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  #1  
Old Mar 20th, 2014, 01:52 AM
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First Match

The weather is hell - it is death itself. A hot wind is stirring up the sand, so that visibility is reduced. Beyond the green slopes of the nuetral area the desert sun beats upon the contenstants, laying its wrath to waste upon the area. Dark magic has brought them here, so that they appear opposite of each other, and bound by the rules cannot attack until they step into the sands. Out there are weapons and potions, tools to help them in their conquest of the soul across from them, but danger lies hidden. In particular, swathes of dark sand lingers at the edge of their vision: what is is, or isn't, remains to be seen by those who would choose to investigate. Out there too is traps: creatures of nightmare, mechanical monsters, poisons and wayward spells, all waiting to be unleashed upon the souls who have ventured here - Barathrum. The winds howl and the sand bites into the flesh of the combatants.

In the far corner stands an ifrit, cloaked in desert clothes and bearing secrets within eyes that have seen the fires of hell rage against the night sky. Opposite waits the opponent, a half-elf whose nobility has long been shed in exchange for the power necessary to win. The two are protected with the green, for here they cannot attack each other or be attacked, yet once they step out they will be sealed from it until the end of the match, until one stands victorous or the arena claims one of them, sating the lust of Barathrum temporarily. The grass beneath their feet is unnatural, as not even at an oasis could support such verdant growth - it is all a lie, of course. They wait, wait for one of them to act - for the battle to begin.


 
Player 003 has the initative!
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Last edited by Atalla Wanderer; Mar 21st, 2014 at 08:51 PM.
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  #2  
Old Mar 22nd, 2014, 12:22 AM
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Player 003: Round 1

Home.

It has been many years since Ven last savored the nostalgic embrace of a brilliant, blazing sun. Only here in the desert, with the sky unhindered by stifling clouds, is the air free: free to seethe with the power of fire, to smell of the purest heat itself, and to burn the land bare with its mere presence. It is good to be back, even if it is no more real than the lush grass beneath her lightweight leather boots.

Two dark green eyes stare impassively out from the white hood that partially conceals her face. Though her short crimson horns may be hidden, the long locks of fiery red hair that spill forth, like living flames licking the edges of her hood, make her heritage plain. She spends a good minute silently appraising the half-elf while her slender fingers fiddle intently with something hidden beneath her long flowing cloak.

At the signal, she springs into action like an arrow loosed by an impatient archer. Never mind the safety of the verdant square, nor the unknown dangers lurking in the sands--she has trained zealously for days, and is not about to waste a moment now that battle is to be joined. "Goodbye," she says in a jaded, crackling voice, a simultaneous greeting and farewell to her opponent. Spinning around to face the dark sands before her, her hand moves in some unseen gesture, concealed from view by her body. The result is clear however: a sudden cloud of thick Pantera is now blind unless she has a way to see through smoke grey smoke seems to explode from the ifrit, racing to the edges of the safety zone and well beyond.

Now, to work.

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Old Mar 22nd, 2014, 09:24 AM
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Pantera stands on the grass square, looking out to the desert arena. She does not particularly like fighting in the sand. And on top of that, her opponent is an ifrit. She seems to be standing in some shade, which is strange considering the lack of any thing that might cast it. Looking down she examines her claws. Going to have to try and not kill the poor lad.

When the smoke appears, Pantera shrugs. If thats how you want to play it...

Taking a step forward she vanishes from sight.

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Last edited by Renen; Mar 22nd, 2014 at 09:25 AM.
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