Round four will begin Sunday, April 16th at 12:00 AM EST. Good Luck!
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Round four will begin Sunday, April 16th at 12:00 AM EST. Good Luck!
The knock at the door was obscene, a loud and imposing sound followed fast by a flutter of feet. The wait-staff of the inn had learned that there were far better ideas than to trifle with Storm Veritas. A double-scotch ten minutes before sunrise was not to be questioned, and although the combatant demanded to be effectively woken at such an hour, remaining in the visible range of such a temperamental drunk was a treacherous endeavor. His money was still good, apparently, because usually the staffs at similar taverns would cast out a miscreant such as himself with nowhere near this divine patience. He had found a place to call home here, and when the time came to bid it adieu, Veritas knew the moment would be bittersweet.
Fully understanding the concept of time upon Serenti was an asinine endeavor, the liquidity of existence impossible to comprehend. One week of waiting would feel like months, but to the fatigued body, the same extension could pass in fleeting seconds. Luc Krauss had positively ravaged him, using superior firepower and capacity to render his flesh near-useless while bludgeoning him damned near to death. When the letter had come to the infirmary that Krauss had left, leaving Storm to continue, the irony of such a sadistic decision nearly knocked him from his bed.
The body had healed well, the fine work of doctors practicing the finest in science and magicks combined. As he arose from bed, the pangs and aches which had tortured him were nowhere to be found. It was incredible; Veritas felt like a new man with the aid of these wonderful doctors. A new man aside from his pesky liver, that is.
Hrm. Some things will never change.
He stooped quickly and rose with the glass in his hand, three fingers wrapped around the drink. Medicine. The scotch fell smooth and warmed his throat, his smile slowly twisting back to life. The mornings filled with hangovers and horrible stomach pain were gone, his current streak of two weeks without sobriety keeping him well in the clear from such anguish. A quick purge would leave most of his previous night’s sins safely discarded in the toilet, and start him fresh again.
A shower, shave, and set of new clothes were largely unnecessary. The women who lived here were far less concerned with his hygiene than they were his bank account. Funded by those that ran Serenti, his cash flow was considerable. Running his hand across his face, he was beginning to like the feeling of soft whiskers. It had been a solid week since he shaved last, and he rather enjoyed the look of a man to his formerly boyish charms. Besides, now that same man in the mirror no longer looked so familiar, a fact which was made coping exponentially easier.
Reluctantly exiting his bedroom, Veritas would have to head down and find today’s assigned opponent and location. Since death likely loomed at the backside of this mission (as it should have in the last), he found himself in no particular hurry.
The top floor of the Piston’s Pleasure Palace had been a haven for all competitors between rounds, as it provided everyone with all of the materialistic “essentials” that any many or woman could possibly want. A plethora of top-notch alcoholic beverages and choice foods were available, as well as several billiard tables, and other things to steal ones attention. Couches were soft and leathery, and the mellow atmosphere that the dim lights provided could make any person doze off into a sweet, serene dream world in a matter of minutes……that is…except for me. Such furniture was comfortable, but the rage burning within me prohibited any bit of sleep; my fury was great that it would’ve surely boiled the blood in my veins if such a thing were ever possible. Peace would’ve reigned supreme in my though, if it weren’t for that cowardly fool Thoracis, who did not show his face at our battle site. Was it fear? Had he caught wind of the definite fact that if he were to confront me, he would surely lose his life? Or was it that he bailed because of some other devious plot brewing in his sinister mind? Bah! It couldn’t be the latter! Terror had conquered him and he wanted to live to see his loved ones. “A wise decision Thoracis.”
After about two red wines, I began realizing how awful they were. It was almost as if they tricked ones taste buds into believing that it was a pleasing drink, yet once all guards were let down, it removed its “mask”, it’s “covering” only to reveal the vileness that it possessed. Such foul liquids almost drove me to drive my blade through the waiters that had the audacity to serve me such a drink. However, I was still on a mission to claim Thoracis’ life and I couldn’t let a moment of irrational behavior entrap me, and get me kicked out of this tournament. “Zeph, relax. The prey is on the run. He’s running out of dark corners to hide and it is only a matter of time before he’s found,” I thought, spitting out of my mouth the lingering taste of the wine.
The time was drawing near to run through the next idiot. The energy required to mentally deal with these clowns was far greater than what it took physically. None yet had posed to be any real challenge, it was quite the disappointment. Such a reality was beginning to make me believe that Corone did not possess the stout warriors that Salvar, Alerar, or even Raiaera did. This land of fair weather housed nothing but portly, lazy, and apathetic couch potatoes that did nothing but jam their mouths with food that they most likely did zero work for. Involuntarily, my hand clutched the hilt of my great sword, as if there were some powerful magnetic force attracting it. The urge to kill was becoming overwhelming, much like it was during my days between fleeing Rune, and joining the Banishment. I stared down at the ground, simply gazing up on my feet as they took me to places unknown. They trekked across red carpets, tile floors and metal grates, and traveled down stone stairs. They were the boss for the time being; free to venture to wherever my subconscious would take them. I feared staring in the eyes of anyone, simply because I knew that they’d make a face that irked me, and my left hand would’ve swung forth with the blade in hand so swiftly, so violently, that the blood that would’ve sprayed from their decapitated bodies would’ve gave the Piston’s Pleasure Palace walls’ a new coat of paint.
I was doing well, avoiding all contact effortlessly. However, I picked my head up and found that I’d come to the front desk of the lobby area, where many came to see who would be competing in the following rounds. The remaining four were all that were left, and the competition wasn’t looking promising. “No-namers” occupied the remaining slots truly showing that the route that the other three took to get here was as pathetic as mine. They though, were probably thrilled that fame and glory was coming to them so cheaply.
“I feel sorry for the fool who has to go up against me. I’m going to tear his h…” Curtailing my thought, a man with long black hair, standing roughly at 6’1 bumped into me. I felt my hand pulling my sword out of its sheath, ready to make short work of this man. But I quickly pulled back.
“You should watch where you’re going you idiot! Do you want to die!?” I yelled towards the man, before hastily turning around to see who I was up against. Disappointed that the name Storm Veritas had not struck a familiar chord, I stormed off frustrated towards the designated battle site, planning to make short work of this fellow so that I could continue my search for Thoracis.
((Storm, I hope you didn’t mind the minor bunnying with having Zeph bump into you. In your last post, you said you were going to see who you’re opponent was and where the next battle location would be, so I assumed you were going to the lobby area of the P3. But, if this screws up plans you had then let me know and I’ll edit the end of my post.))
((NP.))
The main hallway of the inn known to some as the Palace was active again, although the clamor had certainly settled down substantially. Months ago, this place was positively electric; people of every skill level, age, sex, and general archetype had collected to test themselves. Now, the vast majority was gone, the noise level was merely a dull roar. A whore or two had started their day early, and a handful of fans looked on and around. For the most part, they stayed clear of the front desk, the reception point and assignment bin. The brightly lit lobby area burned Storm’s eyes, and woke him up more effectively than even the finest scotch.
Jesus, I complain every goddamned day, and they still don’t turn down the lights. Is this anyway to treat a f*cking superstar?
He laughed to himself, sarcasm not failing him nearly as quickly as his liver would. He was a semi-finalist in this formerly star-riddled tournament, but his name was still largely unknown, his face still merely one in the crowd. Ambling down impressive granite stairs to the assignment floor, he was even bumped by one overzealous spectator, a bizarre poser who seemed a little too excited. This abomination was red. Red. Not the red-nosed hue of several of Storm’s gin swilling companions, but a bizarre hue that looked altogether inhuman. The aggressor sneered at Veritas, who merely smiled back and shook his head at the fan who obviously didn’t know who he was threatening. He whispered as he walked, discarding the errant threat from the crimson imbecile.
“Take it easy, Diablo. I wouldn’t want to hurt that pretty face.”
He walked forward some, looking at the listings. There were only three others, and he noticed that Letho Ravenheart was not his draw. The only man he knew in the tournament personally, and he still remained. The arena of choice was to be the Coliseum, a majestic amphitheatre of carnage located conveniently some seven miles away. Below his own name, the name “Zephyriah” was scribbled in clotted black ink. His eyes widened, and the sinister smile returned yet again.
Sheee-it. Could it be? I thought he was gone a while ago… is he really here? Zephyriah… the red demon. Looks like my walk just got a whole lot shorter.
His hand deftly darted to his hip, drawing the tiny titanium dagger that fit so perfectly in his hand. Spinning about his left foot, he instantly saw the ambling man-beast and his tragically phallic broadsword. The motion stirred the “crowd” a bit, sending the pretenders scuttling swiftly to the perimeter of the foyer. The very sight of a knife brought some quickly drawn breaths, but the vile voice of Veritas dominated them as he called out to his opponent.
“Well, well, handsome, looks like I’ve already found my man. How about I save you a walk and kill you here?”
His bold front seemed authentic enough, or so he hoped. The scotch made him brave, but not crazy, and he knew that this element of surprise would be needed to out-do another warrior. He had heard tales of Zephyriah, and done a bit of research. He’d need all the luck and confusion he could muster.
The atmosphere had altered. The once uninteresting, unimpressive sound of indistinguishable voices clashing all together at once within the lobby had quickly turned into a sea of shrieks and gasps, elevating the heart rates of those now seized by fear. This “invasion” had affected me to a certain degree, but only in the manner of anxiousness. “Nothing” was clutched hard than ever now, and my body shifted from a casual walking style, to a highly alert predator stance. Samurai-like in body position now, one hand pressed against the squalid floor that spectators and competitors trotted alike with their dirt clotted, gum covered footwear. People were fleeing from the direction in whence I came. Tears streamed from the eyes of the individuals that I’d looked upon, many being children and women. Some men were on the brink of a similar break down, but the priority to protect their family was what took precedent over it. Yet from what? Still, I the crowd of frightened civilians blocked me from seeing who the threat was. However, all was made lucid when the voice of an arrogant man drowned out the voices of the terrified ones with great authority.
His tone was hostile, and it was indeed made apparent that the razor sharp words he spewed were meant for me; he was now visible and his eye contact with me did not suggest otherwise. Interestingly though, I found my posture loosen up and tension slowly escape me, for I was not impressed in the least bit by this so called warrior that even had the audacity to grace my presence. It was the ordinary man that’d bumped into me earlier, looking so disheveled and unkempt. Taking two steps forward I looked upon this loud-mouth solemnly, leaving all observers in a state of perplexity, knowing that they nervously wondered how I was going to respond. “It’s obvious,” I chuckled, after moments of silence. “What we have here is yet another fool who wishes to make a name for him-self. Heh, run along now, O, foolish spectator. You aren’t worth my…..”
In a visual pan across the enormous lobby area, I happened to lay my eyes upon the Picta-Box which displayed images of the remaining finalists of the Serenti tournament. The two battling elsewhere had popped up, but upon their images fading away, mine as well as the face of the fellow who stood some several feet away from me appeared.
“Ah, so YOU’RE my opponent,” I grinned, entering a battle position that was a mixture between my relaxed position and my previous highly alert stance. “I would’ve expected you to be waiting for me at the Coliseum, like any good competitor would do. Yet I suppose that in your great obsession to acquire some sort of name for yourself, you’d be willing to die up close and personal in front of all of these people, than to die in a battle arena where due to the long walk, the audience turn out would be significantly lower. But no matter. I’m a generous fellow and I will grant you you’re implied wish. Right here, right now.”
Wasting no further time with words, I dashed towards a man that’d been shielding his family away from the both of us, waiting for the right opportunity to flee and escape impending danger. Grabbing him by the neck, I hooked my arm around his throat and dragged him back to the original position I stood in, right in alignment with Veritas. His family cried out to him as their faces filled with tears of despair. He wanted to do the same, but the ‘pride of a male’ prohibited him from doing so; instead he quivered uncontrollably.
Guards signaled to other guards realizing the situation. They advanced forward, fifteen to twenty approximately. “Stay where you are men,” I demanded the black suited men, pressing the blade closer to the man’s neck, before turning my gaze toward Veritas. “So what kind of a man are you Storm? What lies beneath your exterior? What drives you?” Moving closer to Storm, I made sure that he could see my blade gently cutting into the man’s neck. Blood trickled downward to the tune of the father’s family screaming in unison. The suits attempted to intervene yet again, but the tighter hold I applied to my captive kept them at bay.
“We’re going to see what you’re made of Veritas.” Setting my eyes on the large Picta- Box high above the massive crowds, with the man still held hostage, I ran towards its power box, taking hold of its cords. With a tug, the Picta-Box tilted, turning once clear images to nothing but static. The sound of scratching, bending mental rang throughout the lobby, foreshadowing its fall onto the many below. I made sure that my hostage and I were out of the way, yet still close enough for Storm to see us.
“Make a decision Veritas! Will you attempt to save these people from the falling Picta-Box? Or for the sake of this man’s family will you attempt to rescue him? If you chose the latter, I will surely relinquish him. But if not then, well………..”
The frenetic activity of his opponent was somewhat amusing; Storm watched with intrigue as the crimson-skinned adversary savagely tore about the open atrium. It was impressive to see; no sooner had he broken away from the lingering stare-down did he begin a bizarre string of seemingly random deeds. He first took a lone fool hostage, pulling to knifepoint one insubstantial plebian that looked as though he would soil himself. To follow this act, he wrenched down the main support from a titanic screen, one that previously had shown an interesting death-match with the remaining two competitors. The ultimatum was delivered as the audience cried with fear, and the head of the traveler Veritas swirled with mixed emotions.
Oh, please… PLEASE don’t drop a massive box of death on top of these dozen morons too foolish to step out of the goddamned way. I’d hate to see natural selection claim these inconsequential buffoons…
A hiccup gurgled in his throat, a harsh burn accompanying it. Along with this alcoholic tumult came a passing thought, one that gave the selfish defiler some strategic insight.
However… save these idiots from their own slow feet, and win their favor. Zephyriah is far too powerful for you, but throw in three tons of human cannon fodder… well… the odds stack up a lot better.
“I’m sorry my friend, but I must do for many…”
Meaningless and empty, the words were still generally directed at a terrified third party, the man with blood at his throat and urine in his pants. His words were absurd; it took all of his patience to avoid laughing as he mouthed them. Merely perfunctory hero-speek. Storm bolted towards the people, eying the business end of a long, loosed electrical conduit. This opportunity, however, was too perfect - it appeared that his arrogant enemy was more concerned with some bizarre sociological experiment than any real combat.
Besides, in that cord lies some REAL juice.
He needed only a few long strides, and an outstretched hand clasped the braided metal rope. The buzz was fantastic, and it was soon joined by the right hand of the sinewy sadist. Storm felt the electricity flow through him in an awesome wave, and lavished in the feeling of rebirth, a strength unlike any he had felt in quite some time. The massive display finally yielded, its fall misdirected by the clasping arms of the unlikely hero. Sliding forward hard in accordance with the falling device, he struggled to maintain some semblance of balance, finally setting his feet some ten feet away.
A devastating explosion of glass and metal, the deafening sound dwarfing all other noise. He was impressed by the sound, and surprised with his own successful intervention. As it had plummeted, the people were able to scatter, the crash of metal and splintered glass leaving many shaken but few harmed.
Releasing the wire, the lightning wielder could feel his fingertips grow numb and give off a barely discernable sapphire haze. A soft scent of ozone filled his lungs, and he knew that something divine had just transpired. He was different now. Better. The power was wonderful; he could feel his veins pulse now with raw energy. The hair on his arms, neck, and hands stood on end. Never had Storm Veritas felt so alive.
But first, the fodder.
He motioned to the people, still dumbstruck by the outrageous turn of the tides. Waving his arm, he commanded them forward, the general to the world’s worst army.
“Go, help stop him… Help to save that man!”
The hostage was dead, unsalvageable, and Veritas could care less. His spirit was soaring, but his body was tired; the effort to re-direct the falling screen tearing at his musculature. The few seconds necessary to compose himself after such exertion would do him good. It wouldn’t take long to unload his true power. Electric Hell would soon reign down on Zephyriah.
You guys had the start of something interesting here, so it's a pity you didn't finish (and a shame that so many tournament judgings include this line!) There weren't enough posts for me to judge this or give EXP, so I'll just say this: Storm wrote well and played his character believably, but I felt you lacked a little in strategy. Zephyriah also wrote well and had a good showing of character, but I felt that you tended toward melodrama a little too often. All in all, about even. So Storm's slightly better activity gives him the edge.
Storm Veritas advances to the finals!