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RE: =Elemental Championships 2008= Spike Arena

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7/18/2008 15:54:56   
TormentedDragon
Member

He spoke, and the face simply stared. Another appeared, with much fanfare and arrogance. His accompanying cacophony, she ignored. A symbol appeared upon her surface, and it, too, was ignored, as it was whipped along with her flow and taken inside of her essence. The man made his manipulations of wind, and she obliged him, finding it easier to go with the flow then to fight it. As the knives that he had slowed approached, she reached out, an tendril of water growing from her whirling form and snatching them both as it swirled around, bringing them into her form and her flow.

The flask, so far unforgotten, suddenly flew trough the air, pulled swiftly and surely towards her. It struck the wall of water, its speed carrying it some inches inward, and then was borne up through her to the top of the spout, unraveling as it went. As it traveled and unraveled, she closed the top of the spout in a dome of her essence, the unraveling flask providing her with its enchanted mass and power. At the same time, she reached in from the bottom, though much more slowly. There, she seeped, rather than rushed.

And as she did this, she reached inward, forming three spears of water, with glistening points, aimed for his heart, his neck, and his spine, each still attached, all moving with blinding speed. "I have no brother."
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 26
7/18/2008 17:10:20   
The Dragon Knight
Member

The noise that bombarded Torrelle's senses, with the appearance of the self-proclaimed servant of the Light, served only to irritate, rather than to distract. He was, after all, a Pirate Lord, with command over a fleet of ships, and had heard the sounds of battle, the echoing blasts of cannon fire, the fanfare of trumpets sounding, the screams of the dieing, on a far more real and personal level. These fake sounds were not even worth listening to, although that high pitched shrilling was starting to give him a bit of a headache.

However, Torrelle had no time to consider what purpose they might serve, as the fur-clad woman neatly blocked his blow. "Hmm," he thought, as the woman purposely leaned into the blow, shattering the spear with the impact, "now THAT is unusual." The woman's tactics soon became apparent, however, as she used the momentum the shattering spear gave her to tuck and roll beneath his short blade, coming to a rest behind him.

As she maneuvered to his rear, the movement in the water molecules in the air of the Arena alerted him to the new danger. He had heard the voice, of course, but had ignored it for the time being, intent as he was upon striking his opponent. Now, however, he caught the glint of metal flying towards him from across the arena, warned in advance by the invisible water in the air. Two daggers, the sunlight glistening on their keen edges as they flew, were sailing with the speed of a diving falcon towards him. As the woman shifted into position behind, he noticed one of the daggers moving slightly.

So, that's what it is, then. He did not have time to look down at his chest to notice the mark, but he had gathered the purpose behind the two knives. Tch, he thought, the magic in his medallion coursing through his veins as he partially opened his left hand to extend his middle and index fingers in the direction of the knives, his short sword held parallel to the ground.

All of this occurred within the instant that the woman had rolled and spun to her feet. Now, as she steadied herself and prepared to either attack or defend, the magic he had taken the time to prepare activated. The knives were moving far too quickly for him to be able to deflect both under normal circumstances, so he would need to improvise.

There was a loud pop, similar to that of a champagne cork being fired, greatly muffled by the cacophony of sound that filled the arena. One of the silver studs on Torrelle's leather tunic had seemingly exploded from the fabric! A faint wisp of what seemed like smoke drifted lazily out of the hole it left, as the stud sailed unerringly for its target, colliding with one of the knives in mid-air. The magic guiding the impromptu missile allowed it to knock the knife off course, sending it spinning upwards into the air, only to clatter to the metal floor near the pirate's feet.

Not a split second after the launching of the stud, the long sword in Torrelle's right hand was brought up, carefully deflecting the treacherous attack. His eyes narrowed for a moment, as he thought how rude it was for somebody to interfere with another's battle. Still, that was to be expected in this place, he reflected. Sacrifice of the Light Lord indeed! Well, the arrogant Light warrior would get his lesson soon enough. In the meantime....

Wasting no time, Torrelle launched himself to his, and his opponent's, right, opening up the gap between them. He twisted in the air to face her, coming down on his left shoulder in a forward roll that brought him swiftly to his feet, so that they were facing off once again. This time, however, the massive wall of spikes was to his left, and her right, instead of being directly behind him. Those deadly points, glittering like so many angry stars, served to remind him of the deadly game that he was involved with. He had a feeling that she had done more than simply parry his blow, earlier, but he could not quite put his finger on what it must have been. To sacrifice one of her own weapons this early in the game meant that she had a plan, and that the weapon had been no more than a distraction. Ah, well, he would find out soon enough, he reasoned.

With a distance of, roughly, ten feet between them, he knew that an outright charge would be foolhardy. So, if a melee attack is out of the question, he would try something a bit different. Standing straight, his right arm brought down low to his side, the Maelstrom brought his left arm up, the short sword held, as usual, parallel to the metal floor, his fist pointed in the woman's direction. His teeth flashed in a smile as the lust for battle engulfed him, fueling his weapon. A brief flash of magical energy flared at his wrist, giving a very brief warning to the oncoming attack.

The magic condensed the water in the air around him, arming the small crossbow mounted to his left forearm, forming a bolt of water. The magic in his medallion had done its work well, gathering as much of the moisture in the arena into the air immediately surrounding him, making it humid. This allowed him to use his natural control of water to condense the molecules into a solid form in a much shorter amount of time. It took less than a second for the bolt to be ready, although it would take several moments for the moisture in the air to replenish enough to form another.

However, that split second was all he needed for now, as the crossbow loosed its payload in the directly of the fur-clad warrior woman. Sharpened into a fine point by his magic, the water missile sailed for her chest, closing the ten foot gap in a heartbeat.
AQ  Post #: 27
7/18/2008 17:25:48   
Nightly
Member

Wrenching his gaze from the man who had just entered, Nightly watched in horror as the spears sped towards him. Everything around him slowed down; he looked down as the spears hit him his armor at his heart, neck and spine. Looking over the arena, the pain and sorrow in his eyes evident. Looking back at the water nymph he said in weak and strained voice, “I offer kindness and get this?” pointing to the spears in his body. “Very well, you have chosen your fate.” He finished, his voice coming to a razor edge. Falling over, Nightly laid on the ground as blood started coming out of his mouth but with it something else. The spectators looked in horrid fascination as something obviously was coming.

A strong wind picked up around Nightly’s body. He was obscured from view as the tornado turned a deep red color. Unlike the first tornado however this tornado grew larger and larger. It seemed as if all the winds in the world had converged in the world to create this monster. To those that weren’t firmly planted on the ground they felt a strong tugging on themselves. The tugging stopped yet the tornado remained. A dark omen that took up an eigth of the arena. The spectators muttered amongst themselves wondering what would happen.


< Message edited by Nightly -- 7/18/2008 17:31:15 >
Post #: 28
7/18/2008 17:37:16   
Lord Memphis
Member

Salvador had not anticipated such a sudden disruption to the initial pleasantries he had experienced upon his entrance to the arena. In fact, the events that ensued after his entrance dialogue took him completely by surprise. Perhaps this was the intended effect the assailant had hoped for, or perhaps he was merely an overeager, overaggressive, boisterous man surrounded by chivalries that angered whatever barbaric culture he had been raised in.

The events that had occurred to culminate at the moment in time, however, were largely unimportant. It was what happened next that mattered most. Rattigan initially recoiled in pain as the sonic waves seemed to boom out in distorted frequencies and waves across the arena, and he was left - albeit temporarily - disorientated. It was almost undoubtedly a sudden rush of mental intuition, pure genius and, to be frank, common sense, that saved his life. The thoughts in his head had split into tendrils. Incorporeal. Untouchable. Unstable, perhaps. It was as though, at the vital point, his mind had blanked. And then, as all he could bring himself to do was listen to the... The cacophony the rogue's devices emanated when he realised that, of course, this was nothing but a distraction.

It was only then that Rattigan noticed the symbol that had manifested on the dead centre of his chest, unmistakably foreign against the dark-pigmented jacket and coat. Cognitive thought would be of no use to him now, and his reflex to lift the metal bauble of his cane against his chest proved to be a wise one. A whistling sound, reduced to silence beneath the dissonance of foreground, signalled the displacement of the surrounding air by a rather large knife flying through the air. The clunk, also inaudible, was the sound of this knife ricocheting off the cane and falling to the floor, accompanied by a sharp pain in the index finger of his left arm. A slight notch on the orb signified where the knife had connected, and a small cut in the white fabric revealed where the knife had nicked his hand. With a smile of satisfaction gracing his lips, he kicked the dagger aside and eyed the culprit of this sudden assault.

He was hard not to notice, bearing in mind his gargantuan stature in comparison to everyone else dotted around. Twin swords in hand, he looked prepared for battle. As he had employed the use of rather effective audio distractions as his grand entrance, Rattigan found it only fair to use something similar as a rapport. Besides, anything to give him the edge in a combat against something akin to a giant would be appreciated fondly.

He studied the others, surveying for any signs of injury from these daggers - it seemed everyone had been attacked by them, and yet most were just about unaffected. As he did this, however, his left hand had reached into one of the small leather pouches, whilst his right hand produced what appeared to be a tiny glass flask, enforced with a metallic mesh. The mixture, curiously, produced gaseous bubbles that appeared to float down through the liquid to the base of the container. He flicked the top with his thumb, quickly placed the material in his left hand into the liquid, and sealed the top. Nothing happened at first, until he had produced a small match, which he quickly sparked into ignition, holding next to the flask. This material began to bubble almost spontaneously, the bubbles coating the metallic material in what appeared to be a layer of white orbs, and the bubbles began to reverse direction, instead scaling the side of the flask, brimming at the top.

Producing from a silk-lined belt pouch a white powder, he smiled slightly. Quite apprehensive as to this result and the effect it would have upon the following events, he popped the flask cork once more, pouring the white powder in before sealing the top - yet again. The process seemed rather meticulous, yet he had been doing similar reactions in similar circumstances for much of his professional life, and in reality took little more than twenty seconds.

The excitement came when, rather hurriedly, Rattigan threw the bottle into the line of sight of this giant of a man. There was no use plotting trajectory, or effectiveness now. If this landed as he planned, the flash would be enough to leave spots on the eyes of any watching for an amount of time approximating half a minute, as well as producing a rather nice amount of smoke as a pretty little distraction. If not, it would do so out of his target's line of sight.

He threw his eyes from the scene, knowing the stupidity of actually watching, and heard the flask shatter, followed by a a sizable, onomatopoeic pop. It seemed the flask had done as intended, yet he had no clue just yet as to whether it had landed at the intended spot. Meanwhile, however, he placed his right hand on the bauble of the cane, and began to pull, the all-too-familiar sound of the drawing of sword from sheath sounding out as he did so.
Post #: 29
7/18/2008 18:42:28   
damselindigital
Member

If Enya had allowed herself time to hesitate, she well could have wondered about the morality of what was, in its most base form, using her opponent as a shield. Had she in fact done so, however, she likely would have consoled herself entirely on the fact that she remained sporting about the situation by allowing him still to use his primary weapon to defend himself. Yet now that he had succeeded in handily removing the threat from the bellower, and in doing so revealed some interesting aspects of his abilities, she felt there was no need for him to continue wielding that sword.

Because it was hers, it was but a thought to activate what had caused her induction into the Flamekeepers in her lands. Converting her own personal flame into magic, she directed it towards what she lovingly referred to as a heat sink upon the weapon. It was easy enough to ignore the one upon the pillar for now, though she still held her claim there in her mind as well. Drawn invisibly and unerringly towards her target, her warmth converted into something much hotter than a human’s body temperature.

It would cost her though, that she was well aware of. Should, for some strange, unfathomable reason, Enya have been standing upon an enlarged grocer’s scales, one might have noticed that her weight began to decrease. It was a slow ebb at current, but the longer she continued feeding her flames into the sword, it would continue.

Due to her own limited experiences with metal, she did not entirely realize how well it would conduct what she channeled. For the one holding it, the sword would feel as if it was getting warm, then hot, at an unnatural pace. Certainly though, it was a large enough piece to allow the man a few moments to react before it actually burned his flesh. Yet injuring was not her goal at this time. Rather, she merely wished for him to relinquish the weapon.

When he turned to face her after his acrobatic roll without making any further move against the one who had briefly interrupted their battle, she decided it was time. As he leveled the short sword in his left hand before him once again, she began to let her magic trickle forth. It was only due to the flash of light on his wrist that lent her warning that this was not simply the battle stance he had taken before.

Knowing instantly that regardless of what was coming, she almost certainly did not want to be a stationary target. Moving to the right was a poor choice, with the outer wall bristling with spikes a handful of feet away. Behind her was equally poor because it did not force him to move, prevent further use of projectiles if that indeed was the nature of his plotting, nor remove her from that same direct line of attack if it was meant to affect distances beyond what she currently occupied. Towards him was more promising, but, even if she succeeding in disarming him of one weapon, it still meant that his second sword was between them and that was not something she wanted. The only option she had remaining then was…

Left!

She rolled, all of the analyzing done quickly and without her conscious mind realizing it had fully occurred. However, she didn’t completely succeed in her escape. The bolt passed easily through her garments almost as if they were parchment thin. She felt a flash of pain and then damp touch of her own blood. A small bark of hurt and fury escaped her, likely lost amidst the clamor.

It had clipped her bicep, scoring a line across her skin and creating rather clean punctures through every layer of clothing she wore. Rather shallow, the bleeding would stop in a matter of minutes with her undershirt absorbing the fluid into the fabric. Her eyes narrowed angrily. Those had been some high quality hides and furs.

So, he had a projectile weapon of some nature. She would have to change her tactics now. Without the obvious appearance of means for a ranged attack, she had hoped to use that to her advantage in order to steer him where she wished him to be. Now she knew better. It was an oversight on her part, but not one that she would allow herself to repeat.

Standing from her roll, she sheathed the dagger with her right hand even as she drew one of her short spears with her left.

Let us see how well he does when his attack is returned in kind. I hope it damages something valuable.

With deadly accuracy, she hurled the spear at his chest and immediately began to move in such a way that was designed to circle him. However, that was not her only goal because ever so slowly she began to edge towards the pillar, trying to keep such hidden behind the more obvious intent.
AQ  Post #: 30
7/18/2008 19:22:18   
Geddesmck
Member
 

 Jon was momentarily without access to any source of earth at all. For a single heartbeat he considered opening the pouch. No, not yet. However he was not on par with the man called Cale. As long as Cale controlled the earth, he would be at an advantage.

Wait, isn’t that earth coming towards me? Jon saw it approaching at a decent speed. A trap? Maybe, but Cale’s reaction certainly didn’t imply this and Jon doubted very much that the barbarian had the mental capacity to set up a trap like this.

“You want this earth? These small pieces of earth are your children?” Jon shouted, preparing himself to defend against the incoming attack. Cale was catching up to the earth moving towards Jon. He decided now was the time to act. He mentally summoned the wayward earth to himself letting it lazily dance around his left arm.

“Have all the earth you want Cale!” announced Jon the millisecond before Cale was in striking distance. The long sword wielding noble man threw himself backwards, onto his back. Simultaneously he formed the little earth he had into a small, solid rock and shot it upwards, aiming at his attacker’s chest. If Jon would have known what a bullet was, he would have likened the speed at which the rock (more a pebble really) travelled to one.

He smiled a little, this time he’d actually managed to dodge the attack perfectly, not taking any damage. Then he realised he’d landed on the pouch at his back. He knew already that many a vial was crushed, it seemed he wouldn’t be able to rely on any medicinal aid if he should be injured now.


< Message edited by Geddesmck -- 7/18/2008 19:23:27 >
AQ DF  Post #: 31
7/18/2008 20:11:56   
The Dragon Knight
Member

Years of experience had taught Torrelle that remaining stationary longer than was necessary was never a wise idea. Doing so made you an easy target, and that was the last thing he intended to be. Under normal circumstances, he would have started moving the moment the bolt had left the crossbow. He would have already prepared a counter for the woman's movement to her left, considering that it was the only obvious choice in order to avoid an attack. He would have been able to launch his next attack the moment she moved.

Under normal circumstances.

The sudden heat coursing through his right hand told Torrelle that this situation was anything but normal. Sparing a quick glance downward, he suddenly realized why things had felt odd a moment ago. His sword was heating up, the metal at the tip beginning to take on a slight glow as the metal conducted heat from an unknown source. Well, perhaps not unknown, but unexpected.

Wasting no time, once he had come to this realization, the pirate activated the enchantment sealed within the blade. The slightly orange glow was replaced by a much stronger blue one that spread across the entire sword. Upon close inspection of the weapon, one would notice that the blade itself was covered in pores, each no bigger than the head of a pin. Channels ran down the blade, from tip to hilt, to allow blood to flow freely from the blade. However, the intricate pathways that criss crossed the metal surface seemed to indicate some other purpose as well.

As the blue glow swiftly deepened, that purpose became manifest. Water began to surge out of the pores, traveling down the intricate pathways of the blood channels to coat the entire blade in liquid. As the sword began to produce its hidden treasure, Torrelle's natural ability at water manipulation took hold of it, changing the way the molecules moved, slowing them down and, thereby, cooling the liquid to almost freezing temperatures. By doing so, he was able to prevent the blade from heating to an uncomfortable degree, although the thin coating of water would not be enough to completely cool the blade as long as the enemy was attempting to heat it. Still, that tactic seemed to be blocked, for now.

Countering the woman's magic had taken precious moments, however, and had succeeded in distracting him just long enough for her to complete her movement and launch her own attack. Torrelle mentally cursed himself for allowing something so trivial to distract him, even as he attempted to dodge the incoming spear.

Acting more on instinct than design, he threw his body forward and to the right of the incoming projectile, closing the distance faster, but also bringing him closer to his opponent, as she attempted to flank him. His distraction with the unexpected attack on his sword had cost him too much time to avoid the weapon entirely, however, and he felt the spear head slice a neat little chunk away from his unprotected left shoulder as he dove. Thankfully, the winds from the unexpectedly large tornado nearby helped to pull him out of the spear's path, preventing significant injury. Gritting his teeth, he mimicked his earlier roll, tucking his left shoulder forward as he hit the ground, rolling over, onto his feet. The pain from the wound was sharp and sudden as it struck the ground, enough so that it caused him to stumble slightly as he hit his feet, but not enough to prevent his next move.

Using the momentum built up in his dive and roll, the Maelstrom brought his long sword forwards and up as he stood, his forward motion bringing him to a standing position at a point where he should have intersected his opponent, the sword brought upwards in a fluid movement as he rose to create an incredibly fast and powerful slash. With any luck, throwing himself into the path of his opponent's weapon, and toward her, would give him the element of surprise. If he was REALLY lucky, his slight stumble would not slow him down enough for his fellow competitor to escape, and his upwards slash would either cleave flesh, or smash open her defenses.
AQ  Post #: 32
7/18/2008 21:59:30   
Guardian of Nekops
Member

Combat erupted all across the arena at the water nymph’s attack, each combatant seeming to regard Roch as a target at first before rejecting the notion. Soon every being in Spike was locked in combat, and he was left with a difficult choice as he scanned the arena through the wide eye sockets of his helm. The two whelps who wielded Earth hardly looked like enough of a challenge for him… they were mere boys squabbling over bits of dust. In the other two battles his sympathies were with the friendly woman from earlier and the creature of Water, who seemed to have been brought here unawares and in slavery. As both women seemed to be holding their own, Roch was hard pressed to decide upon a fight in which he could interfere… yet he knew that doing nothing was not an option.

Just when Roch had determined that he would be best served by destroying his two rivals for the honor of the Earth Lord’s favor, a great din filled the arena, coming from all sides and all unnatural for the small battles that were taking place here. Among the noises was the sound of crying children, which disquieted him, and a high-pitched wail that bore into his mind, an effect that would have been still worse had his hearing not been slightly muffled by his helmet. Looking around for the source of this disturbance, he saw only a giant standing a fair distance from the gate… as impossible as it seemed, he could not have just entered a few moments ago. Despite his great size, the monstrous warrior must have entered unseen… snuck in somehow. As most of the others were otherwise engaged, Roch assumed that the newcomer must have caused the distracting torrent of sound.

Guilty or no, the giant began to speak, proclaiming them all to be sacrifices to the Lord of Light. Roch scoffed at this behind his helmet, but when several glowing objects appeared in the air beside Goliath he was forced to look away from their glory. Sneering at this tactic as he blinked the bright spots from his vision, he lifted the broad head of Impact to place it between his eyes and the brilliant beacons, completely shielding his face in the process.

Glancing to the side so he could discern what he may without being blinded again, he saw several bright streaks of light shoot past the edges of the Gravity Axe, presumably headed for the other competitors. Although he could not hear it due to the giant’s clamor, a flash of light at his own breast drew his gaze downward to the knife that smashed into his chest plate before dropping, clattering uselessly and dim to the ground at his feet. He grinned for a second at the futility of the attack, then remembered that most of his fellow competitors were not so well armored as he. Glancing back worriedly to the plump woman in furs, he saw that she had been hit by the cowardly attack; she was grimacing in pain and rage, and favoring one arm.

Roch the Crusher lowered his axe and growled at the treacherous giant, starting towards his towering foe in a slow jog that gained speed steadily as he got the massive armor moving.

“Your Lord cannot have me,” he bellowed, probably not loud enough to carry over the din but certainly enough to add to it. “I belong to another. But you are mine!”

Readying Impact in his hands for a swing at his foe’s colossal left kneecap as he closed the distance between them, Earth’s lumberjack ignored the small glass bottle flying to his left… until it smashed on the metal floor in front of him and the light of its explosion filled his eyes, sending him staggering away to the right. The smell of smoke filled his nostrils next, and he could feel it on the exposed parts of his face, but his vision refused to clear.

Crying out in his blind, impotent rage, Roch reached the place he judged the titan of light to be standing and swung upwards with all his might. The weight of his massive armor, that weight that should have flattened him to the ground but that nonetheless did not hinder him, flowed into the Gravity Axe and lent force to his blow… enough force to rival that of a battering ram and more.

As the gleaming head of Impact swung upwards, Roch simply prayed that it would hit something.
AQ  Post #: 33
7/18/2008 23:02:50   
RATIONALPARANOIA
Member

Guts surveyed all of them, watching as each (in their own way) managed to deflect the knives. One of them used some sort of water based attack that used one of the studs on his armor... It was all very intriguing, especially that defense. The one Guts was focusing on, however, was the man who called himself Rattigan. Not only had he deflected the knife, but he was preparing some sort of tactic using a flask.

Then, Guts turned, looking at the man covered in armor. He had just issued some sort of challenge to him, and that caught the attention of Guts. However, he was not one to make the first move... So the giant just stood there. The man in the armor charged at him (not impeded by the armor at all, Guts would have to remember that), and the other one threw the flask he had been preparing. It exploded in front of the giant, producing both light and smoke.

The giant moved with an inhuman speed and grace, especially for his size. He dodged the axe of the man in armor, moving to his right with a quick slide of his feet. He planned to charge Rattigan, and as he did just that, he delivered a few choice words to the one who had attacked him.

"Good try. Any ordinary man would have been bested by that attack- And for that, you just extended your life a little longer. You can extend it for even longer if you yield, and bend your knee to the one true Lord, he of the Light." He said these words all while he was running towards the one who had thrown the flask, but he knew that to the one with the axe, it would seem like he was saying them right into his ear.

"Now you, you fake champion of Light... You deserve death." He directed these words at Rattigan, as he ran toward him. The giant threw his two swords toward the man, throwing one in a curve on the man's left, one in a curve on the man's right, trying to make sure that he stayed where he was. And that was good- With his speed, Guts would bear down on this man in mere moments, and kill him with nothing but his bare hands and the power of the Lord of Light.


< Message edited by RATIONALPARANOIA -- 7/18/2008 23:10:41 >
AQ  Post #: 34
7/18/2008 23:46:09   
Guardian of Nekops
Member

Roch’s blow did not connect, and he didn’t even manage to bump into anything with his big armored body. Even worse, his vision refused to clear, the afterimage burned into his retinas so vivid that he wasn’t even confident of seeing the large spiked wall if he neared it. Howling his frustration into the endless sea of noise that already filled the arena, he continued to swing Impact in wild, deadly arcs as he ran past where the giant had been standing. The telepathic whispering in his ear did nothing to improve his mood.

After trying and failing to remember how far the lethal points of the arena’s edge were in relation to the distance he had traveled, Roch slowed his run to a jog and then to a walk, wary of being impaled again as he was the last time he competed here. Fuming in his rage as he held the Axe of Gravity before him like a blind man might hold a stick, feeling for obstacles or any who might be foolish enough to stand in his way.

Roch’s vision began to clear as he blinked, and it was not long before he could make out the wall some distance in front of him. There was no giant there, so he looked back. He saw, doubly hazy through the smoke and his slowly returning sight, the looming figure of his foe. Baring his teeth in glee at having a direction, he started charging the huge trickster once more, axe held high.

< Message edited by Guardian of Nekops -- 7/18/2008 23:51:43 >
AQ  Post #: 35
7/19/2008 13:05:10   
TormentedDragon
Member

The spears were effective, the man fell down, and he spoke again. Once more, she simply stared, watching as both blood and wind poured forth from his body. The winds grew larger, stronger, tugging at everything in the arena, tugging at her. And as before, she went with the flow. The dome separated, her face vanished, and she pulled herself, riding the stronger winds with ease. She reached out to his blood, tiny tendrils of water seeking it out and finding it, allowing her to pull herself along. Her essence fused with his blood, and her face formed once more, a strangely beautiful swirl of red and blue. She smiled, and spoke once more, her voice filled with satisfaction. "And now your blood is mine."

In seconds, she had passed herself through, and taken with her all that was water, filtering out and leaving behind anything that was not. She left behind naught but flakes of dark red, to float upon the rushing winds, and set her eyes elsewhere. Once around the whirlwind, twice, thrice, and on the forth, she knew what she would do. She bunched herself, preparing, and as she came round again, she reached out, three long trails of water speeding forth. They came round to strike the central pillar, and, surprisingly, did not splash. Instead, they held, engulfing the blue metal, and pulling her out of the tornado's grasping winds. She flew through the air and struck the waiting wall, her currents rolling her along its surface as she released her tether, pulling it back in.

She flowed along the wall, rushing past the brutal spikes, the knives rolling and tumbling within her, guided with ease around the obstacles. Over the heads of the woman and the pirate she went, ignoring them, for now. Too much effort to swamp them, to change direction that drastically. Instead, she gathered herself, her form bunching together, and then launched off the wall. She hit the metal of the floor, and twisted, water piling forward to form a single, rather large spear, not unlike the spikes she had so recently been among. Maintaining momentum, she aimed straight for the giant, his symbol tumbling forward to the point of the spear, where it hung, spinning wildly.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 36
7/19/2008 18:45:43   
Lord Memphis
Member

In a moment of adrenalin-corrupted stupidity, Rattigan grinned. Having turned his back on the explosion as it occurred, Rattigan was limited to what he heard so as to determine the aftermath.

What he heard, and interpreted, was far from the reality, and even further from what he had seen as an ideal outcome.

What he had heard and interpreted was a clean, crisp pop, which echoed slightly throughout the acoustically prevalent arena, yet was ephemeral beneath the growing sounds of some whipping vortex nearby. Though he was facing a wall of spikes at the time, he knew what this would mean. This signalled the successful reaction of the makeshift flash device with the suppressed layer of flammable gases bottled in the flask, resulting in both a blinding, incandescent white explosion and the production of rather a lot of smoke. These would couple together favourably, and leave the giant at a disadvantage for either the beginnings of their battle, or Rattigan's hasty exodus from the vicinity. Either way, things could not have gone better, considering the circumstances.

The reality is that, although the incendiary had done the intended task perfectly well, it had somehow failed to be effective in deterring the figure. Perhaps it had not landed in the correct line of sight, therefore doing nothing detrimental to the other contestants. Perhaps some object had blocked the path of light from explosion to eye. Perhaps by some freak of nature the brightness of the light was absorbed by some invisible, malevolent being intent on bringing eternal penumbra upon the land. Or, perhaps, it just wasn't enough to do anything significant. Whichever reason it was, this beast of a man now knew that he was being attacked by something, and also knew who the culprit was.

To swing the balance ever further into his perceived failure, it seemed the brute had mistaken who had thrown the flask at him, and was now charging towards an unsuspecting, unprepared servant of the light elsewhere in the complex. This effectively gave him the upper hand in subterfuge, as he would be able to orchestrate an equally ingenius follow-up while he was free from immediate threats, and also almost guaranteed some poor, unlucky soul would be unable to challenge his dominance in the heat of the moment.

Truth, though, is far different from the persistence of reality, and the fabrications of memory. To swing the balance ever further against Rattigan, the figure had turned to him, intent on bringing the first death to the conflict. The brute even managed to somehow warn Rattigan of his less-than-amiable intentions with a bloodthirsty cry out to him, branding him a false servant of the light, and promising his timely destruction.

And yet, Rattigan still did not even indulge his opponent by moving. Instead, he turned on the spot to face a scene far, far different to the one he had expected to lay eyes upon. One in which he was thrust so very far into immediate danger, with only his own improvisational spark to assist him. A metallic, yet percussive clash marked the connection of the twin blades with the sonorous floor and walling. It also marked an apparent severance of any possible escape routes.

“Oh, you mean I'm the servant of the Light? Well, why didn't you say so, you rascal, you?” Called out Rattigan, attempting to maintain a smooth, unconcerned attitude with which to taunt the imminent threat that awaited him. After all, demoralisation was the greatest psychological defeat an army can suffer. Yet, it seemed not to work, as the figure charged forward, baring his hands as he did so. It was only then that Rattigan realised how truly immense this man's build was. He seemed to dwarf the others nearby to the size of rodents, and was quite the intimidating sight to behold. With a sigh, he clenched his fists a gritted his teeth, and readied himself for what would happen next. This would be quite the challenging situation, with the highest possible stakes on the metaphorical table.
However, as stating before, reality is different to perception.

The perception is that Rattigan had found himself staring, much to his surprise, at a charging behemoth with only a second or so to react.

The reality is that Rattigan had been eyeing the shadows cast by a sun of the early morning and the blurred reflection the spikes revealed to him. He had seen, as the elongated shadow figure elucidated to him, that the figure had turned to face him, and was undeterred by the sudden visual inhibitor. This corroborated with the blurred, distorted reflection the architectural weapons of war pinned to the wall told him.

It was as soon as he saw this that he began to act, once more reaching into a previously opened belt pouch. The inner lining was soft to the touch, and padded heavily. However, the stitching was of no importance whatsoever. The contents of the bag, though, was vital to his survival. Three tubes filled with a runny black liquid clinked together as he produced them each simultaneously, popping the corks in turn with his thumb. Still facing the spikes, and trying his very hardest to concentrate both on the shadow and the intricate manipulation of his digits at once. Time was running out fast, now, and he tipped the first tube upside down behind his back, with the substance settling on the floor in a rather thinly spread puddle. He repeated this with the other two tubes, and surveyed a rather large puddle that seemed to plane across the flat surface of the metal floor through the corner of his eye. As one last embellishment, he dropped each of the glass containers to the floor, and heard a satisfying shatter as they spread out across the tiny ocean of oil.

Normally, Rattigan would have used such an oily substance only to add the extra kick of flammability to a mixture, but he had also observed that it reduced friction dramatically if placed on a surface. It was this latter use that would be employed today, as Rattigan turned to stare into the face of death. He hoped only to distract this monstrously large form by talking, buying himself more time to eye any changes to surroundings before making his manoeuvres.

As the figure charged, and the blades whistled through the air, he stood his ground, clenched his fist and gritted his teeth, yet only so as to lure his enemy forwards until it was too late to stop. For as the creature came ever nearer, Rattigan dived to the side across the floor, skidding slightly as he did so. Once more, he found himself facing away from his enemy, but he rather hoped that they would slip through the oils on the floor, perhaps also cutting themselves on the shattered glass, and head straight for the spikes at their speed of acceleration. In theory, it was the perfect plan under the circumstances, yet he half doubted this as he craned his neck to observe the results.
Post #: 37
7/19/2008 23:23:38   
RATIONALPARANOIA
Member

Guts was using a trick that his mentor has shown him. The trick was complicated, but once you knew how to do it and practiced with it, it became easy. It involved reflecting light from all 360 degrees around your body, then sending it to your eyes. Well, that was the most common use of the technique. It allowed you to have, as the saying went, eyes in the back of your head (and the side, for that matter). A harder application, but the one that Guts was using now, was a version that allowed him to watch every single part of the arena at once.

It was incredibly difficult to do, even if you had the light magic necessary to do it. It took a lot of training to be able to comprehend the enormous amount of magic, and to use it effectively enough to give you an advantage in the battle. Luckily for Guts (this was the alias he was going by now- his real name was unknown, long forgotten by even him), his mentor had been quite an effective trainer. Any failures Guts had had, any mistakes that he had made; it was the whip if he was lucky, and other sharp exotic items if he wasn’t.

But that was in the past. Now, Guts made no mistakes. He watched all that was happening, and saw that three of the contestants had decided to try and fight him. The water woman (for Guts was sure that she was a woman) was rushing towards the giant from one side, the man in armor from another. The other one, the faker: he had thrown what appeared to be oil on the ground, in an attempt to stop the giant.

How foolish of the man; he could not stop the giant. They didn’t understand quite what he was, nor fully understand the depth of his power. Guts had secrets that they knew nothing about, ones that no one knew anything about. No one but his mentor and the Light Lord, that was… just the Light Lord you might say, as his mentor was now long dead.

Three things happened at once. The giant disappeared, leaving nothing but a big flash of light where he had been. It was instantaneous- he was fully there, then fully gone. At almost the exact same time, there was another big flash behind the water woman. The giant reappeared again, his two swords in hand again (for, although there had been no flash, the other two swords had disappeared in mid air).

The third thing seemed was the least connected to these other events, but was still no doubt the handiwork of Guts. In front of the faker, another creature appeared. It was glowing with a blinding bright light, but if you had been able to make out what it looked like, you would realize that it looked something like one of those ancient stone gargoyles, simply brought to terrible life. It bore down on Rattigan (the faker’s name, yes), its claws outstretched. It screamed at the same time, it’s screech filling and echoing through the whole Spike Arena.

Guts used his manipulation of the sounds in the arena (not his ability- this was another effect of the items producing the sounds, quite valuable to him, especially for theatrics) to say a few choice words to the water woman while all this happened. He stopped her from hearing the scream (which would normally stop him from being heard, and did stop the others from hearing him), so that he could take the tone of whispering. He might as well just shout it, but he felt that whispering... was just somehow the proper tone to take, and the proper way to convey his message.

“You are beautiful.” he said to the woman of water. “I doubt you will surrender to the Light Lord… But unless I must, I will not kill you. I will take you with me, if I can- and I will make you my consort.”


< Message edited by RATIONALPARANOIA -- 7/19/2008 23:34:41 >
AQ  Post #: 38
7/20/2008 0:22:05   
damselindigital
Member

Enya’s plan had succeeded, but only in part. True, her weapon had struck her adversary, allowing his blood to flow, but he seemed to be functioning still quite well despite the injury. At least it hadn’t killed him. She would have accepted such a result as the risk of the game, but found it a pitiable loss. One who greeted others with respect in a time of conflict was a rare thing indeed. What truly made her angry though is that somehow her powers had been thwarted. Instead of being forced to abandon one of his blades, he instead appeared to have activated an enchantment, making it much more dangerous. Not only that, but the attempt had cost her of her limited heat.

Cursing the man to the legendary Frozen Wastes where even the strongest fire will sputter and fail, she abandoned her claim on the weapon. It would likely serve her no further and there would certainly be other, better uses for her flame.

By the heat of her Lord, the man was fast! She barely had time to react before he was before her once again, swinging his sword upwards as if he had the desire to split her from pelvis to sternum. Even the moment she had to throw herself backwards before he connected would not have been enough to keep her from this fate were she without the advantage she had been counting on. He had misjudged the thickness and quantity of the hides she had been wearing and failed to cut deeply enough to penetrate to her flesh. Nevertheless, it did further ruin her clothing and that only served to infuriate her.

She turned her momentum into a back handspring, something she was hoping to surprise her opponent with. Her dodges of course might have hinted at her ability to move in such a fashion, but such gymnastic knowledge and subsequent physical training had been rare among her people and she hoped it was the same here in this place. As her hands stretched towards the floor, tracing the path of an arc, her legs rushed upward. If she was exceedingly lucky, a foot might even contact the hilt of his sword or the hand that grasped it and jar it from his grip. However, she was far from finished.

Continuing across the floor the floor in a series of handsprings, she closed the distance to the pillar. This was why she hadn’t drawn a weapon after her strike; she had needed her hands free. True, she hadn’t exactly expected the man to react the way he had, but it worked out, regardless. Well, except for the long cuts now marring her coats, which she certainly wasn’t happy about. They’d take months to replace.

Due to needing to focus on her destination more than her surroundings, Enya entirely missed the great mass of water that flew above her and the great flash of light which was shielded by the bulk of the pillar itself. Finally she planted her feet, her back roughly a foot from the strange substance that formed the monolith, slotted rather neatly between two of the spikes. As a wind tried to tug at the hair tied back from her face, she scowled at her adversary and drew a spear. Holding it in both hands so it crossed her chest diagonally, she surveyed the results of her retreat.
AQ  Post #: 39
7/20/2008 0:56:54   
Guardian of Nekops
Member

Charging towards Light's titan as his vision regained its sharpness, Roch grinned eagerly beneath his helmet. He had thrown all his heart into the sprint and had begun to close the distance between himself and his elusive prey. Long before he caught up entirely, however, there was yet another bright flash that stole his eyesight and his target from him for the second time. In the intervening steps before he could see again, Roch’s right foot failed him and slid across the floor. He lost his balance and fell with a loud clatter and the grating of metal on metal as his momentum carried him along the ground… right into the embankment of deadly spikes that rimmed the arena.

Fortunately for him, Roch’s armored feet struck the wall in a place where there were no pointy objects to impale him, sparing him from the fate he had suffered two years prior. Using his free hand to quickly roll himself from his back to his stomach, he then scrambled to his feet.

Seething in rage, he threw himself towards the giant’s new position, bellowing, “Trickster! Lousy, cowardly, backstabbing trickster!”

< Message edited by Guardian of Nekops -- 7/20/2008 12:43:11 >
AQ  Post #: 40
7/20/2008 2:29:06   
The Dragon Knight
Member

"Bouncing barnacles, but this woman is fast!" Torrelle thought, as she nimbly dodged the blow from his longsword. The blade whistled through the air, inaudible, amidst the clamor that filled the arena, to all but him. Along with the whistle came the sound of tearing; fabric parting in order to make room for the intruding metal. His eyes watched the point of the blade score deeply into the furs surrounding the woman as she threw herself backwards in an astonishing display of agility.

Indeed, the surprise at her sudden acrobatics, combined with the unexpected thickness of her armor, along with an unusually strong blast of light from the other side of the pillar which, unfortunately, was not entirely obscured by said pillar's bulk, all worked together to create a major distraction. Unfortunately for the fearsome Pirate Lord of the Western Seas, that distraction resulted in a number of things happening in quick succession.

First, the woman's sudden acrobatic flip meant that there was no physical resistance against the pirate's blade. This translated into having far more forward momentum than he had originally anticipated for this moment. Second, his focus on the point of the blade meant that he was not paying attention to his center of gravity, which resulted in his stumbling even closer to his opponent than he would have desired. Third, and lastly, the sudden flash of light, while shielded enough to not cause any lasting effects, was just enough to dazzle his eyes for a brief moment, meaning that he did not see the danger behind the woman's maneuver.

Being much farther forward than either he or she had anticipated meant that her kick failed to connect with either his sword or his hand. While this was most certainly good news for his hand, his face was not quite so lucky.

With a resounding crack that seemed to echo above the raucous din, the rather flexible fur-clad woman's heel connected quite squarely with the gentleman pirate's chin. The force of the blow lifted the man off of his feet, and gave him enough back spin that he performed a flip of such acrobatic finesse that, had he planned it himself, it should have quite put hers to shame. Unfortunately for the luckless sea-scoundrel, seeing as the flip was not his idea, neither was landing. Besides, he was far to preoccupied with his, now, impacted molars to concern himself with such a trivial matter as landing.

Except, of course, that it wasn't quite so trivial. After all, with his arms splayed out to either side instead of pointing towards the ground, as hers had been, he found himself inclined to use his head to absorb the impact of landing. Time seemed to freeze for a moment, leaving the painfully unlucky soul precariously balanced upon the crown of his noggin, his back to his opponent. Then, time slowly resumed its course, as the man fell forward with an almost exaggerated slowness, his face and body impacting the ground with a solid 'thwump'. As Torrelle lay prone, for a moment, groaning slightly, one could almost imagine that there should be a cloud of dust slowly settling around him. However, as the metal arena was sadly devoid of such a comedic device, one was left with nothing but imagination to fuel the fire.

His hands, which had miraculously maintained their grip on the weapons they held, came up alongside the rather abused adventurer's face, and pushed downwards, levering his body upwards to one knee. Shaking his head to try and re-combobulate his, now, discombobulated thoughts, he raised his head to look the woman squarely in the eye.

While most people might expect a person to act in a sheepish and embarrassed manner after such a spill, or perhaps even to go into an uncontrollable fit of rage, Torrelle's sense of the ridiculous had been triggered. A wide grin upon his face, even as blood trickled from the corners of his cracked lips, the pirate came to his feet with a flourish, his body bent forward, arms outstretched to either side as he executed a perfect bow.

"Ta dah!" came the unexpected exclamation from his swollen and bleeding lips. His water manipulation ability carried the vibrations caused by his voice through the water molecules in the air, directly to his opponent's ears, allowing her to hear him quite clearly, despite the noise level in the vicinity. "And just think," he continued, coming out of his bow to offer her a broad and semi-conspiratorial wink, "that was all done without a net!"

With a comic disregard for the battles that raged about them, the bumbling swashbuckler casually dusted non-existent particles of dust from his leggings. "I really must thank you for that, by the way," he remarked, glancing up from his dusting. "That tooth had been aching something severe lately. What do I owe you for the dentistry, my dear?"

His flippant comments and wide grin served to display just how much he was enjoying fighting an opponent who appeared to be his equal, both in courtesy and ability. His hands coming up into a battle-ready stance once again, his smile never dimmed, savoring the thrill that combat gave him. It lifted his spirits like nothing else in this world ever could.

< Message edited by The Dragon Knight -- 7/20/2008 2:30:59 >
AQ  Post #: 41
7/20/2008 3:05:12   
TormentedDragon
Member

Her target vanished, to reappear behind her. He spoke his words, his offer, his promise... and she, she remained silent. With the giant behind her, she shifted her shape, the ramming spear she had formed dissolving back into her mass, and she rose, becoming not unlike a wave. She shifted her currents in response to the newly spawned creature's light, forming herself so that the light split. Behind her, spread across the surface of blue metal, the rainbow colors shifted and danced, forming a breathtaking display. As she drew nearer to the source of this light, the colors shifted further, the rainbows splitting from each other, reflected now as well as refracted, to point to the sides, turning the arena into a surreal world of color, but leaving the giant untouched.

And then she was upon it, her speed having increased with her charge, and she crashed over its brilliant form, a bubbling laugh ringing through everyone's ears, cutting straight through the scream and the plethora of other sounds, only to peter off into a surprised silence. Her essence engulfed it, going over and through it, changing its light from a blinding white to the wondrous colors she wished it to be.

< Message edited by TormentedDragon -- 7/20/2008 17:48:18 >
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 42
7/20/2008 7:13:20   
Lord Memphis
Member

Under any normal, usual, or slightly less urgent circumstances, Rattigan would have taken at least five seconds to massage the bridge of his temple with finger and thumb at the sight of his apparent failure. When man is deprived of mannerisms by his environment, something has gone horribly wrong.

And to say it had gone horribly wrong was a litotes.

And to call it a litotes is a gross understatement.

And to call this litotes a gross understatement is, in itself, quite the meiosis.

Perhaps a better word would be catastrophe. Instead of finding himself impaled on an abundance of large protuberances after slipping on oil, he seemed to blink out of existence. That was some fearsome arcanum. When he manifested once more it was not nearby Rattigan, but some creature borne of water. He sighed with relief at this, yet his silent joy was short-lived, as he saw in the corner of his eye another flash of light directly in front of him. Had he not been eyeing the movements of the twin bladed man and had instead been looking ahead, he would have most surely been blinded, albeit temporarily. It seemed luck was a strange lady. He was rescued from visual incapacitation, only to fall into the waiting maws of some foreign construction.

He whipped his head round to face whatever had appeared, and saw only an orb of white, tiny rays sparking from the main body. If he squinted, Rattigan could just about see the outline of a figure as it jerked into motion. He rolled his eyes as this creature lunged towards him, throwing out their appendages as it did so.

Rattigan recoiled, reaching for his cane, but realised how superfluous is would be in this situation. Instead, he threw his hands once more to his beltpouches. Having exhausted one or two of the aces up his sleeves already, he had moved onto some of the more creative substances. However, in the heat of battle he fumbled with the latches as the creature drew closer at a speed that would most likely decapitate him. It seemed he had been having the worst of luck today.

He kept his fngers nimbly scrambling for the golden moment of redemption. That perfect feeling when he finally pulled strap from holding and was granted access to his weaponry once more. He longed to hear that satisfying click once more before what was rapidly becoming an inevitable demise.

And then, his demise seemed not to come. Instead, it was replaced by a myriad of beautiful, vibrant colours, throwing themselves across the various scenes of turmoil scattered through the auditorium. It was quite beautiful to behold such juxtaposition between pain and psychedelia simultaneously, in a sick sense. He glanced his head back to the creature to see what had changed such to both save him from death and bathe the stadium in this collage of hues.

He saw the same golem, borne of light, yet in a different scene. Encased in torrents of water by some elemental or somesuch, it struggled, grasping out. Some good fortune was smiling at him today, as well as a stony compassion of battle for this aqeous being to bring mercy upon him. Whether as pity, or mutual disdain for this elusive, delusional rebel attempting to kill anyone in their path, he did not know.

Yet Rattigan was not about to be lured into such merciful frames of mind. In front of him was not his saviour imprisoning a threat, but an opponent housing something that had shown audacity enough to attempt to kill a superior being.

And both would be exterminated in one fell swoop. Even if this living water had saved his life, the giant (for lack of a better word) was still free. Free to kill, and free to exact his vendetta upon Rattigan. That was an unacceptable situation, and as a result the act of mercy shown by this individual was obsolete in the long run.

He moved his fingers from the two bags he had been fumbling with, and moved to the next bag back on either side of the belt. This time, free from immediate danger, he was able to click the latched almost immediately. In one hand he produced a bottle labelled 'CaOSuCH3(CH2)8CH3 ' in large black letters. Underneath is written the slightly less scientific words 'quicklime/naphtha' in smaller black letters.

He took this bottle, and threw it to the ground at the base of the water bubble. The substance would ignite on contact with water and, due to its density, would float upon such water. It was an ingenius creation, as it continued undeterred and unwavering by the contact with water, unlike most forms of fire. No, it fed on water. It needed water to burn. Without water, it was nothing.

In his other hand he took a tiny tube containing a slab of a white metal. Labelled on the tube was 'Rb', and he handled the tiny glass container as though it were a precious gem. He grasped it gently, but firmly, and lifted it from the pouch. He took several steps back, then popped the bung sealing the top of this tube before tossing it at the ground violently where the waves began. He smiled with satisfaction, before widening his eyes and taking a further few steps back. This would be highly dangerous. If and when the flask shattered one of two things would most definitely happen. In air, the metal would burst into flames and flare violently. In water, it would explode in a most amazing sight – A grim testament to the fate of meddling with Salvador Rattigan.
Post #: 43
7/20/2008 13:44:47   
Frozt
Member

A seeing person would have noticed that the spectators were looking at the arena, and not the entrance, but he was no seeing person. Not in the normal sence, that is. As Froztious walked along the path towards the arena, only the path was what he "saw". His dark grey cloak whissled across the ground as he walked, and his long gray hair was hanging down in front of his eyes, his white eyes, the eyes that most whom he had met remembered him for. With their slight glowing, and the fact that he could see without them, was what those whom he had met told about after their meeting. He knew that people looked at his eyes with a surprised look on their faces, but their textures was not what he was seeing. No he looked at their whole, not the details. Now he walked here, on his way to an arena, on his way to combat. His staff clicked against the ground, against the metal. With each click his gloved hands were shaking a little. As he neared the still open gates he began "looking" at the arena. He saw that the figures in there was already entangled in combat, and he took a firmer grip on his staff. He then began running, his sword bumping into his side, and soon reached the gates. There he took a moment to really take in all the details of the arena.

What he saw struck him. Spikes everywhere. 'So that is why it is called the Spike Arena' he thought, and imediatly covered his ears as he heard the sounds. Loud sounds everywhere; the clanging of metal, words spoken, wind, earth and other things. In his amazement of the arena, he had forgotten about the noises. He knew that using his vision to se too many details would block his other senses, and that was always a fatal mistake to make. If his other senses were blocked, the impressions from them would come crashing onto him like a tidal wave. 'Much like the wave over there' he thought as he recovered from the shock, and began "looking" at nothing but the rough details around the arena. The clanging of metal was sounding more normal now, but it still sounded like it was coming from a source near him. It then struck him that what he had seen might have been closer than they apeared in his mind, and he remembered that he had been used to travelling long distances, and that it made his vision seem to stretch. He closed his vision and drew his sword. With it he began walking away from the noises while using the sword as a cane. He searched for what apeared to be a secluded spot, and found it. He sat down on the hard ground and began muttering. 'To walk into a place of combat with my travelling vision. Why am i so careless? Oh mighty ice lord, why do my powers not prevent me from making such fatal mistakes? Why do your gifts to me not prevent me from doing something that would get me killed in an instant? And, WHY am i sitting here in the middle of a combat area, talking to myself? Excuse me, to you my lord' he muttered and began scratching his chin. After a little he began feeling refreshed, and stood up ready to face whatever was thrown his way. Or at least ready to try and survive for a longer period...
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 44
7/20/2008 15:08:35   
N3344
Member

"Idiot!", Cale shouted in his mind towards the oblivious Jon. Cale could inevitably see the pebble which was flying towards him faster than a bat out of hell. Though, a normal sane minded person would dodge the attack, but Cale wasnt sane. Stepping in front of the flying pebble, Cale waited for it to hit him. Then, with a loud popping sound, he could feel it penetrate his very "skin". A rather odd color of blood, almost a brownish red, oozed from the very wound. He could feel both the pain and euphoria of "reuniting" with the earth.

"Hehehehehehe...", an ominous and maniacal laugh seeped out of Cales mouth. "No, nows not the time to unleash IT.", Cale thought as he could feel the earth inside of him being broken up into dust and circulating through his "bloodstream". "Soon though, this whole arena will expierence the honor of being murdered by my very hands.", Cale thought as he faced Jon once more.

Then, out of nowhere, one of the opponents unleashed a massive twister. The winds whipped at Cales face and at first, there was a sense of being pulled into it. But, Cale refused to becomed mixed with the water creature and wind monster. Instead, he watched as the dust that mustve been dragged into the arena by the other contestants swirled around in the air. "Perfect...", Cale thought with a idea sure to make Jon shake in his boots.

As Cale called out to his children with a desperate plea, he watched as they slowly migrated towards him. Beautiful golden dust rained down on Cales body and yet again it fused with him. Then Cale began forming his new weapons. Slowly, the earth began to spread around Cales body, except on his face. Then, his attack began to take shape. Small spikes, only four inches in length, began to sprout on his body. When he finally finished producing his new weapons, Cale looked like a cave with stalagmites all over it. Then, Cales body began to swell and as quickly as he started swelling, Cale unleashed his attack, but only to be blinded by a bright flash. Without control, Cale released the spikes. He had no idea where they went and with the tugging of the tornado, they could fly anywhere around the arena.

Angered and disappointed, Cale finally began to regain his sight. Obviously not being able to find the person who unleashed the attack, Cale yet again looked at Jon. Cale unfortunaetly only had enough earth to form the twin swords of his arms again, which seemed like a rather fitting situation as Jon drew a sword of his own. Just as Cale was about to lunge towards Jon, Cale noticed what seemed to be a new competitor in the arena. Though something was odd about this man as he walked oddly and his eyes were odd as well. Like Cale found Jon doing, the man seemed to be sitting down. "No, my fight is not with this man, it is with this ignorant fool Jon.", Cale thought as he stood there in a fighting position, waiting for Jon to attack first.
AQ DF  Post #: 45
7/20/2008 18:15:34   
Geddesmck
Member
 

 Rolling onto his side Jon grabbed his back pouch with his hand and pulled it off his belt. He opened it and groaned. He’d been keeping a few vials of pain killer in it, but all of them had smashed open. In frustration Jon threw the empty pouch away. “Damn it!” Jon punched the ground. He regretted it immediately; his fist began to throb the moment it slammed against the cold metal floor.

The young enchanter got to his feet and looked around for his enemy; he’d momentarily lost sight of Cale and was eager to see how much damage he had caused him. Unfortunately he didn’t seem to have caused any damage at all. In fact it seemed his opponent was already preparing a counter attack.

Jon almost lost his balance when the wind around the arena picked, but he quickly found his feet. He was ready to charge at his opponent when the light blinded him. He fell to his knees and covered his face as he screamed out in frustration. Why did luck insist on fighting him today.

However, it just so happened that falling to his knees saved Jon his life. Five spikes, all about four inches long and all made of earth, flew harmlessly over his head. One of them in particular would have certainly killed Jon, as it was on course to penetrate his left eye had been standing. One other spike slammed into the ground a few centimetres behind Jon. However, the only one Jon actually noticed was the one that hit him.

It hit him in on the left side of the hip. Had it not been for the chainmail shirt and leather vest he wore, the wound would have been serious. Fortunately his protection saved him from serious injury. Even so, almost an inch of the spike cut into his flesh. It was a shallow wound, having taken some deflection due to the chainmail and cutting into the side rather than entering his body. Even so, it hurt. It hurt a lot.

Jon cursed. Not anything in particular, he just felt like cursing. As far as he could tell, his wound was rather minor, albeit painful. Guess what would be useful now. Oh yeah, painkiller, Jon thought. He struggled to stand once more. When he was stood up straight, he pulled out the spike and grimaced. He felt a rush of warm blood fall down his leg. It wasn't a pleasent feeling.

He took some deep breaths and stared at Cale. He drew his short sword from his back and loosened his shoulders. Cale had two blades. Jon had two blades.

Jon walked slowly towards his enemy, taking no chances, leaving no openings. To be honest, he wasn’t sure he could run anyway, not with his wound giving him so much trouble.

He was barely in striking distance when he lunged. It was a probing shot, but it would begin the proceedings. Even as he stretched ever so slightly, Jon face contorted into a snarl as he felt the pain intensify and the long gash get ever so slightly longer.


< Message edited by Geddesmck -- 7/20/2008 20:32:46 >
AQ DF  Post #: 46
7/20/2008 22:27:12   
Nightly
Member

The winds kept going now devoid of the blood that had held them back. Without the blood the winds were free. Free in the sense that they could do what they came here for. Destruction. The wind was tired of being pushed around and it was ready to push back. Swirling higher and higher it now reached the ceiling of the arena and its winds had picked up dramatically. Such an influx of wind had caused the reds flakes to simply mix in with the wind, making it clear once again. If someone was curious enough to look into the tornado, they would have seen a man being lifted by the wind. Almost as if the wind was his lover. For that was what it was. It had been taken control of, and that was something it did not like much. The wind and the man were a part of each other, when one died, the other did also. But now, they were both full of wrath, and ready to unleash it. The time had come. The last thing to be known by anyone in the arena would be how cruel wind could be.

Nightly stood up, glancing around he saw the winds pick up faster and faster until it seemed that they could lift up anything. It was a silent wind however yet he could not hear the sounds of the wind. He could, however, hear the strange cacophony of noises that seemed to come from around the arena. Sending out a tendril of air, the height of a truck he searched for those strange devices. Letting the wind past through all of the competitors battles, Nightly reminded them that wind was still here, and ready to fight. Finding all of the devices, he smashed them and once again heard the sounds of the fight. Looking around the arena he at last found what he sought for. Water. Smiling cruelly, he watched as she yet again sought to destroy another opponent.

"You have my blood, which is exactly what I wanted. Soon, it shall be your greatest undoing." Nightly thought imagining how it was going to plan out.

Waiting patiently, he planned his next move so that it could have the most devastating affect. If no one looked or noticed the tornado now, then they were blind fools. Fools he would gladly destroy.


< Message edited by Nightly -- 7/21/2008 7:50:58 >
Post #: 47
7/20/2008 23:16:07   
RATIONALPARANOIA
Member

Guts loved the creature. It was a beautiful work of art, a testament to both Gut’s skill and his artistic vision. Sadly, though, it was but a mere distraction, a simple illusion. Just a tactic used to hide the arrows that came behind it, traveling rapidly through it. When the woman of water had attempted to grab the creature, he would have thought she’d have at least tried to stop the arrows. But she did not… She simply let the arrows go through her, and straight at the one called Rattigan.

He was certain they would hit Rattigan. At the speeds they were going, and the distance they were from him (only about a foot, it was), they’d be impossible to dodge. But he couldn’t sit around, just idly watching the results- There were more important things to deal with. Like the man in the armor, who was now shouting something about tricksters, and charging towards him.

Ah well… Might as well charge back at him. He clearly wanted a challenge, and wished to fight the giant. The giant unsheathed his two swords again, and ran at the man in armor. He was a knight in shining armor, just like in the stories Guts had been told… But in this story, the dragon was going to eat him whole.


< Message edited by RATIONALPARANOIA -- 7/21/2008 13:48:16 >
AQ  Post #: 48
7/21/2008 0:38:25   
Guardian of Nekops
Member

The Crusher in Roch rose completely to the fore as the unnatural racket stopped, the cause of it apparently smashed as thoroughly as Roch himself had wished to do. The evident power of the yellow dog who had been running from him all this time was beginning to unravel, being replaced by something else... a rising hurricane of furious wind that was just barely far enough away to not be his immediate problem.

Suddenly and inexplicably changing its cowardly mind and turning to face him, the giant drew its huge blades and began sprinting towards Roch, coming to meet his charge head on. Snarling with a sort of insane glee at the monstrosity’s overconfidence, he shortened his strides even further and leaned forward into his reckless stampede, urging the massive suit of armor to an even greater speed and momentum. Raising the Gravity Axe high, he also pressed his chest to the transmutation circle engraved inside, preparing his mind in case his blow should miss.

Giants, he thought condescendingly as the distance between the two closed. Always assuming that their strength will save them just because I’m so much smaller. He took careful aim for the colossal left knee of his opponent, and began swinging his weapon down as the distance between them closed.

Well, let it save him from this!

As it arced back up towards his target, the mighty head of Impact was backed by a force well in excess of six hundred pounds.
AQ  Post #: 49
7/21/2008 5:30:37   
Lord Memphis
Member

The wind began to swirl, building in essence, escalating in speed and power. It was now easily noticeable as he looked around, seeing swirling wisps gyrating in mid air, splitting, spiralling up, down, around. In all directions. It was surprisingly placid at where he stood, quite close still to this oddly beautiful amalgamation of threat and saviour, the light breaking through the layers of water in vibrant colours. But Rattigan then realised that the Rubidium was still unexploded, and took a few further steps back so as to not find himself atomised from the explosion it would bring about. This would be most deadly, and most spectacular indeed. His ultimate victory. The twinfold destruction of the two most apparent threats would no doubt seal himself as the Champion of Fire and elevate him far, far above these worms with which he now found himself.

He grimaced slightly. This tournament, in the short time he had been within, had corrupted him somewhat. He could almost feel intuitively this barrier between eccentricity and insanity beginning to crumble down. And then, he made another realisation. Neither Rubidium, nor Quicklime solution, seemed to be making any visible effect yet. A most unusual result, bearing in mind the usual rapidity of reactions with these chemicals. It was entirely possible, he hoped, that they would react in a few more seconds. Though he'd never seen it so slow, it was absurd to mark it as a failure just yet.

It was this inexplicable chemical futility that caused Rattigan to squint his eyes somewhat, and observe more closely the scene in front of him. He felt less urgency to run, or throw himself to the ground. This was now a learning curve. How was it possible that two of the most hydro reactive chemicals in the land had been useless? He peered in closer, scanning keenly and closely, looking for faults, or anomalies. And it was this technical eye with which he examined that allowed him to see the sudden volley of arrows pass through the figure within the bubble of water, exposing them as a mere illusion of visibility. They travelled at an almost impossible speed, straight through the water towards him.

Rattigan's eyes widened in shock, and as a reflex action he threw himself to the left in an attempt to avoid this torrent of death with which he was now grappling. Had he not taken another step back or so from fear of the explosion, he would most surely have been impaled more times than is possible to survive. Yet his leap would not liberate him from danger completely. No human would be able to gamble against death and survive unscathed. As he jumped, he looked back, grinning as he noticed he had avoided the path of many of these arrows by doing so. Two were still in his path, however, and connected with their intended target.

A searing pain filled his right shoulder and hip. Incomprehensible agony coursing through his body, seeming to boil his blood and slash at his legs with every further move he made. It was possibly the most amazing fortune that he had dodged so many of the piercing torrent aimed at him, but the pain he now experienced was most great, and clouded his incredible mind with reptilian urges involving inconceivable pain for the orchestrator of this.

There was little blood in the first wound. Luckily, it had glanced off the several pronounced bones in the shoulder, missing the main arteries and veins. This wound was painful, but would heal normally and not diminish his performance too much. To his immense chagrin, though, his jacket now had quite a hole in it. The second of the traumas was slightly more deadly. As it had annihilated quite a large part of his muscle in the leg, he would be left with a limp for the remainder of this battle, and already he could feel the crimson droplets cruising down his leg.

Clenching his teeth, Rattigan took hold of both of the arrows, and wrenched them from their new homes, before throwing them to the side. Wincing, he exuded an indecipherable grunt in an attempt to replace pain with vocalism. Next he pulled a white cotton handkerchief from his jacket pocket, and placed it into the arrow wound opening, in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Had he had more time, he would have applied some form of tourniquet. But he had no time to do so. He had far, far more time to exact vengeance on the one who had made such a blatant attempt on his life. Rattigan, of course, already knew which figure was responsible for this travesty. Throwing his eyes to the giant, he glared and took up his walking cane. For once, it seemed he would actually have use of its aesthetic qualities, as he leant upon it to ease the strain of his rapidly spasming right leg.

The giant had maintained the audacity to move to his next opponent without even observing the effectiveness of his hidden weapon. And this would be the mistake that brought upon his all-too inevitable downfall. Already his foothold of dominance within the arena was crumbling to dust. His figure revealed as illusion by his own fabrications. Half of the contestants wishing him dead. Even the devices that had caused such an annoyance by emitting screeching and sounds of drums had been destroyed, shattered beneath the immense force of the elements. His machinations were becoming dust.

And now, it was time for this dust to become nothingness.

Rattigan limped forwards, not even throwing a glance to the dome of water as he did so. Ignoring any other distractions, it was clear that he had fallen into obsession with the destruction of this insignificant, yet tireless pawn in the game of life. And, as he made his way forward, supported by a thin piece of wood, it was easy to be granted an inkling of the gulf between his aspirations and his powers. His delusions, and his abilities. He began to laugh to himself as he went, the wind picking up around him, hair whipping painfully into his face. But he did not seem to care, absorbed only in vengeance against the one who had brought so much disdain upon him this day.

He grew ever closer to the giant, now about to engage in mêlée combat with some man enveloped in armour. If he had observed Rattigan as no threat, he needed to re-estimate and re-prioritise. This lack of commitment to one foe would be his downfall. He approached the scene of battle about to emerge, surreptitiously popping the cork from another flask of oil, pouring the sleek liquid in an arc. He fell down into more of a stealthy stance, hoping to make as little noise as possible. This way, he would not become apparent until all his devices were in place.

The oil spread out into a thin layer, an emulsion upon the metal flooring. After this, he placed one or two pressure-activated incendiary capsules on the ground immediately next to the puddles. One stamp, and the entire arc would burst into flames.

Rattigan took several steps back, before attempting to make himself scarce from the scene. It was near impossible to camouflage in open conditions, so he merely averted his face from the direction of the behemoth, straining his eyes so as to continue his observations of the events that would ensue.


< Message edited by Lord Memphis -- 7/21/2008 6:31:14 >
Post #: 50
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