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Characters are on the eighteenth page, third entry down - sorry, but it's been forever and a day since I've actually pointed out posts with messageboard code. :/ Take your pick: Sabrilocke or Maaia.
Fight's one-on-one, with short-but-sweet sentences or pretentious and flowery entries preferred. If your character is capable of healing itself, it may do so only once, and may leech life - or in the case of Maaia, magical energy - however many times it wants. Summoning is also allowed.

The battlefield, should Sabrilocke be chosen, will be a vast and blackened plain littered with corpses (at the most ten feet apart; at the least, piled on top of one another). Some of these corpses belong to wizards, some belong to armed men and women, while there are even a few horses and half a dozen massive humanoid forms lying around. The sky is golden, with black clouds moving about. Vampires sparkly and non need not worry - the weather's fine!

If you opt to fight Maaia the fight will take place in a primordial forest with a depressing, overcast sky (vampires sparkly and non need worry)...more or less the Tirisfal Glades minus the scaling for gameplay, meaning you get all the depressing scenery you want with only half the gold scams, none of the slash commands, and even more unnecessary buildings in populated areas!

NOTE: This topic is not subject to the horrible bouts of ADD seen in earlier topics of my making on this forum.

Good timing, now I shall test my latest creation!
Picking Sabrilocke.
---

A scarlet warp ripped a hole through the fabric of reality. Out stepped a familiar 7 foot tall man covered in large, interlocking, rounded, humanoid armor. His armor gleamed as he stepped on a corpse's skull. A resounding CRUNCH could be heard as he did so. He paid this no mind, as he postured at the bleak emptiness of this battlefield with an outstretched right pointer finger.

"What the hell kind of place is this? All these boring places... I mean..." He would kick the corpse aside. "It's just so simple." He walked through the area. A sproingy noise was in each of his strides; he sounded like a loose toaster. He was one to talk, since from a distance he appeared to be a silver point with a simple visor. An empty suit with no body, almost. Except he did have a body; it was just not very obvious.

Superfluous description aside, Metal Man took a small hop and encountered yet more corpses. He piled up a number of them and then stood atop the macabre heap, peering over the horizon with his left hand as a further visor over the top of his eyes.

"Is there anyone in this grave heap anyway? I should have chosen that other place. Seems like someone already killed the person who I was gonna fight in here!" He laughed raspily at his own joke, coming off as a rather annoying jerk. In the middle of a field of corpses. Only in the Battlefield, folks!

"Hello, pretty..." A man around six feet in height covered in armor-clad muscle rummaged through the battlefield, plucking pendants off of corpses left and right and grabbing other items that caught his eye...usually wallets. He assumed that since both sides of whatever battle it was he was fighting - he was pretty sure this time it was a territorial dispute - were dead he would be able to capitalize on their losses with a little bit of work, and what better time than the present, when nobody could see him? At first he argued to himself that wizards would be able to see him, but if they feared him as much as he believed they should they would leave him alone.

As he made his way through the maze of corpses he stopped at a pile of corpses larger than the rest, upon which stood either a construct or a survivor of the battle...

= = = = = = = = =

Rushed!

The man gazed down at the other man from the top of the pile, a sinister gleam atop his visor. He smirked as he raised his right hand slowly. In his right hand was a very dusty and old AK-47, although the braces connecting it to his suit meant it was more than just what it appeared to be...

He spoke wryly at this newcomer. "Hello, man after my own heart." He aimed at this man's head. "You've just stepped into a nightmare, party of one. Your table will be served right now. Please tell us how your experience went after you die." He then pulled the trigger. For a moment, there was no sound;

Then in the next, a loud hum was followed by the "SHUSHUSHUSHUK' of rapidly moving, supersonic speed projectiles. They were long, somewhat thin bullets of a titanium alloy; and they were being launched at much higher speeds than an AK-47 ever could claim. Even worse, they appeared to be coming from an unseen ammunition supply--he did not stop to reload. All this and more was now flying at the unfortunate muscle-armored man's head.

Metal Man peered at his foe with a mocking expression. Just why was he shooting at Sabrilocke anyway?

Sabrilocke tried his best to side-step the stream of bullets, not knowing what exactly was being fired at him. For all he knew this talking metal thing was an advanced type of siege golem, or perhaps a construct sent from some lawfully-aligned plane to get him for his misdeeds.
While he managed to avoid most of the missiles, no less than half a dozen hit his breastplate and at least one broke a couple of metal links protecting his arm. While any normal suit of armor would have been punctured, Sabrilocke's enchanted plate was not...but that didn't mean he couldn't feel anything! Each hit had the same effect on him as a powerful, jarring thrust from a stave would on unarmored flesh.
But in an instant he was gone, throwing his cape over himself with his one free hand and appearing on the other side of the heap upon which the golem-creature stood. In the confusion he tore a long knife out of his boot and hurled it up-- more of a distraction tactic than anything.
"Don't know who you are or where you're from, but these corpses and their loot are mine. I'm not in the mood for a compromise either, so if you want any trophies you're going to have to go through me." He assumed a defensive stance, gripping his sword with both hands...

Metal Man didn't seem to react as the knife bounced off his armor. It wasn't because the knife couldn't pierce it--but without precise aim, it would easily glance off his rounded suit. He seemed unaffected by his foe's speech, reaching behind his back and taking out a wrench nearly as tall as Sabrilocke and half as wide. He held it easily in one hand. "Very well, I will break your sword into pieces, shoot a large hole in your midsection, and stab the sword pieces into your eyes."

He then nonchalantly marched at his foe, spewing even more supersonic titanium bullets and swinging his massive wrench with his left hand at his foe's sword. After all, he would expect his foe to try to counter the wrench--alas, the wrench was such a heft that its momentum could break bone and bend steel. Such was the advantage of being a cyborg, that he could hold this thing at all!

He was clearly not being fair at all, but then again, he was having a slight bit of difficulty balancing on the slippery corpses he had made a hill out of. Perhaps being on the high ground wasn't always the best?

Sorry to cut this short, but I've got a lot of things on my mind right now. Thank you for taking an interest.