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Post by Stix on Mar 23, 2009 7:42:32 GMT -5
From over the warriors' heads sounds a massive explosion that suddenly stops everyone in his tracks.
"Bout's over!" shouts the commanding, sourceless voice. "Lower your chivs; this match ends in decision!"
The noise from the crowd suddenly matches that of the sound effect. Jeers and curses mingle freely with appreciative shouts and calls for one combatant or the other to be favored in the final decision.
"In a fight like none we've seen before..." the announcer starts, pausing dramatically as the crowd's din becomes deafening....
(Make a reaction roll -- 2d10. To the first die, add your remaining HP. To the second, add -- or in Kale's case, subtract -- your Charisma reaction adjustment. Whoever has the higher result will be found victorious.)
[dice=10+18]
[dice=10+1][rand=18082028183713217318922421513331456973900980115625499801761160698]
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Post by exile on Mar 23, 2009 10:50:51 GMT -5
(Here's hoping lightning strikes twice...)
[dice=10+15]
[dice=10-1]
(... wasn't meant to be.)
Kale slumped back against the edge of the pit, his hand rising up instinctively to shield his eyes from the force of the blast. A booming voice filled ears that were already too taxed by the slackening sound of his own heart beat to process anything further. He was beaten, or so it seemed. The ravenous throng had decided upon their champion and today it wasn’t him. Rising to his full height with blade held low towards the ground, Kale looked like a broken man and yet somehow he had found the strength to remain standing. What was left of him was anyone’s guess however: bloodied, destitute and with his pride lying shattered about the pit, he was being forced to cede the arena. Such was the fickle way of fate…[rand=9066883291062737937882566076683655759896717531822943878048044125]
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Post by Stix on Mar 27, 2009 8:25:10 GMT -5
"The victor is... Yla!"
Gathering a shallow breath, Yla closes her eyes as she gives a half-bow to the crowd. "Well fought," she says quietly to Kale as she passes him on her way out of the ring.
Aven meets the Taker at the nearest edge of the center circle, beaming despite the loss. "In eighteen months coming to the Pit, I've never seen a fight like that! Remarkable!" he compliments. The Sensate presses two platinum coins into the gith's hand. "Reimbursement for your greens fee -- I'll be counting on you to come back and give us something new next time!"
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Post by exile on Apr 2, 2009 21:28:24 GMT -5
“Heal your wounds, basher?” The speaker was a pale skinned aasimar that had materialized without much fanfare at the side of the ring. He was staggering slightly and the insignia on his breast marked him as a Madman.
“Pike off, berk,” Kale replied, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
“Suit yourself, basher,” the Bleaker slurred before wandering off in search of Yla. “Oi!!! Basher-”
The gith turned his back on the wild eyed medicine man in favor of Aven. “Hold a moment, cutter. Are you saying this is my retaining fee? I’m no charity case, and I won’t be dealt with like one.” His expression conveyed a deep seated suspicion as he stared down at the coins lying in his palm.
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Post by Stix on Apr 7, 2009 9:37:11 GMT -5
"When you're in the Pit, you are an entertainer; I was very entertained," Aven reassures the gith. "Consider it part retaining fee, part gratuity."
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