Round starts May 3rd, 12:01 AM CST. It's Drunkie Vs Druggie! Good Luck!
Printable View
Round starts May 3rd, 12:01 AM CST. It's Drunkie Vs Druggie! Good Luck!
I was apparently good at Liar’s Dice, and that’s the only reason I could come up with for why they’d allow someone like me to join the Serenti.
I’d truthfully never been more than vaguely aware of something like the battle tournament, though I’m often little more than vaguely aware of many things. Serenti was a name to me growing up, of some far off town or city nestled in the middle of Corone, which held neither consequence nor importance to my life. It lacked the vibrant nightlife of Ettermire, the placid beauty of what remained of Raiaera, or the excitement of Knife’s Edge; without the heeding of entertainment or seedy promises, I could never see myself venturing to it.
But luck, unfortunately, was on my side in a sunken, dismal tavern in the nation’s capital. On the urging of my sailing buddy, I’d taken part in a game of chance. Jack assured me that the winning pot could include all kinds of fine trinkets, none of which I noticed as I sat at the table, half in sleep and waiting for my bluff to be called so I could crash on the ship. Had I remembered the rules of the game, I probably would have cocked it up. Yet there I sat, amidst some fabricated battlefield, with an invitation I’d earned in vice, and motivations for my entrance bordering on mere boredom.
I’m not sure what Serenti really looked like, but to me it was a fairly overcast day that ruled the sky above a decrepit castle. The walls surrounding it had crumbled into dust, with only the vaguest skeleton remaining to remind what once had been. The bastion in the center looked as if chunks had been bitten out of it, like some leviathan beast had taken stone in mouthfuls for a midnight snack. Though three stories tall, I could only imagine the tower once stood proud in its day, a hubris I imagined it now regretted.
I reclined in a charred rocking chair beneath a windmill, the only other building with any semblance of shape left to it. The humidity of the day was as oppressive as the effort to stand, so I’d decided to leave my jacket and shirt hanging on the back of the chair to soak in a bit of sun before my match began. Lighting the tightly rolled collection of tobacco leaf and hashish that was my last, I hoped my opponent would end up a no show, so that I could finally make my appointment with that nap I’d been putting off. With lazy eyes behind a haze of smoke, I read the writ again that hung loosely in my hand.
“You are officially invited to the…blah blah blah…Serenti, the Paramount Tournament of the greatest collection of …yadda yadda…” Contained within a few sparse lines, there were designated blank spaces I had hastily filled in before my entrance. There was no elegance to my scrawls, but the name was clear. “The Pestarzt.” I thought it sounded cooler than Alex.
A sudden slap hit the paper, and it was then that I, sleepily, noticed the spreading water stain soak into the parchment. I could feel the first few drops hit against my chest, cooling my body in a refreshing annoyance. My homemade cigar had barely been lit before the beginnings of rain threatened to extinguish it. A rumble erupted from the sky, echoing clear and loud across the grassy field and resounding of the nearby tower. With a sigh and half a fuck, I set about putting my shirt and jacket back on. No doubt a torrent would come soon, and I’d be damned if I wasn’t going to beast my entire smoke before it was drenched.
Leoric had half smirked when he was handed his invitation. It was just outside his usual Tavern, MoosePiss Tavern, and was it ever a fun night for him. It started off with the usual crowd making a ruckus and Leoric taking care of them and kicking them out, literally. But when a scrawny man with two giants demanded everyones attention it had gotten rather interesting.
------------------------
"Look Toothpick, Everyone is a little busy. What can i do for you?" He crossed his arms and looked down at him.
"We don't have time for a Tavern bouncer. we are looking for the strongest around to take part in the illustrious Battle tournament of the Serenti. Now if you don't mind we are on a tight schedule." The scrawny man snidly said as he turned around.
"Hey guys!" Leoric said as he called out to the tavern. "Who here is the strongest around town?"
The scrawny man turned around to see everyone pointing at leoric, who had a smug grin on his face. "So you aren't just a Tavern bouncer, Boys?"
The two behemoths of men were having a hard time entering through the narrow tavern door. Leoric ran at them full force preparing a quaking palm strike, Grinning from ear to ear. The giants, were nothing short of durable, his palm strikes impacted Their bare chest. Ripples were seen expanding across their flesh as they took a single step back. They grabbed Leoric and threw him out into the main through way of the town. He smirked as he hit the ground and quickly recovered. sliding back on his feet as his hand slammed into the ground. The scrawny man scoffed and was about to say something when leoric stood up and entered a more defensive stance. Ready to throw down with the behemoths of the serenti.
The following morning Leoric stood up exhausted and bloodied as the last behemoth fell over from exhaustion. Both behemoths had broken their hands from punching his leather chest piece that was enchanted to be as hard as Damascus.
"You know after the first hour i was intrigued to see how much longer you can last. You beating them? i never believed i would see the day. as much as i hate your demeanor and personality, here is your invitation to the Serenti. Your Brute force has one this night. May it provide you the strength you need for what lays ahead.
-----------------------------
Leoric grabbed his chest as he looked around, the directions on his invitation led him to this spot. it was in the middle of a ruined castle. Pieces were missing completely from the wall and the only semblance of a structure in the area was already occupied, by what leoric assumed to be his opponent.
"What is your personal preference? bludgeoned or sliced?" He said as he slowly unsheathed his sword. "Let's not keep this lasting any longer, it looks like it is about to storm"
My opponent arrived with undue haste.
The steady pelting of raindrops began a quickened tempo with the same mind-numbing drum beat that pulsed in my head. The cigarillo I’d crafted had taken effect with a swiftness and pleasure far exceeding the ill-weather; the taste of stale tobacco leaf and honey grew stronger on my lips as my face became rain-slicked. I looked to the man, who’d made quite an entrance, with an ambivalent glare, if such a thing existed, before making a show of putting the lit thing out on my muddy boot. Slipping it into my suit jacket, I took the opportunity to bring out my gas mask from within. No doubt this foe wanted to get straight to business, and that was fine with me. The faster I smoked the fool, the faster I could find a place to chill for a while.
“Eviscerated,” I spoke just loud enough to be audible over the rain. I placed the mask over my face, struggling with a few stray clumps of wet hair against the strapping. “It sounds sexier.” My words echoed a bit inside, warping my voice to my delight.
With one deep and hallowed breath, I heard the heating coil inside the mask snap to life. Within seconds that sickly-sweet smoke filled up around my face and into my lungs. A deep, hot fire caught my chest and surged throughout every limb and digit, before the burning barreled back up and into my brain. I could feel it; that vigor when the keti took hold was a type of high I could never build a tolerance to. Now I hated the man in front of me for his intrusion; and as I fiddled around my waist, only to remember I’d forgotten my crowbar somewhere near the windmill, I hated him more. ”What a prick.”
“Swords are for cowards and jugglers,” I sneered, though, in hindsight, he probably hadn’t seen it. I raised my fists and cracked my knuckles for a spell. “I’ll let these do the work.”
With my body’s urging, I began to sprint towards him. Twenty, thirty, ten, or three feet; I couldn’t really gauge how far away he was in the moment. All I knew was I needed to get punch off on that smug face of his. The ground was treacherously slick; the further I got towards him, the more I felt the splash of murky puddles against my shins. As droplets collected on my goggles, I’d barely time to think, charging straight into him in a quick and clumsy tackle.
Thread is Closed. Pestarzt Advances.
Leoric Disqualified.
Because this thread did not reach ten posts, Advancement will favor the writer most active.
Pestartz moves on to round two. Good luck!