Tournament Waiting Room
"You...wanna talk about it?"
The scar makes things serious. It makes Kirlia thin of the possibility that maybe her foster parents are beating her.
And that's not okay.
So...she's hoping she could possibly help.
A peculiar old man in a red military jacket comes along hopping from heel to heel. He's peculiar because he has a large hare feet sticking out of the legs of his breeches, a pair of large buck teeth under a fuzzy old grey mustache, and long hares ears coming out of the top of his head. at his belt is a fencing foil and under his arm is a fencers mask with appropriate holes for his ears.
He's followed by a younger, stocky woman who's also peculiar, but in that her bushy hair covers her eyes and her hands and feet are large mole claws.
The hare man signs up while talking jovially to the mole woman. "I'll expect a strong cheering section, Maggie dear."
"Aye, aye, Thel. You'm can count on oi." she says dismissively.
"I'm serious now. After the first few rounds they'll all be cheering my name, but before that you're all I've got," he says, tapping her nose with a gloved finger.
"Oh go on, yee gurt baggurt."
"See you in the stands dear," he says as they go their separate ways.
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"You can still be changed indirectly if you start accepting gifts, never do that." She reminds him with a shake of her head.
Speaking about journeying, it seems like they are at the foot of the mountain already, just like last time they seem to have traveled there supernaturally fast. Like someone hit the fast forward button on the remote.
The next to arrive is a young woman, with a pair of swords carried in crossed sheathes on her back. She has long, flowing white hair with faint brown highlights, sparkling blue eyes, and is wearing a rather tight set of leather armor.
It does little to nothing to hide her ample curves, as it happens.
Distinctly ample, in fact.
"I'm here to, ah, sign up for the tournament," she says politely.
"I suppose he's the comic relief, here to be plucked," the woman says as she gives Stu a wide berth, settling down into a seat across the room from the Jokerpsycho rose.
"I guess we could fly, but only if I can ride on your back." The dryad replies with a smile. "Maybe I should get a saddle..." She takes off her hat which instantly turns into a high-crowned, wide-brimmed hat which people RL usually associate with cowboys.
Harnel rolls his eyes, and kneels down for the dryad to climb onto his back. It seems he's not in a mood to argue with it, even if he finds this rather silly. If she climbs on, he'll begin flying towards the peak.
[Waiting Room]
Stu will have been told that he's not allowed to use the flamethrower in actual combat lest he be disqualified.
Also, along the walls are television sets, though they're off at the moment. They're likely here so that people waiting for their match can keep an eye on the fights that are currently going on.
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[Harnel's School and Tournament Grounds/Waiting Room]
Spec's Physical Description:
Spoiler
Her glossy, lustrous, luxuriant naturally ultramarine blue hair is swept back in a silky-smooth, bouncy ponytail that floats about the base of of her neck, shifting left and right aerodynamically with her foxy, charismatic face. Her eyes are tinted emerald and shimmer with a coy, cogent glint. Her lips are lush and of a subdued fuchsia tone. Mounted atop her head are cute little (modified and enhanced) bat ears that are furry on the back (in addition to the usual human features) that are more often than not tucked away and obscured under a thick layer of her hair, seamlessly camouflaged and blended with it. Some of her teeth have grown fanged, honed down to a fine point and quite possibly hooked into a venom gland, though these are retractable canines interspersed among her mouth in strategic positions, so they won't hinder typical (or atypical) jaw movement in the least!
She is a mutant with a spindly ultramarine tail (that is hidden along her spine)! It is practically a slim bushy blue whip of a tail! And it wags as though it has a mind of its own. In fact, the female it belongs to pays it no heed as if she has yet to acknowledge its presence.
On the palm and back of both of her hands are circular brands etched and delineated in a metallic substance that resembles the sheen and chemical inertness of gold. They are about as ornate and gaudy as can be, eternally reworking themselves again and again into altogether dissimilar depictions of symbols for the elements fire, earth, water, and air.
Air may come into play in these battles, if magic is launched her way.
On her neck there has been painted a breathtaking silver tattoo granted to her by her partner, Trium!
Her imperfections, all contributing to her overall perfection, are marred, however. All across her body are little scars, nicks, and gashes, sundry wounds that are all too trivial in a medical sense but damaging in fashion-oriented perceptions. None have undermined the winsome quality of her face as of yet, however, as she's never endured a blow to her noggin that she had to patch up herself.
The perspicacious gal isn't quite a ravishing beauty. Her body type dictates voluptuousness but with special emphasis on athleticism and functionality, but it has been hellaciously malnourished for years and is only now beginning to procure essential nutriment in excess of what it takes to survive. That said, her musculature is more developed than that of your top-of-the-line and of an altogether divergent design.
She's clad in clothing that certainly doesn't adhere to the iconic vestments of an obsolete age (from the realm in which she was birthed). She's outfitted in a red, long-sleeve, skintight, delicate t-shirt with anime characters printed on the front, somewhat durable desert pattern ACU trousers, black leather gloves with the finger slots snipped off, a personal repulsor shield, a compact, lightweight, white jump jet attached to her back, and black tennis shoes.
Her weapon of choice is a sword. A technologically advanced sword with a hilt that reacts to her mental commands (Force Throw and Force Pull, for all intents and purposes) and a blade that superheats or supercools most common materials it comes into contact with.
But chances are, she probably will refrain from activating any superheating or supercooling abilities for the duration of this series of fights unless the combat really, really escalates beyond anything even remotely safe. If nobody is deploying enchanted weaponry/magic on the field of honor, none of these powers will come into play.
Implanted in her left forearm is an alien, super-sophisticated mechanical device that weaves throughout her entire body, reinforcing her bone structure, delivering stims to aching muscle, dispatching nanobots to localized areas in dire need of repair when they are present, and actively scanning the environment and relaying any relevant info directly to her brain.
Her armor is internal, not external.
A pair of midnight black goggles stalwartly defend her eyes against the blinding rays of the sun! Visible light, hiss! Electric current, thermal energy, and auras of life or unlife, yes!
Spec patiently waits for the tournament to officially commence! She's stretching and listening to situation-appropriate music! A track from Mortal Kombat, no less.
She'd be gushing over Wenomir and Harnel if they hadn't distanced themselves from the combatants, buuut since they aren't here, she might as well prepare herself to stomp out some dreams and beat up some people, right?
Heavy air is never good for flight, So Harnel will land as far as he can make it up the side of the mountain, which is probably about halfway up the icy winds. After that, he starts climbing rocks, digging his claws into whatever's around to help pull him up. He doesn't mind the dryad holding onto him while he does this, of course.
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Once the dryad gets off his back she proves quite an capable climber, likely even better than Harnel as she moves up the cliffs like if she weighed nothing. Like last time time seem to skip past, but not in the usual way. While Harnel's memory will feel like it just have taken a few minutes to climb to the peak, his body will tell another story. It will feel like he have climbed for half-a-day non-stop.
The dryad don't even seem winded however, "Sloooowpoke."
which, honestly, isn't terrible for someone as strong and enduring as Harnel. He's panting a bit, but otherwise moving quite well, "Yes yes, I don't have the whole fey grace thing going on." He rolls his eyes, "Let's find that sage now."
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"See, what's why real women don't have gigantic melons stuck on their chests, imagine climbing with your fantasy. It would be impossible! Not to mention a lot of men still attempt to woo me." She says with a nod as she starts to head towards a little hut which can be seen from the distance. "So your fantasy is totally impractical, small busts rules."
Harnel rolls his eyes, "I thought I told you you weren't allowed to tease me anymore," he says it good-naturedly though. He starts walking towards the hut, cracking his neck to get out a little soreness. He'll knock first, and if there isn't an answer, he'll just step inside.
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A very tall and pale skinned daemoness smiles a bit to herself as she goes to take her seat in the stands. She's careful enough to watch where the sword that replaces her hand is pointed, and watches out so she doesn't sit down on her twin tails. For now, Bellan Tel'Vree doesn't say anything, but she waits with eager anticipation.
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[Harnel's School and Tournament Grounds/Waiting Room]
Amelia walks up to and registers to fight. Though she uses a false name, Cimorene, though she is happy to tell them her real name as well as long as it isn't used. She will also make sure that she can use her magical light blades.
After taking care of all that stuff she heads to the waiting area. She is wearing a simple pair of jeans, a hooded sweatshirt with the hood up and a leather jacket over that. She carries a duffel bag with her that seems to contain a series of leather straps and pieces that make up her armor. It is thin, and doesn't look like it could take much of a hit.
She takes off her leather jacket and hoodie reveling a simple white t-shirt. She starts to strap her armor on.
Tournament Waiting Room
"You...wanna talk about it?"
The scar makes things serious. It makes Kirlia thin of the possibility that maybe her foster parents are beating her.
And that's not okay.
So...she's hoping she could possibly help.
She shrugs. Uh, okay. I got punished a few weeks ago, but more brutal than usual?
She shrugs, still staring sullenly at the floor.
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Spoiler
Quote:
This is the thief who likes to hoard,
That loves the bard with the puppet Lord
That admires the fighter with the green-hilted sword,
That employs the Wizard, whose bird is ignored,
That has the gender unexplored
That intrigues the Halfling, usually bored,
That slew a mountain of the goblin horde,
That follows the cleric,
That serves the lich,
That seeks the gate,
That guards the snarl,
That lives in the prison the gods built.
[Harnel's School and Tournament Grounds/Waiting Room]
A young boy arrives at the gate to sign up.
If they care for the age he tells them that he is only 12. Since everyone could enter that shouldn't be a problem, right?
The boy doesn't look like a 12 year old boy he more looks like a teenager. (He is as tall as a 16 year old person should be)
Assuming he pass he will go to the waiting room. As one of the less people with a weapon he will avoide the others.
His weapon of choice is an Earthbreaker, which sits on his back. The weapon is nearly as tall as the boy himself and the Full plate armor he wears, is a bit too big for the boy. He still seems to be able to handle both, the weapon and the armor.
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She shrugs. Uh, okay. I got punished a few weeks ago, but more brutal than usual?
She shrugs, still staring sullenly at the floor.
Tournament Waiting Room "That's not...good." she said with a grimace.
She opened her arms for a hug!
Hugs make things better...right?
If they don't, then calling Remnant about this would(as I believe they're still in Inside).
This is the thief who likes to hoard,
That loves the bard with the puppet Lord
That admires the fighter with the green-hilted sword,
That employs the Wizard, whose bird is ignored,
That has the gender unexplored
That intrigues the Halfling, usually bored,
That slew a mountain of the goblin horde,
That follows the cleric,
That serves the lich,
That seeks the gate,
That guards the snarl,
That lives in the prison the gods built.
Harnel rolls his eyes, "I thought I told you you weren't allowed to tease me anymore," he says it good-naturedly though. He starts walking towards the hut, cracking his neck to get out a little soreness. He'll knock first, and if there isn't an answer, he'll just step inside.
[Arcadia]
"I never promised anything like that." The dryad insists as Harnel walks up to the hut which seem to lack a door of any kind. The instance he comes close to it however he hears a voice inside the little building call out.
Tournament Waiting Room
"Hug?"
Her arms are still outstretched.
She stares. I, um, what's that?
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Spoiler
Quote:
This is the thief who likes to hoard,
That loves the bard with the puppet Lord
That admires the fighter with the green-hilted sword,
That employs the Wizard, whose bird is ignored,
That has the gender unexplored
That intrigues the Halfling, usually bored,
That slew a mountain of the goblin horde,
That follows the cleric,
That serves the lich,
That seeks the gate,
That guards the snarl,
That lives in the prison the gods built.
Harnel blinks, then says, "We're looking for a legendary sword, and apparently you're the only person that knows where it is. We're not leaving until you tell us where we can find... Gods, this is such a stupid name... Dickimius."
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"Another one?!" The voice screams back as a old meager man with long white beard dressed only in a kilt walks up to Harnel. He appears indifferent to the cold and is holding a bloody knife made of bone in his left hand. "Tell me then fancy boy, why should I share such valuable piece of information?" He demands while looking the half-dragon right in the eyes without having to look up.
A woman approaches. She's an aasimar, with golden skin and silver hair cascading down her back. When she arrives, she's just wearing a padded suit designed to be worn underneath platemail, with a large leather bag on her back. She'll give her name as Grand Mistress Azurelle D'Langley of the Order of the Centipede. If a changing area is provided, she'll go into it and strap on the pieces of a suit of platemail. Where necessary, she'll ask for help.
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The young woman with the twin katanas nods to Azurelle with a bit of admiration as she arrives, and will offer her help in the donning of platemail. She is completely professional about it, of course.
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