Long Read
The skies, hellish red, raining not droplets of water but bolts of fire to the earth. The ambience is not of chirping birds or soothing waves, but screaming warriors and the clash of steels, or steel on flesh. Battle cries, cries of anguish, all faint by the distance but clear enough to compliment to the setting.
The setting? A circular amphitheatre built of limestone, volcanic tuff and concrete; all washed in dyes of red and white, with the central grounds so large and wide, the whole of RPR denizens can fit, yet still have room for so much more. Hundred of thousands of mean looking, tiny elves cheered and jeered from the viewing stands, while a score of robed men, mysterious and dark stands still at the lowest portion of the viewing stand.
Kygor, decorated by bells and sparkling lights round his armor with a christmas hat over his helm and a silly mistmatched fake white beard upon his mask, sits upon throne of cruel iron, melded with bones of former failures that challenged his rule. Like his armor, it too, held decorations of lights and bells dangling from bones and skulls. The throne is sat perched upon the viewing gallery, far from the reach of those below. Kygor stands, all of the colloseum is silent, as he begins his oration.
"Great warriors of all realms within RPR, I welcome all of you to my home world, Planet Red, and to this great wonder; the Colloseum of Carnage! As many of you know, the human festivities known as 'Christmas' is nigh. In light of this, I, Kygor 'Clause' would like to offer the most generous and greatest of gifts one can offer : The Gift of Battle. And thus, here, in this site of bloody history, shall you all engage in a free-for-all, with no rules, use everything at your disposal, and should you be among the weak to fall? Then worry not, for the necromancers will bring you back to life. Now, without further delay, let us begin the battle - fight well, and may you prove yourself in blood and glory!"
The skies, hellish red, raining not droplets of water but bolts of fire to the earth. The ambience is not of chirping birds or soothing waves, but screaming warriors and the clash of steels, or steel on flesh. Battle cries, cries of anguish, all faint by the distance but clear enough to compliment to the setting.
The setting? A circular amphitheatre built of limestone, volcanic tuff and concrete; all washed in dyes of red and white, with the central grounds so large and wide, the whole of RPR denizens can fit, yet still have room for so much more. Hundred of thousands of mean looking, tiny elves cheered and jeered from the viewing stands, while a score of robed men, mysterious and dark stands still at the lowest portion of the viewing stand.
Kygor, decorated by bells and sparkling lights round his armor with a christmas hat over his helm and a silly mistmatched fake white beard upon his mask, sits upon throne of cruel iron, melded with bones of former failures that challenged his rule. Like his armor, it too, held decorations of lights and bells dangling from bones and skulls. The throne is sat perched upon the viewing gallery, far from the reach of those below. Kygor stands, all of the colloseum is silent, as he begins his oration.
"Great warriors of all realms within RPR, I welcome all of you to my home world, Planet Red, and to this great wonder; the Colloseum of Carnage! As many of you know, the human festivities known as 'Christmas' is nigh. In light of this, I, Kygor 'Clause' would like to offer the most generous and greatest of gifts one can offer : The Gift of Battle. And thus, here, in this site of bloody history, shall you all engage in a free-for-all, with no rules, use everything at your disposal, and should you be among the weak to fall? Then worry not, for the necromancers will bring you back to life. Now, without further delay, let us begin the battle - fight well, and may you prove yourself in blood and glory!"
How it plays is simple, choose one of your characters, your IC, and write out a battle sequence of you and the character above you. Do avoid sexual content and outright killing them in a single post though. I will begin by putting my friend's character out.
Whiterun Guard is the first to draw his sword. His shield at the ready.
"Come, criminals! Have at me!"
"Come, criminals! Have at me!"
"WAAAAAAAAGGGGH!!!!"
Into the coliseum came the rushing manic figure of Warboss Gorgutz 'Ead 'Unta. His massive, bulky and mostly mechanical frame moving at a speed that such a large and decidedly cumbersome figure should not allow for. Rather than bum rush into a potential crowd of opponents though, the giant Ork came to a skidding halt as he dug his heels on the ground putting himself at enough distance to bring to bear the giant auto cannon that is his left arm.
"TIME TO KRUMP SUM GITZ!!" He roared as his heavy flash gun spun rapidly and unleashed a salvo of depleted uranium rounds, spraying them with wild abandon at.. well, everyone really, he's not really bothering to aim.
"DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA!! HAR HAR HAR HAR!!!"
Into the coliseum came the rushing manic figure of Warboss Gorgutz 'Ead 'Unta. His massive, bulky and mostly mechanical frame moving at a speed that such a large and decidedly cumbersome figure should not allow for. Rather than bum rush into a potential crowd of opponents though, the giant Ork came to a skidding halt as he dug his heels on the ground putting himself at enough distance to bring to bear the giant auto cannon that is his left arm.
"TIME TO KRUMP SUM GITZ!!" He roared as his heavy flash gun spun rapidly and unleashed a salvo of depleted uranium rounds, spraying them with wild abandon at.. well, everyone really, he's not really bothering to aim.
"DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA!! HAR HAR HAR HAR!!!"
Samuro bothered not to bring out the spirit to his aide. These meek fodders that came to him would only meet his raw fists. In a flurry of attacks and dodges, the orcish monk bathed himself in blood of his pummeled enemies.
Then came half-machine ork, blasting away at anything and everyone, and soon, he was within aim. Samuro called upon the spirit of the turtle,
a manifestation of a turtle, outlined in green, encased Samuro within its shell; shielding it from the blaster.
Then it was time for Samuro to strike. He calls upon the rhinoceros, its bellows clear as its lines of crimson drew in the air from Samuro's back in the manifestation of a rhinoceros. Samuro charges forward, tanking through the blasters, and smashes his head into the savage Warboss.
Then came half-machine ork, blasting away at anything and everyone, and soon, he was within aim. Samuro called upon the spirit of the turtle,
a manifestation of a turtle, outlined in green, encased Samuro within its shell; shielding it from the blaster.
Then it was time for Samuro to strike. He calls upon the rhinoceros, its bellows clear as its lines of crimson drew in the air from Samuro's back in the manifestation of a rhinoceros. Samuro charges forward, tanking through the blasters, and smashes his head into the savage Warboss.
"What a barbaric display," Samson muttered to himself...but with considerable amusement. And perhaps a bit of anticipation lingered in his tone--he hadn't had a chance to really stretch his legs, metaphorically speaking, in forever! With some flair, he walked, yes, that's right, walked, through the air about twenty feet above the combatants, as casually as another might walk across the floor of their own home. As he did so, energy glowing different colors surrounded him, both spherical shields--and lances made of sparking lightning, twisting and turning as if waiting to be unleashed.
And unleashed they were, dozens of such things raining down in Samuro's area, not only threatening lethal doses of electricity on impact--but exploding out in less lethal but still debilitating scatters of painful, jolting sparks. The general target was Samuro, but he didn't particularly care if others like Gorgutz or the Whiterun Guard got scorched or fried!
And unleashed they were, dozens of such things raining down in Samuro's area, not only threatening lethal doses of electricity on impact--but exploding out in less lethal but still debilitating scatters of painful, jolting sparks. The general target was Samuro, but he didn't particularly care if others like Gorgutz or the Whiterun Guard got scorched or fried!
*i block scorching fire and throw my sword at u* "Take that!!!"
He jumped into the fray, laughing like a madman as he drew his sword and charged at Whiterun Guard, as they were the nearest opponent. He unleashed a blistering series of thrusts and jabs before launching himself backwards and hurling a handful of explosive runes at the nearest cluster of enemies.
Johnny was enjoying an afternoon in a saloon, playing poker whilst enjoying a bottle of beer when he found his ass in the middle of some grand arena, with the big fella with horns talking bout fighting and what-not.
Well, who's Johnny to turn down some good ol' roughhousing?
Johnny had his coach gun out, and unloaded it on any mean mother Hubbard that's ballsy enough to take on the Red Iron.
"Set 'em up, knock 'em down!" Exclaims the salty old goat as he downed his tenth man, his wrinkly dexterous hands loading the shells back into his kill stick.
Then weird coloury thingies, patterns floating across the air and into his general direction. Then a blast erupted from these 'runes', blowing Johnny back, landing him on his arse. Now mightily pissed, he adjusted his hat and begin shooting at Narkon, while leaping here and there, saving himself from attacks on all directions.
"Gon' put you down, boy!"
Well, who's Johnny to turn down some good ol' roughhousing?
Johnny had his coach gun out, and unloaded it on any mean mother Hubbard that's ballsy enough to take on the Red Iron.
"Set 'em up, knock 'em down!" Exclaims the salty old goat as he downed his tenth man, his wrinkly dexterous hands loading the shells back into his kill stick.
Then weird coloury thingies, patterns floating across the air and into his general direction. Then a blast erupted from these 'runes', blowing Johnny back, landing him on his arse. Now mightily pissed, he adjusted his hat and begin shooting at Narkon, while leaping here and there, saving himself from attacks on all directions.
"Gon' put you down, boy!"
Samson sends out a gust of wind, the sword deflected but nicking him in the arm, Samson having overestimated the physics of such a powerfully thrown weapon, it drew a line of blood across his left bicep that slowly began soaking into his robes. He ripped a strip off the bottom hem and tied it tightly over the wound, dropping gracefully to the arena floor and throwing up a shield that flared brightly from the impact of the arcane attacks. "Runic magic--how quaint..." But what really intrigued the prince was the curious weapons Johnny seemed to be wielding. They seemed to resemble the cannons of the Aegean barbarians to the north, though in miniature.
Time to test himself against those weapons--or rather the one who wielded them! He threw up a small earthen wall between the gunslinger and the were to get Johnny's attention. Once he was sure he had it, a small ball of light flew from his palm, aimed for the ground in front of Johnny's feet. When it impacted it would throw up a flare that lit the entire arena up, and should anyone be looking at it without some kind of eye protection when it burst, it would temporarily blind them, but cause no lasting harm. The true attack would come in the form of a powerful gust of wind intended to blow Johnny (and anyone near him) off his feet.
Time to test himself against those weapons--or rather the one who wielded them! He threw up a small earthen wall between the gunslinger and the were to get Johnny's attention. Once he was sure he had it, a small ball of light flew from his palm, aimed for the ground in front of Johnny's feet. When it impacted it would throw up a flare that lit the entire arena up, and should anyone be looking at it without some kind of eye protection when it burst, it would temporarily blind them, but cause no lasting harm. The true attack would come in the form of a powerful gust of wind intended to blow Johnny (and anyone near him) off his feet.
Lazari looked at Samson, muttering something, and suddenly they were on fire. But it only tickled. She floated there, knowing everything would pass right through her.
Before the fire could harm him (having no idea that it was not meant to be truly harmful), he snuffed it out with a brief aura of freezing cold around himself, though it left his robes a little singed. "Aha, another true magic user!" he declared with a grin, and collected the moisture produced from the frost melted by the fire with a brief hand motion, refreezing it and thrusting that hand out toward Lazari, a storm of thin, needle-like shards of ice hurtling toward her at speeds that created a menacing whistle in the air as they flew through it.
Johnny was downing people like empty glass bottles at a target range. Narkon Tarkoth was a little more difficult than these fodders around him. While he was unloading shells at Narkon, a wall formed before him, lodged upwards directly from the ground in such a perfect rectengular. This caught Johnny's attention, swaying his aggression from his foe towards the prince.
Then before he could react, a bright searing light bursted abruptly, searing so powerful, he was blinded and dazed from it. "God dang it!" Cussed angrily the bounty hunter before a gust of wind, another one of the damnable prince's tricks blew him right on his arse, with his stetson hat lost along with the wave of the gusts.
Johnny sits there, groaning in pain as he picks himself from the ground. The mean ol'sonuvabitch is doubly angry now. Gritting teeth, furrowing greyed eyebrows, as he menacingly stomps towards the prince, pointing and shooting his shotgun with a single arm at anyone who charges at him, without even sparing them a glance.
Johnny drops his shotgun, slip his hand into his duster coat, and pulls out a cigar, putting it between his crooked teeth. He pulled out a match box, lighting a single matchstick, and in turn, he lights up his cigar, flicking the matchstick to the side.
He held out a pack of dynamite, strapped together with a single fuse. He held the dynamite close to his gaunt visage, putting the fuse to the lit cigar, igniting it.
"Time to teach ya' a thing or two 'bout how we do things in Texas, boy" he says, throwing the dynamite up, letting it fall back down to his hand again. Now the fuse, now half way lit, Johnny tossed the dynamite towards the Prince while he was busy dealing with Lazari. Timed perfectly, it would explode right in the air, close to the prince.
Then before he could react, a bright searing light bursted abruptly, searing so powerful, he was blinded and dazed from it. "God dang it!" Cussed angrily the bounty hunter before a gust of wind, another one of the damnable prince's tricks blew him right on his arse, with his stetson hat lost along with the wave of the gusts.
Johnny sits there, groaning in pain as he picks himself from the ground. The mean ol'sonuvabitch is doubly angry now. Gritting teeth, furrowing greyed eyebrows, as he menacingly stomps towards the prince, pointing and shooting his shotgun with a single arm at anyone who charges at him, without even sparing them a glance.
Johnny drops his shotgun, slip his hand into his duster coat, and pulls out a cigar, putting it between his crooked teeth. He pulled out a match box, lighting a single matchstick, and in turn, he lights up his cigar, flicking the matchstick to the side.
He held out a pack of dynamite, strapped together with a single fuse. He held the dynamite close to his gaunt visage, putting the fuse to the lit cigar, igniting it.
"Time to teach ya' a thing or two 'bout how we do things in Texas, boy" he says, throwing the dynamite up, letting it fall back down to his hand again. Now the fuse, now half way lit, Johnny tossed the dynamite towards the Prince while he was busy dealing with Lazari. Timed perfectly, it would explode right in the air, close to the prince.
While the rest of the arena distracted and focused on one another, they may not notice at first. This world, this planet, might be one of fire, but no world, in Solvfrid's experience, was completely absent of water--and mist was seeping into the air, starting with a gentle swirl around the feet of all the combatants. Slowly it rose higher and higher into the arena, though it never seemed to quite touch anything made of steel or iron, staying two or three inches away from such implements, even when it was above the heads of all the combatants. Any strong bursts of fire would also dissipate it momentarily, but it would return the moment the fire died.
And then, when it was at its' thickest, obscuring the sight of many, out of it charged a solid humanoid form, towering twice the size of a human, clearly made of mist--and yet clearly solid as well judging by the way the ground trembled at its' charge. And though it had no notable facial features, nothing to distinguish what it was, it did seem to have long, slender claws in place of fingers on the end of long, impossibly slender arms. It swiped one of those clawed hands at about head level for Johnny, seeking to decapitate him. It swung more than once, too, seeking to ensure the completion of its' task without heed to its' own well-being. It wasn't truly sentient, after all...
And all the while, the fae-like elf remained at the far end of the arena from the gunfighter, well out of the way of immediate retaliation from the construct she had set on him--or so she thought anyway. Who knew who there might be able to blow the mist out of the way, see through it...or just stumble across her while she began to focus on making two more towering behemoths made out of impossibly solid mist, one to each side of her body. Disrupting her focus before they were formed would dissipate them, but not the mists and mist creature already present.
And then, when it was at its' thickest, obscuring the sight of many, out of it charged a solid humanoid form, towering twice the size of a human, clearly made of mist--and yet clearly solid as well judging by the way the ground trembled at its' charge. And though it had no notable facial features, nothing to distinguish what it was, it did seem to have long, slender claws in place of fingers on the end of long, impossibly slender arms. It swiped one of those clawed hands at about head level for Johnny, seeking to decapitate him. It swung more than once, too, seeking to ensure the completion of its' task without heed to its' own well-being. It wasn't truly sentient, after all...
And all the while, the fae-like elf remained at the far end of the arena from the gunfighter, well out of the way of immediate retaliation from the construct she had set on him--or so she thought anyway. Who knew who there might be able to blow the mist out of the way, see through it...or just stumble across her while she began to focus on making two more towering behemoths made out of impossibly solid mist, one to each side of her body. Disrupting her focus before they were formed would dissipate them, but not the mists and mist creature already present.
He charged towards Johnny, grinning as he threw his sword at him, skidded to a stop in front of him, and stabbed him in the leg with a small knife from his shoe. He threw a small handful of sand in his eyes as he turned and ran. He headed towards the mist giant, pulling a rune from his pouch.
Nakon Tarkoth wrote:
He charged towards Johnny, grinning as he threw his sword at him, skidded to a stop in front of him, and stabbed him in the leg with a small knife from his shoe. He threw a small handful of sand in his eyes as he turned and ran. He headed towards the mist giant, pulling a rune from his pouch.
))
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