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=Elemental Championships= Spike Arena

 
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8/13/2007 20:42:45   
Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...


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.

~~~

The Spike Arena was rightfully so called, and one of the magicians now leaving it chuckled softly on how the protective spells were best cast upon to combatants rather than the crowd, at least to assure the former would live long enough to provide a spectacle for the latter.

The huge metal gate a - a trademark of the Arena Complex, no doubt - now open, the contenders could now peer through and see what sort of obstacles lied in wait for them within.

Of the three Arenas, the Spike one was the most gruesome to behold, with an interior, both floor and slightly tilted spike-covered walls made completely out of a cold blue metal, one which, as they've been instructed before, was non-breakable by either magic or force. There were miniature channels at where the floor connected to the spikey walls, with even smaller holes along them, leading to who knows where - a moment's thought would reveal that this was indeed a sewage system for nothing else but blood!

The plentiful spikes which lent the Arena its name were all made of the same metal, and each at five feets length, attached firmly to the walls they stood perpendicular to - thusly being at an upwards angle to the ground itself. The only four spikes not at the walls lied still at the bottom of a very large - yet again, metal - pillar, to it's top they were attached by a lengthy chain. There was an inscription on the pillar, which would reveal to anyone who bothered to circle it and read it all, would reveal that there was a featherweight enchantment on all the four spikes, which would make them weigh but a tenth of what they would normally, making them a very much usable, if a tad unwieldy, weapon. But there was more! If the spike's surface was to come in contact with bone of any sort, it's reduced weight effect would either be reversed, making the spike ten times as heavy instead of ten times as light, or would be turned into a levitation enchantment, which would then make ten times the spike's weight fly straight up into the sky at an instant. There was no way to know exactly what would happen, and there was even less to know for those who never did bother to read the warning - but for both of these, the massacre that was the Elemental Championship was about to begin.

The sun hovered above the metal pillar, making it look as some sort of an odd... altar? pedestal?

Mausoleum?

Worse yet...an abattoir?

...all would hope that it would not be theirs, but people -- people were known to make mistakes.
AQ  Post #: 1
8/14/2007 0:36:55   
SZO11
Member

A nice breeze, not the kind you would expect in one of the arenas that does not have anything to do with most elements. Must have been one of the wind elements then. As Tal heard that this year's "batch" had more of these "experts on nothingness" than any other element.

The old man known as Tal strides in through the entrance, scanning the spectator’s area with his limited eyesight claimed by his aging skin’s wrinkles. First. Who would have guessed that the last one to find himself too late at last year's was first to this one. The spectators saw the man before him more as one of those who should be leaving the area rather than entering. He knew they would be trying to guess his element as such he tried his best to avoid taking a swig from a strange container in his coat. As he walked his faded green coat was catching the colors of the ground. His sandals made an annoying wooden clack each time the floor tried to knock him down by being in his way.

Everything was in his way.



He was sick of it.

He heard some mention of the contestants before hand, just a young community, full of such seemingly spoiled fighters, with fancy weapons and armor. They looked like their experience weighted heavily on the protection of their defensive and offensive “accessories”. But this was a elemental battle, meaning that their main way of attacking would be using one of the 7 other elements, meaning no other water competitors. Lucky, those fights are annoying. But elements in this arena will be especially used to their limits. Spikes are a little overkill. But no one dared think that this arena was ordinary. That was always the first mistake these children make.

He was the first to come, so he may be the first targeted. But there's no way he can make the first move, all he would have to do is wait around a random spike and retaliate. He slowly walked away from the center as to not draw the attention to him, being caught off guard was the worst thing that could happen.


God, I hope it rains today.
AQ DF  Post #: 2
8/14/2007 1:19:34   
Mars Phoenix
Member

A loud metal noise would start pounding from the entrance... another person entering the arena. Every loud step was produced by the heavy armor he was wearing. Completely clad in metal, except for his head, Mars walked into the arena slowly, with a light smile on his face. In the back of his armor was a sort of slot for two large swords, it seemed. Their handles stuck out of the back. He wasn't hiding his physical weapons. If it weren't for the odd smile on his face, he would look fairly formidable.

He saw Tal over by one of the spikes and his smile became warmer. Moving a little bit closer, he yelled to the man, "Good afternoon!"

Awkward that a man here for battle would be greeting one of his opponents in such a way, but many would soon learn how off-beat Mars really was.
Post #: 3
8/14/2007 2:16:09   
Darkshine
Member

There is such a thing as a mountain that kills.
---Quite frankly, it can't really be called a mountain.
A vast, frozen murderer that wanders. Stretching dozens of meters underneath the surface; sharp, toothed peaks seeking victims above.
An enormous predating lifeform. An Iceberg.

A man followed into the arena. He was transfixed, eyes scanning in disbelief. Looking for them. He wasn't a stalker, he was... Iceberg Hunter. He had felt a hunch, a kind of ill-omen picking on the back of his head, but he was late. He wryly mused over his initial delay at the entrance, wondering whenever it was deliberate, but decided against it; They would simply not allow non-participants in. Did these people know of such things as an iceberg of sound? They had probably never seen an iceberg inside flesh. An iceberg of time.
He walked forward, holding a gigantic weapon. It was shaped like a hunting bow, a crescent, two main arched parts joint in the middle by a piece that worked as both the handle and sight. It was made entirely of metal, a set of chains replacing the string. Monstrously large and sturdy, tall as he was. Stamped on the side was the warning: "PROPERTY OF YULGAR", and below, on a simpler font: 'Gaobreighs, do not tauch, DS.'
He had only one projectile.

(Outside, at the edge of the arena, BTNers awaited intently for something. A minute, spiral snap of energy flashed on their screens, and then disappeared. Satisfied, the fluffy ball acting-as-leader ordered the others around, remaining quite still on its spot, like their own pink Buddha. For a moment nothing happened; And after the pause, a small section of the sky above the arena began to darken. Thunders barked, and lightning followed - but didn't leave; staining the now sizable cloud-sign with crisscrossed lightning-ads. The first one was 'Buy at Yulgar's')

Iceberg Hunter checked again and felt relieved. Nothing.
That was, until he saw him. Strolling casually along with the competitors. No, rather, in front of the rest. Wrinkled skin. Faded green coat. The old man was unpleasant, disgusting. His back was towards the hunter.
Sweat broke the hunter's skin; An old dizziness assaulted him. His consciousness was aghast and terrified. His eyes focused on the old man in green: The man, that wasn't quite a man, but

an iceberg

iceberg in disguise.

The hunter's stance changed before he could think again (Much later, when the fighting was done, the Iceberg Hunter realized that his movements had followed no coherent pattern. He amusedly wondered over what would've happened if his instincts hadn't taken over). His veins flowed with a viscous, gel-like liquid that wasn't quite normal blood: plasm null-charged with electro-thaumaturgy; Magic enhancing the organism. (and now the could reads 'To kitten is divine')
His fingers touched steel. He reached across his back, pulling his single bolt in a smooth, clean arc. His motions had been crafted skillfully, and partially for aesthetics; every move followed the rest in rhythm, very much like a dance (Off by a beat). His body moved as he intended it, not an inch more. It's what he has trained to do.
He aims. And his first half-thought breaks through. 「 」 him.

He doesn't finish it. His body acted without him knowing what he wanted to do. His aim was flawless. And then the Iceberg Hunter opened his hand, wailing a cry like a banshee, chains creaking with their momentum on the air, and released the Possible Harpoon.

"Possible Harpoon, FIRE!"
(A voice comes and goes in that split of a second, but it remains unattended by the hunter facing the iceberg at large.)

A low static sound. He let go of the bow, now left redundant. Bursts of thaumaturgic flow surged through the pores of his skin; His limbs sweat blood. Not taking a second, the hunter lowered his center of gravity. No - he crouched on the floor like a beast, face down, his chin only centimeters higher than his knees. One hand reaching for a gun in his hip holster; and then the hunter leaped forward like a spider, quite unafraid, never leaving much distance between himself and the ground. An ebony afterimage courses after his legs like a wild corona; there is a darkly shining energy pulling him, part pushing part towing the Iceberg Hunter at an inhuman speed.

The Possible Harpoon still flies, and the Hunter comes behind it.

Only now does the rest of the bow hit the floor. His body spins like a top, legs twisting, switching amid the leap into a dash, and suddenly he is holding the gun with his right hand, firing one piraha randomly, and then taking aim.

His harpoon is a weapon of possible strikes; It for every hit that connects, all that failed to become reality reshape as ghost-harpoons, and all hit with his power. The catch - The more precise the strike, the more wasted the harpoon; if a marksman were to shoot at point-blank range, the possibilities that manifest aren't too different from the course the fact-harpoon would've taken.

The dash ends five meters away: A miscalculation, his style more fit for icy surfaces than metal.

Then he raised his head.
"Oh?"
And ran away.

Not an iceberg.

< Message edited by Darkshine -- 8/14/2007 2:27:11 >
AQ  Post #: 4
8/14/2007 8:31:37   
SZO11
Member

Yes, these annoying youngsters have seemed not to earn their place yet. For the have no respect for their eld-"Good Afternoon!"

Without turning around, Tal stopped as cold as ice. A big mistake around the second opponent who entered.

"POSSIBLE HARPOON, FIRE!" War cried the hunter. “Loud hooligans these days,” responded Tal. The second sound couldn’t reach the decrepit ears of this poor man. But he could sense the disturbing atmosphere. The crowd, the other contestants, even the moisture in his bones, all seemed to have a noiseless scream of "Turn around", like if nails on a chalk board were to produce no sound, your shoulders would still twitch. Perhaps waiting for someone else to make the move wasn't the best of ideas…

The Harpoon tore into the into his jacket while moving, the horrible sight of this old man losing his grip on the ground and slowly lifting him into the air. The rest of the opponents watched as his body flung its rag-doll self along with the harpoon into one of the holes between the floor and walls. Hearing the strange crack of what seemed like old bone against this metal iceberg.

"Right in the Heart of it, too."

He was a water mage, what good could a water mage do? Transform into water? Ha! That would be as possible as turning water into an old man.. Heal himself? He was an expert of moisture, not skin and bone. Die? On the first attack? How could he go to whatever world after this with the shame of being more of a victim than a fighter. The only thing he could do was to think to himself.

Strange, I don't feel any pain through my body, are you supposed to feel something when it pierces through it? Does the body have the sense of touch on the inside? Am I already dead? If not, what saved me?

He slowly took his arm to feel for the harpoon, it was warm from the friction, but a bit of the head of the harpoon was stuck in the small hole which meaning was clear the second it hit. He felt around it and found there were actually four other harpoons around it, going all the way to his chest, which surprisingly was warm also. His heart seemed to be in that area.

The four surrounding harpoons disappeared with the same sound as a few whispers among those paying attention broke through the silence. “Why did he use a bow to shoot a spear?” “Is that man all right?” “Man that was cool, do it again!”

The old man loosened himself from the harpoon, enough to see a small portion of his heart stuck somewhere in this "sewage system for blood". But his body could still move. He pulled himself free by jumping backwards to let the whole harpoon slip out. A few of the audience gasped that he was still alive. While sliding off, he found his container punctured, but with no water spilling out of it. Once finally off, he placed his hand into his chest out of curiosity, and found that his heart wasn’t there, but a warm slightly dense feeling. He had a water heart.

His strange container was also hit by this "harpoon" as the hunter called it. Which may have been the reason why he was still alive due to that water. The sewage system would not get it's fill yet. As his blood flowed back into him and mixed with the water inside. He wrenched this harpoon free, intending to use it, not as a weapon, but as a shield. It was probably the only thing on this arena that he could use to protect himself against these spikes...He turns back to find the Hunter already gone. Puzzled, he dropped to his knees with harpoon in hand, still...as frozen still as an iceberg.

< Message edited by SZO11 -- 8/14/2007 13:00:41 >
AQ DF  Post #: 5
8/14/2007 10:13:38   
Viroxor
Member

He was expecting there to be a light at the end of the tunnel.

No, he wasn't dead, but he was expecting it to be lighter once he reached the entrance to the arena. Boy, did he expect wrong. There was no light here, not real light. Not even the grates on the ceiling would allow sunlight into this dungeon, because of all the people watching through them. What light there was was provided artificially, by magic, no doubt. And it wasn't anything light elementals could use to their advantage, since it wasn't real. The darkness competitors would have their own way here, though. Although spikes lined the walls, shadows were everywhere. Aaron was in for a fun time against them.

But not yet, maybe. What we had here were three enemies. One was so obviously ice, you'd have to be retarded not to see it. He looked dangerous, but that was the risk he took. He signed up for this, not knowing who would be here. It could be anyone who might show up in this arena. He didn't recognize their names, but he certainly didn't know what they looked like. Another was a large, heavily armored man, and the last figure standing in the dimly lit room was a simple old man. He felt bad about having to fight an old man, but the oldster himself would probably get angry if he told him that.

A simple sigh escaped his fresh lips, as he looked up at the ceiling, while meanwhile walking toward the center. On the far side, a pillar rose from the floor with spikes connected to chains atop its flat surface. Wind mages might be tougher in here, too. All it would really take was a strong gust to blow somebody right into one of the walls...

Aaron determined not to think about that. The thought itself was a bit graphic, and the thought of it happening to an innocent person was worse, to say nothing of contemplating what it must feel like. Such thoughts were what would turn him into a devil of this world, like the rest of the population. Mom and Dad wanted better from him than that, and he knew Uncle Charlie did to. Uncle Charlie was here, watching the combatants enter with the rest of the spectators, from above the ceiling grates. His cousin Danny was here too. Danny wanted to participate, but his parents would hear nothing of it. They could never allow him to participate in something like this. He just wasn't ready in their eyes.

But they had allowed him to come watch Aaron's participation, despite their protests that his Mom and Dad shouldn't let him compete either. Mom and Dad knew he understood the risks, though. He had made that quite clear. He wanted to make a name for himself and the family. For family was something that was to come before even the Gods. That wasn't a very widely shared belief, and one that, in some places, could get him beheaded. But family was the deciding factor in everything. If he won this monster among contests, his family would attain honor bestowed only on those of legend. And that would earn him a place in the family mausoleum, where all honorable family members were laid to rest.

Back in the moment, Aaron took another look around, to ensure no attacks became directed at him as he walked toward the pillar. Soon, the stalemate would be broken, and combat would begin. Then the real battle of wits would start.

And his resolve would truly be put to the test.
AQ  Post #: 6
8/14/2007 19:05:37   
darkgillshadow
Member

He stood at the mouth of the arena, beaming from ear to rounded ear. His brown skin seemed to glow in the sunlight, his greasy hair shining. This was exactly what he had signed up for. The Sun, The Stage, The Audience! And...of course, the other competitors. Or as he liked to call then, with a flourish of his patchwork cloak, victims. He thrust his hand out, the tails of his sash floating up from the suddenness of the motion, and began calling upon his magic, right there in the doorway of the arena. He chanted, made the hand motions, grasped a handful of straw from somewhere and threw it up in the air, and finished casting a spell on himself. His scrawny body's outline glowed brightly, then faded. He cracked his knuckles, smoothed his robes down, and grinned out at the arena. He took a deep breath, and soon it was clear what spell he must have been casting. His voice boomed out into the Spike arena, Amplified.

"Ahahahaha! Ladies and gentlemen, Mister Fahrenheit has arrived!"

His hands gestured about, as if he were casting another spell, or simply posing for the benefit of the crowd. He flipped his hair. Was there a spell that required the caster to flip his hair?? Then he ran out into the arena, approaching the cloud of dust. Within it he was assured to find a fitting first victim! He skidded to a halt, waving his hands half-comically to regain his balance, then swept his cloak back on his shoulders and faced the concealed man down, his back facing ten or so feet of ground, and then an imposing spiked wall.

He pointed at Dwight's obscuring cloud of dust, his voice normal again. "Hey, listen! Can you hear me in there?" He narrowed his eyes, one of his bushy brown eyebrows skyrocketing as he directed the lowered one at the cloud. He then swept his arms out and addressed the cloud in a friendly salesman's voice. "How would you like to burn to burn to ashes, sir? Allow me to demonstrate!"

He threw his arms out and began to chant, his palms facing Dwight, his body like a cross. Once he was finished chanting he dropped both arms, lowered his head, then took a step forward and swung his arms up, waggling his fingers and cackling madly. Two waves of heat rushed by Dwight, whose dust cloud was blown away by the dual breezes of superheated air. He then stepped back and stuck his arms straight up in the air, feet together, head thrown back. The effect was incredible, two simultaneous walls of flame shot up, rising to a height of seven feet on each side, starting at Fahrenheit's end and rolling down to Dwight's, leaving him at one end of an eight-foot wide corridor.

The young man crossed his arms over his chest and the walls of fire remained, blocking them off from the other combatants. He had no way to escape, yet he seemed completely confident. The end of the corridor behind him was blocked off by a wall of spikes, and what was sure to be an angry or frightened fighter was at the other, open end. "Well? Are you impressed yet?"

He laughed raucously, like a crow. "Hold still, big guy, and I'll show you a real doozy! No more dancing about!" He seemed to be enjoying his own theatrics quite a bit. "Prepare to burn, big guy!"

He threw his arms out again and the waves of heat sprang up along the middle of the corridor, between Dwight and Mr. F. The lane between them seemed to stretch, as hazy waves of heat rose from the metal ground. He began to hum, in a voice that grew louder and louder, his arms thrown out wide, his eyes closed, his chin tilted towards the sky. He began to shout the arcane words to the spell, slowly, and his voice seemed to reverberate with power. Instead of the fifteen feet that had stood between the combatants initially, there now seemed to be about double that. Thirty feet between the warrior Dwight and the chanting spellcaster, who was still gathering up power. The walls seemed to flicker and grow larger, more ominous, dwarfing the both of them, reaching seven feet in the air.

-His mind was whirling with the possibilities already. Meteors. Flame Beasts. Fire Breath. So many visual lies to create, and so little time! But there were very, very real dangers everywhere for him to conceal, and use to his advantage. This would be the first of many marvelous successes! Now, most of the flames are real. Fahrenheit had cast Flame Pillar a few times, to add heat and realism to the illusion. The real Fahrenheit was standing outside the fire wall, though, watching Dwight from a gap in the pillars that he couldn't see. He'd Stretched the man's perception of the corridor, and the Decoy Fahrenheit was 'standing' on the 'ground' a few feet into the spikes wall. The real Fahrenheit was working frantically, shrouding himself in an illusory tongue of flame and conjuring more three-foot Pillars of Flame along the fire walls, enough to convince Dwight that the walls really were hot, and on fire.-

< Message edited by darkgillshadow -- 8/15/2007 0:02:06 >
AQ  Post #: 7
8/14/2007 23:50:45   
Mars Phoenix
Member

Mars just watched on as the man with the harpoon launcher fired at the old man. He grinned with excitement, the heat of battle... This is what he came for!

Before he could act, more and more combatants showed up. A quiet man, a cement-clad man, and a circus weirdo who liked to show...

So now his choice was which one to fight? His sense of chivalry narrowed it down to the one threat at the moment, the man with the huge bow. He ran after the man and yanked out one of the two large bastard swords on his back... But it wasn't just a bastard sword. At almost the very top of the weapon were two axeheads on both sides as if it were at the same time a battleaxe. The sword edge came up just tall enough to be available for stabbing.

He held it in a swinging position and ran after the man as fast as he could... But the man seemed to have ran from battle entirely. Mars stopped, frowning and turned around, looking for the next biggest threat.

It seemed that weirdo show-business guy with the funny announcer spell was making spells of some sort. He decided that Mr. F was his new target. He didn't change the position he held his weapon in before whatsoever, just ran in the same style at the illusionist, hoping to take a good swing at him. If the weapon would connect, not only would the physical edge of the weapon hit Mr. F, but also a small explosion of fire would release, no doubt a sort of enchantment.

(Editted because of an action I misunderstood from Darkshine.)

< Message edited by Mars Phoenix -- 8/15/2007 14:03:31 >
Post #: 8
8/15/2007 22:20:03   
RATIONALPARANOIA
Member

The man's steps were quiet and stealthy, the steps of a trained killer. He was different from the other competitors, for a variety of reasons. For one thing, he was smiling, a facial expression alien among the many serious seen in the arena. He was also splattered with blood... fresh blood. And, while still grinning, he chewed upon what appeared to be a bone, one that still had quite a bit of a meat left on it.

Eh, what could he say? He always got... 'hungry' before big fights like this. And you could say he did a favor to humanity... The man had been nothing but a common beggar, a blight upon society. It had been a bit messy, but he didn't really mind. The screams, the energy, the sheer ecstasy of it- they were more than enough to justify it.

Letting the bone drop from his mouth, Xeriful reached down for his sword. He was a bit saddened at the loss of the meal, but he'd probably get one soon... All he had to do was lure someone into fighting him. A simple enough task, of course. They'd flock to a battle, figuring it an easy kill.

Looking around at his surroundings, Xeriful saw that he was in a darker area of the arena, in a space harder to get out of then into. In other words, a perfect place for him to claim his first victim. Pulling his crossbow out of his coat, Xeriful looked out at the people he was facing, and got ready to be on the defensive. He would let them come... And when they did, they would die.


< Message edited by RATIONALPARANOIA -- 8/15/2007 22:24:21 >
AQ  Post #: 9
8/15/2007 22:57:52   
Ralor
Member

The faint tantalizing scent of blood wafted on the breeze to play tentatively in front Frost’s nose as he waited to be let into the arena. The scent of blood, no doubt from the previous years fight, was literally torturing Frost who had not eaten earlier knowing that it would help bring out his predatory instincts which would help him in the battles ahead. Yet he had not expected the scent of blood this early on , he wasn’t even in the arena yet, and at the first hint of it he had nearly gone berserk but he had some how been able to keep his beastial instincts at bay and no one had been hurt by him, yet. He bared the teeth set in his long reptilian snout still resisting the urge to sink his teeth into one of the many people around him. There would be time for that later he reminded himself.

Most of the other fighters were as anxious as him to begin the fight but there reasons were most likely not the same as his, they probably couldn’t even smell the scent. Finally, when Frost thought he couldn’t hold it any more and his hand had started to stray towards the large broadsword that was strapped across his spotted ice blue back the guards signaled it was his turn to enter the arena. Frost let out a roar as he bound down the tunnel into the arena.

The sudden change in lighting caused frost to pause at the very entrance to the Arena. From his vantage point he took in the arena which consisted of slightly tilted spike walls, and a large flat floor with channels leading from the walls , all this was dominated by a giant metal pillar to which where attached chain that were in turn attached to …. It was at this moment that Frost was distracted by a flash of light coming from a metal incased warrior as he aimed for a Brown skinned man that had another warrior encircled by fire.

The scene brought him back to himself as he realized he was at risk observing the arena before him. Quickly turning he sprinted away from the other warriors, his movement concealed the rest of the fight from frost as he Focused on getting to a more secure location.

The large pillar cast it’s dark black shadow over Frost as he stood under it’s towering height. Part of an inscription was written on the side facing Frost but he ignored it, his focus on a glimmering blue crystal in his hands. Frost looked up and made sure he was still hidden from view before returning to the work at hand. The conditions in the arena were not Ideal to one of Frost’s Race who lived up in the frozen wastes of the North but that would soon change.

Taking a deep breathe Frost began to chant in an ancient language that echoed through out the arena.

On kaer jhys os aili
Sholaes os myrn eil maer
Shol pym os tolia shar iadyl tia aelaestor
Mai sar si tae jhaes sai thaes si tyr
Jhaer air Myrn!


Suddenly without warning as the last shout of the chant ended the arena darkened as clouds formed in the upper regions of the arena’s defensive barrier that protected the viewers. Then it began to snow, lightly at first, soon the arena was engulfed in a mighty blizzard that from brought forth bone chilling cold, part of which was a magical chill that wouldn’t leave no matter what the persons temperature was though it would not harm motor functions as the mundane cold did. The blizzards rage would not abate until the caster had left the area of effect either of his own will or by being dragged dead and lifeless out.

Frost grinned as he stowed the crystal, now dull and lifeless, into it's pouch. It was almost like home ,he thought.


< Message edited by Ralor -- 8/15/2007 22:58:12 >
AQ  Post #: 10
8/16/2007 0:16:28   
Aquapyre
Member

Jalrae Baenre wrapped his cloak around himself tighter, attemping to conceal the twin katanas hanging from his belt. He walked through the arena gate quietly hoping to avoid any unwanted attention until he could study his surroundings.
As soon as Jalrae was past the massive portal he slipped to one side and flattened himself against the brutally spiked wall. After making sure once more that no one had seen him he cast his light bending spell, one that allowed him to bend light around himself so as to be invisible. Or if he wished, to take appear to take on another form. The spell ended as soon as any offensive action was undertaken on his part but was none the less an effective tool for spying, or unobserved observing.
With the spell completed Jalrae stepped forward and waved his arms at a orange person who was racing full tilt towards someone with an impossibly large bow. When the orange lump didn't respond even though Jalrae would have been in plain view he lowered his arms, satisfied that the spell had worked. Then Jalrae began to scout the arena. As he examined the wall he saw that the spikes created a "natural" ladder for anyone who was agile enough. Jalrae turned away and began walking to the only other structure in the arena. As he went he made a mental note to avoid getting impaled. Though it wouldn't be that hard, not after spending 70 years growing up in Darkovia forest where a mere scratch from one of the bountiful Poisonpricks meant an almost instant death.
Suddenly it began to snow, lightly at first but then quickly turning into a full scale blizzard. Jalrae thought about dropping his invisibility because of the footprints he would no doubt leave behind but decided not to until the storm quieted. Pulling on a pair of tight fitting black leather gloves Jalrae began to run softly towards the pillar and the secrets it undoubtedly held.
At the pillar Jalrae slowed and saw a large lizard placing something in a belt pouch. He realized that this overgrown lizard was the cause this cold stuff and drew his katanas and sprang up at the lizard, slashing in a powerful stroke towards the unprotected neck.
Edited for clarity

< Message edited by Aquapyre -- 8/17/2007 14:31:51 >
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 11
8/16/2007 1:18:42   
Mars Phoenix
Member

Due to the unexpected blizzard, Mars stopped before he even got to Mr. F. He looked up. Snow? He looked farther up to the top of the arena to see the cloud. "Hrhmm..." he mumbled to himself. How obnoxious. He attempted to look for the source of the chanting, and if found he would immediately change his target to the maker of the snow. He held his sword-axe in a defensive position as he scanned the arena...

At the same time, he quickly reached into another large slot in his metal armor and pulled out a small tube-container of sorts. He squeezed from it a semi-clear substance and spread it on the boots of his armor, for one reason or another. Putting the tube back, he opened a somewhat-hilarious looking compartment on his armor. From inside, he pulled out a handful of large pieces of some sort of red dust and put sprinkled it on his boots. The substance he had put on them before appeared to be an adhesive, as the dust remained on his boots.

He didn't do anything else with the dust. He just scanned the arena for his target in his defensive position. Unfortunately, he was at the exact wrong angle to see Frost due to the large pillar he hid near.
Post #: 12
8/16/2007 2:12:14   
Nephilim of Sky
Member

     She remembered that he had once told her (though who he was she knew not; she knew she did once, though long ago or not she could not recall) that her wings were things of great beauty and wonder. She did not agree, not in the slightest (was that why? had she hated him so much? did he even know?), for they were terrible, terrible and painful, even after so long. But she did not hate them, and did not regret them (though she remembered that she had once hated them, not why she had, and she wished that she did) for they were essential and important and she needed them.
     She stood and wrapped them around herself, all six of them, six sheets of dancing orange flame crafted in a poor image of a faint, dying memory of a dead bird's wing (where it came from or why it had stayed with her she did not know, but it was in that image she had crafted her wings of flame, for a reason she could not recall but was in some way very important). Looking closely, one could see in the shifting seas of fire vague shadows of feathers, perhaps the outline of a hollow bone if one were lucky and patient enough. But then she finished drawing them around her and the wings, the feathers, the bones that gave shape to the wings all merged now, could not be told apart, became one gigantic blanket of crude shifting feathers in crimson and yellow and everything in between. They looked now, more than anything, like a pillar of flame, her near body invisible in their embrace. Perhaps if one were to spend enough time staring into the flames, spend too much time, then one might be able to see the vaguest outline of a figure standing in the center of the raging inferno (none had before, at least that she could remember), but the time was never given and never would be. She wondered if there were anybody alive who had seen her body still. Not in its entirety, she guessed (but again she knew not), and for a reason she could not tell she was saddened by the fact.
     It had been different, long ago (or perhaps not so long ago, though it felt to be very long ago) when she had only had two wings (two wings which were transparent, than later incandescent with all the colors of the sky, land and sea, which she missed very much), three wings, five wings. She had probably had four wings sometime along the progression, too. He (another he, different in some undefined but extremely important way from the first) had told her that it meant that she was becoming more powerful when he had talked of her wings. Fit, he had told her, to serve the Lord of Fire (but then again she could not recall why she had begun serving the Lord in the first place). For this tourney, she wondered? Was that what he had wanted to tell her, that she was becoming more powerful for this? Or something else altogether?
     Well, it mattered little now. She opened her eyes. Around her, illuminated only by the glow of her power, she saw walls, smooth walls of ancient stone, brown and gray and black mixed together in strange disharmony. This tunnel was her sanctum, at least for now, her home, for now, and though she knew that soon it would be nothing to her, it did not stop her trying to fix it in her mind, as if by force of will she could remember it for all time.
     Yet memory, she knew, does not work in such a way, and so she started forward.
     It was an hour, or perhaps two, or maybe even three, before she had reached far enough to see the moonlight pushing its way into the entrance of the cave. She stepped out into her valley. It was hers and hers alone. When she left it would cease to be; when she needed it, it would then again be. It was magic, but not of any kind she knew, nor even any kind she knew of.
     She stepped upwards, into the sky, and then launched herself towards her destination. She did not know what, exactly, her destination was, or what it was called, but that was where she was headed, and for her that was enough. Across the sky she streaked, as a falling star, and she flew, and she flew, and she flew.
     She arrived two days later, some few hours after the sun had risen, closer to noon than dawn. It was a city, she found, that she was heading for, not a large city, but a city nonetheless. More specifically, she realized, it was an arena, one of four. The one she was headed for was not the grandest. That honor was given to a truly gigantic sandlot which appeared to be out of use at the moment. It was not the prettiest, either. That honor was given to a beautiful garden, already frantic with activity as she approached. Nor was it the most interesting. The floating rocks made a much more curious and intriguing battlefield than the one she was headed to. No, she was headed to a distinctly grim and unceremonious arena, one which seemed to be plagued by smoke or clouds of some sort which pushed up against the magical ceiling as if to escape it. It looked almost like there were storm clouds. The arena displeased her, for some reason, but it was where she was headed.
     She entered the huge, dark gates without once touching the ground, having simply dived down towards them and pulled up at the last minute, only to find herself flying straight into what seemed to be a blizzard. Not a storm, but a blizzard. Neither the cold nor snow concerned her unduly, though they did remind her of...something. Something cold, but...
     She pulled back, almost having impaled herself on a spike in her absent flight, and landed smoothly on a thin layer of snow, not yet thicker than dust atop an old table. She felt the white melt away beneath her. It was a warming feeling, but a saddening one at the same time.
     Still, she did not come to remember, much as she would like to.
     Seraphim turned, taking stock of the arena, of the foes in the arena, of the strange weather and irritatingly metal floor and walls, the seemingly gratuitous spikes, the darkness now that the sun was forced away. She spied a man, standing in a seemingly constricting crevice of the arena, a man with a crossbow, with blood on his clothes and face. He was not more than thirty feet away from her, not less than twenty five.
     A thin tendril of solid flame pushed its way through the falling snow and deathly chill, headed for her new foe. Its path was erratic, heading to the left, then right, then down or up or left again, as if to make it more difficult to dodge, and its speed was blinding.
     She was here to fight, and fight she would.
Post #: 13
8/16/2007 11:11:07   
Viroxor
Member

Things went on for an unbearable amount of time with the competitors simply staring each other down. Aaron thought he would burst from the silence. Too much of it was soaking in, going to his head, driving him mad. Was that the effect this place had on people? This dungeon, this prison? Madness seemed outright inevitable in this place, but it didn't show on the others' faces.

Just when he was soon to crack and attack one of the many intimidating large opponents, a red line passed him. Now, whether it was something inside of him, or some peripheral sighting of the oncoming fire stream is a fact that would not be known to Aaron for as long as he lived (however long that was to be). But somehow, he saw the line of fire heading in his direction, and he leapt backwards to avoid the deadly attack. Turns out it wasn't even aimed for him, it was aimed to, in unison with another one adjacent, trap a fellow competitor between walls of flame.

Aaron finally drew his sword, getting ready to fight. But instead of a direct attack, he felt something prickly on his skin. At first, it was an alien sensation. It felt like he might have been hit by something, like maybe his nerves were acting up like crazy, but then he realized it was simple cold on the small parts of his arms that were unprotected. Luckily, his armor caused the rest of it just to cool him down, it was getting stuffy down here anyway.

But he didn't understand. He joined the rest of the competitors in looking up to see where this precipitation came from. He was a little bit shocked to find that clouds had formed inside the dungeon arena. Aaron hadn't had much experience with magic, but if ever he had seen it, this was it. No mistake about it, this was one hundred percent, pure grade A magic. But from whom? Was this part of the arena's incantation? It must be.

But he still had to be ready. There was no telling what was going to jump out and try to kill him next.

Now, earlier, I may note, Aaron determined not to become a 'demon of this world', as he supposed all the other competitors to be. Simple barbarians. But the figure that entered next destroyed that entire train of thought. He or she (it couldn't be told) was one of the most bizarre creatures he had ever seen, for it masked itself behind a mass of flaming feathers, like wings. It didn't even appear to move like normal, it just sort of hovered.

He watched, wide-eyed, as it floated in his general direction. He didn't really know what to think of it, so he slowly back away from it. "What is this?" He said aloud, but in a normal tone. Whatever it was, he didn't want to fight it, and he had more of a chance of befriending this thing than some of the other fighters. Hesitantly, he said to it, in a slightly louder than normal voice, "What are you?"
AQ  Post #: 14
8/16/2007 18:54:27   
Anton
Member

Anton had no problem getting into the arena unnoticed. He was the first in and would probably be the last out. Anton immediately found the deepest, darkest, dampest part of the arena and settled down. His plan was simple. Wait... and watch. When the time came he would fight. but not yet. First he go through the different types of breath composures to slow his breath and heart rate down. then we would rest and save his energy. Anton saw a man walk right past him without noticing him. Anton gleemed from the blood on him that he had made a kill very recently. He also understood this man was a cannibal as he was eating a bone of the kill. the man dropped the bone still covered in raw muscle. Anton smiled and immediately regretted it. He did not know why. He just felt something. Anton did not move. Anton got ready in case of an attack. Little did he know he had saved his life by doing this...

< Message edited by Anton -- 8/16/2007 21:46:43 >
AQ DF  Post #: 15
8/16/2007 22:31:38   
RATIONALPARANOIA
Member

Hmm... Another follower of the Ice Lord, I see. Xeriful had watched as the large lizard-like creature had entered the arena, and had begun his spell. As the snow began to fall heavily upon the arena, Xeriful reminded himself that before he killed the creature, he'd have to thank them. Although this blizzard might become inconvient later, at the moment it could be used to Xeriful's advantage.

His attention was soon broken from the lizard, however, by the entrance of an even stranger competitor. At first, Xeriful thought it was just a giant flame, but upon closer inspection, he realized that it was actually wings wrapped around a creature. From here, it looked like there were six, and that they were... made of flame.

They were beautiful. If he killed this creature, Xeriful would make sure to keep at least one of its wings as a prize, a reward from his kill. Suddenly, a thin tendril of flame rocketed towards Xeriful. Acting almost purely on instinct, quickly realizing what he had to do, Xeriful rolled to the side, plunging his jian into the ground he had been standing on only a second before. Ice quickly began to grow around it, only aided by the blizzard, while Xeriful simultaneously loosed a crossbow bolt at the creature that had attacked, imbedding it with his cold energy.

The tendril of flame collided with the ice-covered jian, and as the cold energy met the magical heat, there was a powerful reaction between the two forces. The ice around the jian almost instantly dissolved, as the tendril of flame began to vanish into the air. Grabbing his Jian, Xeriful began to speak a few unintelligible words, quickly gathering his energy into the blade with the mantra he always used in battle.

The immediate effect of this was the drastic drop of temperature in the area around Xeriful, even compared to the already biting cold of the arena from the blizzard. Although he was tempted to use it's other "effect", Xeriful thought he'd keep that in reserve- He might need it later. Having no more use for it, he plunged it into the scabbard on his back, and again focused his attention upon the creature of flame.

Reaching into his pockets, Xeriful pulled out hira shuriken, thin flat disks that had been sharpened to a brutal edge on the edges. Feeling rage flow through his body, as well as determination to serve the ice lord, he threw them at the creature. As they sailed through the air towards the creature, blades of ice erupted from all four sides of the disks, giving them the appearance of stars. Xeriful gripped the jian again, waiting to see how the creature would deal with this new threat.


< Message edited by RATIONALPARANOIA -- 6/22/2008 18:51:34 >
AQ  Post #: 16
8/17/2007 7:03:58   
Zylo
Member

"Hum de dum, de dum dum dum, he hum de dum dum dum, doo, doo doo, de. Dededede, dum dum." He moved casually, coming ever close and closer to his nice little destination. He was supposed to fight now, was he? Well, he wasn't much of a fighter, but he wasn't ignorant in their ways either. However, he would probably stick to his own style of things and manipulate it to consider it fighting.

Or he would just not fight and let the others do the fighting for him. That was the wisest way to go, but it was a rather boring way and he didn't like being bored. He had much too short of an attention span to handle boredom. ...Of course, he was usually much too psychotic to let anything bore him. There was always something to entertain him.

Or someone to entertain him. Usually with mental tricks. Or, you know, just... breaking them. That was always fun. Then again, he was used to that.

This, he wasn't so used to. This was supposed to be the amusing little idea of one on one fights, fair fights nonetheless, or so he was told. He didn't like that. He was not one to fight fair, and he was not the kind of person to take on only one enemy, nor was he the kind to fight by himself. After all, it went against who he was.

And who was he?

Haha! What a foolish question! He was Kiyemanu, the great Rain of War. He was what the Gods themselves sent down to bless the great and holy Army of the Dying Sun, led by him only underneath the rule of the Great Goddess of the Rising Embers, Shekilah. And she let him lead as he saw fit.

This, however, had been the only true request that she had made of him in quite a long time, so he had seen it to be proper to serve as his Great Goddess' representative in this... tournament. He found the idea a bit repulsive, honestly, to fight and kill one another just to prove their strength. Then again, he was a Warlord. He was the Rain of War. He killed his enemies to prove the strength of his country and his Mistress, the Great Goddess. He also did so because they tried to assault his lands, massacre his people, rape his women and enslave his children. ...The people in this arena were not worth fighting. They had done none of this. He had no quarrels with them.

But, he would fight them. Perhaps he would even kill some of them, though he hoped not to take it that far. He was disgusted by the idea of fighting for sport alone, but his Great Goddess had requested it and he would do so obediently. But, as he had no quarrel with these people, he wished to avoid any casualties. ...Of course, that might change once he arrived there, but that was only because he was sure to meet people whom he could not bear the sight of. ...It always seemed to go that way. He had certain tastes and it wasn't hard for a person to get on his bad side. Getting on his good side, however, was quite the task. And not likely one that any of these people would get the chance to do.

...Oh, right. Those people. That tournament. Heh, he had forgotten about it, but he was still heading there. He knew he would be late. He had gotten a late start, and so he would have a late arrival. These things only made sense to coincide with one another.

But, he was there. ...Well, above there, to be precise. His presence floated through existence, nothing of him being seen but he was still moving through it. He stopped once he saw his designated arena. And he knew that it had been touched by the graceful fingertips of the only thing that he could come close to considering a second Mistress. And that would be Magic.

Yes, he sensed it's presence all around. Just what sort of brawl had he been set up for? Beneath him, there was nothing but snow and spikes and warriors... Not quite how he had pictured this, but at least he wasn't set to only fight one individual as of yet.

He didn't exactly lower himself. He just lowered. He split himself from the Element he had attached to. He was the Rain of War. His Element was Water. (And yes, he was the General beneath the Rising Embers... Irony knew no bounds in his life.) What most failed to recognize was that there was Water in almost everything. Even the air had the Essence of Water in it. And this blizzard... It was all but asking for him to toy with it's presence for his own advantages.

There was a wave through the air a few feet above the heads of the competitors as he was now within the bounds of this spiked deathtrap. The wave rolled, rippling through the sky almost as if it were the wave of an ocean. Yet, there seemed to be no Water falling from it, only more snow. And he realized then just how he could manipulate this cold.

His presence made it's appearance, he arrived close to a corner, leaning his hand casually on one spike tip, just short of hurting himself. If he went down any more, he would likely have a nice hole through his palm. But, he didn't go down any more, he just stood there, leaning against the spike as if it were nothing to be endangered by.

He wore nothing to note him as a threat. There seemed to be an excess of Fire Elementalism here, and his crimson coat, long and almost trailing the ground, and the longsword at his right hip, the handle chiselled out of a ruby and with marks engraved on it that symbolized the existence of the Inferno, plus the fiery red hair that hung wildly down to his backside and his harsh gold eyes that seemed to view everything with a drawstring temper... He was the embodiment of a Fire-User.

He just happened to be a Water-User. And for now, he was a Water-User who coldly regarded and watched as the Fire-Users and other Elementalists fought. All the while, though, he was devising an idea. He had been late, so he had missed the displays of powers. And now he needed to make up for lost time, while waiting and planning on his ways to manipulate them. He just might have fun if he could truly test his abilities and challenge himself.

...Perhaps this tournament would not be as bad as he had anticipated...

< Message edited by Zylo -- 8/17/2007 10:36:40 >
AQ  Post #: 17
8/17/2007 23:57:14   
Ralor
Member

Home, I have no home! Frost thought bitterly these thoughts bring back memories of a reptilian face covered in tattoos sneering at him. His thoughts were unfortunately interrupted by the appearance of a young human who seemed to just materialize out f no where. The human was still only in the peripheral of frost’s vision but he could clearly see him draw his swords and crouch down. His body language telling frost all he need to know of his intentions.

Frost’s mind raced to find a way to make a pre-emptive strike upon the young man before he could attack. When his mind had nearly given up he noticed the large spike laying near his foot. Reacting quickly Frost aimed a kick at it designed to cause it to soar into the air where he could catch it . He realized too late that the kick didn’t have enough force do what he wanted. Yet despite it’s size it lifted into the air as if it weighed ten times as much as it did. Having no time to contemplate such trivial matters Frost caught the large metal spike, it’s chilly surface biting into his hands, and went back in a perfect javelin throwers stance and threw the large spike at the man, chain snaking out behind it as it arced through the frosty air. Recovering from the throw frost charged at his opponent ready for a fight.
AQ  Post #: 18
8/18/2007 8:56:14   
Nephilim of Sky
Member

     In a small, calm, detached part of the blazing Seraphim's mind, an absent wonder was stirred to life by Aaron's call, and if there were not six shimmering blades spinning towards her with deadly intent, she might have stopped to answer his question. Though, she considered as she shot upwards, towards the blizzard's birthing storm clouds, she was not exactly sure what she would say if she did try to answer. Did she even know herself? She doubted. There were too many ways to answer the question, and only some of the true. Or perhaps it was that all of them were true, but some more true than others.
     Upwards and upwards she sped until she vanished into the storm clouds, her fiery glow swallowed by the brooding darkness. It was as effective as the most powerful glamour of invisibility, to the naked eye, perhaps more so to the magical one, for here the magical frost swallowed not only her light but her heat. Up here, shielded by the darkness, she would be untouchable. A plan, or, more accurately, an idea began to form in her mind, that part of the mind not already occupied, and she stopped to hover in her haven, safe and secure, as she considered how to proceed.
     Thinking was difficult. It was cold, very cold, and while her body felt no chill, her wings found themselves crying out for relief, for warmth. But it was not that which was distracting her. Mere cold was nothing to her, no matter how chill and dire it became, for she was beyond it. It was how, when she thought, when she tried to think of battle, her thoughts kept leaping back, leaping back to a indefinite feeling of familiarity at the cold. It felt like something which she knew. Something which she knew she should know, but which she somehow did not, like an important fact which one has forgotten. Like a friend who has been lost to time. It was an irritating feeling, and it would not leave her alone. But she was not here to remember, and she forced herself to think not of half-remembered memories of faded dead memories, but of -
     a biting pain, freezing and numbing, burning and smarting, razed its way across her left arm. She gasped in shock. Another shocking line of pain etched itself across her chest and she caught, despite the impairment which the magical clouds offered to her vision, a glimpse of a whirring blade of ice spinning past her to clink weakly off of the magical ceiling on the arena. She turned around just in time to see three more coming at her, but far too late to react. Two buried themselves in her chest, one sliced into her stomach. She had just enough time to take in a deep breath before the last one, unseen to her, pierced her right arm, slicing through the skin and flesh, only barely missing the bone, trailing charred ashes as it soared past her to spend itself on the barrier behind.
     She screamed, and screamed, and screamed. She flew in circles madly, crying, screaming, wailing, a funeral dirge and wrenching lament at once, her pain to be heard far above the sounds of the storm, far more terrible than the sound of lightning, more overpowering than the waves of the sea crashing against the shore in their never-ending cadence. She screamed, and screamed, and screamed.
     And she found herself in rage, and indeed, she was no so fragile as that. She was not so weak as that. The pain, it would pass, as it had passed, had always passed, and when it had passed he who had inflicted it, he who had injured her, would be far gone, as they all else had. Her wail turned unearthly, frightening, unnerving, a wail fearsome enough to rupture the ears of those who cared to listen, a wail climbing ever higher and higher, and as she wailed, she dove towards the one who had injured her. A falling star, now, with the lament of the heavens as her blade and the pain of the planets trailing behind her as her guard, retribution as was due as her sight, she launched ahead of her a wave of flame, rolling and pitching from her six bright wings, flame towards her enemy, the only enemy she now saw, her injurer, her attacker, a great tide of flame, pouring from her in an endless flow, and she wailed, and she wailed, and she wailed, and her wrath was at once terrible and beautiful to behold.
Post #: 19
8/18/2007 10:54:51   
Anton
Member

Anton watched as the great winged thing shot up into the air. Seconds later he put his hands over his ears as a blood curdelling scream pierced the arena. "Now is my chance to do something.", Anton thought to himself. Pulling out his small dagger, Anton rushed forward towards Xeriful. Anton threw the dagger and it spun ever so slightly to the left. Any normal dagger would have missed. but this dagger was in no way normal. The events for the next few seconds were a blur. All Anton knew was that he had continued running and had now found another hiding spot. With his dagger in his hand.

< Message edited by Anton -- 8/18/2007 20:51:05 >
AQ DF  Post #: 20
8/18/2007 10:58:02   
Aquapyre
Member

Jalrae's vision was suddenly obscured by a large object on a bound on an unavoidable collision with himself! In the split seconds he had before impact Jalrae identified the object as one of the huge steel spikes connected to the pillar and wondered in bewilderment how the oversized zardson had managed to throw it at him. Then Jalrae's initial strike connected with the spike just past its tip, the hefty blow combined with the speed of the steel spear was enough to push the deadly tip just under Jalrae's airborne body. The same could not be said of the following 5 feet of spike. The base of the spike bashed into his upper body with great force and sent Jalrae flying sideways to crash into the unyielding piller knocking the breath from him. Dropping down to ground Jalrae had to spend precious seconds learning how to breath again before he could move. But move he did, mainly because he had no choice. The lizard was charging and looking bigger by the second, so he rolled right and came up in a classic defense stance - the all out attack.

Racing forward Jalrae knew that no matter how strong his mithril shirt was, there was no way he could survive a direct hit from the large sword the lizard wore so he decided to play tag, and he was it.

A piercing wail quickly rose to mind numbing shriek as a flaming figure fell from the sky. But sheltered behind the pillar Jalrae went just about unaffected, only feeling a slight debilitating buzz.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 21
8/19/2007 0:12:07   
Ralor
Member

Frost had to redirect quickly when his opponent was hit sideways but he did it perfectly racing towards the man as he struggled to get up. Once back on his feat the man likewise charged towards Frost. The distance would soon close between them and frost need a plan if he was going to defeat this man with minimal amount of damage to himself. Right at this moment in time frost passed another spike, the brother of the one he had thrown. Things seemed to happen in slow motion as Frost brain worked at a furious pace. His eyes registered the chain that connected to the spike as it made a question mark shape in the snow., the pillar end of the chain was wrapped around the pillar showing that this one was on a different side than the connecting part. The diagonal between the pillar end of the chain and the spike end was several feet in front of the charging man. It was then that Frost knew what he must do.


Time was again resumed it’s normal course as Frost reached down and grasped the freezing cold chain as he slammed his feet into the ground causing the chain to whistle through the air behind the man so that it could once again be straight. Should the plan succeed Frost planned to jump upon his fallen victim and pin him to the ground. Yet that was only if he succeeded.
AQ  Post #: 22
8/19/2007 16:34:03   
SZO11
Member

The snow around Tal was actually expected, for some reason he had this assumption based on previous experiences that they always want to make a flashy entrance, changing the environment to ice whenever the feel like it. These children don't even know when to hold back. Random changes in the environment can kill plants and animals. But this arena had neither, it only had an old man looking for moisture.

Unlike most competitors, Tal did not have any weapons or armor. He only relied on the environment around him, thus explaining the harpoon still in his hand and the lack of snow sticking to the ground. His element still hidden from the some, as his wound is covered by a swift twist of his robe. He was sure a few figured it out, but didn't care too much at this point.The snow around him disappears into his coat instead of sticking; leaving the metal floor clean of snow as well. He walked slightly towards a wall facing one of the four spikes in the middle. He saw that they were not quite attached to the ground, leaving him the plan of using them.

His plan was to use the harpoon as a fulcrum to topple the spike over, then use the water stored in his coat as a cannon to launch it towards a random competitor. He didn't really read the rules to find out what would happen, all he skimmed over was spikes, heavy, sewage, blood. He rushed at the spike faster than you would expect a man of that age to, hitting it at full force towards the base of the spike. What happened next even he didn't know what would happen...
AQ DF  Post #: 23
8/20/2007 22:30:18   
Aquapyre
Member

Jalrae slowed and began to chant loudly aloud to the Light. Then with sudden swiftness his body began to morph, first his legs (and arms) thickened and grew longer then scales started appearing all over his body in a thick suit of armour. Mid morph a stinging cold slapped across Jalrae's legs in the back of the knees causing his legs to buckle, knocking him on to all fours like an anima.lFinally Jalrae's head ballooned, forming a long snout and rows of very long sharp teeth. The whole body kept on growing until it was 20 feet long and had a wing span of 30 feet. The light dragon spread its wings with a shriek and rose into the swirling sky, disappearing only to reappear on the top of the piller 40 feet up. Then it reared up and breathed a stream of intensely focused light. As it shot down towards the lizard through the frigid air it hissed and steamed boiling away the snow like nothing.

Behind the pillar where he had hiddin himself to cast the illiusion Jalrae finished casting the illusion. Smiling crookedly Jalrae knew that the lizards' own belief that the dragon was real would keep it in place, at least until he put a sword through the lizard's heart.
Jalrae slipped off into the storm intent on sneaking around the pillar under the cover of the storm and ambushing the lizard.

< Message edited by Aquapyre -- 8/21/2007 14:21:30 >
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 24
8/21/2007 3:55:52   
DaesDymentia
Member

The glorious Arena, where legends are born and others are broken. Her entrance into the arena was subtle and quiet, taking in her surroundings with a slow drawn breath as hushed as a spirit’s graze. Spikes beautifully adorned the arena walls, and its pivot was a wondrous contraption just waiting to ensnare its first kill to capture it unawares. Shadows lurked in its corners, and faded was the light. It would almost seem as though the ones of fire were there to light the arena with their dark radiance, minor sparks of flames dancing upon the walls. Her eyes flickered in their lovely lavender glow, no pupils that one could see, only gentle luminance.

The cold washed over her skin, the ice upon the ground and in the air… As others began their battles, a whisper echoed quietly through the arena. One may have believed it a figment of the mind, but the words trailed from moist full lips, and enchantment that began seemed to darken the arena and make all shadows grow… If none knew her presence, they would surely sense it now, an ambiance that lurked, hidden in the shade as patient as death itself.

Light dulled, more so than before, and this lack of brightness, the girl’s vision had become keen, as well as the creature’s own, the creature that was bound to her. The dark cloth band on her forehead was tied back, and her raven black hair was pulled into a long tight ponytail, the tresses slowly weaving behind her as though in water, as though it were made of shadow. The Darkness that was the creature upon her, hid her face and form made her body as black as night, too dark to be shadow, pitch black like a second skin, moving like a living being of it’s own, making her eyes glow like moonlight. The shadows swirled about her skin, occasionally revealing her young, curved body which was adorned in an intricate dark metal armor bound her breasts in a halter and a one-sided faded dark violet skirt which was torn and weaved against her thigh. It was tied at one hip and bordered by a metal link belt. A tall girl she was with beautiful silken tanned skin, toned muscles, strong limbs – almost seemingly marred by this blackness that that never completely left her body.

The creature was a Shade, a demonic parasite. She was a mere puppet, a servant. Viola of the Shade. The daemonic parasite needed to feed, and for the Dark Lord, there was a place no better than the arena itself. Much blood there would be, and she would bask in its beautiful end, live or die.

The creature was hungry, and she had begun to search for a target.

< Message edited by DaesDymentia -- 8/21/2007 4:31:11 >
Post #: 25
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