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RE: =Elemental Championships 2009= Spike Arena

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7/24/2009 0:07:56   
2009light
Member

It seemed as though more introductions were being made as his new opponent openly introduced himself. Kalen, Chad's new ally, had been the first to respond to Blaze. Then, as Kalen stopped for a moment, Chad took that time to say a few words to his new opponent. "Then for both our Lord's honor, lets make this a good battle." Chad kept his words limited as he was ready for more action. Besides, the crowd was getting as wild as ever. The storm was picking up again, and it required his assistance.

His ally was the first to make his move. Chad moved to follow in behind his ally, close enough to give support, but not too close to hinder his ally's movement, or to be hit by Kalen's hammer. All it took was a moment when Chad saw that his ally's aim appeared to be off. It must be because of injuries. That doesn't really help me to have an ally hindered by wounds, but then again, a wounded animal is fierce indeed. Hopefully, his ally's third dagger would hit its mark. He hoped for this to happen more for his ally's respect in the view of the crowd. The crowd was so fickle; they want a person dead for any failures to please them with split blood, yet if that person grants their wish, he's a hero again. And for Chad's sake, he didn't even want his temporary ally to be getting such a negative vibe. Sometimes, such a reaction could demoralize a person and his fighting spirit. Not to mention, it stole away the effect of Chad's words upon making this a good battle. How was any battle to please a crowd with which the first move has missed? It wasn't good for honor or fame, especially in the Energy Lord's name.

Perhaps once again, this was a random act forced on by his Lord. Perhaps he has a plan in mind? Besides, the tide of battle changes ever so often like the bolts of lightning that appear from the sky. Chad, without seeing how Blaze would be affected by Kalen's attack and only aware of his ally's position, made a dash to his right a few feet. There he stopped as energy flowed into the chains. They began to dance again to their own beat, eager for battle. However, Chad knew how his chains acted and that they would attack anyone within range. He didn't want to make a mistake and attack his ally, who appeared to be going in to attack at close range. That wouldn't be good, for then trust would be broken as well as the temporary truce. What was he to do?

He dropped one chain, which after a few movements like a wounded snake, laid still. Compared to its twin, it was a corpse to the living. He focused upon his right hand, and only his right hand. There, he planned to gather up energy, energy that will make itself known! The current within him began to build up in his hand so much that it began to twitch of its own accord, as though it was coming into life for the first time. Chad used his mind to power this energy into a visible charge that could be seen glowing from his hand. It wouldn't be long now until it was of the desired consistency for Chad's own attack.
AQ DF  Post #: 26
7/24/2009 13:04:41   
dragon
Member

Brazen bursts of mana whirled through the arena, shoulder to shoulder with the myriad noises of battle that radiated indefinitely into the air. Like the tolling bells of Lore, each ring felt like a calling to Logain. It was time. His tactics of observation had been sufficiently exhausted, and he felt the rumblings of war deep within his heart.

The gears within his mind were rapidly rotating with each step of his calculations. Every last piece of data regarding element, ability, position, and power that he had gathered was being factored into his precise imagination. His decision had been made. Turning to his right, he quickly sized up the light warrior who had been so rash in casting several arena-wide spells. Logain's claws desired released, he could feel an itch for action, as though they had a life of their own. He would be gracious in allowing them freedom, he would watch from the confines of his mask as the world before him was torn bit by bit...a sudden crack ripped through the arena as the figure lightly tossed an undead to the side, one much like the skeletal summon that had attacked Logain just moments before.

Timing was everything. With the dispatch of his undead opponent, the warrior had no doubt lost a good bit of energy, leaving him vulnerable to an ambush. A gentle roll of Logain's head from right to left, and back again, released his pent-up stress and settled him for the coming charge. His claws extended, and as they met their full length, he felt the rumblings of war in his heart intensify to cries of madness. Calls for blood. The time for waiting had passed...

But no, something was stirring ahead of Logain, as an orb swung from the deep shadows to a position just out of reach of the light warrior. This was apparently of little concern to the figure, who's weapon extended his reach, putting the object in range...but for what?

Moments flashed by, split seconds, before Logain realized the implications of the sight ahead. The ramifications of such an action spawned in his mind, and all he could do was whip his left leg behind him as his opponent brought his weapon hurdling down into the orb, splintering the inanimate entity as though it were a star, an ageless giant which had run the course of its life and now sought to streak the skies with its former glory. The majority of the force was focused from the point of impact from the weapon, leaving Logain on the periphery of the explosive wave of glass-like light shards that formed as the remnants of the orb.

Even on the periphery, over 20 shards sliced through the space between Logain and the warrior, closing in like an assassin's throwing knives, propelled from the darkness at the end of a long corridor, whistling as they spun through the air, all to happy to oblige the shards and part for their majestic journey. With reaction as his only defense, Logain waved his right arm from the left side of his body to a follow through just in front of his face, where the metal could protect at least some of his upper body. Unleashed from his mechanical limb was a gust of wind, like the angry roar of some hidden creature sunken deep within the grasses of the plains of Lore. There was a momentary rumble as the wind spawned, and then a sudden hush shot out to meet the incoming projectiles, forcing them awry from their intended paths.

Some were left sailing into the spikes, others flew high into the ceiling, leaving others to navigate towards Logain's extended arm, where they shattered and left only splinters of the thin material rolling over Logain's shoulders and onto the floor. A few of the thin shards were forced downwards by the wind, where they continued their charge into Logain's legs. His pants and overcoat suffered paper-thin slices through their pristine weave. Most of the shards flew into Logain's front leg, his right one, which was made of Drakel metal like his arm and suffered nothing but scratches. One shard managed to twirl past his right leg and slice through the thin material and into his skin, cutting through his flesh and continuing towards its destined fate with the spikes behind Logain.

Logain gritted his teeth as the shock flashed through his body, hissing out his anger as he worked to force his pain to a dull, pulsing sensation with focus and adrenaline. He could feel that it was but a shallow wound, and he recovered his priorities quickly. A new surprise was thrown into his calculations as he saw his target approach by two other combatants. It looked as though his priorities would have to be rearranged once again, this time factoring in the importance of dismantling any alliances. He was aware of the dangers of such team-ups, even though they were just as prone to installing false security in their members, they were dangerous to anyone wishing to stay alive.

It takes two to fight two, thought Logain, finalizing his decision to aid the lone warrior ahead of him.

He began silently slithering towards the group ahead, moving along the wall, cloaked by the shadows. His footsteps were silent, his large frame seemed to shrink to the size of a mouse. He needed to hear what was going on. Fortunately for him, it was no hard task to catch the conversation, which was meaningless at worst and useless at best.

Blaze Drakestorm, about six feet and approximately 150 pounds. Armed with both weapon and magic, a spellsword paradigm perhaps? Shield for defense, basic garb. So be it.

The scene before Logain, one of honor, disintegrated into a battle, letting waves of mana lash out through the arena. With the commotion, he knew his voice would need a special kind of amplification, and centering a small amount of magic on his throat, he spoke in nothing stronger than a conversational level, but did so almost directly into the ears of those ahead of him with a slight manipulation.

"You take your time spewing names as if they are necessary to the killing of another, while moments later, you seek to assassinate that chivalry by pursuing a hardly balanced affair. Well, here you are gentlemen, balance has arrived. I am Logain Dedracio, but enough, I prefer to speak in action, not in hollow words."

He stopped along the wall, and refocused on the task ahead. The air around him suddenly flared into movement, whistling through the spikes like a gust through an old window on a dark winter night. Having stopped in the shadows, 10 feet from the battle, he grimaced as he saw projectiles whirling through the air towards his new ally. While Logain trusted Blaze could defend for himself, he felt a heavy build-up of magic from the other man, who now stood, steeped in deep concentration. Whatever this focus was going to culminate in, Logain knew he had to try and stall it. He stepped forward with his right foot, and drew his claw back as if he was preparing to hurl an object into the distance. He brought his claw quickly through his field of vision, feeling the wind around him splitting for his body to pass, and felt the magic pour from his mechanical limb into the crisp air.

His focus never faltered as he continued to propel the mana through the air, carrying the force of his slash as though it had been transformed into the strike of a blunt weapon. The force of his raw attack was reinforced by the wind, and it moved with grace and rage towards his opponent, building momentum as the wind accelerated towards his opponent. As it neared the figure, it compounded into an almost tangible object, a large ball of pure force and mana on a path of destruction that was aimed to end at the stationary combatant.


Post #: 27
7/24/2009 14:57:06   
ringulreith
Member

Blaze stopped in front of his two new opponents, listening intently. So, the hammer-wielding man went by the name of Kalen Kalthain. Interesting, he had never heard of such a name. Kalen Kalthain of the Drac, it was. The second man, the one who held the twin chains, now electrically charged, did not give a name. How… Disappointing. Yes, it was disappointment he felt. So, he wanted a good battle? Well, he would fulfill his desire. Blaze was truly surprised, and greatful, for the third, unexpected, voice that sounded in his ears. Logain… Logain Dedracio, and an ally none the less. Blaze did not hand out his trust to anyone, and this man would have to earn it.

Blaze had no time to linger on such thoughts, however, as Kalen began to charge at him, brandishing two knives in the process. These two knives he threw, though missed Blaze by a longshot. The third projectile, a dagger, flew true, aimed straight at the point where Blaze’s scaled vest ended, and his greaves began. A weak spot where the shirt underneath was his only protection. Even as the dagger dove towards Blaze, he heard two distinct clangs of metal against metal behind him.

Putting his left foot forward, Blaze pushed downwards and to the right with his shield, knocking the dagger out of flight. Continuing with this motion, Blaze let his entire body bend downwards with the shield. As soon as the shield touched the arena floor with a loud clang, Blaze flipped his entire body, still spinning as his legs soared through the air. As he began to descend, his katana moved with the flow, as if it were an extention, no, a part of his body. Even as his shield left the ground, and his boots hit it, he still rotated slowly, his katana moving in tandem, slicing through the air in a dangerous arc, heading for Kalen’s chest. Now facing his target, his sword gliding towards Kalen’s chest, Blaze continued to turn slowly, his shield coming in after his katana, aimed to slice at Kalen’s side with its gleaming edge.
Post #: 28
7/24/2009 16:01:42   
xaxtoo
Member

Running towards his make-shift stand, Phork almost launched more tasty projectiles, but he held off as he noticed a shield on the end of the arm of his foe. Thoughtlessly throwing more of his meaty missiles would hardly achieve any effect any desirable effect, and would instead just waste his energy, so he held off, seeing as he reached his bag anyways. Looking down, he cursed.

The cursory yet careful scrutiny of his possessions revealed to him the very fact he was afraid of: the bag got hit. On one side, there's a small slit that lets little things fall out, which left to it's own devices will just become a larger slit to allow larger things to fall through, and eventually the bag won't be a sentimental item left by the Phork's previous lead anymore, it'll just be a very expensive designer sieve.

Needless to say, Phork was more than upset over the fact that not only just a piece of memory got destroyed but also his mobility as a chef became limited in a fashion not at all unlike the game he just played with the skeleton. When he fought, his game was will he kill the skeleton fast enough to avoid the fire consuming his weapons? And now, if he were to use the backpack, he'd be playing the game of will his method of fighting prevent too much stuff from falling out and further enlarging the hole.

Phork can try his hand at mending it. As a pretty darn good wing man, Phork certainly had the abilities to do so, but an arena really wasn't the place for needlework, besides, when had sewing ever entertained more than the seamstress and the owner of the garment? Even the excitement of that bloke would be called into question since it may actually be residual ebullience at getting the thing fixed as opposed to unbridled joy at seeing blindingly awesome needle skills. Still, as if attracted by an invisible force, Phork reached out a finger to wriggle around a bit in the hole, and he cursed again, this time was caused by him seeing the hand painted red by a layer of blood that occasionally dripped onto the arena floor. He quickly pulled it back to prevent blood from staining the bag's fabric. Realizing he must have received the injury while ducking behind the shield of ribs, Phork made a choice that was really not one at all, for it was the only option left open to him.

By placing more emphasis on the matter at hand than tending to looks of accessories, Phork let the bag lay untouched and more importantly, blood free, and moved away. Yet, he would have sighed at the loss if his teeth weren't so otherwise engaged with hair, so instead the air escaping came out a hiss. Similarly, he let the remaining raw pieces of sirloin sit on the ground, to wait for a time much better suited for grilling than when he's got an itching to personally shed some blood for damaged designer backpacks.

So, with sentimentalities over the bag more or less ignored, Phork moved intently towards the light user. In a frenzy of mental activity, his mind both processed the happenings in the arena and prepared a cunning plan. He took two strands of hair from his teeth, and immediately, they turned into two long pieces of intestines. Even lacking visual promptings, his mastery at cuisine manifested itself through his hands as they quickly found the two ends of the intestines and tied it together. Then, a hand took another piece of hair and added another strand to the now forming piece of entrails rope.

While the hands labored to lengthen the rope, Phork observed. Much to his surprise, he found the lamb leg lying in pieces on the ground, apparently the loser of the collision between it and the shield. He did not think it had cooked crispy anywhere to have meat fall off from impact. Regardless, he may be able use the pieces on the floor, provided the right scenario showed up or he created said scenario.

The masked man between him and his target worried Phork. He was not sure of the fellow's intentions, nor did he want to risk passing by with no idea what might happen. As if by providence, the man turned away and moved towards the other three fighters. With everyone ignoring Phork, he sped up his approach, yet the man presented a physical barrier between him and his prey.

As introductions flew around, Phork paid them no mind at all, for that's no real introduction: the key component of the hand shake was not present. Phork had to give them both black marks in the lead potential mental log he's created for all the contestants. Instead of listening, as he perhaps should have done, Phork turned his run towards the wall. His path brought up to the only possible angle of approach towards his target that was not in the way of any possible projectiles and did not expose his back to any man. Even wing men were wary of being taken from the rear.

One out of the two guys previously fighting in the arena started charging the light user while the other watched. This foes becoming friends alliance, one Phork will no doubt find cute in another situation, will for certain rid the arena of an unsuitable lead, and maybe, in the process, it would allow Phork more insight into who he should choose. However, something familiar and integral to choosing a suitable lead nagged at his brain. Phork uneasily dismissed it to the nether regions, and whirled the newly finished intestines in a loop over his head. Lasso-y!


< Message edited by xaxtoo -- 7/24/2009 17:25:53 >
AQ  Post #: 29
7/24/2009 16:33:51   
2009light
Member

While Chad's own energy was beginning to stable itself enough for a reasonable attack, his attention was brought elsewhere as a voice sounded in his ears. Logain, whoever it was, was declaring his own need for action and battle. As Chad heard this coming into his ears as though this new enemy was standing right next to him, alert systems sounded off in his mind. While he was concentrating on his next attack, he seemed to have forgotten for a moment the idea of a new competitor attacking at random. Although, why he would even introduce himself as a way to alert his opponents doesn't make his attack seem so random, but then again, an attack out of nowhere is more expected then an introduction to the incoming attack.

What mattered now was that he had an attack coming at him from an almost unknown source because he allowed himself to stand still long enough for it to happen. Many do attack those who don't move as they are an easier target then those in motion. Therefore, he needed to set himself in motion in response to this attack. Chad's eyes looked around and caught sight of an incoming attack. It too seemed alive with power and hunger for destruction. It was somewhat spherical in shape, and seemed to be a relative of the wind in storms. So, the battle for his Lord's honor has truly begun as this wind attack was seeking to destroy him. The storm has indeed begun.

Chad turned himself to face the incoming attack. His right hand, now ready with energy licking the air about him, was thrust out as in challenge to the wind. The energy moved itself to form a kind of static shield a foot and a half in length. His movements were just in time as the force of the wind crashed into the shield. He expected that his defense would be strong enough to block the tormented wind, but soon found himself being thrown back upon the ground. There was something to that spell, something else in that attack that had forced him to the ground.

Also, he couldn't tell if anything was broken in his right hand as Chad couldn't feel anything. It was the price he paid in order to protect himself, and perhaps it was a good thing...at least for now. Even though his right hand was useless, paralyzed as it was by the energy he forced out of it, he could still fight. His left hand was still clasped around one chain that begged for revenge. He groaned a bit as he moved his legs to a standing position, although slightly kneeling. Even as he breathed to stabilize himself, his left hand reached into his left boot to pull out a metal sphere, while still grasping his chain, now just sparking and almost absent of life. With the metal ball, energy that was making the chain danced now poured itself into this new metal. All the while, Chad's eyes gazed over to where the attack could have originated. When the metal sphere seemed satisfied with its hunger, Chad's eyes fell upon a figure hiding in the shadows. Also, out of the corner of his eye, he found that the one contestant who was recently busy cooking food was now coming towards the fight with....some kind of rope that appeared like meat? Right now, random events were happening as to make this battle all the more interesting. Even so, Chad had business to attack the figure in the shadows, who he assumed was the bigger threat at the moment. However, as this chef was making his way over to join in on the battle, Chad couldn't let himself to be unaware of this new foe.

Chad thrust the sphere towards the shadowly figure who he assumed was Logain. It sailed through the air, sparks gliding and dancing off its surface, hunger for revenge. Chad use his movement in throwing the sphere to shift his body so that his left side faced Logain, with his left arm outstretched with the chain that began to come back into life almost immediately upon the release of the sphere. His right arm was bend at the elbow with his hand drooping as though it wasn't even a part of Chad's body.

< Message edited by 2009light -- 7/24/2009 16:47:16 >
AQ DF  Post #: 30
7/24/2009 19:37:40   
Mirai
Member
 

 As Kalen’s throwing knives ricocheted first off pale blue spikes, and then sheared off the back wall with a shower of sparks, the chants against the Drak faded into quiet understanding amongst the crowd. The knives might have missed their target, slicing over the head of the rolling spellsword, but their meaning was clear: the green eyed young warrior was not to be underestimated.

Even so, the blades had missed their target, and Blaze‘s riposte forced Kalen into immediate action. In an instant his war hammer slammed into a one handed defensive block, its handle twisting deftly in the dark cloaked warrior’s right hand, as he struck down and out to his right, to smash against Blaze’s sun crested katana. Aimed true, the strength of Kalen’s forceful counter would send shockwaves down the beautiful blade, to numb the arm of his handsome foe. With luck, the force of the blow would stagger Blaze, also diverting the path of the spellsword’s shield attack. Otherwise… he would simply have to trust in the strength of his mithril vest to defend him from the shield’s razored edge.

I cannot take chances with this man- already his magics have accounted for the hooded swordsman and the necromancer. I have no desire for more death on my conscious… but I cannot pull my punches, weaken my blows. Ask for surrender, cry for quarter, burn you!

His charging momentum unhindered by the clash of hammer on blade, the Drak strode forward onto his left foot, which pounded heavily onto the blue metal floor. Behind him his dark cloak fluttered slightly in the motion of Kalen’s movements. For a time between moments, Sergeant Thurloth’s gruff voice echoed loud in Kalen’s memory.

Right lads. When defending the weak, knee your foe in the groin. When saving the helpless, throw dirt in his eyes. When aiding those in need, do whatever it takes. Most importantly, when battle is joined, there is only one rule, and that is: you have to survive.

Then Kalen’s left, gauntleted hand shot out, snapping into a short punch towards the right side of Blaze’s neck, which the motion of Blaze’s attack had caused to be angled slightly away from the young Drak. As Kalen’s fist flew through the air, heading for its target, a tiny twist of the young Drak’s wrist triggered the concealed spring-loaded wooded stake that he had long ago inserted into the underside of the gauntlet. The wooden fang exploded into motion, thrusting forward to extend the range of Kalen’s blow… and its potential deadliness.
AQ  Post #: 31
7/27/2009 15:50:32   
xaxtoo
Member

Phork couldn't help but think about how much sausage potential whirling above him. If the intestines were filled, the meat links would have fed a large and needy family, one blessed with too many kids. And his random shows of benevolence would always bring on the smiles of the little cretins, which really touched Phork's sentimental side. He was a sucker for the little ones' displays of joy, especially unadulterated ones of relief and thankfulness that pass along their genuine emotions of not having to starve that night. Unfortunately, the caretaker Phork chose a wrong time to surface as the excitement of the Phork that actually created the lasso quickly eroded away any remorse. The dominant side of Phork, the one showing expressions was smiling with anticipation, and glared at the ingredient to be with fierce eyes, ones not at all unlike those of a bird of prey. His stomach growled louder and Phork assumed that's consent for his actions. He was hungry like a wolf and he was on the hunt.

The glaring quickly turned into disgust as he realized the ingredient moved a little too fast for his cunning plan to work. Instead of frustration directed himself for not correctly estimating the nimbleness of a light looking man, Phork just projected dislike towards the elusive prey, and used the emotion to further feed his desire for revenge. He was distraught enough to let the lasso fall without even striking a dramatic pose. And so, Phork's cowboy moment ended a little too soon and without any exclamation.

Yet, like always, distress calls for cunning plans and another immediately sprang into action. Oddly enough the first thing Phork did was to stop running. The audience might have confused his halted assault with concession; however, it was anything but, as eagerness revitalized Phork, and with oomph, he tilted his head slightly upward, and simultaneously one hand moved to grab the two final pieces of hair in his mouth. Bent like a feeding swan, the arm lifted the hair away, and with great flourish, it moved down in a half circle to lay the hair onto the end of the rope. The slime from the intestines held onto the almost weightless strands of hair.

Swinging his arm back, the lasso turned whip flew back. When the entire length of the rope flew behind him, he snapped his arm forward, ending emphatically with a flick of the wrist. The string of intestines arched over his head, following the curved path of motion, allowing the built-up tension to unwind in a line that's aimed in front of his rolling target at a spot where the logical conclusion of the roll should take place. Phork could feel the hair moving along the slime. At the precise time, when tip was both pointing to the light user and the imparting the most centrifugal force, Phork transformed the hairs into meat slabs.

With the sudden change of mass, the square pieces of pork side cuts tore free from the slime easily and flew towards the crouching light man at a speed much faster than Phork can throw. Since one piece of hair closer to the tip than the other, one chunk side of pork flew faster than the other, creating natural distance between the two projectiles. Never intending to create edible food from either of the two slabs of meat, Phork shoved his energy into them, which quickly caught fire and became two flaming meatballs. Usually if there's enough fat on the meat, and in this case there's more than plenty, Phork would stop and let that carry the flame, but this time, he fed the fire, nursing its heat with thoughts of revenge. His passion increased the size of the greasy meat fire whose crimson tendrils danced wildly, as if ecstatic with having so much energy.

As the two unorthodox fireballs sped away, Phork reined in the intestine rope, plucked two more hairs and placed them on the slime. He swung his arm back for another barrage.
AQ  Post #: 32
7/28/2009 17:52:48   
ringulreith
Member

Blaze was spinning, slowly, assuredly; his katana whistling through the air, shield flying behind it. His aim was perfect, true, he was sure of it. His katana would connect with Kalen’s vest, slice through the blue metal, hit Kalen’s chest…

CLANG!

Blaze did not see it, did not expect it, was not ready for it. Kalen’s hammer came down fast and furious, on a perfect collision course with his katana. He could not move his sword out of the way, no matter how hard he tried. The resulting crash sent tremmers down the katana’s blade, throwing Blaze backwards, numbing his sword hand. His momentum now lost, Blaze’s left arm swung out faster than before, his shield flying swiftly at Kalen’s exposed right side. This time, it would not miss. There was nothing to stop it; no metal glove, no hammer, no arm. In an offensive effort, Kalen had left his sides exposed. As the shield neared its target, pain erupted from his left shoulder . The agony slowed down his arm’s motion, making him stumble.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Blaze saw something soaring towards him. The lingering pain from his shoulder slowed his movements down. He only had enough time to regain his balance, and all he could do was bend down to avoid the attack hitting something vital. Pain exploded outwards from his cheek, as something sharp and pointed slashed across it. The wooden steak dragged across his skin, carving out a long gash right above his jaw. Slowly but surely, crimson liquid started to seep from the shallow wound. The substance felt warm against his skin as it trickled down his face in small rivulets. Blaze gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the stinging pain.

Blaze staggered forward as something heavy hit him from behind. Searing pain shot up his back, scorching it all along the center. Blaze whirled around, sword held at the ready, as a burning projectile flew passed his head, missing him by mere inches. As he did so, he caught sight of the humanoid that had previously thrown some sort of leg at him. And now he was wielding… A lasso? And… Was that... Intestines? No matter, it was obvious the thing had thrown the projectiles at him. It would be delt with later.

Damn it!

As Blaze turned back to face Kalen once more, he noticed that the air felt hot. Unnaturally hot., Blaze started to sweat, the salty substance intermingling with the blood still dripping from his wound, staining his armor with small red blotches. His movements were slower, his breath now coming in pants, and his energy was waining. His multiple injuries were becoming hard to ignore; warm blood continued to flow down from the slash on his cheek, the sudden movement of his left arm had awoken his shoulder wound, which was now steadily throbbing, and the long aching burn along his spine was constantly itching, sending shocks of pain through his back every time he moved. He would not be able to keep this up for much longer. Not to mention, the last spell he had cast had depleted most of his magic.

It’s either now or never, Blaze, it’s either now or never.


< Message edited by ont -- 7/29/2009 17:15:28 >
Post #: 33
7/28/2009 18:02:13   
dragon
Member

Momentary thoughts of victory flashed through Logain's mind, he could feel it tingling within him, as though it were a limb, fallen fast asleep, which was now pins and needles as the blood began to flow. He watched, with a sparkle of awe in his eye at the power of wind, as the spherical mass smashed into his opponent, sending him backwards into the cold, post-modern floor beneath them. But Logain knew that his opponent wasn't done yet.

In mere seconds, the warrior rose to a kneeling position, and whatever pain had been there was now flushed away. With a steady momentum, the figure brought his arm reeling towards Logain, hurling a small object in his direction. Without so much as a second thought, Logain threw his right arm in front of him to block whatever had just been thrown his way. As Chad's left hand snake-like chain writhed as it awoke, Logain began his approach, when a splintering force flared at its impact with his arm. He was thrown backwards, but his movement was used against him as the left side of his body attempted to continue its rush for Chad. Logain barrel rolled in mid-air, losing track of his directional analysis as he did a full turn above the ground.

Acting only on reflex, Logain's hands shot forth to meet the metal floor before his body did, or at least where he thought the floor may be. Catching a breath of luck, he met the ground with his fingertips, and in a spring-like motion, rebounded off of his arms to a standing position five feet from where he was hit. In a quick diagnostic check, he found that his fifth finger's claw had been disabled. There would be no time for fixing it now. His only consolation was in the fact that he couldn't feel the pain that would undoubtedly be his, had his arm still had full nervous system connectivity with his brain.

What he had heard about the fast-paced dueling of the Elemental Championships prior to his participation, he now figured to be radical understatements, as projectiles whirled through the air just feet from his head, flaming as they sought their mark, which had to be one of the warriors involved in the 2 v 2 battle that was now moving rapidly from its commencement towards the end that they all so hungered for.

Without wasting a moment's time focusing on a competitor who obviously had little interest in him, Logain regained his orientation to Chad, and stood his ground against the fierce ripples of power that flowed through the air, crashing against his body like tangible waves.

This is no time for playing games, Logain. Focus. Focus. Opponent incoming from behind, largest direct threat at 12 o'clock, projectiles at 10 o'clock. Face as many threats as you can, thats your best shot.

As Logain swiveled his neck back and forth, like he had so many times before, he whipped his left leg out behind him and faced sideways, or 9 o'clock, from his target. In his periphery, he encountered the image of the other combatant hurdling towards the group, seemingly in the midst of further preparation for his next attack.

The fuse was lit, the small flame accelerating towards some unknown, omnipotent explosive. His left arm whipped over his shoulder and furiously doubled back with staff in hand. The 3.5 foot-long staff was certainly unimpressive against such dramatic arsenals as those before him, but trickery was Logain's game, and mastery his paradigm. He shifted his weight to his left foot, holding his right arm out in front of him as one would a shield, and the tension in his left arm built as his gripped the staff in seeming desperation, though he secretly felt his madness acquiring a physical strength. The wind around him gust to the force of a gale for an instant, before condensing at it's central point, the surface of his staff, which began to buzz with the pent-up energy that it now held inside its unique skin. The alloy absorbed the mana, and Logain felt the power surge through him, like the ice-cold brush of wind in winter.

Post #: 34
7/28/2009 21:10:52   
Mirai
Member
 

 Never underestimate the mad. They will attack when the sane will surrender. A savage wolverine, wounded close to death, slobbering in its frenzy, can maim and destroy creatures far larger, far stronger, far mightier than itself, before finally succumbing to death’s grim clutches. It was thus with dread that Kalen glimpsed the madman wading into the fray, whirling a lasso of what appeared to be… intestines… which suddenly launched blazing slabs of meat at him and the sun-emblazoned spellsword. For the second time, Kalen had been attacked by a third party, when trying to engage with a foe.

I’ve faced gods and monsters, fought my own demons and lost all those I’ve ever truly loved… but I am not going to be killed by a pair of flaming meatballs.

Unfortunately, the chunks of firey death represented only one threat facing the young Drak. While his war hammer had smashed aside the katana of his dark armoured foe, he was unable to avoid a blow from the skilfull warrior’s razored kite shield. His forest green tunic offered no opposition to the vicious slash, but underneath, the mithril links of his vest scraped and groaned in resistance to the assault. Even so, air blasted out of Kalen’s lungs by the blow, and- had the Drak cared to look- he would have found a vivid purpling bruise arising about his right ribs. The sudden impact of the shield stumbled the young warrior in his charge, whirling him about to tumble onto the floor.

Consequently, his wooden stake strike missed its primary target, wildly slashing at Blaze’s cheek, rather than burying itself in his jugular. As he crashed down to the floor, it was all Kalen could do to flick the stake back into its withdrawn position, enabling him to catch at the floor with his hand, and turn his fall into a controlled forward tumble.

However, more positively for the young Drak, the powerful blow also sent him sprawling out of the path of the firey missile formerly speeding towards him, the blazing meat passing inches overhead. Keen observers in the crowd might have noted that the intensity of the hellfire diminished slightly as it encountered the invisible dark tendrils emanating from Kalen’s gauntlet that drained its magic energies. Even so, the green eyed yoing warrior felt tendrils of his hair sizzle and char, felt his scalp briefly grilled, through their close proximity to the deadly missile.

Swiftly rising to his feet once more, Kalen quickly ran his left hand over his head, smothering any fires before they could begin, mentally dulling the screams pf nerves in his scalp that added their voices to the chorus of anguish that wracked his body. Then, turning to face his enemies once more, war hammer reflexively poised before him for defense, Kalen began to build up his own electrical energies for assault. Already in this duel he had discharged electrical forces- but that had been reflexively, as a conduit for a small portion of Chad’s own powers. That had been but the thunder before the eldritch storm. The warning rumble of the tempest to come.

Soon it would be time to unleash the true force of the elemental lightning that danced within the soul.


< Message edited by Mirai -- 7/28/2009 21:34:26 >
AQ  Post #: 35
7/29/2009 0:15:43   
2009light
Member

The metal sphere has gotten the attention of the man in the shadows, and it wasn't long until his new opponent was closing in the gap between them. There were projectiles that swooshed in the air, but it was of no concern for Chad, who wasn't its initial target.

His opponent appeared rather strange, with metal covering half his face and a claw that substituted for a hand. Seemingly at first, the metal which covered his enemy seemed like an advantage when put up against Chad's electrical currents. However, that wasn't to say that the metal would be completely conductive in the way that Chad hoped it would be. It could end up being similar to the metal used in this arena which wasn't very conductive at all.

His opponent was in the mist of preparing an attack. The wind that whipped about through the air for a brief moment confirmed Chad's suspicion that he was indeed fighting Logain the wind user. The right side of Logain's body was facing Chad as the wind user's left hand held back a staff. While the staff itself didn't seem a threat, Chad knew that the wind that was around him had to come from something. Like the spark that sets off an explosion, there was more to Logain's attack then what meets the eye. Most likely, there was to be a tornado of some sort that would be meeting Chad head on.

His right hand was still useless at his side, barely a tingle of life beyond his wrist. His natural energy current should be flowing back into his arm. Most likely, he may suddenly feel his arm coming back into life and bringing with it the pain of any crushed fingers with it. He would have to be aware of that so that it would not catch him off guard in the future to come. He couldn't let himself be idle for even a moment in this close, fast-paced combat. What was he to do now? His opponent was in the mist of unleashing a deadly attack that could rip his limbs apart or worst. As his adrenaline ran in his veins, the chain whipping out with anger, and basic instinct told him to move, being idle wasn't an option.

He responded by directing himself where his instincts told him to move. For the first time since stepping into the arena did death seem a possibility. Not only was he going to attack his opponent, but he was going to attack up close. Could this be the end? Chad didn't think, he reacted. The adrenaline and sparks of life moved him forward and gave him his courage. All the energy he could gather was mustered up into his right leg, which in his forward sprint was propped up to cradle on Chad's chest. His leg seemed to grow individual arms as sparks and energy covered it completely as a pure energy source. As he sprinted forward, his body ducked down low to evade the right arm Logain held up in defense in order to get close just moments after the energetic chain had latched onto the wind user's arm. There, he let his momentum carry him as his body continued to move forward in a collision course with Logain.

< Message edited by 2009light -- 7/29/2009 0:30:44 >
AQ DF  Post #: 36
7/29/2009 17:03:03   
dragon
Member

The breath of man was never much
compared to the trepid touch of spring
But every flower there unfurled
was hearkened by a darker thing
next came the subtle hints of autumn's fare,
and October's fresh and frequent stare
the looming thoughts of December frost
that fell upon the petals, dead
there in that snowy subterfuge
was all the wind had ever said


The long-memorized verse rolled in rapid repetition through the gentle crevasses of Logain's mind. Though he had always revered the wind's natural beauty, a mistress of many sensual touches and graces, he longed to know the true nature that lay in its wintry bite. To him, it was all a wild and sick deception, a siren on the shores of the sea, on the fronts of white clouds and thunderheads.

Here, there could be no secrets. In this moment, all discretion and secrecy was swept from the hallowed pillars of the arena. Everything was caught in a sinister glow, the drainage holes were no longer peripheral items but they seemed to suck Logain in, begging for blood, screaming for war.

Moments passed in such simple and exact step that Logain hardly noticed their shrewd existence. The battle was one fluid motion it seemed, and his opponent was not far behind his projectile. Planting his feet on the ground in preparation for the charge, his focus grew until only the charging figure could even be regarded as relevant to Logain's existence.

Logain had little time to react given the distance between the two warriors, and the first, unavoidable contact was Chad's chain whipping around his arm, securely wrapping itself at least half a dozen times as the man approached him. An unexpected surge of energy ripped through the mechanical limb, feeding Logain's anger, threatining to send him into a useless rage. In his moment of disillusionment, he was torn back to reality by a massive ripple of mana passing through the air, allowing him an awareness of the incoming attack, albeit a little too late. Logain shifted his body slightly to the left, hopeful that the leg would smash into his exoskeletal chest armor attachments.

The blow caught him square in the solar plexus, aligned in the slightest to the right side of his body, preventing some of the pain, but knocking a grunt from deep within his body. He felt a searing pain that was likely the sign of something broken, or of a gash of some sort. Leaving that for later, Logain knew all that he could do now was follow through with his directive. Flirting with a certain danger, he did not fail to recognize the weight of the next few moments in the determination of his future. These thoughts were all but fleeting as adrenaline pulsed through his body, and he whispered in his mind,

This is what I was meant to do. A warring waltz of weapon and magic. Paint the world in wind.

His right arm swung into action, lashing in a controlled movement as he wrapped the chain once more around his wrist. Logain grabbed the chain and pulled it tight, forcing it into a strained tension. In harmony with this swift action, his left arm, still holding the staff behind him, slipped silently through the air, as if commanding the wind to move. In a way, it was, as the staff, now brimming with power, was accelerated in its descent by Logain's control of magic, making his arm a blur to even the most well-trained eye. As the staff reached the final motion of its arc, only one identifiable, orderly thought passed through Logain's mind.

Extend.

Without a moment's hesitation, the 3.25 foot staff, instantaneously, as if part of an illusory trick, metamorphosed into a 7.5 foot spear, the last foot and a half of which was an unimaginably sharp, arrowhead-shaped metal head, a pristine example of Lore's artistry.

< Message edited by dragon -- 7/29/2009 17:14:14 >
Post #: 37
7/29/2009 17:52:18   
2009light
Member

It appeared as though Chad's last attack has brought upon him a situation that wasn't to his advantage. However, he had used his gut instinct, and he wasn't going to run away. Although, at this point in time, it would be too late anyway. Instinct drove him, not strategy.

Chad was on the ground, shaking and motionless. The wolf that he had declared to kill because of its thievery on his clan's store of meat was pacing ever nearer. In his right hand, he held a dagger, yet it didn't seem to have the potential to kill the skilled hunter. What was he to do? His limbs were paralyzed with fright, and if his hand wasn't busy clutching the dagger, it would have fallen unto the dirt. The creature in front of him was hungry and Chad, a little and plumb kid then, seemed like an appetizing meal. Just as the wolf leaped into the air, mouth opened to bare its fangs, it was all over...

for the wolf that is.

A bolt of lightning struck the poor creature in its chest, striking it dead. Chad turned with frighten eyes to see the village elder standing behind him, hand extended. A few sparks danced upon his fingertips betraying the origin of the lightning bolt. Chad was speechless, but the elder was not. He looked at the young boy and said,

"Young man, let me tell you something. Everyone has fear. Even that wolf was scared. It's what you do with your fear that makes the difference. Our lord is responsible for the randomness of the events that happen upon Lore since he gave us the spark of life. In a way, he is the giver of the element of surprise and of miracles. Somehow, everything is intertwined into an electric current that is connected in one continuous loop. When it's your time, he will let you know. In the meantime, don't stop moving and don't stop fighting. When your surprised, use the fear that threatens to hold you in place to attack. Fear isn't a paralyzing emotion; its an emotion that gives you strength and energy to overcome."

Those words have always rang in Chad's ears and were his motivation to keep moving and not to be pinned down, for when he stops moving, that's when he's in danger.

At the moment, Chad's left arm was busy supplying the chain with the energy. It glowed and sparkled with its hunger, still unsatisfied. Logain has gain control by grabbing up the excess chain and forced it to become rigid. The chain, although now captive, still struggled and twitched as the energy within it kept it alive. His leg has hit its mark sending its power directly into his enemy's body. However, this wasn't the time to be rejoicing.

The wind user's staff, which Chad expected a gush of wind to be hurled at his body, did the unexpected. The staff was no longer a staff, but it grew into a spear which sought to impale itself into Chad's body. A fear gripped him, but it will not paralyzed him. He was almost pinned down, he was almost completely void of motion. He must not be idle.

He still had feeling in his right arm minus his hand. He still had a way to move, to defend himself. Thus, he couldn't allow himself to remain completely stationary in the face of this danger. The spear moved fast, but he still had a chance. Chad commanded his energy and electric current to move his arm faster then he ever could have before. His arm swung around to become a sacrifice as the spear impaled his arm. With the first shot of pain in his arm, it moved to divert the spear from its headlong rush to his chest. However, he wasn't completely fast enough as the spear buried into Chad's shoulder. He let out a yell of pain as his own blood began to leak out of his wounds to the cold-hearted metal floor below. There, it flowed in random patterns to the holes which drained the metal bowl of its liquids.
AQ DF  Post #: 38
7/29/2009 21:19:48   
ringulreith
Member

No, it could not, it would not end this way! I, Blaze Drakestorm, The Sun’s Fury, warrior of the light, who had defeated demons and dragons, faced undead hoards alone and survived, lived through countless battles and wars, could not, would not die this day! I must, I will, survive! For my honor, my family, my friends…
FOR THE LIGHT!

A sudden rush of adrenaline blasted through Blaze’s body, invigorating him, strengthening him, intoxicating him. No longer did he hear the crouds. No longer did he feel his pain. No longer did he see the other combatants. The only thing he noticed now was Kalen Kalthain of the Drac, fighter for the energy lord, his opponent. All else was unimportant, like the unsignificant buzzing of a fly. No longer did he feel weak; his pain drove him onwards, his wounds gave him courage and determination. He could not hold back anymore, not now, never now. He would give it his all, use every resource he had. He would survive.

“Prepare yourself, Kalen Kalthain, prepare yourself for the sun’s fury!” Holding his left arm behind him as he talked, he took an offensive stance; his left leg rooted to the metal floor, pointing to the side, right leg forward, right heal raised slightly. As the last word sounded, Blaze flung his left arm forward, ignoring the pain, sending his sun-emblazoned shield soaring at Kalen point first. Continuing the motion, his left arm landed below his right on his katana’s handel, the soft, cold leather bringing joy to Blaze. He did not need the shield anymore, he was going on the offensive.

Switching his weight to his right leg and bending down, legs bent and left hand against the cold blue of the arena’s ground, Blaze pushed off, using both his right leg and left hand to propel him forward and up. He quickly returned his hand to the leather grip of his sword as he glided through the air, a shimmering mass of black against the gleaming backdrop of Spike. He flew close to the ground, heading upward, sword held in front of him, pointing forward. His glide was smooth and swift, aimed at Kalen’s chest. The shield provided a perfect distraction, and if Kalen were to deflect it, he would leave himself open for Blaze’s attack.
Post #: 39
7/29/2009 23:50:43   
xaxtoo
Member

Phork's second set of meat missiles were ready, yet he held off the launch, for he wanted to see the damage from the first set. He wasn't rendered to being a complete spectator though, as he took a couple of steps both closer to his target and further away from the fellow towards his right.

When the flaming slabs of meat approached the light user, Phork not so much noticed as rather felt something leeching out the energy he was pouring into keeping the fire hot. It was an odd feeling, one that only Chef Phork can relate to, and honestly, that Phork was miffed to no end. It was like if he was cooking and needed the lid to trap in the heat, and yet someone keeps on taking the lid off to let all the steam out. Unfortunately, he had no idea who was the cause of all this and had no idea to whom he should be directing this frustration. So this worked out to the good fortune of one person in the arena, for backpack revenge came before cooking problems, thus Phork chose to neglect this small infraction and focus instead on the first and original prey.

A small light in the dark moment came when one of the meat slabs connected. And quickly the light faded as the other sailed harmlessly past, doing no damage at all! Looking darkly in the direction of the darkly garbed man, Phork vowed to do more damage with his next barrage. Since the failure of one of the meat slabs, he let that connection go, leaving only natural flames and residual heat. However, he kept forcing energy into the slice of meat that collided and fell to the ground. It will not yet outlive its usefulness as it will continually make an area near his target unusable, lest the man had flame retardant and heat resistant boots and leggings.

Too bad someone else got caught in the vicinity of the flames. To Phork's knowledge, or as far as he can be bothered to recall, he had no personal grudge against the other man, so he would not yet want to burn ties that could still form between the two of them. It was truly unfortunate the man was so close to the flaming meat and apparently worried about the hair catching fire. Phork observed the head pats with extreme interest and filed away in his potential lead collection his observation of the man's possible flaw of using of too much hair gel. Hair styling is very important, yet there's moderation in all things, and as of right now, that caution shown by the man regarding the hair catching fire is not a deal breaker. Seeing the man still has potential, Phork called out to him:

"Mr. Warhammer, I'm simmering Mr. Black, so please step away from the fire when the chef's in the kitchen. Nothing against your cooking abilities, I just do not want you to be caught up in the roasting, but I hope we can have a more formal introduction later."

Not really waiting for a response as in the kitchen, the chef's word is law, and seeing as the arena is an oversized pan, Phork automatically just assumed obedience, so he went ahead and reared his arm back to prepare to launch two more missiles. As the whip flew over his head, the ingredient flew through the air, elating Phork by presenting him with such a perfect opportunity. Phork could not believe his good providence as he snapped his arm forward. As two more flaming meat chunks flew away, racing towards the arena floor where the light user would have to land, Phork grinned with sadistic glee, for he would win with this attack regardless of outcome. Best case scenario will be the embarrassing case of meat chunks arriving first and the man landing straight into the fire, but Phork will even settle for them hitting the man again.

And since every fighter is still ignoring Phork more of less, he prepared the contraption for another launch.
AQ  Post #: 40
7/30/2009 16:45:07   
dragon
Member

Logain's face twisted into some brutally grotesque expression for a moment before returning to normal. Even he couldn't decipher it's mountainous slopes and deep valleys of skin, whether it was a face of agony or regret, of anger or sorrow, or madness. It was in these moments that Logain had been slowly shaped, broken and built, over his lifetime. Death was not his duty nor his mission, though often he could not avoid it as his decision.

Looking down at Chad, he saw his prey, dismantled before him, no longer an enemy but fallen fighter. But Logain was hardened from the long lessons of time, and he knew of honor and of valor. He watched Chad's dignity slipping away, perishing in the flow of blood. He caught Chad's eye for a moment, and in this moment he saw a plea for finality. He searched within himself, trying to find the courage to deliver the man's final wish. What would confirm that Chad truly did want to die? There was nothing that could. Logain knew beneath his delicate and intricate ploys that it was something within him that yearned for the warrior to meet his end. The monstrous condition of being human. He was not only Logain Dedracio, but a man made of the many he had slaughtered. It was time to change once more, to metamorphose with the sorrow and the satisfied bloodlust.

It would be his trial by fire in the end, a path of his choosing. It was no longer a time for watching the man die. Death would be granted now, beneath Logain's deep and quiet breaths. He drew his staff from the depths of the figure's wounds. As the spearhead exited Chad's arm, the staff retreated into itself, leaving what appeared to be a harmless, 3.25 foot baton. Logain looked down once more at the man in front of him. Right hand broken, right arm paralyzed, one leg paralyzed, left arm bound to Logain's right with Chad's own chains.

He grasped the chain and heaved at the deadweight to stand toe to toe with him. The man was almost gone, almost lost. Deep in the recesses of his midnight pupils and fragile irises was a peace that came with the final moments. Logain wished for a split and fleeting instant that he, too, may one day know such peace when looking back on who he was, what he had become. Futile, he knew, but nonetheless appealing. With an intake of breath, he chose his words carefully, saying the only thing that made sense.

The honorable live and die, eye to eye. You are free.

The words sank into the odor of blood around them. They slowly drifted to the floor, as a fallen leaf in autumn would in its gentle descent. When they hit the ground, the sound of the arena dissipated to Logain's ears. He refused to kill with the elemental magic that had been bestowed upon him. Death was for the mortal, death was physical, not spiritual. It was counter-intuitive to the existence of magic, it didn't seem right for them to co-exist, even in the end.

He pulled his arm free of the loose chain, and brought it over his left shoulder. As he did, his claws retracted into their shell, as a long, razor sharp metal blade slipped forth from the middle of the back of the hand, extending to a dizzying 16-inches before locking in place.

As the blade descended in a swift motion towards Chad's neck, fueled only by the physical power of Logain's human, merciless strength, it left a barely audible whisper of sound in the air, as if leaving its own parting dedication to the warrior.

Goodbye, it seemed to say.

< Message edited by dragon -- 7/30/2009 16:56:59 >
Post #: 41
7/30/2009 17:51:52   
Mirai
Member
 

 Kalen grimaced. His ally, Chad, was badly struggling, but he had his hands full with the spellsword.

Blaze’s attack was both precise and dangerous, the kite shield slicing through the air, a deadly screen for the katana, stabbing in behind. It was an attack of skill, speed and no little stealth.

Yet it was an assault style familiar to the Drak. Twice in this arena, he himself had charged forward to close with opponents behind a screen of flying blades. He had not meditated on tactics, fasted ahead of this battle, to fall prey to his own attack patterns.

Ferin’s words from 2 years past came suddenly to mind:

Do not trust any weapon. A cunning foe can use your own blades against you boy. Your own shield can obscure your sight, your own sword can slit your throat. And when you throw a knife, it is no more your blade than your foe’s.

Swallowing, preparing for fending off, Blaze’s assault, Kalen heard the bellowing greeting of ‘Mr Black.’ Focussing on his immediate enemy, the Drak had no chance to acknowledge this potential ally with more than a nod, resolving to stay as far away from the fires as possible. At least he appeared to be hurling the unorthodox fireballs in the path of his charging opponent, rather than directly at the Drak himself. Unfortunately, Kalen would have to execute his own defensive manoeuvres, for the fire wielder’s missiles might arrive to late to protect him… but perhaps they could lend damage to his counterattack. For now though, defense was key.

Right foot planted forward, left at 90 degrees to his foe’s pounding charge, Kalen braced to meet Blaze’s assault, and then executed a defensive riposte of martial grace.

His war hammer smashed down once more, gripped in his right hand, arcing from left to right in a glittering backhanded blow, that collided into the shield with a ringing clang. Ricocheting away, the shield would slice through the air, to harmlessly whirl away from both combatants.

In executing this blow, the Drak had put his mallet out of play for thwarting Blaze’s katana, the mithril weapon shooting down to Kalen’s right, even as the spellsword’s weapon shot forward, a rhino’s horn charging in to spear its prey. Yet Kalen had no intention of checking his war hammer’s momentum, instead content to let his right arm whirl back, his muscles stretching in response to the weapon’s weight. Indeed, the Drak swung his right foot back and around in tandem with the weapon’s motion, his left foot rotating on its heel to now face his foe.

Simultaneously, elbow at a right angle, so that his gauntleted left forearm pointed to the skies, his left arm began to chop to the right, anticipating the katana's strike, his war hammer’s momentum lending speed to the block. Consciously, he also forced the electric energy that had surged about his body into the flesh of his forearm, electrons thirsting for release, until blue sparks crackled about his elbow. When, the side of the gauntlet smashed into the katana, when the Drak yelled out a wild cry of fury, then he would channel the deadly eldritch forces, thundering without sound, into the spellsword’s blade.


< Message edited by Mirai -- 7/30/2009 18:24:59 >
AQ  Post #: 42
7/30/2009 17:52:45   
2009light
Member

Pain escalated in his body. His leg was paralyzed, and his right arm and shoulder were pinned down and screaming with pain. His nervous system was going haywire, and even his vision was starting to leave him. Was he was dying? This feeling as he draws his last breaths were fearful, yet calming. This was probably what the old man meant by the fact that his Lord would let him know when it was his time. The day he stands still is the day in which he finds himself in trouble. This has been proven many times before in his life, and a few times in this tournament. Now, his body refuses to answer to his mind's pleas and commands to move, to keep on moving.

The roar in his ears must have been from the crowd, eagerly asking for more of his blood. Somehow, Chad hoped that his wind enemy wouldn't toss him aside to wither and die as his energy drains out in the form of his blood. Being tossed aside would only mean that he wasn't worth killing, and if he were to somehow live through that, how would he live with himself? With his clan? Or more importantly, in the all-seeing eyes of his Lord? The blood continued to gush out of his shoulder indicating that there was a chance that a major blood vessel could have been hit. With every second passed, the more he struggled to experience this life once more. Logain began to lift the chain and Chad until his body was straight and rigid. The energy that was once being fed into the chain was already gone, and it was now gray and lifeless. Chad tried once again to move and with this failure, he realized the truth.

This was the best way that the Energy Lord could have let him know it was time to leave this world behind. He's in a situation where he cannot move his limbs, and his blood drips upon the metal ground ever so slowly to his mind's eye. It seems as though his energy was being taken away from him in order to give him rest. Or is it really rest that his lord plans to give him? Perhaps his body's like a drained battery, but once in the Lord's care, he will be revived again. His clan and people believe in the idea of reincarnation, and perhaps one day he will feel the energy and vigor of life again! Perhaps this is only a time, a calm, a new stage for the beginning of a new life!

Everything around him was slowing down. Even though he was down to seconds left, it felt much longer. Chad relaxed himself to enjoy his last moments. Logain was able to free his claw from the chain only to reveal the weapon that will drain Chad of life. It was a metal blade, and it seemed appropriate for his death. Just like how a conductive metal steals energy to feed itself, so does this shining blade wished to steal the last of his energy to feed its bloodlust.

As the blade struck down to pierce into his neck, Chad accepted his fate with a smile upon his lips. The sounds of the cheering crowd could no longer be heard, he could no longer see his own blood spurting out, and nor did he care. As the blade struck its mark, he was able to feel one last moment of life, one last moment of pain. It was one last stimulation to his mortal senses and he could feel himself being elevated on a spiritual level. This feeling was remarkable in itself, and any doubts and regrets that lingered in his mind about passing on were swept away.

He has fought for his clan's honor, he has fought for his own honor, and he has died fighting for his Lord's honor. Although he is fallen, perhaps it was planned that way. For him to give his life in the Elemental Championships to prove his worth, and now he can rest for awhile bathed in his Lord's endless flow of energy! No, this is not the end, this is the start of the afterlife, the life of eternal immortality in the next world.
AQ DF  Post #: 43
7/30/2009 19:40:32   
ringulreith
Member

As Blaze cut through the air, on a perfect collision course with Kalen, he heard the humanoid speaking in the background. He ignored it, and continued to focus on his current target. Then, as suddenly as the first two fire projectiles had appeared, two more of the wretched things came flying over him, heating the air even more. As they flew, so too did his shield, which bounced off Kalen’s swinging hammer with a loud clang. As he neared his opponent, the aim of the fireballs became clear; they were aimed so that Blaze would hit them on landing, and not to directly hit him. Though the attack was unexpected, Blaze had not fought for over 15 years to fall prey to such an underhanded trick. Bending his knees and rotating backwards, Blaze kicked off the not-so-cold arena ground. But his timing was not perfect, as indicated by a slight sizzling sound, the smell of burnt leather, and a burning sensation on Blaze’s right foot. Though it hurt, Blaze suppressed the pain.

Damn that hairball! It must be delt with!

His kick sent him hurtling upwards, so that he would fly over Kalen, and miss the brunt of the searing heat of the flame projectiles. As he arched through the air, Blaze noticed that one of Kalen’s arms were seemingly sparking with electricity. He did not give much thought to this; the warrior was, after all, fighting for the energy lord. At the zenith of his jump, Blaze executed a flip, sending him diving down, arms held ahead of him, katana held straight. As he fell, his body continued to quickly turn, his katana flying at Kalen’s back and head.

A jolt of pain shot up Blaze’s leg as his boots hit the blue metal of the arena with a muffled thud. He subsequently turned around to face Kalen once more, sword now held above his head. A plan had formulated in his mind as he rushed over Kalen, and it was time to enact it. Concentrating hard, he drew on what magic he had. In his worn out state, the magic was slippery and hard to grasp. Two disks of light began to form, each as big as a plate, round and golden. Blaze did nothing to hide them, and they shone brightly, reflecting off the smooth metallic surface of Spike.

His next action served two purposes; the first was as a direct attack on Kalen, as his katana swung furiously down towards the young Drac;and the second was to send the two golden disks in motion. They’re target was not Kalen, nore the self-proclaimed humanoid chef. No; their goal was something far more devious. One flew over Kalen’s head, heading straight for the meat stand. The second flew to his left, aiming for the hairball’s backpack. When it would near the backpack, it would split into three smaller disks, each aiming to shred a different portion of the object. One from the top down, one from the back, and one from the side.

“Try to avoid this, Mr. Hairy Chef!”


< Message edited by ont -- 7/30/2009 23:36:31 >
Post #: 44
7/31/2009 2:26:24   
xaxtoo
Member

Did Mr. Warhammer nod at Phork? It really was a nod, one of acknowledgment. Was this the potential start of a special relationship between the two of them? Phork had to suppress a sudden desire to giggle. It would have been head burying shameful had that happened, and luckily the desire to appear manly and the reservations Phork still had regarding the man's capability of being a lead manage to choke out the air before the girlish sound can escape his lips.

Despite how Phork's personal life might have taken an interesting turn, the same could hardly be said of his fight as the dark man effortlessly dodged the brunt of the damage from two more of his projectiles. They might as well have been ant bites for all the harm they've been inflicting. So, in a manner of very unbefitting of the most professionals yet very suitable for the moment, Phork gave up midway through the intended attack which left two hair stuck onto a very long piece of intestines. And since he was two times the professional in both cooking and wing manning, he was undaunted by failure and immediately had something else planned. The plan was simple as it followed an old hunting rule of if the prey is agile and quick, smoke it out.

Unfortunately the plan had no place for the intestines and reluctantly, Phork let the intestine rope turned lasso turned whip fall to the metal floor and plucked out a handful of hair. But before he could do anything with the hairy harvest, he saw two light discs forming by his still breathing ingredient. He had an inkling where they discs might be going, yet he pressed on with what he was doing and moved the hand with hair right in front of his chest. He will not lose this game of chicken. When he thought that, he felt a cool jolt through his spine, tingling him all over. He silently shouted at his body and mind to stop playing games, and the tingling stopped, but while he was settling this issue the discs were launched.

Despite knowing it would be his loss at chicken, Phork's body tensed as it prepared for impact, but instants later, his shoulders visibly slackened as he saw the discs flying away from him. As the discs left his line of sight, Phork chose to not turn his head to follow their movement. Those discs apparently weren't aimed at him. And if they indeed were intended for him and simply were taking a route of trickery, Phork hoped his rear fat will soften any potential blow.

Taking the philosophy of out of sight, out of mind, Phork no longer thought about the discs as he grabbed a piece of hair between the index and middle finger of the other hand. Between the fingers, the hair became a thinly sliced piece of pork. With a flick of the wrist accentuated with a similar motion with the fingers, the slice flew and stuck onto the floor of the arena in close proximity of the continued conflict between misters Warhammer and Black. In a blur, the fingers continued to send meat slices onto the arena floor. And if one looked closely, one would see a "P" and a half formed "h" on the meal floor.

During this whole time of meat flicking, Phork has been concocting a vile juice to drizzle on the meat. The amount of sauce built with each churn of the liquid, and there will be enough to cover a good portion of the arena.
AQ  Post #: 45
7/31/2009 5:47:45   
Mirai
Member
 

 Chad had fallen. The light in the young warrior’s face was gone now, his energy spent. It was yet another senseless death Another on Kalen’s conscience: for had not he suggested their alliance, which ultimately led to the young man’s death?

Another I have made a ghost through my foolish pride. Another to join the legions I have led to death with my foolishness. Another ripped from life into death’s cold embrace. Another whom I have destroyed. I destroy. Always, I destroy! By all the heavens, will it never end?

Anger ripped through Kalen’s body, battering and blending with his Drak willed self-control. Madness rippled at the corners of his mind, the desire to destroy all about him, to consume himself and all close by in fire, and end this torment he had been condemned to- the one known by most as ‘life.’ Once more, insanity battled with Drak imposed perfect order, perfect control, and then was subsumed, assimilated into Kalen psyche.

As Blaze flipped over him an odd grin played over the young monk’s features, his green eyes suddenly becoming flecked with gold, as if, at the centre of the iris, the fires of hell now burned. With grace he swayed low to the ground, ducking out of the low flying katana’s path, and his subsequent light magic attack flying overhead to the burning meats behind. Had Kalen been in a rational frame of mind he might have feared an assault from behind as a result of this missile.

But he was no longer rational. Now he was consumed with the chaotic madness of his rage. Still the electric energy burned in his left forearm, growing white-hot with his rage, with its own unspent fury. It was a rapid wolf thirsting to bury its blue sparking fans in its prey, to char a foe’s flesh until only a smouldering skeleton remained.

As Blaze’s katana flew down, Kalen’s gauntlet flew up, sweeping from right to left, intent on dashing the falling sword to one side. The instant contact was made, the Drak would also channel the white heat of the lightening into the blade.

Simultaneously, his stomach muscles would contract, to send a spray of vile smelling globules of his own stomach acids spitting at the spellsword’s eyes.

Then, finally, after his electric energies had been unleashed, his war hammer would come crashing about, arcing through the arena‘s blood soaked air, aiming to smash through the man’s left knee cap. The mace would in effect be a second lightning bolt, driven by the heavens’ fury, to splinter bone into bloody fragments.

Die, you orc cursed fiend...

< Message edited by Mirai -- 7/31/2009 6:04:43 >
AQ  Post #: 46
7/31/2009 19:46:54   
ringulreith
Member

What is this man doing!? He must be insane, yes, insane!

Blaze knew there was no way to escape Kalen’s attack. It was partly his fault for leaving himself so open, and partly because of the attack was very unexpected. He could not block it, yes, but he could counter it with another attack. Blow for blow, blood for blood. As the gauntleted hand reached him, Blaze realized its intention; it was sparking with electricity, and no doubt ment to send the electricity through his katana on contact. A very clever attack. At the same moment, Kalen’s hammer was once more spearing through the air, this time intended to hit his knee. Blaze could not allow that. He braced himself for what he was about to do.

As Kalen’s hand drew nearer, Blaze tensed. His katana was still flying through the air, though at a considerably slower speed. Then he acted. His left leg swung forward, coming in near his right, then his right stepped forward, sending Blaze forward. The move was not ment to dodge, it was ment to attack. Although he could not change the path of his sword, he could still move his body. Now Kalen’s right shoulder was in its way, and he couldn’t block it. His movement also moved his leg out of the hammer’s reach, so that only the metal shaft would connect with his leg.

Then the expected happened. Kalen’s gloved left hand came smashing into the blade of Blaze’s katana, sending waves of electricity flowing down the conductive metal. The leather grip and Blaze’s leather gauntlet did not do much to stop the energy on its destructive path as electricity met skin. The wave coursed through Blaze’s right arm, burning most of the skin mildly. The resulting pain was agonizing. As a small grunt of pain escaped Blaze’s mouth, the shaft of Kalen’s hammer struck his right leg. Electricity charged down Blaze’s unprotected lower leg, burning both cloth and flesh in its fury. The unbearable pain caused Blaze to stumble slightly to the left, in the direct path of Kalen’s next attack.

Something shot from Kalen’s mouth. At this point, Blaze was unable to recognize the substance. His body was acting on momentum and survival instinct only. While his survival instinct told him to move out of the way, avoid the attack, his momentum said otherwise. In the end, all he could do was jerk his head to the right, so that the liquid would collide with his cheek. More pain exploded from his left cheek as the fluid touched skin, burning it, and in some places going through the skin. Blood began to flow from the area, mixing with his sweat and falling down his battered body. His vision began to blur from the pain. His breathing came as sharp gasps, and every muscle in his body was throbbing. His right arm had gone nearly limp, and all he could do was hold on as it sailed towards where Kalen’s kneck met his shoulder.

‘Is this… the end?’
Post #: 47
8/3/2009 14:50:24   
Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...


 Suddenly, out of the blue, or whatever the dominant colour was at the time, multi-coloured sprites appear, hovering down at rapid speeds to choice contestants - they then wiggle into their heads through their ears, making the fighters emit a glow most spectacular from their eyes, ears, mouths, and even noses...

Their bodies growing transparent, and thusly the strange lights taking over everything, making them impossible to see, the light (the contestants?) rise up slowly, finally exploding into a gazillion of little marvelous pieces.

The Lords had made their pick, their chosen champions would proceed to fight the Final battle of the Tournament...
AQ  Post #: 48
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