Video Game Forums

Well, here we are, folks, the first round of the NLBFT commences. From the lineups we have, this year will certainly be an event to die for… or in, whichever comes first. So, without any further stalling, here are the rules and lineup:

1. This will be judged by three people and have sixteen combatants. All round battles are in ONE TOPIC, such as “First Round” will be for the first set, and “Second Round” for the second, etc. This matches the most recent and also the most classic form for the NLBFT, as it was the first form used and also the most recent, as reinstated by SML.

2. This is for serious battlers only. I won’t restrict who joins and who doesn’t, but if you cannot write, do not join this very important event, for either judge or battler. By saying “Cannot Type”, I mean no spaces, punctuation, capitalization, etc. I would prefer that only seniors and vets join, but newbies of high skill level and regular members are just as welcome. It is a free forum, after all. Remember, this is a tournament of high pedigree, and you will likely be facing tough opponents, so do not expect to be baby treated. High quality posts will probably be a must from the judges, and you would do best to remember that.

3. There is a strict time limit. 60 hours is the usual before a half point is taken from the final score of thirty, and 24 more is another deduction, another 24 is another, and 24 more is possible elimination. Remember this, as it is standard, and complaints will only be considered if not simply whining. Also, reasons to have been absent are to be discussed by the judges as acceptable or not. If your computer explodes and you had no access to another, fine, but if you simply were too bored to try, it is elimination. It sounds retarded, but it isn’t. Trust me.

4. The judges word is final. I want to see good sportsmanship from the loser, and likewise from winner. I will be honest and tell you that if I lose my battle, I will not complain. Simply put, it is un-sportsmanlike and very dishonorable.

5. The first to post has battlefield choice. Make it something past generic, and give it some specialty and pizzazz. Not to say having an interesting battlefield is a rule, it’s just kind of useful.

Battle Only Rules:

1: No transforming or character switching, this is permitted only between rounds and is not to be done mid-battle for risk of deduction from the ever-present final score out of thirty. In other words, judges will judge on a scale of 1-10 and will at the end combine the scores of each judge for a single person into a final mass of thirty, as most of you know, but I know that some of you battlers are new to this and may need a heads up.

2: No healing, and this means any healing. As is known, many of your characters regenerate, but you will have to make an exception for this tournament as not to infringe this rule.

3. No god-moding, as this isn’t a damage based tourney, it’s performance based. God-moding is wrong, and as Wyborn said in his rule set, “You can be brutal without being cheap.” Remember that. Oh, and unleash hell. It’s fun to watch.

That’s about it, we pretty much have everything covered. If I forgot something, point it out, please.

No round specific rules. Remember to follow each rule diligently and with a smile.

THIS TOURNEY ENDS ON Tuesday, June 12.
Lineup:
Alpha Division:
4. Luigi007 versus 6. Asnabel
3. Inferno versus 8. Kargath
2. Acradius versus 1. Galefore
5. Wyborn versus 7. Erdawn

Bets Division:
9. MC Mushi Mo versus 14. Scripture
10. Deathscythe versus 11. Metal Man
12. Swordmaster Link versus 15. Repster
13. Dhampir versus 16. Selene Starblade

Judges:
Seat 1: t3hDarkness
Seat 2: NintendoGod
Seat 3: Heroine of the Dragon


COMMENCE.


EDIT: Here. Stupid automerging.

Walk. Do not stop. Continue, on and on, forever. Walk.

Kiunju couldn’t quite grasp this, but it was his only mission. He was obedient to a noticeable fault, always going and doing whatever master U’ondire desired, never going through with any of his own plans. He was dependant on everyone else to lead him; now his only leading had placed him dead in the center of the route to a volcano. Yet, even if it meant walking into the pit of fire itself, he would continue walking.

His sheer willpower was amazing; even adorned in a tattered robe and worn boots, carrying only his curved sword at his side, he walked with no hesitance towards the blistering heat. He did not stop walking, he ate while he walked, he had even trained himself to walk in his sleep (the chief reason his clothes were so tattered). He even fought while he walked, as no opponent was skilled enough to stop his march. Even so, he desired to stop, but no orders came. He couldn’t. So, he walked on and on and on, to whatever end his quest may find for him.

He was alone. He was always alone. Who would dare be here, near the volcano in which he was sure to die?

Kiunju was only nineteen… A small, wimpy young man in the eyes of most.

Yet, even with a build of only 5’9 and hair of a premature gray from a childhood poisoning, he was not to be underestimated. He had been described as invisible before, able to disappear while in combat. This rumor led to many challengers, whose challenges were either unrequited or finished without fatality.

Now, all around there was humidity and dust. Kiunju’s eyes watered; the heat was beginning to have an effect on his body, and but even so, he would continue walking. Behind him, the sky was a milky gray, and in front, the sky was blackened by the giant chimney he was scaling.

Yet, through the heat and the smoke, he walked, he did not stop. His mission was clear, his master had made it painfully so.

He found himself poised at the summit, his silver-trimmed robe dragging continuously in the dirt. Alone, as always, he faced a challenge, the crater in front of him steaming black and causing him to cough bitterly, was his opponent now, and he needed to cross it….

But even through his obvious danger, something was amiss. Waving his hands in front of him wildly to clear the smog, he caught a glimpse of the other side.

And for a fleeting moment, he saw a face.

He continued his march, but now, his steps were filled with caution. He attributed the face to his imagination, but he sensed a feeling of danger uncanny and unsettling.

He walked on carrying the large sledge hammer in his hand, dragging against the ground, into the cave. Looking at the scenery, in a distance he could here a large waterfall, but it was far away. He was an outcast of society, he was abandoned in this cave for the rest of his life, to feed on strange animals, and even the occasional person that was unlucky enough to get lost in this particular part of the cave system. He was alone and always had been, but very few people had seen him, and what they had seen would be enough to make any man go mad. He was average sized, around 5'8'' covered in fur allover his body, and his face was the most shocking. His teeth stuck very far out of his mouth, making his lips not visible at all. His eyes were... well, many of them. He had 8 eyes in the most random of positions. He wore a pinstriped old tattered shirt, with black trimmings.

The beast walked further into the dark cave, dragging his large hammer behind him. The hammer was painted black but because of the old blood there was no black to be seen. That was his only weapon besides his teeth, and his strength, he was really strong, and really fast. He wore a long blood stained cloak as well. The people who did confront him had no chance of getting away, the only people who do know of him, call him "The horror" no one really knew why besides the fact that no one wanted to see him. ever.

The horror could feel something as he listened to the whisper of the waterfall, from a long distance away. He could since that some one was deep within the cave. "Food" said the beast to himself. He walked into it looking for something to feast upon, he needed food, as he had seen nothing in that past few weeks, he had almost completely exhausted all of his food supply.

Alone in the world he dragged the hammer behind him, leaving blood stains on the already dirty and wet stone cave.

"ARRRRRHHHHHH!!!!" the beast yelled. The Horror was hopping for something to chase, or at least a fresh meal.

The large yell had echoed, but he could barely hear it over the large sound of the upcoming waterfall. He walked into a small tunnel, than out of it, and again into a large room, he found himself looking at the beautiful waterfall. He was in a large cavern, At the top was a whole in which the water was pouring down from. He continued on, in the circled room, that only the only plat forms out of the water were on the very edges of the side. He was alone, but he knew something was coming.

It had been a long time. For many years, Metal Man had been stuck in interdimensional limbo; searching for battles with his advanced drive system, he had long found himself trapped in some kind of between-world. After a particularly long battle against the demonic android, Demonoid, he had set the system (conveniently built into his suit) to go forward to the next.

But it didn't work.

For years and years, he'd appeared at other battles. He'd seen them in snatches and grabs, but every time the battle got good, or even tried to start, he'd be warped out. Sometimes he'd even vanish seconds before the battle actually started.

He had become used to the eerie green-and-blue energy of the realm. All around him was nothing but this energy, his suit hopelessly locked into yet another destination. He looked at it, sighing softly. One could hear the sigh, processed through his suit. It came out as sort of a metallic vibration.

"For so long my talents have been wasted, and yet again I am probably not going to see much more than a few minutes. Accused device, you have failed me!"

As he had done time and again, he angrily hit the blinking 12:00 indicator on his wrist-mounted teleportation device.

BAM.

BAM.

CRACK!!!

A hairline crack appeared in it. Suddenly, the numbers began to advance... slowly at first, but it kept on speeding up. 12:15... 12:16... 14:50... 18:20... 25:30!?!?! It kept on going. Metal Man desperately pressed buttons, but it was too late.

It was fried, and he was going to crash. Where, when, what? That was out of his control. He had smashed the ability to control that in what seemed to be a few seconds ago.

"Curse you, e---"

His speech was cut short as he disintegrated and vanished.

Meanwhile, his beast-like foe would have probably picked up the sounds. The cavern, another of many targets, had been quickly picked at random by the fried logic of his malfunctioning teleporter. At first, a small ripple would appear at the center; but that was the beginning. A steady vibration and whooshing noise would follow, and then... ........ BAM!!!

A fully formed man, about 7 feet tall, clad in cybernetic armor, would appear, clenching his fists and yelling something, his shiny white teeth clenched (and somewhat visible through his visor.). He would be rather interesting; his face pockmarked by scars, his long, pointy nose bent at an angle, his wild hair barely seen, with its salt and pepper appearance. He clearly hadn't washed it in days, weeks, maybe even years.

The man's blurry vision cleared. His suit rebooted, and soon he saw what was before him. He stared. His systems beeped. The man pointed and stepped a few feet back.

"What the... an Australopicine being? What time have I crashed into???"

He looked at his watch. It said QR 4. Obviously useless. He reflexively moved his right hand to his face, joints creaking. It made a loud 'CLANK.' He held his visor with his right hand.

"Well, that's great. My first battle in countless years and it's against a caveman. Well, beggars trapped in interdimensional voids can't be choosers..."

He straightened up, and his systems did the usual, giving him hints on weak points, strategies, etc. As usual, he ignored them; his suit, a product of InComm Technologies, had been developed for crippled soldiers of old to help fight in a desperate, world-ending war against the ultimate abomination.

He wasn't inexperienced anymore, so these hints became useless. HE saw, obviously, the suggestion to try to incapacitate it with an uppercut to the chin was flawed, and predictable. He had given it plenty of time to attack him anyway, but he decided he wouldn't sit there and be attacked. His cold, calculating brow developed some sweat as he quickly got into combat stance.

"...Whatever you are... I'm going to wreck you!!"

He pulled back his right arm and ran at it, headlong. His systems compensated for his imbalanced posture. With his weight and strength, he could easily knock over a stone wall, although a miss could be bad. His fist was aiming for the creature's exposed teeth, seeing as, at least from a cursory glance, those would be easy to break, whether or not it was by him punching it or it biting him. Of course, he'd made mistakes this way before, so it wouldn't be new if he had just charged into his own pain...

...But his left hand had a dagger in it, quickly pulled from an ankle sheath before he fully went to charge at the being . What was it for? Would it be useful? His left eye glanced at it as it shone in the water. The man knew only one thing for sure:

That waterfall was going to run with blood sooner or later.

The Horror was confused, what was this guy, where was he from? what had been going on? these were all thoughts in his head. The man appeared to be all metal, but as he thought these things his time for thinking had ran out. He had to act quick. The man came running at him fast, but he apparently didn't notice the large hammer in the beast hands.

While running the beast Spun the hammer large hammer in his hands, the hammer had a huge handle, about 4 feet long so it looked very strange, and the metal man realized his mistake. He tried to stop his feet but he was moving too fast. The horror swung the large hammer at the mans head, but the man had slid without him realizing it.

Jumping to avoid being hit the beast had cleared him by a few feet. He landed and turned around. The large metal man turned to thrust the blade into the beast stomach, but the Horror leaped back against the stone wall, and he bounced off the wall and right back at the Metal man. Spinning the hammer once more he thrust it at his head, still holding on. All Metal man could do was hold his dagger forward, The hammer hit the dagger knocking it out of the Metal Mans hands, and into the large pool of water.

The horrid beast momentum didn't stop though, he continued forward past the metal man who was laying down than into the very edge of the plat form, he tried to keep balance but he fell down to the water, about ten feet. He clutched the hammer in his hand as hard as he could. But he had to climb out of the water. It took him a few minutes than he got out.

Looking around the Beast didn't really know what to do any more. He couldnt find the metal man, where was he at. Where could he be? it was a small cavern. There really wasn't much hiding room at all.

He scanned the area, and saw nothing.

...

...

Still nothing. "ARRRRRRHHHHHH!!!" he yelled, and he ran straight forward, searching the area. But than from behind he heard something. He turned around and saw the large metal right in front of him. The metal man was about to punch but before he could the beast ran through him. not around, not to the side, but right over him. Knocking him to the ground. He pulled up h is large hammer, and laughed. And swung it into the ground because the metal man had dodged it, and grabbed the beast foot.

The Metal man thrust the beast to the side, trying to get him into the water once more, but The Beast grabbed the side with one hand and with it threw himself 15 feet into the air, reaching another platform even higher than the one he had climbed. The beast laughed again and readied his blood hammer. "You will Die" he said.

Once again the Metal Man was confused as the beast was not normal. He wasn't a mere caveman, and the beast was out to prove that. The Horror continued to laugh all through Metal Mans train of thought.

The beast jumped back down onto the same platform again, and he licked his teeth, showing his hunger. He spun the large hammer in his hands too wait for this opponent to counter attack. "Your turn" the beast said. The Metal Man was suprised that he could even talk at this point.

OOC: Allow me to do Metal Man's reactions from this point on; you can't quite read my mind, eh?

---

Metal Man was indeed surprised he could talk at this point. But not because he feared the beast. Rather, his armor had become uppity and was trying to control him for himself. He, however, had a strong will; and the minute he saw it get hung up on calculating its next move for him, he overrode it. Violently. He smashed the malfunctioning counter to pieces. Then he turned to the beast.

"I apologize for that amatuerish, unlike me fighting, but my suit was malfunctioning. Now, perhaps I can give you a true taste of my power..."

Still angry about his suit malfunctioning like that, in fact, incredibly angry, he decided he wouldn't give his armor another chance to take over like that. Instead, he shook his fist and then yelled at the beast... so loudly it had taken on the properties of a wordless snarl.

"RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!"

This was more than any primal scream, however; through the very speakers of his suit, it was amplified ten times. Worse, he had set it to be feedback-effected; earshattering screeches echoed across the cavern in a constant cacophony. Taking advantage of a probable opening created by this, Metal Man spied a large boulder and picked it up. He stopped screaming soon after--but only once it had been hefted with all his bulk, and was hurtling at the Beast.

But the Metal Man was not done. In fact, if he had his way, he'd prove man's superior ability for carnage. Rather than using any hammers or strange abilities to throw people weighing similarly to a car, he simply leapt onto the Beast's platform... ...breaking it underneath his feet. He backflipped--no time to guess the Beast's reaction, he unstrapped a blaster from his back and opened fire on the ceiling, intending to bury the Beast in rubble. It could bury him, too--indeed, he had taken some damage while his suit had malfunctioned, and wasn't about to let that sort of mess happen again--but he was too angry to think of that at this point.

Continuing his fast pace (unnaturally fast for a crippled man in a malfunctioning suit), he took out his own hammer, made of pure crystal, and viciously leapt at wherever the Beast had went next. He swung hard, fast, and viciously at the creature's legs... ...but that was not his true target. At the last second, he would alter the path... intending to shatter the hammer and the hand attached to it. Would he hit? Would his suit mysteriously malfunction again?

Who knows.

OOC: I'm is a rush to get out of here to get my pre-reg swag at a-kon so I'll let my opponent choose the battlefield and such, I'll try to post when I can this weekend.

OOC: Allow me to do Metal Man's reactions from this point on; you can't quite read my mind, eh?

eh... sorry bout that. I havnt really battled that way... But that will probably make the battle a bit longer. oh well. Post coming tonight or tommarow.

Selene, would you like to begin?

OOC: Rep, I won't be avaliable for the rest of the night, so if you'd care to begin before tomorrow afternoon that'd be fine...otherwise, I can get something up tomorrow afternoon.

His car was parked at the bottom of the steps, themselves the height of a small house and hailed by ribbed pillars seeming to hold the roof up. They led into the immaculate mansion of Sir Alaster Cashurn, a man of wealth who, by order of employer, Damian had just recently done away with. The process had been as simple as filling a syringe with horse-tranquilizers and acting the part of a man imparting terrible news to another – the key was the look on the face, the furrow of the forehead and pursing of the lips. He had risen from his seat, Damian had, and walked behind Cashurn’s desk, where he had been working on some inane shuffling of his fortunes. He had placed his hand on the old man’s shoulder.

“Sir Cashurn, I’m sorry, but your oldest daughter, she’s passed away,” Damian said, and then came the syringe right into the old man’s neck. Damian always imagined the feeling like a storm carving rivers over plains – the sudden rise, and then, as the clouds roll on away, the water slowing and evaporating until the ground is left lifeless and dead.

He stepped out of Cashurn’s office, then, making his way across the bowl-shaped reception hall that led to the door, carved out of some tropical tree’s dead trunk. Damian had half the mind to look around, see just how richly the man lived, but his orders had been succinct, and so he reached into his dark braids, held back by a silken handkerchief, and put his sunglasses on his face, hiding behind the cover of orange tint.

Damian jogged the length of the stairs in twos and threes, wrenching his tie loose from the noose it had been, unbuttoning his pinstriped blazer and tugging his shirt from his pinstriped pants, already feeling the heat in the air as the sun rose up behind the trees in the distance. Sunlight wasn’t good for his line of work, but no matter what he could never rouse himself early enough to avoid it.

He opened the door to his car at the bottom, seeing the sheathe to some liquid-curved blade in the driver’s seat, designs running golden down it, and would’ve hopped in had the nerve-ending sensation of someone else being around not told him to get a new job.

This is bound to be interesting...

As places to meet for a fight go, this one was rather... lacking. Not in space, certainly- as multi-level parking lots go, it was quite large. Nor in potential large explosive projectiles either- plenty of vehicles, from mopeds to minibuses, littered the insides of the structure.

No, it was lacking in... style.

Like cars made out of ticky-tacky, sportscar waited by sportscar in the rows of smaller parking spaces. The mopeds and motorbikes were aligned in their diagonals as if a collapsing stack of crackers laid out on its side. There was no variation to the place, no interest. It was supremely... dull. One could have wandered in the building for hours, going up and down stairs, riding the elevator to gods-only-know which floors, and gotten quite thoroughly and completely lost. One story blended into another, one van into another, one bus into another.

Just... dull, dull, dull, dull, dull.

And then there was the robot.

Possibly the only difference anywhere in the building of interminably wide, infinitely numbered floors was the robot.

Now, as robots go, she was quite the sight. Clearly a high-grade gynoid, with an overall slim build. Stylish red battlegauntlets with the knuckles buried slightly into the paving of the 34,258th floor, sublot Q section 21 space whateverthehellitwas. A clean silver-blue plastic bodysuit. Nice, simple white combat boots. Even the green-screened crystal-display HUD over her right eye was shiny and new. All in all a pretty little package.

If one could count her as 'little' with the way the top of her head was digging into the roof. Had she stood upright, she might have reached a good twenty-five feet tall. Of course, had she stood upright, she'd have taken out a rather sizeable chunk of the floor above her and the floor above that, and made quite the mess of a mint-condition '62 Devaris Motors Temullans (the only known land-vehicle to mount and use a full set of seven wheels without serious steering issues).

Still, even with little bits of concrete dust clinging to her long ponytail of blue 'hair', she looked... pleased.

She was... happy. Here she was safe and here she could keep her little friends safe, with their funny little round legs and their curious engines and that bizarre need for another being to sit in them. And nobody ever disturbed her or her friends here- though, occasionally a new one would show up. Maybe a new one would today? Reaching out with her left hand, she gently stroked the top of a 1978 Volkswagon Minibus, much like most people would a friendly dog. She felt the need to express her sensation of joy and contentment.

Her mouth opened and she paused a moment, still petting the minibus on its pale-tan roof. For a moment, she raised her left hand, and on the palm could be seen emblazoned a serial code.

MAK0-70

"^_^" She said, and meant every bit of it.

How would you spend your time, if you had but days to live?

A question noone hopes to need an answer for, this question was now thrust upon a man. His head, once held proud and true, now hung, his mind lost in deep thought. This man, this mighty warrior, would soon die. Hours earlier, his doctor delivered the terrible news, he had advanced cancer of the brain. Although it showed no outer symptoms, the evidence was all in the scans.

At first, he could not believe it. He would not believe it. He ordered another test, and when that one turned the same results, ordered another, to no avail. He returned home, to his family. He relayed the grim news to them, and they wept, for they loved him so. After one last dinner as a family, he decided to fulfill his lifetime's dreams while he still had the chance.

With his family supporting him, he left on his journey. He was given by his doctors an estimated five days to live, and so he made use of them. He made right any wrongs he had taken part in, he took part in the opening of a new orphanage, he cliff-dived from the tallest cliff anyone had ever dived from, he rode a bull, he defeated an army of evil-doers, and finally, straight from the field of battle, he walked towards the mansion of his most beloved friend, Alaster Cashurn, to see one of those world famous operas that he never had time for when he wasn't going to die. He walked up the massive flight of steps, and knocked on the magnificent wooden door that brought back memories of his life when he was younger.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

He waited, when no one answered, he knocked again.

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

He waited a bit more, then remembered. He reached under the welcome mat(even THAT was magnificent, made of some beautiful cloth that he could not identify, but almost felt guilty about standing on) and pressed a small area about the size of his little finger, the top of a key protruded out from the floor.

"Ah, Al, always with the precautions." He did not pull the key, but turned it, memories of this system were embedded in his mind. When the door opened, he wandered in and called for his friend.

"Al! Alaster! Where are you, old friend?" His call went unanswered. He wandered through the immense house a bit further, before calling again.

"I know you're in here, Cashurn! I can smell you from a mile away!" He wasn't joking when he said this, his nose was famous for it's ability. He followed the scent until he found Alaster's office. What he saw inside shocked him. His life-long friend was murdered. His face grew stern, he could still smell the perp's scent, the scent of poison.

He followed it back out the front door of the house, across the large front lawn, and out to the street. He could see a man, a man who reeked of the scent of poison. He gripped his broadsword(he like to do things the old-fashioned way, even his armour was made in the traditional method, light and simple) and charged.

"AAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHH!" The man easily dodged this hasty charge, his car, however, wasn't so lucky. The roof was completely destroyed. Without turning to the man, he yelled.

"I, Sir James Siepel, SHALL TAKE REVENGE FOR SIR ALASTER CASHURN'S DEATH!"

Damn. My next post better be a masterpiece. Because my word processor decieved me, my last post was made up of seven types of suck. My next will hopefully not be.

The young man walked. And walked, and walked and walked. And when he was done, he walked some more. He had been walking for what must have seemed like an eternity. What was following him would know. Kiunju had sometimes grasped the feeling that he was being watched, and closely. And that’s because he was. But he never felt like he was in much danger at all. Merely like something... or someone had taken an interest in just where it was he was going. And that someone... was getting bored.

The slender man in the tattered cloak approached the edge of the volcano’s caldera. He set what he thought would be his final footstep down... and found it on solid ground. Sparing only a second to think: “huh?” he unerringly kept walking in a straight line, his footsteps echoing on what seemed to be a polished marble surface... in the middle... of a volcano. He kept walking like that, until he began to hear a great grinding noise, like enormous stones being scraped across each other. In a few moments, it stopped. The smoke was so chokingly thick that he could barely see his hand in front of his face. But that’s not what he wanted to see. He wanted to see if that face was still there. It was. That same face, and a figure attached to it, came floating out of the smog at him. It had on a dark grey robe that while dull, still seemed to reflect what little light there was. His head was crowned with a thin silver circlet, and a little bit of raven-black hair. His face was young, gaunt, and had a twisted black tattoo over the right eye. He rested, unmoving, on a plain, obsidian staff. Though he didn’t move, Kiunju was still approaching him, and while he came closer, the man addressed him.

He spoke in an even, somewhat amused tone, though his face was as grim as the rod he leaned upon. “I have a question for you, Kiunju...” The man didn’t move to follow him, as though he expected the youth to stop; which he didn’t, of course. But a few seconds later, here he came through the smoke again. “What exactly do you do...” Again, he didn’t follow. Again, he came... “When you can no longer continue walking?” The figure’s staff flashed a bright yellow. The wind gusted so hard, Kiunju was thrown off into what he though would be the certain doom of a volcano’s mouth. He landed, though, on the same, strange surface he had been walking on. When he opened his eyes, the smoke was gone, and he saw what had been happening. The two of them were standing atop a giant marble disk, floating far, far above the volcano. Giving a few test steps, Kiunju’s theory of it rotating freely was proven correct, as he could tell by looking at the ground below that he wasn’t moving his body, but rather, moving the disk.

“So, Kiunju, my name is Dastren. And you still haven’t answered my question...” A few moments of pregnant silence permeated the unusual plateau. “Perhaps you won’t have to. I’ll make you a deal, young man. Defeat me in single combat, and I’ll let you continue on your merry way. But if I beat you, you have to tell me why you’re walking, and why you can’t, or won’t stop.” As he spoke, the staff he was leaning against grew a wicked pike blade of ice on the top end. He spun it like an expert, and readied it to fight. “Ready when you are, kid.”

EDIT: OKAY, WHAT THE ****. Let me try this again...

“…Okay.”
Simple, quiet, and raspy from being unused for two years, his voice made its way across the marble disk as an arrow unleashed from a archer’s bow. Yet, even though he had accepted this ominous visitor’s challenge, he continued to irreverently walk, even towards the end of the disk.

Dastren, with his pike readied as it had been, stared in disbelief. The boy actually planned to walk during the fight, or at least, that was as it seemed. The spinning landscape continued in enough of a way to send Kiunju in another direction, and thus he continued his march.

And Dastren was now ready to know the child’s reasoning. Why he had worried such a thing was irrelevant now, as this kid had simply nonchalantly thrown him off with an “Okay”. He readied himself for an attack, his icy spear poised to kill on contact.

Yet, he noticed a sharp pain in his side. Wincing and dropping his stance, he ran his hand to his side to find blood. Though visibly in confusion, he shook it off and regained his stance.

As though it were nothing, he prepared once more.

And another, this time accompanied by noticeable blood spatter. The trajectory suggested a rear attack, and thus he turned to find his assailant. No-one. Once more turning, he saw the boy simply walking as always, never stopping or batting an eye towards his opponent. As expected and almost dreaded, Dastren felt that pain once more…

Except, this time it was a crippling, horrible pain. Not as the sharp stings he had felt earlier, this time he felt as if something huge had been stabbed into him and removed. Looking down, he noticed no fresh wounds, and as such he wondered if Kiunju had some method of simulating a false, distracting pain in his opponents.

Even so, Dastren did not wish to allow the boy away before the question was answered. He tried to move his leg, and yet, in a split millisecond, the mere twitching of his calf muscle set off a horrid chain reaction…

SpRRRRRRRRSSSHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhh….

A mist of red, permeating the dark air as a crimson light, splashed and stained the marble. Taking a look, he noticed seven small, almost inscrutable lines in his garment, and the related blood-stains surrounding them and growing larger by the second. He had obviously been stabbed. And the culprit was obvious, however he may be deceiving. He was still walking without hesitation, still not even looking at his bleeding adversary.

And he walked… On and on, never to stop, as was commanded of him.

Yet, now, something new had been required of him. To fight; yes, he had been ordered to fight by someone, and that was a new mission. Yet, his master’s orders carried far more weight. The young man would walk, yet he would fight. He fought to hide the grin of satisfaction this brought him, a practical end to the monotony of walking without stop…

And his opponent…

He would obviously have some well formulated counter move. An interesting style of fighting for him to learn… And then destroy. That was it; he wanted to destroy the styles of fighting not taught to him by his master. This was the only conscious decision he had ever made on his own… And he desired to hold true to it.

Dastren was still experiencing a now sped up sense of pain, a rapidly bleeding wound squirting a pristine bloodstream and then shrinking to a pooling stain on his clothing. Again, this time on his face, drawing a line of blood across his cheek.

This silent torture, only punctuated by the grunts of pain Dastren made, continued every time this attacker tried to move. Every tensing of his muscle opened a fresh wound, and now he knew his fate: to be killed for trying to move. Yet, the one who was so obviously going this was walking before him, undeterred and seeming to beam a confidence not shown in his expressionless face.

What’s more, the buy’s sword was still sheathed.

Yet, in all honesty, Dastren was not trapped. He was almost certain to free himself, unless he desired a torturous ruin underneath a mysterious and inescapable circumstance…

Yet, even so, through all of this, Kiunju walked.

And he walked.

And walked.

On, and on, and on…

Forever.

THAT was his mission.

And even with new goals and the entertainment he had befallen, he would not stop, for this mission was all he knew and all he needed.

(OKAY, way better. That was weird.)

EDIT: Fawnky spacing issue on one of the paragraphs.

EDIT2: Sorry, there was a distracting typo in there. I thought it looked utterly ridiculous, so I fixed it.

Ooc: Friggen migraines... my own damn fault I get em... but still annoying.

*sniff*
"Bad time for the crazies to act up." a voice like fire spoke.
" 's right boss" The green flying pot bellied pig responded.
"Oh be quiet." The shirtless man swatted at it like a fly, even though it was the size of an elephant.
"Sure boss" It responded much like a fly.
"If you weren't a hallucination I'd kill you. Burn it, I'll do it anyway."

The golden eyes man then proceeded to do just that. It was a rather impressive display of violence done to a figment of his own insanity. Well, it would have been if one could see it as more then a crazy swinging at the air. He took a swig from the intricately carved flask at his hip and clipped it back. Short, red, wild hair defied the wind and flowed in random directions. The fact that there was no wind to defy at the moment was of little consequence to him. Whether a delusion or not, his hair would sway with and against the wind. It made for an interesting display when the wind was going south, and his mind came up with one going west.

Now Aidan Dreiks was quite aware that almost everything he was currently experiencing was a result of his own madness. He lived with it everyday, he had reached clarity within insanity. He had a sight for reality greater then most, even if he had lost touch with it.

Now however, They were beginning to appear. Streaks of shadows from time to time. Just out of the corner of his eye. He adjusted his eye patch and waited. His massive scar that neatly cut him in half from head above the left eyebrow and in one straight line exiting only stopping at his spine after slipping under his right ribs.

They grew in intensity, beginning to block his vision, yet having no actual effect. Just one more contradictory thing about him. The more of them, the bigger the threat. A smirk crept on his lips. Judging by the fact that he would be nearly blind if they truly affected his sight, this was going to be fun . He mostly ignored his surroundings. He knew them well already, not counting the fluctuating results of his crazed mind.

Sand. Sand everywhere. To the left? Sand. To the right? Sand. In between? More sand. Up obviously had the dry cloudless blue sky with the unforgiving daystar. Beneath was quite the different story however. Aidan stood on one of the ruined pillar of what was once a raised platform of some sort. He could see the large slab of stone tilted to the side. The temple, or what was left of it, behind him was of little concern. It was the type of thing those with a few years of wandering around had seen before. The damage was simple done by the dessert instead of a forest, water, freezing winds, and lord only knows what. They were all the same. All with an item that was needed to get threw the locks and traps and such inside.

Personally, the shoeless one precariously balanced up high, he cared little for it. but here he was anyway. Why? A random fancy most likely. His feet led him where they wanted and he followed. Heat senses picked up something coming. Odd that, it usually had much more range then his nose, yet his nose already had the scent. No matter. Soon his ears would know what he was facing. Then his eye would, and more importantly, His fist.

Ooc: That should do the trick.

<OOC>Ooops, i didn't realise the battles were in a seperate topic :P I'd been waiting for stuff to pop up in the registration topic. hehe.
Forgive my noobiness, I've never been in this tourney before.
Inferno, to make this fair, could you pick one of the following two letters: A and B ? This is a random battlefield selection, since I've got two in mind (one weighted towards you, one towards me, and I just want to be fair on this).</OOC>

^[QUOTE=Inferno]OOC: I'm is a rush to get out of here to get my pre-reg swag at a-kon so I'll let my opponent choose the battlefield and such, I'll try to post when I can this weekend.[/QUOTE]

In case you did not see it.

^Right, I'll just flip a coin then. (I'm assuming Inferno's going with one of his dragon-saiyan things.)

Will be a few more hours, max a day.

OoC: Uhh, Asnabel hasn't even looked at this topic yet. I really was hoping he would take the first post, but I suppose I'll have to. As soon as I think of an arena...