Video Game Forums

To keep it simple, I've been struggling to cram as much entertainment as possible before I leave for the Armed Forces-- and I find myself with enough time to take on one more battle with one of Gunjin's finest. I hereby present another challenge, for something I can do right after finishing my other works to keep the creative flow going strong, you get what I mean? An extra taker will be appreciated~

Hmm

I haven't written for the battlefield in a long time, but if no one else wants this battle, I'd be game.

By "an extra taker would be appreciated", do you refer to this challenge needing a taker, or to additional entrants beyond the first for this one?

Mhm, I meant this challenge needing a taker-- that 'extra' part refers to the other battle I'm involved in right now. Sorry if any confusion went up for that. .-.

Though if you'd like a multiplayer battle, I'd have no problem with that, either-- I'd like to experiment with that at least once, too. Tell me what you think, and we can start anytime. o:

No worries; was simply clarifying. And I'd be fine with either style of battle; whichever you prefer works.

OOC: Can you tell us where you're being deployed to, if anywhere, Trickster?

Ooc: You don't care, and you don't care... so let's make this a threesome. I'ma let you two decide the field.

He took a step forward. The scruff on his face, horribly unkempt and in wrong length, made it clear it was a he. Speaking of face, it was a mess in itself. A cut on his left cheek bled slowly down, his pores well visible and filled up, and a bad case of acne. He bore a mangled pair of spectacles. One lens quite visibly crack, much like those of a car windshield around gravely roads. It most likely mattered little with the eye behind it being lazily glazed over.

His left foot, clad in a beat up safety boot the steel plate gleaming threw the rotten top of the toes, went passed his besandled left. Sandle that still had a price tag in pristine condition. The pockets of his cargo pants worn, dirty and PINK cargo pants, were near filled to bursting. Much the same with his windbreaker, oversize and looking like a camouflage patterned tent was used to make it. He grinned, pointed yellow teeth riddled with plaque in gingivitis ridden gums, as he walked forward. Gloved with one hand in a thick winter mitten, the other in latex. And extension cord for a belt, and a cardboard crown, and a well over dozen medic alert bracelets identifying allergies, medical needs, and general health problems finished his outfit. He ambled on that an unnatural pace, as much for the different footwear as his slight limp, blood dripping down from face to the delicate squish in his boot, murder in his eyes.

@NintendoGod: Since we have sufficient players, I guess we're set to do a multiplayer battle. Thanks for accepting.
@Kargath: I'll be going through Basic Military Training over at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas-- my set departure date is set for September 23rd, which means that I'll be absent from the Internet scene for 7 weeks first, then any extended amount of time until I settle myself after starting tech school [once the basic is over]. From what I gather, the total amount of time I'll be absent could be anywhere from 2--7+ months total, though the actual time depends solely on how long it takes me to complete the whole ordeal. Which is why I'd like to go through a few battles at the Gunjin before taking that 'forced break', and then come back again once I'm done. Hope this was enough info.
@Repster: Glad to see you again-- thanks for accepting this little skirmish.
Now let us proceed-- if NintendoGod doesn't mind, let's keep it simple, battleground-wise. I believe it'll make the posts flow faster.
------------

A cloaked figure stood alone atop a snowy hill, overlooking nothing but plains and plains of white as the field extended all the way into the distant horizon. The clouded sky held within it the twilight brilliance of the approaching dusk, and yet behind the deep heavenly covers the solar flare emitted its muffled spark high upon the land below. Behind the figure lay a beaten dirt road, riddled with patches of stray snow as it fell over the surroundings in erratic patterns where one could probably split in two, and then three would join to become one elsewhere. Along both sides of the road lay a few evergreen trees no more than 15 or so feet tall, their branches heavy with the stacked snow and even a few of them giving in to the weight and spilling their contents on the semi-frozen ground below.

A mild breeze blew past Arkimeth Seizen, the dark-haired figure in the cloak, and his bullet-torn azure garment lifted and formed a brief illusion of wings on his back, if only to settle down to cover his thin build once more. There was no discernible movement in Ark's body-- he might as well been a clothed statue with the frigid composure he held, standing on top of that small hill at the end of the road. However at the sudden interruption of his mental speech with his sentient companion, the divine armor Katzbalger, his head moved, and behind another flapping of the cloak he observed-- or rather, tried to observe. The human head cannot turn 180 degrees freely and on command, can it?

And still he did not move. With twin brown boots firmly rooted on the dirtied snow hill, he lowered his head and tilted it slightly to the right-- a response to the restriction of the 180-degree turn. A weak glint reflected from his squared glasses and towards a random direction as he spoke, whispers of a word that rode with the waves of the wind and spread along the road, directed straight into the ears of whoever was there:

-"Say, what do you think... about this atmosphere?"

The steady crunch of snow and dirt beneath boot heel was all that heralded his approach. The brown haired man slowly strode along the path, his head looking up to the cloud-masked skies above. To the distant viewer, he could have been mistaken for a moving patch of snow; his simple long-sleeved tunic was as plain as the occasional patches of frost around him, under which the careful observer could note a light set of chain armor and padded shirt. The leggings were of similar color, though they were more visibly armored, with two kneepads of bleached leather leading down to his boots. He was mantled with a cloak of brilliant white that covered him from shoulder to shoulder and flowed along the ground behind him as he walked. Despite it's length, it didn't seem to hamper his movements, even in the frosty terrain, almost floating just above the ground behind him. As he passed another of the pine trees that dotted the path, a squirrel scampered out of a drift and into his path. He stopped, and watched as it clambered to safety in the snow-heavy boughs.

Lucius Kirinith smiled; he reveled in the simple peace around him of nature going about it's simple existence. For the reason he had come to this barren wasteland made him wonder just how long the tranquility of this sparse wood would last. He continued his walk towards the hill, now visibly on the horizon, and raised a gauntleted arm to the sword belted at his hip. The gloves were of simple brown leather, plated in bright silver around the wrist and along the back, identical to the boots that covered his feet. The hill now filled his perspective, and as he cast his gaze around he noted that not one, but two other warriors awaited him. He had only expected one to meet him; the other was an uncertainty. Whether he had come to fight him or his foe, he could not tell. Lucius rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, a deep blue scabbard barely visible beneath his cloak's folds highlighted by silver tracing and decor. As Ark asked his question, the biting wind carrying it between the three, the skies seemed darken as a thicker patch of cloud passed beneath the sun. Kirinith glanced upward, and gripped the hilt of his sword more tightly.

"This atmosphere?... It feels like a storm is brewing."

"Fais chau, hein?" The mismatched one spoke tugging at his collar, his voice a sickly rasp. His mitten scratched at his patchy hair as he reached into his front pocket and pulled out a golf tee of all things, and stuck it in his mouth. He charges with a yell, his tongue flailing wildly. Lucius blade was freed in after the third step, the diseased was ridiculously quick on his feet. There was not even a slight hesitation as he reached deep into his pink pants, the awkward motion hampering no more then his limp, and pulled out a lemon.

Lucius swung, a simple precious motion that could end this quickly, and the other simply brought the fruit to bear almost to shield himself as he ducked and weaved out of the way. The fruit was cleaved neatly in twain, threw the thick canvas and nicked the arm beneath. The scent of grapes and citrus burst forward, and the smaller combatant's mitten grabbed the other half of the fruit as it separated.

Robert, as one bracelet named him, thrust his hands forward. Squeezing and push with all his might for all intents trying to pierce threw Kirinith's eyes with the fruit. George, as a third bracelet called him, threw back his head in a guffaw as he slathered the rest of Lucius face with the fruit before releasing it and scampering away.

Back out of reach, he hunched, golf teeth clenched in his teeth, and now a rusty fork in his mitten ed hand. His latex covered hand around a shoelace with an old movie ticket stub stuck in one knot in it's length.

Arkimeth was at a loss of words for what was happening before him-- or rather, he had many words to say, the kind of words he figured he should hold back for the moment lest a careless mistake cost him a piece of either his sanity, his skin, or a little of both. He could only think, once he had turned around to face his new visitors, that this random meeting of theirs would end as quickly as it could. He really didn't feel like fighting: his previous comment was but an innocent, honest inquiry of opinion. Though a malicious, paranoid scowl manifested in his face, his senses didn't really agreed to a call for blood-- how, then, would he simply sneak past these beings and on with his own personal journey?

It wasn't going to be through words, apparently.

Grasping the azure, beaten garment with his left hand at the front, he removed it with one swift motion, the cloth disappearing with a bright, crackling white light. Left with a thick, long-sleeved black shirt and matching long pants, his appearance was entirely nondescript- no images of any kind, no extra pockets or wrinkles, and yet he stood out like a sore thumb amidst the chilly white background. Extending his right towards his front, he closed it into a fist while whispering the words: "Rise to battle, Katzbalger." At his command, a bright electric current was born in Ark's chest, quickly coiling around his forearms and legs, materializing into a set of platinum gauntlets and greaves. The metals were an exquisitely crafted piece of work, with deep, lightning-themed lines etched into each piece of the armor. Without so much as a warning [though the one spark by which the set was spawned was audible enough] afterward, Ark lowered and bent his right arm towards his side, opening the hand in a grasping position. Focusing, he gathered a strong breeze inside his hand, forcing the air to shape itself into a semi-solid, translucent sphere the size of his palm, and thrusting it towards the middle of the other two combatants, he proclaimed:

-"Sorry, gents, but this is one storm I'd rather avoid."

And he threw the sphere. It would quickly expand and burst, forming a sizable wall-like distortion of 'hard' air that would forcefully push both combatants some feet back. The blast itself was designed to be fairly harmless-- at most, if they weren't strong enough to hold their ground against it, they would certainly get a bit pissed...

Ooc: I as SO disappointed in you NG...

Bobert the magical lawn gnome, really now that was just a silly thing to have an deadly allergy to bee stings, skidded back off balance, his arms windmilling and his fork being lost. A moment after it had past his scrawny frame, he charge forward, his voice high in a horrible mock of a girl's voice.

"The Geat was glad in mind, quickly seeking his seat, as the wise one bade. Then again was the feast prepared, as before, for
the courageous ones sitting in the hall."

The crazed one's third stride took him halfway to Arkimeth, the forth had him duck and slide between the armored ones legs. Up on his feet with the speed of madness, and the shoe lace struck. Arkimeth turn and was rather confused by said attack. There was this sickly looking fellow that had just tossed a shoelace at his shoulder. With impossible the lad scrambled up the armored one's, a few twist and he had the string around Arkimeht throat like a noose. With feet planted firmly against his shoulders, one arm grasping the strangle chord, the smaller one let himself fall using his entire weight and leverage to choke the obviously physically superior Seizen.

Gasping for air he grasped at the odd garrote, and yanked at it. It promptly snapped, what with being an old shoelace. However, that was also the time the mutilated one's mitten pulled out a one third full Oleada one liter glass bottle of extra virgin oil and smashed it on Arkimeth's skull.

Taking the moment his opponent was stunned and still recovering his breath, the plagued one scampered away, latex gloved hand now holding firmly a broken Diablo 2 Lord of Destruction CD, the jagged shard pointed forward. His stance did nothing to hide his plans of using it as a shiv to shank someone. The golf tee still firmly stuck between two of his rotting teeth,

OoC: Grrr, it sucks that we couldn't push this battle much further... Hope I can make it up to both of you when I come back from forced break in a few months. Do you mind if I leave this hanging like this, or should I post some manner of leave? Because I want more of that char right there, Rep. o:

Just drag this back up when you have time. Fights have gone months between posts often enough in the history of this place.