly ordered some carrot juice, which to his surprise was brought out in large mug. So master was right again. Congruous to the atmosphere in the bar, no one seemed to care that the stranger brought out a straw and was sipping his carrot juice. Lapinche wondered if any entertainment would drive this crowd of people away as it certainly would the gloom.
“Give me a room.”
“No can do, all them rooms on the first floor are taken.”
“What about the second room?”
“Floor’s wobbly, can’t support more than a man and his harlot.”
“Well, I’m just one man.”
“You’re going to have to pay upfront and your word on keeping your room free of all except yourself.”
“Seeing as how the room is limited on amenities, I’ll give you half of what the room is worth.”
With some intense haggling and some profuse sweating on both sides, Lapinche and the innkeeper settled at slightly more than three quarters of the regular price. Oddly enough, the innkeeper didn’t look at Lapinche once throughout the whole ordeal. Under different circumstances, Lapinche would have been offended, but today it suited his needs well, almost too well. But he is not the type to dwell when things tend to go his way. Ordering another mug of carrot juice, Lapinche approached one of the tables occupied by a man in a hood. He skipped with the pleasantries and instead inquired about the Elemental Championships. Pretty soon, the other man and Lapinche went on to sundry things, and Lapinche told his joke about the squirrel and the arroc walking into a bar. The man laughed; Lapinche always kills with this joke. Disposing the last of his carrot juice, Lapinche bid his new fan farewell and retired up the stairs.

He had to really make an effort to make the stairs creak, for his weight was nowhere near as much as his disguise would let on. The second floor was much worse than the innkeeper had let on. In a dilapidated fashion in full glory with peeling wall paper there was a huge gaping hole preventing further access than the first two rooms. This would certainly kill the mood. Once in his room, Lapinche locked the latch to his room, and proceeded to take off his disguise. First he opened the abdomen of his puppet and poked his head through. Then, as soon as he undid all the strings attached to his ears, his paws, and his feet, the tension stopped and his disguise crumpled onto the floor. Tomorrow morning he is going to pay for that, yet tonight sleep is bliss. Yes, there were more elegant ways, but he was really tired. At his belt, he loosened a small container and set it by his pillow. Lapinche hopped onto the bed and slept soundly, the Elemental Championships not really something to cause him to lose sleep.

--

So an enclosed battlefield, Lapinche wasn’t expecting something like this, but he can already see it working to his advantage. Since going through trials is exactly why Lapinche is here, it would seem that fate is working in his favor after all or maybe the Wind Lord is being cruel to be kind. Then again, “one must adjust as the river would to the rock in it’s flow”, an old aphorism of his venerable master brought on an internal chuckle. However, with danger entrapped, it’s best to be at least a little wary, and not do anything foolish. Acting with temerity now would entail giving away too much in the beginning. Despite his success with his disguise entering Bren, Lapinche is still wary of its limitations of emulation. Besides, spending too much time in the human world has unfortunately enlightened Lapinche to a whole world of vanity and glam that he is reluctant to relinquish. So in rare cases such as this, both his newly acquired vainglory and trained salient subterfuge are in collusion for the presence of his disguise.

Forgoing movement, Lapinche absentmindedly prepared an early warning mechanism. For having done it so many times before, his chi instantaneously molded the air into a bubble invisible to the naked eye and almost impossible for someone to detect unless he was looking ad hoc for disturbances in the air. This flimsy air shield will alert him to any movement within 4 meters, which is more than ample time for Lapinche to do something about the intruder or attack. Without further ado, inside his disguise, Lapinche took out a manuscript brought over from the monastery. Luckily he was close enough to a torch to get decent lighting. He had accidentally discovered that the action required to turn the pages inside his puppet corresponds to a friendly wave by it. Maybe the other contestants will think of him dumb or lost and leave him along for the time being. Lethargic starts will just increase the drama once he finishes in style.

< Message edited by xaxtoo -- 8/14/2007 1:19:21 >

Post #: 5

8/14/2007 8:19:35

demonhunter
Member

3 weeks ago, in another town...

"Are you sure, Master?"

"Yes. You are ready, Lisa. It is time for you to put your training to the test."

"I... I don't know if..."

"Silence! You are ready. More than ready, in fact. Have some confidence in yourself!"

"... Yes sir..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Present

Clad in a hooded robe of ashen-grey, Lisa Hunter made her way towards the Arena that she had been assigned to less than an hour before. She paused a moment at the stairs to read the scroll, and grimaced. A healer by trade, she was a little unnerved to find that her healing abilities would be useless in this Arena. She would have to be careful...

As she entered the Arena, she lowered her hood, and looked around, carefully noting the mirrors and their facings. They would be useful to her... Her light magic would be effective down here.

She reached around to the staff that rested in a carrier on her back. She pulled it free, and grasped it in front of her with both hands. The familiar weight of the weapon was comforting, in a way: She could depend on it, as she could her magic... And should either fail her, she had an ace up her sleeve. Instinctively, one hand twitched.

No... she thought, Not yet... I won't need you yet, Kuan-Yaa*...

She looked around again, then set her eyes on a particular spot in the western area of the Arena. A soft light formed over her body, and she vanished, only to re-appear where she had been looking. Teleportation was a specialty of hers, but not one that was suitable for combat. It required too much concentration...

(((*Kuan-Yaa: "Light fang". A form of beast magic, borrowed from the 3x3 Eyes manga series. If there's an issue with this, say so, and I'll remove it.)))

Post #: 6

8/14/2007 10:58:08

TormentedDragon
Member

She watched, extending herself, letting the currents flow through her mind. She had some time... no one had begun, just yet. Inertia was the word... few people wished to make the first move. One by one, she sought out targets, searching for any clue she could find about their chosen element. There was little about them to suggest their affinity, at least nothing she could find with just the air.

She frowned. One had disappeared, the disturbance the target had made vanishing. She searched, carefully, scanning... and found something else. An unnatural formation of air, no mere physical disturbance, this. Only one who served Wind, like her, could create such a thing. The disappearing target was forgotten... here was her opponent. Violet eyes sought out the location, locking on the being that was there. Tall, thin, cloaked... and moving rather oddly, a curious waving motion. A spell, perhaps. Regardless, its peace would not remain with it long. It was too much of a threat.

She shifted to the side, her bells waving with the movement, yet remaining silent. Her bow came up, arrow pointed at the target's cowled head, the word "Overture" scratched into the narrow shaft. She pulled back on the strings, the barest current whirling around the bow as she did so, air moving to collect at the needle-point tip. Within seconds, it was ready. Time to begin.

She loosed the shaft with a breath, and moved, lithe form slipping off to another vantage point. The shaft flew straight and true, slipping soundless through the air on its deadly mission.

Post #: 7

8/14/2007 11:14:04

Ryu Viranesh
Member

He noticed the girls shot at another warrior immediately, now he thought, it begins. He decided to scan the arena to see whom he should fight first. Both the girl and her opponent were Wind warriors so it was best to let them handle eachother, he saw a cloaked women who looked like she was either a mage or a priest probably light or darkness elemented and then there was the large man drinking out of the jug, Ryu could not guess what element he was, there were to many possibilities. That accounted for all of the fighters in his area and then there was still the issue of the other fighters. He knew that there was eight people in the Cellar Arena which at the moment left three unaccounted for. He decided that he would not fight just yet, he would watch from within the shadows and when the time was right he would strike. So he found himself a comfortable place and began to watch the current battle play out. But first he prepared his weapons and set a magical trap so that he could not be surprised. He wanted to be ready for anything but did not want to rush out into a battle unprepared, like a berserker. People had always said that he was not like most warriors of fire, he was more levelheaded and always explored every possible way to win a battle not just focusing on one. Well Ryu thought, he was glad he was calm, cool and collected because rushing out was not the thing to do in this tournament. So he turned his attention back to watching the battle at hand.

< Message edited by Ryu Viranesh -- 8/14/2007 11:16:06 >

Post #: 8

8/14/2007 12:01:50

Riker
Member

The first move had been made, and Reave watched the archer take a shot. The arrow was moving swiftly,but not at him. He calmed his mind and focused his thoughts. The tranquility in battle was the key to victory, as the wrong move would cause downfall, and the wrong move was always caused by frantic desperation. A mist had now started to flow from his uncorked jug. Cold and yet beautiful, it surrounded Reave in its shimmering glory. Each partical was suspended in midair, and held in place with willpower. The torches light caused an almost blinding sparkling. This was step two, as step one was already done. He could feel it was done inside forming. He moved his hand around in the mist, almost testing it. He pulled back and waited for the right moment. Until then he watched the battle continue from inside the frozen mist. He took a drink to quench his thirst and allowed himself to relax, if only for a second

Post #: 9

8/14/2007 17:12:36

xaxtoo
Member

Why are there no pictures? These manuscripts would be so much better served had they included an art to go along with a description of the form. Lapinche would have already mastered the Lu-Kai Feng had he had some visuals to guide him, he’s sure of it. Looking at the scriptures with neatly scribed characters that are very paragons to block calligraphy is like an exercise in patience, for Lapinche have already read this manuscript, several times, and further readings will not help him educe some genius conclusion he hasn’t already made. Nevertheless, he proceeded, but what he needed is pictures, or his master to guide him along the right path. Turning a page, he forced his eyes to focus on the words he already knew would appear. Mechanically, his eyes moved down a column of words before snapping back up to start the process again for the next column.

Suddenly, he sensed something prick his early distant warning bubble. In the same motion he closed his manuscript and dodged. By knowing precisely where the bubble was hit, Lapinche dodged instinctively, which he acquired through many arduous hours of training. Since he mastered the technique and expanded the radius to 4 meters, he hasn’t yet been hit with a ranged attack. However, as this is the first time he used his puppet in an actual fight--one he would consider dangerous, with likelihood for fatality--his motion translated to a sluggish move by the puppet. Fortuitously, his puppet did move enough to avoid total destruction. With a loud bang, the arrow stuck and lodged itself into the wrist of the waving hand and the momentum of the impact was too much strain for the wood and severed the wrist clean off along with the open hand in a friendly salute. The abnormal huge bang coming from the impact, amplified by Lapinche’s acute sense of hearing, was almost enough to distract Lapinche, but his mental training held. Lapinche couldn’t suppress the tendency to wiggle his ears a little in discomfort causing the puppet’s head to shake in mock discomfort. All that was done absentmindedly, as Lapinche quickly formed several tiny sharp blades of air inside his puppet and severed the strings connected to the hand. Then, immediately he released the valve for fake blood. He never would have thought the weird contraption built almost as a practical joke by his friend back home would have any practical uses. Clutching the severed wrist with the good hand, the puppet leaned on the pillar in dramatic effect, and circled around it leaving a bloody trail until he is no longer in the archer’s line of fire. More than likely, the strings from the severed hand were too thin to make out, and Lapinche can carry out the farce a little longer.

The arrow was a cause to concern, for Lapinche couldn’t hear it approaching until it hit, and he has been touted for having phenomenal hearing at the Monastery. Another wind contestant perhaps? And the loud bang was likely sonic manipulation. Lapinche was not going jump to the conclusion, but he was pretty certain of another wind contestant’s participation. He was sure though that the inclusion of another manipulator of the very air does cause him some concern. This person might be in tune to the slightest altercations, that would affect my subtle tricks.

Lapinche wasn’t altogether displeased. He cursed himself for being too cocky, but he was also pleased that now the other contestants might think he is injured. Maybe they’ll be lured into the lion’s den. He liked playing the lion, even in his case a vegetarian lion. A hint of pleasure showed through a glint in his eyes. He returned his manuscript to its holder and takes out a baby carrot. Lapinche rapidly nibbled the carrot away in less than a second. To observers, the puppet would be seen licking his wound.

AQ	Post #: 10

8/14/2007 17:33:36

Ryu Viranesh
Member

Ryu was watching carefully as the arrow went toward its target. But if he had not seen it he wouldn't have heard anything, which meant he had to watch this archers fighting pattern until he knew it by heart before he could strike. He saw the arrow sever the wrist of its target and noticed the blood dripping from the wound. Especially the blood, he noticed that some of it seemed to be dripping down something in midair, and he also noticed that the color of the blood seemed to be slightly different than usual. Just to be sure he took out his pouch of spell components and removed a small glass of his own blood which he kept for several spells, he was right the difference was slight but the color of the blood dripping from the mans hand was definately a different color. Fake blood, was what Ryu thought immediately but why? Then it hit him, armor, his opponent was wearing an ingeneiously made suit of armor that was meant to look like a real body. But that still left the question of the blood dripping in midair? Before he could find an answer he felt another magical power chill his bones. He immediately looked for the man with the jug, the only other fighter in the room, and saw nothing but a fine mist where he used to be sitting. An ice or water elemental warrior, Ryu's mind screamed. So that solved the question of who the strange man was aligned with. Now he had to figure out how to put all of the information he had gleaned so far to use. Hmmmmmmmmm.

Post #: 11

8/14/2007 17:47:36

Harlequinade
Member

How had it come here it could now tell. It did not possess any thoughts.
It was not designed to remember of days or locations. Its voyage to this place, over seas and mountains and over lands in war and through the little town of Bren all the way down to this cellar was all unknown to it. It did not have thoughts of identity; it did not held any understanding of time. It did not wonder why it was here, why it existed. It did not grasp the concept of life nor the concept of death. For these reason it was not alive.

There had been some dispute over whether or not it was allowed to fight as a contestant in this honourable tournament. Some claimed the wizard who made the yellow giant had to participate himself and create the golem when it was fighting. Others felt a golem could enter by itself but only if it was a golem made by any of the eight basic elements, which the Lords represented.
After long days or arguing it had been settled. A human consists of more than just earth yet it can fight in the name of the Earth Lord. A fire mage does not need to be made of flames in order to earn his Lord's grace. The golem could fight under the banner of the Water Lord. Water being what it was most connected to.
That it was not alive had caused even more problems. It could move and it could fight. It could walk to the left without being told to do so. But it had no thoughts of its own. It was but a machine held together with complex magic; runes on its chest and symbols unpronounceable to human tongues were carved in its shoulders and between its legs right there where a man or a woman tells what they are but where the golem's smooth, yellow surface left it genderless as well as lifeless.
But, the wizard had said, a zombie can enter as well as any other undead. Those already dead have no life either. Why would a golem be any different? And so what if the golem was of the wizard's creation? Even the strongest warrior in the land was made from his father and his mother. Surely the warrior deserved to fight himself rather than having his parents in the arena with him. The golem was as much of a fighter as any other thing. It could fight by itself once it was told to fight.

The golem knew nothing of this. It did not know its own name nor if it even had one. It did not know that it was a golem and neither did it known it was a golem made of an emotion. An uncommon one but perfect for the tournament. It was made of Schadenfreude. It fed on this, it grew on this and schadenfreude was what kept it alive. But it did not know of all this.
The golem had one thing in it and one thing only. It had been given an order, just one single order: Win the Elemental Championship.
It would be done.

It was a monstrosity to behold. A golem of schadenfreude was quite different from the durable but ordinary rock golems. This creature – or was it a machine? – was not made by putting a rock on top of another and carving in ones name in its forehead. To make the golem of schadenfreude you had to extract it from your own mind. You had to bring something from the plane of ideas and thoughts to the plane of existence. An idea had no shape or no form. You needed to bring the schadenfreude to a medium. Water. Water was the perfect element and it was in this element that the ideas were created in the first place – for the brain consists mostly of water.
Water could hold the schadenfreude. The golem took the form of a man for it was a man who had spawned the schadenfreude. But schadenfreude is not what a man if off. No single emotion is. Hate is an emotion that takes the shape of demons and fear takes the form of ghouls and ghosts. Love is beauty in its purest form. Greed is the green monster in the shadows – too hideous to behold.
Schadenfreude is a yellow giant. What had been formed from the wizard’s man stood nine and a half foot tall. After the process of extraction the wizard was drained of all his schadenfreude and could no longer feel any joy in what he did to the poor local boys in his tower’s torture chamber.
It had the outline of a human. It had two legs and a torso with shoulders broader than any human’s. But it did not have a head. It had no eyes and no mouth. It had no ears and no nose. It was stripped of senses. How it manoeuvred about was unknown but it seemed to have no problem finding its way. Not even in total darkness.
It had arms but these were not human either. The right arm was a sight that would leave even a barbarian ashamed of what his own body could muster. The upper arm was a smooth rectangle with razor sharp edges. It had en elbow, per se, but it seemed more like a ball and socket joint and allowed the lower arm to go in any direction the golem wanted it to. The arm itself was the most menacing of all. The arm was hard as steel and could serve as a shield. Even the strongest sword would not leave a scratch there. The entire golem was smooth and so well-polished that you could see your own reflection in it. But elsewhere dents and cuts could be made. In the lower right arm cuts and bruises were more difficult matters. But the arm was not just a shield. It was a weapon. While the creature did have a hand, though only two fingers and a thumb, then the sheer size of it was what made it so dangerous. It would be well able to reach around the head of a grown man and the force that arm seemed to posses should be more than enough to crush said head like an egg.
The other arm was like a retard child’s. It was small as a baby’s arm and seemed to have no feeling to it at all. It just hung there like a dead appendage, thin and pitiful and not able to move even if the golem had a will to want it to.
Its massive long slender legs were more similar to each other. Powerful, indeed, and as the golem did not know of fatigue then it would be able to keep on running until the magic that held it together faded and the golem fell apart. Knowing no pain it would fight like this as well. A juggernaut in its truest sense.
But on the back just a little above what seemed like the waist and a little to the left of its centre, was another small appendage sticking out. This one had no fingers or shape. It was like a small tail. Or maybe somehow the golem had genitals. A disgusting thought and a strange place for them to be but schadenfreude truly was a strange emotion. Devilish and scary. But perfect for battle.

When all the others entered the arena the golem had already been there for an unknown amount of time. It did not move. As it stood there in the shadows it must have looked mostly as a spare part of the water pillar.
But as the first arrow flew the golem moved. It straightened itself out with a mechanical screech, took a step forward and stiffened again. Was it thinking who it should attack? Was it using its alien senses to determine where it had the greatest chance of victory? Hardly. It could not think.
Regardless it made what seemed like wise choice in the eye of the average beholder. With a rather unimpressive speed it steadily ran towards the girl known as Lisa Hunter. The golem most likely had no idea of her name nor of her gender. Its reason for attacking her was unknown. But regardless to the ideas one could throw around and use to try and determine why the golem acted as it did then one could take a look at what was really happening.
What was happening was that the golem would tumble over the girl and its massive weight would crush the poor girl’s bones under the flat yellow feet. That is unless she moved, of course.

Post #: 12

8/14/2007 18:07:19

Varin
Member

Davian stood in the corridor, trying not to tremble. He succeeded, if barely. This was not what he signed up for. Fear and panic attempted to mold his actions with their insidious grasp. Nothing was how he expected to find it. Test of physical prowess my rosy left buttock he thought absently. Again panic attempted to lodge itself in the pit of his stomach. Two deep breaths and exhale, two deep breaths and exhale. This became his mantra, his entire existence. Gradually the terror passed, not more than a second after it attempted to take hold of Davian.

Davian took stock of the situation, this time not so much as blinking an eye at the ball of ice forming with one contestant in the middle of it. The teleportation trick by one contestant made Davian shy away.. That was something that he was not going to be messing with if at all possible. What are you? Insane or just stupid? You are a fighter by trade! You will be flayed and stretched in an instant! Again the menace attempted to strike. You've lived your life in blissful ignorance. But welcome to reality, fool. Davian flinched at an explosion and someone's hand being blown clean off. Hear that? That is the sound of your reckoning, your death knell. You are overmatched and outclassed. Nothingness comes for you. Listen closely and you can hear the Reaper pining for your soul, circling the arena; he is waiting to thresh your lump of useless flesh and free you of your mortal coil. Yes, weakling, tremble; you know for sooth that your time is nigh, your 'beliefs' have gotten you where in the end? Fool.

Davian collapses in the entryway to one knee, gasping for breath as the walls close in on him. The air is pungent, the cloying odor of years-old blood fills his nose with a vision of the inevitable. On his knees in what can only be described as mock-supplication, Davian sees a potential moment of his demise in his eyes, a smoldering corpse in a bank of sand. Another fleeting instant passes and he sees himself drowned in a pool of his own vomit whilst viewing his intestines folded into his hands. Yet another moment like this passes, and another, and another. Thousands of gruesome ends flash before his eyes in an instant, each one come about by the choices in his life, each death at the hands of yet another of the fickle Elemental Lords he spurns.

With a wordless howl he grips his only two friends he has ever known, his weapons. Doubt vanishes from his mind as he gathers himself. He screams back to the incorporeal voice in his head, Fool? Fool I call me? Never! I hold fast! My beliefs are mine alone, self, and I will not have ME of all people cast doubt upon them! He takes one deep breath and another. Proof of the Lords this is not, merely that people are born with an innate talent to control and manipulate that which I can not sense. I can and I shall prevail over them if not through the Mystical, then through the cunning and the brute. Davian's explanation falls feeble in his own ears, but it is all he can hold onto at the moment. He steels himself once more, stands, and blinks the last image out of his mind; himself spread-eagle, impaled by an eight-colored spike in a sea of nothingness.

The jeering crowd encourages him into action. Davian steps out of the corridor into the main body of the arena. He quickly surveys the underground battleground before locating his target. A man surveying the battleground from the side of the arena near him. Davian didn't know that his current opponent's name was Ryu, but he did know that he made a nice target sitting there, motionless. Davian started towards his intended prey with a fervor, hoping to close the ranks and cut anyone's advantage over him. On this plodding advance he grabbed a dagger from each forearm and launched them at his quarry. Davian quickened his pace and drew both his rapier and his mace, intending to follow up after his aim with the throwing knives prove true or not.

Post #: 13

8/14/2007 18:37:48

Ryu Viranesh
Member

Ryu heard the attack coming but he was ready and immediately dodged it as quick as he could. Then he decided to study his opponent a bit before setting off his trap. Ahhhh, Ryu thought, he felt no elemental power pulsing from the mans body and thought alright now to test you a bit before this ends. Ryu quickly drew two of his enchanted daggers and stood in a guard stance ready for anything. First came the mace, but before it could hit him Ryu whispered a trigger word that actavated the enchantments of one of his daggers. In an instant it was covered in searing flames. Ryu aimed his cut at the weapons handle and they collided with a clang. He saw the effect begin almost immediately, his daggers flames had started melting the handle of his opponents mace. Ryu then blocked the rapier with his other dagger and put it into such a position that his opponent could not pull the mace back easily. After he thought that the handle had had enough Ryu jumped back from the confrontation and smiled, waiting for his opponent to realize what had happened. No he would not be taken by surprise he would be ready for anything. Now, his opponent had noticed the handle, while his opponent was distracted Ryu activated his magical trap, flames that would lick up his opponents body and make it go completely numb.

< Message edited by Ryu Viranesh -- 8/14/2007 18:46:09 >

Post #: 14

8/14/2007 19:01:53

Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...

There was a crackling of arcane energy that reverberated mightily throughout the expansive cavern that created Cellar Arena. Displeasure resonated from these energies as a swirling vortex formed above Ryu in a kaleidoscope of colors with dread intent. Within the blink of an eye, Ryu was irrevocably struck by the energies, his effects snuffed and personage instantaneously transported miles away from the Arena complex and the burgeoning township of Bren.

The message was clear, invoke the displeasure of the Lords and your presence would not be tolerated further in this competition of valor and favor.

AQ	Post #: 15

8/14/2007 19:23:39

Cheeseliker
Member

Malloc shuddered as he entered the Cellar Arena, only just realizing the mistake he had made that could be fatal. He read the scroll that stated the information about the Cellar, and shook his head. What had he signed up for? As he walked to his starting location, thoughts whizzed through his head as overhwelming fear crept up. Just a nice little tournament to get your name known, right? Nothing big, nothing too special, and the risks they spoke of, of possibly dying? Had to be for show, to make the spectators more interested, right? Wrong. Malloc knew he had made yet another rash decision, though it may not have seemed so bad at first. He figured he had thought it through enough, but like always, his curiousity had gotten the best of him. He knew he was a good fighter, skilled in movement, and magic, but he wanted to know how good. Unfortunately, he had not considered the immensity or importance of this tournament. He did not want to die, but this was the Elemental Championship, with religious fanatics and incredible warriors abound, probably all ready to die, not to mention kill, for their Lord. He shook his head again, swearing at himself. He knew he should not be here.

And then, too suddenly, it started. An arrow flew, a large bang was heard, and combat was joined. Malloc no longer had time to ponder his situation, only to react, think quickly, and survive. He glanced around, studying the various combatants and their situations as best he could. A female archer that moved gracefully and quickly, much like himself, had fired the arrow, and was already moving to a new location. The arrow struck the man's wrist, and Malloc's eyes widened as the hand suddenly fell to the ground, cut off. Fear grew within Malloc, as he wondered just how nuts everyone in this Arena was. Then he saw the Water Golem. Just how in the hell were you supposed to fight that? He moved slowly, away from that, as it plunged towards some other female contestant. He noticed various others around the Arena, mostly doing as he was, standing alert, and watching for any openings. The fear got pushed away, as excitement took over. Malloc could not help but grin as he surveyed the Arena. This was going to be intense, and Malloc was actually looking forward to it. This would test his reactions and quickness like nothing before, and he was up for the challenge. "Let's do this." He said, looking for a victim.

He dropped his bag to the ground, in one of the few dark spots of the Arena, and quickly grabbed one of his juggling balls, which of course he had altered slightly. He kept his staff held steady in his other hand, it's feel calming him. His eyes caught sight of the archer, still moving, eyes probably still on her first target. Malloc felt bad about attacking a woman, but she seemed the second most threatening, being able to fire and move quickly, silently, almost invisibly. Malloc was definetly not going to take on the golem, at least, not yet. Also, her attention was most likely directed at her first target still, who had moved behind a pillar, and she was a ranged fighter, so his staff would serve him nicely in close quarters. He chucked the colorful juggling ball at her back, whispering a chant as he threw it. The ball suddenly grew hard as a rock, and then shattered with a loud Crack!, sending hundreds of tiny rock shards flying at her. Malloc was already running after the ball, gripping his staff hard in his hands as he went. She would probably dodge most, if not all the shards, because of her quickness, not to mention the shards would do little long lasting damage anyways. Of course, any hit she did get would not heal, but Malloc would not hope for that. The shards were merely a distraction at best. As she was distracted, Malloc would hopefully be able to get close enough to use his staff, which he now started spinning absentmindedly in his hands. Close quarters, he could gain the upper hand and hopefully knock her out with a good solid blow to the head. He knew it would never be that easy, but you must always start out with some kind of plan. Once the plan starts, its all action and reaction. Malloc was ready for both.

AQ	Post #: 16

8/14/2007 20:04:36

Riker
Member

Reave sat there observing. He knew that the battles were going to happen either way, and He was being judged. He believed that a great warrior should not concern themselves of offence, but rather in defence. Thoughts of his reasons entered his head. He started to recall his reasons for being here.

The rain hit outside the patchwork house. Books apon books were stacked on a desk. Every one about elemental association. A book flew across the room. "Answers! I need Answers." Reave shouted to himself. "Why won't any of these tell me what I am!"

Reave snapped back into reality. He was in an official turnament. There was no time for memories, as he might be struck at any moment and not notice it. He grabbed some mist and formed it into a frozen dagger, intricitely designed with an ice dragon, almost crystaline like as if made of glass. Under the mists cover, his motions were in stealth, for he could see them, but they could not see him. Stationalry poses made it easier to control the countless particles of ice, but also made him an easy target. The mist served other purposes though, as time will soon tell.

< Message edited by Riker -- 8/14/2007 21:56:45 >

AQ	Post #: 17

8/14/2007 21:15:08

Varin
Member

Davian continued towards his opponent, and cursed as his daggers sailed past his opponent, slicing through the air as they headed northwards. If he took the time to think of it, or if anyone took notice, they would sail northward before bouncing off the mirror and landing a few feet away from the north most wall. That is if no one was in the way to be hit by them.

Davian's vision became blurry and a deep feeling of failure filled his soul. There was a resistance as he made his attack, as if something raised to block them and then was gone shortly thereafter. Davian staggered backwards, and an unearthly caterwaul pealed through the arena. Where his opponent stood not a moment earlier, was nothing but a diminishing maelstrom of lights and colors.

Did you hear that, fool? That was the sound of that which you do not believe. The Lords have judged one useless mortal, not unlike yourself, and found him utterly wanting. Again not unlike yourself, and this one BELIEVED in the Elemental Lords. And yet they still cast him out like nothing more than day-old refuse.

Davian wavered, blinking the afterimages out of his eyes. Nothing registered. Devastation ravaged his fragile mind. The golem bearing down on the one contestant, the fleeing archer, none of it mattered or even registered to Davian. Nothing existed for him except his own thoughts for the moment. He was too shocked to even keep a hold of his weapons. His rapier clattered to the ground at his feet and his mace swung into his thigh. It may have hurt, it may have left a bruise, it may have been nothing more than a nuisance but there it hung from his limp wrist on its tether. Slowly, Davian slumped to the ground in a rumpled mess, falling next to his discarded rapier.

What is the matter, weakling? Did I say something that bothered you? Poor thing, poor poor thing. You are nothing, you are a failure. Remember that sound of displeasure before the Lords themselves culled that weakling? That is the contempt your family has ever held for you. That is but a fraction of the scorn that I hold for you; that you hold for you. You are but nothing. Useless. You can't even hold a weapon. What were you thinking? Were you even thinking? Can you even think? Fool.

If Davian's inner voice had been projected audibly, it would have come out as nothing more than a shaken whisper, wracked and broken. They don't... No such... In contrast to the timid nature of the one voice, if the criticizing voice were spoken aloud it would have been acerbic and sharp, cutting to the quick with a keen edge. Can't even admit that lie to yourself anymore? Worthless. At least if you believe something, stick to it, weakling. An idealist that can't even stick to his own ideals. You disgust me more than a nihilist that fights for a cause. Insignifican as ever, fool.

Davian screams in the purest agony; not even ripping his fingernails off would cause this kind of wail. With an uttered word of No he curls up into a fetal position and rocks, seemingly forgotten on the western wall of the underground arena.

Post #: 18

8/14/2007 21:50:23

demonhunter
Member

All around here, other contestants were attacking each other... Testing each other. The fighting hadn't truly started yet...

Or so she thought. She noted the golem's entrance with interest... Then with a hint of fear as it charged her. No eyes to see, no ears to here, how did it know she was there? Regardless, its apparant weight was not going to be kind to her.

She could try using magic to shield herself... No, that wouldn't work. A creature like that would not likely be held back by a mere wall of light. Teleporting would take time she didn't have, so that was out. So, she reasoned, more mundane tactics were called for.

She waited until the creature got within four metres of her person, then threw herself sideways in a neat cartwheel. Upon landing, she flipped backwards to put a little more distance between her and her foe, gathering light in her left hand as she did.

When she landed again, she hurled the gathered light at one of the mirrors, in the form of a short stream of energy. If she judged the angle right, the spell should ricochet off the mirror, and into the golem. Its effectiveness would help her judge her chances...

Post #: 19

8/15/2007 0:11:28

xaxtoo
Member

A normal fighter would be on high alert hiding behind a pillar from an attacker he can’t see, but for Lapinche, whose confidence is nonpareil, he couldn’t be any less nervous if he were at a picnic. He reached for another carrot before venturing out a little in his puppet, however, still remaining in the shadows of the pillar, to get a clearer idea of who his attacker was. The sight to his eyes almost made him choke on the half-eaten carrot. He didn’t expect two chases at all. One entailed a lady performing cartwheels to dodge what can only be described as an aberration of nature; the other featured a rather thin merry fellow throwing colorful balls at a bolting lady with a bow, who apparently is the one that shot at him earlier. He grumbled slightly, for he is not a fan of hit and runs: such acts lack honor of a face to face combat. He silently cheered on man in dark green. He ruminated slightly over the gratitude he might receive acting with chivalry, but quickly decided against taking actual action. His disguise might be further damaged in the rescue, and would effectively ruin his chances.

In the corner of his eye, he caught an effulgent brilliance sending scintillating crackles through the air. Lapinche quickly whirled his puppet around, spilling droplets of blood as he turned. Even with the valve off, his fake blood system still leaked, he might be dripping blood the whole match if there’s still some left in the reservoir.

The light disappeared, apparently along with it disappeared one of the contestants. Lapinche closed his eyes and whispered a small and brief prayer for the poor soul who has already offended his Elemental Lord. An ear-splitting scream interrupted his prayer midway. Opening his eyes brought about a disgusting image of a contestant in utter embarrassment to himself and to his Elemental Lord, curled up on the floor slowly rocking in a traumatized fashion. Lapinche cringed in anticipation of a thumb entering the mouth, but to his relief it never materialized.

Almost instinctively, Lapinche took a couple of steps towards this broken man, leaving his shelter. Regaining some resemblance of sense, Lapinche stopped and looked around in quick survey. Disregarding what he already saw, he noticed a shroud of icy mist on the opposite side of him. Seeing as how he can’t discern what is really happening inside the shroud, he would pay it no mind until something of consequence materializes. Just as a precaution, he gingerly took a flea from his lower back. Unfortunately he used the broken hand of the puppet and stained his garment. So much for being presentable. In an instant, with the skill of someone with lots of previous experience, he crafted a small, almost undetectable breeze and sent the flea away first through the puppet’s sleeve to fly inconspicuously towards the shimmering ice cocoon.

He resumed his walk towards the man on the ground. Almost on top of the fellow, he stopped once again, almost reluctant to carry through with what he was doing. He would much rather avoid pathetic displays of weakness from destitute people if he can. But he wasn’t brought up to disregard honor on the battlefield, nor aid others in the act of a dishonorable act. Stiffening his resolve, he finished his approach. By bending the puppet down in hopefully a display of intention to aid rather than harm, he accidentally spilt some blood onto the stranger’s face. Grimacing, he said in the fabricated deep voice, “I’m going to move you out of the way.” Such close proximity to the stranger drove vanity out of his mind and he didn’t even care if his voice came from the puppet’s abdomen rather than from where the mouth is. With that, he stuck out the good hand with the intent of dragging the man into the closest corner.

< Message edited by xaxtoo -- 8/15/2007 0:38:11 >

AQ	Post #: 20

8/15/2007 0:33:22

Riker
Member

The light small object hitting the mist was enough to cause alarm. He focused around the exact area of which the ice particles were moved from, and collected apon the object, freezing it into a small ice cube and letting it hit the ground. He stared at the ice cube and using basic geometry, determined the precice line in which the object could have entered. This came from a cloaked man, now walking cross the battle field towards another in the fetal position. He wispered into his ear before offering his hand out. This action was odd, a sneak attack maybe. Time to ponder wasn't on his side. He had waited long enough. He told himself "Time to attack." He thought about the timing. The two, including the one in the fetal position, the large golom and the mage, and the archer and rock thrower were all distracted. The mist had dissapated, and in its place were hundreds of ice needles sorrunding him. He thought to himself the mirrors reflecting the needles while I maintain momentum. Even though directional control is out of the question apon firing. He ran out into the middle, still sorrunded by the needles, and launched them into the entire arena. He only hoped that no one would be killed.

AQ	Post #: 21

8/15/2007 15:12:31

Harlequinade
Member

The earth trembled beneath the yellow giant as it ran; each step sounded like the hit of a war drum. Small gusts of dust swirled around the massive feet whenever they impacted with the solid ground. The silent golem was indeed a fearful sight to behold.

The miniature tremors came closer towards the girl, Lisa Hunter as the maker of the tremors rushed forward - or rather it came running. It's steady pace hardly seemed fair to judge as "rushing". And, indeed, the lack of speed was cleverly used by the girl - such an acrobat – as she cartwheeled and backflipped out of the golem's path.
By the time the golem acted to the change of setting the girl was already preparing her attack, meaning she had yet to land. Only women could truly do two things at once, it was said.
The golem simply altered its path and continued its odd charge.
As the gigantic creature came running and Lisa Hunter vanished it bend its knees and slammed its one good arm down into the ground – the tremor created this time gave a clue of the golem’s incredible raw power.
Using its own arm as a turn pole it shifted its weight and was as such allowed to turn around quickly without a significant loss of momentum. In the process of running it pulled its arm from the ground and continued its charge against the girl.

It had in all this time completely ignored the girl's attack. It paid no attention when she blasted her magic against the wall and it was either not capable of understanding a threat or simply did not judge the light bolt as a worth avoiding .
In either case the girl had not been far off in her calculations and the stream of light energy blasted against the mirror wall, only to be reflected against the turning golem. The blast illuminated the nearest few feet of its target as it struck the golem on top of its left broad shoulder - just above where the childlike arm began. Leaving a black, warm mark on the otherwise sun-yellow golem the attack had no effect whatsoever. The creature felt no pain and the impact had not been enough to tumble over the half-ton golem. Whether or not the shoulder had been weakened was impossible to tell at the moment for the golem did not scream and it had no face to express itself with. No one could tell if the golem was even aware that it had been struck.
Mockingly Lisa Hunter's attack might even have benefited the golem. Previously a petty attack had been launched to all in the arena. Some poor soul had dared to attack all from the centre of the arena. He had tossed ice needles throughout the arena and the golem, too, had been struck. But there was a good distance between the warrior of the Ice Lord and the golem of schadenfreude and as such only a few needles had hit the yellow back. Even more so the ice needles had lost so much power when finally reaching the largest of the possible goals that most needles simply broke off the sturdy yellow golem’s back. Only five needles had maintained the needed power to penetrate its smooth surface, as well has having maintained the needed position so that the sharp end hit in an angle close to 90 degrees. But these five needles now vanished in the blinding light, either having been melted from the heat of the light attack or been blown away by the force. If the blast had, indeed, been beneficial then irony was truly a cruel mistress.
It was unlikely that Lisa Hunter knew of the needle issue as the golem at all times had been charging with its front to her. The needles on the back could not have been seen. This spared the poor girl of blaming herself. But even if she had seen the effect of her attack then she would hardly have any time to hate herself. For if she stopped now and cursed a herself rather than moving out of the golem’s way then the massive arm, which the creature lifted high above where its head should have been and seconds later swung it down with awesome might. If Lisa Hunter was to be where the hand struck then the Elemental Lords have more mercy on the poor girl's soul than the golem of schadenfreude ever had.

< Message edited by Harlequinade -- 8/15/2007 16:34:28 >

Post #: 22

8/15/2007 16:42:04

TormentedDragon
Member

The situation had already changed in the paltry few minutes since she'd made her move. One concern was gone, born away on a display of divine displeasure, and another concern had appeared in the form of something massive. It was not aiming at her, fortunately, but it would need to be dealt with eventually. She slowed, hand reaching for the quiver on her hip. Her fingers ran lightly over the arrows, pondering, it would seem, which one to use. They came to rest on one marked "Tremolo", drew it halfway out of the quiver... and her bells chimed.

She swiveled around, her arrow slipped into the bow's third string and brought to bear in one fluid motion. The shot was hasty, and would not strike her attacker, but as the shaft flew, it sung, a single piercing note repeated over and over, born on a series of expanding rings of wind. The wind played havoc with the shards, the passage of the arrow scattering them in all directions but her. The bells chimed again, and she nocked another arrow, a Crescendo this time, and loosed it. The Crescendo immediately began to hum, growing louder and louder as it passed through the rain of needles on its way towards the iceling. In its wake followed a sudden vibration of air, a wall of movement that sent the needles flying back the way they came, reversing the path of the storm. "Behold my symphony."

Post #: 23

8/15/2007 17:20:42

xaxtoo
Member

“Disgusting” was the only thought to encroach his mind, when Lapinche’s acute sense of hearing picked out an explosion and saw the ice cocoon explode into tiny fragments dispersing regardless of direction. Righteous indignation deluged his mind not because he felt any patronage towards the man whimpering on the ground, but because honor on the battlefield had just been undermined by the iceman attacking a helpless victim.

Harnessing his chi into a small condensed sphere, he quickly released it, proficiently stretching it while infusing it with air particles to strengthen the shield, until it has formed a wall of protection between the incoming needles and his puppet and the man on the ground. The barrage of ice needles struck the chi shield only to harmless bounce off surrounding the vicinity in a thin layer of white graffiti. Now due to the fickle nature just revealed of the iceman, Lapinche would have no time to personally drag the man into a corner, not that he had given any thought as to how he would have accomplished this in the first place with a lamed one handed puppet not built to move weight, having marched there impulsively with sheer instinct and willpower driving practicality from his mind. Putting his puppet’s hand on the collar of the man’s garment, he called upon wind magic once more to surround the man in a protective shell. Once again invoking his chi, he readied a large burst of wind in the sleeve of his puppet, before he half dragged, then flung the man aided by the gust ensuing from his puppet to the closest corner. He turned his attention away before he saw the man stop rolling. His method lacked finesse and care, but it certainly had its charm in its expediency.

Still holding the reigns on his righteous anger, Lapinche called back his flea named Germaine only to find the poor little fella, frozen in a small cube. He was only named this morning, and Lapinche would consider this a rude commemoration to celebrate the flea’s birthday. With one paw, he gently placed the poor guy on his belly while using the other paw, now wetted with saliva, stroked the hair to form a small protective barrier so the little guy wouldn’t fall off. Remembering back to one of the warning signs of the arena, Lapinche realized with a shock that Germaine would not be able to heal as long as he is still in this dank forsaken place. Vowing quietly to end the ordeal quickly for the sake of his friend, his original mission to place in the Elemental Championships had taken an oblique turn for the worse. Iceman had critically injured one part of a no longer parasitic relationship but instead one of symbiotic understanding, where grievances to his fleas are taking umbrage to Lapinche himself. Another gate had been opened; righteous anger coalesced with the newly entered thought of revenge. Action bordered imminent.

Finally, relinquishing his stranglehold, the catalyst of emotions surged throughout his body, sending warm flows of chi throughout his entire system. He hadn’t lost control, merely, he was redirecting his anger and sharpening his revenge so they’ll increase his lethality. His body was in tune to the will of the mind, to the sentiments of the heart, and instincts of his muscles. His hearing, acutely increased. Every sound echoed through his mind in a chaotic flow. All he had to do was simply isolate the ones pertinent to the matter at hand, not an easy task despite having a simple concept. The footsteps of the runners, faded away. The cackling of the fire coming from the torches dimmed. The annoying whimpering muted. Ah the strand of Lapinche’s heartbeat, steady and regular, more importantly, in sync with the natural ebbs of his chi. The reviled iceman’s breathing, inhale, exhale, Lapinche can hear it clearly, slightly laborious, he can also hear an undertone of wheeze, but that won’t manifest itself even to doctors until much later. Right by the soft tones of breathing was the iceman’s heartbeat, inconsistent, fraught with nerves, perhaps from taking a shot at everyone without considering the repercussions. Both of them will cease soon enough. Splat, splat, the rhythmic droplet of blood splattering on the ground served as a metronome of sorts for Lapinche to assess his timing once he started his approach.

Drop
Lapinche released the tension on his muscles and the puppet sprang into action making a beeline for iceman. Within several steps the puppet reached its potential.

Drop
In what only can be described as a display of sheer speed, much faster than a normal human can hope to achieve, the puppet closed in. Lapinche can imagine the puppet’s joints straining even creaking under pressure to keep the puppet together. With the puppet at its max, he can’t coax any more speed from it without risking fracturing the structure.

Drop
Closer now, much closer, maybe 15 more steps, before Lapinche can unleash his attack. An unexpected shrieking closing in by the second invaded his aural zen, but he disregarded it as inconsequential, his vacuous air bubble will grant him enough time to dodge. The end was nigh for iceman. That was not a boast.

AQ	Post #: 24

8/15/2007 18:43:56

Varin
Member

Davian's voices ravaged their way across his mental battleground. Razor sharp dominating weak and broken. Again and again the keen one whispered to Davian's self-perception, flaying to the bone his perceptions of the world, now proved irrevocably false.

A cold and wet stickiness spreads itself across Davian's face. An unearthly voice howled in his ear, I'm going to make you pay, was what the shattered and broken Davian was able to piece together from his faltering senses. Dread gripped his soul. Concentrated fear, liquid and insidious, oozed its way into his being. It was as if every unrealized dream and every early death Lore had ever known clung the very fiber of his being. They are coming, the Lords you refute are here to reap your essence. Your time is nigh, fool. What they gifted a weakling with, life, will be snuffed in an instant, cast to the ether. Perhaps then you will be of some use to something, unlike your current carcass.

Davian shuddered and trembled, a thin whimper escaped his lips. An explosive thump from the other side of the arena was felt as a shockwave, yet his body barely registered. A shrill whistle followed by a bass droning foreshadowed the abrupt end his life was turning towards. Here he was, paralyzed by fear and his own perceptions of reality and he could do nothing to stop his reckoning. His eyes provided the correct view of events but his mind translated it's own details.

To Davian, it appeared as if a skeletal hand grasped his throat, constricting his airway. With words of eldritch power this disembodied creation flung him, soaring through the air. Davian collapsed into a tattered heap, landing hard upon his own mace. With a wheezing chuff the air exploded out of his lungs. His rapier was cast off into the distance, forgotten, not unlike his beliefs.

The voice in Davian's head, Davian could no longer discern whether it was his own or someone else's. Whoever it belonged to was not one to give Davian even the briefest of reprieves. You are lost, you are nothing, you are inconsequential. What you have always failed to realize is what you believe in matters not, and by extension you matter not. The Lords have always existed whether or not you've wanted to admit to yourself that or not. The voice cackles it's glee at the suffering it has wrought.

But... evidence... there, no, proof… Lords, Exist? This timid scrap of himself seems to clutch onto the idea that he was wrong. Failure, useless, nothingness. His consciousness drifts as his voices war against one another. If one would have been able to observe this match, they could make the observation that the more that Davian admits, the less that the other voice affects Davian, but not near enough to save his sanity.

Wrong, always wrong. Failure, fool, worthless. Screwed self over. What was.. thinking? Again Davian can near enough sense the sneer in the other disembodied voice as it replies, Were you? Can you? Broken husk of a man, you are nothing. The Lords take no glee in rending you limb from limb. It is They that wish to see you destroyed by their own competitors, They have no time for you; weakling. You are beneath Their notice. Yours is a fate to die not at Their whims. but Their believer's whims.

Again a weak whimper issues forth from his slack lips. Davian's body wheezes as it exhales stale breath and greedily sucks in another, hungry for the life-giving oxygen; his nervous system kicking in where he left off. In a feat of pure willpower, his body pushes itself up to its feet. Pure instinct has taken control of Davian, his mind is in another place and self preservation will not allow him to give up. He continues to his feet. Slowly, he begins plodding towards the center of the arena; his mace in his left hand, his right empty, rapier discarded. The look in Davian's eyes is chilling, a pure instinctual fury grasping him while his mind reels and races.

Post #: 25

Page: [1] 2 3 next > >>

All Forums >> [Gaming Community] >> [Role Playing] >> The Championships >> =Elemental Championships= Cellar Arena

Page 1 of 3

Jump to:

Icon Legend

New Messages	No New Messages
Hot Topic w/ New Messages	Hot Topic w/o New Messages
Locked w/ New Messages	Locked w/o New Messages

Post New Thread

Reply to Message

Post New Poll

Submit Vote

Delete My Own Post

Delete My Own Thread

Rate Posts

Forum Content Copyright © 2018 Artix Entertainment, LLC.

"AdventureQuest", "DragonFable", "MechQuest", "EpicDuel", "BattleOn.com", "AdventureQuest Worlds", "Artix Entertainment"
and all game character names are either trademarks or registered trademarks of Artix Entertainment, LLC. All rights are reserved.
PRIVACY POLICY