quote:

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Ja'Deth Issar Ka'bael obviously shouldn't have said:
FINISH THE STORY!

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I WILL STAB YOU IN THE FACE WITH LASERS!!!

I just got home from work leave me alone

As for the booing, that would be for the other fighter, a creature loathed throughout the majority of the Empire. A mongrel... a semi-sentient beastman that resembled a cross between a man and monkey. For armor he wore a makeshift breastplate of bones linked together over the tattered rags of clothing. As for what types of bones they were was anyone's guess. For a weapon he favored a bone as well, a femur from some large animal.. likely a horse or ox, which he wielded like a club. His upper lip curled into a snarl as he saw his opponent.

After the formalities of introduction and a little pre-fight hype, the match began. As the Author is lazy, you may envision the hype however you wish. MorbId twirled his sword about in a circle as he stepped forward, while Willias pressed the tip his club into the ground, covering it with bloodied sand. The beastman uttered some words in his own language, likely taunting the human. MorbId responded in kind. "I do hope you enjoy the taste of steel scum"

MorbId lunged and slashed, but Willias was quick, and ducked the blow. He retaliated by swinging his club at the human's belly, but it did little more than leave a smudge on his armor. MorbId wasn't amused by this, and slashed downward, cutting a shallow wound in Willias' arm as he dodged to the side. The crowd cheered loudly at first blood.

"Plenty more where that came from." MorbId taunted as he twirled his sword once more, flinging some of the mongrel's blood back at him. Willias merely narrowed his eyes and pointed his bone at his opponent, holding it at eye level as he responded in his own language. MorbId laughed, and the crowd laughed with him at the pathetic beast's attempts to be a real fighter.

But MorbId's laughter soon stopped as he heard and gelt something. A rumbling in his stomach like he had not eaten in weeks. He stepped forward, advancing on his opponent as though trying to ignore it, but lost his footing and fell to a knee. Willias merely stood back and chuckled as his foe clutched his stomach in pain, and the crowd gasped in horror.

"AARRGGHH!!! THE GODS THEMSELVES ATTACK MY BOWELS!!" MorbId screamed as the mongrel's magic began to take hold. Such was the beastman's disdain for his opponent that he began walking to the exit. For this fight was as good as done.

So as not to offend my readers, I shall spare you the grisly details. I shall not describe the searing pain the young legionnaire felt as his innards were turned to liquid. Nor will I tell you about his screams of pain as he began crying blood. I shall also spare you from having to read about the stench, or the sight of MorbId sweating out his liquified organs through every pore of his body, and how he writhed in his own blood as his body turned into a mere husk, until finally what was left was so shrivelled and empty that it was crushed under the weight of his own armor.

And despite the greusomeness of it all, the crowd watched, as they always do. For this would be a grand spectacle of the games' brutality, something to be talked about in artisan's shops for months to come, at least until the next fight of note.

Another excellent installment.

Team 2

DoR the Wolf ----- Lost.
Willias the Mongrel Shaman ----Won.
Xyrra the Amazon
Zair the Undead Legionnaire ----- Won.
Janus the Barbarian ---- Lost.
Drysart the Berserker ---- Next.
Puggy the Satyr
Lazzay the Dervish ---- Won.
Moogle the Yeti ----- Lost.
Alt-F4 the Cyclops ------ Lost.
Azrael the other Centurion
Vorbis the Bear

Place your bets!

quote:

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This one time, at Alt-F4 camp:
The next fighters would be an Ogre vs a Satyr correct?

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Nope, summoner vs. berserker.

quote:

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Alt-F4 had this to say about Reading Rainbow:
The next fighters would be an Ogre vs a Satyr correct?

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Berserker and Summoner.

quote:

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Sakkra's unholy Backstreet Boys obsession manifested in:
Nope, summoner vs. berserker.

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ahh, sorry, didn't see the *next* after the names.

[ 12-01-2003: Message edited by: Puggy ]

quote:

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Alt-F4 had this to say about Duck Tales:
The next fighters would be an Ogre vs a Satyr correct?

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No, it's Trang-Ouls vs turn your Necromancer into a Vampire

quote:

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Gunslinger Moogle obviously shouldn't have said:
No, it's Trang-Ouls vs turn your Necromancer into a Vampire

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Hey dude, did you hear Hulk is going to be in Soul Calibur 2 for XBox?

This is good stuff, now post the next fight.

*runs out of thread shifty eyed*

quote:

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The logic train ran off the tracks when Zair said:
hay guys, whats going on in this arena

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Nothing until i get over the flu

[ 12-24-2003: Message edited by: Mooj ]

The first fighter was quickly recognized as a berserker. He carried a large club, roughly hewn from dark stone. Upon it's surface were etched two runes "B" and "&", though it was unlikely any Imperial knew what they meant. His skin was either tattooed or dyed from head to toe in a dark blue ink, with even darker lines running in strange patterns. His eyes held a glint of madness in them, and there were bloodstains upon the corners of his mouth. He clutched his club and grinned wickedly as he saw his opponent.

His foe was obviously from the Southern Deserts, as evidenced by the style of his robes, and the large scarab pendant hanging from his neck. Strangely, the man's eyes held no color, only an eerie white, though not like a blind man's. He carried only a simple walking stick into the arena, giving the hint his battle prowess was likely magical. With a sneer, he raised his stick in front of him, just as Sakkra announced the fighters.

The berserker he identified simply as "Sart", for if anyone were to know the man's true identity it'd likely raise a lot of questions, none of which would be good for business. As for the other man, Sakkra announced him as Jargum, a summoner from the great halls of Ibilis. Though what the man summoned, he didn't say.

Though the crowd wouldn't have to wait long to find out, as Jargum began chanting. Drysart, not wanting to give his foe any opening to defend himself, rushed but was sent sprawling backwards by the magical backlash from the spell. After a brief pause and a chill wind, the spell began to take effect, and the ground at the center of the arena rumbled slightly.

(Part two after dinner, as I have a short attention sp- Hey do you wanna go for a bike ride?)

"GOEAD moarneaing siR!!13!# Woodul YUO CAeriE foaera WHOEFAEL!???hmMM??"

Jargum simply blinked in a mixture of abject confusion and horror at the skeleton. After a moment, he regained his composure though, and motioned to the berserker. "KILL HIM!" He bellowed, and the stick-man narrowed his gaze at his master's enemy.

"Shahiell I YUESE TEE seakarite ART OEF VEOOODU ADNE TOOE STIECKS!?"

"Err... what? Are you some sort of demon?" Jargum asked, thinking Kagrama's words to be some sort of sick riddle.

"VERAEY wel thien maester SEYMOURE/ IE will falla PUOEN MIEY enaimees leik a HOBOE or mayebee an OBOE on ae HAEM SANDUWIECSH!!FOER my beoluv vead I CHEA-"

But Kagrama's battlecry was quickly interrupted by a sickening splortch and blood splattering on his face. For while Kagrama was preparing his assult, Jargum was left defenseless. A costly mistake too, as the berserker had splatted the summoner's skull with one swing, like a hammer against an overripe melon. Yet Drysart did not stop his assult, pounding the remaining bits of skull and the parts of Jargum's neck and jaw that were still attached to his body, pounding the leaky meat into the soft earth.

He then looked to Kagrama. Drysart looked like a feral beast, crouched over Jargum's corpse.. foaming at the mouth, his skin dotted with spattering blood, and he growled at the undead. Kagrama responded in kind, his eyes narrowing, and his smile turning to an angry line, while two diagonal lines appeared above his eyes, likely to denote anger or resolve.

"WOEUDL yuo liyeke TEO JOEEN mae for a PIEE??!!?//*#"
"Sure duder"

And with that the two left the arena, leaving the twitching, headless corpse behind them. And the pie was pumpkin, and it was good.

(My apologies to Kagrama, whom is far too cool for me to imitate)

Go Xyrra! Rip Fal apart! ^.^

Wuff j00 too Fal!

The second fighter was recognized by only a few, notably those who had served in the Imperial Legion in the campaign against the savages of the Windward Steppes. A fierce amazon, capable of loosing more arrows in a minute than a squad of Imperial archers, stood in the ring, her bow at the ready. Her already dark skin had been either painted or dyed with indigo root, adding to the intimidating visage.

Sakkra wasted no time introducing the fighters, as the crowd seemed ready for blood. The channeler Fal made the first move, though not offensively, as he conjured a small shield of rock to form on his wrist. A good thing too, as it was quickly shattered by a steel-tipped arrow from Xyrra. Both fighters were unarmored, so whoever struck first was likely to win. Fal thrust his arm forward, bringing a bolt of magical lightning to bear on his opponent. Yet the amazon was too quick, and managed to dive to the side moments before she would've been fricaseed.

Xyrra responded with an attack of her own, firing two arrows in rapid succession after recovering from her dive. But Fal seemed to expect this, and a powerful wind billowed in front of him, sending the arrows off course, yet the force from the shots allowed the arrows to imbed themselves in the arena walls up to the flechings. Both fighters narrowed their eyes at one another in frustration.

Fal decided it was time for something a little more powerful, and began to chant quickly. Fire began to swirl and form into a small ball between his palms, and Xyrra's eyes widened slightly. Yet she wasn't caught off guard for long, and loosed another arrow. Unfortunately, the arrow was quickly incinerated by an oncoming fireball.

Xyrra didn't have any time to dodge as the flame hit her, and exploded with concussive force... sending her flying against a nearby pillar. Blood flowed like a river from her head, and her flesh smoldered and smelt quite burnt. There was little doubt from any in the audience that she was dead.

But Fal did not celebrate, for he had fallen onto his back, eyes wide. A burnt piece of flesh on his throat could be seen, only slightly larger than Xyrra's arrowheads. For while the flame was enough to destroy the shaft and fletchings of the arrow, it wasn't enough to deflect the head, only to melt the steel. If one were to see it in slow motion, they could see the molten projectile hit the priest's throat, going through his neck and out the other side, only to be cauterized by the heat of the steel, fusing his neck and veins together in a useless lump. If the shock of the blow didn't kill him, the combination of suffocation and loss of blood flow certainly did.

The crowd cheered, and the arena workers took the corpses from the field. Sakkra grinned widely, knowing his bettors would take in a fine haul from the victorless fight. A brief intermission was called to allow the smell of burnt flesh to dissapate.

(My apologies for not having a winner, but all 5 times I rolled to see who won, it came up a tie.)