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Name: Kyle Uri
Gladiator/Team Name: Kyle Uri
Age: 27
Height: 5'10
Weight: 150 llbs
Eye/Hair Color: Green/Red
Other Notable Features: Kyle is tan and muscular. His hair is short and spikey.
Weapons: Dragon Axe (Rarely used); looks like a Roman Gladius with a hatchet blade thrown on for good measure.
Fighting Style: Hand to Hand, specializing in kicks
Special Abilities (Self or Weapon, please describe in detail): Dragon Axe - Can be summoned and dismissed at will, blade can be heated to white-hot at will
Self - Dragon Spirit allows Kyle to manifest different draconic traits. Included are fiery claws on hands and feet, Fire Breath, and wings (Very difficult and doesn't last very long)
Draconic Magic - Hardly worth mentioning. Kyle positively sucks at magic and never bothers with it.
Personality: Kyle holds himself with his chest puffed out and he is quick to call others out. He walks and talks like someone who is cocky and self-assured (largely because he is). He is quick to offend, particularly when he believes the insult is aimed at his honor. If he thinks his opponent is far beneath him, he won't be happy about being forced to fight.
Brief Background: Kyle discovered his connection to the dragon Sadrek several years ago and quickly learned to use the abilities it granted him. His lives a strange dual-life now; not truly a part of the magical world, but inexplicably bound to it. Sadrek often has little tasks for Kyle and it was during one of these that he was captured by the evil Jude Travoni. He was brutally tortured by men seeking to learn his True Name so they could dominate him completely. Kyle took a chance on an escape attempt and the rest, as they say, is my audition piece.

Name: Sadrek
Relation (List all that apply): Dragon Soul bound to Kyle
Important Details: If one could see Kyle astrally, they would behold a mighty reptilian thing that pushes fifteen feet tall. Sadrek's eyes are a pupil-less red and his scales are rust colored. Perhaps most striking about him is the hundreds of arcane symbols carved into his hide. Sadrek shares Kyle's body in this world and can speak through him or even completely take over. He usually abstains from such things out of respect for Kyle, however. He is a deep thinker and a dangerous temper (something which Kyle has picked up as well).

Name: Jude Travoni
Relation (List all that apply): Manager, Mortal Enemy
Important Details: Jude leads a dangerous cult known as the Order of Man. OM seeks to bring the magical world under man's control or else destroy it. He stands at 5'8 and dresses in the deep brown robes of OM. He is an accomplished sorcerer and caries a heavy runestaff. Jude is wealthy and powerful, and has gained some of the rotten personality such things bring. He is ruthless in gaining what he wants, as demonstrated by "Tavisha."

Name: "Tavisha"
Relation (List all that apply): Jude's Bodyguard
Important Details: "Tavisha" is another human with a bond Dragon Soul whom Jude has forced into service with her True Name. She stand at nearly six feet at has a long braid of black hair which falls to her lower back. Around her neck is the mark of her fate: a leather collar with "Tavisha" engraved upon a metal plate. It cements Jude's control over her.

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It was a cool, crisp autumn night, a rare moment of calm in a buzzing city. Jacob Austin, a forty-something accountant, stopped his car at a red light outside the Travoni Towers complex. He sighed deeply, thinking his whole life seemed to be just like this: quite, cold, and utterly deprived of forward momentum. He played with the radio, cursing the early arrival of Christmas carols and wondering off-hand if his wife had stopped screwing her personal trainer long enough to start dinner. The light finally turned green and he began to pull forward into the intersection.

This story has nothing to do with Jacob Austin. Nor does it involve the man plummeting thirty stories that would arrive in Mr. Austin’s windshield shortly.

Thirty stories up, the true focus of our story found himself in a dire mess. He had gotten lucky with the first attacker: he had broken off from the group and was easily flipped over a shoulder and through a window. Now, with brakes screaming somewhere below, Kyle Uri found himself staring down a score of hunters armed with clubs.

What’s the plan now? Kyle asked himself, as most people would in such a position. Unlike most people, Kyle expected a reply.

Now? The voice of Sadrek boomed in his ears, carrying with it the majesty and power of the dragon. Kyle saw the brief image of a smiling reptilian head. Now we break some noses.

A slow, heavy clap began from somewhere behind the mob. The thugs parted to allow a man in a brown hooded robe and a young woman to step through. The stature of the man was difficult to judge through the robe, but he carried a thick staff in the crook of his arm while he clapped. The air around him seemed to vibrate with energy, marking him as a magic user of substantial power. The woman, in contrast, wore relatively little. The rags that hung limply on her suggested she was some kind of slave. She had long, black hair that was pulled into a thick braid reaching down to her lower back. Unlike the man, this woman seemed to radiate deadness and defeat; her eyes out of focus and glassy.

“It’s been a long time since anyone escaped from one of my cells,” The man remarked as he finished clapping. “I admit I was careless. I won’t make that mistake again.” He gestured to his companion and she half stepped forward before stopping, obviously unhappy with the task.

“Tavisha,” The man commanded and the word sucked the heat out of the air as it tore through the woman like a lightning bolt. She was left totally rigid for a few moments until the man waved her forward again. This time she complied without any hesitation.

“How dare you!” The voice that bellowed from Kyle was not his own, but that of an enraged dragon.

“So the dragon speaks,” the man smiled. “You had remained so silent during our little ‘sessions’ that I’d begun to fear you were a mute.”

“Using a true name to compel obedience is a truly unforgivable offence!” Sadrek was livid, his rage rippling through Kyle’s body and making him feel quite small and helpless. “The true name is a divine secrete between creator and creation, not some meaningless spell to be used so casually!”

The man only chuckled, which was terribly unnerving for Kyle. Most people could only cower in the face of Sadrek’s wrath (indeed, the group of thugs had begun to edge back). This monstrous man was looking him straight in the eyes and laughing.

“You haven’t even noticed the best part,” The man pointed to his neck and nodded towards the woman. Kyle had enough time to register that she wore a collar of some sort before his consciousness was thrown aside by the spirit of the enraged dragon. Have your body overthrown by an extremely hostile force is about as uncomfortable as these things come, but Kyle knew better than to complain. He found himself forward, his fingers changing into claw-like flames and nothing sort of violent death in his intent.

Before he could reach the man, the young woman stepped in to intercept his attack. Sadrek lashed out to throw her aside, but she blocked him with surprising ease. Kyle’s fighting instincts regained control and he pushed off the woman to gain enough room for a whipping kick. The woman caught this as well and held his leg to keep her out of the range of any further attacks. As he struggled to free himself, Kyle finally got a good look at the collar. It was wide and made from thick leather. What really caught his eye was the large metal plate in the center of it. Etched into the plate with simple lettering was the word “Tavisha.” Kyle scanned the woman’s eyes for some sign that part of her mind was still her own. He caught a familiar gleam and felt some sort of strange recognition. Suddenly, Sadrek pulled back from his mind and the woman dropped his leg.

“So you make her wear her true name to just to humiliate her?” Kyle dared not press this opening, aware that the woman would likely still defend her master.

“That’s not the collar’s purpose, though I won’t deny that thought went into their design.” That laugh was really starting to wear Kyle’s nerves. “When I first started experimenting with rue names, I discovered that the victim still retains a measure of free will. While they cannot directly disobey their master, they can exploit loopholes in commands to complete tasks indirectly or in ways not specified. This was a constant source of frustration for me, as you can imagine. I created the collars to squash that last bit of free will and ensure total obedience.

How much to release her, Sadrek still hissed with anger, but refrained from taking over Kyle’s body again. Ask him how much it will cost to release her.

“How much do you want for her?” Kyle’s hastily worded question earned him a white-hot sensation on the back of his neck. “That is, how much would it cost to release her?”

“You want to buy her freedom? You could never pay the price I would ask.”

“Not money, no. But there must be something else you want.”

“Your True Name would do nicely.” Kyle glared at the man and he shrugged. “No? I can’t say I’m surprised. There is one other thing I would trade for her. It’s called The Wishing Stone.”

“And where am I going to find that?”

“As luck would have it, the plane of Tartarus is hosting a little fighting competition with The Wishing Stone as it’s grand prize. I’ll tell you what, if you win the tournament, I’ll trade her for the stone. Even if you lose, I’ll still set her free in exchange for your True Name.”

“You drive a slimy barging.” Kyle snarled as he turned his attention inward, We can’t do this.

We don’t have a choice. You have to accept.

“We’ll do it.”

“Good. The tournament begins in two weeks. I’d advise you to be in top shape.” With that he left, taking the woman and the thugs with him.

You owe me one hell of an explanation, Sadrek.

If you only understood, you would understand.

I really hate you right now.

Name: Ikela
Gladiator/Team name:Ikela/ Vengeance
Age: 14
Eye/hair color: Grey/blonde
Other notable features: She's a demon, and has robotic goat legs, but instead of hooves, she has paws, and a prehensile tail. She also has wings.
Weapons: Her knife, paws, claws, tail, and sheer strength.
Fighting style: She will use her tail to slowly choke you to death, or she will use it to hold you down while she guts you. She will use her claws to cut, her paws to crush, her knife to gut, and her tail to choke.
Special abilities: She can fly, and also can turn into a tiger. Her knife is enchanted so it will never strike, and not draw blood. She is preternaturally smart, strong, and fast.
Personality: She is sly, secretive. She will befriend you, then kill you.
Past: She comes from the Eziltaka Tribe in the southern Amazon jungle. She is the queen of her tribe, because her mother was sacrificed.
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Name: Hestalu
Gladiator/Team name: Hestalu/ Vengeance
Age: 14
Eye/hair color: Orange/ red
Other notable features: She is a demon, and has robotic goat legs, except for hooves, she has paws, and a prehensile tail. She also has wings.
Weapons: Her tail, paws, claws and rage.
Fighting style: SHe will charge in, start slashing you with her claws, hold you down with her tail, while she crushes your skull with her paws.
Special abilities: She can fly, and turn to a tiger. She is preternaturaly smart, fast, and strong.
Personality: She is bitter, hateful, and secretive. The only one she will confide in is Ikela, and she almost got banished for not telling her something.
Past: She grew up in the Elizataka Tribe, in the southern Amazon jungle.
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FOUR YEARS AGO.
Hestalu stood up. The hunt was over, and the human would make a good meal. She gathered up her daughter, Juta, and went over to her hut. She called to Maga, her consort, and Juta's father, to take her, but as usual, he was nowhere to be seen. She was though, and something watched, waited, and plotted.

A few hours later, when Juta was asleep, Maga was cooking dinner, and Hestalu was at a festival, Maga stood. He went over to a special cabinet, where the prized possesions of Hestalu's mother was. He opened it, and pulled out a sacrificial dagger. He smiled.

He hid the dagger within easy reach, and pulled Juta from bed. Without waking the child, he pulled her up into his arms. She snuggled closer, thinking she was safe because her father was holding her.

He went out into the forest, and climbed a tree. He nestled her into a couple of branches, and made sure no matter what, she wouldn't fall out. When he had satified himself, he pulled out the dagger.

The girl's dying screams were masked by the festival, as planned.

The next day, Hestalu woke up early to take Juta on her first hunt. She prepared, rubbing a scentless oil on her body, so she would not be detected. Smiling, she walkd into her daughter's room, and frowned when she entered. The window was open, and it was almost mosquito season. Tutting, she closed the window, and went to look for Juta.

She followed her scent into the forest, and climbed the tree that the night before, unbeknownst to Hestalu, Juta was murdered in. When she found what was left of her daughter, she screamed in rage, pain, and loss. The forlorn, despaired sound of it echoed across the valley where the tribe lay, as all movement stopped.

"Ikela! Mostoa! Soemone! Help me!" Hestalu was screaming, and she grabbed the very dagger Juta was killed with, to kill herself. But she stopped. Juta's blood was on it.

Ikela stood up, her blonde hair whipping in the wind on the mountain. She called a song of sorrow, and other women and girls on other mountain tops joined in. The lament, though loud, was sweet, peaceful, and soothing. It saved Hestalu's life, for she did not kill herself.

It did nothing to save Maga.
The twin pyres were huge. Inside one, lay a small body, that upon death, became almost unrecognizable, and in the other, lay a very alive struggling man.

Hestalu was given the choice to torture and kill him alone, or with a friend. She chose to torture and kill with Ikela to help her. The two girls were resplendant, though only ten, they looked, and acted, as an average 19 woman. They were far more intelligent though, and more mature. They wore twin suits of leather, and had whips hooked to their hips. Ikela had a whip of ice, and Hestalu had a whip of fire.

They had the right to torture until they chose to stop, or if they tired, but they never tired. After the hours of punighment, as the flame was about to be lit to the pyres, one to kill, one to honor, a bolt of lightening hit the valley floor.

Ismal stod. In a booming voice, he said, "I claim the soul of Juta Ezara to be my consort when her soul grows to full womanhood! Is there any to deny my claim?" as he said this, a red smoke started to blow through the valley. With the smoke, came a delicate woman, Imslatekme.
"I would usurp your claim. This child's soul is of no consequence to you. I'm taking it, right now." she icily said. She turned towards the pyre, and stepped in it. She came back out a second later with Juta, who was now completely unharmed.

Ismal snarled. His eyes roamed the crowd for a differant woman to claim, and he found one. As soon as Ismaltekme wasn't paying attention to the mortal world, he get the woman.

After the burial rites, Ismaltekme stood. She walked over, and knelt to the ground. She stepped back up, and her eyes glowed a bright blue.
"My daughter is not yet avenged...I want her back...Ismaltekme, please, bring my daughter back to me!" Hestalu cried, as Ismaltekme sadly shook her head.
"I'm afraind I can't do that."
"Then I will have to avenge her my self!"
"And I will help.She is my neice, I think I should go to, to help her." Ikela said.
Ismaltekme smiled. Such loyalty from friends was wonderful. If only she had it when she was mortal. Her eys glowed brighter, and she smiled.
"In four years a contest will be created. The prize is the Wishing Stone...If you win it, I will also grant the person who does not use it a wish." she said.
Hestalu tilted her head.
"Why not just grant us both wishes right now?" she asked.
The goddess smiled, and chucked her chin.
"You have to earn it, silly." she said.

PRESENT DAY
Hestalu stood, and stretched. Today was the day they entered into the Arena. They would win, and be reunited with family. They agreed that Hestalu would use the Wishing Stone to bring Juta back, and Ikela would use Ismaltekme's wish to bring back her mother.
"Safru Dagus malteirche!" they shouted.
Safe in Dagus's protection! it meant.

Ismaltekme watched them in her guise, and smiled. She hoped they would win, with all her heart.

Name: Fulaing Carraig
Gladiator/Team Name: Fulaing
Age: 27
Height: 6’2”
Weight: 215
Eye/Hair Color: Hazel/Black
Other Notable Features: Fulaing is a tall dude, and pretty muscular to boot. Even without his abilities he could hold his own in a street fight. He is mostly human, though his father’s parentage is unknown. He is normal enough to command respect but unique enough to command attention, with a square jaw and slightly pointed ears. Fulaing’s skin is tan, and he has thin black hair on the top of his head, tied back into a short ponytail, with a scruffy chin. Outside of fights, Fulaing is a very clean person, but don’t expect him to fight cleanly. He frequently fights shirtless to avoid soiling his clothing, and wears a simple pair of black pants belted tightly at the waist with black combat-style boots. He has no body modifications, though he sports several scars on his face and chest from street fighting, including what appears to have been a deep gash to the edge of the entire right half of his chin.
Weapons: Brass Knuckles, primarily. Sometimes has a knife (or two) concealed in a boot/on belt.
Fighting Style: Fulaing prefers to engage his enemy/opponent in as close of combat as possible. When this fails or is impossible, he will use the gifts granted by the goddess Valeska to incapacitate them by any means necessary.
Special Abilities: Fulaing has been granted an energy based ability from his goddess Valeska. This works in such a way that when Fulaing desires to show the might of his goddess, he can gather energy from the air/earth/the crowd around him into balls around his fists. This energy then helps his punches become more powerful, and the more people/energy around him, the more powerful he can become. He doesn't have to do anything special to gather this power, but instead just thinks about gathering it. Such energy manifests as a shimmery silver light around his hands. Further uses of these abilities would be to swing his fists from a moderate distance away in order to deliver a ranged energy attack, or to hit the ground with his fists, sending a ripple of energy a moderate distance (max 50 feet) to knock an opponent prone. This energy does not translate to any actions performed with Fulaing's feet however (such as kicking or stomping) and is only related to actions from his hands.
Personality: Fulaing is absolutely devout in his belief that things can be made better for the poor on the plane of Tartarus, but that this change must come through the sacrifice to Valeska of both specific individuals and selfless persons hoping to make life better for their decedents. She has promised to make life for future generations a paradise at the expense of the lives of some of her chosen devotees. Fulaing is therefore strong in his belief that worship of Valeska will save the people of Tartarus, and despises those who deny his goddess and tenderly loves all her supporters. Mistreatment from Fulaing is hard to receive, however, and is only rude to those who explicitly deny Valeska's might. To those who simply have not heard of or have not yet seen the might she has granted to him, he has the utmost respect for them as individuals. All of his actions are motivated by the desire to convert as many people as possible, and he will work to humiliate and discredit those that deny Valeska.
Brief Background: Fulaing was raised by his mother on the outskirts of Tartarus. Naturally, this was a poor region. He loved his momma, and worked hard to support her until she passed away. With no one else in the world to turn to, Fulaing became a street fighter, taking his winnings and using it to keep himself alive. After selfishly fighting for several years, he was discovered by the goddess Valeska, who was ambitiously looking for a way to reclaim her place as one of the patron goddesses of Tartarus. Valeska manipulated Fulaing into helping her, though he feels this desire as very genuine. She offered him the powers he presently has, and explained that he should fight for her for the rest of his days. Fulaing is now the champion and defender of the weak and downtrodden, and his/Valeska's ultimate goal is to kill Wulfgang as the final sacrifice. This has given him the support of the mob, and was the reason why he was invited to the Arena. Wulfgang can't afford to have anyone more popular than himself around. Fulaing is, however, almost completely under Valeska's control with just enough free will to make him believe that he is not. He is completely enamored with his goddess and would do anything for her, and because of Valeska's jealousy and influence, Erin is largely shunned. No matter how loyal and caring she is, Erin will still only be around to clean his wounds and serve him as he/Valeska sees fit.

Name: Valeska
Relation: Goddess
Important Details: Valeska is the dying goddess of destruction on the plane of Tartarus. She revels in the upheaval in people’s lives and loves to destroy things to watch them recreate themselves. She is sometimes referred to as “The Puppet Master” in ancient mythologies and is associated with a very rare red and black butterfly that can only be found on the plane and is considered a harbinger of death. Unfortunately since the coming of Wulfgang XI, worship of her has fallen out of favor. She has handpicked Fulaing to assist her in her return to power because of his charisma, striking appearance, and natural fighting ability. Since she gets her power from the upheaval in lives, she requires a very special sacrifice to return to power. What better way to cause a social upheaval than by killing the man who keeps the plane of Tartarus oppressed? She is constantly present in the back of Fulaing’s mind and reveals herself to him in visions that appear real to him but that no one else can see.

Name: Erin Mo’Gra
Relation: Loyal follower
Important Details: Erin, like many children in Tartarus, is an orphan. Her mother died from complications of childbirth (which is to be expected when a child is born with unexplainable wings). She was 14 when she first watched Fulaing perform his miracles in the streets by demonstrating the power given to him by his goddess. As someone who also had a strange ability/birth defect, she clung to Fulaing and his message. Erin immediately became entranced by his power and swore to follow him around helping him proclaim the news of the might of the goddess Valeska and the good she could bring to Tartarus. In the two and a half years since they met, she has fallen in love with Fulaing while he has been further seduced by Valeska. Because of the obvious and innocent love she has for Fulaing, Valeska views her as a threat and is constantly trying to find a way to make Fulaing betray her, and may one day ask Erin to be a sacrifice herself.

Writing Sample

Blood dripped from Fulaing’s bandaged knuckles as he knelt on the dusty ground, but it wasn’t his own. One fist still sat heavily in the dirt- precisely where it had landed when the final punch had struck the ground, sending shock waves rippling across the land of Tartarus towards the infidel who had dared challenge the might of his goddess Valeska. His opponent had been light work, hardly worth the trouble, but any chance to enlighten a crowd to the power of his goddess was important. Squaring his shoulders, Fulaing rose, back to the crowd that had gathered to watch the fight in the alleyways on the fringes of Tartarus.

“Is there anyone else who dares challenge the goddess Valeska?” The crowd was silent, “This is the might which the goddess will bring to the resuscitation of our dying plane! I wield her power, in human form; I have been chosen to bring down those who would keep us oppressed. If anyone disbelieves her power, let him challenge me now!”

“I’ll take ya, you naked gorilla…” A Dark Elf stepped out of the crowd, a stark contrast to Fulaing’s brutish pale appearance. Naked from the waist up, Fulaing dripped with the sweat and blood of his opponents, his knuckles and jaw bloodied, his feet bare, with simple black pants worn through at the knees. The Elf was impeccably dressed, but stocky for a blue one. His companion, the challenger, followed behind, and was dressed more like Fulaing.

As someone who had seen his rise in the underground fighting ring, Fulaing recognized the two men now before him. “Nice to see you again, Blue Ears… Who’s the new crony?”

“Only mah best fighter…thought you could do wit’ a challenge. Don seem much trouble to ya now, do ee?” The fighter flexed and stretched, “Certainly not wit that precious goddess you got on your side now.”

“No trouble at all,” Fulaing crossed the circle and invaded the next nameless challenger’s space, “I can keep going All. Night. Long. What’s your wager, Blue Ears?”

“You lose, you can crawl back to your precious fringe an git outta my fighting rings.”

“An if I win?”

“Then you can have a go at a wishing stone and make the name of your precious goddess more famous than you can imagine.”

“Done. We begin in ten.”

Fulaing unlocked the eye contact from his opponent and strutted over to his Erin. She offered him a bladder of ale, washed his knuckles, and wiped his brow. “Be careful, sir, this is a dangerous wager. If you lose, we’ll never achieve what Valeska requires of us.”

“I appreciate your concern, Erin, but Valeska will not let me lose. Her power works through me, and she is more powerful than these men have estimated.” He smiled at Erin. She was cute, in a little sister sort of way. She had almost as sad a past as he himself did, and fought valorously in her own non-combatant way by helping Fulaing with whatever earthly thing she needed. Her family had abandoned her, what parent wanted the trouble of raising a child with wings, and a daughter no less? Women were practically worthless in Tartarus, except for one or two things like cleaning and screwing. A woman with wings would never marry and bring in a dowry, nor would anyone hire her for any sensible work. Erin had devoted her life instead to Valeska and Fulaing after he had saved her from a couple thugs harassing her. She had been with him since the beginning, and now she would follow him to the arena.

The challenger grunted across the artificial fighting ring, “Are you done cavorting with your woman, Fulaing? Some girl you got there…” He chortled, “What a freak…”

Fulaing was across the ring before anyone could blink and got in his opponent’s face, “You wanna say that again, blue balls?” Fulaing growled, baring his teeth, “Johnny, start the fight. Looks like you’ve got another loser on your hands.”

“Awright boys, ya both know the rules. No hittin below tha belt, KO ends the fight, three ring outs wins. On my signal, begin.” Johnny, Blue Ears, carefully untied his ascot from his neck and held it up in the air between the two fighters.

“One” The crowd was growing, and the tension was contagious. Word had spread that Arena men were in the area, and everyone wanted to see how their Hero, Fulaing, would fare against the accomplished fighters.

“Two.” Erin clutched at her dress in the corner, bruised by what the man had said. Fulaing would never let him walk away from a comment like that.

“Three.” The blue ascot fell to the ground like a feather, soundlessly knocking dust out of the way as it came to rest on the floor. Seemingly without seeing it hit, Fulaing threw the first punch, decking his opponent in the chest. Things were off to a promising start.

The blinding speed with which Fulaing moved may have surprised his opponent, but he was certainly not out of the fight yet. He ducked down, shielding his face, and threw his weight to end behind Fulaing. A loud “THUD” confirmed with those who could not see that the challenger had landed a punch in Fulaing’s back. He recoiled forward, and swung a fist out towards the audience, gathering energy as it swung. His opponent assumed that this move was made out of pain avoidance, but in reality the energy was being drawn from the tension of the crowd and into Fulaing’s fist, which struck the dark elf in the jaw in a super-powerful punch, knocking him to the ground.

Fulaing hopped from foot to foot in a defensive position, ready to strike as soon as Blue Balls tried to rise. There was no kicking in street fighting, but Fulaing was looking forward to being able to kick the crap out of a downed opponent in the Arena.

The opponent rose slowly and faced Fulaing. Out of respect they reset the fight, and Fulaing allowed the Dark Elf to throw the first punch, which was blocked by a quick move of Fulaing’s forearms. “This is too easy, Blue Ears!” Fulaing shouted, blocking a second punch, and launching one of his own at the Elf opponent’s nose. “You got yourself a green one, I think!”

The elf now dubbed “Blue Balls” fumed. “You and your goddess can go back to hell!” the elf grabbed Fulaing’s head and launched his knee into Fulaing’s face.

Reeling, Fulaing tripped backwards, shaking his head to free it from the blood which now was filling ever gap and crease inside his skull. He spat out the blood on his opponent. Apparently the “usual rules” were out the window. Taking a few steps back from his opponent, Fulaing drew his fists above his head, feeling the charge grow as he did so. With no warning, Fulaing dropped to the ground and slammed his fists into the dust, rippling the energy through the ground and knocking his opponent off his feet. Fulaing dug his toes into the dirt and launched at his opponent, beating on the opponent’s chest as he still lay on the ground. “Valeska shall smite you, unbeliever! If you dare deny her might she will smite you! So may it be!”

The crowd cheered at a deafening decibel level. Erin ran over and pulled Fulaing off the unconscious elf. “Sir, you need not kill this man! He has been shown the way, and you have won!” Animalistically, Fulaing rose and turned to Johnny Blue Ears. He spoke through his teeth, adrenaline pumping through his body at 260 beats per minute, “I’ll take that invite to the Arena now. You can go home and patch up your boy. Shame to waste my time with such simple fighters. I hope the Arena can offer me a real challenge.”

Blue Ears was unemotional, “One of my boys? Ha! I wouldn’t waste my time on some bluegill from center city. We’s real fighters in the rings. You’s just beat a hormonal teenager on rageroids. I’ll see you in the arena, chap. Sunday. Don’ disappoint me.”

Name:Xorn
Gladiator/Team Name:Wulfe
Age:19
Height:6' 5"
Weight:160
Eye/Hair Color:Green/Red
Other Notable Features: Huge scar over his eye
Weapons:Scythe, Knives, Machete.
Fighting Style: Fast-paced martial fighting. Lots of hidden knives. Likes to end fights without a death, but likes to cripple opponents until they can't fight. Often will make himself a copy of his enemy and fight like that.
Special Abilities : Is a shape-shifter, able to change into any shape and gets any bonuses that come with it.
Personality:Rough, but very friendly, but is easily irritable and is very proud of his ability to shape-shift. Strong sense of morality. Very honor-bound. He likes to cheat in the game, so out of area battles are his favorite.
Brief Background:Xorn was born and immediately given to an orphanage, he was despised by all the urchins there. Always larger than everyone else, most were afraid of him, and they should have been. He learned he could shape-shift there, when he turned into a wolf, his favorite transformation, and ran away. He then wandered, learning martial arts and becoming a professional thief. He once stole a magical amulet, that when worn, can take you to any realm,and went to Tartarus, where he learned of the tournament, and signed himself on. He wants the wishing stone to make him a more powerful being and to test his own abilities.




Writing Sample:
Xorn was running. Running hard and fast. He has transformed into a wolf, running at his full speed, bullets being shot at him. It was the amulet. They wanted the amulet, didn't they. Well, he didn't know what it did, or how important it was, but he wasn't going to give it up to them. They were going to take it from his cold, dead, hands. No stopping him. He grabbed the amulet, and thought,
*Dammit, I wish I was anywhere but here...*
And he teleported.
He was simply gone. The guards looked baffled, but the head one knew what happened. He had crossed planes. He was out of their clutches.
What happened then was Xorn ran into a wall, and knocked himself out. When he woke up, he was human again, and fully dressed, and his amulet still around his neck. He was in a small cottage, when he got up, and saw what was around him. He saw an old lady, boiling some soup in a cauldron. He asks her,
"Where am I? I need to get back home. I have things to do there."
The woman replied,
"You're in Tartarus, the world practically owned by Wulfgang. You came in from a different plane. That amulet is what did it. If you don't know how it did it, then you're stuck here, I guess."
He gets up, and thinks,
*maybe it was when I thought I needed to go somewhere else....*
He goes outside, and to the library in the area, after some searching, and looks up a list of different planes.
From there on, he started traveling through the planes, acquiring different forms, from the greatest on each plane. One day, he returned back to Tartarus, soon after the sign-ups for the tournament started. He signed up, and the rest is history...

Name: S.Y.C.L.A.N T-781
Gladiator/Team Name: Wulgang's plot.
Age: 200
Height:7'6
Weight: 1 Ton
Eye/Hair Color: None
Other Notable Features: He looks like me.
Weapons sad Wulgang lets me bend the rules some) Bazzoka:rarely used, Rocet Fist, Super Strength.
Fighting Style: All of them
Special Abilities (Self or Weapon, please describe in detail): None.
Personality:Robotic some times Human others
Brief Background:The story behind Syclan is a story of pain, love, lost, and evil but today is not the day for his full story so I will shorten the story alot. Syclan was a power full docter in another plain a long time ago but he hungered for power so he kept upgrading him self he is a very clever man he has made warlords fall evil grow good win and the middle beg for forgiveness but he wanted to be stronger so he kept on upgradeing him self eventlay the only thing left on him that was human was his brain but he became so hated in his relam the the everyone made a portal that thay threw Syclan in to git rid of him for ever but that was not the case. Syclan flew in time and space and landed here where Wulgang found him. Wulgang and his scintist made him whole to serve him why you ask well Wulgang had become concernd that with everyone entring his tornoment that someone way wish him or her self into power so he made a plan to use syclan to win the stone for himself but syclan has other plans to use the stone for him self to take over this plain for him self. Well thats Syclan's tale I will some day tell all but not to day

Name:
Circun (pronounced keer-kuhn)

Gladiator/Team Name:
None

Age:
Unknown - appears in his teens

Height:
5'7

Weight:
140lbs

Eye/Hair Color:
Leaf Green/Messy and brown

Other Notable Features:
Circun is thin and looks rather fragile, because he is. He usually wears jeans and a yellow hoodie. He's watcher-angel, but has no angellic powers at all worth mentioning. He also has wings, but they're tiny, blackened, burned up and overall useless.

Weapons:
A pair of daggers and a set of brass knuckles that he has no particular skill with. Shoes (when he forgets to tie them and loses them midfight), sticks, dirt and anything else he finds can and will be utilized, too.

Fighting Style:
Crazy-b*****d-fu. He relies on his speed, endurance and his ability to get-the-hell-out-of-the-way during fights, since he never really gained any skill in any particular area. And luck. He needs a lot of luck.

Special Abilities (Self or Weapon, please describe in detail):
He has minor healing abilities, but can't really use them on himself, since it exhausts him if he overdoes anything.

Personality:
He tries to be bitter towards the world in general, but it doesn't always work. He hates to see people suffer, and has a tendency to stop whatever he's doing to leave if faced with it, a quality that annoys him to no end. Quiet and reclusive, he abhors loudmouths and arrogance. However, most of that is fake, and if in good company, he can become optimistic and cheerful.

Brief Background:
Circun was a watch-angel, sent to keep an eye on the world and all its going-ons. At least, until the higher-ups forgot about him. Stranded, he gained a dark view on life for a while, but that's since lifted. He has a pet parakeet, Iuno, that's been with him since he first came among the world, and he puts all of his healing ability toward extending her lifespan for as long as he's around.


THE STORY

It had seemed like such a perfect idea at the time.

Birth by fire. There had been nothing left for that city anyway. It had been spectacular, and he had been so sure when he watched the show, pyrotechnic majesty as the oily air itself burst into flame, such a show-

Such a perfect idea then. Only then. What he had done in sleep was incredible, but doused by morning. Divine judgment was such a lofty idea, and such a harsh reality.

It hadn't been enough to get him back into the good graces of his creator, or whoever he was now. Creation had expired. Destruction reigned supreme. Such a show. And he, Circun, had incinerated the entire, plant-driven hovel of a city with something as simple as a match, and something as incredible as hellfire.

There wasn't much to it, he mused. A flick of the wrist and it was gone. There was a shell of the city left, but the earth would reclaim it or bury it soon enough. That was the way things were supposed to go, when their time was up. Ashes to ashes...

It found him here, deserted streetlamps casting a sickly glow on the streets that were just like the fallen city's had been. It wasn't any different, and he hadn't made a difference. One man, one angel, one action, couldn't change anything.

It found him here, outside the brothel where he had been tempted to go, to lose himself at least for a short time, just like all the humans did.
She found him here, outside the brothel where she had been waiting, to capture an a fighter, a priest, an angel, a sinner as a sacrifice to the media.

As a sacrifice to the Arena, and all it's hungry watchers. Blood was life, blood was money, blood was entertainment.

Blood was good.

"Funny to see an angel here, isn't it?"

Her voice was a sultry purr, one that sent chills up Circun's spine. Not all were fear.

"I'm not an angel anymore, Jezebel."

"Seems a bit out of your element." He could feel her getting closer, each click of her boots on the dirty concrete, every breath as it passed her lips. "Isn't temptation sinful, little Circun? Shouldn't you be running home to your little house on the hill? Quaint, wasn't it?"

"Quaint." He repeated her words, refusing to look at her. She could damn him as easily as he had lit his match. "Yes, it was quaint. It's also burned to the ground."

"Aw, poor thing."

He didn't have time to cry out, the thorns of a rosewhip biting into his ankle like serpents, yanking it out from under him and sending him crashing into the oil-caked streets. Cold, sharp-nailed fingers reached into the slits in his sweatshirt, her knee in his back, prying the blackened remains of wings out where she could see.

He hissed his fury, her laughter drowning him out in an infernal flood.

"Oh, you have been a bad boy. A sinful little beast, hm?"

"Get off," he snarled. She did, and he was surprised. His eyes roamed her, and she grinned.

"See something you like?"

"No."

"You do."

He shook his head quickly, convincing himself not to say another word. Demons were the last thing he needed. He needed his kind, not the lustful mockery of humanity that stood before him. He needed a way home, not a way to Hell. He had more than enough fire.

Yeah, a whole cityfull.

And yet...

"Jezebel."

His words were quiet, and unforgivable.

---

"Ah, fresh meat for Wulgang's little game! Excellent. Let's get you registered, shall we? I'll need you to sign this waiver, first. Oh, don't worry about reading it, it's just your basic legal stuff..."

He filled it out with a careful hand, the words crawling from the pentip with liquid ease. There was fire now, fire and a nervous, beating excitement. There was so much he could do, so many chances, no possible way to ruin this one. All he had to do was fight, perhaps kill...

The idea made him sick, but it was quelled at the thought. It would be a sin for him to wish himself back home, but if someone else, someone who told him about it...he only had to - that stone was -

Redemption!

---

Jezebel smiled, and twirled one charred feather between her fingertips.

"Gulliable fool."

That's all she said.