Battle begins tonight at 12:01 AM Central Standard Time! It's a battle for the orders more bad ass! Blade meets Brawler! Begin!
Battle begins tonight at 12:01 AM Central Standard Time! It's a battle for the orders more bad ass! Blade meets Brawler! Begin!
2011 Althy winner for Best Comeback, Most Helpful Moderator, and Best IC Odd Couple (With Enigmatic Immortal). 2012 Althie Winner for Mr. Althanas, and best Bromance (also, with Enigmatic Immortal). 2014 Althy Winner Best Battler for Forrals Fortress.
Gisela Open Winner (First Year), Lornius Cooperate Championship 3rd Place Winner (1/2 of 'Don't Blinke!', 2nd year).
(21:41:22) Sulla: If you kill god, Nihilism fills the void, you need the ubermensch to take the place of god. Sei is the ubermensch.
He looked up at the name of the bar with disdain. His face scrunched up as if he had just smelled something horrific, his eyes squinted as if he had not read the sign correctly. The Pissing Mule stood in the middle of Underwood with its bright red and green letters, each vowel tinted emerald and the consonants a lighter shade of crimson. His gaze settled on the wooden double swinging doors that made up the entrance. He could hear people bellowing in laughter and merriment from the establishment.
He sighed and stepped through the swinging doors, and his olfactory senses were instantly hit with a unique stench of both urine and vomit. His hand reached down towards his sword as he walked down the watering hole. The tables were filled with drunkards and prostitutes, spilling drinks and whatever else spewed out of their mouths besides their inane prattling. This type of building disgusted Ciato Orlouge to no end. He kept his focus on one table as he pushed through the filth.
The one man, his target for the evening, sat at his table with his pitcher of what Ciato could only assume was beer, taking giant swigs of the drink every so often. He looked like the same kind of person Ciato had to deal with all of his life; overly muscular, without much hair, and obviously drunk. He brought his free hand to his nose, rubbing the bridge of it to the point that he thought he would rub the skin raw. He had taken it upon himself to personally seek out his comrades in arms within the Order of the Crimson Hand.
Ciato’s eyes shifted from the drink and back to the man several times before he decided to speak. “You are Leoric Rockfist, I take it?”
Leoric sighed as he looked out over the crowd in the Pissing Mule. Not a single one looked like they could pose him any real challenge. He had come into the Pissing Mule hoping that the patrons would be as nasty as the name itself. After scoping out the crowd while drinking some ale he realized that not a single patron wouldn't last longer then one or two full force hits.
He sighed and turned around taking a sip as he rested his head on the bar when someone spoke directly to him. He raised his head and only glanced towards his opponent before returning to his beverage.
“Better not be after the bounty, another tried that... it didn’t...” Leoric was 'cut' off as the man quickly used his sword and created a sizable gash in the bottom of the mug. Causing all the all to spill out on the bar and down over the Brawlers lap.
“ Look at me when you speak to me!” The man demanded as the rage filled brawler turned to face him.
“... It didn't end well” Leoric glared as rage filled his mind, some unknown man had just ruined his drink and made him rather uncomfortable with a wet groin. “Who the hell are you?!” He roared as his foot quickly lashed out aimed at the mans knee. He stood up as he rested his right hand on the hilt of his sword, hanging from his belt.
He didn’t care about any bounty; in his eyes the claim to any human’s head rightfully belonged to a Mystic. If Ciato demanded that the drunk lay down his life before him, the nobleman damn well expected Leoric to get on the ground with a smile on his face. The audacity of this barfly to actually talk into his drink rather than speak to the alabaster assassin directly filled the Mystic with a seething rage. By now, the crowd had become hushed, their eyes set on the two men and the tension between them.
“You will show some respect for me when you’re speaking, vermin,” His eyes shifted downwards towards Leoric’s hand as it rested upon his sword. “My name is Ciato Orlouge, and I represent certain interests in our little group.” The Mystic tried to be as tight lipped about the Order as possible; from what he had been Told, Lye wanted the Order of the Crimson Hand to be completely secretive until he was ready to reveal it to the world. Ciato had a deep respect for the assassin, so he obliged the request without hesitation.
However, as he had examined the roster for the Order, he had noticed several individuals who seemed less than worthy to share the same organization as the ‘Brother of the Dragon’. Leoric’s name had been at the top of this list, and something about the last name of ‘Rockfist’ just seemed inelegant. Now that he stood in front of the brawler, he could see that his assumption had been on the nose. He could smell the alcohol fumes as they slithered off of the taller man.
“I would advise against that,” Ciato said in response to Leoric’s defensive position, “unless you want to lose that hand as well as your dignity.”
Ciato Orlouge advances to Round 2 of the Redemption Bracket!
Leoric is eliminated.
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