148 replies to this topic

[SL the Pyro]

Shazza's tactic caught him by surprise. "What the..." Z thought as his foe made an attempt to tackle him, hand outstretched to grab his neck. Shazza made a major miscalculation by thinking she could knock him down to the ground, although her second part of the plan worked right; she had a firm grip on his windpipe.

This sensation was new to Z; all of the people he'd fought against had either tried to behead him or break through his armor. They hadn't tried to cut off his circulation before. And he didn't like it. He'd at first thought Shazza was too weak to even do such a thing, but she proved surprisingly strong; though not visible due to Z's hood, his was was starting to change to a light blue.

Z would've cursed at this moment; he shouldn't have actually let Shazza try this. In retaliation, he dropped Shazza's crowbar and grabbed her non-limp wrist, trying to crush it before she crushed his windpipe. A metal-clothed hand on one of simple flesh and bone gave him the advantage.

[Goose]

Her hand was in agonizing pain, slowly being crushed to nothingness. She knew that letting go wasn't an option, because surely she was causing him discomfort to the max, but she had to find a way to get the win and the only way she could think without killing the bastard was by simply finding the part of the neck that she wasn't currently strangling and going to lunch with it using her very formidible chompers.

She went in fast and attempted to clamp down on the bare flesh inside his hood. It looked like he was going to be a scrumptious meal. mmmmm, dreadlord.

[SL the Pyro]

At the very least Z was able to prevent this move; with his head obscured by the darkness of his hood and Shazza's quick but unprepared effort, he had time to move his head out of the way. A difficult task since her hand was on his neck, although having his hand on hers helped change the direction. This didn't leave him with much time before she corrected that mistake, though.

Realizing that his weapon wouldn't be of much use in this kind of a situation, he dropped it. He'd let this go on for long enough, and thought of the best way to stop this choking and biting; pin her down. But first she had to get Shazza's head out of his hood, and he used his free hand to push back on her skull. Hoping that this would work, he tried flipped her over and slamming her to the ground.

[DarkJuno]

******


...and that's it. Let me confer with the judges, and the winner will be PM'ed to finish the fight.

But first and foremost, thank you both for participating thus far.

[SL the Pyro]

T'was my pleasure, DJ. Gotta cut lose from the regular RP somehow.

[SL the Pyro]

"Enough of you, pest! Begone!" Z said in a gruff tone as he pushed Shazza's head out of his hood and hoisted her up into the air, only to slam her right back down to the ground hard. Between the impact and her blood loss, she had quickly gone unconscious as far as he could tell. He checked her pulse to make sure she wasn't dead; that would mean disqualification.

...

Good, she was alive.

Z got back to his feet, then picked up and sheathed his sword.

[CID Farwin]

Judging by the giant roar of noise coming from the direction of the quarry, the next match had just ended. Mark couldn't tell who won, and quite honestly didn't care so much at the moment. Judging by the 'ohh's and 'wow's from the crowd, he knew he had missed a good fight. It was worth it, though, to be where he was now.

Ever since that night, when Miss Alcott had announced the first round(more specifically when she said the name 'Stephen') memories had started to come back to Mark's mind. At first, it was only a feeling like he was on the verge of something big, and, as he had managed a few glimpses at Stephen afterwards, he gained a few, fleeting flashes of memories.

Frustratingly, that was all the memory that Mark could gain at the time, and quite some time afterwards even. In all honesty, it was merely in hopes of gaining back more memories that Mark had shown up to Stephen's match. His frustration grew more intense with every minute that Stephen failed to show up to his own match. It grew so intense, even, to send Mark angrily out of the stands, bent on finding Stephen and, if necessary, drag him back to the bamboo field himself!

It was about five minutes into Mark's search, when he still had enough fury left to keep going, yet was just starting to rethink his riddiculous search(there were just so many people on that island!) and had actually just stood up on top of a wall to get a better view when he quite suddenly found Stephen rushing through the crowd as if he had overslept, and judging by his appearance, he probably had. Mark chuckled, he was the one with the type of luck to oversleep the match he had obviously traveled to this world for.

Stephen, looking up to get his bearings, easily spotted Mark on his perch, and smiled; stopping as he met Mark's gaze. Mark by now had a wide grin on his face, and as memories had been flooding in realized why they both looked the way they did and were dressed the way they were. And a few theories as to why they were competing in the Stroke of Death.

They both quite suddenly realized that Stephen was standing in the middle of a road and, before either had enough time to react, the reason for their realization, that reason being an automobile, ran Stephen over. Rather than feeling any sort of shock, Mark simply burst out laughing. It was precisely Stephen's type of luck to get run over by an ambulance.

And so, Mark missed watching the second match of the tournament, watching over Stephen instead, determined not to miss the moment when Stephen woke up from his coma. He even had the perfect thing to say, fully rehearsed.

He might even miss his own fight if he had too.

---------

I officially apologize about missing the first match. I just didn't really know what I was supposed to do, or where I was supposed to post, so I was waiting for Stalfos to post first. That just happened to be around the time he disappeared.

Again, sorry, and I guarantee that Mark will not miss his fight, regardless of the last line of that story.

[Steel Samurai]

Dammit. He'd lost his wager. Isamu pulled his wallet from his back pocket with a sigh. He counted out 5 crisp hundred dollar bills and gave them to Marion, who took them with a sarcastically sweet smile. Six months ago losing the equivalent of five hundred US dollars in Yen would have meant living on instant ramen for a month. The A8 Conglomerate had, however, paid him a substantial sum to even appear on the island, plus a generous amount of spending money for the duration of the tournament. Still, it irked him to lose that much, especially on what he thought was a sure win. He sighed. No matter. The wench had lost when she allowed the dark figure to chop off her arm. Attempting to bludgeon him with it had been a good idea, if merely for shock value, but it had, apparently, proved ineffective in the end. Isamu sighed and settled back in his seat, waiting for the next match to be announced.

[DarkJuno]

******

-cough- All right, holidays over, and currently pressed for time (so no fancy in character announcement this time) but the next match will be between..

-pulls names out of cup-

Lord of Drek's Kyle Schutzer and Steel Samurai's Chihana Isamu, at...

-pulls name out of other cup-

...ah, fun, the Tidal Pool Battlefield.

Both of ya'll have between Wednesday, Januray 9th, 2008 and Saturday, January 12th, 2008 to show up at the battlefield. When you show up and I notice, I'll have my ref start the fight and we'll go from there. Like last time, I'll describe the battlefield in that same post.

So yeah! Have fun!

[Steel Samurai]

Isamu arose at 5 that morning, throwing a loose kimono on and walking down to the beach. For an hour he flowed through the 12 preparation stances of Raikou Yaiba, designed to help one achieve perfect unity with his blade, erasing all emotion, purging all extemporaneous thought, focusing his entire being into the battle. He closed his eyes and emptied his mind, allowing his body and instincts to take over completely. When he felt the first ray of sunlight break the horizon and illuminate his face, he turned and faced the eastern horizon, stretching his arms out beside him and letting his skin drink in the light of the new day. At last it was time. Time to test his skill. Time to show his ability. Time to grind his opponent into the dust beneath his feet. Isamu turned as the first patch of blue became visible underneath the sun. He returned to his room and donned the black, silky battle kimono his Grandfather had given him when he left the Dojo. He pulled the black case in which he kept his katana from under his bed and gently undid the clasps. He removed the katana, secure in its scabbard, from the case, and eyed it critically. The battered black scabbard seemed to be none the worse for wear from its trip. He drew the blade itself, the flawless steel gleaming in the light from the window. The edge was sharp enough to slice through a stone in a single stroke, provided the wielder had the strength. The sound of metal sliding on wood sounded as he sheathed the blade, the guard clicking on the top of the scabbard.

Isamu entered the arena, the sound of water gently lapping against the rocks barely detectable behind the low murmur of the crowd. His opponent was not there yet. Isamu went to the center of the arena and sat down, cross legged on the ground. He closed his eyes, waiting for his opponent to come.

[Keen]

Kyle slipped the insurance forms into the manila envelope and sealed it, placing it safely inside his stainless-steel briefcase. The bustle inside the coffee shop skimmed the surface of Kyle's senses, but at this moment, only one human being demanded his focus: Chihana Isamu, a Lesser Master in the Raikou Yaiba style of kenjutsu. Kyle had easily overcome the expert opposition offered by the preliminaries, but soon he would face a skill that surpassed expertise. Ironically, lethal force was forbidden in the Stroke of Death Tournament, but just the thought of being cut on, carved up like the lifeless meat on the sandwich he'd just eaten... it made his skin quiver, and he wasn't sure that that sandwich would stay eaten for long. He stood from his table and wove past the crowd, toting the massive steel case at his side. He received more than a few unkind words from the people who failed to get out of his way as he rushed toward the post office, checking his watch to be sure he was still on schedule. He managed to mail the insurance forms two minutes ahead of schedule, and found the time to deposit his sandwich in a nearby public restroom. If only Mr. Raehl had found money in the budget for body armor, Kyle would feel much more secure at this point. He only hoped his paranormal reflexes would stand up to Chihana's.

Arriving at the bus stop, Kyle found the bench full, and took a place behind the crowd. Checking his watch again, he saw that the bus would be arriving in 43 seconds... 38... 22... 7... 3, 2, 1, 0.... But there was no bus to be seen down the street. Kyle looked worriedly around the crowd. The people here were all well dressed and seemingly well mannered. Orderly individuals, but they hadn't noticed that the bus was late. Could it be that Kyle was waiting at the wrong stop? It was unthinkable! He'd mapped out his path perfectly. Made every step with the utmost intention. He hadn't made any error! His briefcase slammed to the concrete, and his hands began to twitch toward the pencils in his pockets as he let out a rising squeal through gritted teeth. A quizzical glance from another waiting man caught Kyle's eye. In a flash, he bound forward and was holding a pencil in the man's face, breathing heavily. "I'm not wrong, Chihana!"

"What are you talking about? What's wrong with--what's your problem?"

Kyle stared at the man, who kept staring back with that damned quizzical look in his eyes. It wasn't Chihana though. Kyle lowered the pencil and replied tersely, "What bus is this?"

"It's the twelve-thirteen to Tidal Pool. Why are you so worked up?"

Kyle replaced the pencil his pocket and began straightening his clothing. "So it's just late. That driver will be hearing from me about this." At that moment the bus, number 28, pulled around the corner. Kyle picked up his suitcase and boarded the bus behind everyone else, making sure to give the driver the coldest, most cruel look he could muster as he walked by. There were no seats left, so Kyle stood for the twenty-minute ride. He felt more than a few of the passengers' eyes resting uneasily on him. But he his calculations had been flawless, and he had only been reacting to the gruesome inability of some people to maintain a schedule when doing so is their sole task. That careless driver would be hearing from Kyle after the match. That was, if Kyle survived the match. Chihana....

When Kyle arrived, Chihana Isamu was seated in the center of the arena. Kyle tried not to think about the sound that that sword would make cutting through his skin, muscles, and fat. It was difficult, but he managed to focus instead on the sound of Chihana's bones cracking under his stainless-steel case. This battle presented vile carnage from every viewpoint. Once the battle became reality, however, Kyle knew he would lose himself in the achievement of his sole task. It was just another puzzle to solve, after all.

His briefcase in his left hand and a pencil in his right, Kyle hobbled grimly toward Chihana.

Edited by Lord of Drek, 12 January 2008 - 03:38 PM.

[DarkJuno]

With the loud crash of waves being....not that distant for once, the referee waits patiently for the fighters to arrive. The Tidal Pool Battlefield was one of the few "arenas" on the island that one would think had not been greatly modified...untill on realizes that this is the sort of beach one would find on a rocky shoreline, not a peaceful, tropical paradise. Even so, it fits in rather perfectly, as the waves crash nearby, but not quite hitting the pools of water gently shimmering in the bright sun. Any careless worker on the island - or fighter, for that matter - would easily slip and break their neck carelessly traversing the slippery rocks and pools of water, the latter ranging from tiny puddles to fairly large bodies of water filled with crabs and other lifeforms. There were some patches of sandy beach here and there, but one must beware, for at lowtide - that is, right now when the fight is scheduled - there was indeed still water laying underneath the seemingly solid sand. Almost a sort of quicksand, as it were, as there wasn't enarly enough room on the island to create an actual Tidal Flat, so this was a compromise.

Still, a fairly unique and in the wrong conditions, deadly area to even walk through, much less fight. Smirking at seeing the two fighters had arrived as he had mused, the somewhat chubby man nods and raises his hand to the audience watching from the well hidden viewing areas and equally well hidden cameras broadcasting.

"This Round 1 match between Chihana Isamu and Kyle Schutzer is now official and ready to commence! Recall the rules stated at the beginning of this tournament, and may the better paticipant win! Begin!


******


All righty....you two have between right now and....Friday, whenever I first see this thread again to battle it out per the rules. And let's see, Steel got here first so he gets heads while Lord of Drek gets tails, so...

-flips coin-

Tails. Kyle, you get the first post.

Have fun!

[Keen]

As the announcer began to speak, Kyle looked down the path leading up to Chihana. It would be best if he could strike his opponent down before being put on the defensive. Even if this was impossible, the field ought to prove more of a hindrance to Chihana than to Kyle. No, Chihana would be planning his own offensive at this very moment. As for the hazards of the battlefield, surely an experienced martial artist like Chihana would have no trouble with them. Kyle's greatest advantage must then be his careful forethought. He sat down on a nearby rock and quickly pulled off his shoes. Then his gaze locked on Chihana, as the announcer shouted, "...participant win! Begin!" Kyle's bare feet carried him effortlessly over the rocks and sand, directly to his target. Keeping a careful watch of Chihana's sword, Kyle swung the steel case in his left hand horizontally, aiming the corner at Chihana's right shoulder.

This attack might break the shoulder, except that it's fairly easy to parry. In fact, it's a ruse, meant to hide the pencil-stab Kyle has simultaneously made with his right hand.

Edited by Lord of Drek, 15 January 2008 - 10:12 AM.

[Steel Samurai]

OOC: You have to have a cheesy intro line. It's . . . like an unspoken rule for fighting games RPGs

"Is there anyone stronger than me?" Isamu quoth

Isamu arose as he saw the smartly dressed accountant approach. He was carrying, of all things, a steel briefcase. The swordsman furrowed his brow in confusion. Was his opponent to be an accountant of some sort? What challenge would that be? No, had he been an incompetent fighter he never would have made it this far. Interesting. The clothing he wore seemed horribly inadequate for any kind of physical combat, however conducive it was to the verbal and mental sparring Isamu assumed took place in the business world. He must have complete confidence in his abilities to come dressed like that.

The chubby man some 20 feet away from him began the announcement of the fight. Isamu ignored his modulated tones and closed his eyes, focusing, concentrating, ignoring all the unnecessary information his senses gave him. He curled his toes in the warm, damp sand beneath his feet. A useful piece of information. One of the first lessons taught him had been to always, ALWAYS be aware of his surroundings. The crowd murmured in the background, waiting for the fight to begin. Useless information. He tuned out the noise, focusing instead upon the next loudest sound. The soft lapping of the waves on the rocks and sand not fifty feet from where he stood. Distance to the water. Useful information. Once the fight began his eyes could not leave those of his opponent. To look away was to leave an opening, to lose a chance to predict an otherwise unknown attack. But the waves had no other stories to tell, no further information of use. He tuned out the sound of their gentle crashing as he had that of the crowd. The warm breeze blew gently against his cheek, the tangy smell of salt hitting his nostrils whenever he inhaled. Sensory input irrelevant to this fight. He discarded it. The announcer had nearly finished speaking. One by one, he went through the dozens of pieces of information brought to him by his senses He extracted what information he could from each smell, sound, taste or touch, and then either discarded it or assigned it a varying level of importance in his subconscious. The smoothness of his kimono as it slid on his skin. The tightness of the white linen bandages wrapped tightly around his torso. The cry of a gull feasting on the fallen french fry of some portly tourist or small child.

It had taken years to fully master this skill. To begin with, Isamu's grandfather had placed him in the middle of the floor of the kitchen, amongst the hustle, bustle, and noise that accompanied it, and given him a relatively short passage from Confucius to memorize. Every so often the old master would shout an order from the courtyard outside the window, where he practiced with his students. Should Isamu not respond within three seconds, he was forced to endure an hour of grueling physical training. Should he not have the passage memorized verbatim within twenty minutes of this, he was given latrine duties for that evening. This training forced him to not simply ignore all senses but one, but to be able to instantly respond to a set stimulus from any of his five senses, while ignoring those stimuli that were inessential. Each successive level of training involved an increasing number of distractions and a larger variety of smells, sounds, tastes, and touches to respond to. By the time he had completed the training, the skill had become second nature to him. Isamu used it almost without thinking, analyzing and discarding or retaining the information which flowed into his mind from his senses. It was, in fact, the first step to becoming proficient in the use of Shouten, however it differed from that ability in that while Shouten allowed the user to concentrate on more stimuli simultaneously, this skill simply reduced the number of stimuli the brain needed to process.

It was almost time. The announcer spoke the word.

"Fight!"

His eyes snapped open. Isamu saw only one man. His name was irrelevant. He was Isamu's opponent, and, for now, that was the only information the swordsman needed. His foe was running toward him, the steel briefcase in his hand swinging in a slow but powerful horizontal arc at his shoulder. Isamu moved into a Iaijutsu stance, his feet spaced shoulder width apart, the right ahead of the left. His body twisted to the left as he slid his right hand into place on the leather grip, his left hand wrapping around the scabbard, thumb resting on the top of the guard. His opponent was in range now. In one smooth motion, faster than the blink of an eye, Isamu brought the scabbard forward with his left hand, his thumb simultaneously pushing at the guard to free the portion of the blade closest to the hilt. He pulled the katana further from the sheath with his right hand, at the same time twisting his body to the right, completing the motion by fully drawing the blade as he extended his arm. The highly polished steel flashed in the morning sunlight. The stroke traveled in an arc which should cut the briefcase in half and extend the gap between the middle and ring fingers of the hand clutching the handle by 2 or 3 inches.

The eyes of the man in front of him suddenly changed, however. Isamu saw only a blur in the right hand of the one before him and then a gasp of pain escaped his lips as a yellow pencil drove into his left pectoral, not an inch from his heart. He leapt backwards, barely keeping his footing on the slippery rocks. He ritualistically shook his blade to the side, flinging any potential drops of blood to the ground, and then smoothly sheathed it. He grabbed the pencil in his chest and broke off the protruding end, dropping the short wooden rod into the deep tidal pool behind him.

Isamu began chuckling, at first to himself, but the sound steadily grew in volume and intensity until he tilted his head back and gave full rein to his glee.

"Wonderful. You're WONDERFUL! To think one such as yourself could hide his intent from me!" A shiver crept down Isamu's spine in anticipation of the battle to be fought. "Come, let us dance, let us dance with all our skill, a dance of strength and speed and power! Let us FIGHT!"

Edited by Steel Samurai, 15 January 2008 - 09:31 PM.

[Keen]

Well, Kyle couldn't say he hadn't tried to pull back when Chihana had drawn the sword. He simply hadn't expected Chihana's speed to so neatly counter his agility. Chihana's swing tore across the surface of the silvery briefcase. The damage was slight, but the sheer force of the attack flung the case out of Kyle's left hand. When it landed, it was in the sand about twenty yards to Kyle's left. While Chihana spoke, Kyle removed his necktie, which he then pulled tight around his right hand. Then he reached to draw another pencil from his pocket. But at that instant, the steel case began to sink below the surface of the sand. Kyle sprinted toward it, using his watch as a mirror so that he could keep his opponent in view while he rushed to save his only shield. This was quickly getting to be too interesting for Kyle's taste.

Edited by Lord of Drek, 15 January 2008 - 09:23 PM.

[Steel Samurai]

Isamu pushed off of the smooth, slippery rocks with his left foot as he saw his opponent begin to sprint towards the rapidly disappearing case. He barely felt his bare foot begin to lose traction, and then it shot out from under him. He felt his body, so precariously balanced on the ball of that foot, swing out horizontally. Instinctively, Isamu used the momentum already gained to bring his legs up over his head, reaching towards the ground with his hands. His palms touched the uneven rock beneath him, and then tried to push off. He felt a twinge in his left arm as it gave out beneath him, and his right arm buckled under the unexpected weight. With his center of balance now somewhere to the left of his sole support, he fell to the left, his body slamming painfully against the hard rocks. Isamu slowly got to his feet. That had been embarrassing. He tried to raise his left arm. Excruciating pain shot down his left arm. Apparently the pencil had done more damage than he thought. Damn. This would make things somewhat more difficult. Whatever he was going to do, he needed to do it quickly; keep Kyle on the defense. Isamu sprinted towards him, his callused feet picking their way nimbly over the rocks, which were fairly dry once one got away from the tidal pool. His right foot met the damp sand. He felt his foot sink for an instant, and then he pushed off as the sand compacted beneath him. He was getting closer. Isamu drew his blade from his scabbard, holding it loosely at his side in his right hand. He was getting closer . . . closer . . . He hopped several feet onto a rocky formation which passed beside his opponent, took several steps, and then leaped towards the accountant, raising his katana above his head, and then chopping down onto where the man's shoulder should be as he fell.

[Keen]

It took several seconds to pry the case out of the muck while tugging with both hands. Maybe it wasn't worth the time, but if he couldn't get it out, Kyle was sure he'd be feeling Chihana's blade all to deeply. It finally popped free as Kyle realized the mistake of lowering his mirror. Reeling back from the sand's sudden release, Kyle spun around, yanking a handful of sharpened pencils from his right pocket and raising the case toward the shadow that was descending upon him through the rays of the sun. Chihana's sword crashed into the case, which in turn crashed into Kyle's face, leaving his nose a bloody pulp. The shock jerked his body and freed the pencils from his grip. His eyes drew shut, and his weight seemed to evaporate. He began to fall backward, toward the sand pit. He was nearly horizontal when panic roused his consciousness. In an instant, he tied the bottom part of his tie around the briefcase handle and picked up a pencil between the toes of his right foot. Without regard for the sand pit rising beneath him, he swung the case in a huge arc at Chihana's left leg, meanwhile stabbing at Chihana's left foot with the pencil in his own.

[DarkJuno]

******


...and that's it. Thanks guys, give me a few to talk to the judges.

[Steel Samurai]

Damn, I thought I had another day for some reason, otherwise I'd have posted last night. Ah well.

[Steel Samurai]

The silvery case arced towards Isamu's leg, a blur of flesh and yellow shooting simultaneously towards his foot. An easy dodge from an attack born of desperation. Isamu lifted his foot as the briefcase swung towards him. At the moment when it passed beneath his foot he brought his heel down to on top of the case, stopping it in its tracks. A sickening crunch was audible as the toes holding the pencil aimed for the top of Isamu's foot were mangled beneath the briefcase. Kyle was almost horizontal, the tie attached to the handle of the briefcase the only thing keeping him from falling into the quicksand. Isamu leaned forward and jerked the tie towards himself. Kyle's light frame was pulled upwards. As Kyle moved towards Isamu, Isamu released the tie and grabbed Kyle's shirt. He shifted his weight and kicked the accountant's legs out from under him. The man fell on his back, Isamu's heel driving into his solar plexus before he had a chance to recover. He tossed his katana several inches in the air, allowing it to rotate so the blade pointed towards the ground. He grabbed the hilt as it fell and drove the sword into the man's lower torso. He ripped the blade out with a savage grunt and shook it to the side, the drops of blood sprinkling the stones beside him. A crimson stain grew on the formerly spotless white shirt Kyle wore. Isamu's blade rasped as he sheathed it.

"FAAAAATALITY!" The announcer shouted.
"Hmmf. No challenge." He turned and walked out of the arena.

All was silent for a moment, and then the crowd burst into cheers and applause.


Isamu walked into the clinic located a few hundred meters away, brushing off the nurses and medics trying to get him on a stretcher. He gritted his teeth and pulled the broken pencil from his chest with a grunt. Marion dashed in as he dropped it into a metal basin nearby.
"Get me some bandages please Marion."
"Like hell Isamu. Let the doctor look at you." Her tone of voice permitted no disagreement.
He sighed. "Fine." A doctor rushed up and had him lie down, then began cleaning and dressing the wound.
"That was horrible. I'm lucky he screwed up there at the end, or I'd have several broken ribs rather than a stab in the shoulder."
The doctor interjected. "Shoulder? Half an inch lower and it'd have pierced your heart."
"Shoulder."
"You won. That's the important thing." Marion stated.
"Perhaps. Perhaps not . . ."

[DarkJuno]

******


...all right, who's next? Let's see.

-pulls names out of hat-

All right! Round 1, Match 4 will consist of a fight between:

Showsni's Ben Pierce

and

Ken the Wandering Soul's Skye Monahan

Ya'll have till Tuesday, February 5th, 2008 to show up at the...

-pulls name out of other hat-

...Gorge Battle Field. So, like last time, I'll describe the field when I notice, and that will be that.

Have fun!

[Showsni]

4:38
The red numerals on his bedside alarm clock seemed to light the entire room. Ben sighed, and tried turning over. He still couldn't get to sleep. Tomorrow - no, today now - was his first fight since reaching the island. When he'd received the summons, he'd felt a sudden pang of nerves in his stomach. What if he were maimed, or killed? Who would provide for Jack then? Seeing the earlier matches, the bright blood and jarring crunches of crushed bones, had brought a sickening realisation to him. He didn't belong here. He was no fighter. What was he doing here?
5:12
The birds were singing now. Ben groaned, and tried to bury his face in his pillow. He'd have to fight. The look on Jack's face if he thought he was a coward... No, he'd have to fight.
6:42
Ben finally gave up trying to sleep, and got out of bed. The sun was rising, and the tropical sky was awash with colour. He gazed out the window, trying to avoid the unpleasant thought that this might be his last sunrise.
8:00
The alarm suddenly went off, it's strident beeps breaking the silence of the room. Ben hurriedly turned it off, as Jack rose sleepily from his bed.
"What time is it?"
"Eight o'clock," Ben replied. "Plenty of time for breakfast before the fight at eleven."
"Alright! You'll show him, huh? Who are you fighting again?"
"Um, Skye Monahan? I don't really know anything about him, though." The folly of fighting a complete stranger flashed across Ben's mind, but he shrugged it off. "Come on, let's get down to the hotel restaurant. I don't want to fight on an empty stomach."

A few hours later, and Ben was standing at the entrance to the battlefield, his longsword in hand. The intervening period had paradoxically seemed to last forever and take no time at all, but now he was here he was almost sick with nerves. Jack, he knew, would be watching via video from the largest stadium on the island, though, so he had to make a good showing. Gritting his teeth, he walked forward into the field.

[Ken the Wandering Soul]

Skye had seen the fights before his. Everyone fought so passionately and furiously that it was frightening.

He went to sleep, though not restlessly.

When the morning sun shown, Skye reluctantly woke up and rolled out of bed. He looked outside, considering what was before him. It was still not too late to get out of this. He could simply not show up, and let life move on. Skye settled on that, and went outside to enjoy the island while he was still there. He eventually came across a bookstore, and decided to poke around inside.

Skye looked through a few books, and found a few ones that looked like promising reads. When the cashier rung up the books, Skye glanced over a few cheap paperbacks that were on the counter. The cover of a book caught his eyes - “Words of the Wise: Sayings to Live By”. Skye took a quick look at the book, opening it up to a saying printed in italic font.

It is better to have lived life to the full than not to have lived at all.

The phrase cycled through his head for what seemed like forever. Eventually, the words seemed to blend together. Skye then checked his watch - a decision was made. He took off out of the store, and forgot to grab the books he paid for. He swung by his room and picked up a sturdy, strong quarterstaff that he had leaned against the wall.

By the time Skye was at the battlefield there was only a few minutes left to start. He gripped the quarterstaff in his hands until his knuckles turned white. He considered the place for a brief moment before he remembered his decision.

“I will not turn back… I will NOT turn back…” he muttered to himself a few times.

Before long, Skye stood on the battlefield, ready to fight. His heart pounded with a great fury.

[DarkJuno]

A lot of ignorance. Indeed, that's what it would take to believe the facsimile, though it certainly was no fault of the designers and builders of the otherwise wodnerful and stunning gorge battlefield. If one were to ignore the faitn scent of seasalt in the air, the tropical birds flying about, and the fact that the gorge wasn't enarly alrge enough to be an actual one in the deserts of the American Southwest, it was a magnificantly made fake, one that anyone expects to see in an idealized movie set in the time of the old West, albeit with some fairly modern trappings. The lush greenery that clung to the island's peak had been stripped away at this point, leaving a dry, arid looking environment - again, only betrayed by the tropical flowers and plants that lay just outside the outskirts of the battlefield. Still, ignoring tha, the rusty, turning piece of machinery that slowly controls a long abandoned dumbwaiter system from the top of the gorge down to the tumultuous river down below, complete with quickly eroding small isalnds int he water and a complete set of rickety, worn wooden pathways is entirely convincing. Old dry bushes and other scraggly plants have been planted along the prearious cliffside, with the aforementioned dumbwaiter and a narrow, quickly deteriorating path the only two ways from the top to the bottom.

Above, a old, rickety wooden bridge clung together with ropes straddles the cliff, with all the cliched bits with certain boards torn, about to crack, or outright missing, complete with aged ropes. All in all, if the referee didn't know any better, having seen this thing being constructed, it would've been unmistakable.

Still, whatever, this was ahrdly the time for podnering, as he spys the two combatants enter the battlefield. Clearing hsi throat and facing to the unseen cameras and audience, he announces, his strong, folksy voice echoing across the field,

"This 4th match of the 1st Round of the Stroke of Death, between Skye Monahan and Ben Pierce will now commence! eed the rules told to you at the beginning of this tournament, and may the best participant win! Go!"


******


...right. So, coin flip! Showsni psoted first, so he gets heads.

-flips coin-

Heads. Ben gets first strike. So, ya'll have from right this very second to 12:00 Noon CST on Sunday, February 10th, 2008 to duke it out. Have fun!

[Showsni]

"Go!"

The announcer's voice echoed around the gorge, bouncing back and forth from the rocky walls. Keeping a wary eye on the man in front of him, Ben glanced around the "field;" though that word was normally reserved for flatter locations. Far above him, the rickety bridge swayed in the slight breeze, creaking ominously; he shuddered at the thought of having to cross it.

Gripping his longsword tightly, he inched forwards. His opponent was directly across the gorge from him; the river cutting a tumultuous path between them. Ben decided to hope the wooden platforms were more stable than they appeared and suddenly rushed forwards to cross the water. His feet pounded on the boards as he navigated his way from islet to islet across the river, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the shore without mishap. Bringing his sword up to a guard position, he cagily approached Skye.

Knowing that a failed swing could leave him dangerously open to a counterattack, Ben was hesitant to strike; but he couldn't merely circle Skye at a distance for ever. With that in mind, he lunged forwads, attempting to stab with the heavy sword.

[Ken the Wandering Soul]

Skye had immediately regretted his decision to enter the fight. His eyes were glued to his opponent’s weapon, the longsword. His heart pounded fast, its beat practically shouted at him: “Run away! Run away you fool before you die!”

Skye’s vision started to tunnel, and he barely realized that Ben was drawing closer. He finally snapped out of it when he saw that the blade was dangerously close. Just as Ben came up on the shore, Skye started to back up, to try to get as far away from this menace as possible. His mind started to fill with morbid, fearful thoughts of being stabbed by that blade.

Skye could not think straight, all sensible thought had been driven from him as absolute terror gripped him. When the lunge came, Skye jumped back a short way, waving his quarterstaff in a wide arc in an attempt to smack the threat away. With that, he burst into a run in the opposite direction.

“Have to get away, have to get away, have to get away!” was all that Skye could think.

The water. The water would be safer, safer than where he would have been anyway. While still he still attempted to keep the distance between Ben and himself, Skye darted for the water. He ran along the wooden platforms until he was on one of the islets. He turned and his eyes once again locked fearfully on his opponent. He had backed up unconsciously, and only realized that he reached the other side of the islet when his shoes clacked on the connecting platform. The wooden pathway sunk into the islet and the river, which caused the water to flow over a bit and begin to erode the islet more than it already had.

Skye only turned his head back briefly to observe this before he looked back at Ben. This was not the kind of fight he wanted.

[Showsni]

Skye's staff hit Ben's sword and knocked him slightly off balance. When he stood up, he saw that Skye had dodged passed him and made for the river. A little bemused that his opponent hadn't taken to oppurtunity to strike back, Ben followed down to the water.

It seemed that some fear had gripped Skye. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, Ben knew he should follow up this opening as soon as possible; but when he stepped onto the first platform, a sudden roaring noise alerted him to a new danger - a massive wave was racing downriver, as though a sudden surge of new water had been added to the terrain. Leaping back just in time, Ben managed to make the shore, but the ragin torent swept away the remaining platforms. Unless he wanted to swim across, there was now only one way to reach Skye on the other side - the rickety bridge.

Ben turned to survey his options. On this side of the gorge, a narrow path snaked its way up the cliffside to the rotting rope bridge suspended far above. It seemed more like a goat path than anything humans had made, and was crumbling badly in places, with a few almost sheer drops leading all the way down to the rocks below. Gritting his teeth, Ben ran to the path and began to climb.

He was soon forced to slow down. The sun had moved directly overhead, and in the baking heat sweat was running down his face and obscuring his vision. As he slowly ascended the cliff face, rocks and scree broke off as they expanded in the heat, rattling down the precipice in mini landslides. Time and again he was forced to flatten himself against the rockface and pray that he wouldn't get knocked off as small boulders and stones bounced past.

He was about halfway up the side of the gorge when the path suddenly gave way beneath his feet. Throwing out his hands to save himself, he lost grip on his sword hilt, and watched in dismay as it tumbled to the ground below. Now what should he do? Without a weapon, he'd be almost helpless in a fight; but he'd come too far to go back down and begin the climb again. Deciding to trust to fortune, he continued to scramble upwards.

Eventually he reached the top, and the bridge was stretched out before him. He peered over to see where Skye had got to.

[Ken the Wandering Soul]

Skye was at first unsure of what to think. His gaze followed Ben for a long time as try to figure out what the other was doing. Skye still felt tense, but his interest was piqued by the sound of metal falling to the ground. He stared for a while at the gleaming metal and breathed a sigh of relief. The greatest threat was gone. However, this moment of relief was broken when Skye realized that his opponent was gaining better ground. The path heading up the gorge was out, so there was no point in trying that way.

Skye eyed the dumbwaiter suspiciously. While it could serve as an elevator to bring him up, the machinery looked rather dangerous. However, the situation would make the old machinery necessary.

Skye brought himself into the old dumbwaiter and pulled the only lever he could see. He stayed dead center in the middle of the monstrous cargo system, afraid of swaying his balance and causing some part of the machinery to break. He shivered the entire way up in fear of the rusty thing breaking. He breathed in sharply when the rusty system screeched to a halt. Just as Skye stepped out onto the edge of the gorge, he heard the dumbwaiter protest his weight. The entire thing shuddered loudly, causing Skye to bolt out as fast as he could. The dumbwaiter system crashed down, and snapped off a piece of Skye’s quarterstaff, leaving about half its original length in his hands. Dust clouded on the ground, and oxidized metal crumpled up as though it was made of paper.

Adrenaline shooting through his system, Skye looked down at the mess before looking to Ben. All that was left between him and his opponent was the bridge, which looked even more treacherous than dumbwaiter had. Skye walked forward and tapped his foot on one of the boards and heard a dangerous creak. He looked across to Ben. How could he try to get him? Skye briefly considered throwing his damaged staff across the river. His eyes also noted a small rock. He quickly pulled off his shirt and tied it to the portion of staff, also wrapped up the rock in the shirt. Skye then threw the makeshift weapon across the gorge after a wind-up, the stone's weight making the stick rotate through the air.

[Showsni]

It seemed Skye had come to the same conclusion he had, and had also ascended to the top of the cliff. Now the treacherous bridge was all that lay between them. Ben considered it grimly. Even as he watched, a wooden slat broke off and began the long fall to the raging river below - to trust himself to the bridge would be madness!

Intent on the problem of how to reach the other side, Ben didn't notice what Skye was doing until he heard a strange whistling sound and glanced up just in time to see the shortened quarterstaff whirring towards him with unerring accuracy. Moving instinctively to the side he managed to avoid the stone, but the wooden staff spun around and cracked into the back of his head.

The force of the blow knocked Ben off his feet, and he fell forwards onto the bridge. Holding out his hands to break his fall, he smacked into the wooden surface, and his right hand punched straight through the rotten boards. Splintering, they scored a long gash down his arm, and he gritted his teeth with pain as he pulled it back out. Pushing himself unstably to his knees, he decided that he may as well try to cross the bridge from here.

Keeping a wary eye on Skye, Ben began to crawl across on his hands and knees. His head had set up an insistent throbbing from the staff's wound, and blood trickled down his neck and right hand; but he was in a relatively secure position, with a low centre of gravity, so that if another board were to break he'd still have three limbs on the bridge. Unless the entire structure collapsed, he thought he could probably get to the other side at least.

He was about halfway over now, and he looked up to see what his adversary was doing.

[Ken the Wandering Soul]

Skye considered the new situation carefully. He had the fortune of scoring a hit on his opponent, but now he had no other advantage. There were other stones, but they were too small to cuase damage, or were too large to throw. There was not much to do other than meet his opponent.

Resting his foot on the old plank of wood, Skye still felt unsure about the option. Still, it was the best option. Skye then grabbed a fistful of the sandy soil from the ground, figuring he could throw some it in his opponent’s face to make him lose his balance. He pocketed the soil in his pockets and proceeded to make his own way across the bridge.

Skye braced him self, holding onto the rope while taking a tentative step on the bridge. When the wood did not break, Skye breathed a sigh of relief. However, one more step was traitorous. To his right, ropes supporting the bridge snapped, and almost sent Skye to a long fall. He just barely managed to grab a hold of the rope on the other side of the bridge. He stared down, and shook as he realized what almost just happened. Skye was unsure whither to move forward to his opponent, or to attempt to climb back onto the cliff. This indecision was short-lived however, as the ropes on the left side of the bridge snapped under Skye’s weight. There was nothing left to keep his entire side of the bridge up.

“Oh, no.” Skye muttered.

The entire bridge swung, pivoting on the side that Ben came from. As he held on for dear life, Skye watched the other side of the gorge come closer at a dangerous speed. He braced himself for the impact, closing his eyes.

“No, no, no, no, no!!!” Skye shouted over and over in futility.

The pain almost unbearable. As soon as he hit the wall of the gorge, Skye cried out in pain and let go of the rope and fell what was obviously an unsafe number of feet. The sandiness of the soil absorbed most of the impact, but that did not stop the fact that Skye hurt all over. He had few small open wounds, but most of damage seemed to be internal bleeding. Skye tried to walk, but it just hurt too much, he leaned against the wall of the gorge while cradling his arm. Barely able stand in that position, he breathed in and out, just trying to keep himself up.