View Full Version : Open Battle
In Radasanth, one human in a particularly bad mood strode away from the Bazaar, a long thin package in hand and cruelty in his eyes. He wasn’t particularly tall but had a long stride, walking quickly with barely controlled impatience, occasionally shoving past or through groups moving too slowly for his liking, not a single apology or excuse passed his clenched teeth. He would have been alarming except for one thing, a dwarf running along behind him uttering complaints between breaths.
The man was known as Sid. He’d made a deal with the dwarf to use his blades in the Citadel until he’d proven himself skilled enough to own them, but disliked the dwarf intensely. Being around the dwarf for any length of time irritated him greatly, but the dwarf wouldn’t allow his borrowed weapon out of his sight. An hour spent bartering over which sword was acceptable had ground on every last nerve, but his need was too great to ruin a deal with petty anger, so he instead moved quicker than the dwarf to avoid any kind of travel conversation as they made for the Citadel.
Upon arriving, Sid attempted to address the monks the first, but the dwarf beat him to it, yet again setting up a battle in which Sid had no say. He wasn’t quite sure why, but the monks were willing to ignore anyone the dwarf brought with him. Recalling how the dwarf placed bets, he suspected monks either took a cut or were betting against the dwarf. The monks had to eat and without charging for healing, they must have some other method for making money, or so Sid reasoned.
After a minute or two, the dwarf returned from a brief but heated conversation, and announced that the battle had been set up. It seemed the monks had an opponent in mind, and that the arena would be arranged shortly. Guessing from the previous match, Sid knew there would be stands or observation of some sort, the dwarf appeared to want a crowd to see his weapons in action, and what better crowd than fighters that linger about a center of combat? If his fighter performed well, or at least his weapons did, the dwarf was sure to attract some customers.
Arms up raised, naked to the waist and his hair slicked back with some grease, Koran accepted the roar of the crowd with a broad smile that nearly split his face in two. It had been a terribly easy victory, almost like fighting a child. The man had been healed, drug by his feet free from the dirt of the arena by the security guards to a secluded room, and Koran could see him now, stumbling forth to find his seat amongst the cheering crowd. Those closest to him patted him on the back, congratulating him on his attempt but still treating him like the loser he was. The man spared Koran a single lingering glare before closing his eyes and rubbing his temples.
I know the feeling pal, sucks.
"Right," he said to no one save himself. "Who's next?" Mounting a nearby plank dais, he pointed towards the crowd, a mean sneer on his face and his teeth bared in a vicious grin. "Which one of you fools will fight me next?"
His laughter was drowned out as the crowd erupted in shouts of who it was that was to fight him next; it would take some time, he had already defeated six, two with his bare hands alone, the others with their own weapons and no one was going to willingly fight a man that could do that. That and not tire visibly. If he could have laughed harder or louder he would have.
Almost like my last fight, only minus the cage. That fight was something worth remembering, but now was neither the time or place. Security was reentering the arena, flanked by his new opponent, or perhaps opponents. He had never specified any rules so it might even be more. That just makes it more fun. His laughter faded and died as he square himself on the dais, fists clenched, and waited for the newest fool to show him, or her, self.
As he was led down the hallway, Sid briefly considered what a bad idea it was to allow the dwarf to make the match. He’d even done this before, how did he not think to take precautions? Last time he’d ended up in a booby trapped arena, though it hadn’t hindered him greatly. Well, it was too late to back out now, but he’d know for next time. Show up at the Citadel to arrange the arena before hand, at the very least, and then confront the dwarf. Leave as little to chance as possible.
The trip down the hallway seemed to take a great deal longer than he remembered the last one taking, and they passed door after door, each identical except for a marking unique to each. Before reaching the door, a second hallway converged with the first, bringing a second monk with what appeared to be Sid’s opponent. Taking the opportunity, Sid sized up the man so he could begin immediately upon entering, possibly end it before the dwarf’s plotting came to fruition.
The second man was taller than Sid by several inches, and well equipped. A open-visor helmet, breastplate, gauntlets, and plated boots made the man well armored with only a handful of weak or unprotected points. On either side he wore a sheathed sword, short swords both. All of his equipment appeared to be steel, but the way he moved in it suggested iron impurities and excess weight.
Sid was staring critically at the other man for several minutes, unaware of the fidgeting his cold gaze was causing. Finally confronting him, the other man spoke. “Listen, I know this is suppose to be a free for all, but…did you see those other guys? They got torn apart! So I figure the two of us should work together, take down the big guy. He’s crazy strong, I don’t think I can take him alone. I didn’t really want to do this, but I got this girl in the stands…” The man trailed off for a second, lost in thought. “Oh, my names Bernald, you are?”
The stranger stuck his hand out abruptly, and Sid only stared unmoving. After several more seconds, the man awkwardly put his hand down and blushed shamefully. In that small act, Sid had gained an amount of control over the man, which he knew he would need. If there really was a strong man against whom they would fight, Sid would take the all the assistance he could. Even if they were both easy prey, there wasn’t any point expending energy needlessly. “You may call me, Sid.”
The rest of the distance was traversed silently, and Sid braced himself for this new challenge. In the past, Sid’d made a point to always pick off his enemies one at a time. As they entered the arena, the monks leading the way barely blocked out the blinding amount of light. It took several seconds for his eyes to adjust from the dark hallways, but when it didn’t matter. The monks were going to work, and everything they changed shimmered and blurred resilient to any amount of squinting Sid performed.
Before his eyes, the arena was changing. Both monks began forming symbols in the air with their fingers as their mouths moved silently, and the very ground itself changed to their wills. The stone walls forming the outer circle grew foot long spikes the entire ten feet high, much to the now spike-protected crowd’s pleasure. The ground transformed, with shiny flecks showing various parts of weapons and armor strewn about though heavily damaged. The sun’s harsh glare was reduced and then eliminated as an apparent ceiling formed overhead, throwing the arena into darkness. The only light came from apparently random explosions of flame beneath the ground, and the spikes themselves. The process itself was amazingly beautiful and dangerous. The spikes seemed to have an electric current running through them from an unknown source, and each time a hole formed in the ground, a bright blue arc would launch from the nearest spike and ignite the released methane in a plume of flame.
Not holding back are you, dwarf?
"Eh?" His stance shifted from being on his guard and ready to lunge in any direction at a moments notice, to one of a fool, standing stark dumb and blind, as he watched the arena shift around him. He paid little notice to its changes however, it would get a good look at them in a moment, instead turning his attention to a nearby monk, directing a confused gaze at him. The monk only shrugged, in the middle of chanting and tracing a Glyph in the air, before concentrating once more on his work. Koran was left to figure it for himself, which was a small handful, as well as ready himself for his two - there turned out to be two - new opponents.
One was a hulk of a man, 6'2'' and weighing in at close to two hundred pounds, not to mention that armor he wore. It would offer him little protection however, if Koran made a good connection with his great sword. None of that now, best to toy with them. Please the crowd and such. They always love a good fight. The man looked a rookie and by the way he kept glancing up at the crowd, wringing his hands and passing frightened glances at Koran, the cyborg guessed that he had someone watching, someone who meant a lot to him and wouldn't want to see her 'big and strong man' lose. Koran laughed, under his breath and behind an upraised hand to feign a cough, but none the less laughed. The man was a fool and for being as such, Koran wouldn't show him the same mercy he would show a true rookie in the field. The other man however, he was a different story entirely.
Judging from the suspicious, and slightly unnerved glances the big man gave him, Koran guessed that this man - boy, really, he wasn't much past his twentieth name day - was one with a mouth and one that liked to be in charge. His face confirmed that; he had the look of someone who expected to be obeyed and if he wasn't, severe consequences would ensue.
What added to the puzzle was that there was a dwarf, trying very hard to hid in the crowd - but being the only dwarf there, it was impossible - and he too, was casting glances at the boy, glances that said he'd better not lose, or else. That was when Koran noticed what the boy was using as his weapons and that the dwarf was looking at them as well.
I wonder. . . It was highly probable that this fight was a sort of commercial for the dwarves weapons, most dwarves were excellent smiths and this one didn't look like an exception, and if the weapons performed well the dwarf sold well. If not, well, Koran would just have to make them look good in the boys stead. His grin was malicious and hard, it nearly split his face in two and when he bared his teeth he thought he heard some of the crowd across from his gasp. Oh they knew. They knew that a lot of blood was going to be spilt, and soon.
"Ladies and gentlemen," a voice over a magically enhanced megaphone said. "I present to you for your viewing pleasure and Two on One fight, to the death. Three men enter but only fate will decide if one or any leave it alive! The battle will begin anon!"
The crowd cheered loudly and as one, began the countdown.
"5!"
Here goes. . . Koran tensed his arms and clenched his fists.
"4!"
Get ready. . . His feet shifted apart and he dropped his right shoulder slightly.
"3!"
Pain train's comin'. . . He pulled back his lips in a soundless snarl, narrowing his eyes.
"2!"
Ain't gonna stop it now. . . He clenched his fists tighter and formed an image of a long sword blade in his mind.
"1! FIGHT!"
BOOM BABY! He roared and shot off the dais like a massive spring that had been coiled as tight as it could go. He closed on the two in four massive bounds and before he had finished taking his fifth step a long sword blade had formed where his left hand should have been. He slammed it forward as though he were punching towards the unarmored boy and with his other clenched fist, went to punched the armored man in the chest. He'd probably near break his hand - which didn't matter, pain was a small problem for him - but it would knock the man back, possibly the breath out of him too, and remove him from the battle for a few seconds. Thus giving Koran a few seconds to deal with the boy, clearly the more dangerous of the two if he was using dwarven weaponry.
The crowd cheered wildly, engulfed completely in the blood sport unfolding at their feet.
As soon as the arena stopped changing, the sound of barely contained energy came out in the form of words, the stageman working up the crowd and preparing to start the fight. As he counted down, it took Sid a moment to find his opponent. The man was indeed huge, as he was standing on a raised dais, loved the crowd. From what he could gather, this man had already killed at least one, likely more given the amount of blood mixing with dirt and lack of wounds on his exposed body. It was foolish to go to battle wearing nothing but pants, though Sid was hardly in a position to criticize. He was unarmored as well, though his was a financial problem.
With a roar of the crowd, the announcer practically screamed for the fight to begin. Sid slid his hand inside his vest pocket and drew the artificial lung, a portable inhalant carrying a potent drug from which Sid derived his power, and popped the thin tube inside of his mouth entirely. If he had the need, he’d have instant access without needing to possibly retrieve it, a shift of the cheek and clenched teeth was all the action needed. While doing so he shifted his grip on the package and waited for his temporary partner to act.
Before either of them could move properly, the large man on the dais leapt from it and charged them, covering the distance rapidly while making his attack. His hand seemed to warp and extend forming a blade from his very own flesh, and stabbing directly for Sid’s chest. Given the man’s size and current speed, it took little guesswork for Sid to conclude inaction would result in impalement. Barely reacting in time, Sid brought his own weapon up and pushed the man’s attack aside, the two blades scraping together threw paper and emitting sparks. Sid managed to use the mans own force to propel himself away and behind his armored partner, who in short succession took a mighty blow to the chest and fell to the ground dazed.
Given a second to breath, a rabid snarl crossed his face in anger. His own laziness had nearly killed him, and it was such a novice mistake. He stood with his face frozen in the same ugly snarl for a second more, before striking out. It only then occurred to him how ridiculous he must have looked. The sword he’d brought had been wrapped in brown paper for lack of a sheath, the entire four and half feet of it. To the crowd he must have looked to be attacking with a stick, and a flimsy one at that. In truth the blade was made from the powerful metal known as Delyn and was black as the night right down to the weighted pommel. From the brief argument with the dwarf, Sid knew this blade was unbalanced though sharp as a razor, though too much combat would dull it quickly.
Maneuvering so that his enemy was on the other side of Sid’s fallen comrade, Sid simultaneously adjusting his wrist for the weight of the blade and snaked his hand through the paper wrappings for a firmer grip. In the matter of a second, Sid struck across the gap in a wide reaching strike, meant more as a test than to cause damage. The paper rustled noisily as air passed above and beneath it, adding volume to the groan Bernard released as Sid’s booted foot kicked him, insisting on action.
His fist connected with the chest of the armored buffoon with a great crunch - he felt the reverberations of the blow slam up his arm and he thought he felt at least two fingers break - and the crowd erupted into a series of wild screams and cheers. The boy had turned his attack though, which caused a slight pause before the screams came from the crowd - something he had expected; he now knew what the boy was armed with - and was now moving to counter attack. The boy was quick, to counter so quickly.
Using his own momentum Koran rolled forward, tucking his out stretched arm against his chest and tucked his right shoulder in so that it was it that hit the ground first. He rolled over the armored man and to his feet, turned and had just enough time to duck again as the blade that the boy wielded sliced through the air with a paper like rustle, straight towards his head. He found himself face to face with the man he had just punched. There was, for a moment, in the spaces between the screams of the crowd and the pounding of his green blood in his hears, that he heard someone screaming shrilly from the stands. His smile was more like a sneer as he looked into the eyes of the man beneath him.
"Your lady love, she misses you." The mans eyes widened in terror as Koran reached forward to grip the mans armor just beneath the neck. He snarled and threw himself forward, his hand tightening on the mans armor as he did so. He winced as his broken fingers pained him for a moment but in an instant his face was blank and whole, he didn't want to give any outward sign that he was wounded already.
He flew forward in a sort of shallow swan dive and as he did he hauled the armored man to his feet with a grunt. He let go of the the man as soon as he could gain his own feet again and spun quickly, feet shuffling beneath him in the dirt of the arena. "Up man," he shouted over the screams of the crowd. "I can't fight you while you're sleeping on the ground." He then pointed at the boy with the paper sheathed blade. "And you, remove that paper from your blade, it sounds disgusting." He let his blade drop. "I will give you time to prepare yourselves."
Then he did something that probably no fighter should ever do in a fight; turning his back to them he strode to stand just in front of the dais and then squared himself before them, waiting. I secretly promised this crowd a show, I mean to give them one. He snarled silently as the crowd roared when they saw what was going to happen, and he watched the other two, waiting for their next move.
The brute was faster than he expected, his reactions sharp. He obviously had either a great deal of training or experience, that or he was some kind of freak of nature. Sid’s sword passed clear over his head cutting the air harmlessly, but it hadn’t been meant as a killing blow. The man’s next actions caught Sid off-guard. The man reached down and pulled Bernard to his feet, even with that armor. He only used one hand, what strength! If he gets close enough to grab me…
Sid stood there with a grimace at his opponents show of power, but he did proceed to rip the paper off of his blade. Wary of being unprepared, Sid shot quick searching glances about the arena, but his eyes never left the enemy long. The ground was primarily dirt, but partially buried beneath lay bits of metal that he could see. Using his toe, he tested several and found them to be no more than fragments, likely the chippings of broken equipment. In the distance another spot on the ground erupted, the sudden flash illuminating Bernard and showing just how dangerous the dwarf had made this place. Seeing Bernard simply standing there dumbstruck with a slack jaw, Sid’s anger returned.
“What are you doing? Draw your blades, fool.” Sid shouted across to him, pleased with the reaction created. Bernard jumped, seemed to realize where he was and unsheathed his weapons, then cast his gaze about for the enemy. Knowing that he break the standstill, lest the brute retain his control of the match, Sid quickly formed the vaguest plan. The majority of the fiery explosions seemed to come from the far side of the arena, and would make things difficult for anyone pushed into them. Even if the flame didn’t get him, the spikes on the wall represented a viable option.
“Charge him!” Sid shouted again to Bernard, and noted the second of hesitation before acting. The man was a coward through and through, even in armor and with a number advantage he feared. If by some misfortune Sid were to die first, he had no doubt the man would flee to the monks to avoid death, however temporary. Pathetic.
Easily matching his comrade’s speed, Sid moved in behind him with blade drawn prepared to attack. Likely Bernard would attack and account for movement, slashing at his enemy. Whatever happened with Bernard’s attack, Sid would be ready and positioned to stab at his enemy with half the force of his movement, not yet ready to commit fully to one method.
Koran growled, low and deep in his throat and clenched his only fist even tighter. This boy, man, thing, it, whatever the hell he was, was a god damned fool. If there was ever a lesson to learn in combat, it was to never, ever shout your intentions or plans of attack, especially when an opponent was in ear shot. The boy will learn.
The armored man was stunned, dazed by the fact that he wasn't dead - Yet. - and somehow standing, where as moments before he had been laying spread eagle on his back. Now that Koran had a testing of the mans reflexes he doubted this man hadn't participated in anything beyond your occasional bar fight, if that. he might even bee a bouncer for all Koran knew, new to the fact of an armed fight and willing to give it a try. That willingness must be rapidly fleeting, if he's this lost. All that said, the man wasn't a complete fool and was very good at following orders, which the boy seemed very good at dishing out. Perhaps they would make a pair, should they survive this fight. Not if I have anything to say about it.
The brutes blades cleared his scabbards and as one the two charged Koran. The boy, seeing as he was lacking in the armor category, quickly moved so that he was behind the armored brute but still within striking distance. He held his weapon as thought he meant to stab with it - something Koran would have done, had he ever let himself be tripped, gagged and bound into such a position - and Koran quickly saw that the brute was going to slash with both of his swords. Another rookie mistake by the perfect match. His growl crescendoed and he spun, not away from the brutes attack as most would expect an unarmored man to do, but into it instead.
Using his sword-arm weapon as a block, Koran deflected the wild blows away from his body, lessening the damage they inflicted - he barely felt the sting as they connected with open flesh along his left oblique muscle - and reached out with his free hand to grasp at the mans face mask. His fingers curled easily around the tempered metal and he grinned, staring straight into the mans widening, terror filled blue eyes. "Bye," Koran said in a breathy whisper and then slammed his knee hard into the mans less protected right kidney. The mans eyes widened even further, if such thing were possible, and he coughed, tiny driblets of blood splattering on his face guard as well as Koran's own face. Even as his knee was sinking deep into the mans side Koran heaved the man back, lifting him slightly off the ground as he did so, and sent him stumbling backwards into the boy, who made the mistake of following.
"Never. Ever. Shout. Your. Plans!" Koran stressed each word and pointed a finger at the pair. "Especially with me." He suddenly laughed and spread his arms wide, taking in the crowd and the pair of them. "Just, attack. Who cares, I'm sure something will happen and it just might click. Stop giving me ways to counter your foolish attempts at team work!" That, came out as a shout, and a glare. Koran turned and strode back a few steps further from the pair, standing just in front of one of the many new, flashy-glowy death traps that had sprung up throughout the arena, then turned and squared himself up again.
"Now, what do you say you try that, again?" His laughter was very loud in the lull of noise from the crowd, as they had suddenly fallen silent during this, waiting on the edge of their seats for what might, and would happen next. His laughter died away and was replaced with a grim look and a heated glare that made his abyss black eyes suddenly seem to be on fire. Your move, boy.
The man rushed unexpectedly forward, deflected Bernard’s blades, and performed some kind of grappling attack that Sid couldn’t quite see. It happened so quickly, Sid wasn’t prepared to stop and rammed into his comrade’s armored back, bruising his shoulder slightly. It was all he could do to move his sword so as to not impale his ally, vainly hoping the man could still be of some use.
Bernard fell against him limply as though struck dead or unconscious. In his close proximity, Sid detected the scent of released bowels and crinkled his nose in disgust. Bernard was dead, and Sid was all alone to fight this almost unharmed enemy. The situation looked grim, though there where still options that hadn’t been tested. The man was obviously fast, undoubtedly far stronger than Sid, and didn’t seem to be worn down at all despite the numerous fights that had already occurred.
No other choice, trickery it is. Damn you dwarf!
Sid waited as second and listened to his enemy’s taunt, cursing the dwarf’s stubborn “prove yourself” ideal all the while. A quick shift of his jaw, Sid bit down on the artificial lung and felt the stinging substance absorb instantly, his awareness raising dramatically with far greater detail than his natural organs could provide, and the mental timer began, counting down until the moment of supreme weakness when the drug left his system. Around him he could see everything; the entire length of the arena even those parts smothered in darkness, tiny edges of blades and forgotten rings broken from armor, the small fountain of dust that proceeded an explosion, nothing escaped him.
Standing quietly, in perfect control, Sid felt the crowd go silent, a mass holding of breath. The tension didn’t matter, the crowd didn’t matter, they were all blocked out by the limited intensity of Sid’s focus. Taking several breaths, Sid prepared his muscles for the most extreme exertions he was capable of, and then he made his move. Out of the ground around him rose a great many shards of metal, jagged strips of plate and sword chippings, anything he could find. As one he moved towards the man in a cloud of metal fragments, his sword raised and deadly. Running towards the man, the black blade whistled from the force of his swing, slicing through space from above his right shoulder and finishing near the ground on his left. Letting the force of the swing turn him, Sid’s feet kicked up dust as his boots were ripped apart by the small exposed metals sliding beneath them, and he raised the sword in as powerful an upwards slash as he could. In the absolute limits of his ability, Sid was unable to redirect the metal fragments from his first attack. Timed with his first strike, the metal debris had been framed into a line and thrown towards his enemy, but on passing by continued into Sid, slicing his shoulder severely.
Struck by his own attack, Sid chastised himself for losing focus. As a rule for life, Sid never allowed himself to be careless, but the taunting of his enemy had driven him to such desperate measures, and now he was injured by his own hand. That defeat was greater than any death to any opponent Sid could have faced, and his eyes burned with anger at his enemy.
Unlike his opponent, Koran was in complete control of his emotions and steadily fraying nerves. If he was anything though, it was slightly shocked and a mite bit confused as to the next becoming events that occurred before he was able to regain his wits. His first sign of near disaster was the sudden twitch of the boys mouth - the armored fool had apparently died or was knocked unconscious, he hadn't moved or much less twitched in a whole five seconds. The twitch could have meant anything but when Koran looked into the boys eyes he knew that that twitch had done something, something strange and something very powerful. The boy's iris' narrowed then widened suddenly, as though unaware as to where they should be and his face flushed, tightening and then loosening abruptly. Koran felt his own eye twitch, but out of sudden fear, terror and a little confusion.
What the hell is going on here? Koran shifted his feet back and heard a tiny tinkling as dirt and tiny rocks fell into the metal tube behind him. Shit, the trap! He had completely forgotten. He cast his eyes about quickly and flinched mentally. He was trapped. He either tried to barrel a way out through his suddenly enhanced - at least it seemed as such - opponent, or backed up and triggered the trap, skewering him on the spot. He shifted his other foot and put his eyes back on his boy opponent.
The crowd had fallen silent and the boy tensed. His eyes flickered randomly and he inhaled deeply. The machine knew - he didn't know how, he just did - that the boy was going to move, and move suddenly and quickly. The ground around the boy shimmered, quivering as though it were suddenly alive, and from the dirt and dust beneath the boy rose dozens of jagged and sharp pieces of metal. None were any larger then Koran two closed fists, but then, none were smaller than his one closed fist. If the boy could somehow control metal; Koran suddenly found himself more than afraid. He was terrified.
The boy moved then and Koran realized that if the boy had been quick and agile before, he moved like a coiled snake now. Fangs bared and head drawn back to strike and boy that had become a snake struck out with his sword, first in a downward diagonal slash that took Koran from left shoulder to right hip. He gasped in pain and flinched backward; his boot slipped on the edge of the metal trap and the gasp became a grunt. At the same time the metal shards that had formed themselves around the boy lined up and rocketed towards Koran as though thrown by some greater hand; many bounced off his skin harmlessly, as they hit flat side up, but more than a few buried themselves deep into his chest and stomach. Green blood began to ooze from each wound and a thin line was forming on his chest where the sword had cut. But cuts and stab wounds were the least of his worries at that moment.
Time slowed for the machine, as it usually did when something drastic or deadly was going to occur, and in the silence that followed the two attacks he heard the tiniest of clinks as the trap activated beneath him. Then there was the grating of metal on metal as the three foot metal spike hidden within the metal tube, shot upwards at a speed no naked eye could clock. Pain exploded in his right calf as the spike slide up and buried its tip deep within his gastrocnemius muscle, stopping his stumble backwards as effectively as if there had been a wall behind him and poking itself a good half inch out from just beneath his knee cap. If he didn't stumble backwards anymore he certainly continued to bend and it was this bending that saved him from a second, more deadly strike from the boys sword. There was an oncoming whoosh of air that told him the boy had even swung again, but swords and slashes were not on the top of his list of things to worry about.
Time resumed its normal pace and his grunt became a bellow of rage and pain. Less for the many shards of metal impaled into his chest, more for the spike lodged in his leg. The bellow was cut short as the spike withdrew itself from his leg as fast as it had gotten there, the force of it leaving his leg causing green blood to explode from the hole in his calf and forcing him to stumble backwards. He just barely caught himself before he impaled himself neatly on the spikes lining the wall, managing to slice open his arm just beyond his wrist and up to his elbow instead. It was a small wound and bled little, the leg and his chest however, were another story entirely. He wasn't going to last long if he continued to bleed like this.
Only one way to stop that, even if I didn't want to do such in the beginning, I see no choice now. "A fancy trick that boy, but it won't be enough to save you here." Forcing himself to stand up straight, his knee had been spared any serious damage but moving his leg felt like dragging an oak tree into position with just his quadriceps, he tightened his fists into tight balls and sneered. His eyes closed for a half second and when he reopened them he was no longer the man the boy had seen upon first entering the arena.
Now six feet two inches of pure blood Sariego vampire stared down at the boy. Silver tipped hair gleamed in the light of the arena as it fell out from within a deep hooded robe and two massive wings, ten feet in length each and blacker than the blackest night, stretched to their full length beside him, nearly covering the entire wall. A face emerged from the black of the hood and white fangs gleamed as the man who had taken the machine place smiled at the boy.
"Like I said boy," the man said in the thick accents heard most commonly in Salvar. "It was a nice trick, but you'll have to try harder than that." Like a viper the man lashed out at the boy, but not with hands and fists as most men who were unarmed would do; instead he used his wings. Their long lengths and massive weights would make it feel as though the boy had suddenly been punched by six men, instead of just one.
At least the bleeding has stopped, the machine thought as he sent his wings towards the boy. That doesn't say anything about my wounds, they still hurt and my leg doesn't feel quite right. I think I must have damaged one of the servos. No matter though, now that the machine had wings, ten foot lengths of them, he would not have to move often or far. Besides, he could still just use his wings to get him there.
For some reason the crowd was still silent, as though unsure to either scream in terror at the new face in the arena, or to cheer wildly at the sudden turning and twisting of events. They all held a collective breath any only time would tell if they released it as a collective scream or a collective cheer. Only time would tell.
Fighting the urge to clutch at his shoulder, Sid shuttered with terror at his opponent. The man should have been dead, all of Sid’s strength and speed had gone into that single attack combination, yet the man grew only fiercer. Before him an abomination of leathery winged flesh boomed forth its recurrent taunts. Worse than his words, his eerie smile loomed over Sid with supreme confidence, inspiring Sid’s stiff momentary paralysis. Fortunately Sid failed to process that terrible look in his foes eye, the look of hunger.
Conjuring his courage, Sid was unable to even begin to act, though had he the time there was still nothing that could be done. The colorless wings slammed closed on him, squeezing Sid with a pressure never before experienced or believed capable. Trapped in the vice-like grip, he couldn’t breath; his mouth opened and sucked futilely at the air, but his chest was crushed and no amount of struggling availed him.
To the crowd, the blow seemed a slow fatality, lacking the usual theatrics of a proper killing. One opponent held the other in his monstrous wings and showed no sign of relenting; the only sign of life from the other a slight movement of the head, his body enveloped by horrendous new appendages. The veins in his neck stood out clearly, his temple throbbed, and despite the most vehement of his commands, the traitorous eyes leaked involuntary tears.
With no other choice, Sid shook his jaw again and drew on a second dose. The first had yet to leave his system and risked a complete disconnection of synapses, but there was no other choice and what little remained was insufficient. Instantly utilizing the new income of energy, Sid pressed as much as he could against the wings and released his sword hand. Even with his telekinetic pressure, the wings barely moved enough for the black blade to drop to the ground.
Turning his head, Sid forced his resistant face into a sneer. Beneath him, the sword shook with the force of his exertions, but steadfastly refused to lift from the ground and impale his foe as Sid willed it to. He could see grains of sand rising and shooting at the creature containing him, but the sword remained grounded. As understanding dawned, a smirk crawled across his face.
I have been bettered…Finish this, beast. I will not be made your sport.
Shock rolled over the machine like a massive tidal wave, erasing pain and frustration like water erasing etchings in soft dirt. He gulped, watching the futile efforts of the boy who was captured tight in his massive wings. This was not what he had expected, not what he had expected at all.
He had expected, the boy being so chalked up on whatever drug it was that he was taking, to have simply missed catching the boy and possibly just knocked him back. Perhaps gained him enough time to regain his composure and figure out a way to deal with his severe blood loss rate. Things never worked quite as well as you expected though, and expecting the unexpected to happen was about as close to righting the wrong as you could ever get. Unfortunately, he hadn't expected the unexcepted and hadn't formed a fall back when it happened. Fortunately for him though, he was a machine and could run through thousands of calculations and possible alternate routes all in the time it took for a human to blink his eye. Shock faded to slight surprise, surprise faded to a fading fear, and fear became anger once more. Anger at his own stupidity, and anger for this boy not following through with his own half brained plan.
"You are finished boy," the machine spat, a green globule of his blood shooting from his mouth to land thickly in the soft dirt of the arena. "But I won't be the one to kill you." With a roar the machine flexed his massive wings, smashing them together even harder still around the trapped form of the boys body, and then heaved them down and toward him. His intent, if the boy could still see with the pressure he was surely feeling from his wings, was to land the boy face first into the metallic trap tube and from there, let the arena work its own magics.
The tiny voice in the back of his mind screamed alarm at him a second time but one again he ignored it, squashing it as easily as squashing a bug between his fingers. Still, just before he squashed the voice, he couldn't help but wonder what exactly it was that it was screaming for. He put the thought out of his mind, and focused on the boy again.
So intent on the boy in his wings before him as he was, Koran didn’t notice the tiny flashing red light in the upper left corner of his field of vision. Shouting, or perhaps screaming, warning that the wounds on his chest and leg were now spilling his own life blood at an even faster rate than before. Transformation not only reformed the skin around old wounds and new, but also reformed the inner workings of the body, and in most cases, made wounds worse then they really should have been. A nasty pit fall to transform with fresh wounds, and one he had plainly forgotten.
Had he been aware of himself at that moment, he would have undoubtedly seen that flashing red light and made the necessary calculations to know that he had now only one whole minute to live, before his body shut itself down for massive repairs.
For a moment the crushing pressure of wings loosened, and that was all it took. Attempting to take a massive breath, Sid’s crushed chest ached and sent him into a fit of coughing as he hunched over, a small line of blood dribbling down the side of his mouth. Unable to recover, the wings crushed together again and ended his brief respite, stronger even than before.
As he rolled his head back, the crowd swam in his eyes and turned, twisting at odd angles his oxygen deprived brain couldn’t comprehend. He was being lifted up and turned slightly, the two massive wings squeezing the life from him all the while. It seemed inevitable that his opponent was preparing for some kind of big finish; Sid just hoped it wasn’t anything painful. A quick painless, if gory, end was the way to go, maybe a decapitation. That wouldn’t be so bad, though most would be better than this; suffocation was a bad way to go, filled with panic, futile struggling, too close to drowning.
His delirious train of thought was jerked back to reality as his heart jumped into his throat. The wings had suddenly changed direction and were plummeting him towards the ground with a great deal of force, contacting it first with his feet. As though detached from his body, Sid realized his legs were broken but couldn’t feel them, couldn’t feel anything. His hearing was gone too. He was being pressed into the dirt, the wings carefully positioned away from his head. The ground was shaking, it hadn’t been shaking before. What was causing it to shake? It led to one conclusion, and Sid didn’t like it.
The fire! How does he know where it’s going to appear? He’s going to burn me alive!
Sid opened his mouth to scream, tell the monks to stop the fight, but nothing came out. He didn’t have the air to scream. The only sound he could make was that whistling sound of wind through trees; it was that sound of someone who has lost their voice. He didn’t want to be burned. He’d seen it done to others, heard the screams as superstitious townsfolk ritualistically burned evil magicians, seen the way their flesh sloughed off, smelt the noxious gas of burned flesh. It wasn’t supposed to happen to him. Then everything went black.
When light returned, Sid lay on a stone table in a small darkly lit room. A single monk was standing near him and appeared to be speaking but made no noise. The monk ran both hands over each of Sid’s injuries and as he did so a gentle warmth passed into each place as serrated skin fused together and bone slid back into place, muscles reattached, and veins mended. When the monk stopped, Sid put a hand to his face, checking for burn scars in horror. To his relief, only smooth skin greeted his fingers. Sitting up, Sid asked the monk for details on the match.
It seemed he had not been burned as he had feared, but a spike trap had gored him in the face, and seemingly his opponent as well, though Sid didn’t recall that happening. Informing that a dwarf waited without, the monk left the small room by way of one of two doors. Not in the mood for mockery, Sid waited inside to collect himself. It was irrational the fear he had of burning, but hopefully it had been unobserved and remained secret from his enemies.
Rational once more, Sid emerged from the room only to be immediately confronted by the dwarf. Having not performed to the dwarf’s unreasonable expectations, again, his sword was snatched away by the dwarf. It seemed he must try even harder next time to win the dwarf’s faith, and weaponry, but that would wait for another day. He needed several stiff drinks in rapid succession, and something to hit. While the Citadel didn’t offer beverages of any sort, he did spot another need walking down the hallway towards him.
“Well, fancy seeing you here. I heard all about the match, but what can you do? How do the monks expect us to have half a chance if they’re putting bloodthirsty monsters like that in there?”
Sid stared at the useless teammate, Bernard, with nothing but sullen hatred. He probably still got his girl even, just for attempting to slay the monster. The man was an oaf, and likely served only to make Sid look worse. As he stood there stupidly expecting a response, Sid could imagine how slowly his brain worked. Made uncomfortable by Sid’s unblinking and unnerving stare, Bernard cleared his throat and tried again.
“I heard you put up a good fight at least. Err…these monks sure are something aren’t they? Fixed me right up, and just look at you! My friends said you were quite the mess out there, but you look…”
Sid lost his temper. The day was utterly wasted, he’s made no progress with the dwarf, had been made a fool of in the arena, and had died. Standing in the hallway listening to a moron as he spewed forth meaningless comments to fill the air was just too much. Sid struck out and hard and fast, striking the man in the throat with his middle knuckle joint. Bernard fell back against the wall clutching his throat. He slid to the ground and sat there for a time before slumping over. His wheezing indicated a breathing obstruction, and Sid watched in silence, a small gleam in his eyes and a slight curl of the mouth that just might have been a smile.
They’ll fix you right up…
It came as a shock for the machine, when it finally ended. When the pain of living; the pain of breathing the air he so often denied he needed; the pain of walking, bearing a load heavier than most buildings would hold; the pain of never knowing the joys of being human, which was his core programming. The pain, all of it, some he didn't even know was there, was gone, in an instant. Nevertheless, like all pain, it eventually would return. Nothing short of complete destruction would save the machine from the pain. Nothing short. . .
He awoke to the bright white light of an overhead glow bulb, glaring harshly down into his eyes, causing him to squeeze his eyes shut and wince in pain. A hand lifted itself from his shoulder and touched his forehead. The motion came as a surprise, he hadn't felt the hand there, and he jerked away from it.
"Steady there fellow, you've been through hell enough already. Be a waste just to have you tear yourself apart again, accidentally."
"Wha?" Koran said thickly; his tongue felt like it had been wrapped in wool. His mouth felt dry. Dry. His mouth never felt dry. True he didn't sweat or excrete any bodily fluid that humans did, but his mouth had never felt 'dry'. "Wha-What happened?" He managed finally, opening his eyes to squint at the light, trying to see who it was he was talking too.
A dark shape, featureless and blurry, appeared in front of his eyes and he thought he sense a smile. "Quite an amazing feat, I'd say." A mouth, at least, he thought it was a mouth, moved on the shape and the voice was the one that had spoken before.
"What - " The hand on his forehead moved, silencing him and the voice spoke again.
"Well, from the reports the crowd gave was that you kind of stood for a moment, over the decapitated corpse of that fellow you were fighting. They said some dwarf ran out at that point, screaming and yelling to all hell, and then the monks appeared. They hefted the fellow up onto their shoulders and then carried him away. That's when they said you kind of shimmered, said you changed. Said you looked deathly pale and you kind of swayed a bit. Then, well, then you closed your eyes and fell flat on your face. That was when the spike trap reactivated and impaled you through the chest." The voice suddenly chuckled. It came as a shock, after that lecturing tone and Koran responded with a flinch. The chuckled faded and the hand returned to his forehead. "Took a mighty bit to move you off the field too. Monks saying you weighed a ton."
"Three," Koran mumbled.
"What's that now? Ah, never mind. Well, after that they got you here took them a mighty while to fix you up. Heard 'em say you weren't quite like everyone else, required some sort of special magic to fix. I thought it all a bit strange really." That chuckle again; this time he didn't flinch.
At about this point Koran began to pick out different shades of light, instead of just one great white and one great black, and he saw that the shape over him was a man. Young at first glance but a closer, more timely examination said that the man had more years on him then his face let on. Koran blinked, trying to free his vision of the last dredges of the bright white and moved to sit up. It was like trying to pick up a massive boulder with his pinky.
"God," he breathed when he finally sat himself up. "Now I know how it feels to really carry my weight." He glanced over at the man, who looked back at him with a questioning gaze but thankfully didn't ask. His weight was one thing Koran didn't want to have to reveal to anyone, it might just see him dead, finally. Not that that could be a bad thing, he thought to himself. However, like every time that thought came to him another instinct programmed into his central core over ruled the thought and deleted it. The need to live. Survive and keep living. He gave the man a second glance and this time held it, as something about the man finally clicked and brought Koran's hand up in surprise, snapping his fingers as he did so.
"You're, you're. . .Ummm." The man finished his fumbled sentence with a laugh.
"Aye, I'm him. The guy you about sent your knee through in the first eight seconds of that fuck-fest for a fight."
"Sorry about that," Koran said, shrugging. "Business you know." The man laughed and shrugged back.
"Well, I'm kind of glad you gave that kid what he got." A hand moved to rub at his neck and Koran thought that it had something to do with the mans changed opinion on the boy he had been partnered too. Koran took that moment to ask a question that had just come to his attention.
"Why were you touching my forehead?"
The man jerked in surprised, paled and then flushed red and ran a hand through dark brown hair. "Oh, that. The monks said you were burning up and couldn't figure out why. Nothing they did seemed to cool you off. The just left a few minutes ago and I came over here to check myself. You had just started to wake up when I had my hand on your shoulder."
"Ahh, I see." There was an awkward silence before Koran spoke again. "The heat?"
"Gone," the man said, almost at the exact same time. He flushed again. "Well, I mean to say is, you're fine now. Turned ice cold all of a sudden just after I put my hand on your forehead. I was still contemplating it when you woke."
"Ah," Koran said nodding. He then looked around the room. It was plain, about thirty feet long and about fifteen feet wide, which was standard for the monks, despite their magics. Two rows of fifteen glow bulbs, two feet apart from each other with seven or so feet between the rows, hung suspended from the ceiling by ornate silver chains, gave the room a pale gleam to it, which was amplified by the soft gray walls. In one corner, nearly hidden from view by the sheer gray and white of the walls and bulbs, was Koran's armor and sword. He was still dressed in only his pants and boots. He could see his shirt, a gift from an old friend whom he hadn't seen a lot of as of late, poking up from beneath the stack and he abruptly realized how cold it was.
He coughed, thanking his makers for not granted him the privilege of being able to blush, and pushed himself heavily to his feet. His head felt a momentary lightness as he rose, quickly passing, and he straightened his pants and dusted his knees. The man rose smoothly next to him and ran his hand through his hair a second time, his face a mix of emotions that Koran really couldn't pick out. If he could pick though, he would have said sadness, a distant joy, a sense of awe and a mite bit of confusion. Koran just shook his head and moved to walk slowly towards his pile of gear. The man hesitated, moved as though to speak then stopped, finally just moving to follow, his face still a mix of emotions and his eyes cast to the floor.
Koran busied himself with donning his gear, paying the man as little attention as possible, except to ask him to move so he could swing his back plate around onto his back. He was just finishing with the shoulder straps when the man finally spoke.
"She left me you know."
"Hmmm?" Koran said with a half-enthusiasm. He really didn't have time for this, but he'd grant the man a piece of his attention, just to be nice and maybe get him out of his way.
"Left me, after she watched me lose. Not that I had much of a chance. Not against you. Too fast, too powerful."
"That's why you train," Koran said dryly. He really did not have time for this. He bent to grab a hold of his metal leggings.
"Problem is, there's no one left to train me. Everyone seems to be running off to fight in the war."
"War?" Koran asked, interested for a moment to cause him to pause in putting on his other legging. This was something new, he might want to listen after all.
"Yeah, something about a civil war between some rebels and the Empire. I'm not sure, didn't catch much."
"Ah." False alarm. He reached for the arm plates.
"You, wouldn't happen to know someone who could train me, do you?"
Koran paused in the process of tightening his left arm plate. "No," he said after a moment, tighting the strap with a jerk. "I don't happen to know someone."
"Oh," the man said, his voice touched with sadness. "Well, you don't - " Koran had had enough.
"Look, if you're going to say something just spit it the fuck out already. You've danced around it enough already. What the fuck do you want?"
The man recoiled in surprise at the anger in Koran's voice and ran a hand through his hair again, before taking a deep breath and squaring himself up. "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind training me."
"I don't have the time," Koran said sourly and turned back to his armor.
The man sagged, mouth falling into a dejected droop and he didn't even bother running a hand through his hair, instead just laying it against his face and looking at it as though he didn't know what it was. Koran glanced at him from over his upraised arm, where he was tightening the last straps on his right arm. The man only nodded, slowly and turned as if to leave and Koran sighed. It was one thing to see this when you really didn't have the time, it was another completely when you were being selfish and knew it.
"What makes you think I'd want to train you?" His voice was casual, not hinting at anything, but the man visibly brightened nonetheless. He turned back to Koran, his back a little straighter and his eyes a little brighter.
"Well, my friends have always told me I learned quickly."
Koran nodded. "That's always a good trait, but what makes you think you'll learn anything from me, if I decided to train you?"
"Well, for starters, you defeated two armed opponents with no visible weapon."
"I got lucky kid, and you got scared." The mans face flushed as he recalled that part of the battle but didn't lose his newfound confidence.
"I can provide for myself, you wouldn't have to worry about me."
"And I wouldn't," Koran said. "Why is it that you want to leave?"
This time the man did droop, but only a little. When he spoke, his voice was filled with a sense of loss so deep it was a wonder to Koran that the man wasn't crying. "Like I said, she left me. She was my life, my heart. My soul. After she saw me lose, she said she didn't want to date a loser, a fake. She left me almost as soon as I was brought back, the second time."
"The second time?"
"Yeah, that other guy killed me in the hall after the battle. Right in the neck, didn't even suspect it until it was too late. She had to wait until after I was resurrected to tell me. At least she gave me that much."
"Yeah, that much." Koran finished placing the last piece of armor on his body, the breastplate, and crouched to retrieve his sword. Once he had that belted onto his back, he turned to face the man and extended his gauntleted hand. "Names Koran."
"Bernard," the man said in a rush, extended his own hand to grasp a hold of the metal. They shook once, a quick motion up and down, before letting go.
"You have any gear?"
"Just that heavy armor and those swords."
"Well, suit up. We've got little time. We'll sell the armor in the first town we get too. That shit looks heavy and we'll use the money to get you a horse. From there we head north, into Salvar. I've heard of some interesting prospects up there that I want to check out."
Bernard only nodded, but the look of joy that spread across his face Koran was sure amounted to a great deal of whooping and jumping around, taking in Koran's instructions as though he had known they would be coming all along. Perhaps he had known. Doubt it.
"Well," Koran said turning towards the door. "Let's get out of here before they decide to drag any more dead people in here."
With that Koran and Bernard, his new found 'cronies', left the plain gray room with its bright white glow bulbs, and exited the citadel to only just avoid being caught up in the civil war, vanishing into the frozen wastes of Salvar.
Spoils: 175 gp for Bernard's sold armor and whatever else the Mod wishes to be granted. I will post this NPC profile in the character updates thread when this battle is judged and he's been approved for use.
Lvl 0
Name: Bernard
Age: 23
Occupation: Merc
Hair Color: Drk Brwn
Eye Color: Drk Brwn
Height: 6'
Weight: 215
Build: Muscular
Appearance/Personality: An average looking person, with the build of a tavern bouncer to him, Bernard avoided most fights by intimidation alone. Soft hearted by nature, he isn't the type to just go and pick fights for the sake of fighting alone. More than willing to learn, just about anything as Koran would soon find out, and takes it all in with relative ease and can repeat most back after only one sitting. Easy going but stingy on money. A problem Koran finds to be quite troublesome.
Weapons: Two steel short swords that he keeps in loose leather sheaths on opposite sides of his waist. He is, as it turns out, ambidextrous, so he can use both with equal ease.
Armor: Wool shirt and leather breeches. No armor rating.
Skills:
Swordsmanship Lvl 0
Basic sword training, can handle one foe with same level skill.
Lock picking Lvl 0
A recent skill, learned before he was introduced to Koran in the citadel. Can pick low-level locks in about thirty or so seconds.
History: Came to Corone with his parents when he was only two, Bernard lived the average life of most farming children. It wasn't until his nineteenth birthday that he really felt the pull of the world around him and three months later, set off to find out anything and everything he could about the world around him that he had seen so little of. Over the course of four years, he earned his piecemeal armor, which he had just recently sold for 175 gp, which he gave to Koran, as well as his two steel short swords. Fell in love with a rather shady girl, who broke up with him only just recently, and is now in tow with the shape shifting cyborg Koran himself, who defeated him in a very poorly planned citadel battle along side another young human male.
Good battle, should be a really close score when the numbers tally up. Koran’s comments are silver, Sid’s are blue.
STORY
Continuity
You did fairly well with this category. I knew where Koran was at the beginning and the end of the battle. One thing, though: why was Koran hosting this little battle display? Was he just showing off, or did he actually have a reason? That was the only thing that I felt was missing. 6
Again, I knew where Sid came from and why he was there. I had a pretty good idea of where he was headed after the fireworks ended. Well done overall. 7
Setting
Remember that the setting doesn’t just disappear when you’re fighting. You guys only seemed to remember the world around you when you could use it as a weapon against the enemy. I’m tipping the score in your favor on this one because I felt that you interacted with the environment slightly more and gave the battle a little more flavor. Things like the fleck of green blood flying from his mouth as he talked are nice little spices. 5
Same general comment, but I didn’t see as many of the fun little details from you. 4
Pacing
No complaints. It was the usual random encounter in the Citadel. You guys know how to move a battle along… not much else needs to be said. 6
Same thing. 6
CHARACTER
Dialogue
Good! Your dialogue fits the arrogant nature of your character. Also, you didn’t stumble into the pitfall of too much or too little dialogue in a battle. What you used didn’t seem out of place. 7
Again, same general comment. The reason neither of you scored any higher in this category is that both of you seemed a bit unoriginal – Koran was the cocky fighter whose confidence gets him killed, and Sid was the punk kid who’s always angry. More on that in a minute. 7
Action
Solid, as far as it went. The transformation, I thought, was unique and well-done. There was really nothing in this fight that was particularly memorable to me, though. It was just another confrontation between strangers in the Citadel. Try to be creative with it. Anything can happen in the Citadel… be creative, and try to put that freedom to better use. 5
Same thing. Your character’s ability is unique, on that I commend you. Again, though, step out of the box and do something unexpected in a battle. 5
Persona
Good. You played the character well, although I thought his emotions in the battle were a bit too extreme at times. When Sid showed signs of fighting back, Koran went from cocky and bold to terrified. Hesitant, doubtful maybe… but terrified was a bit too much of a swing in my opinion. I thought the way Koran treated Bernard at the end spoke a lot about his true character though. 6
To be honest, Sid’s personality seems to be a bit unoriginal – everybody seems to want to play the punk kid with an attitude. You played the part well, but try to do something that makes him stand out from all the other punk kids with attitudes that inhabit role-playing in general. 5
WRITING STYLE
Mechanics
Solid. Grammatical issues (run-ons, mainly) here and there, and try to cut down on the hyphens just a bit. 5
Also solid. Yours was more fundamentally sound. There were still errors, but I didn’t see quite as many of them. Also, pay attention to how often you use certain words. There was one paragraph in the last post where you used the phrase “the dwarf” four times in three sentences. 6
Technique
Your style is a bit more developed than Sid’s. I didn’t see anything out-of-ordinary here to bump the score up, though. 5
You have a very simple style of writing. Very short sentences. While that can be a good thing in a battle, it was a little too choppy at times. 4
Clarity
There were a few times were your actions were somewhat confusing to me. The part where Koran’s winged form slammed Sid into the ground, in particular, took me a few reads to understand. Remember… your goal is to make me think what you’re thinking. The simpler you are, the easier that connection is made. 6
Only a couple times on your part. By and large, you’re good here. 7
Wild Card
No advantages to either side. This was a good battle, even if it felt a little ‘done before.’ Take 5’s.
Final Score: 56 - 56
Hmm… a tie! Congratulations!
Both of you get 1000 exp.
Sid gets 250 GP. Koran gets 175 GP and Bernard as an NPC – clear it with RoG before you use him.
Cyrus the virus
02-21-07, 12:30 PM
EXP added! Sid levels up!!
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