A man standing on the colossus may have heard it. A most unusual sound, considering it was roughly waist-level with the monstrous creature. If one were to listen, one would actually hear a horse galloping towards to mighty beast. Wait a moment, and it would actually come into view. Off on the horizon, a great steed and its rider galloped through the air itself. Its feet sounded on thin air as others would have sounded on a cobblestone walkway.
The man who sat astride the horse was one of massive size. He could not have been less than an even eight feet tall, and his entire body was well proportioned and muscular. He was an old man despite his physique, and his snow white beard and hair hung down to his chest. He had only one eye, and a great helmet adorned with long curved horns. His chest was covered by a strong breastplate, and was adorned with chainmail and furs elsewhere. On his belt rested a two-edged hand axe, and in his right hand he held a long spear, from which branched a V-shaped blade at its base.
His steed was no less impressive. It was an absolutely massive warhorse, making its rider seem small by comparison. The horse was jet black, but its glistening mane and tail were a striking white. It ran on eight legs, and moved on air or ground far quicker than one would imagine of a creature its size.
The horse and rider streaked towards one of the many platforms that adorned the colossus, and came to a stop atop a particularly large battleground on the small of its back. The pair stepped lightly once they reached solid ground, getting a feel for the movement of their battlefield. Once they had gotten their bearings they looked out and awaited their opponent.
The Second Tournament of the Red Lions Volume 2: Electric Boogaloo
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Repster
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- Location: J'tun ostie d'Acadien.
Ooc: Going all Odin on me eh? Well then, this fits oh so perfectly... Mister order guy, have a little chaos. Just a smidge. MWHAHAHAHAHA!
Note: If you wanna skip right to the meat, just read on after all the bold parts.
MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
It was not a sound one was accustomed to hearing where battle would take place. Especially with what seemed to be the sound of some sort of rocket mixed in. Then came the singing. Loud and clear with the undertone of a crazed raging fire. The second voice came afterwards, just as clear and singing a rather different song.
Once I was a boogie singer
Playing in a rock and roll band
Riding in the bus down the boulevard
And the place was pretty packed (Moo!)
Couldn't find a seat so I had to stand
With the perverts in the back
The second voice was odd... far from human, and it kept in time with the other. The sheer impossibility of that was mind boggling for most, yet meant little to the rider and his mount. He could see the source of the sound approaching rapidly. Yes, definitely the sound of a rocket. No, more then a rocket, three perhaps?
I never had no problems
Running down the one night stands
It was smelling like a locker room
There was junk all over the floor
We're already packed in like sardines
But we're stopping to pick up more, look out
He and his horse stared at what they saw. It looked like some sort of freakish centaur with rockets. If a centaur commonly was white with black spotish type things. Much like a... a cow? A half man half cow?
And everything around me
Got to start to feeling so low
Another one rides the bus
Another one rides the bus
Another comes on and another comes on
Then it got closer. What he saw was stranger then he had thought possible. It was a man. He stood there, arms crossed singing.
And I decided quickly
To disco down and check out the show
Another one rides the bus
Hey, he's gonna sit by you
Another one rides the bus
The right arm had marking of lifelike proportion far to great for ink. It was a gold dragon coiled around the full length it's head resting on the back of his hand. The rest of his torso was bare except for a scar, and while muscular there was nothing else to take not of.
Yeah they were dancing and singing and moving to the grooving
And just when it hit me somebody turned around and shouted
There's a suitcase poking me in the ribs
There's an elbow in my ear
There's a smelly old bum standing next to me
Hasn't showered in a year
Upon this man's head, was an afro. A rainbow colored afro of impossible proportions. A massive scar slanted across his left eye down to below his right ribs and continued slightly on his back. An eye patch with an ancient unknown rune was the only point the scar was disturbed.
Play that funky music, white boy
Play that funky music, right
Play that funky music, white boy
Lay down the boogie and play that funky music 'til you die
I think I'm missing a contact lens
I think my wallet's gone
And I think this bus is stopping again
To let a couple more freaks get on look out
The second eye was golden and held feral intensity, much like that of a rabid animal. Adding to that was the fact that he was foaming at the mouth much like one would expect from a child's cartoon show.
Now first it wasn't easy
Changing rock and roll at myze
And things were getting shaky
I thought I'd have to leave it behind
Another one rides the bus
Another one rides the bus
Another comes on and another comes on
Simple loose baggy pants covered his legs, bare feet were on his mount, also foaming at the mouth. Mount that was like few others. It was a cow. A cow with a battle axe with a freakishly long haft. More of a pole arm then an axe really.
But now it's so much better
I'm funking out in every way
But I'll never lose that feeling
Of how I learned my lesson that day
Another one rides the bus
Hey, he's gonna sit by you
Another one rides the bus
A singing cow with rockets attached. A rocket cow as it were. Now the man was not simply standing on said rocket cow, he was standing perfectly balanced on it's head as they barreled forward at high speeds. Oh yes, one more thing they were quite literally on fire.
When they were dancing and singing and moving to the grooving
And just when it hit me somebody turned around and shouted
Play that funky music, white boy]
Another one rides the bus
Another one rides the bus
Another one rides the bus moo
Another one rides the bus moo moo
Another one rides the bus moo-oo-oo-oo
The two sang in such time that is was near impossible to tell whom sang which song.
Play that funky music, right
Play that funky music, white boy
Lay down the boogie and play that funky music 'til you die
Well I should've got off a couple miles ago
But I couldn't get to the door
There isn't any room for me to breathe
And now we're gonna pick up more
As they approached solid ground, the rocket cow "ridding" man stopped singing, took a swig from the silver flask clipped to his belt, and spoke.
The window doesn't open and the fan is broke
And my face is turning blue (Yeah)
I haven't been in a crowd like this
Since I went to see the Who
"Ello ello, tarbarnack, götterdämmerung, kawai, TURQUOISE TUTU! I be Aidan Dreiks. This here is COWDOKEN!"
Aidan flipped back over his rocket cow, grasped it by the hind legs and brought it back with his hands in the familiar stance, all the while still propulsed by the rockets.. Aidan somehow managed to perfectly convey the following movements. Down, Down-Forward, Forward, Punch.
MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
KA-BOOOOM!
The rider and warhorse were sent crashing into the colossus's back as cow guts, steaks, boiling blood, manure, daisies and dandelions splattered all over the field. Aidan's mad laugher drowned out every other sound as he charged with all the grace and serenity of the enlightenment monk he was. None of his previous speed was lost now that he was on foot. In fact, he now was moving faster.
Ooc: Careful now... I'ma craaaAAAAAzzyyyyYYYyy.
Note: If you wanna skip right to the meat, just read on after all the bold parts.
MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
It was not a sound one was accustomed to hearing where battle would take place. Especially with what seemed to be the sound of some sort of rocket mixed in. Then came the singing. Loud and clear with the undertone of a crazed raging fire. The second voice came afterwards, just as clear and singing a rather different song.
Once I was a boogie singer
Playing in a rock and roll band
Riding in the bus down the boulevard
And the place was pretty packed (Moo!)
Couldn't find a seat so I had to stand
With the perverts in the back
The second voice was odd... far from human, and it kept in time with the other. The sheer impossibility of that was mind boggling for most, yet meant little to the rider and his mount. He could see the source of the sound approaching rapidly. Yes, definitely the sound of a rocket. No, more then a rocket, three perhaps?
I never had no problems
Running down the one night stands
It was smelling like a locker room
There was junk all over the floor
We're already packed in like sardines
But we're stopping to pick up more, look out
He and his horse stared at what they saw. It looked like some sort of freakish centaur with rockets. If a centaur commonly was white with black spotish type things. Much like a... a cow? A half man half cow?
And everything around me
Got to start to feeling so low
Another one rides the bus
Another one rides the bus
Another comes on and another comes on
Then it got closer. What he saw was stranger then he had thought possible. It was a man. He stood there, arms crossed singing.
And I decided quickly
To disco down and check out the show
Another one rides the bus
Hey, he's gonna sit by you
Another one rides the bus
The right arm had marking of lifelike proportion far to great for ink. It was a gold dragon coiled around the full length it's head resting on the back of his hand. The rest of his torso was bare except for a scar, and while muscular there was nothing else to take not of.
Yeah they were dancing and singing and moving to the grooving
And just when it hit me somebody turned around and shouted
There's a suitcase poking me in the ribs
There's an elbow in my ear
There's a smelly old bum standing next to me
Hasn't showered in a year
Upon this man's head, was an afro. A rainbow colored afro of impossible proportions. A massive scar slanted across his left eye down to below his right ribs and continued slightly on his back. An eye patch with an ancient unknown rune was the only point the scar was disturbed.
Play that funky music, white boy
Play that funky music, right
Play that funky music, white boy
Lay down the boogie and play that funky music 'til you die
I think I'm missing a contact lens
I think my wallet's gone
And I think this bus is stopping again
To let a couple more freaks get on look out
The second eye was golden and held feral intensity, much like that of a rabid animal. Adding to that was the fact that he was foaming at the mouth much like one would expect from a child's cartoon show.
Now first it wasn't easy
Changing rock and roll at myze
And things were getting shaky
I thought I'd have to leave it behind
Another one rides the bus
Another one rides the bus
Another comes on and another comes on
Simple loose baggy pants covered his legs, bare feet were on his mount, also foaming at the mouth. Mount that was like few others. It was a cow. A cow with a battle axe with a freakishly long haft. More of a pole arm then an axe really.
But now it's so much better
I'm funking out in every way
But I'll never lose that feeling
Of how I learned my lesson that day
Another one rides the bus
Hey, he's gonna sit by you
Another one rides the bus
A singing cow with rockets attached. A rocket cow as it were. Now the man was not simply standing on said rocket cow, he was standing perfectly balanced on it's head as they barreled forward at high speeds. Oh yes, one more thing they were quite literally on fire.
When they were dancing and singing and moving to the grooving
And just when it hit me somebody turned around and shouted
Play that funky music, white boy]
Another one rides the bus
Another one rides the bus
Another one rides the bus moo
Another one rides the bus moo moo
Another one rides the bus moo-oo-oo-oo
The two sang in such time that is was near impossible to tell whom sang which song.
Play that funky music, right
Play that funky music, white boy
Lay down the boogie and play that funky music 'til you die
Well I should've got off a couple miles ago
But I couldn't get to the door
There isn't any room for me to breathe
And now we're gonna pick up more
As they approached solid ground, the rocket cow "ridding" man stopped singing, took a swig from the silver flask clipped to his belt, and spoke.
The window doesn't open and the fan is broke
And my face is turning blue (Yeah)
I haven't been in a crowd like this
Since I went to see the Who
"Ello ello, tarbarnack, götterdämmerung, kawai, TURQUOISE TUTU! I be Aidan Dreiks. This here is COWDOKEN!"
Aidan flipped back over his rocket cow, grasped it by the hind legs and brought it back with his hands in the familiar stance, all the while still propulsed by the rockets.. Aidan somehow managed to perfectly convey the following movements. Down, Down-Forward, Forward, Punch.
MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
KA-BOOOOM!
The rider and warhorse were sent crashing into the colossus's back as cow guts, steaks, boiling blood, manure, daisies and dandelions splattered all over the field. Aidan's mad laugher drowned out every other sound as he charged with all the grace and serenity of the enlightenment monk he was. None of his previous speed was lost now that he was on foot. In fact, he now was moving faster.
Ooc: Careful now... I'ma craaaAAAAAzzyyyyYYYyy.
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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Scripture
- Member
- Posts: 436
- Joined: Thu Apr 29, 2004 1:00 am
He was covered in chains, a writhing ball of swirling links seemingly more organic than metal, as he rose from the ruined landscape of western civilization – it was not just a city or a town that was ruined with the colossus’s each step, but whole continents were broken by earthquakes that shook apart the buildings and reduced man to instincts so primal and simple it was as if everything was back to the Dark Ages of caves and fires. Only there was no new beginning – this was the end all be all of destruction, this towering monolith bordering just outside the bounds of true description.
The technology of scientists, huddled in their laboratories with their calibrated tools, could not even begin to touch the measurements of it. Its stony face, carved smooth and blank of expression, wasn’t even in the Earth’s atmosphere. A fiery line of friction burnt across its chest as it plodded at rates of a step every hour, give or take its mood, and the pelt there seemed to waver in the heat, but not ever catch fire. Its feet were stone, carved to be garbed in sandals, and where foot met ankle fur blossomed and ran up until the neck – the fur itself was braided ceremoniously, hideous attention to detail on a thing so large, with various tribal ornaments. Some said they looked like vines, the braids hanging enormous. Most striking, though, was where it deviated from Man’s design – standing out in the small of its back, on its biceps, on its abdomen, and along its legs were symmetrical platforms, adorned on the sides with dancing stone effigies of men and women in their death throes.
Humanity would deal with it as they would, with their nuclear arms and last ditch efforts the likes of which a movie might have one day seen – but he, the mass of swirling chains, simply floated above them and landed on the platform jutting out from the titan’s abdomen, clinking and tinking about as those enveloped in chains will.
The technology of scientists, huddled in their laboratories with their calibrated tools, could not even begin to touch the measurements of it. Its stony face, carved smooth and blank of expression, wasn’t even in the Earth’s atmosphere. A fiery line of friction burnt across its chest as it plodded at rates of a step every hour, give or take its mood, and the pelt there seemed to waver in the heat, but not ever catch fire. Its feet were stone, carved to be garbed in sandals, and where foot met ankle fur blossomed and ran up until the neck – the fur itself was braided ceremoniously, hideous attention to detail on a thing so large, with various tribal ornaments. Some said they looked like vines, the braids hanging enormous. Most striking, though, was where it deviated from Man’s design – standing out in the small of its back, on its biceps, on its abdomen, and along its legs were symmetrical platforms, adorned on the sides with dancing stone effigies of men and women in their death throes.
Humanity would deal with it as they would, with their nuclear arms and last ditch efforts the likes of which a movie might have one day seen – but he, the mass of swirling chains, simply floated above them and landed on the platform jutting out from the titan’s abdomen, clinking and tinking about as those enveloped in chains will.
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UltimateGamer178
- Member
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- Location: In a pizza box under the Brooklyn Bridge
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Wyborn
- Member
- Posts: 12269
- Joined: Fri Jun 16, 2000 1:00 am
- Location: All over the place
OoC: I'm disappointed, but fine.
This is a cool-ass battlefield, similarly deserves an appropriate entrance. -OoC
To look upon it was to see the grandfather of mountains, whose very steps shook apart the foundation of the world, who with three blows from its massive fists could shatter the face of the earth until it was jagged and rough-hewn and young again. Its footsteps passed over mountains - its eyes took in the very shape of the earth itself. No thing, manmade or natural, had ever been so huge and yet been able to move.
He had been climbing the colossus for three weeks.
Three weeks, hand over hand, usings the massive braided vines of its fur like pillars of basalt that he had to sink his hands between to gain any hold, each vine hundred of feet long and a dozen feet in circumference, with a texture like rock. The climb would have torn anyone else's hands, their arms, their very torso to piece,s but he was hard, he was calloused, and he was determined. Three weeks of climbing, only stopping to sleep and eat when he found knots in the hair, pissing off of the side of the monster and wondering how long it would take to reach the earth.
He had passed above the air of the world some time ago, but so massive was this thing that air clung to its skin, just enough for him to breathe and continue upwards, ever upwards. The cold bit into him, down through his clothing of wool and his armor of iron and steel. The fire within him kept him going, was all that kept him alive now, but he was near the end of his journey. It had been a day ago that he had reached the underside of the thing's left eye, an orb that was in itself nearly a mile in diameter, and only a few hours since he has finished his long climb around it. Whenever the thing had blinked its massive lids had slammed together over the course of a full second as hundreds of miles an hour, so forceful that great gouts of air were sent spiraling into the vacuum - only to be drawn back in again. Once he had nearly been swept away, saved only by his unbreakable grip and unfathomable resolve.
He was Cuchulainn, the king of heroes, risen up again at the end of days. He had been called to this monster, had climbed it for so long that he began to forget that he was capable of anything else, but he did not know why he ascended. Was he to kill this beast? It did not matter. The answer would present itself.
And then, all at once, he was at the summit - there was nowhere else to climb.
The top of its massive skull was covered in the same ropey vines, save for a platform hundreds of meters wide and even longer, a hairless spot that looked as if it had been flattened out by the hammer of the old gods that must have built this monster. Here there were no statues of dying men and women - only the wind, and the sound of the giant's teeth clicking together miles below, and the blinking of its horrible eyes.
Cuchulainn hefted his spear, the Gae Bulg, carved from the bone of a monster he had thought mighty until he first laid eyes on this fathomless abomination, and waited. His red hair fell to his shoulder in curls like the wool of a sheep, blown in the wind, and his bright blue eyes stared out into the blackness of the stars. He could see the world from up here.
Who would come and try to wrest the view from him?
This is a cool-ass battlefield, similarly deserves an appropriate entrance. -OoC
To look upon it was to see the grandfather of mountains, whose very steps shook apart the foundation of the world, who with three blows from its massive fists could shatter the face of the earth until it was jagged and rough-hewn and young again. Its footsteps passed over mountains - its eyes took in the very shape of the earth itself. No thing, manmade or natural, had ever been so huge and yet been able to move.
He had been climbing the colossus for three weeks.
Three weeks, hand over hand, usings the massive braided vines of its fur like pillars of basalt that he had to sink his hands between to gain any hold, each vine hundred of feet long and a dozen feet in circumference, with a texture like rock. The climb would have torn anyone else's hands, their arms, their very torso to piece,s but he was hard, he was calloused, and he was determined. Three weeks of climbing, only stopping to sleep and eat when he found knots in the hair, pissing off of the side of the monster and wondering how long it would take to reach the earth.
He had passed above the air of the world some time ago, but so massive was this thing that air clung to its skin, just enough for him to breathe and continue upwards, ever upwards. The cold bit into him, down through his clothing of wool and his armor of iron and steel. The fire within him kept him going, was all that kept him alive now, but he was near the end of his journey. It had been a day ago that he had reached the underside of the thing's left eye, an orb that was in itself nearly a mile in diameter, and only a few hours since he has finished his long climb around it. Whenever the thing had blinked its massive lids had slammed together over the course of a full second as hundreds of miles an hour, so forceful that great gouts of air were sent spiraling into the vacuum - only to be drawn back in again. Once he had nearly been swept away, saved only by his unbreakable grip and unfathomable resolve.
He was Cuchulainn, the king of heroes, risen up again at the end of days. He had been called to this monster, had climbed it for so long that he began to forget that he was capable of anything else, but he did not know why he ascended. Was he to kill this beast? It did not matter. The answer would present itself.
And then, all at once, he was at the summit - there was nowhere else to climb.
The top of its massive skull was covered in the same ropey vines, save for a platform hundreds of meters wide and even longer, a hairless spot that looked as if it had been flattened out by the hammer of the old gods that must have built this monster. Here there were no statues of dying men and women - only the wind, and the sound of the giant's teeth clicking together miles below, and the blinking of its horrible eyes.
Cuchulainn hefted his spear, the Gae Bulg, carved from the bone of a monster he had thought mighty until he first laid eyes on this fathomless abomination, and waited. His red hair fell to his shoulder in curls like the wool of a sheep, blown in the wind, and his bright blue eyes stared out into the blackness of the stars. He could see the world from up here.
Who would come and try to wrest the view from him?
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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Galefore
- Member
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- Location: ur wildest dreems lol
Heh, I figured Wyborn would like my Colossus battlefield. I didn't really think about that until after I posted it in the Book of Battlefields, but it did cross my mind.
Good choice, delving into that topic, Death. I never figured anyone would use that ample group I made.
Now. Bloody it up realllll nice.
Good choice, delving into that topic, Death. I never figured anyone would use that ample group I made.
Now. Bloody it up realllll nice.
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Asnabel
- Member
- Posts: 552
- Joined: Thu Oct 12, 2000 1:00 am
Aidan charged towards the bloodstained spot of the colossus’ back where the horse and its rider had been slammed. He flew across the battlefield, but faltered just before he reached his target. As the madman approached his destination, a great slab of earth broken off from the battlefield shot forward. Unable to stop his forward momentum, his chest collided with the great chunk of stone running at full speed. He nearly flipped with the force of the blow, and was thrown hard onto his back. He quickly regained his senses, and looked up to the clatter coming from his opponent.
The massive man had climbed back onto his steed, covered in blood and singed fur. He wore an expression of surprise and supreme displeasure, and his great hands gripped the haft of his spear tightly. Wordlessly, the pair turned towards Aidan just as he was getting onto his feet. They charged towards him, spear lowered, and before he was able to raise a defense, the pair was upon him. The warrior reached out his spear, and impaled Aidan through the chest with it. The tip came out of the other side, bringing a fountain of blood and muscle along with it. He lifted the monk off the ground and ran around the battleground, taking great satisfaction at the sound of bones and sinew straining and breaking under the force of his blow.
The bearded warrior carried Aidan around the battlefield like a standard atop his spear, and then lowered him back to the ground. He dragged the man along the ground belly-down, grinding him against the rough stone and leaving a trail of blood from his wounds. He eventually scraped his blood splattered opponent off his weapon and onto the hard ground in front of his horse. The animal passed over him, all eight legs working simultaneously to pummel him into the ground. There it stood for several seconds, performing its dance on the back and head of this funny looking man beneath it, feeling the bones snap and strain beneath its feet.
The pair then galloped off to a distance, the horse’s hoofs leaving a trail of blood with each step. They stopped a good distance away, and the man began pumping his bloodstained spear in the air. He called to his opponent “You seek to challenge me? I am Odin! I am the Allfather! I am above all of the Northern gods, the mightiest of all! And the beast Sleipnir upon which I ride is no less great!” A glow seeped into the cold blue of his one remaining eye, and he called continued softly “Now let us test your true metal on this battlefield of the mighty!” He thrust his fist towards him, and a great bolt of lightning flew from the sky and struck the platform, centering upon the monk.
The massive man had climbed back onto his steed, covered in blood and singed fur. He wore an expression of surprise and supreme displeasure, and his great hands gripped the haft of his spear tightly. Wordlessly, the pair turned towards Aidan just as he was getting onto his feet. They charged towards him, spear lowered, and before he was able to raise a defense, the pair was upon him. The warrior reached out his spear, and impaled Aidan through the chest with it. The tip came out of the other side, bringing a fountain of blood and muscle along with it. He lifted the monk off the ground and ran around the battleground, taking great satisfaction at the sound of bones and sinew straining and breaking under the force of his blow.
The bearded warrior carried Aidan around the battlefield like a standard atop his spear, and then lowered him back to the ground. He dragged the man along the ground belly-down, grinding him against the rough stone and leaving a trail of blood from his wounds. He eventually scraped his blood splattered opponent off his weapon and onto the hard ground in front of his horse. The animal passed over him, all eight legs working simultaneously to pummel him into the ground. There it stood for several seconds, performing its dance on the back and head of this funny looking man beneath it, feeling the bones snap and strain beneath its feet.
The pair then galloped off to a distance, the horse’s hoofs leaving a trail of blood with each step. They stopped a good distance away, and the man began pumping his bloodstained spear in the air. He called to his opponent “You seek to challenge me? I am Odin! I am the Allfather! I am above all of the Northern gods, the mightiest of all! And the beast Sleipnir upon which I ride is no less great!” A glow seeped into the cold blue of his one remaining eye, and he called continued softly “Now let us test your true metal on this battlefield of the mighty!” He thrust his fist towards him, and a great bolt of lightning flew from the sky and struck the platform, centering upon the monk.
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deathscythe
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- Joined: Sun Feb 19, 2006 2:03 pm
- Location: This question always has been creepy
The world was in panic. Every one would surely die if this thing did not stop, no one knew what to do. People fled to large chapels, and other religious things. They were surely doomed, but only a few things could stop it, and no man knew exactly what at the moment, but one man would.
As he sat in the room alone, head pressed against the table, his glasses covered with tears. He slept, he was alone, and that was the only thing that mattered in the world. He knew things that other people did not know. Mainly things about magic, things that many people did not believe in. He could do more things than people in the mid evil ages to do, with alchemy, science, and power from many sorts of gods. He was a modern day mage, and he would have to do some more than be one. His friends, family all dead. And he was of average size, skinny, and had short black hair. His name was Daren Garald.
Daren had a very special power, he could control fire, and had many spells that consist of dark things. But that was not important at a moment, as the tv flickered shots of the giant colossus feets, and he saw something that no one else had, it had caught his eye for no reason at all he had to go there. but that was a few moments later, before he passed out. All of a sudden his body disappeared, there was nothing there where he laid, nothing but tears for his dead family.
His body hit hard stone, and he awoke. He was suspended in air, on a platfrom. He looked up and saw a large leg, extending into the heavens. The leg was huge, he was now on the platform where some one would meet there death. His vision blurred as he adjusted his glasses so that he could see more. He saw the form, the size of a football fear, and started to shiver, a sword lay next to him. The sword was average size, and green, the blade was made of enchanted glass. Where had it come from?
The scared man felt the large platfrom move underneath him. The platfrom was all stone, and he looked around some more, he tried to stand up, but tripped because the platforms movement gave the feeling of a ship out at see. He tripped all the way over to fall on his side. He caught him self, and tried to figure out what had happened to him. He had appeared out of nowhere. The world would surely had ended if he would have gave up here, but he knew he would have to go on. The platfrom was always moving it seemed. So he stood up, trying to keep his balance... he did. Daren looked around and saw something floating, what was it. He could not tell, his vision had blurred once more, he was on the verge of passing out again. But why? he did not know. He raised the sword for protection he knew not what he would need it for, but he knew he would need it.
OoC: I was a bit confused on your post, so I hope this one can make sense to you, because I kind of got lost, and didn't know what time period, or what character to use, so i just kind of made this one up.
As he sat in the room alone, head pressed against the table, his glasses covered with tears. He slept, he was alone, and that was the only thing that mattered in the world. He knew things that other people did not know. Mainly things about magic, things that many people did not believe in. He could do more things than people in the mid evil ages to do, with alchemy, science, and power from many sorts of gods. He was a modern day mage, and he would have to do some more than be one. His friends, family all dead. And he was of average size, skinny, and had short black hair. His name was Daren Garald.
Daren had a very special power, he could control fire, and had many spells that consist of dark things. But that was not important at a moment, as the tv flickered shots of the giant colossus feets, and he saw something that no one else had, it had caught his eye for no reason at all he had to go there. but that was a few moments later, before he passed out. All of a sudden his body disappeared, there was nothing there where he laid, nothing but tears for his dead family.
His body hit hard stone, and he awoke. He was suspended in air, on a platfrom. He looked up and saw a large leg, extending into the heavens. The leg was huge, he was now on the platform where some one would meet there death. His vision blurred as he adjusted his glasses so that he could see more. He saw the form, the size of a football fear, and started to shiver, a sword lay next to him. The sword was average size, and green, the blade was made of enchanted glass. Where had it come from?
The scared man felt the large platfrom move underneath him. The platfrom was all stone, and he looked around some more, he tried to stand up, but tripped because the platforms movement gave the feeling of a ship out at see. He tripped all the way over to fall on his side. He caught him self, and tried to figure out what had happened to him. He had appeared out of nowhere. The world would surely had ended if he would have gave up here, but he knew he would have to go on. The platfrom was always moving it seemed. So he stood up, trying to keep his balance... he did. Daren looked around and saw something floating, what was it. He could not tell, his vision had blurred once more, he was on the verge of passing out again. But why? he did not know. He raised the sword for protection he knew not what he would need it for, but he knew he would need it.
OoC: I was a bit confused on your post, so I hope this one can make sense to you, because I kind of got lost, and didn't know what time period, or what character to use, so i just kind of made this one up.
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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Repster
- Member
- Posts: 6130
- Joined: Tue Jun 06, 2000 1:00 am
- Location: J'tun ostie d'Acadien.
The flash from the bolt of lightning receded and Aidan stood there, aside from his missing afro wig, he was rather good shape. The hair beneath the wig was wild, flowing with and against the wind. His fiery body's wounds continued to close. The expression of pain on his face very nearly outdid the madness. His words and to continuing foam proved that that was a long shot from the truth.
"But mommy, I don't wanna wear the pink CaBAgES! THE ARmIeS Of TOmATOsS ARE UpON US! Rise UP mY FElLOw sPOoNS WE MUsT PrOTeCT THE QUEeN'S GoLDeN eGG LAYING BEAVER! May the peace of the polka ice cream be with you."
Aidan moved, and was standing on Sleipnir's neck staring straight into Odin's face. How he did so was a complex process involving magical and spiritual manipulation of space and time as well as raw physical power.
"BLUE POODLE MONKEY EXCREMENTS!"
The monk kicked Odin in the face. There was nothing fancy about the movement, except for the audacity to dare defy the laws of most science and maintain balance. A small tremor shook threw the All father's body as the monk back flipped away using the force of his own kick. His eye leveled with the immortal bred horse he smiled at it. He smiled with the glee of a young child on Christmas morning.
"PONY!"
The madman latched on the beast's face. Then he bit it. Sleipnir reared as the crazed man tore out a chunk of it's skin and then head butted that very spot. The sound of bone breaking was rather audible, and the mixed blood of both beings splattered across Odin's beard.
*SPLORCH*
Aidan stared down at the spear once again impaling him. That was annoying. Right threw the left side of his chest. Where a human heart was. Aidan had never been quite human. His head went back up to the angered face of Odin.
"Sticks and stone may break my bones. BURNING AGONY FILLS THE ALL FATHER!"
The crazed monk grasped the weapon as his words came to fruition. White hot fire, his fire, fire with nothing but pure destructive intents leapt from his arm. The flames followed the blood of it's master coating the spear, followed and was amplified. The pure chaotic nature of said blood infused itself in the flames as they reached the beard. Then everything exploded as the beard was consumed, and the owner of said beard was filled with a rather potent burning sensation.
There was no sound besides the crazed laughter so close to ground zero. The vibration were simply to strong to be captured by such a thing as ears, those of a god or not. Those of the not category, simply shattered to pieces.
Aidan landed gracefully on his feet, blood dripping from his not yet repair inner ears joined the dripping froth of his mouth. His crazed laugher continued as he saw the half sphere of molten stone flesh where Odin had been. His laugher rose even more as the rider righter himself some 20 yards away from that. Aidan closed that gap quickly with one pump of his powerful legs sending him hurtling in the air fist reeled back, most of the distance crossed unseen. Odin, never saw it coming as he turned in that direction. A pity considering Aidan had come from the side of his good eye.
*QUACK!*
The northern god's jaw cracked and popped rather painfully out of place as another still negligible tremor wrack his body slightly. Why it did so with the sound of a duck quacking was odd to say the least. Aidan's broken and bloodied fist sprayed him with blood. The All father found the blood quite painful in itself. Few things held that kind of heat. It felt much the same as one would expect from thick liquidfied fire. Then of course, the was an explosion. Rather small it did little more then spread the blood across Odin's body into a more even coat, and singe what little hair on Sleipnir that had yet to be burned. The little more being sending Aidan back out of reach.
Once again the monk landed gracefully on his feet. His hand making rather gruesome cracking noise as he flexed it and it regenerated. His laugher was yet to be interrupted by even such a thing as a single breath. There the monk waited for the mere moment it took for his bones to reform, then he charged once again, ready to have them broken once more. What was a little more pain that which drove him mad, and intensified when his mind was able to endure it?
"But mommy, I don't wanna wear the pink CaBAgES! THE ARmIeS Of TOmATOsS ARE UpON US! Rise UP mY FElLOw sPOoNS WE MUsT PrOTeCT THE QUEeN'S GoLDeN eGG LAYING BEAVER! May the peace of the polka ice cream be with you."
Aidan moved, and was standing on Sleipnir's neck staring straight into Odin's face. How he did so was a complex process involving magical and spiritual manipulation of space and time as well as raw physical power.
"BLUE POODLE MONKEY EXCREMENTS!"
The monk kicked Odin in the face. There was nothing fancy about the movement, except for the audacity to dare defy the laws of most science and maintain balance. A small tremor shook threw the All father's body as the monk back flipped away using the force of his own kick. His eye leveled with the immortal bred horse he smiled at it. He smiled with the glee of a young child on Christmas morning.
"PONY!"
The madman latched on the beast's face. Then he bit it. Sleipnir reared as the crazed man tore out a chunk of it's skin and then head butted that very spot. The sound of bone breaking was rather audible, and the mixed blood of both beings splattered across Odin's beard.
*SPLORCH*
Aidan stared down at the spear once again impaling him. That was annoying. Right threw the left side of his chest. Where a human heart was. Aidan had never been quite human. His head went back up to the angered face of Odin.
"Sticks and stone may break my bones. BURNING AGONY FILLS THE ALL FATHER!"
The crazed monk grasped the weapon as his words came to fruition. White hot fire, his fire, fire with nothing but pure destructive intents leapt from his arm. The flames followed the blood of it's master coating the spear, followed and was amplified. The pure chaotic nature of said blood infused itself in the flames as they reached the beard. Then everything exploded as the beard was consumed, and the owner of said beard was filled with a rather potent burning sensation.
There was no sound besides the crazed laughter so close to ground zero. The vibration were simply to strong to be captured by such a thing as ears, those of a god or not. Those of the not category, simply shattered to pieces.
Aidan landed gracefully on his feet, blood dripping from his not yet repair inner ears joined the dripping froth of his mouth. His crazed laugher continued as he saw the half sphere of molten stone flesh where Odin had been. His laugher rose even more as the rider righter himself some 20 yards away from that. Aidan closed that gap quickly with one pump of his powerful legs sending him hurtling in the air fist reeled back, most of the distance crossed unseen. Odin, never saw it coming as he turned in that direction. A pity considering Aidan had come from the side of his good eye.
*QUACK!*
The northern god's jaw cracked and popped rather painfully out of place as another still negligible tremor wrack his body slightly. Why it did so with the sound of a duck quacking was odd to say the least. Aidan's broken and bloodied fist sprayed him with blood. The All father found the blood quite painful in itself. Few things held that kind of heat. It felt much the same as one would expect from thick liquidfied fire. Then of course, the was an explosion. Rather small it did little more then spread the blood across Odin's body into a more even coat, and singe what little hair on Sleipnir that had yet to be burned. The little more being sending Aidan back out of reach.
Once again the monk landed gracefully on his feet. His hand making rather gruesome cracking noise as he flexed it and it regenerated. His laugher was yet to be interrupted by even such a thing as a single breath. There the monk waited for the mere moment it took for his bones to reform, then he charged once again, ready to have them broken once more. What was a little more pain that which drove him mad, and intensified when his mind was able to endure it?
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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Acradius
- Member
- Posts: 963
- Joined: Sat Feb 24, 2001 2:00 am
- Location: Where Time, Space and Reality fade, and there is l
- Contact:
Nobody would have seen it, were there even any to look. Just at the base of the behemoth's neck, on its right shoulder, in a proportion that, to us, would have looked impossibly small, there was a brief flash of light. The Time Warrior stepped out of the rift as it swiftly sealed behind him.
"Well, this is certainly an interesting alternate timeline. Wonder how this little beasty got here in the first place... Oh well, fight first, worry about plot holes later. I wonder what brand of doom I'm up against this time."
His keen blue eyes meticulously searched the forest of tenebrous, coarse hair covering the shoulder of this sole titan. Every strand was as thick as an ancient redwood, but instead of tall and straight, went bounding and curling across the plain of dead skin. The shadows were ocean-deep, and the air had Acradius' breath coming out in white puffs. The stink of Galactus-strength body oder wafted near him. This would be a fast fight by choice.
"Well, this is certainly an interesting alternate timeline. Wonder how this little beasty got here in the first place... Oh well, fight first, worry about plot holes later. I wonder what brand of doom I'm up against this time."
His keen blue eyes meticulously searched the forest of tenebrous, coarse hair covering the shoulder of this sole titan. Every strand was as thick as an ancient redwood, but instead of tall and straight, went bounding and curling across the plain of dead skin. The shadows were ocean-deep, and the air had Acradius' breath coming out in white puffs. The stink of Galactus-strength body oder wafted near him. This would be a fast fight by choice.
Chaos reigns within. Reflect, repent, and reboot. Order shall return. ~Windows, in Haiku format
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Erdawn Il Deus
- Member
- Posts: 3036
- Joined: Wed May 21, 2003 1:00 am
- Location: Threading the jeweled thrones of earth under my sa
OoC: Ac, post up later today sometime, thought up a character, had to kill my brother first. Let's make this a ****ing helkl of a fight, but my post will firstmost do you justice!
- also, in the third round the BF selection is done much in the same vein as NLBFT, with every battle in its own arena. Just clearing it up.
- also, in the third round the BF selection is done much in the same vein as NLBFT, with every battle in its own arena. Just clearing it up.
<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
-
Erdawn Il Deus
- Member
- Posts: 3036
- Joined: Wed May 21, 2003 1:00 am
- Location: Threading the jeweled thrones of earth under my sa
From Acradius's position, it was probably several miles out or more. The palm of the colossus was locked in place, suspended above a bend at the elbow facing up to the sky, the sheer surface diameter of the jutted platform something like two whole kilometres and surrounded by the corinthian columns of the abomination's individual fingers, which twisted upwards towards the sky vinelayed with cordes of fur and ornaments of stone. In itself the hand formed a natural temple, an open palace - a suitable courtyard comprising of steps set on steps rising steadily towards the epicentre. The sound of its movements were like peals of thunder, and at each lenght a vibration ran across the skeleton of the thing (what Olympian skeleton the thing may have), shaking the immense pilings of moss-like fur sprouted up from the prints of its tiled palm. The wind poured itself across the surface in shrieking, uneven gusts, funneled between the upraised pillars of its digits, whipping across the marble floor with every Cyclopean footstep of the thing. Aesthetically, it was like a floating shrine dedicated to the gods that might have in a moment of mad inspiration hewn this thing into being.
Other gods did little interest him.
All latent luminosity in the air increased in intensity all at once, so that brightness stood out in fiery, glowing clouds from the air. It began to rain, softly, beautifully, sorrowfully, the light dancing into one drop and into a thousand more and turning the air to gold. From the light, he stepped onto the plateau. He was an Adonisean sculpture of a being, carved from a statuesque immaculateness that heightened the awareness of the human deficiencies of the aesthetic. Beautiful beyond measure - his flesh tight and flowing across expertly an crafted musculature, his face perfect and expressionless and his gaze a haunting pair of orbs hypnotizing with depth. He was sandalled, gauntleted and skirted in gold or golden leather, giving him a celestial, Greek touch, and loosely robed in folds of white like moonlight snow, sashed in threaded flame that danced from empyrean golds to aureate blues and played across the colour spectrum of fire.
Unfolded from his heavily muscular back were pereched a pair of wings - but they were immense in dimension and not discernibly fashioned of any earthly materials. It seemed they were feathers so beautiful as to give the impression of being solid light, or light so manipulated and solidifed as to give the impression of feathers. Each quivered and rustled, a spectacle for the eyes.
Rain soaked across his largely naked body, flashing like lit pearls, sliding down his face like tears. He took a moment to appreciate his adversary - distant as he was, and in a gesture as fluid as the storm lifted his right hand.
The rain bounced off the plateau of the creature's palm, and as the light caught it seemed to catch fire in the air, suddenly pouring horizontally through the air in a spectacle as gorgeous as it was bizarre. The light intensiifed, each droplet throwing off it threads of brilliant cintillation, aceelerating in speed until the rain-storm reached the forest of the colossi's shoulder.
Acradius had time to register them as falling stars - in the billions - before they were upn him, and suddenly they exploded in a superheated, gaseous cloud of fiery, holy rain, and the forest became an inferno.
The cherubim watched the time warrior's plight with an equal ammount of expressionless elegance.
He did not speak, for his voice was too immaculate to be touched upon mortal ears. But he waited.
Other gods did little interest him.
All latent luminosity in the air increased in intensity all at once, so that brightness stood out in fiery, glowing clouds from the air. It began to rain, softly, beautifully, sorrowfully, the light dancing into one drop and into a thousand more and turning the air to gold. From the light, he stepped onto the plateau. He was an Adonisean sculpture of a being, carved from a statuesque immaculateness that heightened the awareness of the human deficiencies of the aesthetic. Beautiful beyond measure - his flesh tight and flowing across expertly an crafted musculature, his face perfect and expressionless and his gaze a haunting pair of orbs hypnotizing with depth. He was sandalled, gauntleted and skirted in gold or golden leather, giving him a celestial, Greek touch, and loosely robed in folds of white like moonlight snow, sashed in threaded flame that danced from empyrean golds to aureate blues and played across the colour spectrum of fire.
Unfolded from his heavily muscular back were pereched a pair of wings - but they were immense in dimension and not discernibly fashioned of any earthly materials. It seemed they were feathers so beautiful as to give the impression of being solid light, or light so manipulated and solidifed as to give the impression of feathers. Each quivered and rustled, a spectacle for the eyes.
Rain soaked across his largely naked body, flashing like lit pearls, sliding down his face like tears. He took a moment to appreciate his adversary - distant as he was, and in a gesture as fluid as the storm lifted his right hand.
The rain bounced off the plateau of the creature's palm, and as the light caught it seemed to catch fire in the air, suddenly pouring horizontally through the air in a spectacle as gorgeous as it was bizarre. The light intensiifed, each droplet throwing off it threads of brilliant cintillation, aceelerating in speed until the rain-storm reached the forest of the colossi's shoulder.
Acradius had time to register them as falling stars - in the billions - before they were upn him, and suddenly they exploded in a superheated, gaseous cloud of fiery, holy rain, and the forest became an inferno.
The cherubim watched the time warrior's plight with an equal ammount of expressionless elegance.
He did not speak, for his voice was too immaculate to be touched upon mortal ears. But he waited.
<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
-
Acradius
- Member
- Posts: 963
- Joined: Sat Feb 24, 2001 2:00 am
- Location: Where Time, Space and Reality fade, and there is l
- Contact:
((OOC: Hot DA-YAM. Let's raise the frickin roof!))
The unrelenting nova of flame erupted around him, sizzling his flesh and scalding his hair to a smoking mass of melted fibers. But he did not die. The psionic power coursing through his nerves assured that. He howled in pain, he fought it, though it nearly drove him over the brink. And just like that, it was over as quickly as it had started. Looking for all the world like now some form of blackened and evil knight, with smoldering, scarred skin and blasted armor, still glowing red in some places, Acradius Journeyman looked the part of evil quite well. And evil saw its ancient nemesis.
Propelled along the tops of hairy trees by mental might, and a thin sheen of psionically-summoned ectoplasm on the bottom of his boots, the still-smoking armored form skated down the massive arm of the impossible creature in what could have easily been a grind session so endless it would stop only when one fell off. And with a warrior thusly skilled, that could have been a long time. Instead of continuing on what would have been a rather fun ride, the Time Warrior burst from the undergrowth in a wild leap, and landed in a crouch just in front of his yet-unnamed opponent.
The icy blue of his eyes was the only thing assuring the rest of the world that he was still, in fact, human, and not some sort of hell-spawned demon. But to anyone more than a few feet away, this was some twisted battle of good and evil, in a place where neither mattered.
"Did you know... whoever you are... that I have died before?" The burnt man asked quizzically. "And that is the precise reason that I'm not afraid of you in the least. You. Are not. The end." He let that one sink in. Immortals hated it when you showed them how inadequate they were. "And during my time dead, I did not stop learning... Are you ready to see? Are you ready for me to show you why the free will of man is stronger than whatever divine ordinance you have prescribed for us?? I'll show you. Oh yes, I'll show you." His eyes narrowed, and began glowing a white that burned with the same intensity as the attack he just suffered. "Maker... Meet thy unmaking."
Too fast for even a divine eye to see, Acradius Journeyman tore through the timeline with a haymaker punch. But then, the technique he had been waiting for a worthy opponent to use it on unveiled itself. His arm, impossible though it may sound, multiplied. Because there was one timeline where he punched the angelic being in the heart area. One where he hit him on the other side of his ribcage. Two where he broke his opponents left and right bottom ribs, respectively. Two where he hit the abdominal area so hard that the muscles began rupturing. And one where he rocketed a punch into its solar plexus. These seven timelines now came into existence at the same time. Happened, at the same time.
Whoever it was, sailed back through the air at something close to the speed of sound. But Acradius was nowhere near done. Dashing behind his opponent, he did the same technique in a massive, seven-fold uppercut, jumped up, launched him down into the titan's palm in a hexagon-pattern kick.
As the shock of the first hit was just reaching the end of those gossamer wings, and gravity was assisting his decent, the blackened Acradius simply stood beneath the angelic being, and held the ever-shining Quantum high...
The unrelenting nova of flame erupted around him, sizzling his flesh and scalding his hair to a smoking mass of melted fibers. But he did not die. The psionic power coursing through his nerves assured that. He howled in pain, he fought it, though it nearly drove him over the brink. And just like that, it was over as quickly as it had started. Looking for all the world like now some form of blackened and evil knight, with smoldering, scarred skin and blasted armor, still glowing red in some places, Acradius Journeyman looked the part of evil quite well. And evil saw its ancient nemesis.
Propelled along the tops of hairy trees by mental might, and a thin sheen of psionically-summoned ectoplasm on the bottom of his boots, the still-smoking armored form skated down the massive arm of the impossible creature in what could have easily been a grind session so endless it would stop only when one fell off. And with a warrior thusly skilled, that could have been a long time. Instead of continuing on what would have been a rather fun ride, the Time Warrior burst from the undergrowth in a wild leap, and landed in a crouch just in front of his yet-unnamed opponent.
The icy blue of his eyes was the only thing assuring the rest of the world that he was still, in fact, human, and not some sort of hell-spawned demon. But to anyone more than a few feet away, this was some twisted battle of good and evil, in a place where neither mattered.
"Did you know... whoever you are... that I have died before?" The burnt man asked quizzically. "And that is the precise reason that I'm not afraid of you in the least. You. Are not. The end." He let that one sink in. Immortals hated it when you showed them how inadequate they were. "And during my time dead, I did not stop learning... Are you ready to see? Are you ready for me to show you why the free will of man is stronger than whatever divine ordinance you have prescribed for us?? I'll show you. Oh yes, I'll show you." His eyes narrowed, and began glowing a white that burned with the same intensity as the attack he just suffered. "Maker... Meet thy unmaking."
Too fast for even a divine eye to see, Acradius Journeyman tore through the timeline with a haymaker punch. But then, the technique he had been waiting for a worthy opponent to use it on unveiled itself. His arm, impossible though it may sound, multiplied. Because there was one timeline where he punched the angelic being in the heart area. One where he hit him on the other side of his ribcage. Two where he broke his opponents left and right bottom ribs, respectively. Two where he hit the abdominal area so hard that the muscles began rupturing. And one where he rocketed a punch into its solar plexus. These seven timelines now came into existence at the same time. Happened, at the same time.
Whoever it was, sailed back through the air at something close to the speed of sound. But Acradius was nowhere near done. Dashing behind his opponent, he did the same technique in a massive, seven-fold uppercut, jumped up, launched him down into the titan's palm in a hexagon-pattern kick.
As the shock of the first hit was just reaching the end of those gossamer wings, and gravity was assisting his decent, the blackened Acradius simply stood beneath the angelic being, and held the ever-shining Quantum high...
Chaos reigns within. Reflect, repent, and reboot. Order shall return. ~Windows, in Haiku format
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Erdawn Il Deus
- Member
- Posts: 3036
- Joined: Wed May 21, 2003 1:00 am
- Location: Threading the jeweled thrones of earth under my sa
OoC: Ah crap. I had totally re-written my entrance in lieu of character change. REGARDLESSSHALLPOSTTONIGHT!
EDIT - You are so getting it too >=)
EDIT - You are so getting it too >=)
<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
-
UltimateGamer178
- Member
- Posts: 1074
- Joined: Fri Jan 19, 2007 8:09 pm
- Location: In a pizza box under the Brooklyn Bridge
Raji was walking around the summit of the mountains and thinking. He was dissappointed with his last battle, where Letios forfeited. Maybe if he looked around, he'd find someone to battle. Suddenly, a huge windstorm blew in and made the weather so cold it made the young warrior's nose sting and turn red. It was getting very cold, and Raji's cape wasn't doing much good in keeping him warm.
Suddenly, the young swordsman saw a dark figure on top of one of the mountaintops. Raji quickly ran to the top of the mountain the figure was on. He saw himself in the middle of a stare-down between the dark figure. Finally, Raji said, "Who are you?" the figure replied, "I'm Chuchalainn" Raji replied, "I challenge you to a fight!" Chuchalainn accepted the young warrior's challenge and drew his spear as Raji drew his sword. And the battle began.
Suddenly, the young swordsman saw a dark figure on top of one of the mountaintops. Raji quickly ran to the top of the mountain the figure was on. He saw himself in the middle of a stare-down between the dark figure. Finally, Raji said, "Who are you?" the figure replied, "I'm Chuchalainn" Raji replied, "I challenge you to a fight!" Chuchalainn accepted the young warrior's challenge and drew his spear as Raji drew his sword. And the battle began.
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Acradius
- Member
- Posts: 963
- Joined: Sat Feb 24, 2001 2:00 am
- Location: Where Time, Space and Reality fade, and there is l
- Contact:
Gaah! Just who the heck am I fighting here?! Old-school angelic doom or CLEANSE! PURGE! KILL!
Posting may be spotty. I'll be out of town till Thursday, but I'll see if I can't jump on something at a library or what have we.
Posting may be spotty. I'll be out of town till Thursday, but I'll see if I can't jump on something at a library or what have we.
Chaos reigns within. Reflect, repent, and reboot. Order shall return. ~Windows, in Haiku format
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Asnabel
- Member
- Posts: 552
- Joined: Thu Oct 12, 2000 1:00 am
OoC: Ah, Norse legend supplies so much fodder for combat.
The crazed monk flew towards his opponent, far beyond the point of worrying for his own health. As he closed in for another attack, he saw the great mass of man stir on his horse, as if to launch. At this movement, Aidan performed another of his perplexing teleports, intending to remove the god’s teeth from his mouth. Before he slipped away, he heard the god before him utter a low, guttural incantation. Just before Aidan re-entered regular space, he threw his mighty punch. He suddenly realized he couldn't move his arm - and if he weren't already insane, the pain would make him that way. Then he looked down and saw that he had teleported in such a way that his arm is inside the rock halfway up to his elbow. He stared upwards, and found the god down on his own two feet, staring down at him. His face was covered by the blood from a great wound on his head and the sickening sight of boiling flesh.
“When I hung from the great tree for nine days and nine night” Aidan heard Odin say, though it is unlikely he understood it through his own crazed thoughts, “I learned wisdom, and many charms which have served me well in life.” The massive god reached to the ground for his bloodstained spear, and continued, “Among them is a spell that allows me to take any magic used against me, and turn it against its user. This includes your little teleporting trick.” Without another word, Odin took his spear and drove it into the captive arm, impaling it through the elbow. He twisted the blade, and metal ground against bone as it turned. Flesh tore away, and bones broke as the head of weapon sawed through the arm. After several seconds of sawing and prying, the arm slid away from its captured stump, and the monk was released. Another incantation followed his release.
One thing surprised Aidan, even through his madness: the fire of his blood did not scar the ground beneath him. Momentarily stunned, he heard the one-eyed god tell him further, “Another of my magnificent charms. If I see a fire that burns, I can quench it with but a single word. I know the charm.” Odin reached to his belt, and retrieved the razor-sharp battleaxe from it. With a speed that belied his great girth, he swooped down and buried it into the monk’s stomach. The head of the axe twisted in his gullet, churning organs and muscle together into a great mess. However, the madman went yet unhindered by the pain. He reached out with his leg, and delivered a powerful kick to the god’s head. As Odin reeled from the blow, he pulled his axe back with him, and left a great open gap in the now standing monk’s abdomen. From this gaping maw in his gullet, a mess of his organs spilled forth, nearly splattering upon the ground. They defiled the ground beneath him, the contents of his intestines and stomach pouring out before him.
But he was not stopped. The mad clown of a monk laughed, and charged forward again, one armed, organs trailing behind him. It dawned on Odin that this man before him was crazed to the point where combined with his healing, no injury could slow him, as the pain mattered little to his already shattered mind. He uttered another incantation, this one longer and more forceful than both of those that had preceded it, and when it was finished Aidan stopped in his tracks. Amazingly, an expression of true horror crept onto the twisted visage of his face. He screamed, a scream of a man suddenly tortured with sudden and agonizing pain. Odin said solemnly, “Perhaps the most powerful of my charms is this: the magic to relieve men of their ailments, mental or physical, and to quell any rage felt towards me by an enemy. Even the fires of your own deranged psyche are not immune to this power.” He took a moment to observe a man suddenly faced with sanity after so many wounds, and such a long time spent in blissful lunacy. He then took his spear Gungnir again in hand, and threw it with all his might towards the shrieking monk before him. And the Gungnir was enchanted to never miss its target.
The crazed monk flew towards his opponent, far beyond the point of worrying for his own health. As he closed in for another attack, he saw the great mass of man stir on his horse, as if to launch. At this movement, Aidan performed another of his perplexing teleports, intending to remove the god’s teeth from his mouth. Before he slipped away, he heard the god before him utter a low, guttural incantation. Just before Aidan re-entered regular space, he threw his mighty punch. He suddenly realized he couldn't move his arm - and if he weren't already insane, the pain would make him that way. Then he looked down and saw that he had teleported in such a way that his arm is inside the rock halfway up to his elbow. He stared upwards, and found the god down on his own two feet, staring down at him. His face was covered by the blood from a great wound on his head and the sickening sight of boiling flesh.
“When I hung from the great tree for nine days and nine night” Aidan heard Odin say, though it is unlikely he understood it through his own crazed thoughts, “I learned wisdom, and many charms which have served me well in life.” The massive god reached to the ground for his bloodstained spear, and continued, “Among them is a spell that allows me to take any magic used against me, and turn it against its user. This includes your little teleporting trick.” Without another word, Odin took his spear and drove it into the captive arm, impaling it through the elbow. He twisted the blade, and metal ground against bone as it turned. Flesh tore away, and bones broke as the head of weapon sawed through the arm. After several seconds of sawing and prying, the arm slid away from its captured stump, and the monk was released. Another incantation followed his release.
One thing surprised Aidan, even through his madness: the fire of his blood did not scar the ground beneath him. Momentarily stunned, he heard the one-eyed god tell him further, “Another of my magnificent charms. If I see a fire that burns, I can quench it with but a single word. I know the charm.” Odin reached to his belt, and retrieved the razor-sharp battleaxe from it. With a speed that belied his great girth, he swooped down and buried it into the monk’s stomach. The head of the axe twisted in his gullet, churning organs and muscle together into a great mess. However, the madman went yet unhindered by the pain. He reached out with his leg, and delivered a powerful kick to the god’s head. As Odin reeled from the blow, he pulled his axe back with him, and left a great open gap in the now standing monk’s abdomen. From this gaping maw in his gullet, a mess of his organs spilled forth, nearly splattering upon the ground. They defiled the ground beneath him, the contents of his intestines and stomach pouring out before him.
But he was not stopped. The mad clown of a monk laughed, and charged forward again, one armed, organs trailing behind him. It dawned on Odin that this man before him was crazed to the point where combined with his healing, no injury could slow him, as the pain mattered little to his already shattered mind. He uttered another incantation, this one longer and more forceful than both of those that had preceded it, and when it was finished Aidan stopped in his tracks. Amazingly, an expression of true horror crept onto the twisted visage of his face. He screamed, a scream of a man suddenly tortured with sudden and agonizing pain. Odin said solemnly, “Perhaps the most powerful of my charms is this: the magic to relieve men of their ailments, mental or physical, and to quell any rage felt towards me by an enemy. Even the fires of your own deranged psyche are not immune to this power.” He took a moment to observe a man suddenly faced with sanity after so many wounds, and such a long time spent in blissful lunacy. He then took his spear Gungnir again in hand, and threw it with all his might towards the shrieking monk before him. And the Gungnir was enchanted to never miss its target.
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Scripture
- Member
- Posts: 436
- Joined: Thu Apr 29, 2004 1:00 am
The mass of swirling chains parted suddenly, opening from the center like a flower, to reveal the man at its center.
“Here, lemme help you out. Make sure you don’t,” the words halted a moment from the pink brush-strokes of the man’s lips. “Make sure you don’t fall off. It’s a long way down,” said the man, grinning as he fell slow and graceful from the mass of chains.
He was garbed in a flowing robe of white cloth with black sigils burning their way up the top from black hems. Were it not for the subtle shadows cast onto the man’s chest, it would seem as if the robes were a part of him, for he was of such a ghastly pale complexion that he could perfectly blend in with the rolling whites of the clouds found so high up.
“Oh, but before I strap you down, you wobbly man, I suppose you should have something to call me.” The albino laughed. “I tend to go by Isthmal Briem, though you may call me, hmm…” He stroked his chin, scratched at it with pink fingernails. “I don’t think Death would be a good name, as I’m sure someone’s used that before, and the Iceman, that sounds way too familiar…”
As Isthmal spoke to himself and stroked his chin, a variety of things happened that he seemed to have very little to do with. First, the mass of roiling chains at his back fanned out behind him and sent a number of their linked lengths shooting toward Daren, the wobbly and emotionally fragile magician. The slim sorcerer’s eyes narrowed in that way one’s eyes will when moments of intense concentration and movement are needed, and he saw that the chains floating behind Isthmal were not just a collection of blunt metal, but had items of considerable sharpness affixed to their ends.
That was Daren’s last thought as two chains snaked their way up his two arms and buried what looked like two flared industrial drill-bits into the subtle meat of his two biceps, bursting through the other side and sticking there like two arrowheads. This elicited a single scream of agony as blood pumped from the wounds and onto the stone below, where the other ends of the chains buried themselves with grappling hook-like attachments. His two calves were pierced simultaneously by two shorter lengths of chains that threaded themselves through the wounds and anchored themselves on either end, pulling his weight back and buckling his knees under the intense, throbbing pain, while at the same time tugging on the barbaric restraints in his biceps. The pain caused the arm holding his sword to spasm, dropping it – right into the grasp of a group of layered chains, which caught it awkwardly above the hilt and rotated it in the air, ramming it through one of his ankles. The sound of the ankle cracking, and the sensation of it sliding out beneath him, and the feeling of such an unnatural obstruction in the heart of his muscles, pushed Darien to the edge. He screamed his voice raw in moments.
“For the love of God, stop screaming.” Isthmal said, dropping his contemplative pose. “You should be thanking me for making sure you’re strapped in tight on this walking statue – and, oh, I guess you could call me Isthmal if you ever nab a spare breath. But, the real question is, my friend, what should I call you?”
“Here, lemme help you out. Make sure you don’t,” the words halted a moment from the pink brush-strokes of the man’s lips. “Make sure you don’t fall off. It’s a long way down,” said the man, grinning as he fell slow and graceful from the mass of chains.
He was garbed in a flowing robe of white cloth with black sigils burning their way up the top from black hems. Were it not for the subtle shadows cast onto the man’s chest, it would seem as if the robes were a part of him, for he was of such a ghastly pale complexion that he could perfectly blend in with the rolling whites of the clouds found so high up.
“Oh, but before I strap you down, you wobbly man, I suppose you should have something to call me.” The albino laughed. “I tend to go by Isthmal Briem, though you may call me, hmm…” He stroked his chin, scratched at it with pink fingernails. “I don’t think Death would be a good name, as I’m sure someone’s used that before, and the Iceman, that sounds way too familiar…”
As Isthmal spoke to himself and stroked his chin, a variety of things happened that he seemed to have very little to do with. First, the mass of roiling chains at his back fanned out behind him and sent a number of their linked lengths shooting toward Daren, the wobbly and emotionally fragile magician. The slim sorcerer’s eyes narrowed in that way one’s eyes will when moments of intense concentration and movement are needed, and he saw that the chains floating behind Isthmal were not just a collection of blunt metal, but had items of considerable sharpness affixed to their ends.
That was Daren’s last thought as two chains snaked their way up his two arms and buried what looked like two flared industrial drill-bits into the subtle meat of his two biceps, bursting through the other side and sticking there like two arrowheads. This elicited a single scream of agony as blood pumped from the wounds and onto the stone below, where the other ends of the chains buried themselves with grappling hook-like attachments. His two calves were pierced simultaneously by two shorter lengths of chains that threaded themselves through the wounds and anchored themselves on either end, pulling his weight back and buckling his knees under the intense, throbbing pain, while at the same time tugging on the barbaric restraints in his biceps. The pain caused the arm holding his sword to spasm, dropping it – right into the grasp of a group of layered chains, which caught it awkwardly above the hilt and rotated it in the air, ramming it through one of his ankles. The sound of the ankle cracking, and the sensation of it sliding out beneath him, and the feeling of such an unnatural obstruction in the heart of his muscles, pushed Darien to the edge. He screamed his voice raw in moments.
“For the love of God, stop screaming.” Isthmal said, dropping his contemplative pose. “You should be thanking me for making sure you’re strapped in tight on this walking statue – and, oh, I guess you could call me Isthmal if you ever nab a spare breath. But, the real question is, my friend, what should I call you?”
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Erdawn Il Deus
- Member
- Posts: 3036
- Joined: Wed May 21, 2003 1:00 am
- Location: Threading the jeweled thrones of earth under my sa
And it came to passed that through his body coursed a great seizure of agony, until his limbs shook to their marrows and his muscles screamed at him from the white throats of their nerve endings. but this saccharin anguish was extinguished by force of his faith. Where the imperfection of his form allowed him to feel this pain, the perfection of his faith allowed him to rise above it, and thusly did he reach for that sweet all-embracing mu of the Father, and thus did he act where his own wounds might have shackled him.
His wings swept downwards, feathered with an immaculate whiteness but so radiant they gave the impression of solid light (or light shaped to give the impression of beautiful feathers). Where the time warrior's sword sought the cherubim's immaculate body, it was granted only the fire of God. The angel's descent slowed - to a stop, so that he floated above the Cyclopean plateau like a Renaissance painting of the seraphic and his golden sandals brushed the tip of acradius's sword. His wings smothered the time warrior's form, and the surrounding temperature rose to degrees in the centigrades for that moment. Where there was only whiteness, the platform was cast in a hue of cerulean blue, so bright in might have been white anyway, and the air crackled and hummed with energy and acradius's form became a silhouette and every scorched surface area of flesh re-ignitied again under the wrath of the archangel's empyrean majesty.
The wings swept upwards, the air actually sloughing off it in auroral tongues of liquid fire and coloured, superheated gases, leaving only Acradius - who burned like a ****ing oil torch, so furiously the fire seemed to be pushing out from within him, a roiling cyclone of gold, orange, white flame spinning in place and again turning his skin to ash. the time warrior's own psionic mastery pushed the elements back, however divine, and the fire did not utterly consume him, only raged and battered against his corporal defenses and seek the vitals within. But in that inferno his eyes were still so blue, volcanic with the intesnity of his rage, and the insanity of the pain, which had shrieked past the threshold into the dizzying heights of madness, which seemed a thing alive on every inch of him, and which enlightened his awareness to every square inch of his own body beyond the human capacity of comprehension.
The seraph raised his arm, a sculpture of perfect white flesh corded with an immaculate musculature and gauntleted in soft gold, and in his powerful hand he held a Greek pilum as aureate as solid sunlight, steel so radiant it could only be fire, frozen to stillness. His other hand bore the immense medallion of a Spartan war shield, flashing like a hot dime against the white. The shield swung, knocking away Acradius's sword arm and opening his body - and the pilum desceneded - the form perfect, the aim calculated. The point punctured acradius above the collarbone, pushing through his body on a diagonal path and catching somewhere in his ribcage (the tip actually leaving an indentation on the outside of his armour above the left flank). Blood exploded from his mouth and nose with the force of it.
The fire was blotted out, leaving only smoke and ravaged figure of the time warrior, impaled, and the perched seraph.
The angel dropped, vaulting on the pole and tearing it free of the time warrior's body with the ruthless splintering of marrow, the wrenching squeal of armour and the tearing of ligaments. acradius jerked back, forth and up, shaking, and stumbled backwards clawing at his chest and barring his teeth together in rage. The noise of wrenching enamel filled the air, so hard was he forcing his jaw shut. Blood pooled about him.
The archangel touched down, raising the spear high above his head, it catching light and flaring like a match-head. He slid back into stance, mute, his golden shield passing before his body, an eclipse of steel, and obscuring him from thigh to chops. His wings spread open, an alabaster blanket bright as moonlight snow, blinding with intensity. The feathers quivered in place.
OoC: Awesome attack. I will return my rage! and will continue with the archangel (I changed mind but you posted first so I shall thus continue). Also, this poses a problem - i will be gone Friday to Sunday without any means of posting. Also, wYborn, post already! and it's Cuchulainn, VGA.
His wings swept downwards, feathered with an immaculate whiteness but so radiant they gave the impression of solid light (or light shaped to give the impression of beautiful feathers). Where the time warrior's sword sought the cherubim's immaculate body, it was granted only the fire of God. The angel's descent slowed - to a stop, so that he floated above the Cyclopean plateau like a Renaissance painting of the seraphic and his golden sandals brushed the tip of acradius's sword. His wings smothered the time warrior's form, and the surrounding temperature rose to degrees in the centigrades for that moment. Where there was only whiteness, the platform was cast in a hue of cerulean blue, so bright in might have been white anyway, and the air crackled and hummed with energy and acradius's form became a silhouette and every scorched surface area of flesh re-ignitied again under the wrath of the archangel's empyrean majesty.
The wings swept upwards, the air actually sloughing off it in auroral tongues of liquid fire and coloured, superheated gases, leaving only Acradius - who burned like a ****ing oil torch, so furiously the fire seemed to be pushing out from within him, a roiling cyclone of gold, orange, white flame spinning in place and again turning his skin to ash. the time warrior's own psionic mastery pushed the elements back, however divine, and the fire did not utterly consume him, only raged and battered against his corporal defenses and seek the vitals within. But in that inferno his eyes were still so blue, volcanic with the intesnity of his rage, and the insanity of the pain, which had shrieked past the threshold into the dizzying heights of madness, which seemed a thing alive on every inch of him, and which enlightened his awareness to every square inch of his own body beyond the human capacity of comprehension.
The seraph raised his arm, a sculpture of perfect white flesh corded with an immaculate musculature and gauntleted in soft gold, and in his powerful hand he held a Greek pilum as aureate as solid sunlight, steel so radiant it could only be fire, frozen to stillness. His other hand bore the immense medallion of a Spartan war shield, flashing like a hot dime against the white. The shield swung, knocking away Acradius's sword arm and opening his body - and the pilum desceneded - the form perfect, the aim calculated. The point punctured acradius above the collarbone, pushing through his body on a diagonal path and catching somewhere in his ribcage (the tip actually leaving an indentation on the outside of his armour above the left flank). Blood exploded from his mouth and nose with the force of it.
The fire was blotted out, leaving only smoke and ravaged figure of the time warrior, impaled, and the perched seraph.
The angel dropped, vaulting on the pole and tearing it free of the time warrior's body with the ruthless splintering of marrow, the wrenching squeal of armour and the tearing of ligaments. acradius jerked back, forth and up, shaking, and stumbled backwards clawing at his chest and barring his teeth together in rage. The noise of wrenching enamel filled the air, so hard was he forcing his jaw shut. Blood pooled about him.
The archangel touched down, raising the spear high above his head, it catching light and flaring like a match-head. He slid back into stance, mute, his golden shield passing before his body, an eclipse of steel, and obscuring him from thigh to chops. His wings spread open, an alabaster blanket bright as moonlight snow, blinding with intensity. The feathers quivered in place.
OoC: Awesome attack. I will return my rage! and will continue with the archangel (I changed mind but you posted first so I shall thus continue). Also, this poses a problem - i will be gone Friday to Sunday without any means of posting. Also, wYborn, post already! and it's Cuchulainn, VGA.
<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