Eon didn't draw his weapon yet. He just got more space between them so he cand raw it in time.
"I use my weapon as I need it and if you continue to provoke me I won't care about rules."
Tournament Waiting Room
"I'm very intimidated," Thel says sarcastically. Thel droops his long ears and makes a remorseful face. "Oh please oh please don't slay me."
He stops his sarcastic facade and walks away from the fighter. "I've said nothing that hasn't been retaliation to your rudeness. Keep a civil tongue and settle yourself, bucko."
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"Your father is dead when you have come from, then? I'm sorry to hear that." Wow, talking to a time traveller certainly leads to some interesting sentences.
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Last edited by Earl of Purple : 10-16-2012 at 04:51 PM.
Lucy blinks in surprise, then shakes her head. "Oh, um, no, not at all! Sorry, tenses get weird I guess. I meant that, like, in that time he's an expert and he is now too I guess but I haven't met him since coming back," she explains.
"Oh, I see! Sorry for misunderstanding. I suppose there's the possibility that he's only just starting his research into them, in which case he isn't an expert yet." Azurelle smiles, glad that she misunderstood. She understands how unpleasant growing up without a father can be.
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"So what will your reward be? What's so tempting?" He raises a finger. "This will be my final question."
"Finally!" The dryad exclaims, sounding rather impatient.
[Arcadia]
Harnel looks towards the sky for a moment, thinking of what he'd get, "Something for my children, I think. if there's more wishes left after that, I can afford to be a bit selfish, but my family comes first in that regard. Maybe a souvenir or something, but I haven't decided what yet."
[Harnel's School and Tournament Grounds]
Harnel reaches under his chair and pulls up a mircophone that was sitting underneath it. He hits a switch on the side that has several settings, before saying into it, "Timmons, bring me the roster."
Then he flips the switch to another setting and says into it, "Combatants, line up in the arena. It's time to get started," Everybody in the waiting room should hear this.
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Lucy nods, but her response gets cut off by the booming over the PA system.
"Well, I guess that's our cue," she says, stretching and getting ready to head out.
"I hope so." Azurelle's a bit muffled, however; she's put her hair up and has just slid her helmet on. She then clomps into line behind Lucy, her spear fully extended. Perhaps she should have brought a shield, as well; spears can be used one-handed, though only to jab. Never mind; her plate mail should be enough.
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Cimorene, aka Amelia, quickly tightens up the last few straps on her armor and heads out to the arena tucking the tail end of the straps into various niches and crannies formed by her armor. From a distance it could easily be mistaken as regular leather armor, but up close is obviously many overlayed straps of thin leather.
The tiefling girl grins. Time to go. She slips two small nasty-looking knives out of her sleeves quietly.
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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.
[Tournament Waiting Room]
((Blarg. Shortpost))
With a quick shake of her head, the muse drew up out of a light doze and fell in line behind the teifling. Her expression was masked behind a helmet although given her body language, it likely wasn't something that anyone would immediately question. She did appear to be just as impatient as before but only if one paid any attention to the rapid tapping of her toes.
Going down a mental checklist of equipment, her hands twitched as if either counting or simply patting at where the item should be but found nothing out of place and simply fell into a resting stance as she waited for the event to commence.
Last edited by Terumitsu : 10-16-2012 at 09:57 PM.
Thelonius takes his place in line and leaves Eon alone, his mask tucked under his arm. He's happy as a clam to get started, the argument with Eon left a bad taste in his mouth.
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Harnel looks towards the sky for a moment, thinking of what he'd get, "Something for my children, I think. if there's more wishes left after that, I can afford to be a bit selfish, but my family comes first in that regard. Maybe a souvenir or something, but I haven't decided what yet."
[Arcadia]
The hermit nods, "Then I have my answer and you should get yours. The sword lies at the resting place of it's last owner princess Hallina who fell at the marsh of mourning along with friends and foes alike. Now the dead holds the blade that caused their demise and they will make sure no one get's their hands on it." He states while pointing out towards the horizon.
Time to get started! Line up! Yay? This isn't the opening ceremony Spec was expecting. Not at all. A mass medical exam or a show of good sportsmanship. Yuck! Spec doesn't favor a single one of these possibilities. Doctors are evil and good sportsmanship is a crutch that hinders the emergence of true power. But Spec lines up, her courage unfaltering in the face of what may or may not be!
Ilpholin looks over the candidates. Motley group, but that's par for the course.
"Excuse me." She whispers to the other two judges, before turning slightly to one side and discreetly texting on her phone real quick. She'll be done before you know it and right back to sitting straight.
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There is glory for those who resist their fate.
The tiefling girl grins. Time to go. She slips two small nasty-looking knives out of her sleeves quietly.
Tournament Waiting Room
Kirlia shakes her head and leaves the tournament.
She's not going to be a part of anything where she might have to fight a child.
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.
"Thanks then, I appreciate it. I can deal with some undead," He's not lying there; he's been fighting undead since he was young, "I'll leave you in peace then." and he starts walking away, towards the side of the mountain. Time to go, right?
[Harnel's Torunament]
Harnel will bring up the same microphone he'd been speaking to earlier, adjusting the channels it's broadcasting to so that those in the arena will be able to hear it, both spectators and combatants. He stands, so that everybody has a good view of him as he speaks, "Welcome, everybody, to the first Bastion Tournament! I'd like to thank you all for coming to watch this spectacle as it unfolds; I hope you all will be capable of exceeding the expectations of My two judges and I. We are Ilpholin, who many of you may know from the fight with Gordon the blue dragon, and current leader of AMEN. Our other judge is Wenomir, a leader of Watchtower, and hero against the numerous world destroying threats the Nexus has faced in the past. I'm Harnel Mithar; some of you may know me as the husband of one of our council members, and the owner of the black keep to the north of Inside. I own the building you stand or sit in right now, which will be a school once this tournament is over."
"Three of you combatants will earn prizes from defeating all comers, and another three will be selected from all who came to be invited to take part in the school, free of charge. Wenomir, Ilpholin, and I will determine who is going to be achieving that honor. As you all know, overt use of magic is prohibited, so no tossing fireballs at one another. Enchanted equipment is fine, but this is a tournament about physical prowess, not how flashy your special brand of lightning is," Of course, this is all information that anybody who did some research into the event will know, "I'm not one much for speeches, so let's skip straight to what we came here for, shall we?"
Timmons, one of the men who was at the gate taking names and registering combatants comes around the corner into the area where the judges are sitting, before shuffling back off into the room behind the judge's balcony. Shortly after, the young human will be back at the entrance, ready to register more people that arrive later.
"Combatants, return to the waiting room. Our first fight will be... Jacob and Lucy!"
All that was mostly so Harnel could get a good look at everybody, and so the spectators could do the same. The tiefling child caught Harnel's eye, but he's going to wait until she's up for combat before saying something about it. He knows how to deal with this situation.
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Rogar stands firm during the speech, giving Ilpholin a glare. Bringing up the defeat of his boss is not a way to endear you to him. But as for the prizes, it there is a thing or two that he wants, even just for himself.
After that dismissal, Rogar heads back to the waiting room.
The buxom young woman with the katanas steps forwards as her fight is announced, nodding in appreciation of being picked first, and looking eager to compete.
Similarly, Jacob takes the field, giving a respectful bow before sizing her up. His armor flows like silver, and his blade seems nearly an extension of his body. Indeed, even without his more direct uses of magic, the Planeswalker is a dangerous foe.
He takes on a strong defensive pose, standing nearly perpendicular to his opponent. His expression cannot be read through the helm adorning him, but his more visible eyes show conviction and determination.
"May the greater swordsperson triumph this day."
However, he doesn't move to attack quite yet, seemingly content to circle around and watch his opponent make the first move.
Wenomir gives a curt wave to the assembled fighters and spectators when Harnel introduces him. However, there's another matter. Once Harnel is done, he mutters to him:
"We're not letting children fight in this tournament, are we?"
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"Don't repeat the same mistakes as it's last owner, hero. Pride and confidence can be our greatest strength but also our greatest weakness. Keep that in mind not only when you face those lost souls who committed just that error but also against Ashar." The hermit cautions before Harnel walks away.
The dryad walks just behind him, "So you will let me get wishes too right if we finish this? Huh? Huh?" She asks.
"Maybe. I'm going to have a chat with the girl before her fight starts; if she wants to compete, that's her choice and the other combatants will have to live with it, but if someone's forcing her to compete then she'll be removed from the roster. If she's good enough to make it past the first round or two, then she may be good enough to take part in the school, but if she isn't this isn't to the death and we have healing potions anyways. Regardless of whether she chose to be here though, I'm going to have words with her parents," Harnel says back quietly. If they let her be here despite being so young, they need to have safety explained to them. If they don't know she's here, they need to watch their child more carefully. If they're forcing her to be here, they need to have their heads knocked together.
[Arcadia]
Harnel nods grimly as the hermit walks away. he's seen what overconfidence can do to warriors. it gets men killed,a nd it loses battles. Just because this is a silly dream doesn't mean that it's not dangerous.
"Well, any part splits their shares equally. No matter how many we get, you get half," Harnel smiles to the dryad. It's not like he needed many wishes anyways.
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Wenomir nods.
"That's good. Even if she's here of her own free will, we shouldn't allow it. I don't think other participants will be comfortable fighting a child either. Speak to her directly at any rate."
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"Sounds good to me! And you really have kids? With scales and stuff?" She asks as they keep walking, seemingly finding this concept rather odd.
This of course begs the question of the half-dragon is planning to get down the mountain, with these cold winds, is he planning to fly or climb down? Or a mix of both?
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