The Ratings War V: Original Sin - Finals (Winner Announced)
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Just letting you know that Shapsters has asked for an extension; you may now get your entry in by the 27th.Lost In The Void said:
The first thing that hit her was the cold. It was gnawing relentlessly at every part of her, tearing at her with rabid ferocity from the tip of her hat to the very soles of her shoes. The wind and the rains came next. There was no comparison to the feeling... It was like thousands of little stinging insects were crawling around in her skin, but more so in a dozen different ways. Her cloak was flapping madly in the vicious gale and her hat only managed to stay attached to her head by luck.
Amelia raised the brim of her hat with a shaking hand, looking forwards into the rain at the one who was standing opposite her on the observation deck of the zeppelin. Through the torrential downpour she caught only glimpses of the man but she could tell that he was probably far more of a fighter than she was. Of course, what advantage would that give him upon the rain-soaked deck of the zeppelin's highest floor with the elements beating down upon him?
She felt a warm paw on her cheek and, upon her shoulder, Henry was stood with his gun extended towards the foe. The witch understood the doll and, with an unquestioning nod, brought her staff from within her cloak and planted it upon the sodden panels of the deck. A translucent barrier wrapped close to her, shielding her from the rain and the cold.
"Gold, gold!
Motherfucking gold!
I love it so strong it hurts
My only desire, that shining gold
I would marry it if I could
My one true love, that gleaming stone
Upon this float I'll weather this storm
And shall defeat every opponent simply for you
My first opponents in the tournament too!
Their lives are worthless, my belov'd Au."
With booming laughter the song reached it's fantastic conclusion, drawing slivers of lightning from the skies and opening the heavens with it's reverberations. The man, the singer of this gold-obsessed harmony, was stepping forward, humming the simple tune to himself. Amelia knew what she had to do; Win this, and more fights like it, and then she'd win all the gold she could ever dream of. But it was far easier said than done.
She took a step back, pointing her staff's tip threateningly towards the Gold King. "Stay back, mister. I'm warning you."
The man stopped and spun his cane absentmindedly in the gale, using his free hand to adjust his top hat in a jaunty 'fuck you' to the miniature hurricane currently sweeping its way across the field of battle. "'Warning me?' You're 'warning me'?" He leveled the end of his cane to her, looked up into the storm and shouted at the top of his lungs. "Is this a fucking joke? I'd expected a badass robot or a 10 million year old spirit. I would even have settled with some huge warrior guy with a sword 12 times the size of his body and hair that defies gravity. Why does everyone else get an opponent and I get stuck playing daycare?"
Daycare? Daycare!? Amelia could hardly believe it. He didn't even take her seriously. "Come on Henry, we'll make him pay for that." With a cocky smile on her face she started to charge a spell, light charging from her hands to the tip of the metal staff.
"Right then, whatever you say, Master. I guess this fight won't take very long." A blade erupted from the end of the cane and the Ki- "Holy fuck!" He narrowly avoided a fiery projectile as it sailed right through the air which his head had once occupied. He tutted loudly and raised his cane once again. "You should know never to bring magic to a sword-fight! Whatever happened to a fair fight?" He looked to his opponent, the little girl in the flapping cloak and hat with that familiar smile, and then nodded, "You make a good point, Jade."
"Amelia," she corrected. A red pulse was already visible upon the tip of her staff, ready to fire another projectile.
With another leap he avoided the next bolt, then the next and the next with similar displays of superhuman athleticism, "That's cute kid, really, but I don't have time to waste with you. Time is money after all." His right hand shifted, becoming a golden chain with a solid gold cross on the end, and he began the assault. She could avoid a few of the attacks, her short stature gave her an advantage in that sense, but quickly - as slices and swipes started to whip the air next to her - she was feeling the effects of the weather beating down on her shield. She knew she couldn't avoid forever and this man would easily shatter the shield.
Henry, while doing his best to avoid and stay on Amelia's shoulder, took several potshots at the Gold King, all failing to prevent the continuing attacks. Several more, this time aimed at the weapon. With a sharp crack, a link on the chain was broken, sending the golden cross skywards. The King's assault stopped and his gaze went up to the cross as it arced in the heavens and, at it's peak, turned to pierce the zeppelin's exposed carapace.
Before it embedded itself in the zeppelin, Amelia was able to wrap enough wind around it to stop it from falling. The cyan glow at the end of the staff was pulsing irregularly as Amelia struggled to keep the heavy cross airborne.
The Gold King looked on as the chain was allowed to levitate. He couldn't utter a word.
She halted for a moment. The man wasn't attacking. He knew that she was the only thing keeping the cross from falling right now... With a sly grin on her face and a movement of her staff the chain was trailing rapidly away from the zeppelin.
The King darted forwards, ignoring his opponent entirely. In a single ill-thought movement he leaped and caught the chain in midair. But now it was at least 30,000 feet upwards of the nearest ground. This was very bad for him. With nothing to grab hold of and no way to slow himself the Gold King fell like a stone down, down, down toward the rapidly approaching waves..........
Amelia raised the brim of her hat with a shaking hand, looking forwards into the rain at the one who was standing opposite her on the observation deck of the zeppelin. Through the torrential downpour she caught only glimpses of the man but she could tell that he was probably far more of a fighter than she was. Of course, what advantage would that give him upon the rain-soaked deck of the zeppelin's highest floor with the elements beating down upon him?
She felt a warm paw on her cheek and, upon her shoulder, Henry was stood with his gun extended towards the foe. The witch understood the doll and, with an unquestioning nod, brought her staff from within her cloak and planted it upon the sodden panels of the deck. A translucent barrier wrapped close to her, shielding her from the rain and the cold.
"Gold, gold!
Motherfucking gold!
I love it so strong it hurts
My only desire, that shining gold
I would marry it if I could
My one true love, that gleaming stone
Upon this float I'll weather this storm
And shall defeat every opponent simply for you
My first opponents in the tournament too!
Their lives are worthless, my belov'd Au."
With booming laughter the song reached it's fantastic conclusion, drawing slivers of lightning from the skies and opening the heavens with it's reverberations. The man, the singer of this gold-obsessed harmony, was stepping forward, humming the simple tune to himself. Amelia knew what she had to do; Win this, and more fights like it, and then she'd win all the gold she could ever dream of. But it was far easier said than done.
She took a step back, pointing her staff's tip threateningly towards the Gold King. "Stay back, mister. I'm warning you."
The man stopped and spun his cane absentmindedly in the gale, using his free hand to adjust his top hat in a jaunty 'fuck you' to the miniature hurricane currently sweeping its way across the field of battle. "'Warning me?' You're 'warning me'?" He leveled the end of his cane to her, looked up into the storm and shouted at the top of his lungs. "Is this a fucking joke? I'd expected a badass robot or a 10 million year old spirit. I would even have settled with some huge warrior guy with a sword 12 times the size of his body and hair that defies gravity. Why does everyone else get an opponent and I get stuck playing daycare?"
Daycare? Daycare!? Amelia could hardly believe it. He didn't even take her seriously. "Come on Henry, we'll make him pay for that." With a cocky smile on her face she started to charge a spell, light charging from her hands to the tip of the metal staff.
"Right then, whatever you say, Master. I guess this fight won't take very long." A blade erupted from the end of the cane and the Ki- "Holy fuck!" He narrowly avoided a fiery projectile as it sailed right through the air which his head had once occupied. He tutted loudly and raised his cane once again. "You should know never to bring magic to a sword-fight! Whatever happened to a fair fight?" He looked to his opponent, the little girl in the flapping cloak and hat with that familiar smile, and then nodded, "You make a good point, Jade."
"Amelia," she corrected. A red pulse was already visible upon the tip of her staff, ready to fire another projectile.
With another leap he avoided the next bolt, then the next and the next with similar displays of superhuman athleticism, "That's cute kid, really, but I don't have time to waste with you. Time is money after all." His right hand shifted, becoming a golden chain with a solid gold cross on the end, and he began the assault. She could avoid a few of the attacks, her short stature gave her an advantage in that sense, but quickly - as slices and swipes started to whip the air next to her - she was feeling the effects of the weather beating down on her shield. She knew she couldn't avoid forever and this man would easily shatter the shield.
Henry, while doing his best to avoid and stay on Amelia's shoulder, took several potshots at the Gold King, all failing to prevent the continuing attacks. Several more, this time aimed at the weapon. With a sharp crack, a link on the chain was broken, sending the golden cross skywards. The King's assault stopped and his gaze went up to the cross as it arced in the heavens and, at it's peak, turned to pierce the zeppelin's exposed carapace.
Before it embedded itself in the zeppelin, Amelia was able to wrap enough wind around it to stop it from falling. The cyan glow at the end of the staff was pulsing irregularly as Amelia struggled to keep the heavy cross airborne.
The Gold King looked on as the chain was allowed to levitate. He couldn't utter a word.
She halted for a moment. The man wasn't attacking. He knew that she was the only thing keeping the cross from falling right now... With a sly grin on her face and a movement of her staff the chain was trailing rapidly away from the zeppelin.
The King darted forwards, ignoring his opponent entirely. In a single ill-thought movement he leaped and caught the chain in midair. But now it was at least 30,000 feet upwards of the nearest ground. This was very bad for him. With nothing to grab hold of and no way to slow himself the Gold King fell like a stone down, down, down toward the rapidly approaching waves..........
I'm a few words (50 or 60 thereabouts) over the limit but I'm going to settle with this entry. It turned out I had a lot more free time than I had anticipated so no extension necessary for me. I guess that's pretty good news.
Reading Sam G's new entry... I think it's gonna be close.
~Allegro~
Latent crystalline vibrations hummed silently in the frigid mesosphere; with two delicate fingers Eurania plucked a strand of harmony from the air and began to play with its structure, twisting and weaving a sprightly melody for her cold and sterile world.
A stranger approached, drawn to the music. [font color=teal]No[/font]. A predator (The Predator) approached, drawn to his prey.
~Adagio~
[font color=teal]"Are you here to destroy me?"[/font]
The Predator shrugged noncommittally. [font color=red]"I destroy everything."[/font]
Eurania allowed the melody to trickle through her fingers, rapidly losing its coherence and finally vanishing with a sonorous sigh. [font color=teal]"Have you ever created anything?" [/font]
[font color=red]"War. Chaos. Genocide. Famine and disease... I have planted the seeds for all these things and more."[/font] The Predator held his staff aloft and it changed-- matter shifted, writhed and swelled into the form of a mighty warmace.
[font color=teal]"You will never destroy everything, you know. Even if you become God."[/font]
With a scoff the Predator shouldered his heavy weapon and cocked his head to one side. [font color=red]"That is exactly what I shall do. I will have erased the only limit upon my potential for evil-- the wretched curse of mortality. As God all of time and all of existence will be my plaything... Chaos and Ruin will be the new Order and Civilization!"[/font]
His depthless eyes boiled with their evil purpose as he raised the mace high, then brought it down upon the crystal floor with the force of a falling meteor. Cracks raced across the ground and up the columns-- the foundation of the temple shuddered.
Then, in an instant, everything shattered.
~Sonata~
Eurania realized that she was falling-- falling amidst a dazzling blizzard of refractive shards and discordant sounds. In those moments she was entranced by the beauty of it all; her processors whirred with the overwhelming sensory information they collected, and had she not noticed the Predator's face reflected in a falling hunk it might have been the end.
Eurania pulsed with a sonic wave, repelling the crystal fragments and softening her landing upon the star-dusted mountain summit. She rolled away just in time to avoid the Predator's mace as he descended upon her.
The two combatants locked gazes-- all around them the sound of crystal shards of every shape and size tinkling upon the stone seemed to compose their own sad symphony.
[font color=teal]"What about yourself? In the end you will be the only thing left to destroy."[/font]
He smirked. [font color=red]"I relish the thought of myself alone at the end of time, contemplating my eternal war on creation. That is the only ultimate fate for reality, and it has been so since I first drew breath."[/font]
The song of the falling shards seemed so organic, yet its pattern was far too harmonious to be natural. Eurania's emerald eyes glowed-- [font color=teal]"You should end your own life, now."[/font] The suggestion rang clearly, serene, as if it were a part of the melody. [font color= teal]"If destruction is truly your purpose then you can not live-- by your own admission your very existence begets a construct of fate. You will have become fate's tool, and in the end your purpose will be lost entirely... and for the very reason you claim to live and fight for."[/font]
The Predator's expression flickered. [font color=red]"You speak absurdities. I am the Embodiment of Evil, I am a Force--"[/font]
[font color=teal]"Forces have no will-- tools have no will. You are hollow, animated and driven by something primal, allowing you no true volition."[/font]
His face became a mask of outrage and contempt. [font color=red]"What does a machine know of will?! You are nothing but a construct of your creator, doomed to function according to the parameters of a program!"[/font] The Predator gestured at her wildly with his mace. [font color=red]"You are the tool! You can never choose, you can never truly live, you can only--"[/font]
[font color=teal]"I can only create. Creation begets purpose and expansion... destruction is the ultimate expression of consumption and finality. Unless you defy Fate you will remain its puppet... until the very end of time, when Fate will abandon you. You will have nothing."[/font]
~Rondo~
The crystalline melody achieved its crescendo. The Predator let his weapon crash to the ground at his side, then dropped to his knees in horror. He saw himself reflected a million times in the countless polished surfaces which littered the summit, each face etched with the terrible realization that there is only one act by which a Force such as Evil may set itself free. He picked up a single jagged shard, one large and sharp enough to resemble a dagger; he felt his heart pump faster as the edges bit into his palm and hot blood began to flow.
[font color=red]"I am destruction... I am always and forever destruction... forever!---"[/font] The Predator plunged the sharp fragment into his chest.
The remnants of the shattered temple finally settled, but the elegy's last notes lingered in the cold, thin air for longer than they ought.
All right, one more day until Round 1 Part 1 ends. @Ultrajoe, we're just waiting for you, @Shapsters and Lost In The Void, you have until the 23rd.
Round 1 Part 2 is coming on Saturday. Stay tuned.
Round 1 Part 2 is coming on Saturday. Stay tuned.
I guess I'm gonna have to do a LOT of reading tomorrow. xD I'm not sure how good I'll be at the critique part, but I'll PM it all in one go for Round 1 Part 1 >.> if that's okay with Krunk.
Yeah, that's why I set the word limit. It would have been to hard on you guys to read and critique 18 entries; I knew it wouldn't be easy.sky14kemea said:
That's fine by me.
I've managed to do Arena's 4 & 5, I'm just waiting for Ultrajoe as well I guess. xD (I might send these before Shaps and Void's are in, since they have an extension.)Lord Krunk said:
I just wanna clear something up... Are you planning to add something in the second spoiler? :/ Or is your entry all in the first spoiler? Dx I got confused so I don't wanna read it until I know for sure.The_Logician19 said:
Sorry about the wait guys: I've just graduated and the parties (and work) following have been nothing short of taxing. Round 1 Part 2 will come tonight, I'm sorry for the wait.
I've been about ready to travel to wherever you live, Krunk, utilizing only a fortune cookie, a length of twine and the lyrics to I Will Survive so that I may punch you in the face and tell you "I am ready, my master".Lord Krunk said:
The anticipation has practically been killing me >_> If not for the hordes of the undead and pornography, I would have gone on a murdering spree. Or a candy devouring spree. One of the two.
The powerful senses that suddenly hit Ryan more than overwhelmed him, the roar of the crowd, the smell of death and the blast of bright light literally took him off his feet. Feet kicking up dirt he slowly stumbled backward and eventually completely lost his footing, as Ryan landed on his ass his head slowly lowered onto the ground. The upside-down view that he could see provided him with no more answers as to where he was, from what he could gather it was some sort of massive, blood covered dome surrounded by hoards of people cheering as loud as they possibly could. Propping himself up by his shoulders he suddenly became very worried, the memory of him being hit in the face behind the shed hit him almost as hard as whatever it was behind the shed that knocked him out. Where was he and how exactly did he get there?
Standing up, now in a panic he frantically looked around, the arena or dome or whatever he was in could best be described as ancient, it was certainly nothing made in the last century or so. Large pillars scattered throughout the arena, massively thick chains attached to rusty iron doors hiding who knows what in a dingy, dark room. To put it bluntly Ryan was terrified, the more he looked around the more confusing and blood soaked the situation became. Then suddenly he saw someone, a person who no doubt looked as out of place as Ryan felt, the way he was dressed, the way he looked in general told Ryan he could at least be of some help to him.
"Hey! Hey do you know what the fuck is going on here?" Ryan pointed his hand toward the man and began walking toward him, almost forced to yell at the top of his lungs due to the roaring crowd he yelled again, "Seriously are you as confu-"
A FIGHT TO THE DEATH! TWO COMBATANTS GO INTO THE RING AND ONLY ONE SHALL COME OUT! BEGIN THE BATTLE!
Ryan stopped walking as he was interrupted by the booming voice, his eyes widened and his mouth hung open after the voice stopped talking. The crowd, now louder than ever craved the bloodshed of one of these combatants and the cheers were almost deafening. Ryan knew now at least why he was here, the how certainly still confused him but the why more than terrified him.
"Look I don't want to fight you man!" Ryan yelled, suddenly taking note of just how dirty his supposed combatant was. The red matted hair and the once pale but now dirty beyond belief face told Ryan he was up against someone who was in a desperate situation. The man in the faded t-shirt and ripped jeans suddenly sprung into action, grabbing a baseball bat and charging toward Ryan, a wild look in his bloodshot eyes and a sick, yellow smile spread across his face. Frantically looking around for a weapon of some sort Ryan felt his backpack swing into his shoulder, having forgotten he even had the pack he ripped it off his back and shoved his hand into it. A confused look spread across his face as he gripped whatever was in there, pulling his arm out as fast as he could he was disappointed to find he was holding a baseball.
"Oh you've got to be-" Ryan threw the ball as hard as he could at his combatant, then quickly turned and ran. Hearing the thunk of the ball being hit he swore and dove his hand back into the bag, legs pounding on the sandy floor as he headed for the nearest wall. Pulling his hand out once more revealed a bag of large marbles, swearing at the fact his backpack was so poorly yet confusingly filled he continued running.
Wanting a battle to the death the crowd was disappointed to see one of the combatants running away, they began throwing things in Ryan's direction in the hopes he would trip and be pummelled to death by a baseball bat.
"Fuck!" he yelled as a large, rotten tomato hit the top of his head, losing his focus he began to stumble. Arms flailing he dropped the bag on the ground, marbles scattered on the ancient floor and the crowed viciously cheered. He abruptly kicked something buried in the sand, before he knew it he was flying through the air soon to be stopped by the arena's hard, stone wall. The crowd suddenly became deathly silent; Ryan's seemingly impending death excited them so much that they wanted to hear the cry of his death.
The other man slowly walked toward Ryan, having now thrown the bat away he held a small yet sharp knife in his hand. A look of malice spread across his face as he had full intentions of killing the boy, what did he have to lose?
"Puh-please don't kill me!" Ryan groggily pleaded, propped up against the wall he was barely holding onto consciousness, "Please, you don't need to do this you may be desperate or homeless or whatever but this isn't the way to solve your problems!"
"Don't tell me how to live my fucking life you little punk. I'm not planning on losing this battle so either die like a man or like a little girl." The man had now stopped walking and merely stared at Ryan, plotting how exactly he would kill the boy he wanted to please the crowd. His foot tapped on the ground and his eyes angrily blinked.
"Are you that desperate? Don't you have anything to live for? A family? Friends? A girlfriend? Come on you have to have something left in your life!" Ryan pleaded, hoping to hit a soft spot.
This set the man into an uncontrollable rage, the drugs and anger flowing through his blood overflowed causing him to lose whatever humanity he had left and blindly charge toward the incapacitated opponent. Knife held high he roared a battle cry, sand flying through the air and feet angrily pounding on the ground he ran toward Ryan.
Closing his eyes Ryan chose not to watch his impending death, the crowd roared in delight then suddenly gasped. A horrifyingly bone crushing crunch was heard and the stadium was deathly silent, slowly opening his eyes Ryan saw the hate filled man crushed to death in a massive bear trap. The very marbles he had cursed earlier had found their way beneath the opponent's angry feet and the piece of metal Ryan tripped on, originally thought to be the end of him, was actually a horrifyingly huge bear trap.
"Christ that was lucky..."
Standing up, now in a panic he frantically looked around, the arena or dome or whatever he was in could best be described as ancient, it was certainly nothing made in the last century or so. Large pillars scattered throughout the arena, massively thick chains attached to rusty iron doors hiding who knows what in a dingy, dark room. To put it bluntly Ryan was terrified, the more he looked around the more confusing and blood soaked the situation became. Then suddenly he saw someone, a person who no doubt looked as out of place as Ryan felt, the way he was dressed, the way he looked in general told Ryan he could at least be of some help to him.
"Hey! Hey do you know what the fuck is going on here?" Ryan pointed his hand toward the man and began walking toward him, almost forced to yell at the top of his lungs due to the roaring crowd he yelled again, "Seriously are you as confu-"
A FIGHT TO THE DEATH! TWO COMBATANTS GO INTO THE RING AND ONLY ONE SHALL COME OUT! BEGIN THE BATTLE!
Ryan stopped walking as he was interrupted by the booming voice, his eyes widened and his mouth hung open after the voice stopped talking. The crowd, now louder than ever craved the bloodshed of one of these combatants and the cheers were almost deafening. Ryan knew now at least why he was here, the how certainly still confused him but the why more than terrified him.
"Look I don't want to fight you man!" Ryan yelled, suddenly taking note of just how dirty his supposed combatant was. The red matted hair and the once pale but now dirty beyond belief face told Ryan he was up against someone who was in a desperate situation. The man in the faded t-shirt and ripped jeans suddenly sprung into action, grabbing a baseball bat and charging toward Ryan, a wild look in his bloodshot eyes and a sick, yellow smile spread across his face. Frantically looking around for a weapon of some sort Ryan felt his backpack swing into his shoulder, having forgotten he even had the pack he ripped it off his back and shoved his hand into it. A confused look spread across his face as he gripped whatever was in there, pulling his arm out as fast as he could he was disappointed to find he was holding a baseball.
"Oh you've got to be-" Ryan threw the ball as hard as he could at his combatant, then quickly turned and ran. Hearing the thunk of the ball being hit he swore and dove his hand back into the bag, legs pounding on the sandy floor as he headed for the nearest wall. Pulling his hand out once more revealed a bag of large marbles, swearing at the fact his backpack was so poorly yet confusingly filled he continued running.
Wanting a battle to the death the crowd was disappointed to see one of the combatants running away, they began throwing things in Ryan's direction in the hopes he would trip and be pummelled to death by a baseball bat.
"Fuck!" he yelled as a large, rotten tomato hit the top of his head, losing his focus he began to stumble. Arms flailing he dropped the bag on the ground, marbles scattered on the ancient floor and the crowed viciously cheered. He abruptly kicked something buried in the sand, before he knew it he was flying through the air soon to be stopped by the arena's hard, stone wall. The crowd suddenly became deathly silent; Ryan's seemingly impending death excited them so much that they wanted to hear the cry of his death.
The other man slowly walked toward Ryan, having now thrown the bat away he held a small yet sharp knife in his hand. A look of malice spread across his face as he had full intentions of killing the boy, what did he have to lose?
"Puh-please don't kill me!" Ryan groggily pleaded, propped up against the wall he was barely holding onto consciousness, "Please, you don't need to do this you may be desperate or homeless or whatever but this isn't the way to solve your problems!"
"Don't tell me how to live my fucking life you little punk. I'm not planning on losing this battle so either die like a man or like a little girl." The man had now stopped walking and merely stared at Ryan, plotting how exactly he would kill the boy he wanted to please the crowd. His foot tapped on the ground and his eyes angrily blinked.
"Are you that desperate? Don't you have anything to live for? A family? Friends? A girlfriend? Come on you have to have something left in your life!" Ryan pleaded, hoping to hit a soft spot.
This set the man into an uncontrollable rage, the drugs and anger flowing through his blood overflowed causing him to lose whatever humanity he had left and blindly charge toward the incapacitated opponent. Knife held high he roared a battle cry, sand flying through the air and feet angrily pounding on the ground he ran toward Ryan.
Closing his eyes Ryan chose not to watch his impending death, the crowd roared in delight then suddenly gasped. A horrifyingly bone crushing crunch was heard and the stadium was deathly silent, slowly opening his eyes Ryan saw the hate filled man crushed to death in a massive bear trap. The very marbles he had cursed earlier had found their way beneath the opponent's angry feet and the piece of metal Ryan tripped on, originally thought to be the end of him, was actually a horrifyingly huge bear trap.
"Christ that was lucky..."
Thar it is. Its not my best piece of writing but considering I had writers block up until today and I did it in about 2 hours I think it's not bad. Tried my best at least
Alright after a bunch of swearing, one tantrum, a baby being born [not mine] and three rewrites it is done. I'm not as pleased as I could be, but I'd say it turned out great considering the circumstances.
The light blinded Fredrick. It was not the warm embrace of the sun, but rather the cold light of overheads. As his head began to clear, he made out a dull roar, growing closer and closer to him. It was then that he realized what he was in. A Coliseum. A blood bin. Somewhere where two would enter and only one would exit. His pulse quickened his heart beginning to race. He could die here, having done nothing in his life he could die here. His paranoia was setting in quickly, his fix was gone and he was craving more. There was no time though he heard the crowd screaming for blood; his blood. Finally his eyes adjusted and he saw what lie in front of him. It was as if the Coliseum he had seen on pictures of Italian post cards had been given an upgrade and a full house. There were screaming people crowing the seat space, drinks in their hands, either cheering or booing the competitors.
That sudden realization is what drew Fredrick's attention to the kid across from him. He only looked to be about 16-17, innocent yet, just some dumb teen, and whose mind was probably on girls most of the time anyway. He snorted a bit of laughter; this was who he was up against? What a fucking joke. He called across the stadium, "What's your name boy?"
"Ryan," a timid voice responded from the other side of the stadium.
Fredrick almost laughed. The kid was shitting himself and he thought he was nervous about this fight. The crowd was like a new drug fix, the power and their words pouring through his body, guiding him into action. He took out his baseball bat, twirling it round and round. He didn't like that he had to kill this kid, but it was either the kid or himself walking out of this stadium and it wasn't gonna be the kid. The crowd looked on as the mad druggie attack the boy. His first swing was at Ryan's head, though the boy stumbled out of the way and began to dig something out of his backpack. Fredrick froze, not knowing what the boy would do. He gripped his bat and saw Ryan pull out...a can of bug spray. It was so anticlimactic and Fredrick laughed until the bug spray was sprayed into his eyes causing them to burn. He cursed stepping back only to hear the crack of a rope snapping under his weight.
He looked up and mumbled, "Shit," as the broken rope travelled through pulley after pulley finally ending at a flat piece of steel with multiple spikes on end. He ran and dived as the spikes crashed into the Coliseum floor with the roars of the crowd screaming their approval at the violence. Fredrick stood up shakily, looking for his opponent. He located the boy running across the Coliseum looking for a way out.
Fredrick ran over to him growling in anger, "Get the fuck over here boy," he grabbed the boy and forced him to the ground with a sharp rap of his bat.
Ryan was pale and stammering tried to talk his way out of his predicament speaking quickly and nervously, "Look man, I don't want to die here, hell I don't want to even be here....man I just wanted to get laid is all."
Fredrick looked at the kid, not knowing what Ryan had done previous to this match, "What?" was all he could say with an incredulous tone, "What are you talking about man?"
"Fuck man, I don't wanna fight, never wanted to, I don't know why I'm here."
Fredrick didn't want to either, but this wasn't a choice, he needed to get out of here; he wasn't done with the world yet and he wanted to see the reasons behind his selection as well, "Well I'm sorry we both can't win then kid; your time is up though and don't take it personal, you know this is only because I want to survive."
It was finally at this point that Ryan's survival instinct kicked in and he lashed out with an unexpected punch sending Fredrick off balance and allowing Ryan to scamper off once again. Fredrick became angry again and threw his bat at the kid, narrowly missing Ryan's head and clattering to the ground harmlessly. Ryan smiled and began to climb out of the ring. Fredrick didn't know what he was after, but it looked like the podium was his target. Maybe Ryan thought it was the way out or something, he didn't know, but he wasn't about to risk it either.
He felt his pockets and drew the small butterfly knife. He was still running and slowly began to unsheathe it from its intricate setup. He heard the crack behind him as a small trap sprung explosives erupted behind him shaking the ground, knocking him off his feet and he felt a sharp pain in his forearm. Ryan was almost at the top of the walls to the crowd when the explosives rocked the Coliseum and knocked him from where he climbed.
It was a harsh fall and Ryan expected to break a couple bones when it finally hit the ground. It was a shame really that the injury was so much worse when he landed on a piece of exposed steel, running him through on his stomach. He wasn't dead though; he was still even conscious, an amazing fact within itself. He was unable to move though, he couldn't feel his legs. He was trapped.
Fredrick stood up after the tremors had stopped and looked at the crying boy impaled on the steel. For a second his expression faltered to see someone in such pain. He wiped the expression of shock from his face as he realized what he needed to do. He was going to make this quick. He walked up to Ryan and put the blade of his knife to his throat. He was just about to slice across when Ryan said something that struck him deeply, "At least my parents will look for me, I doubt I could say the same of yours."
The last bit of resistance, that last comment sent Fredrick over the edge. Who the fuck did he think he was to judge Fredrick and his family, what did he know of pain, sacrifice and betrayal. Fucking ass hole right to the end by the looks of it and Fredrick made the decision right there that Ryan's death wasn't going to be quick anymore. He walked away from Ryan and picked up his baseball bat. The crowd was silent in anticipation at the incoming kill. They could feel it coming; some began to whisper amongst themselves. Fredrick slowly walked towards Ryan again, scraping his bat against the sandy floor, raising it slowly till it grazed softly against Ryan's cheek. Fredrick's attack was sudden and abrupt swinging the bat back and connecting with the side of Ryan's head. Again and again he struck feeling the warmth of the boy's blood hit his face, he felt the same satisfaction from the last time he had killed someone. The crowd roared and Fredrick looked at them a sadistic smile in his eyes and roared with them. It appeared he had found his new drug.
That sudden realization is what drew Fredrick's attention to the kid across from him. He only looked to be about 16-17, innocent yet, just some dumb teen, and whose mind was probably on girls most of the time anyway. He snorted a bit of laughter; this was who he was up against? What a fucking joke. He called across the stadium, "What's your name boy?"
"Ryan," a timid voice responded from the other side of the stadium.
Fredrick almost laughed. The kid was shitting himself and he thought he was nervous about this fight. The crowd was like a new drug fix, the power and their words pouring through his body, guiding him into action. He took out his baseball bat, twirling it round and round. He didn't like that he had to kill this kid, but it was either the kid or himself walking out of this stadium and it wasn't gonna be the kid. The crowd looked on as the mad druggie attack the boy. His first swing was at Ryan's head, though the boy stumbled out of the way and began to dig something out of his backpack. Fredrick froze, not knowing what the boy would do. He gripped his bat and saw Ryan pull out...a can of bug spray. It was so anticlimactic and Fredrick laughed until the bug spray was sprayed into his eyes causing them to burn. He cursed stepping back only to hear the crack of a rope snapping under his weight.
He looked up and mumbled, "Shit," as the broken rope travelled through pulley after pulley finally ending at a flat piece of steel with multiple spikes on end. He ran and dived as the spikes crashed into the Coliseum floor with the roars of the crowd screaming their approval at the violence. Fredrick stood up shakily, looking for his opponent. He located the boy running across the Coliseum looking for a way out.
Fredrick ran over to him growling in anger, "Get the fuck over here boy," he grabbed the boy and forced him to the ground with a sharp rap of his bat.
Ryan was pale and stammering tried to talk his way out of his predicament speaking quickly and nervously, "Look man, I don't want to die here, hell I don't want to even be here....man I just wanted to get laid is all."
Fredrick looked at the kid, not knowing what Ryan had done previous to this match, "What?" was all he could say with an incredulous tone, "What are you talking about man?"
"Fuck man, I don't wanna fight, never wanted to, I don't know why I'm here."
Fredrick didn't want to either, but this wasn't a choice, he needed to get out of here; he wasn't done with the world yet and he wanted to see the reasons behind his selection as well, "Well I'm sorry we both can't win then kid; your time is up though and don't take it personal, you know this is only because I want to survive."
It was finally at this point that Ryan's survival instinct kicked in and he lashed out with an unexpected punch sending Fredrick off balance and allowing Ryan to scamper off once again. Fredrick became angry again and threw his bat at the kid, narrowly missing Ryan's head and clattering to the ground harmlessly. Ryan smiled and began to climb out of the ring. Fredrick didn't know what he was after, but it looked like the podium was his target. Maybe Ryan thought it was the way out or something, he didn't know, but he wasn't about to risk it either.
He felt his pockets and drew the small butterfly knife. He was still running and slowly began to unsheathe it from its intricate setup. He heard the crack behind him as a small trap sprung explosives erupted behind him shaking the ground, knocking him off his feet and he felt a sharp pain in his forearm. Ryan was almost at the top of the walls to the crowd when the explosives rocked the Coliseum and knocked him from where he climbed.
It was a harsh fall and Ryan expected to break a couple bones when it finally hit the ground. It was a shame really that the injury was so much worse when he landed on a piece of exposed steel, running him through on his stomach. He wasn't dead though; he was still even conscious, an amazing fact within itself. He was unable to move though, he couldn't feel his legs. He was trapped.
Fredrick stood up after the tremors had stopped and looked at the crying boy impaled on the steel. For a second his expression faltered to see someone in such pain. He wiped the expression of shock from his face as he realized what he needed to do. He was going to make this quick. He walked up to Ryan and put the blade of his knife to his throat. He was just about to slice across when Ryan said something that struck him deeply, "At least my parents will look for me, I doubt I could say the same of yours."
The last bit of resistance, that last comment sent Fredrick over the edge. Who the fuck did he think he was to judge Fredrick and his family, what did he know of pain, sacrifice and betrayal. Fucking ass hole right to the end by the looks of it and Fredrick made the decision right there that Ryan's death wasn't going to be quick anymore. He walked away from Ryan and picked up his baseball bat. The crowd was silent in anticipation at the incoming kill. They could feel it coming; some began to whisper amongst themselves. Fredrick slowly walked towards Ryan again, scraping his bat against the sandy floor, raising it slowly till it grazed softly against Ryan's cheek. Fredrick's attack was sudden and abrupt swinging the bat back and connecting with the side of Ryan's head. Again and again he struck feeling the warmth of the boy's blood hit his face, he felt the same satisfaction from the last time he had killed someone. The crowd roared and Fredrick looked at them a sadistic smile in his eyes and roared with them. It appeared he had found his new drug.
Round 1 Part 1 is now over: Judges, get crackalackin'. I've received several verdict PMs already so I might be able to give out some verdicts right now: Guys, thank you for your promptness when I've been far from it. Stay tuned.
Ultrajoe appears to have dropped off the face of the earth so sadly I'm going to have to declare his forfeit.
@NewClassic, I have a proposition for you. Would you like to play against my first reserve, Doc Gniosis? He can write a round against you and you can still put forward your round against Ultrajoe, but I think a second crack might be better. What are your thoughts?
His character sheet is here [http://www.escapistmagazine.com/forums/jump/362.228220.8226670] if you wish to accept the challenge.
Doc, you're up.
Also, I'm happy to announce the second reserve for RW5: None other than Khedive Rex:
And of course, Round 1 Part 2.
Two minds, owned by two vastly different competitors for the role of God collide in a literal battle of wits. In your mind you are as powerful as you desire. You can do, create and distort whatever you like. But so can your opponent. Smarts and speed are the key to this match; outwit and outmatch your opponent before they can do the same to you.
It?s a simple circular arena with a catch: lava plumes burst out of the ground unpredictably and with earth-shattering force. Speed is key in this arena: take care of your rival Champion and dodge the fountains of molten fire.
Everything wants you dead. Insect swarms, carnivorous plants and vicious beasts populate this planet, and that?s not taking into account the Champion you have to defeat. Tread lightly, avoid the many dangers this alien jungle, and you might just get to face them.
A massive hollow sphere encircles two Champions. Gravity, however, is absent for this match so be sure to aim accurately. Once you start moving you cannot stop, so decisiveness is key in this match.
A circular hub is orbited by a series of arched platforms. Both are surrounded by a void that threatens to swallow bot Champions up if they fall off the moving platforms. The platforms move clockwise, anticlockwise, back and forth, erratically and unpredictably. Keep a steady footing and get from the outside of the moving platforms into the stationary centre. Just be careful that your opponent will be doing everything to stop you in your attempts, and vice versa.
You have until October the 8th. See you then.
Ultrajoe appears to have dropped off the face of the earth so sadly I'm going to have to declare his forfeit.
@NewClassic, I have a proposition for you. Would you like to play against my first reserve, Doc Gniosis? He can write a round against you and you can still put forward your round against Ultrajoe, but I think a second crack might be better. What are your thoughts?
His character sheet is here [http://www.escapistmagazine.com/forums/jump/362.228220.8226670] if you wish to accept the challenge.
Doc, you're up.
Also, I'm happy to announce the second reserve for RW5: None other than Khedive Rex:
Name: Baramiah
Nickname: None
Age: 43
Appearance: Baramiah is ostensibly human. But if so he is both abnormally tall, abnormally wide and of abnormally stout build. His arms are longer than normal human being?s, via ratio with the rest of his body. They are also thicker and intensely muscled. His lower body on the other hand, while proportionally wide, is slightly shorter in ratio than the standard human body and is not as thoroughly muscled.
His pupils are overly large which gives people the impression he has black eyes. The shape of his skull, in concordance with the rest of his body, is just a little bit off ? larger than a human?s and slightly longer. He has a medium tan and brownish red hair growing around his face to about shoulder length, unkempt. He has an abnormally round jaw line.
He is typically seen lying down, either on his back, front or side but always fully splayed against whatever he is lying on. He moves only rarely and when he does it is by brachiating (climbing and swinging between hand grips). He can walk using his legs and some support from his arms, but he is slower and more cumbersome like this and will only move in this manner if it is his only option. When he moves it is in a straight line between point A and point B and it is efficiently fast.
(if you?re having trouble visualizing, picture an orangutan that could pass for an abnormally large, abnormally muscular human being. Longer arms, shorter legs, wider trunk, same basic method of movement.)
Clothing: None.
Weapons: He carries nothing with him. Minions (refer to second sheet)
Powers: The longer he is in physical contact with a person the sharper and more intense their senses will become.
Strengths: He is very physically powerful, has great endurance and does not fear pain (because he finds it physically enthralling)
Weaknesses: He has no concept of danger, He is not strategic, He can barely move unless there are objects in his environment to grab onto, He trusts everyone and everything, He is single-minded and incapable of juggling multiple issues, He wears no armor or defenses of any description, He carries no weapons of any description on his person.
Personality: Baramiah is something of a modern day druidic creeper. He finds himself in an environment and he stays in one place enjoying the softness of the grass or the roughness of the concrete or the sound of bugs. He?s keenly aware of everything that goes on in his immediate area because his senses are hyperactive, he perceives everything far more powerfully than he should and can perceive even minute stimuli. It?s been this way his entire life and he?s abandoned the idea of negative stimuli. Feeling anything is a positive experience for him and something he will lose himself in, whether that is the smell of flowers or the feeling of being stabbed makes little difference.
He really only thinks of himself and the next sensation he?s going to experience. He has a group of people serving him, but he doesn?t consider that they (or in fact anyone) are independent creatures with wants, needs, and lives that run independent of him. For him, people are more bundles of warmth and pulse and scent then they are distinct personalities. In this way, he is very selfish and self-centered.
His main desire is to lose himself in sensation. Wherever he is, he will stop and try to feel everything around him more deeply until, in a sense, he is one with everything in his environment. He has infinite patience and will never get bored of any one sensation. That being said, he is a notably curious fellow and will seek out stimuli that are stronger, stranger or otherwise more enticing once he becomes aware of them. But he will not move or act until he knows exactly how he intends to move or act. In this way he is very methodical, or possibly just lazy.
Because Baramiah enjoys all sensation, he has no comprehension of danger and no self-preservation instinct. If he were set on fire, he?d let it burn for as long as it took to understand, appreciate and catalogue the way it felt.
He speaks concisely and irregularly but is almost perpetually emitting soft moans and sighs, offset by occasional grunts or giggles. He loves music and dance and will occasionally demand it of his followers. His lifestyle is best described as a stationary mix of bohemian and druidic. Think, if Jabba the Hut was a naturalist sage.
Fears: Void, emptiness, the absence of sensation.
Vice: Equal parts Lust and Sloth
Bio: Born to a mother and a father forty-three years ago. In his early childhood he found he appreciated the subtle nuance of sensation more than the other boys and girls- music moved him more, the taste of food was more powerful. When he hit puberty this affiliation grew much stronger and was an almost paralyzing force in his life. He found he couldn?t accomplish things at the same rate other people did, because all he wanted to do was lay down and enjoy the bouquet of scents drifting on the air that no one else seemed able to smell. One night he followed the moon away from his home town.
+++++++
Name: Minion (alternately, the actual name of the minion)
Nickname: None.
Age: All ages.
Appearance: They are typically female but the occasional male is entrapped. They come from all walks of life and look a wide variety of ways.
Clothing: None.
Weapons: typically guns.
.
Powers: None.
Strengths: There?s always strength in numbers but that?s about it. Highly sensitive with acute smelling, hearing, eyesight, taste and touch.
Weaknesses: Not physically stronger, faster or smarter than an average human being. Accuracy with their weapons is low, as they?ve received no formal training. They maintain highly bohemian life styles and can be distracted by abnormal stimuli (a bonfire of some peculiar smoke or something).
Personality: They behave in a similar fashion to a cult, protecting their leader (Baramiah), and working to advance his assumed goals. They are also, of course, always interested in growing their ranks. Apart from that, they are highly bohemian and experiential.
Fears: Void, emptiness, the absence of sensation, the death of Baramiah.
Vices: None applicable.
Bio: They are people whose senses have been heightened too much or for too long by Baramiah. They now see the world much the same way Baramiah himself does, which is to say they are keenly and perpetually aware of every piece of stimuli present in their environment. Some of the elder minions can even feel the rotation of the earth.
They perform deeds for Baramiah, anything from providing him with cocaine or steroids to trying to kill or capture his opponents.
Nickname: None
Age: 43
Appearance: Baramiah is ostensibly human. But if so he is both abnormally tall, abnormally wide and of abnormally stout build. His arms are longer than normal human being?s, via ratio with the rest of his body. They are also thicker and intensely muscled. His lower body on the other hand, while proportionally wide, is slightly shorter in ratio than the standard human body and is not as thoroughly muscled.
His pupils are overly large which gives people the impression he has black eyes. The shape of his skull, in concordance with the rest of his body, is just a little bit off ? larger than a human?s and slightly longer. He has a medium tan and brownish red hair growing around his face to about shoulder length, unkempt. He has an abnormally round jaw line.
He is typically seen lying down, either on his back, front or side but always fully splayed against whatever he is lying on. He moves only rarely and when he does it is by brachiating (climbing and swinging between hand grips). He can walk using his legs and some support from his arms, but he is slower and more cumbersome like this and will only move in this manner if it is his only option. When he moves it is in a straight line between point A and point B and it is efficiently fast.
(if you?re having trouble visualizing, picture an orangutan that could pass for an abnormally large, abnormally muscular human being. Longer arms, shorter legs, wider trunk, same basic method of movement.)
Clothing: None.
Weapons: He carries nothing with him. Minions (refer to second sheet)
Powers: The longer he is in physical contact with a person the sharper and more intense their senses will become.
Strengths: He is very physically powerful, has great endurance and does not fear pain (because he finds it physically enthralling)
Weaknesses: He has no concept of danger, He is not strategic, He can barely move unless there are objects in his environment to grab onto, He trusts everyone and everything, He is single-minded and incapable of juggling multiple issues, He wears no armor or defenses of any description, He carries no weapons of any description on his person.
Personality: Baramiah is something of a modern day druidic creeper. He finds himself in an environment and he stays in one place enjoying the softness of the grass or the roughness of the concrete or the sound of bugs. He?s keenly aware of everything that goes on in his immediate area because his senses are hyperactive, he perceives everything far more powerfully than he should and can perceive even minute stimuli. It?s been this way his entire life and he?s abandoned the idea of negative stimuli. Feeling anything is a positive experience for him and something he will lose himself in, whether that is the smell of flowers or the feeling of being stabbed makes little difference.
He really only thinks of himself and the next sensation he?s going to experience. He has a group of people serving him, but he doesn?t consider that they (or in fact anyone) are independent creatures with wants, needs, and lives that run independent of him. For him, people are more bundles of warmth and pulse and scent then they are distinct personalities. In this way, he is very selfish and self-centered.
His main desire is to lose himself in sensation. Wherever he is, he will stop and try to feel everything around him more deeply until, in a sense, he is one with everything in his environment. He has infinite patience and will never get bored of any one sensation. That being said, he is a notably curious fellow and will seek out stimuli that are stronger, stranger or otherwise more enticing once he becomes aware of them. But he will not move or act until he knows exactly how he intends to move or act. In this way he is very methodical, or possibly just lazy.
Because Baramiah enjoys all sensation, he has no comprehension of danger and no self-preservation instinct. If he were set on fire, he?d let it burn for as long as it took to understand, appreciate and catalogue the way it felt.
He speaks concisely and irregularly but is almost perpetually emitting soft moans and sighs, offset by occasional grunts or giggles. He loves music and dance and will occasionally demand it of his followers. His lifestyle is best described as a stationary mix of bohemian and druidic. Think, if Jabba the Hut was a naturalist sage.
Fears: Void, emptiness, the absence of sensation.
Vice: Equal parts Lust and Sloth
Bio: Born to a mother and a father forty-three years ago. In his early childhood he found he appreciated the subtle nuance of sensation more than the other boys and girls- music moved him more, the taste of food was more powerful. When he hit puberty this affiliation grew much stronger and was an almost paralyzing force in his life. He found he couldn?t accomplish things at the same rate other people did, because all he wanted to do was lay down and enjoy the bouquet of scents drifting on the air that no one else seemed able to smell. One night he followed the moon away from his home town.
+++++++
Name: Minion (alternately, the actual name of the minion)
Nickname: None.
Age: All ages.
Appearance: They are typically female but the occasional male is entrapped. They come from all walks of life and look a wide variety of ways.
Clothing: None.
Weapons: typically guns.
.
Powers: None.
Strengths: There?s always strength in numbers but that?s about it. Highly sensitive with acute smelling, hearing, eyesight, taste and touch.
Weaknesses: Not physically stronger, faster or smarter than an average human being. Accuracy with their weapons is low, as they?ve received no formal training. They maintain highly bohemian life styles and can be distracted by abnormal stimuli (a bonfire of some peculiar smoke or something).
Personality: They behave in a similar fashion to a cult, protecting their leader (Baramiah), and working to advance his assumed goals. They are also, of course, always interested in growing their ranks. Apart from that, they are highly bohemian and experiential.
Fears: Void, emptiness, the absence of sensation, the death of Baramiah.
Vices: None applicable.
Bio: They are people whose senses have been heightened too much or for too long by Baramiah. They now see the world much the same way Baramiah himself does, which is to say they are keenly and perpetually aware of every piece of stimuli present in their environment. Some of the elder minions can even feel the rotation of the earth.
They perform deeds for Baramiah, anything from providing him with cocaine or steroids to trying to kill or capture his opponents.
?Scratch me behind my ears.?
Air smelled of butter and tiny pinpoints of heat danced through breezes that moved north-northwest and must have come from mountains far away because they were cold but soft and left plush coats of dew clinging to Baramiah?s naked flesh. He could feel unimaginably thin sprays of water cascading over his back and neck every time the wind tumbled over his recumbent form. And he felt the dew pool and stream, so very humbly, when the wind turned shyly; tiny cold fingertips exploring the ridges and pores of his muscular back reminding him that his passion for the natural world was shared, helplessly, by the world he loved.
Baramiah delicately turned a bite of moistened earth he held in his mouth and cherished deep iron sonatas and spirited bitter roots that strung textural symphonies in the soil. An orb of orange warmth glowed just above the horizon and all it?s color melted into the prickly blades of grass which were now so green from dustings of dew and a deluge of pumpkin colored light. The green, green spires trembled ever so sweetly in crests of tactile delight as marvelous quakes of energy shuddered into and around Baramiah. Footsteps, soft and anxious, beat into the ground and Baramiah heard them breathing swift and deep.
Warm fingertips from six or more foreign hands frolicked wildly across sensitive cartilage around his ears, and on innocent joints in his neck, and past the stiff resolution of his jaw, scratching and feeling and rending, some slow, some mean. Hot tacky syrup caressed him as it dove down his neck, tickling and teasing the entire length, and dimness visited a reclusive quarter of his conscience as the perpetual weight of his body seemed to diminish. One of them was tearing. Nerves shouted bright sharp things at the ridges of his shoulders and exotic hands crawled through deep sensitive places in Baramiah?s flesh, releasing blood and endorphins and bright sharp feelings that quickened Baramiah?s quivering heart.
With long powerful arms he reached for the daring source, turning himself onto his bleeding back and moaning with relief at the grasses prickly embrace. He seized her leg, blood pumping rhythmic harmonies that caused her form to grow and shrink in minute variations. She gasped as he lifted her above him and squealed frustration that his bare chest was outside the reach of her seeking nails. Her long raven hair captured and waltzed with the burnt orange luminescence and her silhouette modestly hid adorable curves. He lowered the soft rhythmic creature to his chest and held her there. Both arms wrapped desperately around her manic form. He squeezed her stomach against his and she dug her talons deep into his chest. Blood tickled and teased its way between them making her bare skin slippery and fast against his. She clawed again and Baramiah laid his head against the grass with a contented moan. He shifted the position of the soil in his mouth and once again basked in the subtly of minerals as the seeped into him.
The girl pulsed and beat. The sun warmed and colored. The air dusted with brisk particles. The blood slipped and stuck. Her skin on his tickled and electrified. Metal flavors rang and rumbled. Her fingers burned and excited. And the world smelled of butter.
?Cocaine.? Baramiah announced.
One of his followers dashed away, pounding across the earth like stones skipped through placid water. And when she returned he could smell the caustic dryness. She held it to his nostrils while fingers ripped his chest and he inhaled with a mighty wind. He could smell the girl now. She was almonds and sulpher.
Lightness and quickness, it all returned and his heart rumbled like an engine. He sighed deeply and contentedly. And the tintinnabulations of the girl with cocaine trickled across his ear.
?A man came by today. He wore a suit that was blue, so blue. Many shades of blue. He said there was a place we would be welcome where we could see and taste extraordinary things. And he smelled like sweat. We six caught him. What do you want done with him??
Baramiah contently exhaled ?We will leave soon with him.?
Eight days later, Baramiah felt six pairs of hands separate him from the grass. He was in the air, delicately balanced upon the soft sturdy hands of his followers. They swayed slowly into the distance. All of them sighing with content.
Air smelled of butter and tiny pinpoints of heat danced through breezes that moved north-northwest and must have come from mountains far away because they were cold but soft and left plush coats of dew clinging to Baramiah?s naked flesh. He could feel unimaginably thin sprays of water cascading over his back and neck every time the wind tumbled over his recumbent form. And he felt the dew pool and stream, so very humbly, when the wind turned shyly; tiny cold fingertips exploring the ridges and pores of his muscular back reminding him that his passion for the natural world was shared, helplessly, by the world he loved.
Baramiah delicately turned a bite of moistened earth he held in his mouth and cherished deep iron sonatas and spirited bitter roots that strung textural symphonies in the soil. An orb of orange warmth glowed just above the horizon and all it?s color melted into the prickly blades of grass which were now so green from dustings of dew and a deluge of pumpkin colored light. The green, green spires trembled ever so sweetly in crests of tactile delight as marvelous quakes of energy shuddered into and around Baramiah. Footsteps, soft and anxious, beat into the ground and Baramiah heard them breathing swift and deep.
Warm fingertips from six or more foreign hands frolicked wildly across sensitive cartilage around his ears, and on innocent joints in his neck, and past the stiff resolution of his jaw, scratching and feeling and rending, some slow, some mean. Hot tacky syrup caressed him as it dove down his neck, tickling and teasing the entire length, and dimness visited a reclusive quarter of his conscience as the perpetual weight of his body seemed to diminish. One of them was tearing. Nerves shouted bright sharp things at the ridges of his shoulders and exotic hands crawled through deep sensitive places in Baramiah?s flesh, releasing blood and endorphins and bright sharp feelings that quickened Baramiah?s quivering heart.
With long powerful arms he reached for the daring source, turning himself onto his bleeding back and moaning with relief at the grasses prickly embrace. He seized her leg, blood pumping rhythmic harmonies that caused her form to grow and shrink in minute variations. She gasped as he lifted her above him and squealed frustration that his bare chest was outside the reach of her seeking nails. Her long raven hair captured and waltzed with the burnt orange luminescence and her silhouette modestly hid adorable curves. He lowered the soft rhythmic creature to his chest and held her there. Both arms wrapped desperately around her manic form. He squeezed her stomach against his and she dug her talons deep into his chest. Blood tickled and teased its way between them making her bare skin slippery and fast against his. She clawed again and Baramiah laid his head against the grass with a contented moan. He shifted the position of the soil in his mouth and once again basked in the subtly of minerals as the seeped into him.
The girl pulsed and beat. The sun warmed and colored. The air dusted with brisk particles. The blood slipped and stuck. Her skin on his tickled and electrified. Metal flavors rang and rumbled. Her fingers burned and excited. And the world smelled of butter.
?Cocaine.? Baramiah announced.
One of his followers dashed away, pounding across the earth like stones skipped through placid water. And when she returned he could smell the caustic dryness. She held it to his nostrils while fingers ripped his chest and he inhaled with a mighty wind. He could smell the girl now. She was almonds and sulpher.
Lightness and quickness, it all returned and his heart rumbled like an engine. He sighed deeply and contentedly. And the tintinnabulations of the girl with cocaine trickled across his ear.
?A man came by today. He wore a suit that was blue, so blue. Many shades of blue. He said there was a place we would be welcome where we could see and taste extraordinary things. And he smelled like sweat. We six caught him. What do you want done with him??
Baramiah contently exhaled ?We will leave soon with him.?
Eight days later, Baramiah felt six pairs of hands separate him from the grass. He was in the air, delicately balanced upon the soft sturdy hands of his followers. They swayed slowly into the distance. All of them sighing with content.
And of course, Round 1 Part 2.
[HEADING=2]ARENA 3: Gray Eminence (Doc Gnosis) v By Default (NewClassic)
Astral Plane[/HEADING]
Astral Plane[/HEADING]
Two minds, owned by two vastly different competitors for the role of God collide in a literal battle of wits. In your mind you are as powerful as you desire. You can do, create and distort whatever you like. But so can your opponent. Smarts and speed are the key to this match; outwit and outmatch your opponent before they can do the same to you.
[HEADING=2]ARENA 6: Carl Grob (pigeon_of_doom) v Leviathan (Jarsteen)
Pit of Fire[/HEADING]
Pit of Fire[/HEADING]
It?s a simple circular arena with a catch: lava plumes burst out of the ground unpredictably and with earth-shattering force. Speed is key in this arena: take care of your rival Champion and dodge the fountains of molten fire.
[HEADING=2]ARENA 7: That Which Bleeds (RagnorakTres) v The Drifter (Zombie_Fish)
Jungle[/HEADING]
Jungle[/HEADING]
Everything wants you dead. Insect swarms, carnivorous plants and vicious beasts populate this planet, and that?s not taking into account the Champion you have to defeat. Tread lightly, avoid the many dangers this alien jungle, and you might just get to face them.
[HEADING=2]ARENA 8: Chance Connie (Fraught) v Dan Freeman (venom 3135)
Inertia[/HEADING]
Inertia[/HEADING]
A massive hollow sphere encircles two Champions. Gravity, however, is absent for this match so be sure to aim accurately. Once you start moving you cannot stop, so decisiveness is key in this match.
[HEADING=2]ARENA 9: Kliss (Zemelac) v Beuxhart (Soothsayer)
Platforms[/HEADING]
Platforms[/HEADING]
A circular hub is orbited by a series of arched platforms. Both are surrounded by a void that threatens to swallow bot Champions up if they fall off the moving platforms. The platforms move clockwise, anticlockwise, back and forth, erratically and unpredictably. Keep a steady footing and get from the outside of the moving platforms into the stationary centre. Just be careful that your opponent will be doing everything to stop you in your attempts, and vice versa.
You have until October the 8th. See you then.
Damn, I was really proud of my entry with Ultrajoe, but it's definitely not the same animal (so to speak) against the good Doc Gnosis. I'll compete, and I'll be re-writing. Expect a new pen-up from me by the deadline. Depending on how my scheduling works out.Lord Krunk said:
Also, another good writer seems to be my opposite corner. I think Krunk just likes to see me squirm.
Yes. It's a lot more dificult as my character uses gravity and there is no gravity in the arena.Fraught said:
But, we will see.
