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Post by Stix on Jun 30, 2007 20:39:44 GMT -5
Round Summary
Jiring hits John (3 nonlethal, 6 damage)
Goled hits Jiring (2 nonlethal, 8 damage)
John hits Jiring (2 nonlethal, 12 damage)
Jiring drops
Khassein tumbles, ignoring fight
Initiative for round 2
Goled
[dice=20]
Khassein
[dice=20+8]
(If you'd like to write a post detailing round 1, go for it.)[rand=5892771721154053982164403362981913256694535130336296713549761407]
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Post by john on Jul 1, 2007 0:22:47 GMT -5
John grunts, as he's engaged by the leather-armored warrior, stabbed rather painfully by him, no less, but keeps his wits about him as the Genasi rushes in, hammering him with a two-handed maul hit, causing jiring to stumble forward, then sag with a look of shock, as he is run entirely through by John's thrust. John squares up with the genasi, but keeps himself aware of Khassein, who, like the genasi, has been uninjured yet. He calculates that Khassein will likely strike at him now that the first pretender has been felled, since he has been injured, and then, John becomes a veritable flurry of death. His blade flashing 3 times in quick succesion, a high-line stroke across Khassein's breast, then a diagonally down cut across Goled's legs, finishing with a gut-thrust at Goled.
[dice=20+9]
[dice=20+9]
[dice=20+4]
[dice=10+8]
[dice=10+8]
[dice=10+8]
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Post by john on Jul 1, 2007 0:23:54 GMT -5
follow up on critical threat vs. Khassein. if it lands, the extra damage is shown rolled below.
[dice=20+9]
[dice=10+8][rand=03864628340876086972944842763825932214814859945325750333557986906]
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Post by john on Jul 1, 2007 0:25:24 GMT -5
[dice=20+1]
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Post by john on Jul 1, 2007 0:26:08 GMT -5
(damn my bad init.) please remember, have uncanny dodge, so has to be a rogue 4 levels higher than me to flank or kill.
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Jul 1, 2007 20:31:00 GMT -5
As the hidden announcer calls the combatants to the killing floor, Silver pushes her way through the crowd to the bar; ordering a drink from the nearest serving wench. "'Scuse me, cutter. I'll 'ave whatever ale ye've got on tap." She calls over the rauccus din, reaching into a beltpouch, and counts the correct amount of jink out onto the bar-top.
While she waits, Silver peers as best she can over the sea of bobbing heads, clenched fists, and blood-thirsty cheers; her attention drawn to the pit as the fight begins.
This oughta be good...
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Post by Stix on Jul 1, 2007 21:08:00 GMT -5
Knowing he can't handle an opponent as heavily-armored as either John or Goled, Khassein waits for the genasi to square up with John before attempting to weaken him with a backhanded stroke from his scimitar.
[dice=20+6][rand=42396731801022713788670562609252406589127468854339011665410418713051]
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Post by Stix on Jul 1, 2007 21:08:37 GMT -5
Damage
[dice=6+3]
Sneak Attack
[dice=6][rand=18070968372647267715045571047897579679981672768846502732039447289]
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Post by Stix on Jul 1, 2007 21:25:52 GMT -5
Shrugging off Khassein's attack, Goled focuses on John, attempting to stagger him with a massive overhand swing.
[dice=20+4][rand=831466748365019799207354044883456604318495524608479278173914506]
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Post by Stix on Jul 1, 2007 21:28:19 GMT -5
[dice=10+7][rand=396055537587541863073205040921221802186248924811641750006058610023]
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Post by Stix on Jul 1, 2007 21:52:36 GMT -5
Round Summary
Khassein hits Goled (4 nonlethal)
Goled hits John (3 nonlethal, 6 damage)
John hits Khassein (killing stroke)
Khassein is dead
John hits Goled (4 nonlethal, 4 damage)
John hits Goled (4 nonlethal, 8 damage)
Goled drops
(Sum up at your leisure.)
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Post by john on Jul 1, 2007 22:13:21 GMT -5
As Khassein rushes in, pinking goled in the thigh, John takes a single step forward, cutting so deep across his body that blood and offal gout all over his cloak and splint mail, giving it a deep crimson tinge. His eyes widen, and he steps a moment more before arterial spray causes him to collapse into the muck, already dead.
Goled's mighty blow almost shatter's john's shoulder, sensing an opportunity as he diverts his attention to the other, but he is lamed by a cut across goled's thigh where the scimitar scored the armor, rewarded with a bit of blood and a grunt from the great genasi, then his gut-skewering strike finishes the sordid little brawl, causing him to take a hand off the maul and reach down, surpised, for a moment, before dropping forward and sliding off the blade. John takes a staggered, pained step forward, and puts a booted foot on the genasi's armored chest, his blade poised an inch from his throat. "Yield or die like the other."
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Jul 1, 2007 22:43:53 GMT -5
Silver stands suddenly, her eye drawn by the bloodcurdling cry of the dead warrior, and the frenzied hollering of the drunks all around her. She slips away from the bar, cheap ale in hand, and elbows through the throng to the drum-roll tempo of "kill, kill, kill..." chanted at the last man still standing.
At last she finds a small niche near the pit, squeezed between a sweaty half-orc and a hulking ogre, and watches the vulture-helmed brute looming over the supine genasi. Frantic, frenetic shouts charge the atmosphere; pulsing with energy, sweat and spilled blood. Tensions run high, strung taut by the anticipation of yet another life hanging by a thread...
Violent sensation, the stench, the heat, sucks Silver down into the vortex, and soon she finds herself chanting the same discordant chorus.
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Post by john on Jul 1, 2007 23:06:23 GMT -5
John just shakes his head once, and wipes off his blade, sheathing it. He walks away from the two sprawled opponents who aren't completely dead. Not offering them mercy inasmuch as simply leaving them as though they were carrion on the field of battle, stuffing his blood-stained rag back into a belt pouch. He approaches his "sponsor." the orc, and asks him. "Enough of a show?"
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Post by Stix on Jul 1, 2007 23:51:02 GMT -5
"The winner, advancing to Blue rank after only his first match: the Taker of Blood!" The fickle crowd forgets some of its bloodlust and shouts its admiration for John, applauding and hollering. "Seconds, remove your men from the field!" Several figures emerge from the crowd, hoisting up the corpse and the two men who may well be mortally injured before toting them off. John just shakes his head once, and wipes off his blade, sheathing it. He walks away from the two sprawled opponents who aren't completely dead. Not offering them mercy inasmuch as simply leaving them as though they were carrion on the field of battle, stuffing his blood-stained rag back into a belt pouch. He approaches his "sponsor." the orc, and asks him. "Enough of a show?" The orc gives a smile-grimace and a grunt. "Too quick," he mutters. "But that's good, in your case. Here's your winnings." His thrust-forward hand holds seven gold pieces. "Good thing you're alive -- it'd be hard work carrying you off. Let's have a drink," he says succinctly, jerking his head toward the tap in the far corner (little more than a few kegs on crates). |
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Jul 2, 2007 2:17:28 GMT -5
Silver downs her ale in a few swallows, wiping her mouth on the back of her gauntlet [mindful to not prick herself on the sharp barbs and spikes]. An entertaining spectacle. She mused to herself, pushing through the crowd toward the Taker of Blood, and his Orcish sponsor, once the fight was over.
She reckoned she'd have to congratulate the winner personally, and get her own gauntlets dirty, of course. At this stage in her life, there were few experiences more exhilarating than a good fist-fight; the splatter of blood, the crunch of breaking bones, the danger, the fear, the cheers of the crowd, the adrenaline rush, and the pounding behind the temples, in tandem with the rapid breath and racing heartbeat.
The bloodthirsty mob around her had certainly roused her interest...
"Oiy cutter! Good fight. Ye fight well with yer chiv." She grins, approaching the vulture-helmed brute, and the hulking orc.
"So what does a basher 'ave ta do ta get in tha' pit?" She inquires, grinning again, and cracks her knuckles. "I fight wit' me fists, or whip an' chiv."
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Post by john on Jul 2, 2007 20:37:43 GMT -5
"I die hard. Sure. I'll have one." He follows the orc, then grunts as a possible groupie? No.... someone new approaches. "You step out in it and get a sponsor, I guess." He waits for his booze, and very clearly is only having one. His wounds weep blood, unbound and aching.
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Post by john on Jul 5, 2007 21:46:05 GMT -5
John looks back to the orc. "So anyway. What's your name? M' John, just John. My name out there is something else I guess but since I'll be making us money it makes sense for us to know each other by name. I'm a mercenary, a tax collector, and a fair hand with a chiv. But I have a few more questions about the fights now. Are they always multiple people? Are there one-to-one fights, grudge matches? How long do people tend to last if they're skilled? Who's the champion of each bracket, and who's the biggest legend to fight down here at any time?" John pauses after each query, not barring them all at once at the orc, giving him time to respond, and finally says, "I mostly work with a fellow named Fishy. Err... vatndir. He's a signer but he's good luck, all told. I'm helping him with his plan because I think there's money in everything he does or sees. And the risk isn't too bad, at least for something as crazed as what he's thinking of. Just moving from plane to plane, at the moment, doing odd jobs for people who'll pay to have 'em done. Oh... by the way. Anyone rack up big debts in gambling here? I collect debts when Fishy isn't doing something mad. I'll buy em at market value and collect them if I can. Debtors are valuable... as a resource."
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Jan 2, 2008 4:05:20 GMT -5
Silver watches the Taker of Blood and his Orcish sponsor start to walk off. Her eyes are drawn again to the empty pit, and the blood spatters on the ground. She breathes deeply, reliving the heated moment of frenzied anticipation, when the Taker of Blood held the genasi's life in the palm of his hand.
That's where she wanted to be. To feel the adrenalin rush, the surge of life beneath her fingertips, the individual sting of her own wounds; to hear the crowd chanting her name, demanding she kill... kill, all the while drawing out those precious few moments for dramatic effect. That was true showmanship; to keep the audience waiting, and always wanting more.
On a spur of the moment decision, Silver darts off after them, pushing her way through the crowd, and grabs the Orc sponsor's muscle-bound forearm.
"Oiy, cutter! Are ye interested in sponserin' a gal willin' ta get her knuckles bloodied?" She says with a dazzling grin, and a wicked twinkle in her eye. "I'll fight wit' me fists, or whip and chiv; whichever the crowd wants ta see from me."
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Post by Stix on Jan 3, 2008 12:16:45 GMT -5
The orc flinches as he is touched, reflexively clenching a fist, but relaxes as he spies the comparatively much smaller human woman. His beady eyes stay focused on her as she speaks her piece. "The ring is no place for a woman," he says scornfully. "Go home and make young." He lumbers away, turning his attention back to his conversation with John.
"Don't listen to that berk," comes a hoarse whisper from behind Quicksilver. She turns to find herself face-to-face with a poised, midnight-blue-clad androgynous githzerai. "Ghour is too set in the ways of his people to recognize any potential in a woman.
"I've ended githyanki life on the tip of my chiv, though. That's all the proof of potential I need. What are you risking tonight, basher? A few bruises, a few cuts, or your life?"
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