Round Two, Bracket B: Catholic Mafia vs. Stalin for Time

[Christoph]

Congratulations for making it to the second round of the Tournament of Champions. Both teams receive three Fate Points for making it this far! The battle closes after 11:59 PM EST on March 27th. Good luck to both teams!

Arenas were arranged at random, and your prompt is as follows:

You will fight atop a mighty stone disk floating within a vicious thunderstorm. Watch your step, for a metal grid lines the disk’s surface.

[Kupo!]

The world was fuzzy and blurry, spinning at a thousand miles an hour as the tiny moogle walked what he could best guess was straight. His body convulsed with each step, his stomach churning over and over as he felt his gullet spasm every now and then in a dry heave. He wiped a furry paw to his head and could feel the sweat thick as tree sap and he doubled over as another dry heave spurt nearly took him out.

"Oh, Jebus..." Duke whined. "What spell has been cast upon me, Kupo?" he asked to an uncaring sky as it thundered loudly, the rain pounding the metal ground where he nearly fell again.

Duke would continue on like that for hours, and all for good reason. Simply put the only potion he had in the last few hours was one dry martini after another to celebrate winning the first round. With nothing in his system it was only a matter of time before he was drunk. It was then a simple hop skip and jump away from complete inebriation which he passed blissfully into two hours ago. Now, now Duke was just simply wasted beyond recognition, and it took several of his dolls, Snew, and the Care Bear to keep Duke from falling over the edge off the wagon, and more importantly, the edge of the arena.

"My child you need to learn that gluttony is a deadly sin," Snew began, but Duke lifted one paw up to his white collar, grabbed it and brought the priest to his furious furry face.

"You need to learn (HIC) to stop kupo!" Duke countered. All the dolls looked to the Don with concern as he teetered near the edge and at last Snew sighed grabbing Duke by the arm and swinging him back to the central area.

"I'm just saying, moderation, temperance, and pacing yourself is three things that may help you in the future." Duke let the water splash his face and then sighed.

"My mother never loved me, Kupo..." Duke began. The entire mafia of dolls jumped Duke and began the process of sobering up the lord of the toys as he began to ramble about his past in slurs and hiccups. Snew just wiped his own face whispering a quick prayer before Duke spoke up again.

"Ya...Ya know?" He said in a high pitched tone. "I like you guys, I really do. You aren't so bad..." Duke lowered his tone patting Ankle Biter, the largest of the dolls on the knee. "I mean, it's really nice of you guys to take care of me, like Tim always does Kupo..." Duke let a stupid smile cross his features. "So nice of him to make sure I wasn't late for round two."

"Eherm," the care bear coughed loudly, and Dom Duke looked to the pull string wonder. "Actually, the priest here was the one who sent me and the Cactus looking green guy to find you. Tim was sleeping." Duke eyed the doll shrugging feeling a wave of vomit come up, but suppressed it with his will.

"Well, at least he makes me the sandwiches." Duke offered in defense of his yellow sheep like friend. The thunder bellowed as the turtle looking doll with the raggity robes stepped forward, a jar of peanut butter in his hand, a rusty knife in his other. Duke looked to Snew, who nodded.

"Well, at least he cleaned up the vomit I spewed onto the waitress..." Duke's tone rose again as he smiled, remembering her screams as he let it all go in one motion. The memory almost made him upchuck again and Ankle Biter quickly rubbed him to get over the feeling.

"Again, Snew." The care bear said aggressively as he jumped forward slapping Duke a couple times to smack the drunk out of him.

"Really?" Duke took a moment before his squinty eyes widened just a bit. "Jebus, Tim doesn't do anything!" He shouted in disbelief. Thunder bellowed as the rain slammed harder onto the surface, and Duke looked to Snew. "Where is he?" Snew merely shrugged.

Outside the arena, Tim slept peacefully on a warm pillow, curled up by the fire.

[Saxon]

(All bunnying between Cory and I is approved for the entire thread.)

After what seemed like an eternity, Brom awoke to the crash of thunder and the pitter patter of rain upon his scarred face. Before his vision or even his memory of what had happened could return, his stomach clearly had other ideas. Turning immediately on his side, Brom vomited. It was never a pleasant experience, but it was something the warrior quickly got over. Turning away from his puddle of sick that was quickly being washed away by the storm; he struggled to get up but eventually got to his feet.

With a head full of cotton and completely soaked by the rain, Brom balanced himself against the upturned rocks that acted as his only cover. Rubbing his head as he tried to get the lay of the land, Brom noticed for the first time that his mask was gone. Finding it near the edge of the rocky outcrop, he picked it up and turned it in his hands, something beginning to tug upon the Salvarian's memory.

"What am I forgetting?" He rumbled. As he tried to fish out that memory, he caught a glimpse of a metal cage opening its doors, and how important it was that somebody was inside. He felt completely surrounded and a feeling of anger was building within him. As Brom tried to remember more all he could see was the same scene again and again being washed away in a flash of white. And then.. nothing.

Whatever had happened, it was gone now. Almost as if part of the memory had not only been removed, but plucked from the barbarian's mind. As Brom calmed down and felt the rain splash upon him, he returned back to the present.

It was something he'd need to figure out later. Right now, Brom felt his hunter's instinct telling him that he wasn't safe here. Strangely, he also felt the strong desire to find somebody important. But, whoever that was he hadn't the slightest idea of who it might have been, only a name.

"The Russian." Brom repeated verbatim as a clap of thunder roared and lightning jagged across the black sky.

Donning his mask, the Salvarian quickly felt his confusion begin to slip away and feel his old self begin to return. Moving from behind the rocky outcrop, the warrior looked around. He was upon a flat ring of stone that was mapped by an archaic pattern of luminous blue lines that sank deep into the rocks. Boulders, rocks, and ruins littered the surface of the disk that was a couple hundred yards in length and width. A ring of columns surrounded the edge of the disk, and most surprising of all was that no matter how hard Brom tried; it didn't feel like he was on solid ground.

Looking to the darkened heavens that sparked with lightning and roared with thunder, Brom knew that where ever this cursed place may be, he wasn't alone.

(Apologies for the delay. Synopsis: Brom is having his memories selectively wiped after every round. Whoever is doing it and why will be revealed later. Even after the first round it's starting to affect him greatly. It's beginning to bleed into the rest of his mind and beginning to wipe away everything. Brom needs to keep holding onto objects, aka his mask, in order to return to his identity as a warrior. Otherwise he's just confused, aimless and harmless.)

[Father Snew]

Valentine looked down upon the furry bear, a look of pity on his face. Perhaps this was for the best. This plate seemed no place for such a congregation as the priest had planned upon. He sighed looking about in the pouring rain. No, this was definitely not a place to hold mass. The wine would have been ruined immediately, and the host would have been already washed away in the pouring tide of angel's tears.

It brought back brief memories of Noah's story, of the rainbow and promises to never again flood the world as God had. This wasn't exactly Earth, a truth he had come too abruptly, even harshly, but it was still within God's realm. He had made the promise not to kill his children in that way again; perhaps it applied here, upon this pagan world.

Valentine didn't know, and wasn't too keen on finding out.

Instead he focused on the area about him, and sighed deeply. He had not seen much in the terms of this stone disc, only that snaking through the stone work was metal lines. Each seemed to move about in an intricate web, the confusing thing being the depth of them, they seemed roughly three inches deep, so as to not exactly trip up a person, but exactly help them either.

The priest attributed it to some kind of drainage system that was, until the first bolt of lightning struck, and swept across the stone plate he was precariously balanced upon. His eyes widened before he moved forward and tackled the poor Moogle, moving him from stepping upon one of the metal veins. They both sat upon the stone, even as the priest grunted softly, feeling a bit of his normal black outfit torn from the sudden rush forward.

Looking down he saw his elbow had scraped upon the surface of the stone. In a battle he didn't even know he was fighting, first blood had been drawn. Shaking his head slowly he muttered and picked up the care bear doll.

"'ey! Let go of me punk!" The bear shouted, its heavy Brooklyn accent washing through the area. More likely befouling it, as a stream of American curses spewed forth from the bear.

Gently hitting the stinging wound from the tackle attempt to save the poor Moogle, he hissed softly before he looked. A little blood stained the bear, soon to be washed from the rain, but he saw his wound had closed up and healed already. A heavy sigh left his lips as he looked upon the skies.

"If it is your will to test me, at least do not punish the innocent..." He said softly, speaking frankly to his god.

[Arsène]

The sounds of whirling wind and pounding rain could not silence the strange shrieks that came from the edge of the disk. A man, dressed in full parade uniform, clung tightly as he could to the metal grid that rigidly ran all along the surface. It was a safety net from certain doom, as the Russian could not see the ground from where the disk hovered. He struggled, grunting as he did, to drag his body back onto solid Earth before the rain slicked iron grid grew too difficult for his hands to hold onto.

After finally pulling himself up, the soldier had just enough time to collapse on the ground before the sheer fear of seeing all the metal grid glow in an unholy light, as sparks flew off any imperfection. His heaving breathes and mud covered face made him a pathetic site at best. A once great rifleman for the Soviet army, reduced to choking on mud on a large flying disk. All for glory, all for the Motherland.

Aleksey got up slowly; his arms still ached from his terrible climb. His rifle was just in front of him, flung a few feet away when he fell from the sky. As he knelt to pick it up, his eagle eyes could not help but notice the utter desolation. The sky was gray, when it didn't crackle with lightning, and the stony ground was grossly gloomy.

The bit of dirt and soot on the sniper's face, however, gave him an idea. He cupped his hand and threw as much of the filth on himself as he could. With his face covered, and rifle cocked and loaded, he needed to find his partner and continue the work they'd begun together.

[Kupo!]

(I apologize for the wait guys, was moving during this time as Arsene had known.)

The problem with being intoxicated was that one's observance of their natural surroundings were always slightly blurred. It was all to common and easy to avoid painfully obvious occurrences going on like a thunder storm or earthquake. Duke was no exception to these laws of drinking and it was with a sad, massive painful hit to the head that made him realize that perhaps maybe, just maybe, he shouldn't have drunk so much after the first round of the tournament.

"What's the big (HIC) idea, Kupo?" Duke slurred rubbing his nose and wiping his very wet fur clean of dirt. "If I had half a mind, I'd slap you for that, Kupo!"

The care bear doll had jumped upwards at this insult to his caretaker and slapped Duke across the jaw a few times. "Lucky for us, bub, you only have half a brain and it's currently in the shlitz!" The bear still slammed paw after paw into the face of Duke before the moogle regained himself, a brief moment of sobriety allowing him the strength to push the doll away.

"Oh my head hurts..." Duke said painfully as his eyes closed tightly in pain. Thunder cracked in the heavens and lightening struck the ground of the arena in a dazzling display of the elements. A yelp of surprise bellowed in the air, Duke's ears intensifying the cry causing him to double over in pain as his head felt ready to crack open. "Jebus, what is that?" The party turned their attentions over to the noise and a very shaken Ankle Biter crawled out of the metal gutter with a painful look on his face.

"Oh yeahs," The care bear lifted a single hand up in revelation as his Brooklyn jargon broke the silence. "Ankle Biter is made out of Titanium ain't he?" Duke woozily nodded his head as he leaned on the leg of Snew for support, his stomach lurching as the rain pattered against the ground in a soft rat-a-tat-tap sound. He focused all his energy of the serene sound to prevent his insides from churning. "So I'm guessing whenever this lightening strikes whoever is caught on the metal part gets game over!" Duke felt impressed by the arena, but was more impressed his moogle constitution hadn't yet caved into the desires his stomach demanded.

"We should all watch our step." Snew said with quiet authority. "Let's all keep together, and try to find Tim shall we?" The party of dolls and drunken moogle all shuffled around, not looking at the priest as they kicked the ground or looked for imaginary dirt in their hands. Duke hunched over, feeling his limbs shake with agony. Snew's eyes narrowed as his annoyance began to become noticeable.

"Why, he's just a retarded sheep." the care bear spoke up at last.

"Nevertheless, he's a creature of god and deserves the same respect we expect from others." Snew said definitively ending the matter.

"I'm not going to make it..." Duke said weakly. Snew approached the mafia Don with care lending a gentle hand onto Duke's back.

"If we just believe in the plan of god than we can make it through this test!" Duke looked into father Snew's eyes, seeing the warmth, the sincerity of his words in those gentle eyes. He saw the rain splash around the priest in some form of heavenly way and when the priest lent his hand out to lift the moogle Duke could feel the bond the two shared.

"BLARRRGGGHHH!" Duke heaved heavily onto Snew's offered hand, puking up all the alcohol as an offering to his priestly friend. "Praise...Jebus...Kupo..." Duke whispered before blacking out onto the wet ground.

[Saxon]

(About to get swamped with work, so I figured an early post is better than a post 2-3 days from now.)

As Brom moved and hid behind the ruins that littered the disk, he slowly circled his prey. The barbarian's plan had originally been to try and find the Russian, whose face he seemed to vaguely remember. But, that was until he had heard voices. Many of them. Peering from behind his cover, the Salvarian watched a man dressed in black and strange creatures for quite some time while he prowled, moving closer and closer to them until he was less than five yards away.

Normally, the barbarian would've had assumed they were harmless, but something deep down in his subconscious began to bleed with anger. Something from within kept whispering the same word, almost as if it were directly into his ear.

Kill.

Brom quickly forgot about the Russian, what a strange place this was to wake up in, or how he had even got here. It was clear that whatever rationale the seasoned warrior had possessed had left him as his confusion worsened. He didn't seem to care who the people were that stumbled in front him, or whether they had been friend or enemy.

As Brom watched, the man in black gazed to the heavens, his face eventually turning back towards the gloom. Smaller creatures began to dance around something that the warrior could only guess to be some kind of drunk, bastardized bear. The scene was puzzling, but the moment that bear slipped and fell after he had vomited and the others rushed to help him back to his feet, Brom saw an opening he'd never get again.

Resting his hand upon the pommel of his sword, Brom drew his steel that flashed as lightning cracked across the heavens. If he weren't crazed, the barbarian would've realized that with his bow he probably could've taken out at least two of the strange troupe before they had realized what had even struck them. It would've made things a lot simpler.

But, even without his wits, a confused barbarian on the battlefield was probably just as dangerous, if not more. Not pausing to think about what was the best course of action or the voices communing in his head, Brom quickly slipped from behind his cover and charged. Waving his sword as a terrible growl began to escape his lips, the giant warrior ran headlong into his enemies, content with cutting them down first and asking questions later.

(Summary: Brom isn't in his right mind when he stumbles upon you guys. Rather than go find his partner, the barbarian sees an opportunity he can't pass up. Crazed and confused, he charges your party as Duke slips and falls, trying to take you by surprise.)

[Father Snew]

Snew looked at the moogle with disbelief as the vomit poured upon his hand. In many ways he was upset at the drunkard, and in many ways he was in shock at what had occurred. Quickly wiping his hand upon the wet flagstones he missed the sound of metal upon metal, marking the wolf's approach towards his flock. The care bear doll seemed to be looking up at the priest, with a desire to make a witty comment about how the priest was only good for a toilet. The good Shepard was already thinking of how to deal with the passed out moogle, and had nothing come to his mind.

He missed the sounds of the barbarian's footsteps so heavy was the rain.

What he did not miss, was the growl that echoed through the ruins that had surrounded him. He had been oblivious to his surroundings, but he knew better than to allow that to stop his act. Turning he saw the warrior's charge, and in a flash of lightning he closed his eyes spreading his arms wide. The posture was completely non-hostile, completely without any aggression. Shouting over the rain he called out, "Halt! There are no enemies here! Only friends!"

There would be no reasoning with the minions of Hell.

He felt the blade cut through him stopping somewhere against his spine before he reached out to grab one of the attacker's arms. Pain coursed through his body, yet the urge to protect his flock raged on, even when the cry of pain escaped his lips. Blood poured from his stomach as he steeled himself, knowing that if he died he surely would meet St. Peter at the gates of Heaven. A soft smile lit up his lips as he looked into the frenzied berserker's eyes. The man was misguided, and he could only hope his death would help him see the light.

No greater love hath he than this, to lay down one’s life for a friend.

That was what Duke was. The moogle was certainly not an enemy, and they had grown beyond acquaintances. He had seen many things, heard far more, but in his life he knew the value of friendship. He had cultivated a small flock on Althanas because of this principle, and here he was, protecting the moogle and his friends, giving them time to run.

A wet gasp marked one of his last breathes, before the exhale managed, "Ye, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..."

[Arsène]

The rain was heavy and disgusting; a moist blanket that enveloped the body and smothered it in its intensity. The green parade uniform was sullied and darkened, and the flashing sky above head caused a little worry in the Soviet soldier.

As Aleksey marched forward, carefully maneuvering over the metal grid that so hindered his movements, he couldn't help but have a deep and heavy feelings of nostalgia creep over him. The base at home in Mother Russia was far more welcoming than the dastardly ruins he trekked through. And since the tournament's beginning, he'd yet to have a chance to fire off his beloved Mosin-Nagant.

However, has he crept around the bumpy and wet terrain, he could see a small gathering in the center of the disk. An enraged Brom had begun a decent into madness, with an unsheathed sword flailing wildly about. As his sword dug deep into the flesh of a man dressed in black, Aleksey took his chance.

Aleksey knelled down and prepared his rifle, the lettering from Stalin's government still printed on. The Russian took careful aim with one eye, determined to take out the small gaggle of little critters that surrounded Brom. Without a word or a sound, and a grin on his face, Aleksey began looking for a clean kill. Without warning, a sharp crack of thunder threw him off balance, and his bullet went spiraling madly into the crown.

[Kupo!]

Duke was feeling worse than he ever felt in his entire life. His body was cold, wet, soggy, and worst of all he was beginning to smell. He noticed that he had puked several times since he last opened his eyes and the smell of disgusting bile chaffed his sensitive nostrils. Woozily he turned to his right and saw something metal and shiny protruding from his religious friend. Duke noticed that the stench wasn't just his own upchucked fluids, but also a mixture of something that made the tiny creature tremble. Red crimson liquid poured down the side of his arm, and the moogle hollered in alarm.

"GREAT CHOCOBOES, KUPO!" Duke cursed, his eyes widened to only a mere squint from his normal squinty state. All the dolls surrounding the moogle cried in surprise, some running for the hills, others jumping upon the warrior with the blade in hand. Ankle Biter jumped upon the sensitive groin of the enemy, digging his teeth deep into whatever stood between his mouth and the private parts of his prey. The creepy turtle guy turned to the north, looking with shifty eyes into the darkness and suddenly moving swiftly into the shadows with intent.

"Holy shit!" The care bear cried. "You killed a fuggin priest! What the hell man?!?!?" The care bear jumped upon the falling body of Snew, his face contorted with fear and anguish. "Come on buddy, come on buddy! Get it togetha you idiot!" His thick Brooklyn accent shouted into the rain as he cried to the heavens, causing Duke to stand stupefied by the events passing around him.

Duke looked down to his right, and saw his creepy cat friend Chocolate looking at the blood with his neutral expression. The moogle really couldn't tell whether or not the doll was going to lick the blood, or run in abject terror. He just didn't know anymore. Nothing made sense. He wasn't even sure why he even agreed to be in this situation in the first place.

Then it dawned on him. It was as if some barred off area of his repressed memories came to the fore of his mind's eye and it all came back to him. The entire reason he was here was for one, stupid, deadly reason. He signed up for this Tournament of Legends while drunk. He wasn't in his right mind when he noticed the signs. He complained about how stupid the tournament was, the idiocy of it and its reasons as well as the negative ramifications of such an event. He ranted, he raved, he threw up, and somewhere in all that he signed up for the competition.

His eyes looked upon Father Snew and he fell to his knees. It was because of his own inability to know temperance that the good father had just fallen flat on his back, his own blood flooding around him from the hole in his stomach. Duke felt a weight of guilt crash over him as he realized that this all could have been avoided if he had just remained a sober graduate like his D.A.R.E. Officer told him he should have been. This all could have been avoided if he hadn't got drunk, just like he did in this round.

His tiny frame shivered from the weight of the cold rain, his mouth unable to move as he looked at his fallen friend. It was all his fault, and Duke felt like dying.

Conveniently the whole nature of this tournament offered plenty of opportunity for that and just to his luck a stray bullet that had: bounced off the ground, off a rock, ricocheting into the ground and back up again just miraculously found its way right into the skull of the tiny Moogle. Duke couldn't even process a scream as he fell to the earth with a shattering splash.

Duke's entire body became numb at once. He couldn't move his arms or legs, nor his fingers or toes. His eyes grew heavy and the world grew darker with each passing second. Fear gripped the heart of the tiny moogle and he couldn't tell if he was crying or not. The feeling alone made his body twitch, and the more he tried to feel something, anything, the more he began to panic and worry. Terrified beyond all reason the moogle couldn't even tell if his heart was beating or not. Duke could barely move his eyes, his blurry vision barely making out the image of Father Snew.

He was able to look into Snew's eyes, and a sudden wave of calm rushed over the soggy and dying moogle. Inside those gentle eyes he saw something unlock, like a gate, and bright white light cascaded upon Duke. Before him was a glorious land, fertile grass, golden chocoboes, gorgeous moogles with coats so spectacularly shiney he had to avert his eyes. Duke felt his heart beating again as he looked deeper into the eyes of Snew and with one last act of defiance Duke's lips moved. Little sound came out, but the lips were cleary read as he moved his mouth.

"Do Moogles go to heaven?"