Welcome to the First Round of the Tournament of the Red Lions. I'm your host for today, ...*bdidididididiidid*... Bomby Digitaaaal. For those already not familiar with the rules, I'll hand the mic over to Repster for a minute to explain.
[quote="repster]Let's start with one simple thing that should be mentioned. Wyborn. He came up with it"]
The keepers of the law throughout this tournament will be myself, Galefore, and Luigi007. The fighting has been selected at random. Our first round battles will be:
6. Alex vs. 4. Repster
5. Ultimategamer vs. 14. Kirbyboy
12. Scripture vs. 9. Lycrios
8. Asnabel vs. 1. T3hDarkness
13. Wyborn vs. 3. Agent J
2. Soul meets body vs. 15. Superluigi64
11. Erdawn vs. 16. El Pardack
7. Acradius vs. 10 Bartman
The number you've been designated will be your number throughout the tournament. Don't forget it. Not that it really means anything to you.
Alright, fighters. Take off your gloves, forget your finesse. Get your mind in a brutal state. Let's see some blood and guts flying throughout the air!
This round will end on Sunday, March 4 at 12:00 AM EST. (in other words, at the stroke of midnight in NYC).
The Second Tournament of the Red Lions: Volume 1
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deathscythe
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- Location: This question always has been creepy
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deathscythe
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- Location: This question always has been creepy
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Wyborn
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OoC: Dammit, Acradius. He was mine!
This is the battlefield where we will all be fighting:
Imagine a world completely covered in mist, so thick that the ground is not visible anywhere and the very air itself is so thick one could barely move. This mist hangs for miles up into the air, impenetrable and unknowable. Out of this mist rise hundreds upon thousand upon millions of huge cylindrical pillars, five miles high and three hundred feet across the top, giving ample room for fighting and ensuring a long fall for anyone who should lose their grip on the field. Each battle will take place on a different pillar.
I've kept the description this length for the sake of brevity: that we are fighting o top of gigantic columns miles high is all any of you really need to know.
I'll post my entrance later today, after I come up with a character to use. -OoC
Edit: Soul Meets Body, he asked me over AIM to sign him up. So I did.
This is the battlefield where we will all be fighting:
Imagine a world completely covered in mist, so thick that the ground is not visible anywhere and the very air itself is so thick one could barely move. This mist hangs for miles up into the air, impenetrable and unknowable. Out of this mist rise hundreds upon thousand upon millions of huge cylindrical pillars, five miles high and three hundred feet across the top, giving ample room for fighting and ensuring a long fall for anyone who should lose their grip on the field. Each battle will take place on a different pillar.
I've kept the description this length for the sake of brevity: that we are fighting o top of gigantic columns miles high is all any of you really need to know.
I'll post my entrance later today, after I come up with a character to use. -OoC
Edit: Soul Meets Body, he asked me over AIM to sign him up. So I did.
Help me out with the best fanfiction ever, Ganondorf Beats Up EVERYONE! You decide who gets beaten!
For the battle-minded and mathematically inclined, there's the Hyrulian War, a revived time-honored tradition!
For the battle-minded and mathematically inclined, there's the Hyrulian War, a revived time-honored tradition!
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michaelmacinnis
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- Location: Adrift along the shores of sanity )D
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Repster
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- Location: J'tun ostie d'Acadien.
Clothed in simple black, blood streaked hair fluttering in the soft wind, Leona stood there comfortably and waited with a smile of her lovely features. It was not often a meal came to her of it's own will. The top of her extra appendages twitched every so slightly. All fourteen of the tentacle, spider leg, stone hybrid things where easily picked out. Six across her ample bosom, four to support her in place of the legs dangling a few inches from the ground, and the last top four ready to act as her hands. Her own arms being crossed patiently, the fingers on one hand drumming on the other arms bicep.
When our world is burning.
When all run like the cowards they are.
I shall stand in the inferno, and fight until I am consumed
When all run like the cowards they are.
I shall stand in the inferno, and fight until I am consumed
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deathscythe
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OoC:
Entrance
lying on the ground, a sudden pain shot into Iring's head. He was awake. He looked up into the mist. He had no memory of how he had gotten here, and he feared what was ahead, and at the same, wished to look forward to it. His cloths were damp, and he had no relocation of anything. He stood up, and wiped off his pants that were just a bit too long. "MY god, where am I?" He asked himself. It was even hard for him to think. His mind was as clouded as the air was. He could not see a thing up ahead.
The warrior Iring found himself curious, he held his head for a minute, but soon took it off. He walked forward a few feet, watching the ground, that he could just barely see. One step, two steps, and a third. He didn't take another. There he found him self looking down into nothingness, apparently he was high in the the air. He bent down, his legs spread away from each other, barely able to keep his balance. His foot slipped a little, and he almost found him self dead.
Irings hair fell into his face, and he let it stay. He did not know who he would come to meet. He stood up, and felt a cold chill. He took a step back and turned around. And heard a sound, the sound of something moving. He could not afford to charge. Iring stared into the cold dark mist. He was curious. He knew that he would have to fight for his life, because nothing was safe in this life. He needed to fight for it.
The mist seemed to stir around Iring as he walked ahead. Another step, and another. each step with held a mystery, in which he knew not the answer.
"who's there" he siad.
And no reply came.
Ok thank you, now at least I know he'll show up.Edit: Soul Meets Body, he asked me over AIM to sign him up. So I did.
Entrance
lying on the ground, a sudden pain shot into Iring's head. He was awake. He looked up into the mist. He had no memory of how he had gotten here, and he feared what was ahead, and at the same, wished to look forward to it. His cloths were damp, and he had no relocation of anything. He stood up, and wiped off his pants that were just a bit too long. "MY god, where am I?" He asked himself. It was even hard for him to think. His mind was as clouded as the air was. He could not see a thing up ahead.
The warrior Iring found himself curious, he held his head for a minute, but soon took it off. He walked forward a few feet, watching the ground, that he could just barely see. One step, two steps, and a third. He didn't take another. There he found him self looking down into nothingness, apparently he was high in the the air. He bent down, his legs spread away from each other, barely able to keep his balance. His foot slipped a little, and he almost found him self dead.
Irings hair fell into his face, and he let it stay. He did not know who he would come to meet. He stood up, and felt a cold chill. He took a step back and turned around. And heard a sound, the sound of something moving. He could not afford to charge. Iring stared into the cold dark mist. He was curious. He knew that he would have to fight for his life, because nothing was safe in this life. He needed to fight for it.
The mist seemed to stir around Iring as he walked ahead. Another step, and another. each step with held a mystery, in which he knew not the answer.
"who's there" he siad.
And no reply came.
Sitting in this room playing Russian roulette,
Finger on the trigger to my dear Juliet,
Out from the window see her back drop silhouette,
This blood on my hands is something I cannot forget,
Finger on the trigger to my dear Juliet,
Out from the window see her back drop silhouette,
This blood on my hands is something I cannot forget,
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Mushi
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This is Agent J(A.K.A MC Mushi Mo)
Ooc: I've decided to try out the Wyborn way of life, i'm using an original character that isn't in the BoW(he doesn't read them anyway).
Ka-chunk Ka-chunk Ka-chunk
A man of medium stature was slowly climbing his way up the side of one of the many pillars that hid themselves in the mist. He was using nothing more then a pick axe, and some climbing boots. Alfred Grimhand had been called here for a tournament of sorts, The Red Something-or-other. Either way, there was to be blood, and blood was something that he fancied. His concentration was slipping, and his pick didn't go as deep into the pillar as it should have, he slid down about ten feet.
"Damnit, that Gnome pilot is as good as dead!"
Due to his lack of teleportation abilities, which the other contestants seemed to have, he had hired a Gnome glider pilot to fly him to the top. The pilot's skills got him about 300 feet from his destination, but the gnome couldn't force any more altitude out of the glider, and Alfred was forced to jump.
Ka-chunk Ka-chunk Ka-chunk
After about fifteen minutes of climbing, he finally pulled himself up to the top. The mist was just as thick up there, as it had been down where he had started. He stood there, his pick over his shoulder, and waited for his opponent. He surely didn't expect to be the first to the top.
"All that just to wait some more? Argh..." He thrust his pick into the ground, and sat down to wait, cursing in his mind.
Now, nothing about this man screamed "Dwarf" he was of average height, lacked a beard, and had short brown hair. He actually wasn't a Dwarf, he was found by a Dwarven colony that lived in a large cave near the city of Fallador, and was raised to be a dwarf. He was an expert miner, the caves in which he was raised was extremely fruitful, and he was quickly taught the ways of the pick axe. Although he looks like a man, his attitude, his way of life, and his love of liquor all are products of his dwarven family. His armour is the best that his Dwarf colony could forge, but he decided against a helmet(as it blocked his vision).
"Damnit..." He opened his flask, and took a swig of a thick-black Dwarven ale.
Ooc: I've decided to try out the Wyborn way of life, i'm using an original character that isn't in the BoW(he doesn't read them anyway).
Ka-chunk Ka-chunk Ka-chunk
A man of medium stature was slowly climbing his way up the side of one of the many pillars that hid themselves in the mist. He was using nothing more then a pick axe, and some climbing boots. Alfred Grimhand had been called here for a tournament of sorts, The Red Something-or-other. Either way, there was to be blood, and blood was something that he fancied. His concentration was slipping, and his pick didn't go as deep into the pillar as it should have, he slid down about ten feet.
"Damnit, that Gnome pilot is as good as dead!"
Due to his lack of teleportation abilities, which the other contestants seemed to have, he had hired a Gnome glider pilot to fly him to the top. The pilot's skills got him about 300 feet from his destination, but the gnome couldn't force any more altitude out of the glider, and Alfred was forced to jump.
Ka-chunk Ka-chunk Ka-chunk
After about fifteen minutes of climbing, he finally pulled himself up to the top. The mist was just as thick up there, as it had been down where he had started. He stood there, his pick over his shoulder, and waited for his opponent. He surely didn't expect to be the first to the top.
"All that just to wait some more? Argh..." He thrust his pick into the ground, and sat down to wait, cursing in his mind.
Now, nothing about this man screamed "Dwarf" he was of average height, lacked a beard, and had short brown hair. He actually wasn't a Dwarf, he was found by a Dwarven colony that lived in a large cave near the city of Fallador, and was raised to be a dwarf. He was an expert miner, the caves in which he was raised was extremely fruitful, and he was quickly taught the ways of the pick axe. Although he looks like a man, his attitude, his way of life, and his love of liquor all are products of his dwarven family. His armour is the best that his Dwarf colony could forge, but he decided against a helmet(as it blocked his vision).
"Damnit..." He opened his flask, and took a swig of a thick-black Dwarven ale.
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Asnabel
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Atop one of the colossal pillars, a man sat waiting for the coming battle. He wore a long, gray kimono. In his right hand he held a long staff that was itself topped with a long, curved blade. Tucked into the sash of his robe there sat a long katana and beneath rested his wakizashi, the katana's shorter sister blade. He wore no armor of any sort, and his feet were only adorned by a pair of simple sandals. He was unmistakably a samurai, though how he had reached the top of this massive column was a mystery. He stood, and readied himself for the arrival of his opponent.
OoC: I edited it for clumsy language and description.
OoC: I edited it for clumsy language and description.
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Galefore
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- Location: ur wildest dreems lol
Ah, dwarven ale. So commonly used for the tough-guy character. I hope he's MURDEROUS.
Also, please note: I'm sure the vets know, but you newer kids may need the info: DO NOT hold anything back. I want blood, guts, and mutilation. You want a high score? Make it as violent as your little dreams can be.
And, as a last note, I really don't mid typos and such for this kind of tourney. HOWEVER, if the post is nigh-unreadable, it will affect your score. Still, that's only a minor fact, and I will be leniant simply because of this thing's founding principle.
Oh, and it seems to be a hum-dinger so far. Keep 'em comin', warriors.
Also, please note: I'm sure the vets know, but you newer kids may need the info: DO NOT hold anything back. I want blood, guts, and mutilation. You want a high score? Make it as violent as your little dreams can be.
And, as a last note, I really don't mid typos and such for this kind of tourney. HOWEVER, if the post is nigh-unreadable, it will affect your score. Still, that's only a minor fact, and I will be leniant simply because of this thing's founding principle.
Oh, and it seems to be a hum-dinger so far. Keep 'em comin', warriors.
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Wyborn
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OoC: Two notes for the judges, just because I feel they merit repeating.
1. Remember, in this tournament, numerical scores are not given. You just say who wins. This keeps things simple by making it impossible for one judge's opinion to overrule that of the other two.
2. This isn't just about the violence - it is about who you feel is winning the fight. If we all had invisible health bars, who has taken th biggest chunk off of his opponent? This is what you ask yourself!
I leave your conversations now, to dance before you in this merry parade of death. -OoC
As Alfred waited, he could not help but wonder at the nature of his opponent, should they ever show up: these tournaments in these places tended to attract freaks of nature and abominations of any god, neither of which bothered him overmuch but both of which still piqued his interest. Curiosity was funny like that.
A sword appeared over the opposite edge of the massive pillar, the hand holding it slender. The other hand came up too, and both pulled up the body behind it, which surprised Alfred about as much as anything could have, given what he had been expecting.
The woman - and woman it was - had black hair that fell down to the small of her back in a single massive braid that swung as she moved. Her features were sharp and angular, and Alfred thought that, amonst humans, she might have been considered beautiful, except that her entire face was twisted in an expression like a person trying not to laugh when tickled, a horrible half-grin that spoke of torment he could not guess at the nature of. Her brown eyes were wide, had been opened so wide for so long that the skin had begun to bleed around them, and Alfred was sure he had never seen such a panicked expression in his entire life. She wore plain hardened leather armor, not worth much in a brawl like they would be having but functional otherwise, and the sword she wielded - what a sword, meant for one hand with a slender blade that his dwarven-trained eyes told him was sharp enough to slice through stone and resilient enough to not dull under the strain.
Something was odd about how she moved, how she lead with her sword instead of her body, but he could not place what it was. She came at him, screaming, sword raised, and he thought her eyes were red.
Her first strike came from above and was clumsy, and he saw it soon enough to simply step to the side of it, throwing a balled fist that may have disabled her. Her free hand wrapped around his fist, though, and her whole body heaved as she rolled onto her back and planted her leather boots against his stomach, taking him down with her and throwing him to land with a crash on his back.
"DIE!" She was up on her feet already, her sword came down like a stroke of lightning, and he baely managed to roll halfway over so that the blade buried itself in the stone of the pillar, leaving a cut so narrow it was almost invisible to the naked eye. He rose as she wrenched it free and swung again, and he swung his pickaxe, the haft caching the flat of the sword and driving it to the side.
Her free hand struck him in the throat, and again in the nose, and he pedaled backwards, reeling, her sword flashing all around him in a berserker fury. He swung his pickaxe again, in a wide arc, and as she retreated she slashed and caught him in the left arm, leaving a gash that weeped crimson. He had only a few moments to gain his bearings.
She came at him again, with the same berserker scream.
1. Remember, in this tournament, numerical scores are not given. You just say who wins. This keeps things simple by making it impossible for one judge's opinion to overrule that of the other two.
2. This isn't just about the violence - it is about who you feel is winning the fight. If we all had invisible health bars, who has taken th biggest chunk off of his opponent? This is what you ask yourself!
I leave your conversations now, to dance before you in this merry parade of death. -OoC
As Alfred waited, he could not help but wonder at the nature of his opponent, should they ever show up: these tournaments in these places tended to attract freaks of nature and abominations of any god, neither of which bothered him overmuch but both of which still piqued his interest. Curiosity was funny like that.
A sword appeared over the opposite edge of the massive pillar, the hand holding it slender. The other hand came up too, and both pulled up the body behind it, which surprised Alfred about as much as anything could have, given what he had been expecting.
The woman - and woman it was - had black hair that fell down to the small of her back in a single massive braid that swung as she moved. Her features were sharp and angular, and Alfred thought that, amonst humans, she might have been considered beautiful, except that her entire face was twisted in an expression like a person trying not to laugh when tickled, a horrible half-grin that spoke of torment he could not guess at the nature of. Her brown eyes were wide, had been opened so wide for so long that the skin had begun to bleed around them, and Alfred was sure he had never seen such a panicked expression in his entire life. She wore plain hardened leather armor, not worth much in a brawl like they would be having but functional otherwise, and the sword she wielded - what a sword, meant for one hand with a slender blade that his dwarven-trained eyes told him was sharp enough to slice through stone and resilient enough to not dull under the strain.
Something was odd about how she moved, how she lead with her sword instead of her body, but he could not place what it was. She came at him, screaming, sword raised, and he thought her eyes were red.
Her first strike came from above and was clumsy, and he saw it soon enough to simply step to the side of it, throwing a balled fist that may have disabled her. Her free hand wrapped around his fist, though, and her whole body heaved as she rolled onto her back and planted her leather boots against his stomach, taking him down with her and throwing him to land with a crash on his back.
"DIE!" She was up on her feet already, her sword came down like a stroke of lightning, and he baely managed to roll halfway over so that the blade buried itself in the stone of the pillar, leaving a cut so narrow it was almost invisible to the naked eye. He rose as she wrenched it free and swung again, and he swung his pickaxe, the haft caching the flat of the sword and driving it to the side.
Her free hand struck him in the throat, and again in the nose, and he pedaled backwards, reeling, her sword flashing all around him in a berserker fury. He swung his pickaxe again, in a wide arc, and as she retreated she slashed and caught him in the left arm, leaving a gash that weeped crimson. He had only a few moments to gain his bearings.
She came at him again, with the same berserker scream.
Help me out with the best fanfiction ever, Ganondorf Beats Up EVERYONE! You decide who gets beaten!
For the battle-minded and mathematically inclined, there's the Hyrulian War, a revived time-honored tradition!
For the battle-minded and mathematically inclined, there's the Hyrulian War, a revived time-honored tradition!
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UltimateGamer178
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Erdawn Il Deus
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- Location: Threading the jeweled thrones of earth under my sa
There was a tremor to the stone, which lurched and shifted shuddering like something alive. From its flat face there came a resounding, splintering series of crashes and finally a heavy CRACK, spilling dust and pebble and soil upwards from the pillar surface in billowing clouds. From this chaos there emerged a single figure, sliding upwards from the earth of the stone with an indelicate sinuousness that gave the impression of a coiling wyrm. As loose dirt and soil and even mud (which bubbled upwards from the tear in the rock like black tar) shook from his lean body he stretched backwards with his neck and breathed out in an eerie hiss. He was pointed in the jaw and dark in the lips, the flesh of his face tight and sallow on his bones, pallored with an absence of colour that gave him the look of something long-dead. He was hairless as a newborn and although his build and physique suggested a sort of effeminate handsomness his demeanor was too bizarre, almost inhumanely so, to properly refer to him in those terms.
His arms hung long and corded, rippling with muscle like heavy coils of inlaid rope beneath flesh pulled tight against the veins, leaned of fat so that his stomach sucked up against his spine behind a wall of abdominal muscle like the centipedal segments of some immense crawler. His practically anorexic thinness (which contrasted sharply to his muscle mass) was to such a degree that his hipbones outlined themselves clearly, revoltingly from his waist and legs, and his nakedness seemed somehow (mercifully) obscured by crazed travail of tatooing that spread itself across the whole surface area of his body. These were all effygies of the snake - from every species and every size, flowing in sinuous lines up his muscles, licked across the highways and pathways of his body suface between the nook and cranny of fatless muscle.
These images, however, shifted and moved, danced across his skin in all their verdant contouring, from dusty rattlesnake to dark diamondback, copperhead and cottonmouth and coral snake, python, viper, asp, cobra, boa, garden, mamba. There was such an alienness to this whoever might have laid eyes upon him would feel their hair bristle, and their breath catch, and avert their gaze.
He collected himself from the earth of the stone, and peered around him with slitted, narrow eyes that gleamed deep from the pits of his sockets. When he blinked, it was mebranous and horizontal. Around him the shadowy suggestion of shapes made themselves partially present through the mist,m risisng above and coming short below his own massive pillar-top. He shrugged from him the earth. The earth of a place, an incarnate representation of its proprieties. He was Asp, and when his thin tongue tasted the air, he smelled on it blood.
His arms hung long and corded, rippling with muscle like heavy coils of inlaid rope beneath flesh pulled tight against the veins, leaned of fat so that his stomach sucked up against his spine behind a wall of abdominal muscle like the centipedal segments of some immense crawler. His practically anorexic thinness (which contrasted sharply to his muscle mass) was to such a degree that his hipbones outlined themselves clearly, revoltingly from his waist and legs, and his nakedness seemed somehow (mercifully) obscured by crazed travail of tatooing that spread itself across the whole surface area of his body. These were all effygies of the snake - from every species and every size, flowing in sinuous lines up his muscles, licked across the highways and pathways of his body suface between the nook and cranny of fatless muscle.
These images, however, shifted and moved, danced across his skin in all their verdant contouring, from dusty rattlesnake to dark diamondback, copperhead and cottonmouth and coral snake, python, viper, asp, cobra, boa, garden, mamba. There was such an alienness to this whoever might have laid eyes upon him would feel their hair bristle, and their breath catch, and avert their gaze.
He collected himself from the earth of the stone, and peered around him with slitted, narrow eyes that gleamed deep from the pits of his sockets. When he blinked, it was mebranous and horizontal. Around him the shadowy suggestion of shapes made themselves partially present through the mist,m risisng above and coming short below his own massive pillar-top. He shrugged from him the earth. The earth of a place, an incarnate representation of its proprieties. He was Asp, and when his thin tongue tasted the air, he smelled on it blood.
<i>\"We know how to sing but we don\'t know how to handle money or women. Do-wap, do do wop.\"</i>
-The Runaway Five
<i>Rx Prozach</i>: Toronto is one sucky Toronto. :P I can\'t imagine smoking enough pot to find a shoe museum interes
-The Runaway Five
<i>Rx Prozach</i>: Toronto is one sucky Toronto. :P I can\'t imagine smoking enough pot to find a shoe museum interes
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Galefore
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- Location: ur wildest dreems lol
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Alex
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- Joined: Sat Jun 23, 2001 1:00 am
- Location: Tally-ho!
OoC: I almost forgot all about this.
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The scent of SOMETHING was in the air, but Fang could not make it out at all. He was unfamiliar with his surroundings. He looked around and saw nothing. He continued walking.
He must have had walked about a half of a mile before he spotted what seemed to be a woman with stone tentacles or spider legs leeching out of her. Leona continued drumming on her bicep. She seemed to be waiting for Fang to attack. The Dragon Manipulator was going to give this creature her wish.
Fang, without saying a word, shot a large blast of dragonic energy at Leona. It drew nearer and nearer, burning with the heat of a thousand dragons' fiery breaths. Fang seemed to notice a few beads of sweat appear on Leona's forehead before the ball of energy made contact. It knocked the tentacled creature backward and scorched her entire body. Areas of her body began to blister with burns. Fang simply smiled as he drew his blade for an attack. He leaped into the air and attepted to slice off one of the tentacles. The blade made contact, and bounced off as if it had slamed against stone.
Fang: Ok, bad idea.
With that said, Fang began chanting in dragonic tongues, under one of Leona's four tentacles holding her up appeared a small pool of energy, The tentacle sunk in a few inches and instantly became trapped. While Leona's attention was directed at her entraped tentacle leg, the dragon warrior jumped into Leona. Before smacking into her side, he released her "leg" so that she could be brought to the ground. His plan worked and she fell on her side. Fang then qickly got up and ran behind her. He made a few quick slashed at the back and her legs and then got out of the way before she got up. He didn't like the looks of those tentacles and probably didn't want end up a prisoner of them.
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The scent of SOMETHING was in the air, but Fang could not make it out at all. He was unfamiliar with his surroundings. He looked around and saw nothing. He continued walking.
He must have had walked about a half of a mile before he spotted what seemed to be a woman with stone tentacles or spider legs leeching out of her. Leona continued drumming on her bicep. She seemed to be waiting for Fang to attack. The Dragon Manipulator was going to give this creature her wish.
Fang, without saying a word, shot a large blast of dragonic energy at Leona. It drew nearer and nearer, burning with the heat of a thousand dragons' fiery breaths. Fang seemed to notice a few beads of sweat appear on Leona's forehead before the ball of energy made contact. It knocked the tentacled creature backward and scorched her entire body. Areas of her body began to blister with burns. Fang simply smiled as he drew his blade for an attack. He leaped into the air and attepted to slice off one of the tentacles. The blade made contact, and bounced off as if it had slamed against stone.
Fang: Ok, bad idea.
With that said, Fang began chanting in dragonic tongues, under one of Leona's four tentacles holding her up appeared a small pool of energy, The tentacle sunk in a few inches and instantly became trapped. While Leona's attention was directed at her entraped tentacle leg, the dragon warrior jumped into Leona. Before smacking into her side, he released her "leg" so that she could be brought to the ground. His plan worked and she fell on her side. Fang then qickly got up and ran behind her. He made a few quick slashed at the back and her legs and then got out of the way before she got up. He didn't like the looks of those tentacles and probably didn't want end up a prisoner of them.
VOIP