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Posted by
boyachi
on
Mar 11, 2006


The soldier stood upon the grit and dirt inside the arena. He knew that there were twelve others waiting to face the champion and over through that monster of a man, a monster that the people worshipped. Yes winning this tournment the man would gain the status of a deity. Staff in hand, the crowd raised a cheer as he stepped into the grounds to fight his first oppenent




Posted by
Battalon127
on
Mar 11, 2006


Waiting in the wings, the young thief wiped his forehead with his sleeve. Although he refused to admit, even to himself, his nervousness, his racing heart and profuse sweating gave him away. The contenders awaiting him were skilled fighters, more experienced and driven by the allure of power and fame. This young man had none of that. He was relying fully on his speed and intuition, developed from years on the streets, and the faith he held in his ideals, and his reason for fighting this day. The sudden joyous roar of the crowd alerted him to his first opponents's readiness. Taking only a moment to focus his thoughts and ready his spirit, he grasped the familiar leather-gripped hilt of his light sword, and stepped into the arena




Posted by
Empror707
on
Mar 11, 2006

Edited on
Mar 12, 2006


Thief and soldier met in the center of the arena. Two totally different warriors fighting for their own cause. Slowly they circled waiting for the other to strike first. The thief darted forward using unnatural speed and unsheathed his sword. Using all of his strength he brought his sword down upon his enemy. Just when the sword was coming down on the soldier, he raised his staff and blocked the blow. Surprised, the thief tried again and again the soldier blocked him. Now the soldier attacked. Expertly, he wielded his deadly staff and struck the thief in the leg. A loud snap was heard throughout the arena. The staff had snapped the thief's leg in two. Crying out in pain, the thief fell to the sandy floor in a fetal position. Cautiously, the soldier walked forward to examine the fighter. In the blink of an eye the thief pulled a throwing dagger out of his belt and hurled it aiming for the soldiers head. The soldier side stepped the knife but misjudged the length of the blade. As it whizzed past his head it cut into his shoulder ripping flesh from bone. Now with a limp arm it was harder for him to attack. The thief, using his sword as a crutch, stood up and laughed, "Ha, oldest trick in the book and you fell for it."

The solider tried not to let the words get to him but they did. They cut into his pride just as the knife had cut into his arm. Using what strength he had he picked up his staff and bashed the thief over the head with it. Like a puppet cut from its strings, he fell to the ground. The crowd cheered. The victor turned to the emperor to await his fate. He was given the thumbs up to the appeal of the crowd and exited the arena. The next fight would take place tomorrow. He needed time to rest.

In the darkness of the night, the thief got up from the arena floor dazed and enraged. Slowly, he limped out of the arena with revenge on his mind.




Posted by
Foshi
on
Mar 12, 2006


Outside the arena, a young girl paces the cobblestone streets for a decent shelter. Her black cloak and plum dress rustle with each hurried step; her minty green hair blew haphazardly with the wind. The girl held a long silver rod across her shoulder-an ancient, rustic rod with a smooth ruby mounted on top.

Yellow, square lights in the distance catch the girl's eyes. Enticed, she dashes across the street, and is lured to a cozy-looking white building. On a black chain dangles a sign with the crimson words "Rutherford's Inn: 50 Gold per Night." Ack-pricy, but the girl could afford it. She opens the oaken door and approaches the innkeeper at the counter.

"Aww, look, it's a little girl!" the pudgy man exclaims as she searches her pockets for coins. "Has the little girl lost her mom-" She rocks onto her toes and neatly deposits the fifty Gold onto the countertop. "-Oh. Uh, have a nice stay, kid."

The child nods and retreats up the creaky wooden steps. Her room awaited at the top, and though it was small, the bed appeared welcoming enough. She throws herself upon the billowing mattress, keeping her rod close to her.

Her eyelids flutter, but she couldn't possibly sleep. The girl's match in the arena was tomorrow...and she hadn't practiced yet...swiftly she sits upright and points her rod across the room, shooting a brilliant pillar of flames at the wall. FOOF! The flames decimate the wood, leaving a gaping hole.

"WHAT IN BLAZES IS THAT RACKET?" thunders the innkeeper from below. The frightened child leaps out the gaping hole without a minute's hesistation, lands safely on cobblestone, and darts across the streets...




Posted by
MintMan
on
Mar 16, 2006


Her accommodations over the night were not the best, but considering her actions, even the uncomfortable, granite arena benches were far from the worst she could do. In her mind, it was the innkeep's just deserts for charging such an outrageous price. The damage was far from what she was fully capable of, however, or at least what she thought the staff was capable of.

The little mage woke when the early rays of dawn and throngs of spectators crept into the coliseum. She rolled off the makeshift bed, rubbing her wide eyes, and gave up the seat to some overly eager patrons of the games. The first match of the day, and her first of the entire tourney, was not for a few hours yet -- too much for the fans, but not nearly enough for the fighters.

The roar of the audience was deafening. From the nobles in the inner ranks to the peasants crowding every spot there was to be stood on or hung from, they were made the same in their cheers. No fighting had yet occurred, but the anticipation was more than enough. The spellcaster meekly left the safety of the arena gates and into the open sands. She had thought about this moment before, but nothing in her short life could have prepared her. The emperor loomed above in a citadel-like structure, closest to the action but the furthest from danger.

The iron gate opposite her lifted, freeing the opponent she drew for the match. The shadows still concealed the combatant, but even from across the battlefield, the stench was unmistakable; it was the smell of death.

Meandering forth into the despised sun, a ghastly and gaunt brute approached. He was armored in strategically placed bits of bone, some worn as trophies, and others embedded into its rotting flesh. It wore the mask of a shattered skull inverted on its face. The walking graveyard clutched its right hand to the ground and summoned up the broken bones of warriors passed, collecting them into a vast, wicked mace that once was an arm.

The mage wasted no time with the monstrosity. She held forth her silver wand and closed her eyes, picturing her target only in her mind. A flash leapt from the crimson tip and created a magnificent explosion that enveloped the terror, much to the girl's and crowd's shared delight. Her mood soon faded as the wretched being walked out from its funeral pyre, its tawny hide only charred by the blast. Little left of this creation was still flesh. The blackened bones and dirt that composed the creature feared little for fire. At its command, a skeletal spire began to spring forth from the ground.

"Stop." The twisted tip was only a moment before the ill-prepared magician when the Emperor halted the fight. "There is still one more competitor to battle both of you in this round...






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