View Full Version : Lead and someone is bound to follow you
((Open but you must be at least level 2 and up to level 3. That means either or.
Rules:
No weapons.
No abilities. (Even passive.)
No spells. (Even passive.)
Regeneration is allowed, if you have it.
No limits.
Fight to the death. (Means no quarter or surrender.)
This is a 'greased' fight. (Meaning your flesh is coated in grease so that you're harder to grab.)
May the best wo/man/borg win.))
Shit.
He'd done it again. The last time it happened he had promised himself he wouldn't let himself be gulled into doing it again. Yet, here he was. Doing it again.
Shit, shit, SHIT!
A fist materialized before him and he snarled before he reacted.
There was a scream as his own fist connected dead on with the fist flying towards his body and there was a spray of blood as skin broke and bones shattered. He snarled again as he curled his other fist and brought it around in a slashing line, straight for the screaming face in front of him.
There was a loud crunch as his balled fist connected squarely with the upper jaw bone of the man in front of him, followed by the squishing noise of tearing flesh mixed with flowing blood. The man went down in a gurgling heap at his feet and a roar erupted from the surrounding crowd. A voice came over a mega-horn, rising above the noise of the crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a victor!"
The crowd roared louder and he thought he could hear a scream of a woman from amidst the din. Poor lass, probably got mixed in with the wrong group of men. Not that that wasn't expected; most women here sold themselves as whores to the local riff-raff. He smirked as the scream faded and finally disappeared amidst the noise of the crowd. The mega-horned voice rose from above the din again and he turned to face the chain link fence behind him.
"Ladies and gentlemen, it is my most esteemed pleasure, and privilege..."
Pfah! Announcers.
"...to present to you the next fight in the 'Anti-Cell Cage - Fight to the Death!'"
The voice faded and if anything, the roar of the crowd grew greater. He snarled again and turned away from the fence to face the center of the sixteen by sixteen foot cage. It was a comfortable ten feet in height, with four walls that were an easy going sixteen feet in length and the floor was covered by a three inch 'soft' layer of dirt. Underneath that was a very hard layer of dried clay, he knew because he had slipped in an earlier battle - the only time he had fallen - and landed hard on top of it. There was still a deep imprint of his spread eagle body in the middle of the floor. That was probably the only time he had heard the crowd go silent. Not many people took kindly to his startling three ton weight, not when he looked to weigh in at less than two hundred fifty.
He moved to the dead or still dying man in front of him, such was the price in a cage fight, and bent to wipe the blood from his fists on his bloodied shirt. The man was still breathing raggedly and he could see that he probably wouldn't survive the night. His neck looked to be broken in addition to his face, left leg and most of his ribs. He straightened after he was finished and moved back to his side of the cage.
Beyond the chain links was a crowd of perhaps a few hundred, mostly run down farmers and mid-wives, but occasionally through the blending of faces, he thought he caught sight of a few low end merchants. Even a few lesser lords. The notion didn't surprise him. Cage fights were like cock fights. A gamblers heaven and winning usually paid ten times the amount you bet.
Yes, lesser Lords and low end merchants, should they win, could easily find themselves in drowning in cash.
Rags to riches. Common path of the stupid.
The voice of the mega-horn rose above the din once more and announced the next fight.
"Yes ladies and gentlemen, a greased fight! Each fighter is required to remove their shirt and be smothered in grease from neck to waist. The rules remain the same. A fight, to the death!"
The crowd roared louder still and the man in the cage smirked for a second time. A door in the cage's chain link barrier opened and three men rushed in. Two to grab the body, the third caring a bucket of yellow-orange grease, to smother the single inhabitant of the steel lined graveyard.
The man happily obliged to remove the inhabitants shirt for him, asked for him to spread his arms and set about rubbing the grease on the inhabitants skin. The inhabitant didn't notice the other work, instead its coal black eyes were riveted on the cage door, where the dying mans body was being dragged out and where the new one was bound to takes its place.
The inhabitant twisted his mouth into a soundless snarl as it wait. If there was thing it hated the most, it was waiting. It had done it most of its life. It was tired of waiting.
It waited none-the-less.
A lull fell over the crowd as everyone looked around for the next opponent, yet none appeared. No one wanted to fight the man standing in the cage after having seen him slay several contenders already. It was clear this fighter was a force to be reckoned with.
”Will the next opponent please enter the cage.” The voice boomed over the mega-horn, but it was clear that there were no others with a death wish present.
”I’ll fight him.”
Everyone in the crowd turned around to find the source of the voice. A silhouetted figure stood in the doorway of the arena. A murmur began to stir in the audience as people whispered to each other. It was difficult to see the figure’s face by the dim light in the stands, as most available light was focused on the cage.
The figure began to descend the stairs down the aisle of the stands toward the cage. Finally he stepped into the light, revealing his white fur, dark red robe, long ears, and devious smirk.
“I heard rumors that a certain 3 ton man was back in town.”
Sorahn looked right into his opponent’s eyes, his smirk only growing. He kept his gaze fixed on the man in the cage as he threw off his robe, revealing his muscular upper body, which was covered with numerous symbolic tattoos. Sorahn was proud to show off his newfound muscle definition, as he was mostly skin and bone until recently.
He then simply held out his arms and waited as two men rushed over and quickly poured the grease on his upper body, his grin never fading. Casually, he stepped through the cage door with grease still dripping from his fur.
“Well if it isn’t, my best friend, co-conspirator, and arch rival all rolled into one.” He said softly once inside the cage.
“Koran Vincent Seether. It’s been a long time.”
"Aye," Koran said with a wide grin. "That it has, friend." He would have stuck out his hand at that very moment, but something within him told him that he wouldn't get the handshake he was looking for.
No, the man standing before him was too smart to fall for that old trick again. The memory of that particular incident brought an even broader smile to Koran's lips and had he any tear glands, he was sure he would have made some. The smile faded though and was instead replaced by a small, slightly confused frown.
"Normally I would ask you how you've been and go for a hand shake but," he shrugged and the smile returned, if only slightly. "I don't suppose this either the time, or the place for such talk. That and you don't like handshakes." He chuckled and unconsciously flexed his chest and arms.
The well defined muscles, which were perfectly symmetrical to his bodies weight, rippled and glistened beneath the well lit interior of the large room. As they did lines of flesh bulged outward, as nano-tubes full of his bodies 'blood' expanded to make up for the increased activity in his bodies extremities. He let the small smile on his face fade into another small and distant frown. Then, with a shake of his head and a sigh, he straightened himself and relaxed his body, facing his next opponent, who also happened to be his very first, and very best friend.
"Well then, Sorahn, looks like they're about ready to start this gig." He nodded to the now closed gate and then looked upwards as a voice rose above the crowd, amplified by the mega-horn.
"On the count of five, the combatants will commence the fight."
"One..."
Here goes nothing... He clenched his fists and took a deep breath.
"Two..."
I haven't fought him in a long time... The breath slowly exhaled out of his lungs and he stared distantly at the man across from him.
"Three..."
He looks much stronger than before... He dropped his casual stance, adopting a more offensive stance with his knees slightly bent and his arms raised in front of him.
"Four..."
Good luck, friend. He inhaled sharply and held, waiting for the five.
"Five! Fight!"
With a grunt, and a sudden smirk, he shot forward. He closed the distance between him and his cage companion in less than two seconds, dropped his left arm and in one smooth motion slammed it up hard in a solid upper cut, right where his opponents lower jaw would be. He followed through with a smooth pivot on his right foot and brought his already extended left arm, down hard into where his opponents gut would most likely be.
It was a simple maneuver that would first knock his opponent off balance trying to avoid the upper cut, then, thinking the danger would be past, suddenly have his gut slammed into his spine. Leaving him completely out of breath, stunned for a few moments, and wide open for another attack.
The entire attack had taken less than five seconds and there was a moments pause, as Koran was still driving his left arm back, when the crowd fell into a deep silence. It was like the dead calm right before a big storm. The silence passed and the crowd roared even louder than before, as another fight to the death, in a sixteen by sixteen by sixteen by sixteen foot cage, began.
Sorahn had to chuckle at Koran’s attempt to shake his hand. “Still up to your old tricks, I see. No, I’m not falling for that one again.” He said, smiling.
He waited patiently for the countdown to finish, all while sizing up his old friend. He seemed to be just as powerful and heavy as before, yet without his shape shifting ability or weapons, the playing field was somewhat leveled. Sorahn imagined he had the edge on Koran, experience wise, but he hadn’t fought in a one-on-one battle in a long time. He would have to see what he could remember.
“Five. Fight!” Cried the announcer over the mega-horn. Instantly Koran leapt into action, charging straight at Sorahn, who simply stood still, smirking. Come on Koran, you know me better than this.
As soon as his opponent reached him and readied a punch, Sorahn jumped upward. He flipped over Koran’s head to land gracefully behind him. It felt odd to not have his spear, as now would have been the time to go for a sharp blow to the head. Without such luxuries as weapons, he would have to improvise. He quickly brought up his foot to kick his opponent in the back, perhaps knocking him off balance. He then brought a right hook around to where Koran’s face would be, hoping to inflict some damage.
To the crowd, it appeared they were already in the midst of full on battle, but Sorahn and Koran knew different. These were relatively elementary attacks that were avoidable by anyone with their battle experience. This was simply a time to feel each other out, and for Sorahn, a time to get re-acclimated to head to head battles.
It’s all coming back to me now: the good times we had battling each other in the citadel. You impaled me on my own pole. I rode on your back, hundreds of feet in the air. You became my former master and mentally tormented me into hurling my spear into you. Three battles already, and here we are again, in the midst of round four.
Sorahn readied himself for a counterattack. This will be fun.
When his elbow found nothing but air behind it, alarm bells went off in his head like an air raid siren. Koran knew, with out a doubt, why his elbow hadn't found flesh and he knew exactly how to react to such a surprise. Not that it was much of a surprise, he expected this to happen.
Instead of simply slamming his elbow back into where Sorahn's stomach should have been and then standing there, Koran followed through with the attack by bending knee. It was closely similar to a sheathing of a sword before a foe who had just defeated you in a duel. In that, his fist was clenched and his elbow crooked in such a manner, that if he had a sword in his hand, it would look like he was slamming it home into its sheath. The bending of the knee symbolized the fact that he was accenting defeat, honoring his victorious foe with a gesture of surrender. Only, in this case, it wasn't surrender, simply just to get out of the way.
As he bent knee, Koran kept his gaze up lifted, watching as he spry opponent leapt his full height, and a little more, into the air and kick at where his head had just been. A relatively elementary move, but deadly if used properly. Easily avoided if you knew how. Sorahn settled to the ground lightly and readied himself for a counterattack that was sure to come. Koran smiled and started to rise and it was in those few moments, when Sorahn was still getting himself settled and Koran was beginning to rise up from his half-kneeling position, that Koran got his first real good look at how much his friend had changed.
First was the most noticeable feature, his tattoos. Crazy designs, of which Koran had never seen the like before in his life, crawled up his arms and made rest on his chest. They looked to be almost burned into his flesh, although Koran couldn't be sure. He wasn't familiar with the ink and needle techniques of the tattoo profession, although he had seen the finished product, he as of yet unable to discern the quality or craftsman of the work. Still, the tattoos were a defiant feature change on his old friend, one that Koran would have to guess was rather ceremonial, sacred and a very effective scare tactic. He hated to admit it, but he felt a little intimidated by them.
Secondly was his friends over all appearance, not just his tattoos but they way he held himself. The way he moved, shifted his weight on his toes, held his fists, flexed his chest and arms. Koran would have had to have said that Sorahn had gone through some serious physical changes these past few months, all adding to his increased stamina, strength and dexterity. His body was now built for speed and power, where before it had looked deprived, broken and worn out.
Thirdly, were his eyes. There was a dangerous light in the deep blue of his iris', one that Koran could never, ever recall seeing there. There was also a greater sense of understanding in those eyes, greater perception of the world around him. Like he was just now seeing a larger picture and beginning to understand most of it.
Killing Garen really did set you free.
It didn't take a genius to realize that Koran had his work really cut out for him. His friend had really changed. This fight was going to be a lot harder than Koran had first guessed.
Koran still smiled at Sorahn as he finished coming back to his feet and raised both his hands up in front of him, in a standard boxers' stance with his arms hovering just next to his face. It was an excellent defense against blows to the face and also allowed for rapid fire punches, as well as counterattacks. It allowed for speed and precision, which, Koran thought dryly, was exactly what he was going to need to win against this improved, stronger Sorahn.
"Glad to see you've still got that spring in your step friend," Koran quipped as he started shifting his weight back and forth on the balls of his feet. "But tell me, how long as it been since you've worked on your, foot work?"
Koran's left foot suddenly kicked out, towards Sorahn but then abruptly changed course and landed a few inches away from where it started. Almost before it had even settled into the soft dirt his right foot kicked out, behind and around his left foot, nicked the dirt behind him and then shot forward, almost like a kick, only to land a few inches in front of his left foot. Then the left foot sprang up from its place in the dirt, landing directly into the spot where his right foot had just been.
The result was something most would call absolutely ridiculous and bordered on the point of hilarity, but as most fighters knew or would eventually come to realize, was that that was half the point. A head to head fight, with hands, fists, arms, feet, shins and the skin of your teeth, was all about focus. Break that focus and, well, ask any man who came back dead from a cage fight and you'd have your answer. If you could get one of out of him that is. Focus was the name of the game and if you were trying to break the focus of your opponent, than do something they didn't half expect. Like, dance.
His right foot shot out again, seemingly straight for Sorahn but again, changed course and landed a few inches out in front of his left foot. His left foot repeated the process the right foot had just finished doing in the last sequence, and his right followed suit with what his left had done. He was now only a few feet away from Sorahn, and within perfect striking distance. He repeated the process however, a few more times. If only to just keep the ruse of him acting like a complete idiot so that he might be able to strike at his other wise slippery opponent. Might being the probable word there. He was just about to being his fourth (sixth one all told) routine when he decided that perhaps now was the best time to strike.
His right foot shot forward, changed course, planted and abruptly pivoted. His body weight shifted and in one swift motion Koran brought his body around, his left leg up, and then slammed it down in a downward slashing roundhouse kick that should take Sorahn right on the top of the right shoulder. His left foot planted firmly into the three inches of soft dirt and Koran once again, pivoted and shifted his body weight. His right leg lifted free of the small rut it had made in the ground, spun with his body and shot straight out was Koran's body became perpendicular to Sorahn's chest. As his leg leveled itself out so did Koran's entire upper body, so that by the time his leg had fully extended he formed a strange looking T, with his leg and torso parallel to the ground.
Koran held the pose for a moment before dropping his foot back down and once again resuming his boxers' stance. Arms lifted up to his face, fists clenched loosely, legs and feet keeping a steady motion, never resting or stopping in one spot too long.
((Appologies on the length.))
Just as Sorahn expected, his foot hit nothing but air. He stood very lightly on his feet, ready to dance around Koran’s counterattack, as he was known to do, but the counterattack never came.
His eyes narrowed as he watched Koran sort of jump around like a fool. But he had the advantage of having fought Koran several times before. He knew he loved mind games. His goal was to throw his opponent off balance or catch them unaware and bring them down with a deadly blow. Anticipating this, Sorahn did the best he could to maintain his battle focus.
He watched Koran’s legs, following their movements. A few times it seemed as if they were heading straight for him and he sidestepped to dodge them, only to watch them return to their place under Koran. All the time he remained ready. His opponent could only keep this up for so long.
What he was waiting for finally came. Koran’s foot came sailing down toward him. He leapt to the right to avoid it crashing into his shoulder. Instantly he realized his mistake. Koran’s foot landed in the dirt, causing his right one to shoot out straight toward Sorahn’s chest. His eyes widened when he realized that he was off balance, and by the time he could react it was too late.
The kick landed hard, square on his chest, sending him staggering backwards. His back slammed against the cage wall with a loud clang. The crowd roared as he fought to regain the wind that had been knocked out of him. He looked up to see Koran back in his defensive stance, ready for anything. Bent over and appearing weak, Sorahn’s face twisted into a sinister smile, showing all of his sharp, canine teeth.
“My turn.”
With one massive force of his legs, he shot upward. His clawed hands grabbed the cage bars almost directly above Koran, and he swung his legs forward to deliver a kick to his opponent’s head. Following through, he pulled his legs up and slammed his feet into the cage ceiling, drawing uproar from the crowd. With his newfound leverage, he released his grip on the bars and used his legs to push himself downward, flipping himself upright and sending himself flying feet-first toward his opponent.
((Bunny Approved))
Your turn...?
He had to admit, he really had forgotten how spry his old friend was, and how powerful. He really hated to admit that. Not just because he was smaller in stature than Koran, but because he seemed to accel much faster than he. When he had first met him, they had been equals. In their second encounter he had compensated with himself being able to fly, but now, now it was different. His friend was faster, stronger and smarter than ever before. And strangely, Koran found himself thinking he had only dug his hole deeper by saying no abilities or weapons. Not that he had much more time to think about it, his friend was already attacking.
The kick was a solid one, aimed very well and timed so perfectly that Koran was still falling, not really flying as most people would be, backwards when the second one landed solidly on his chest. Three tons of weight went a long way in a fight, but not when it was over balanced and being pushed. Koran grunted loudly when his back slammed into the ground, pushing up a massive cloud of dirt and dust that nearly filled the entire room. The crowd quieted for a moment and he took that moment to speak.
"Sorahn, buddy, have you putting on a few pounds lately? You're feeling a bit heavier. You on one of those see food diets?"
Despite being a whole three inches into the ground, Koran found that he would still move quite well and he decided that perhaps, due to his friends recent attacks, that it was time to really hold nothing back. He had to move fast though, his friend had lighting quick reflexes and it would take all his combat know how to try and compensate. Despite being a machine with electrical impulses for thoughts, you‘re still a little slow. He decided to try anyway, no use in just giving up.
So, he rolled, not out from under Sorahn as most people would have done, but merely in place, so that his friend was now on his back, instead of his stomach, and was probably just a little off balance. Which was all and good, because any advantage Koran could get in this fight, he was going to use. As he finished his roll he leaned his torso up - like bending over backwards, but from a laying on your stomach position - and reached up behind him where he guessed the shoulders of Sorahn would be. He grabbed instinctively when he feel the familiar yet grease laced fur and despite the slickness of the grease, held tight as he continued to arch his back and rise to his feet. Being that his friend was very light, compared to him that was, Koran found it a very simple manner to regain his feet quickly and he wasted no time in finishing his counter attack.
Wanna fly eh? Fly this!
Taking a large step forward Koran, yelling with the frustration of a disgruntled warrior, snapped his body and arms forward and launched his friend up and over his shoulders, straight towards the farthest corner of the cage. The impact probably wouldn’t hurt much, such was the fact of chain link but at least it would keep the crowd entertained. Those in the front row, those that could see through the dust, began to cheer again as they saw this and soon the rest of the stadium followed suit.
Despite this Koran couldn’t shake the distant feeling that he might not emerge from this fight as the victor. He guessed it might have been the battle jitters, possibly even the crowd but somehow, he still found that those two answers just didn’t cut it.
Shit man, this is getting to be a deep hole.
Sorahn grinned as he felt his foot connect with Koran’s head and his acrobatic jump from the ceiling drove his opponent deep into the dirt floor. Standing on Koran’s chest, he smiled wide. Suddenly the smile wiped from his face, as his instincts told him he had stood here far too long.
But it was too late. Koran rotated and Sorahn stumbled to stay upright. Dangerously off balance, his eyes grew wide when he felt Koran’s hands grab his shoulders. This isn’t good… Suddenly his feet left the ground and he flew half the distance of the cage, doing a crooked half-front flip in the process. He was almost upside down when his back slammed into the cage wall.
He bounced off the wall and collapsed with a thud into the dirt floor, sending a cloud of dust into the air. His face twisted into a grimace as he gasped to get his wind back. He slowly pulled himself upright as the dust began to settle. His long hair was draped over his face as he stood, hunched over and panting.
He suddenly looked up at Koran. The hair fell from his face, revealing his dark eyes, which were burning intensely with a new fire. He had been rather playful before, but now he was angry. He could feel his battle instincts taking over, and his adrenaline began flowing. The primal animal inside him was showing himself, and Sorahn bared his teeth and let out a low growl.
All of his past battles and the experiences gained from them had created a beast, driven purely by instinct, emotion, and adrenaline. Every fight he had been in had sent him into a combat state in which his senses were heightened and distractions shut out. This state of mind only grew stronger with each battle, feeding on his raw energy, until finally it was approaching a new creature, with purely animalistic characteristics, and it was angry. He had made a careless mistake, and careless mistakes could not be tolerated.
He slowly lifted his right foot and planted it in the dirt in a wider fighting stance. He flexed his upper body, and then unclenched his fists to reveal his claws. His intense eyes still focused on Koran, his growl never weakened. Suddenly he let out a long, loud roar, and leapt forward with one massive push of his legs. The crowd went wild, but Sorahn couldn’t hear them anymore. He was running toward Koran, when suddenly he planted his foot and shot upward. Time felt slowed as he flew through the air. He raised his arm, his sharp claws aimed threateningly toward Koran’s face. As he descended he brought them down in a powerful strike.
Dust flew as he landed hard in the dirt in front of his opponent. Instantly he spun to deliver a kick to Koran’s chest, followed quickly by a kick with his other leg to his head. Gracefully he followed through with his spin to drive his momentum into a hard punch to Koran’s chest.
Assuming a defensive stance, he stood ready for anything. All his senses were alert, and his adrenaline was flowing like fire through his veins. The animal had awakened, and it was hungry.
Deep holes, as Koran saw it, were all fine and dandy when trying to hide something, someone or yourself. Unfortunately, as Koran was quickly coming to learn, deep holes also had scores of other problems in addition to their many and great advantages. For example, if you fell in one you almost certainly couldn't get out, at least not without some outside help. In addition to not being able to get out, you were almost certain to injure yourself in the landing. A broken leg or a broken rib didn’t get you any closer to reaching the top and freedom, and most times it resulted in your death, either by starvation or asphyxiation.
Secondly was that deep holes didn't have good support strength in their walls, at least, those without reinforcement bars. So that meant if you hit the wall just right or mauled it in your attempts to get out, well, Koran guessed it was because of the immense weight of the dirt pressing down on a now mostly empty space that did this, what normally resulted was a massive cave in. And one you couldn‘t just dig your way out of either, seeing as on average, a cubic foot of earth weighs one hundred twenty-five pounds. You‘d be lucky if you only had five cubic yards of dirt fall on you. (That’s 16,875 pounds of earth.) To Koran, the world that was the cage he was in, suddenly became one big, deep hole and he had just caved the wall and it was falling down onto him.
Yep, deep hole. Nothing to do but stand here and finish it.
The same time Sorahn roared, Koran did too. Both their voices became lost in the din that was the crowds collective voice and Koran did his best to keep his going as he friend charged home, his claws bared and his eyes wild with animalistic rage. The world slowed as Sorahn ran towards him and Koran silently counted the steps left until the animal that was now his friend, reached him. He watched his friend plant his right foot firmly into the soft tanish dirt of the cage floor and knew exactly what was coming. Still yelling in chorus with his friend, he raised his right arm up to shield his face. What happened next is a dim memory, even to his perfect memory.
The sting of the five claws sinking into and then tearing through his flesh was enough to jar him from the freeze frame world that he had descended into, to the fast paced and real life world he was suddenly coming to fear. He blinked as his friends hand cleared his forearm, he didn’t have time to ponder what the thick green ooze was that was now sliding down the face of his forearm, and then blinked again when his friend wasted no time in his next series of attacks.
They were as quick as they were brutal and Koran knew that if his friend kept that up for the remainder of their fight, it would surely be him they dragged out of the cage. Sorahn landed heavily and spun instantly to deliver a swift kick to Koran’s chest; only his other arm, instinctively following his right arm up to shield his face, saved him from the would be painful blow. His friend didn’t stop there though and followed through with another swift and well aimed kick, this time for his face. Again his raised right arm saved him, but then, only just. It managed to deflected the main body of the foot from hitting him full on in the side of the face, but it didn’t stop the claws from reeking havoc across the bridge of his nose and forehead. Something green spurted free of those wounds but Koran found he still had no time to wonder what it was; his friends final attack was one he couldn’t stop and later he wondered how he hadn’t broken any ribs in the assault.
The punch landed hard and true, right above his sternum and knocked him back a half step, in addition to causing him to double over, his yell ending in a startled gasp. He was lucky to not have to breathe, as that would have surely knocked him out cold. And despite all the pain, his arm burned like fire and his chest felt hollow and not quite there, he couldn’t help but laugh and smile. He looked up at his friend with black and empty eyes.
“Quite a temper you have there, aye buddy?” Then he struck back. If this was a fight to the death, it was time to break some bones. Or, at least, try to break some bones.
He lashed out with his right hand, noticing that the green ooze had completely soaked his hand, he could feel more of it running down his face, kind of like sweat, and grabbed a hold of where his friends left arm would be. Then he pushed himself forward, using mainly his upper body and brought his left hand back, up and around, making ready for the downward equivalent of an upper cut. In the same instant he pulled his right hand back, if he had grabbed a hold of his friend as he had hoped the it would pull him right under the punch, and if not, well he had another thing planned. He just hoped either or both worked.
His right hand pulled back and his left hand up, Koran paused for a nano-second, looked into his friends eyes, cold and emotionless as they were, and then smiled. My turn, time resumed and his left hand came down, hard, and straight for his friends chest. Because it was a downward punch Koran could follow through with the second portion of his attack and pulled his right hand even farther back, ducking his shoulder as he did so, bringing his upper half parallel to his friends stomach. Then he lunged forward and went to drive his friend backwards while still pulling back with his right hand, trying to flip him over his back and into the ground behind him. He released his right hand and finished with a quick roll that brought him back to his feet and he spun around, resuming a defensive stance, waiting for the next cave in to occur.
You‘ve survived the first one, now all that‘s left is the second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth and who the hell knows how many more are left.
Fuck I need a ladder.
Sorahn was totally intoxicated with endorphins and adrenaline. His senses were heightened and his brain was calculating lightning fast. He was totally absorbed in the battle, with a singular focus on his opponent. The crowd disappeared. The collective scream of drunken, crazed onlookers faded to silence. All that remained was Koran and a cage.
He didn’t respond to Koran. He wasn’t even sure if he was capable of speech anymore. He just watched with intense, focused eyes, standing very lightly on the balls of his feet. Warm breath snorted from his nostrils as if he was a large beast.
Suddenly his opponent reached out to grab his left arm. He moved quickly to avoid it, but Koran’s hand managed to get a hold on his forearm. Startled, Sorahn pulled back with his arm, and to his surprise it slid from Koran’s grasp with ease. He had completely forgotten that both of them were covered in grease, the sole purpose of which was to prevent exactly such a grab.
With his newfound freedom, he leapt to his left to avoid the fist that was descending on him like an asteroid. He felt the wind and a little splatter of green ooze hit him as the arm flew past him within inches of his face. As he watched the arm fly past he had a strange urge to bite it. He had a sudden desire to sink his teeth into Koran’s flesh. The feeling was fleeting, as he regained focus on the situation.
He was not prepared for Koran to suddenly lunge forward into him. Suddenly a shoulder rammed into his midsection. As his feet left the ground he managed to summon up enough strength to push himself off Koran’s back and flip forward, landing hard on his feet. However as soon as he did, he collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath. He was lucky the impact hit him below his ribs so none were broken, yet he was fighting for each breath. His lungs were on fire.
Alarmed, he desperately tried to reorient himself. He found himself facing a cage wall only a few feet in front of him. Koran waited patiently behind him. Instantly his strategic mind began turning. His overwhelming battle instincts were drawing from all his experience to try and form a plan for his next attack.
His anger was only growing, which was just fuel for the fire to him. With his breath regained and a renewed purpose, he suddenly sprung from his position on the floor onto the cage wall in front of him. The claws on his hands and feet grabbed the chain link as easily as a squirrel grabs a tree, and he climbed up the wall with surprising speed.
His strategic mind told him that Koran was prepared for an attack from above. He had done it all too much in this battle already. Instead, with a skill and speed he didn’t know he had, he ran up the wall and onto the ceiling. Just when Koran would’ve been expecting him to drop down onto him, he instead kept climbing, using his claws to keep him suspended from the cage roof. He ran down onto the wall directly behind Koran. Hoping to catch him off guard, he jumped off the wall and literally ran on all fours toward Koran. Sorahn himself couldn’t believe what he was doing, but it felt so right. After one full stride he had closed the distance between them, and he jumped up at his opponent.
He wildly attacked with his claws, bringing his right arm down on Koran. He wasn’t even aiming for a specific target, he just wanted to do damage. He quickly followed his right arm with his left. Then he spun around and shot a kick to Koran’s midsection, an act that showed his animal side still preferred to use his martial arts techniques.
After he finished his barrage, he roared again; a deafening, beastly roar that seemed to shake his very ribcage. He didn’t even know his voice was capable of such a roar, and he was still very surprised at his own behavior, but he was enjoying it. He felt like the anger and intensity he had felt in past battles was amplified. He was running purely on his instincts, and everything he was doing felt odd, yet so right at the same time.
He stood waiting for Koran’s retaliation, his tail swishing in anticipation.
You're so fucked man.
Indeed, it was probably true. He had only seen his friend this angry once before and if he could recall correctly, amazingly that battle was a little hazy in his mind, it had not boded well for him. In fact, he seemed to recall being impaled through the chest so thoroughly that his spine had exploded out the back of his body. A part of him suddenly wondered whether or not the strange green ooze material now exiting his body had been there as well. The thought was fleeting though, as his friend descended upon him like hell itself had broken loose; which, in a way, the cyborg believed was partially true.
The rapid succession of blows were poorly aimed but that was the only thing unguided about them. They were fueled by a rage that no man could equal, except maybe those who were lost to the world of men and dwelt instead in the animal world. Koran could do nothing but take the blows and hope he survived to attack back.
The first two strikes were easily deflected, if sheering a full six inches of your flesh from your right arm could be considered easily deflected, but still, it did little to damage the core components of his mainframe located just behind his 'ribcage'. The kick however, despite his best efforts after the attack on his arm, got through and landed squarly where his rib cage connected to form his chest. Time slowed as he saw the foot break free between his two up held arms and the air seemed to turn to jelly. He watched, unable to move, unable to blink but comprehending everything as if it was happening in real time, slowed down for him to watch. Claws, glinting in the refracted light from the cage wires, amplified by his computer photogenic cells in his glass eyes, flexed and stretched in their respected appendages as they sliced through the air, toward his chest. He watched, in silence as time would permit him nothing else but to watch, as the foot touched his skin, the soft flesh bending slightly as it hit, then his ribs beneath, then the metal beneath that. His body convulsed and abruptly time resumed its normal speed and he fell backwards, stumbling to catch his balance.
Had he the need to breathe he would have found himself without such luxury for some painful seconds, but because of this all he felt was a hollow thu-thuding in his chest, where his internal mechanisms and remaining organs tried to regain their previous positions and equilibrium. He rubbed his chest absent mindedly, a look of pain and loss crossing his face and he glanced up at his friend.
A fight to the death it said, no more, no less. He cringed as he rose to a full upright position and shook himself. He squared himself with his friend, held up his arms, his hands clenched into tight balled fists and silently sought a way out. I have no where to run, the cage was too small to play a run and dodge game, flesh tired, he didn't. I haven't anything to keep my distance and still fight, he had outlawed weapons but hadn't really thought much of the consequences. Abilities are moot here, the talisman in the floor made sure of that. And all I can do is swing and hope I hit something, his friend was too fast, too powerful, and the cyborg was beginning to feel that he had only minutes until the inevitable. I have nothing but to die fighting, and he was going to do such.
His lips then drew themselves up into a sudden sly grin and he threw his head back, mouth opening as wide as it itself could go, a roar of his own to equal the ferocity of his friends own. Then he moved, like lightning, striking out with out a care in the world for whether he survived or not. He had already determined that death was a small price to pay, for the fight of a life time.
His friend was only feet from him, as well, as the cyborg didn't think he would have been able to close the distance between the two of them quick enough else wise, and he leapt towards him. In one quick step, almost like the a bound from a running doe in the woods, the cyborg jumped into the air and swung his foot around in a quick round house kick that would take his friend in the shoulder should it find flesh. Then, using the momentum built up from his kick he twisted in mid-air, straightened both of his feet until each was in line with the other, and slammed his two feet into where his friends chest might be.
He landed in an explosion of dust, as all three tons of him landed hard on the soft packed dust but he didn't waste any time with standing and waiting. He instead dove straight forward, intent on taking his friend in the stomach with his head and shoulders, knocking the wind out of him, then crushing him beneath the emmense three tons that he was.
They were blind attacks and he could be attacking nothing but air, deep down though, he found that he didn't care. A rage had descended upon him, the rage of a man who knew he was going to die but was determined to go down without a fight. He had heard that when most men entered this stage, they were nearly invisible. He could only hope, a small hope, that his rage could batter its way to victory, through the if not equal, more powerful rage that had possessed his friend. He could only hope. . .
((Bunny Approved.))
Sorahn stood, not quite so patiently, awaiting Koran’s attack. His muscles twitched. His fingers shook. He stared silently at Koran through the fiery eyes of a beast. Through this intense focus, he had found freedom. He had no troubles or even thoughts. The world didn’t distract him because there was no world. There was no Althanas, or Ranoa, or even Rehnahlia. All he saw was himself, and his prey.
He was in a battle to the death. Kill or be killed. He understood this concept so much better now than ever before. No longer was it about putting on a show, sharpening skills, gaining respect, or even settling old scores. It was about survival. Before him stood not a man, but a threat, and a potential kill.
His could tell his prey was weakening. He could feel it becoming desperate. Like a wounded animal backed into a corner, all hope was thrown to the wind, and everything was about last resorts, and final stands. A normal fighter would become arrogant and careless, feeling the victory in the palm of his hand. Sorahn knew nothing of arrogance, or over-confidence. These ideas were as foreign as a three-piece suit to a tiger.
No, Sorahn knew that a cornered opponent was a vicious one. All fear of death melts away and the only thing left is desperation. Instead, he was more alert than ever. His animal-self wouldn’t be satisfied until his prey’s blood soaked his hands, and before him lay not a man, but a prize.
He subconsciously bared his teeth and pinned his ears as Koran rushed at him. He tried to jump out of the way, but he felt a foot land heavily on his shoulder, driving him downward. The force of the kick shot him facedown into the dirt, which met him like an oncoming freight train. As a huge cloud of dust kicked up around him, he knew he had to move quickly. He was totally vulnerable and in a panic, he forced his battered body to push off the dirt and roll sideways. No sooner did he roll four feet to his right did Koran come crashing into the dirt like a meteor falling to Earth, causing the very ground to shake under his weight, and covering him in a cloud of dust.
The beast that was Sorahn was tired of waiting. He did not simply stand up and wait for his opponent to regain footing. Instead he seized the moment. While Koran was on the ground next to him, he leapt on top of him.
He had lost all control. Rage had flown over him like a shower of lava. He was consumed, and saw nothing but the opportunity to finally win the battle. This was his moment, his time to end the fight, to grasp victory, to claim his prey. There were no second chances. This would end now.
Below him laid his victim. Sorahn’s knees were firmly planted in dirt on either side of Koran’s ribcage. Time had slowed. He could see himself, as if from afar, in the position of victory. His snow-white fur was matted with dirt and grease. Strands of his disheveled hair hung in his face. His muscles rippled, fueled by rage and adrenaline. The dust flew in clouds around him, as grease dripped from his arms and chest.
Like a massive machine moving in slow motion, he could see his own muscles suddenly contract, sending his arm flying forward, toward Koran’s face. His claws cut through the air as they moved, soaring dangerously and seemingly unstoppable toward their goal.
Suddenly time resumed, and Sorahn, viewing Koran with his own eyes again, unleashed a barrage of attacks, one right after the other. Totally consumed in a fire of rage, he attacked swiftly and without mercy, holding nothing back. Slicing here, punching there, it didn’t matter what he hit or how. He just wanted to inflict damage upon his kill.
The intensity finally overcame him and he couldn’t help but roar again, and lunged forward. He didn’t know what he was doing; his brain didn’t even function anymore. Driven and unstoppable with primal rage, he opened his mouth. His sharp teeth gleamed dangerously from beneath his dirtied face. He had a lust for blood, and he would take it from the flesh of his prey.
Diving forward, he sent his gaping jaws crashing into Koran’s neck. He bit down with as much force as he could manage, then jerked his head backward, tearing the flesh of his prey, the meat that now belonged to him, his prize. This was the defining moment. This was his victory, his time of triumph over his opponent, the killing blow.
Sorahn had bit what would’ve been Koran’s jugular vein. Yet instead of the dark red animal blood that he had been longing to taste, he instead had a green liquid dripping from his lips. He didn’t notice a difference. What mattered to him was that his prey’s blood was now spilling out onto the dirt floor, forming a small pool. The same blood also covered his hands and half of his face. It felt warm against his fur, warm with the life of his victim.
He knelt over Koran triumphantly, enjoying the hard-earned honor and privilege of watching his prey die.
He hit the ground with a loud "Harumph!" all the air that occupied his lungs being expelled in one massive whoosh, dust that hadn't already been thrown into the air billowing like clouds away from his open mouth. He inhaled sharply, groaning as he did so and then winced, his chest hurt and the pain in his arm was getting increasingly sharper with each passing second. He was also beginning to feel very warm, he couldn't tell if it was the room because of all the bodies that occupied it, or if it was because he was just working too hard, too fast, too much.
Any minute now, and I think I'll start to sweat. The possibility was impossible, he couldn't sweat, at least, he never had. He rolled onto his back, arms flopping across his chest to lay limply on the ground beside him, and drew a slow breath. The dust was beginning to settle around him and despite all the noise, despite the sudden feeling of dread that he might in fact not survive this fight, Koran felt, for the first time in a long time, at peace. Something brushed his exposed stomach and he lifted his head to see what it was.
Brown, slimy fur met his vision and he paused, a frown forming on his face and he slowly lifted his eyes. Up they traveled, sliding across the elaborate primal markings seemingly burned and stained into fur and flesh. Up they traveled, past the barred teeth and sneering lips, up until they found a pair of eyes. Blood shot and filled with rage, glaring intently down at one object; Koran felt his eyes widen in surprise as two objects blurred in his peripheral vision. He had only enough time to gasp before something stuck fast into his cheek and pulled back.
Pain exploded on his face, the gasp faltered, became a choking sound, then faltered again when a second hand slammed into the other side of his face, ripping more flesh from his face. He slammed his head hard against the ground beneath him, arching his back, trying desperately to avoid the clawing hands, but they found him, found his flesh. Again, and again, and again. Until it thought he had no flesh left to tear from his face, until he thought that the only thing in the world was pain, pain and the green liquid that he suddenly had a name for.
It was his blood. And it was flowing out of his body, at an unstoppable rate. It hit him like a hammer blow. His delayed reactions; his unplanned attacks; his sudden rise in temperature. His blood - it was coolant!
Something soft and warm wrapped itself around his neck and he froze. Soft. . .warm. . .Something pulled. Pain, pain so bright; white hot, blazing like the sun had fallen from the sky, exploded throughout his entire body. He tried to gasp, found it strange that it formed at the base of his neck instead of in his throat, and lifted his head. Something was missing; Pain. He coughed, but all he felt was his chest heave, then a strange gurgle as something bubble from of the gapping hole he could no see in his throat. Blazing. . . His mouth opened and from the shattered ruin that was his neck, a chocking gasp form. Can't. . . His fist balled into a fist and his eyes widened. Need. . . His fist swung up, failing strength pushing it up, reaching towards that snarling mouth, those raging eyes. Must. . . His hand swung, missed, and fell to the ground with a hollow thump. Live. . . He heaved, throwing his body over with what little strength he had left, his face flat against the ground, facing right. Have. . . Something, words, tried to form in his throat but only his mouth moved, soundlessly, like a fish out of water. To. . . He stretched out his hand, bending his fingers, pawing at the ground, trying to pull himself away. His legs moved, trying to lift him to his feet. His useless left arm lay pinned beneath his chest, he could feel his fingers, trying to move. Survive. . .
He lay there, mouth working, ruined throat trying to form words, trying to say something, anything. His hand continued to paw at the ground, fingers digging deep furrows into the soft dirt, catching nothing. His feet kicked at the ground, beating it until they dug holes, becoming stuck fast no matter how much he struggled against them to lift them free. His eyes, black spheres, empty of human life but full of a mechanical will to live, to survive, stared blankly at his hand as it fought the ground.
Static began to flicker across his vision, at first small it was small streaks, barely noticeable, but all to quickly they began to thicken, growing in size until they nearly filled his entire field of view. Half way between this a message began to flicker, bright white letters, bold and square.
WARNING! WARNING! TEMPERATURE REACHING CRITICAL LEVELS!
Again and again the message flashed. His vision became static and through the pain and the desperate thoughts, through the burning will to survive, he heard something pop. It popped again, and again, faster than before. Heat, heat that had been steadily growing since his 'blood' had first been drawn but which he had failed to notice, began to grow in his chest. Again the popping noise. The heat grew; his chest felt as though it was on fire. His hand, still clawing at the dirt, landed in a puddle of something, fingers flowing through the slime to mesh with the mud beneath it. He didn't need to see it, to know what it was. There was something wet against his chest, he could feel it despite the heat, despite the burning. His mouth opened again, trying to form words but none came. Only a gurgle and the popping noise that he now knew must be his gyros and computer circuits catching fire, beginning to burn. The message changed, instead of white letters; now red, and bigger than before.
WARNING! WARNING! TEMPERATURE OF CRITICAL SYSTEMS BEYOND SAFE OPERATING LEVELS!
The message flashed three times. Three times and could still feel himself pawing at the ground. Three times and he could still feel his feet struggling in their holes. Three times and he could still feel the heat growing in his chest. Three times and. . .
The world went black. In that same instant movement ceased in the body of the Cyborg. Sure there was a last kick as the still organic materials in his body futilely attempt to stay alive, but the metals of the body was to heavy to move. A gurgle escaped from the ruined throat of the 'dead' Cyborg and there was a squishing noise as tensed artificial and organic muscles went slack, unable to hold up its immense weight. The hand, now floating in a rather large puddle of mud, vanished beneath the surface of the brown-green substance with a soft sucking noise. The body shifted, seemed to sink a half inch into the ground as life left it and then. . .
Then there was silence. Even the crowd didn't stir. For seconds it stretched, endless seconds and then. . .
The roar that erupted from every throat in the room shook the halls, sent a quiver through the ground, rattled the cage and more than one man fell from the blast. It was so loud that even the man with the mega-horn had to shout to elevate his amplified voice over the sound.
"Ladies and gentlemen! I present to you, our winner!"
If anything, the roar became louder.
Sorahn remained motionless, watching the life slowly leave his victim. His animal instincts surged with pride as he enjoyed his victory. After fighting hard and thinking on his feet, he was finally able to enjoy the satisfaction of watching his labor come to fruition. He earned this triumph with his bare hands and sheer determination.
He watched intently as his victim struggled in vain to maintain a tenuous grasp on life, unwilling to accept the coldness of death. Yet death was coming for him, and it could not be dissuaded. Finally, after a valiant struggle, the man before him fell lifeless, his last breath leaving his body in a resigning gurgle.
Sorahn remained still for a moment. His normal senses were slowly returning to him; the beast had been satiated. He slowly stood, staring at Koran’s lifeless body. A dirty mixture of sweat, grease, and strange green machine blood was dripping from his arms and face.
He felt nothing but respect for Koran. He was his best friend, yet their battles never ceased to be interesting. Fighting Koran always kept him on his toes. They had fought several battles in the past, resulting in a different victor each time. It didn’t matter who won or lost, as both were sure it wouldn’t be the last battle they fought in the Citadel. Sorahn cracked a small smile as he thought of the new chapter that was now added to the saga of Sorahn and Koran.
Without a word he slowly turned and made his way toward the cage entrance, which was now being opened. The deafening roar of the crowd finally reached his ears, but he paid it no attention. Instead he made his way toward where his spear and robe lay and gathered them up, his smile never fading.
As he reached the exit of the arena he looked back once more at his lifeless friend as the monk scurried into the cage to revive him. His grin only grew larger, and he chuckled slightly to himself as he stepped out the door, desperate to find the nearest river to bathe in.
Feeling returned slowly. Hearing came first, a distant roar, like thousands of voices yelling at the top of their lungs but dozens of leagues away. It gradually grew louder and louder, until he was able to pick out individual sounds and voices; they were moving, each speaking of the great fight they witnessed. It clicked suddenly that he was still in the arena, still in the cage, still laying. . .
He groaned and batted at the hand that was laying on his chest. When did I get turned over? How was more like it, he knew how much he weighed. No one should have been able to move him but the thought faded as he opened his eyes, only to snap them shut again quickly. He had forgotten how bright the world could be after one was resurrected from the dead. Instinctively his hand reached for his neck, to where his neck would have been for the flesh had been ruined just moments before, and oddly felt a wave of relief wash over him when he found only smooth, whole flesh. He couldn't help the cough that came next; human nature.
He opened his eyes again, more slowly this time, giving them time to adjust to the harsh lamp light that seemed brighter than the sun itself, and got a first look at the man, or men, who had healed him. They were smiling, all three of them, their lips drawn back into perfectly identical smiles, their identical brown eyes mimicking their smiles. Wait, identical?
He reached slowly towards one of the men and was distantly surprised when his hand only met air. "Wha..." His voice was a hoarse whisper and he flipped his hand back and forth, sure that he was touching the mans face but feeling nothing. The mouth on the mans face moved, saying something, but it took a moment for him to hear.
"Still blurry eh? Well it should fade in a few moments." Their, His?, smiles grew even wider and they chuckled. "You took quite a beating. Although I'm confused as to how one such as yourself could conk out like that. This green stuff does bear some resemblance to blood but I don't see how that is." He chuckled again and stood. Their three heads melted into one, beaming young man of about twenty-two or so, and then they, He, looked around, nodding to himself. "Looks like you want to get a move on, they're probably going to close for a bit, after the mess you've made. If you have any problems just come a find the nearest monk, he'll fix you up." With that the man disappeared from his sight, leaving him alone and naked to his waist on the muddied floor of a cage he could now effectively call a grave.
He sat up groggily, head spinning and vision not far behind, and coughed again. He groaned and held his head tightly between his hands, shaking it slowly, trying to gather his bearings. It was never like this in the citadel. Then again, he'd always had a few hours rest afterwards and had never been awakened right after a healing. The dizziness began to fade, slowly, and he let his hands drop to his sides. He glanced around him like a half-wit fool then, eyes half-lidded and his mouth slightly open but then again, he couldn't have stopped it if he had tried. He was tired, dead tired Literally and for all the world he didn't want to move. But, he had too, else he'd probably get killed again and it wasn't pleasant being killed, resurrected and then killed again. He might not get resurrected after that; it would take him months to wake then.
A strange bonus with these nanos. Sighing again and pushing his hands back behind him in the mud, he propped himself up onto his knees then pushed himself slowly to his feet. He wavered for a moment, on the brink of falling back down again, steadied himself and stumbled towards the cage gate. He had just reached it, clutching at the framing to keep himself upright, when a voice called to him from the crowd.
"Not feeling so well buddy?" It was followed by a loose following of laughter and he growled.
"Here," he said roughly. "Let me kill you and have them resurrect you and I'll let you decided." He took a meaningful step towards the crowd, his stumble all but gone, and they shrank back with a gasp. There was a muffled sorry from somewhere in the crowd and he growled again. Weak and pitiful excuses for human beings. The crowd was skirting wide of him now, neither looking at him or speaking to one another when they neared. He would have laughed, had it not sent him flying into the ground beneath him.
Making his way to where his armor was wasn't as difficult as it had been just getting to the cage opening, his strength seemed to be returning in great waves and by the time he finished buckling on the last plate of his armor he felt as good as new. Shrugging his shoulders to settle the great metal casing around him, I'm made of it, I use it and I wear it. he reached down to retrieve his great sword. It felt as light as a feather in his hands but he knew that if anyone else were to wield it they would have a tough time with it; he buckled it to his back without much more thought and stalked towards the exit. Those that were still there gave him a great berth and before long he was striding down the steps of the mighty citadel and out into the world beyond it. Just before he reached the edge of the trees though he paused to look behind him and suddenly a smile grew on his face.
One day Sorahn, one day I'll see you again and then we'll see who is the better fighter. He barked a laugh then, turned and disappeared into the trees.
AdventWings
01-15-07, 04:37 AM
Hahaha. I kid, but it reminded me of how Koran joked about Cyborgs laying the pwnage on fleshy fighters. Don't know about human fighters, though, but this furry had you beat. ;)
OK! Here is your Judgment
Koran Vincent Seether
Story
Continuity - 5
Setting - 6
Pacing - 5
Character
Dialogue - 6
Action - 7
Persona - 7
Writing Style
Mechanics - 5
Technique - 6
Clarity - 7
Miscellaneous
Wild Card - 8
Total - 62!
Pointers for Koran: You did a good job of playing out the battle and keeping things interesting even up until the end. However, you tend to recap too often during your posts, so the flow of battle seemed to be fluctuating at odd moments and threw me off the flow. Try to minimize describing what you see and show the readers how you react to the action or the outcome. I also see a good deal of spelling mistakes and run-on sentences, so that is another thing you may want to watch out for.
Also, throw in a few more ways of calling yourself and your opponent. I noticed you tried that earlier in the battle but it seemed like you just gave up on doing that in the later half. It's a tad tiring looking up new ways to call things, I know, but it does spice up the reading when the euphemism is done appropriately.
Also...
...He had heard that when most men entered this stage, they were nearly invisible.
I believe you were going for invincible but ended up with a misspell. It really broke the image of Koran's desperation, though, so be careful in the future. :)
Sorahn un' Rohnahmeh
Story
Continuity - 5
Setting - 6
Pacing - 6
Character
Dialogue - 8
Action - 7
Persona - 7
Writing Style
Mechanics - 7
Technique - 6
Clarity - 7
Miscellaneous
Wild Card - 8
Total - 67!
Pointers for Sorahn: Not much needs to be said that hasn't been covered in Koran's pointers already, but I believe things could be done to elaborate more on how and why you came to the Citadel in the first place. I understand you and Koran had a good deal of history together, but just merely showing up at the Citadel without any kind of justification seemed... a bit forced. Even from you.
This goes to Koran as well, though I'm sure you two can improve in this category easier than some of us on Althanas.
Also... Setting. A lot of dust, clay arena and a steel cage. Not much else to go off on, such as how warm it was or even if the dirt felt itchy and dry or soothing. There are many ways to interact with your surrounding - feeling them at the back of your character's mind is one way this could be incorporated. Of course, things like these tend to get lost in the fray and you did well with what you had.
Winner - Sorahn un' Rohnahmeh!
Sorahn receives 1438 EXP and 150 GP for winning in the Anti-Cell Cage. (Interesting name, don't you think?)
Koran receives 375 EXP and a cumulative prize of 200 GP from winning in the previous rounds.
Good luck in your future bouts!
Cyrus the virus
01-15-07, 05:37 AM
EXP added!
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