Description: Each fighter will receive an unmarked package delivered to them either through standard postage or through courier late in the evening. Inside is a standard GPS device with a location preloaded. Those savvy with the local area will notice the indication located is a seedy part of Barton town. Known for it's projects, slums, and red light districts. Common establishments include brothels, clubs, greasy diners, tiny apartments, and pawn shops.
It'll be night time before anyone will be able to reach the indicated location. It appears awfully run down, with decaying buildings covered with graffiti and trash laying about. The complete lack of official personal or equipment might make one wonder if this was a set up, at least until their opponent arrives. A few low lifes linger around, with mixed reactions as the fights commence. Some will drunkenly cheer random fighters on, while others might threaten to call the cops. More still will opt to just ignore whats going on, as if it was just another day in the life. If one is observant, they might notice a particular silvery haired girl sitting near the entrance to a nightclub with a friend, both of whom seem to be paying close attention.
Sure hope you all can recognize each other!
Field Measurements: Roughly 40 foot square paved lot. This does overflow to some degree
Ten Count Boundary: Stepping into the street or any of the adjacent businesses will start the ten count. This, however, may be worth it due to the items listed below.
Bonus: Due to not being properly cleared before the matches, there are all sorts of impromptu items littering around. 2x4s with nails, broken bottles and shards of glass, lengths of metal piping all are options for the opportunist fighter. Who knows what else the nearby dumpster might hold. On top of that, an enterprising fighter might opt to risk the 10 count to grab a weapon from one of the nearby businesses. Chairs, pool cues, and even knives are options from the various places nearby...if they can get in and out again in time.
Posted: Sun Feb 10, 2013 9:32 pm
This place... Reminded him of the slums back home. A red-light district of uncanny horrors where all the undesirables of the city came to gather. The gps he was given led him here, for what he assumed was the next match. He looked round the darkened city and saw many opportunities for diabolical plots. Nov was reminded of home as he clutched his mask in an attempt to physically restrain the onslaught of nostalgia. He needed to keep all his emotions in check for this one. He made sure his gear was in ship shape (the armorer did a good job taking care of that) and that his torso was alright. He took a quick scan as he did not let his presence be known.
He saw many opportunities lying around as he saw a crowbar lying on the side of the street. Next to it was a worker, or a burglar, Nov couldn't really tell in the darkness of the alleyway. Either way, he was occupied and left the large, steel crowbar unattended. The curved end would serve potentially useful for Nov's fighting style, and would make for an interesting improvised weapon. Besides, it wasn't like Nov had any problems with stealing. He's had to live that way for a majority of his life when he wasn't killing. So he rushed into the alleyway, grabbed the weapon (easily within the time limit since the alleyway was connected to the block that was the arena) and returned to the side street that was the arena. He would await his opponent with a silent demeanor as he rubbed the chin of his mask with his spare right hand...
[OOC: Edited post with mod permission. Didn't want to complicate things too much...]
((I'm not sure what I was really doing the past few days, other than sucking d**k.))
-Leo Sanger-
Chaymin arrived at the asphalt lot solely guided by his intuition; his warrior’s caution had dissuaded him from this modern world’s technological magic. Adorned in simple, sepia raiment underneath his chain-shirt, the froggenborn eased his legs down the stairs exiting into the lot, while the gauntleted fingers of his right hand braced his estoc into the comfortable six’ o’clock guard position.
The knight-errant lowered his gaze across the uncomfortably still street, capturing the image of the masked man within his mind and locking his focus upon that image. He would not let his mind wander as it had in his prior match-up, and was quite prepared to give his opponent the respect he was owed. He walked about ten feet towards his smiling foe with simple, controlled steps, always settling with his right foot forward with the one-two tempo.
Then, the stoic frog-warrior croaked, “I am Ser Chaymin Prayns, and my liege is the world itself. By the ethic of reciprocity, you are compelled to grant me your own standing.” Of course, this was somewhat of a false front for the fallen knight; he also fueled his ego through his booming voice, and directed his raging spirit into his free left hand, subtly building up a charge.
Equipment:
Pointy End,
The estoc has a long, stiff blade (40 in) with no cutting edge, only a sharp point, and a simple cross-guarded hilt (8 in). It weighs about four pounds. Chaymin’s estoc “knows” him well, and absorbs Chaymin’s spirit easily, while poorly reflecting others’ energy.
Bloodroot (whip), coiled in a bag behind his right shoulder .
Tomahawks, 2
These small axes have shafts of about a foot, and blades of about six inches in height. They weigh about a pound, and can receive some initial aiming assistance from Chaymin’s spirit expenditure. Two straps fit tomahawks on both sides of his second belt.
Imp’s Firecracker, 1
A simple, annoying firecracker, weighing about a pound. Chaymin has a single slot for it on the right of his belt.
Spirit: 97%, -3% towards charge Essence: Three of body, three of mind, three of soul Stamina: Comfortable, normal heart rate, slow, deep breaths
-0-
Posted: Sat Feb 16, 2013 3:34 am
"Well Knight, you have not earned the right to have my name nor my face yet. That depends on how well you perform. But have my regards, and En Guarde.."
The assassin said as he raised the crowbar level, and then bowed his head in a slight gesture of respect. He didn't mean to demean the knight too much, but didn't want to give unearned credit either. Balance was found in this mixed gesture of respect and aggression. Nov's large form made a shadow as he approached the limelight of the 'arena'. He smiled rather devilishly under his mask as he approached. The man reminded him of the guards back home, minus the rather archaic gear this fellow packed. The formality, however, was novel and appreciated despite the fact Nov was planning on tearing him to shreds regardless.
Oh well, perhaps another time he'd take this man out for tea. Assuming he was worth his time...
Nov clutched one of his knives attached to his belt as the crowbar remained pointed at his foe. He used the shining steel rod as focus of attention, waving the weapon around with his leading right hand as his left hand remained unwaveringly glued to the blade on his left side. The crowbar would highlight the buckler shield that covered most of the forearm with a reasonably sized radius. It didn't seem to interrupt the dexterity of his wrist as he waved the bar smoothly back and forth.
The distance between the two fighters was a good 10 paces, ~4 meters from what Nov could calculate. A short charge or a set up lunge would close the distance quickly, but would allow the defending fighter time likely enough for a solid retaliation. Nov wouldn't break the gap however, wanting to observe his foe in motion. He wanted to see what this fellow would bring to the table, and gave him the first move...
“Then, let us fight, for I am the bone of my sword,” Chaymin ended in an ominous chant.
The frog-knight took another two steps forward, pounded his chest twice with a bouncing gesture of his left hand, and continued to exchange experiences with his blade. A hundred battles raced across his mind, and he felt the world shudder within him in each one. He tasted blood countless times, and he learned to enjoy its grimy taste. With that realization, that subconscious hunger took over his mind again, and he honestly admitted, Steel is my body.
In this starry darkness, his flesh had now hardened into steel had no apparent luster - a glimpse into Chaymin's soul. There was no true light, no glory, in being a hero, a knight, a Ser. His flesh was now slightly jagged (though, perhaps not immediately apparent during this dark night), presenting a vague metaphor about the inconsistency of a knight's honor transmuted into flesh.
Likewise, his blade was innervated by the sharpness of his wit, and would take on an almost-vorpal aspect. The thrusting point of the blade would be uniquely suited for delivering the greatest amount of force across the smallest area.
Chaymin would not reject the momentum from his early pacing, and broke into a brief charge that concluded with a lunge of his left foot when his blade could reach masked assassin. The man-made-steel grabbed the sword at mid-blade with his left hand, adopting the sword-and-a-hand style, and thrust at the most valuable target: currently, just underneath Leo’s left scapula, Leo’s rotator cuff muscles. If a better target presented itself by the beginning of his lunge, he would take it.
Steel Body “I am the bone of my sword.” With this gar chant, Chaymin may claim the strength of steel for himself with much bravado by slamming his fists rhythmically against his fine pectoral muscles. His body and held weaponry increase in hardness (and sharpness, if applicable) at the cost of agility for one post.
Spirit: 85%, -12% completed cast Essence: TWO of body, TWO of mind, three of soul Stamina: Comfortable, normal heart rate, slow, deep breaths
-1-
(OOC: Wanted to post this by noon, was throwing couches into the dumpster.)
Posted: Sat Feb 16, 2013 2:09 pm
The man was slow and clunky in his movements, but already had momentum from his walk into the arena. Nov observed this as his eyes watched the charge with an unwavering gaze. But something else changed, the man's attitude became more vulgar and bold as he approached. This didn't sit well with Nov, as he itched to move to the side. A foe doesn't simply charge at his opponent in such a manner without some sort of trick, that was something he learned with his last fight when his foe practically manipulated physics itself.
He wasn't going to stand any longer. He unsheathed the throwing knife from his left side holster and let it fly. The armor penetrating blade was aimed for the femoral artery on the right thigh, and would likely rip through most armor should it make contact. The aim was sound as the blade would whizz with astonishing speed. This would happen at the halfway point (5 paces in) of the charge.
And as soon as the blade was let loose, Nov would spring to the right. He used his leading right foot as a spring as he burst to his right with several incredibly agile flips. He gained distance with astonishing speed as the gap his opponent tried to close simply grew again. His opponent, in his juggernaut-like state, shouldn't be able to close the distance without buying Nov more time. Especially so with that dagger he threw coming at him. He wouldn't have time to see whether or not the dagger landed mid flip, but he would see the results non-the-less....
[OOC: Can't post for 24 hours after this, I have a flight home]
It was an error to presume the knight-errant a simple juggernaut; his mind was wrought of steel, too. He had set his mind upon destroying that wicked arm’s functionality; as long as his blade (and he, by extension) tasted the viscous blood and fresh sinew, Chaymin did not care whatever route his blade took. Ultimately, Leo did exactly what Chaymin wanted him to do: miscalculated the reach of Chaymin’s blade and greedily threw his biting dagger, exposing his armpit directly to the knight’s blade.
The combination of Chaymin’s naturally quick intuition and the short distance would allow Chaymin to react with a powerful and long forward dash-lunge with his left leg. His blade threatened over six feet by itself due to its length, so the knight’s legs would need to travel the remaining six-foot distance. An insight to the ease of this action would be given by the pace unit itself, which is roughly a single walking step. As soon as the dagger was thrown, Chaymin’s blade would snake under the exposed arm and bite upwards through the armpit, and pierce though all of the muscles that blocked its path to infraspinatus muscles.
[I was a bit generous here; your pace unit approximation was really off, but I chose the length that favored you. 10 short paces are actually 7.6 meters, not 4 meters. And 5 paces are a little less than 4. It really doesn’t make a huge difference, though.]
The nature of a lunge would also cause his right leg and thigh to dip downwards, putting Chaymin’s right pelvis in front of Leo’s intended target. The armor-piercing dagger would somehow manage to bite through the hardened chainmail, hardened undershirt, and Chaymin’s steel-like flesh itself down to the bone of the pelvis itself with its hungry tip, but it would only inflict rather superficial damage to his capillaries in the end.
It was Leo’s greed that had cost him an arm, if he had swallowed his pride and dodged immediately instead of waiting to make a quick pot-shot, then he might not had to suffer the pain of trying to pour that said teapot with one arm.
After the events, Chaymin would return to his normal state, his flesh that of a frog-man.
Spirit: 85%, no passive drain Essence: TWO of body, TWO of mind, three of soul Stamina: Comfortable, normal heart rate, slow, deep breaths, small wound in far upper thigh/pelvis, dagger still embedded
-2-
Posted: Sat Feb 16, 2013 6:52 pm
Nov would yell as the blade penetrated his up into his shoulder, but looked down to see that his dagger hit his target. Though it didn't go deep, he smiled a delirious smile under his mask as he had done what he thought wasn't possible. He had landed the initial blow for his foe's demise...
Though the dagger, with it's initial momentum, had stopped short of it's target inside his foe's leg, it was primed for what came next. Without any provocation, the dagger would begin to move again, driving itself deeper and penetrating the artery thoroughly as it wormed it way through his foe's leg. If his foe was small enough, there was a chance the dagger would cleanly cleave the artery into two entirely. The dagger would continue the path until the entire pommel and handle went through and the dagger would exit his foe's leg through the other side entirely.
It would then, after worming it's way through his foe, redirect and literally place itself back into the holster without any 'direct' guidance. This was the nature of his weapon, he could control the route of his weapon's return once he threw the knife. And all the while, Nov took the crowbar and would smash the sharp, blunt weapon into his foe's (sword arm) wrist. It would happen almost immediately after the dagger's impact and the impact of the blade (seeing as the crowbar was already reasonably close to that area). He did so to deal as much brunt trauma damage to the delicate joint as he could, hoping to limit his opponent's options as he did for himself. His left hand, meanwhile, clutched the penetrating blade in an attempt to hold his foe in place. He could barely grip as pain would sear through his body, but the fact he landed his first attack gave him a rush of adrenaline needed to land the attack.
But his assassin's intuition kicked in. He had the advantage of that time was now his ally. Though his arm was out of commission, his foe was now going to enter a dangerous spiral with blood now leaving a two sided wound. And it didn't help that the filthy crowbar he had found on the street was added to the fray. He would cut his losses and use his right foot to kick off from his opponent. The blade would most likely leave his arm, sending shockwaves of sheer agony through his body. But adrenaline kept his senses wary as he would leap backward and roll off his right shoulder.
He would land crouching on his feet, and jump forward with a burst as he would begin to run as fast as his feet would take him. He would make circles around the arena as he approached the entrance to the nightclub. This would put a much larger distance between the two fighters, assuming his foe didn't approach with equal speed, one almost twice the original distance. As Nov breathed heavy, his right hand reached for his second dagger and primed it as readied himself for the second confrontation.
[OOC: Turns out I have a 3 hour gap between flights, so I decided to post. Thanks for the leniency on the distance, I wasn't quite sure on how to give the measurements for the gap between the fighters, but your method works well NOTE: I made an error with positioning, and as discussed with Gold, Player to Player, I'm editing accordingly < This was done like immediatly after the PM MANY days ago...]
